Gilmour watched from above as the folded wrinkles of the Twinmoon Foothills gradually smoothed, trowel-flat, into the frozen Falkan Plain. This far north the arable midsection of the Eastlands, a tapestry of green, gold and earthen brown during warmer Twinmoons, was now a vast carpet of white. Free from the cold he knew he would find were he truly suspended several thousand paces over Falkan, Gilmour nestled deeper into his blankets, deeper into his spell, and turned his gaze west towards the Ravenian Sea and the busy streets of Pellia. He enjoyed the journey.
Finding Stalwick Rees had not been difficult; Gilmour had searched in the hills above Traver’s Notch until he felt a dim flicker of rippling energy slogging through a curtain of freezing rain. He had been as gentle as he could from this distance, but Stalwick still went down as if he had been clubbed.
Realising that he might kill the boy, Gilmour had remained inside his mind for only a moment; his message was brief: March on Capehill now. The Malakasians know of the attack. Brand is coming soon.
Finding Kantu would be more challenging; Gilmour hoped he would succeed before growing too weary and needing to sleep. While Stalwick was a faint but distinct beacon in the forested hills north of Traver’s Notch, Kantu would be a bright light, a veritable signal-fire amongst the crowds in the Malakasian capital – if Kantu was still in Pellia, and if he was still alive.
Gilmour felt himself soar over the Ravenian Sea. Moving quickly now, outdistancing even the trade breezes along the narrow waterway, he honed in on a great throbbing rift in the ambient energy above the waves, a pulsing rhythm he could feel against his flesh, even this imagined flesh. It had to be Kantu; Gilmour grinned. With Nerak lost inside the Fold, there was no one but Mark Jenkins who would radiate such power, but Mark was still close by. Gilmour felt lucky that he had stumbled upon Kantu while the magician was working a bit of sorcery; finding his old friend mid-spell made the evening’s work a bit easier.
He’s on a ship. I’ll catch him there. We’ll meet in Orindale.
But when Gilmour closed in on the schooner, he realised that he had been wrong – it was easy to locate; its power resonated out and up in concentric waves of energy that nearly sent Gilmour spiralling into the water – but it wasn’t Kantu. And it wasn’t heading south to Orindale; the schooner and whoever or whatever it carried was sailing north towards the archipelago, and the few navigable passages to Pellia.
What is that? Gilmour considered breaching the ship’s hull and finding out what was secreted inside, but he pressed on; Kantu might already know what was being shipped. If his old colleague had heeded Gilmour’s advice and avoided Welstar Palace – avoided killing himself – he might still be in Pellia, or one of the towns or villages lining the river between the palace and the capital city. Gilmour noted the schooner’s position and heading, then shifted the locus of his tired consciousness towards Pellia.
Above the city, he felt certain again that he had located Kantu. A steady mystical force, surprisingly strong, drew him towards a comfortable-looking inn, a cosy place a few streets off the east bank of the Welstar River.
There he is, Gilmour thought. That looks a nice enough place. He won’t mind spending the next Moon there. The way he sleeps, he won’t notice much of it passing, anyway. Gilmour dropped from the skies, imagining he could smell the tang of the wharf, the myriad chimneys spewing woodsmoke into the windless morning and the mouthwatering flavour of kneaded dough rising above the hearth.
Kantu. Kantu, wake up. He nudged the silent form with his mind.
He’s sleeping, someone answered from the corner of the room, someone sitting on a second bed, looking out of the window towards the river.
Gilmour reeled as if he had been thumped in the chest by a god. Tumbling backwards out of the guestroom, he turned head-over-heels through the air, fighting to regain control over his transcendental self.
In Wellham Ridge, he stirred for a moment, pulled his blankets up and groaned.
The unfamiliar presence followed. Where are you going? It was an innocent question. Who are you? There was no anger in the voice, merely curiosity.
Gilmour wondered how anyone outside himself or Kantu would be able to communicate this way. There was no one left in Eldarn who knew this spell; not even Steven could perform it.
