He had no choice. Even as he realized it, he hated how easily he confessed everything to this man. Yes, Kosenmark left Tiralien weeks ago. There was a ship. A meeting. Where? Tuř on Osek. No, he did not know the ship’s final destination, but yes, the matter did concern the recent events in Osterling Keep. The rest he did not know, did not—
He choked. Abruptly the magic released him. Gerek fell to the floor, gasping for breath. He heard, through the thundering in his ears, Khandarr giving orders but he could not make out the words.
Then, unexpectedly, a loud hammering at the door, and someone demanding entry in the name of the watch. One of Khandarr’s men doused the lamp, the other flung himself against the door. Gerek scrabbled away from his captors, shouting for help. One man grabbed him by the collar and cuffed him across the face. Gerek wrestled with the man and they both fell to the floor, taking Khandarr with them.
The door burst open. Khandarr gabbled more Erythandran, but he was too late and too slow. A dozen men poured inside, all of them wielding clubs. Gerek ducked under one man’s arm, rolled over in time to see another bring his weapon down hard on Khandarr’s head. Khandarr collapsed into a heap. There was a brief struggle before the intruders subdued his two men.
Gerek snatched up Khandarr’s staff and backed into a corner, breathing heavily. One of the strangers—the new set of strangers, that is—gazed around the cramped room. The others fell into that waiting quiet of soldiers expecting orders. Gerek shifted his grip on the staff.
The stranger’s gaze fell on him. To Gerek’s surprise, the man smiled. A brilliant, open smile, completely at odds to what had just transpired. He was so taken aback, it took Gerek a few moments before he recognized the man. Alesso Valturri. “You,” he breathed.
Valturri smiled, a lazy seductive smile that reminded Gerek of Dedrick. Or Kosenmark. “I am delighted you remember me. However, we do not have time for pleasantries.” He turned to the others and gave them a rapid string of orders. Then he held out a hand to Gerek. “Come.”
But Gerek refused to trust him so easily. “What happened? How did you find me?”
Alesso sighed. Motioned for the others to leave the room.
“I cannot blame you for mistrusting me,” he said. “So, let me begin again. You know Kosenmark and I had an agreement. No? I am disappointed but not surprised. Listen to me then. Your Lord Kosenmark offered certain assistance to me and my associates, in return for other favors. In the spirit of that assistance, I followed these three men to Tiralien’s wharves.”
Gerek gripped his aching head in both hands. “A very good story. Thank you for the distraction.”
Valturri grabbed Gerek by his shirt and shoved him against the wall. “Listen, you stammering idiot. Your Lord Kosenmark expects a ship. I learned that in his own household. What he, and you, do not understand is that Khandarr’s agents have taken your agent and all his records. Your man is dead, do you understand? He killed himself before they could question him. So they decided to arrest you.”
Gerek absorbed this news with dismay. So very plausible. Too plausible. “How do you kn-kn-know that?”
Alesso shrugged. “Does it matter how I know? What does matter is that you must get to the ship and tell them to sail at once. Never mind about the stores or all the rest. Leave before this one”—he gestured toward Khandarr, lying insensible at their feet—“recovers and closes the port.”
Gerek wanted to argue, but he was too sick to make the effort. And too much of Alesso’s explanation made sense. The man might be a questionable ally, but he was right in this matter. He rubbed his aching head. “Very well. I will go at once.”
Alesso’s grin was unnerving, almost gleeful. “And I will come with you.”
* * *
IT TOOK THEM
longer than Alesso liked, but Gerek only had the name of the ship and the captain, not where they had anchored, and they were both too wary to use these names indiscriminately. Eventually they found the ship—it lay well off shore—and hired a boat to take them over.
The argument with the captain took longer. At first the man would not believe Gerek. But when Gerek repeated the sum of money paid, named the presence of Ralf and Udo, and recited the exact instructions he had written to the agent, and finally remembered the code words passed along by Ralf and Udo to ensure just such an emergency, the captain relented.
“Have you read those instructions?” Alesso asked.
The captain shook his head. “My orders were to read them once at sea.”
“Do it now,” Gerek said.
The man took Kosenmark’s letter from a locked chest. Ran his hands over the paper and tried the wax seal. He shook his head. “No good, sir. I don’t know magic, but I know enough that it won’t open without the right spell.”
“Let me see it,” Alesso said.
He, too, tried a few spells but to no effect. While the other two muttered about secret orders, Gerek examined the letter. He was an amateur, he reminded himself. And yet, so was the captain. Kosenmark surely did not expect Gerek or an unknown captain to decipher such a key.
He went through all the instructions. They were simple, short. Read everything. How many ways could a man interpret that? Read the instructions. Every word. Wasn’t that obvious?
Oh. Now I understand.
“To the captain,” he said softly. “Read everything. Private orders.”
The envelope unfolded. Inside was a single short paragraph:
Sail to Hallau, Jelyndak Islands. Send a boat with six men into the old city. We will keep a watch for you, but if we are detained, have the men wait ten days. Return once more in three weeks. If that meeting fails, depart the region at once. Send word through the agent for further instructions. Above all else, do not hail any other ships.
