A day later, when they left the innkeeper and his unhaunted tavern behind them, Tris sat with the others around a small fire at a makeshift campsite, surrounded by the noises of wild things and the darkness of the forest. He was still sweating from a thorough bout of sword practice with Soterius and Harrtuck, and he smiled to himself, recalling their praise at his growing skill. Tonight, the travelers roasted what game they had snared and sat in silence, watching the flames. They were still a day's ride from Ghorbal, a bustling trade city on a tributary of the Nu River, upstream from where that swift current grew to its mighty rush toward the sea.
Finally, Tris looked up at Harrtuck. "Tell me again what happened, out in the barracks," he said, and although effort made his voice flat, he guessed that Harrtuck could easily read the emotion in his eyes. Tris clasped his hands, staring at the flames, hoping he could maintain his composure.
"Everyone knew that there was bad blood between Jared and your father," Harrtuck began quietly, looking into the fire. "Your brother made no secret of it in the barracks, and those of us loyal to your father tried to warn Bricen. But many of the soldiers liked Jared," Harrtuck continued, "because he had simple ideas they could follow.
"After a while, some of the soldiers started to like the idea of having a young fighting man to lead the kingdom, as I'm sure Jared always intended." He paused. "Although I'm not sure the idea was completely theirs," he added, with a watchful look at Tris.
"Arontala," Tris muttered the name of the mage like a curse. "I should have guessed."
"One of Jared's men burst into the barracks and announced that the king was dead," Harrtuck went on. "A dozen of us who were loyal to the king headed for the palace, hoping that we could save you and the Queen and Kait, but we failed—except for you, my liege."
"And the others you came with?" Tris asked softly.
"All dead," Harrtuck reported. "As I would have been. You know the rest."
"Thank you," Tris said in a voice just above a whisper. He stared into the flames, trying to push away the memories. It was no use. They haunted his dreams and lingered behind every conscious thought. If only I had found a way to get father to listen, he thought miserably, clenching his fists. I should have done more, tried harder to get him to see how dangerous Arontala was, to see what Jared was really like. His nails dug into his palms until he drew blood. But then, father wouldn't listen to Kait and me when we tried to tell him how Jared beat the servants... or us. Mother tried. He wouldn't hear her either. Maybe I didn't try hard enough, often enough. I could have done more. And now, because I didn't, Kait and mother are dead.
"Tris," Carroway said softly, and Tris realized that the other had been addressing him without response for several minutes. "Don't blame yourself. You did all anyone could do."
Tris started to his feet like a snapped spring. "If I had done everything I could, we wouldn't be here," he said thickly. "Mother and Kait wouldn't be dead. I should have made father see. I should have challenged Jared. By the Whore, if I'm a mage, I should have tried to stop Arontala when he first came. He was weaker then."
"And you were just a boy," Carroway said quietly. "Your father never got around to finding a new court mage when your grandmother died. Maybe he didn't know how. Maybe he didn't want to share the power. When Jared took the initiative, I think your father was relieved. I always thought he hoped it was a sign Jared was growing out of his brawls and wenching."
"What if grandmother trained me just for that reason?" Tris cried, the words tearing hoarsely from his throat. "What if she foresaw something like this, and trained me in order to stop it? If I had studied more, practiced more, maybe the power would have come on me before this, maybe I was supposed to stop Arontala, and I failed."
"Men go mad on maybes," Harrtuck observed, watching compassionately as Tris dragged a sleeve across his eyes. "What's done is done. And it seems to me, we need to put as much distance between you and Margolan as we can. Once we're in Dhasson, we can figure out the best way to take the bastard down. But there's naught to be done tonight, except live to see morning."
Tris nodded, although sleep seemed far from likely. "I know," he said, his voice raw. "But running away doesn't seem like the most noble thing."
Harrtuck regarded him cynically. "Dead is better?" When Tris turned away, back toward the fire, Harrtuck shrugged and began helping Soterius drag some pine boughs closer to the fire for them to bed down. Carroway watched Tris in silence for a few minutes as the latter paced at the edge of the forest, deep in silent argument with himself.
When Soterius and Harrtuck went to see to the horses, Carroway ventured closer. "There really hasn't been a chance to tell you how sorry I am, about Kait and everything," he said.