How are you doing this? he asked, wary, ready to freefall back into Wellham Ridge if necessary. Who is this?
Milla. Who are you? How did you find us?
Milla. Gilmour’s mind raced. It hadn’t been Kantu; he hadn’t found his old friend. Kantu had been there; Gilmour could feel him now, a presence beneath an old quilt. Instead, he had found Milla – but who was Milla? Someone powerful, that was obvious, for her strength eclipsed Kantu’s, buried inside the guestroom.
Milla?
Yes? Hello again.
Hello. May I ask who you are?
I told you already, silly. I’m Milla. Alen calls me Pepperweed, but my real name is Milla. There was a brief silence. Are you Fantus? Or are you Prince Nerak? You don’t sound like him.
Sound? Who was this person? There was no sound here. This was only flat, toneless communication. A few Senators could manage a bit of inflection, even a laugh from time to time, but Gilmour hadn’t been trying for anything more than clarity. Milla. Wracking his memory, he couldn’t call her up. She spoke like a child. He guessed she might be someone Kantu had met on his journey through Malakasia, a prodigy he had discovered in Pellia, or perhaps even- He cast his thoughts back to her. Milla?
What?
It’s Fantus.
I knew it, really. You don’t sound like Prince Nerak. He always sounds mad. I don’t like it when he talks to me.
I don’t either. Can you tell me how old you are?
I’m thirty-one Twinmoons, but another one is coming pretty soon.
Gilmour tried to laugh. It didn’t work. I know, just a few more days. Well, I was trying to find Kantu… Alen… but he’s asleep.
He sleeps a lot.
I know he does, my dear. He’s a boring old grettan, isn’t he?
He’s nice. He just gets tired. Hoyt and Hannah play with me when Alen sleeps.
Hannah, Gilmour thought, good news. He was weakening and felt himself slipping back towards Falkan. He wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer.
Milla interrupted his thoughts. Do you need help?
What’s that? He was fading, falling fast.
Help, silly. Here, I can help you.
Gilmour felt an invisible band snake around his waist, hug him close and keep him from tumbling backwards over the Ravenian Sea. Milla was powerful. Good lords, my dear, but that is an interesting spell.
Something that sounded like enormous pride reached him across their gossamer lines of communication. I learned that one from Prince Nerak! But he didn’t know I figured it out. Sometimes he liked to talk too long.
Yes, he was full of gret – He was full of fun chatter, wasn’t he? Gilmour felt for the band, wondering whether he would be powerful enough to break it were the child to become angry or hostile. Milla, I need to tell Alen something, but I’m too tired to wake him up now. I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I need rest, too.
I can tell him something for you.
Will you remember? Of course she would, he thought. There was nothing this little girl couldn’t do.
I can remember lots of things. Mama used to say I was one of the smartest girls on the whole North Shore.
You’re from Orindale?
I don’t know. We lived by the water. I can’t remember the name.
I thought you said you could remember lots of things.
Milla laughed; there was no mistaking it this time. You tricked me, silly. The band tightened, and Gilmour tried to remain calm. There was no need to hold his breath. He was perfectly safe; he hoped. Then Milla’s grip loosened – it was a hug, that’s all, a mystical hug imbued with more energy and focused magical power than Gilmour had ever seen in a novice sorcerer, never mind one less than fifty Twinmoons old.
All right, I trust you. Can you tell him to stay in Pellia, right where you are? Tell him that Fantus is coming in the next Moon. Will you remember that?
Of course. He could almost see a smug, pouting toddler with a mop of tousled unruly hair looking back at him in disbelief. That’s not hard.
Tell it back to me, then.
Milla sighed. There was no doubt about it, either. It was a sigh, an impossible sigh, just like her impossible laughter. Larion Senators worked for Twinmoons to be able to do what this little girl had accomplished twice in one spell, never mind her ability to reach up and grasp Gilmour’s essence out of the sky.
I’ll tell him that we have to wait here, right at this place, because Fantus… that’s you… is coming in the next Moon.
Excellent work, Pepperweed.
Are you going to call me that, too?
Do you want me to?
Yeah, I guess so.
Well then, Pepperweed, you should call me Gilmour.
That’s a funny name.
Yes, I suppose it is.
Do you have to go now?
Sorry, but I do. I’m not very good at this, and I will need to sleep for a long time to get my strength back.
Will you come talk to me another day?
Why don’t I come and see you in person?
Milla laughed again, a twinkling of delicate chimes rising from the boarding house to find him hovering outside. That would be nice.
And Milla -
What?
Will you tell Hannah that Steven is coming, too?
I guess so.
Thank you, my dear.
Goodbye Fan – uh, Gilmour.
Goodbye, Pepperweed.
When she released him, Gilmour felt the extent of his fatigue. Nauseous, he closed his eyes, hoped he wouldn’t vomit and tumbled all the way from Pellia to Wellham Ridge.
Erynn brought drinks: beer for everyone, milk for Milla. On her way back to the Wayfarer’s kitchen, she paused to talk with a young soldier, a boy, no more than fifteen or twenty Twinmoons her senior, and looking like a child playing at dressing up in his father’s infantry uniform. He was alone, eating a bowl of stew with a loaf of bread and a tankard of beer. Hoyt watched as he reached out, surreptitiously, to touch the scullery girl’s hand. Erynn turned towards the bar, saw her father, and shifted her tray, effectively pulling herself out of range. The boy slid forward on his chair, said something Hoyt couldn’t hear, smiled, and then shrugged. She checked her father again, frowned, and hurried back to the kitchen, calling out food orders. In her handmade tunic and soiled apron she looked to Hoyt like a girl condemned to being plain for life. The avens, the smoke, the scullery basins and the nimble-fingered drunks had already left irreparable marks.
‘She needs to be careful of that one,’ Hoyt said.
‘What’s that?’ Hannah asked.
‘Erynn.’ Hoyt nodded towards the soldier. ‘That boy over there is practically bursting out of that uniform for her. Gods, look at him in that carnival suit. I have boots older than he is. He looks like he spent all morning… polishing himself!’
‘Hoyt,’ Alen grimaced, ‘not in front of Milla.’
‘What?’ Hoyt smirked guiltily. ‘I’m just saying he looks like he spent a lot of time shining up that uniform.’
‘I’ll talk with her,’ Hannah promised, ‘but can we get back to it?’ She had been reeling from Milla’s announcement that Gilmour had contacted her that morning. Conflicting feelings of joy and frustration threatened to drive Hannah mad: she wanted more information, now, about how and when the Ronans would arrive. Had Steven asked about her? Was he happy? Healthy? Looking forward to seeing her again? Alen was especially stunned, because he had slept through the entire conversation, never sensing even a flicker of his former colleague’s presence.
‘Get back to what?’ Hoyt said. ‘We know they’re coming, but we don’t know when or how, whether they’ll come overland or via the Northeast Channel. My guess is that it’ll be by sea from Orindale: there’s going to be a barrel of traffic through that passage with the Twinmoon looming. Anyone could sign on to almost anything that floats, and as long as they can get through the blockade, they’ll arrive in Pellia without a wrinkle.’
‘He’s right,’ Alen said, ‘but it worries me that Fantus-’
‘Gilmour,’ Milla interrupted, sipping her milk.
‘Sorry, Gilmour, that he didn’t say anything about the table or the key.’
‘Don’t let it bother you, Alen,’ Hoyt said. ‘If they have it, they’ll figure out how to get it here. If they don’t, then there must be some good reason for them to make the trip up the Ravenian Sea. Either way, this isn’t going to be a social call; he’s up to something, and we need to stay here until he arrives.’
Milla pouted, her eyes welling with tears.
‘What’s the matter, sweetie?’ Hannah whispered.
‘Alen said we were going to see my mama.’
‘Oh, we are, sweetie,’ Hannah assured. ‘We are. I promise. Alen promises. We just have to wait a bit longer; some special friends are coming here to meet us first.’