"Thanks," Tris murmured in a strangled voice. "It seems like a nightmare that I'm going to wake up from any minute now, and I'll find Kait, and tell her how much I love her." He squeezed his eyes closed against the tears that came anyway, making further words impossible.
"The worst thing is, I know she's out there," Tris rasped when he could find his voice again. "I can feel it, but I can't bring her to me. There's something holding her back." His eyes met Carroway's, and Tris knew that his friend could clearly read his pain. "She's trapped, she's terrified, and I can't help her," he admitted, his voice raw. "What good is being able to talk to spirits if you can't help the ones you love the most? I can't fail her again, but I don't know how to help her."
Carroway laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I don't know how, but I know you. And if you were of a mind to listen, I'd tell you that there was nothing you could have done differently back at Shekerishet, but I know you won't hear a word I say."
Tris shook his head. "No, I won't, but thank you for saying so."
"Get some sleep," Carroway instructed. "Ban's got the first watch."
In Tris's dreams, Bava K'aa still stood as straight and uncompromising as she had in life, a dark-haired woman for whom the years added little gray and few lines. Bava K'aa had an aura of power, even without the gray robes and charcoal mantle that marked her as a spirit sorceress or Summoner.
"Tris," the dream figure summoned.
"Here, grandmother."
"The time has come," Bava K'aa said.
"For what, grandmother?"
"For you to remember my lessons," Bava K'aa replied. She reached out to take his hand, and he felt her warm flesh close around his fingers. "You must remember what you have learned. Do not be afraid. The power will come to you, Tris. I have prepared you."
"For what?" he asked again. Bava K'aa's image seemed so real and her touch so firm that it was hard to remind himself this was only a dream. He reached toward her on instinct, hungry for the comfort of her touch, and the spirit's eyes acknowledged his pain as her expression softened, then grew worried once more.
"There is a threat to Margolan and the Winter Kingdoms that is greater than Jared," the ghost-figure of his grandmother said, with the perfect assurance her tone always carried when she advised kings. "An old evil has arisen. The Obsidian King is stirring once more. Arontala seeks to free him from where we imprisoned him, long before you were born. You must stop him," she said with a gaze that seemed to stare through him and into his soul. "Seek your teachers well."
"Why didn't the power come before... before they died?" Tris demanded. "I could have stopped Arontala—"
"You were not yet ready," the ghost replied. "Power knows when the vessel is ready. I knew from your birth that you were my mage-heir, Tris," his grandmother said. "To protect you from... others... it was not safe to tell you, until the power came upon you." Her gaze was uncompromising. "I have taught you many things, and taught you to forget them, until the time was ready," she said, with a faint smile. "Now, you must remember."
"Grandmother!" Tris called. "What is the Soulcatcher?"
The spirit stopped as if stung, and great concern filled her eyes. "What do you know of the Soulcatcher?"
Tris told her about the ghost's warning. Bava K'aa listened gravely, then nodded. "I should have seen this," she said with a sigh. "When the Obsidian King was vanquished, we were too few and too worn to destroy him completely. So we bound his soul in an ancient orb, a portal to the abyss. An orb called 'Soulcatcher.' We believed it safe, but perhaps we were too confident, too anxious to be done," she mused. "If Arontala can release the Obsidian King's soul, all we labored for is lost. The Obsidian King will combine his power with Arontala's, take Arontala's body for his own, and return to rule the world." The image wavered, and Tris feared it would disappear altogether. "There are no longer enough powerful mages to defeat him, as we did, should he rise again. It would take another generation, and he would ensure that all who could threaten him would be destroyed."
Her gaze turned once more on Tris. "You must defeat Arontala. You must find a way to destroy completely the soul of the Obsidian King. All hope rests with you, my child." And before he could ask her any of the questions that echoed in his mind, the apparition vanished, and with it, the dream, leaving him startled and awake, chilled with sweat.
The fire was out, and a light frost clung to the ground. But the morning cold was not the only reason for the chill Tris felt. Never in his life had a dream felt so real. Tris realized he was shaking, and let out a breath that misted in the morning air.