Milla perked up. ‘Gilmour, right? I talked to him; he’s funny. I thought he was going to fall backwards, but he didn’t; I caught him.’
‘You did what, Pepperweed?’ Alen asked.
Milla shrugged and tilted her goblet, trying to catch the last drops of milk on her tongue. ‘I had to catch him; he was going to fall.’
Alen’s brow furrowed. I had to catch him?
Hannah said, ‘So this means we can stop looking for a transport south?’
‘Right.’ Alen waved to Erynn, who was back talking with the young soldier.
‘Oh, good,’ Hoyt sighed. ‘That schooner captain was driving me strange-to-silly with his blather about a Falkan plot to rig the chain-ball championships next Twinmoon – I’d have drowned myself in the bilge by the time we reached Orindale.’
Milla giggled, echoing, ‘Strange-to-silly.’
‘So?’ Hannah asked, ‘What do we do? Just wait?’
Erynn came up behind them, her ubiquitous serving tray held at the ready.
Hoyt, not noticing the girl there, said simply, ‘No, we don’t just wait. We bury them, as many as we can without getting caught. And I suggest we start with the horsecocks running shipments along that highway.’
‘We can’t risk Milla,’ Alen said. Mention of terrorism had him immediately on edge, worried about the child prodigy.
‘No risks,’ Hoyt assured. ‘She’ll be here; she’ll be fine. It’ll be just you and me.’
Erynn cleared her throat. ‘Are you ready for some food this aven? Or can I bring you more beer?’
Hoyt and Alen exchanged a nervous glance. Hannah, smiling sweetly, said, ‘Another three beers, please, Erynn, and another milk for our driver here.’
‘All right,’ Erynn said, glancing sheepishly at Hoyt. ‘I’ll be right back.’
Hoyt forced a smile, blushing.
Hannah rescued him. ‘And Erynn, maybe later, when you’re done for the night, you and I can talk a bit.’
‘Really?’ Erynn’s eyes widened. ‘I’d love that – what about? Just… I mean we can just-’
Hannah pointedly looked over at the young soldier and smiled.
‘Oh,’ Erynn said, ‘oh, yes. All right, I’ll be done after the dinner aven.’
‘I’ll be here,’ Hannah said, giving the girl a reassuring squeeze on the forearm.
Alen frowned. ‘Do you think she heard us?’ he asked after she’d hurried back to the kitchen.
‘Of course she did.’ Hoyt, mimicking Milla, tipped his goblet to catch the last of his beer.
‘What do we do?’
‘We do nothing,’ Hannah said. ‘I’ll take care of this.’
Later, in Alen’s room, Hoyt sat on the edge of Milia’s bed, watching as the girl twirled a finger at her stuffed dog. Bits of old straw spilled from seams in its neck, hips and stomach, making the animal look like a bag of hay that had been run over by a logger’s cart. Despite its fractures and dislocations, the toy jumped and danced, flipping over, sitting up, and occasionally extinguishing and relighting the candles on the room’s small table.
Hoyt said, ‘That’s quite a dog you have there, Pepperweed.’
Milla, showing off, made the stuffed animal execute a full flip with a twist. ‘I taught him all these tricks.’
‘I can see that, but you know, Pepperweed, you can’t have him doing those tricks outside this room.’
‘I know,’ Milla sighed. ‘But if I had a real puppy-’
Hoyt picked her up and tossed her backwards into the pillows; Milla shrieked, and her dog leaped all the way to the ceiling. ‘If you had a real puppy, you could teach him great tricks. I’m sure he would be the talk of the marketplace: Milla and her Wonderdog…’ Hoyt paused.
‘Resta!’ she giggled.
‘Milla and Resta the Wonderdog!’ Hoyt bowed in mock deference. ‘People would come from the corners of the known lands to watch as Resta did… what?’
‘Wrote his name.’
‘Wrote his name!’ Hoyt laughed.
‘And sang funny songs.’