While Carroway rounded out the last watch, Tris gathered wood and rebuilt the fire. The chill of the dream had still not left him, and he could hear Bava K'aa's voice ringing in his ears. Gratefully, he accepted a cup of the strong hot drink Harrtuck brewed over the fire.
"We're not too far from the last place I'd heard Vahanian was doing business," Harrtuck said, leaning against a tree, his face wreathed with the steam that rose from his mug. What the ghosts at the inn had not left for them, Harrtuck had obtained at the last village. The goods were minimal, but more than sufficient to keep body and soul together until better could be earned. Tris stretched, more saddle-sore than he had been in his life, ruefully becoming aware that a prince's life during peacetime made one painfully out of training.
Harrtuck noticed his discomfort and flashed him a wicked grin. "Give it a week, Tris," he chuckled. "You'll harden up." Tris took cold comfort that even Soterius looked stiff and sore. Harrtuck, however, seemed none the worse for the past.few days' adventures though he was a dozen years older than Tris and his friends, tribute to hard years on the road with the king's army.
"Why would Vahanian agree to be our guide?" Soterius asked, seating himself slowly by the fire and gratefully accepting the warmed rations Harrtuck dispensed. Soterius looked more dour than Tris could recall, and kept a bit more distance.
"Because we're going to pay him, for one thing," Harrtuck replied. "Because he owes me a few rather large favors, for another."
"Large enough to die for? We're rather dangerous to know these days."
Harrtuck shrugged. "I wasn't planning to announce who you were when we were introduced, if that's what you mean. Vahanian's used to running questionable cargo. There are things you ask, and things you don't. It won't be the first time he's run contraband that could get him killed." He paused. "I know you don't care for hired swords, Soterius, but sometimes, they're a necessary evil. And Jonmarc Vahanian can be trusted. That's more than can be said for some."
"He'll probably want us to travel with a caravan, at least part of the way," Harrtuck went on, chewing at a piece of roasted meat. "Most caravans are always looking for hired swords. Good mercenaries don't want to wander around waiting for action with a bunch of rug merchants, and since even wealthy caravans pay less than noble Houses, what swordsmen a caravan gets usually leave as soon as they've gotten a little experience."
"Hired swords, huh," Tris replied skeptically.
"Not such a bad life, given the alternatives," Harrtuck replied, pausing to sip his steaming drink. "Your meals are free, for one thing. That's nice when you're out on your own. And caravans are full of interesting types," he added dryly.
"It will make for a little slower progress than traveling alone," Harrtuck continued, "but we won't be as clear a target. Jared's likely to guess that you'll head for your uncle's kingdom, and he'll send people to look for you. As part of the caravan, you'll have safety in numbers. And if you can keep the bandits away, it's not a bad way to see real life in the kingdoms," Harrtuck added, finishing his drink and setting it aside on a stump. "That might be most interesting to you, my prince."
It was true, Tris thought. He knew little of the common life. He had had the classic royal training, fostered out to his uncle's for several years in his teens, been coached and prodded by a herd of tutors and advisors. But of the people themselves, he knew little. It might, as Harrtuck said, be interesting indeed.
"At least, that's what I think he'll recommend," Harrtuck said, stretching. "But with Vahanian, who knows?"
"So where do we find this legendary adventurer?" Soterius asked acidly.
Harrtuck shrugged. "Well, that's the hard part. Last I heard, he was trading near Ghorbal, on the river. We'll start there. Of course, there's no guarantee he's still there." He spat. "Hell, there's no guarantee he's still alive."
"That's a day's ride, at least," Soterius objected.
"Most likely," Harrtuck agreed. "But it's in the right general direction, so if we can't find him, we'll have lost no time."
"Sounds reasonable to me," Tris replied.
"I'm for anything that raises our chances of making it north alive," Carroway put in. "I've got far too many ideas for stories to die just yet."
Ghorbal was a thriving small city, at the crossroads of the main routes between Margolan, Principality, the river and roads east through Eastmark and Nargi. Caravans made Ghorbal their resupply stop before heading north into the very profitable territories of Principality, or to unload the "unorthodox" supplies banned by the sour-faced Nargi priests before heading into the eastern theocracy. A thriving black market existed in the Nargi borderlands near Ghorbal, where knowing the right people and paying the right bribe made it safer for smugglers to double their profits by moving contraband into the unfriendly kingdom. Further south, the river was watched by Nargi garrisons, and traders foolish enough to venture past those borders never returned.