‘And sang funny songs!’
‘But didn’t chase cats or bite or growl or anything mean like that.’
‘Of course not,’ Hoyt said, tucking Milla into her blankets and blowing out her bedside candle. ‘Maybe when we get to Falkan, we’ll go looking for Resta together.’
‘Mama says dogs cost too much.’
‘Well, you let Hoyt worry about that.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘You know, I like pepperweed with gansel eggs and baked potatoes.’
‘Good night, Hoyt.’
‘Good night, Pepperweed.’
Alen joined them, said good night, and brushed two fingers gently over the girl’s hairline. Milla’s eyes fluttered a moment; she sighed through her nose and fell asleep.
‘You going out tonight?’ Alen asked.
‘Just to the waterfront. I need to ask a few questions, do a bit of eavesdropping, find out about whatever’s heading south next.’
‘More bark?’
‘I hope so, but I don’t honestly care. We’ll hit whatever they’re shipping.’
Alen pulled a leather pouch from his tunic. ‘You need bribes?’
‘No. After my last visit to the southern highway, I’m a wealthy man.’
‘All right, but be discreet.’
‘Naturally.’ Hoyt checked his sleeve for the surgical scalpel he carried. It was tarnished now and had a few deep scratches along the blade, scars from their brief tenure in the Welstar Palace prison. Hoyt’s fingertips had healed but his nails would be Twinmoons growing back.
‘How do you want to hit them?’ Whilst he knew he was expected to bring Larion magic to bear against Prince Malagon’s wagon-trains, Alen wasn’t actually sure what a terrorist raid looked like.
‘I think fire is best,’ Hoyt said. ‘It creates confusion, disables wagons, terrifies the horses or oxen, and, if we’re lucky-’
‘Incinerates the enchanted bark,’ Alen said.
‘It doesn’t do onions, flour or greenroot a lot of good either.’ Hoyt was in his element. This was a measure of vengeance for Churn. ‘Can you conjure up a pretty resilient flame?’
‘I’m sure I can figure something that’ll impress them.’
‘It mustn’t be totally impervious to their efforts; I don’t want them to realise they’re up against Larion sorcery.’
‘Right. They’ll triple the guard if they think we have magic.’
‘Or use the river as their only supply line.’ Hoyt tucked Milla’s stuffed dog into bed beside her. ‘We can’t attack one of those barges, not by ourselves.’
‘So, fire then.’
‘Fire.’
‘Good luck tonight.’
‘I’ll update you over breakfast.’ Hoyt left, quietly moving down the back stairs.
Alen sat on the edge of his own bed, watching Milla’s tiny chest rise and fall. She clutched the stuffed dog, silent now, protectively under one arm, giving the animal some much needed rest before its morning caelisthenics.
This is why I’m here, Alen reminded himself. Beset by the lassitude of so many Twinmoons hiding in Middle Fork, he hoped the feelings of hopelessness would rub off before Fantus arrived. It had been easy to marshal his enthusiasm for an assault on Welstar Palace: rage was an ardent motivator, and suicide had an endpoint, a built-in expiration. He hadn’t had to keep up his anger for very long.
This was different. Caring for a child prodigy was not what he expected to be doing a Twinmoon after leaving Middle Fork. Were he and Fantus to succeed, Milla would be one of the most powerful sorcerers in a new generation of Larion Senators. It would rest with him to see her safely home, and then through her training.
And what about you, Fantus? Alen thought. Are you well rested? Ready to be burdened with these responsibilities again? And why are you bringing the key and the table to Malakasia? Do you not know how dangerous that is?
Alen wanted a drink, perhaps a whole bucket of drinks.
‘Not tonight,’ he muttered to the window. He watched for some sign of Hoyt in the shadows but knew he wouldn’t find anything. ‘Not tonight, and perhaps not for a long time.’
He sat back on his mattress and watched Milla sleep. ‘I do have hope, though,’ he whispered to the sleeping girl. ‘I suppose that counts for something. Although sometimes I fear that all I have is hope.’
Alen waved the tapers dark and fell into his pillows. Drifting off, he thought, Nothing but hope.
‘So what’s the name of this river, anyway?’ Steven asked anyone who might know. Unlike the others, he couldn’t rest. Knowing Hannah was alive, safe and waiting for him in Pellia had Steven pacing the deck like a nervous prom date. The old wooden barge, as big as a floating parking lot, crawled towards Orindale, not covering much more than a few knots an hour. But even if it had been racing, it couldn’t move fast enough for Steven.
Gilmour sat with his back braced against the starboard gunwale; he was still tired from his attempt to contact Kantu and his longdistance conversation with the child prodigy Milla. He wondered where Kantu had discovered her – Welstar Palace, perhaps. He opened his eyes long enough to tell Steven, ‘This is the Medera River, at least north of the foothills and west of Wellham Ridge. Up in Meyers’ Vale and beyond, I’m not sure it has a name.’
‘Medera,’ Kellin said. ‘Wasn’t she Prince Draven’s mother?’ Brand Krug had ridden north for Traver’s Notch; Kellin elected to remain behind, ostensibly to offer what meagre protection she could to the sorcerers.
‘Grandmother,’ Gilmour corrected, opening his eyes now. ‘Medera was Remond and Ravena’s youngest, their only daughter. Markon and Glasson were her older brothers.’
‘Our Markon, the one from Riverend?’ Steven asked.
‘No, Markon I, his grandfather, Remond’s oldest son. He lived at Riverend Palace, ruling Eldarn when King Remond died. Glasson and Medera lived in Orindale when they were old enough to take up the reins of leadership, but it didn’t last.’
‘What happened?’ Steven asked.
Garec said, ‘I know this one. They had a war, a bloody mess. It started in the Eastlands but then spilled over into Praga and Malakasia. Right?’
‘That’s right, Garec,’ Gilmour answered. ‘Medera actually left Orindale and moved into Welstar Palace when the war began. No one ever thought to change the name of the river, I suppose.’
Steven laughed softly. ‘So she was Draven’s grandmother.’
‘Correct,’ Gilmour said. ‘Medera had Nora, Draven’s mother.’
‘And Draven had Marek,’ Garec said. ‘At least, that’s what the history books say.’
‘Right,’ Steven said, ‘I remember: Draven’s wife was the one who had the affair that produced Prince Marek.’
‘The bastard dictator,’ Kellin said.
Garec shrugged. ‘If you believe rumours – I mean, once Nerak got hold of him, it didn’t matter any more.’
‘Good point, Garec.’ Gilmour rolled gracelessly onto one hip to reach his pack. He rooted around for a loaf of bread and tore off a generous handful. Chewing, he said, ‘Glasson stayed in Orindale. He had Detria, who eventually ruled in Praga, and Remond II, who took over Falkan when Glasson died. That all happened after the war.’
‘So Remond was Tenner and Anaria’s father?’ Steven was trying to build the Grayslip family tree in his mind, glad of the distraction.
‘Sorry, wrong,’ Gilmour said, tearing off another mouthful of bread. ‘Tenner and Anaria were Elana’s children, Remond the Second’s older sister, Glasson’s middle child.’
‘But she didn’t rule Falkan,’ Garec said.
‘No, she was dough-headed; Remond took the Falkan throne soon after Glasson’s death.’
‘She was what?’ Steven asked.
‘Dough-headed,’ Gilmour explained. ‘How would you say it in English? An idiot, a lunatic, right?’
Steven shook his head. ‘It’s been a long time since you’ve visited, Gilmour. You really need to come back with me for a while.’ He looked around. ‘Where are we anyway? We didn’t come this way last time.’
‘We were in the woods south of here,’ Garec said. ‘I’m guessing we’re another day or two out of Orindale at this rate.’
‘Do you think Mark will still be there?’ Kellin asked.