The Tordassian Mountains lay between Ghorbal and Principality to the north, a place of treacherous passes and dark forests. That combination had served to discourage unwanted incursions from its northern neighbor, though the gems and gold of Principality and the wealthy markets of Eastmark drew intrepid traders despite the hardship. A major trade route wound north just above Ghorbal, to the best river crossing into Dhasson in over a month's ride, and through the passes into Principality with its rich mines and then to Eastmark's fabled court. That made Ghorbal a popular supply outpost. The Nargi, on the eastern banks of the Nu River downstream and to the east of Ghorbal, had no official interest in Ghorbal's wares, though smugglers found the northern border of Nargi to be a profitable market—trade to which Margolan patrols turned a blind eye. Although patrols were frequent south of Ghorbal along the river border with Nargi, above Ghorbal, they were few, leaving the flatland to the traders and the mountains to the outlaws.
Ghorbal nestled in a curve of the Nu River's largest tributary. The Nu was the wide, swift trade artery for points south and west. Although further north the Nu would become wild and nearly unnavigable, between Ghorbal and the Southern Sea, it was a trader's dream.
They left their horses tethered in a copse on the northern side of the city, as a precaution, Harrtuck explained, which permitted them to make their way through the city on foot and have a ready escape should one be needed. Ghorbal stretched out across the river plains, a tumble of low, white buildings and vast open market areas. They could hear its bustle even before they entered the city, and the morning air smelled of horses and incense, market animals and cooking meat.
"Busy place," Soterius observed as they squeezed between a trader leading a loaded cart and an obese merchant with a donkey laden with Cartelasian rugs.
"Keep your wits about you," Harrtuck warned under his breath. "Ghorbal is not a place for the timid."
"Great," Carroway muttered. He glanced around, then brightened as he saw a minstrel performing not far away. "On the other hand," he added, not taking his eyes from the bard, "this might not be such a bad place after all."
"Assuming Vahanian is even here," Tris asked, uneasy in the press of people, "Where is he likely to be?" Although Carroway had reapplied the dark dye, which masked his white-blond hair, Tris still felt vulnerable, as if the four of them stood out in the crowd, an easy mark. The sooner they left Ghorbal, the happier he would be.
Harrtuck shrugged. "Might not even be in town any more, for all I know. He doesn't make his money standing still," he chuckled. "Actually, given the ways he's made his money, he doesn't stay alive standing still." The older man stopped to get his bearings. "Been a while since I've been in Ghorbal," he rasped, looking around. "But there are two good places to start. One's the marketplace, just over that way," he said, gesturing north. "And the other's the Dragon's Bane Inn, over in the East Quarter," he added.
"Where do we start?" Soterius questioned.
"We start with both," Harrtuck replied. "You and Carroway head for the Inn. There won't be anything remarkable about a soldier and a minstrel going to the Bane, unless they arrive together," he said, glancing skeptically at Carroway. "Separate, but stay in sight of each other. Soterius, you follow Carroway. Carroway, keep your eyes open.
"Tris and I will head for the market. We'll rendezvous back at the horses at dusk. This may take a few days," Harrtuck warned. "If you find Vahanian, tell him Harrtuck has an offer for him and tell him that there's gold in it for him," he added with a grin.
"We just walk into the Inn and ask for him?" Carroway asked, perplexed.
Harrtuck raised an eyebrow. "There's few in Ghorbal don't know Jonmarc Vahanian, for good or bad. Those at the Inn were rather fond of him, last I knew, since he paid his bills and didn't often break the place up."
"Sounds like a great guy," Soterius muttered.
Harrtuck ignored the comment. "Time's wasting, boys," the armsman growled. "Wouldn't be surprised if Jared's sent troops as far east as this, looking."
"This just keeps getting better and better," Carroway replied darkly, as he and Soterius headed off for the Inn.