‘Impossible to say,’ Gilmour said. ‘I think he’ll sail on the first outgoing tide. He’ll have no difficulty securing a ship and a crew; he will just need to ensure his captain knows the passages through the Northern Archipelago. Then he can stow the spell table and be safely on his way to Pellia.’
‘The ship won’t take him to Welstar Palace?’ Steven asked.
‘Too many shallows in the Welstar River,’ Gilmour said. ‘He’ll have to offload it to a barge or a river-runner. There’s quite a fleet of them.’ He gestured around the deck. ‘Like this one, they run with a shallow draft, even when loaded to the slats.’
‘Then that may be a chance for us to take him, when they’re transferring the table,’ Steven said. ‘He certainly can’t use it at that time so he’ll be vulnerable.’
‘We could do that here in Orindale too,’ Garec ventured.
‘I don’t know that we’ll make it before he leaves, but if we find the right captain, we might make up valuable time as we head north.’
‘That’s true,’ Garec said. ‘We ought to hire a fast boat.’
‘You ought to,’ Gilmour said. ‘Steven and I won’t be coming all the way into Orindale.’
‘What?’ Steven was taken aback. ‘Why?’
A gentle wave moved upriver and lifted the barge before moving on towards Wellham Ridge.
Garec said, ‘I don’t understand, Gilmour. Where are you going?’
‘We’ll make our way north along the coast. When we reach the fjord, we’ll take that old boat Mark rigged for us and sail out to its western end, right where it meets the ocean. Ten days from now, we’ll sail offshore and join you and Kellin en route to Pellia.’
As comfortable as Steven was hiking, biking and climbing amongst the craggy peaks of the Rocky Mountains back home, the thought of sailing a single-masted wooden catboat out into the shipping lanes off the coast of Eldarn’s largest port made his stomach clench. ‘Shit, Gilmour,’ he said, ‘I wish you’d given me a bit of warning.’
‘I hadn’t decided before this morning,’ the sorcerer explained. ‘While I was trying to find Kantu I saw something strange. There was a schooner carrying something that rippled with mystical energy, like a Twinmoon celebration at Sandcliff Palace. It clobbered me as I came by, almost knocked me out of my own spell.’
‘Was it Mark?’ Garec asked.
‘No, it was too far north.’
Kellin swallowed dryly. Despite her growing familiarity with Steven and Gilmour’s special abilities, she didn’t like the thought that that there were insidious magics hunting for them. She asked, ‘So Garec and I will hire a ship?’
‘That’s right,’ Gilmour said.
‘What do you know about ships?’ she asked the bowman.
‘Not a rutting thing.’ Garec grinned. ‘You?’
‘Less, I’m afraid.’
‘Grand,’ Garec smiled, ‘then we’re the perfect pair for this charge. But Gilmour, you need to give us more than ten days. What if we don’t find anyone setting sail right away? What if we can’t get past the blockade? What if it takes us too long to get there? You and Steven could be capsized in a storm or blown halfway to Raiders Cove.’
‘Can’t we take your ship?’ Kellin asked. ‘Can all of us fit? Or is it too small?’
‘In Mark’s boat, we’d be fish food in a matter of avens,’ Gilmour said sadly.
Steven blanched. ‘I don’t like this at all, Gilmour. Why are we doing this?’
‘Because Mark will be watching for us,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘He knows we didn’t die in Meyers’ Vale, and he knows it will only be a matter of time before we come after him. Every customs official, every dockside informant, every Malakasian sympathiser on that wharf will be looking for us, not to mention almors, wraiths, acid clouds or slimy bacterial infections he might leave waiting in the shadows. No, going into Orindale is a mistake for us.’
‘But not for us?’ Kellin asked.
‘No. Mark will track Steven and me, just like I tracked that schooner yesterday. He will search for our mystical energy – he can almost certainly sense the far portal we carry.’
The bow rose again, higher this time, and fell into the following trough with a splash.
‘What was that?’ Kellin asked.
‘Tide must be coming in,’ Garec guessed.
‘Sending waves this far upriver?’ Steven said.
‘What else could it be?’