The closer Tris and Harrtuck got to the market, the tighter the press of bodies became in the winding streets of the city. Finally, the streets opened on to a large market area, a forest of vendors' carts, flags waving with pictures of their wares, smelling of leather and spices and roasting meat. All around them, vendors haggled with patrons, their voices rising. Other merchants hawked their wares, calling out to passers-by and holding up their goods for inspection. The cacophony of voices mingled with the clatter of carts and the staccato of hoof beats. From somewhere in the market, the sound of a minstrel rose above the din. "Where do we look?" Tris asked, uneasy in the crowd.
Harrtuck shrugged. "Could be anywhere. Might not be here at all. If the fates are fair, he's in a Nargi prison. Or dead from a bad business deal," he added.
"What does he look like?" Tris asked, scanning the crowd, his senses at high alert.
Harrtuck shrugged once more. "You'd guess he's good with a sword by his walk. He's a Borderlander by birth, but he's spent enough time on the river that he can speak their jabber like a native. Dark hair, dark eyes," Harrtuck continued. "Can charm birds out of the sky, but more often than not, he can't leave well enough alone and annoys the hell out of someone."
Tris looked out over the crowded marketplace. None of the merchants he could see came close to Vahanian's description. Too old, too tall, too heavy. They searched the marketplace for over three candlemarks, but each time Harrtuck emerged from a trader's stall, he shook his head. "Thinks he saw him a fortnight ago, hasn't seen him since," Harrtuck reported from his last enquiry, and rubbed his chin where his beard ought to be. "The last one I talked to said he saw him just last week. I think we need to find a place to stay the night. It sounds like Jonmarc comes through here regularly, so if we don't find him today, we might be luckier tomorrow."
Tris frowned. "Unless the Margolan guards catch up with us in the meantime."
Harrtuck shrugged. "Possible. But there are a lot of roads out of Margolan. More than a few roads north don't come through Ghorbal. And unless the entire army is looking, it will take them a while to look in all the villages along the way. Besides, it's the best plan we've got."
"I know," Tris replied nervously, "but it doesn't mean I like it."
On the second day, they worked their way down more of the narrow, winding streets of Ghorbal. On a tip, they lingered for two candle-marks near the entrance to a silk merchant's warehouse where the man said he thought he saw Vahanian just that morning. But before anyone emerged from the warehouse, Tris spotted three guards in the livery of Margolan on horseback.
"We've got company," he whispered to Harrtuck. They retreated into an alehouse until the guardsmen moved on, but the encounter made Tris feel even more vulnerable.
"We're not going to be able to wait here forever," he murmured to Harrtuck, as they sat in the shade of a kerif vendor's shop and sipped the hot, bitter drink while they watched passers-by.
"Patience," Harrtuck counseled. "He's here. I'm sure of it. He's got his own reasons to lay low. But there are too many people who've spotted him recently. He'll be back."
They repeated their inquiries the next several days, piecing together more clues about Vahanian's movements. Finally, on the seventh day since their arrival in Ghorbal, Harrtuck veered toward the stall of a rug merchant who was hawking his wares in the thick river patois of the Cartelasian traders.
Tris hung back, watching for any sign that he and Harrtuck might be attracting undue interest. So far, the traders and buyers seemed intent on their business, unfazed by a few more strangers among them.
"We're looking for a trader," Harrtuck began, but once he lapsed into the unintelligible patois, Tris could not follow his conversation. After a few minutes, he returned to where Tris stood, and planted his hands on his hips.
"Well, he says that wagon over there belongs to Vahanian, but he hasn't seen him around all morning," Harrtuck said, gesturing to a sturdy wagon filled with bolts of cloth. The wagon was still hitched to a strong horse, tethered near the entrance to three branching side streets. Just the right spot for a quick getaway, Tris thought. "So assuming he hasn't been hauled in by the authorities, if we keep his wagon in sight, we should find him."
"Eventually," Tris added. He was uncomfortable out in the open. Carroway had altered their appearances, dying Tris's white-blond hair an unremarkable shade of brown, and chopping his own fashionable court style into a more common style. Soterius's hair was lightened to a muddy blond, and Harrtuck had shaved off his beard. Still, there was only so much that the disguises could do to hide them from anyone truly searching.