Kellin returned to the discussion. ‘All right, so it will be more difficult for Mark to spot us.’
‘You can blend in much easier,’ Gilmour agreed.
‘Fine, but you still haven’t answered Garec’s questions.’ Kellin sidled a few steps closer to Garec. She wanted to reach out for him, but fought the urge. ‘What about the blockade, the customs officers, the informants? How can Garec and I find an honest captain willing to undertake an outlaw journey against the crown? None of them will do it. It’s a one-shot agreement: they take us to Pellia and they never work for the Malakasian Army again. Who would take us?’
Gilmour passed the rest of his loaf around. Then he said, ‘You forget, Kellin, that I have a new head, full of army knowledge. While this chubby young fellow didn’t spend much time in Orindale, he did know that the blockade around the city had broken up, so getting to the wharf ought to be quite easy; you might even decide to stay right on this barge – our captain seems happy with the fare, and he hasn’t given us a second glance all day. Also, I’ll remind you that in a deft display of self-preservation, our good friend Steven Taylor stole some sorry slob’s life savings back in Estrad.’
‘Hey, Mark found it,’ Steven broke it. ‘I gave the guy a couple of ballpoint pens. It was a fair trade!’ He smiled. ‘Well, maybe not immediately, until he invents the ballpoint himself. Perhaps we did come out on the upper end of that one.’
‘It’s a gods-rutting fortune, Steven, and you’re finally going to get to spend it buying safe passage to Pellia.’
‘With my money?’
‘Your stolen money, yes,’ Kellin said. ‘Pellia is a long way.’
‘But you’re not buying safe passage to Pellia,’ Gilmour interrupted.
‘Demonpiss,’ Garec said, ‘make up your mind.’
‘You are buying safe passage to Averil.’
‘Averil?’ Kellin said, surprised. ‘But that’s nearly a Moon’s walk from Pellia.’
Garec grinned, finally understanding. ‘We’re not going to Averil, Kellin.’
‘Well, where in the gods-rutting… oh, I see. We get him out to sea; we pick up these two, and we renegotiate our destination.’
‘Renegotiate.’ Gilmour was pleased. ‘I like that way of putting it. Yes, I do.’ He dug in his pack for a pipe and a tin of Falkan tobacco.
Steven said, ‘You are a nefarious old man, Gilmour.’
‘I am not!’ He lit his pipe with a gesture and a ring of smoke encircled his head. ‘This fellow was less than two hundred Twinmoons old. I’m as young as you.’
Kellin frowned. Something wasn’t right.
‘What’s the matter?’ Now Garec did put his arm around her.
‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘What doesn’t, my dear?’ Gilmour puffed while he spoke.
‘Why go to all the trouble of finding your boat and sailing the length of the fjord if all you’re going to do is join us on whatever vessel we hire for the trip?’
‘Because I’m betting that whatever I encountered on the Ravenian Sea yesterday is not the only shipment making its way north.’
‘I get it,’ Garec said. ‘Mark might look for you two, but what he’ll find is-’
‘Just another ship radiating magic,’ Kellin finished Garec’s thought.
‘Exactly.’
‘Like I said, Gilmour, you are a nefarious old-’
‘Young.’
‘Young man.’
Garec laughed. ‘All right. I understand, but either way, I think you should give us twelve days. There’s no telling how long it will take us to find a ship and a willing captain.’
‘Fine,’ Steven said, ‘we’ll make it twelve days, off the mouth of that fjord where I found you when I came back from Denver.’
Garec glanced at Kellin. ‘That will give us a little time to look for Versen.’
‘And maybe Sallax,’ Steven added.
‘Right. We might get luck-’
‘Wait,’ Gilmour cut him off. He stared west, his eyes focused on nothing.
Steven felt the magic gurgle to life; something was coming.
‘What is it?’ Kellin looked nervous but moved away from Garec, making more room to fight if necessary.
‘It’s Mark,’ Steven said.
Gilmour nodded. ‘The table’s open. Brace yourselves.’