A commotion erupted, and Tris strained to see more. At least a dozen Nargi priests were clustered around a row of merchants near the wharf, gesturing angrily and shouting in their clipped, staccato language. It was starting to get ugly, as their voices rose and the priests began to ransack the traders' wares, shouting even louder as they held up goods and shook them for emphasis. Tris took a step closer to get a better look when Harrtuck grabbed his arm and pulled him into an alcove.
"We've got trouble, m'boy," the armsmaster breathed. "Those Margolan guards are back, and they're coming this way. Don't turn," he hissed.
"We've got to warn the others."
"No time. They're smart enough to get back to safety," Harrtuck growled, stepping behind a stack of baskets.
"Those guards aren't just wandering around, they're looking for someone," Tris added, keeping an eye on the three guardsmen, who made their way through the crowd, asking questions. From behind the pile of baskets, Tris watched as the guards approached a woman in a blue robe who nodded as they talked with her and gestured toward where he and Harrtuck had stood moments before. "They're coming our way."
"Over here," Harrtuck rasped, dragging Tris by the sleeve toward Vahanian's wagon. The large cart overflowed with rolls of Cartelasian rugs and bolts of fine Kourdish silks. With the cart between them and the street, Harrtuck nudged Tris. "Climb in, m'boy," Harrtuck whispered. "Unless the guards mean to search every merchant, we can wait for Vahanian here."
They no sooner burrowed beneath the carpets and silks before the voices of the Nargi priests reached them, even louder and more strident. Chaos erupted as the arguments turned to shouts and stacks of goods crashed to the ground. From their hiding place, Tris and Harrtuck could see little, but the sound of running footsteps pounded closer.
Suddenly, the cart lurched forward, then began to roll faster, straight toward the Margolan guardsmen. Behind them, the angry priests came almost within reach of the cart's back gate.
"You there, stop!" the guardsmen ordered, but the wagonmaster paid no heed, driving his cart and horse at breakneck speed.
With a cry, the wagonmaster rode straight for the hapless guards, giving them no choice but to throw themselves out of the way or be ridden down. The tangle of angry priests gave chase, plowing past the guardsmen and knocking them back as the desperate priests lunged toward the escaping cart.
Tris and Harrtuck struggled to hold on as the cart lurched down the rutted street. The rolls of carpet and bolts of silk pummeled them as the wares bounced and shifted. "Hang on!" Harrtuck hissed as the cart cornered on two wheels, spilling some of its precious cargo behind it. The Nargi priests, unable to run any longer, hefted the spilled silks and carpets in the air, still shouting curses and threats.
Heedless of the crowd, the wagon's driver careened through the streets. "Where is he going?" Tris managed through clenched teeth as he struggled to hold on. A roll of carpet whacked him in the head from behind as two more slippery bolts of silk slid down on him from the front, burying him. Some of the loose silks flew behind them on the breeze like richly colored flags.
"Don't know, but he's riding like the Avenger herself is behind us," Harrtuck rejoined, struggling for a handhold and being pummeled by falling carpets.
Their driver gave a cry of exultation as the wagon shot out of the city gates and onto the open road. "We're going to have a long walk back," Tris muttered, hanging on with all his might, his arms aching from the strain. There was no choice but to stay with the wagon, wherever it was headed, at least until it slowed. Finally, at least a half a candlemark after they left the city, the wagon reduced its breakneck pace, then stopped near a small grove of trees.
"Where are we?" Tris whispered. Harrtuck shrugged. "Do you think he knows we're here?"
Harrtuck shook his head. "Can't. Whoever it was wasn't even in sight when we—"
Just then, a crossbow bolt thudded into the carpet a handsbreadth from Harrtuck's shoulder.
"I would advise you to move real slowly," a man drawled. "My aim gets better on the second shot."
Harrtuck broke into a broad grin. "By the Whore!" he spat. "That was your best shot," the armsman rejoined. Tris looked at the soldier as if he were mad, but Harrtuck's grin broadened further.
"Come out!" the wagonmaster ordered, but Tris could hear a shade less certainty in their captor's tone. Slowly, hands raised, Tris and Harrtuck pushed off the bolts of silk and rolls of carpets that covered them and stood.
Their captor's crossbow was notched and leveled at their chests. He was young, perhaps ten seasons Tris's senior, with chestnut brown hair that fell shoulder length in a neat queue. His dark eyes glinted with a quick intelligence, and his tan spoke of seasons spent outdoors. A scar ran from below his right ear down into his collar. But what struck Tris most was the self-assurance in the way he held the crossbow, and in the solid, fighter's stance that told his captives that his marksmanship was no bluff.
"Vahanian?" Tris breathed, his hands still raised in surrender.
"Would you put that toy away, Jonmarc?" Harrtuck groused good-naturedly. "The blood is running out of my fingertips."
Jonmarc Vahanian looked at Harrtuck in astonishment for a heartbeat, and then slowly unnotched and lowered his bow. After another instant, a broad, lopsided grin broke across his handsome features. "Harrtuck, you old devil," he laughed, stepping forward.
Harrtuck embraced him, and slapped him hard on the back. "You're still alive, Jonmarc," he greeted. "Business must be good."
Vahanian dismissed the remark with a shrug. "You know me, Tov. I get by."
"Who were your friends back at the marketplace?" Harrtuck asked. "Never saw you near so many priests before in my life. I thought for sure the Crone would strike you dead."
Vahanian laughed. "I was just getting a friendly lecture from the local, ah, merchants' guild," he said, but his expression made it plain that he relished the altercation.
"Since when are priests interested in what you have to offer?" Harrtuck asked skeptically. "Don't tell me you've taken a vocation?" he joked.
Vahanian guffawed. "Not likely, unless it's with the Dark Lady," he laughed. "I probably owe her more than a lifetime's service." He sobered. "I've been running some goods into Nargi," he added. "Cartelasian carpets and the like."
Harrtuck stared at him, perplexed. "Why would carpets get a reaction like that from the priests?"
Vahanian stared at the sky in mock innocence. "Couldn't say. Except that somewhere along the line, someone stuffed the carpet rolls with Mussa silks and Tordassian brandy."
Tris watched the entire exchange mutely, trying to get a sense of the adventurer-merchant. If Vahanian had survived smuggling past the Nargi for long, he must certainly be as good as Harrtuck boasted. But if he were as motivated by profit as he appeared, Tris thought with concern, the sizable bounty Jared almost certainly placed by now might win out over any friendship that Harrtuck presumed. He watched the two men banter and tried to relax, but kept one hand close to his sword.
"You haven't explained yet why you were hiding in my cart, Tov," Vahanian said.
Harrtuck drew a deep breath. "I've got a business proposition for you, Jonmarc. We need a guide."
Vahanian looked from Harrtuck to Tris and back again. "We?"
"Myself, this young man, and two others," Harrtuck replied, sidestepping introductions. "We need to go north, to Dhasson."
"So go," Vahanian countered. "Lots of people do it without a guide."
Harrtuck shook his head. "It's a bit more complicated than that, Jonmarc. You know what the roads north are like come winter, and we're nearly on the storm season. A guide is the difference between making it through and freezing to death, and I've no mind to cheat the Goddess on this one." He paused. "And there's another small aspect I haven't mentioned," he said slowly. "We've got a rather hot cargo to deliver."
Vahanian grinned. "Now you're speaking my language." He frowned. "But Dhasson has open borders. There's not much to smuggle that they won't trade openly, besides dreamweed and you know I don't handle dreamweed."
Harrtuck fixed him with a hard stare. "I don't anticipate trouble getting into Dhasson, Jonmarc. It's getting out of Margolan," he said evenly. "And the cargo is human."
Vahanian looked at Tris with a long, even stare before looking back at Harrtuck. "Say on," he said, his voice skeptical.
Harrtuck shrugged. "I have three friends who witnessed an indiscretion on the part of a rather important nobleman," he lied. "They saw him murder another noble. They managed to get away, but the murderer knows they witnessed the crime. He's placed a bounty to make sure they die before they have the chance to tell the dead man's friends. The three young men have other plans," Harrtuck said drolly.
Vahanian's face was an unreadable mask, and his dark eyes looked skeptical. "Ah, you know you're a good friend of mine, Toy," he hedged, a hint of the river patois coming into his voice. "But I don't usually run people as cargo for a very good reason. I'm rather fond of my neck."
"I happen to know for a fact, Jonmarc, that you'll run anything except slaves and dreamweed for the right price."
"It would have to be pretty damn high."
"Twice the bounty, once we reach Dhasson safely," Harrtuck offered, his scarred, boxer's face taking on a cagey expression.
Vahanian looked skeptical. "In gold?"
"In gold," Harrtuck promised.
"And who's going to be so glad to get these witnesses that he'll pay such an outrageous sum?"
"King Harrol."
Vahanian was silent for a moment and looked hard at Tris as if trying to decode the last few minutes' conversation. "The king, huh," he said uncertainly after a pause. "So when you said 'hot,' you might have been understating it?" he asked dryly.
"Perhaps just a wee bit," Harrtuck admitted.
"And how well-heeled is the noble who wants these two?"
"He's got an ample treasury," Harrtuck replied. "Enough to hire scouts and bounty hunters, and pay spies from here to the border."
"Uh huh," Vahanian replied. He looked at Harrtuck. "And what's to keep me from seeing if this noble's willing to up the ante?" the mercenary asked.
Harrtuck shrugged. "Nothing. Except that he's got a blood mage keeping him in power and keeping the people under his thumb." Harrtuck raised his eyes to fix Vahanian's gaze, and Tris had a feeling that much more was being communicated between the two than what was said. "The same one you ran into back in Chauvrenne," he added, his eyes narrowing.
For an instant, before Vahanian's impassive mask slipped back into place, Tris thought he saw a reaction in the smuggler's eyes. Vahanian gave another appraising glance at Tris, and then his jaw set. "I don't like it, Tov, but I'll do it,"
Vahanian said. "But you knew that before you ever found me."
Harrtuck grinned. "I suspected, but I didn't know. You're a good man, Jonmarc."
"I'm a fool in a business where fools die young," Vahanian snapped. "Don't forget for a moment that I expect to be paid well."
"I wouldn't dream of it, Jonmarc," Harrtuck replied blithely. "Now, let's find a place to stay the night and unhitch this nag of yours so I can ride back to Ghorbal for the other two members of my party."
When Soterius followed Harrtuck and Carroway into a roadside tavern upriver from Ghorbal, they found Tris waiting with Vahanian. "And this is the last member of the party," Harrtuck introduced as Soterius joined them. "Ban, former captain of arms for our dubious noble," he added, with a meaningful glance to Soterius.
Vahanian looked Soterius over with a practiced eye. "Captain of arms, huh," he said, his voice making it clear that he was not impressed. "You pretty good with that thing?" he said, nodding toward the sword that hung at Soterius's belt.
Soterius met his gaze and his challenge. "I didn't get to be captain by accident," he replied levelly. "I could outfight any of my men, and they were all trained by a master."
"Uh huh," Vahanian replied, looking away distractedly, as if he had already reached his conclusions. "Well, I'm your guide now, which means you're paying me to get you to Dhasson alive, so it's my rules." He turned back toward the fire. "Rule number one, kill the bastard or get the hell out of the way."
Soterius bristled, but a warning glance from Harrtuck tempered his reply. "And rule number two?" he asked, not attempting to hide the insolence in his tone.
Vahanian glanced back at him with a hint of wry amusement. "Give me plenty of leg room," he replied cryptically.
"Who does that guy think he is?" Soterius muttered later, when he and Tris headed up the stairs together toward their rooms.
Tris chuckled. "Apparently Harrtuck thinks Vahanian's opinion of himself is deserved," Tris said, amused at Soterius's reaction. "For what Harrtuck agreed to pay him, it had better be."
They entered the room that the five of them had paid extra to have for themselves, and Soterius nodded toward Vahanian, who was looking out the window onto the street below. "How much did Harrtuck tell him?" he asked in a whisper.
"Not much," Tris replied. "Gave him the basic story, left a few things out. Offered to pay him twice the bounty once we reach the palace at Dhasson alive. So Vahanian knows we're hot, but not who we are."
"Or quite how hot," Soterius added, looking toward the fighter once more. "Do you trust him?"
Tris shrugged. "No. At least, not yet. If he's an honest mercenary, he won't change sides in the middle of a war. Harrtuck's fought beside him, so that's something. But I don't think he stays alive by being overly sentimental."
"Then we're thinking alike," Soterius replied. "I'll keep an eye on him."