Alesso and the captain were both staring at him. He felt a bit shaken himself. He handed the letter to the captain, who read it through quickly. Gerek watched as a series of emotions passed over the man’s face—surprise, curiosity, and a measure of unease. “You have your orders, with one difference,” Gerek told him. “If our companions fail to show, you take your further instructions from me.”
And Lir help us if that happens.
But he would consider that difficulty later. For now, he only wanted to depart as swiftly as the winds allowed. “How soon can you set sail? At once?”
“The next tide,” the man answered. “Within the hour.”
“Then do it.” To Alesso’s unspoken question, he added, “We don’t have time to disembark. As you said, the ports will close any moment. Besides, you and I know too much.”
* * *
THE SHIP’S SURGEON
saw to Gerek’s injuries at once. After that, though the hour was early, the captain fed them well at his table, while the crew ordered a cabin for their use. After they had dined, Alesso remained with the captain and Kosenmark’s two guards to discuss a course that would keep them away from any other ships. Gerek retired to their cabin. It was small—barely wide enough for two hanging cots, and a couple sea chests stacked in one corner. A covered lamp swung from its chain, sending a ripple of light and shadow over the walls.
Gerek climbed awkwardly into the cot nearest the porthole. Dinner and a quantity of good wine had done much, but his jaw still ached, and every movement reminded him of the slash across his chest. Tomorrow he would see the ship’s surgeon again for another application of herbs. Now … now he wanted nothing more than to lie quietly.
No, that was not the truth. The truth was that he wished himself back in Tiralien, in his own snug rooms. He wished for a quiet dinner, a book to read. He wished …
I wish I had one more chance to speak with Kathe.
That would come later. How much later, he did not know. It was the old conundrum of the magical journey, where you could not reach home before traveling through all the rest of the worlds first. Well, he did not have to travel through all the worlds, just to Hallau Island and Lord Raul Kosenmark. It was a long enough voyage, for all that, he thought and yawned.
He fell asleep to the creaking of the rigging and the rush of water against the ship.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THROUGHOUT THE NEXT
ten days, Ilse and Raul and their companions traveled as a military company. It was an aspect of Raul that Ilse had never suspected before. She had known him as a sophisticated nobleman, trained in matters of state, someone gifted in both conversation and weaponry. She had not considered he knew anything about wilderness travel and commanding soldiers.
“I learned from my father,” Raul said, when she asked. “He had served as a garrison commander in his younger days. Later, he found it useful to maintain a private company. They patrol the more remote regions of Valentain, and deal with smugglers along the coast. I served under our senior officers for a while, then led my own squad the year before I left for Duenne.”
“I never guessed,” Ilse murmured. “Though I should have.”
Raul’s mouth tilted into a smile. “It would be terrible, if you had guessed everything about me within a few months. It leaves us nothing for the future.”
The future. Which would be delayed for three years.
Her eyes stung with tears. She had not allowed herself to weep these past two weeks. She wanted to remember this interval with joy, a secret treasure to hold tight throughout her exile. Raul guessed her mood, but in silent agreement, he, too, never spoke of their coming separation. For the most part, they kept their conversation on the present—the hills turning green and golden with the advancing season, the logistics for setting up camp. Even that mention of his childhood was brief.
It was too much like their last hours in Tiralien, she thought.
“Until forever,” Raul murmured.
She glanced toward him sharply. He did not meet her gaze, but she could tell that his thoughts echoed hers.
Until forever, yes. He had promised that once. He was a man who kept his promises.
They had eight more days together, she told herself. Then a temporary exile. At least its ending lay within her control. She had but to find the third jewel and she could return. Their plans did not end there, of course. Until the exile began, however, she would not dwell upon further obstacles.
* * *
FIVE DAYS INTO
their journey to the coast, the guard named Katje returned with a letter from Raul’s secretary in Tiralien. Valara observed the woman’s return from the edge of camp. Two guards sent, only one came back. Interesting. She noted how Kosenmark and Ilse Zhalina vanished for a private conference, well away from the campsite. She also noted how the other guards did not ask about their missing companion. More of Lord Kosenmark’s mysterious plans, which he had not bothered to share with her.
The private conference lasted nearly an hour. Valara mistrusted this delay, mistrusted this obvious exclusion. But when Kosenmark at last summoned her to join them, she hid her irritation. He was a king, whether or not he admitted it, and he behaved like one. She could picture her grandfather or father acting just the same. Or herself, once her council installed her on Morennioù’s throne.
The letter itself was short. Kosenmark’s secretary reported the ship acquired. Outfitting and repairs were nearly complete, and the captain predicted their ship would sail within the next week. The secretary also reported that the watch on the ports continued, with reinforcements brought in from neighboring garrisons. The royal fleet had doubled its patrols along the coast, by direct order of the king.
Which means by order of Markus Khandarr.
“What if your people arrive early?” she asked. “Or late?”
“The captain has his orders to send a boat to the island. The ship itself stands off the coast. If necessary, it sails away to avoid any encounter with the royal fleet. I have given my people a list of alternate plans to meet in case our first attempt fails. Once we come to the last of these, however, the world will rightfully judge us dead.”
Valara digested this information. It was more detail than she had requested. He had done her the honor of speaking candidly, at least about this subject. “And if we arrive early?” she asked.
“We wait our own ten days. If the ship does not appear, we must assume they have encountered difficulties.”
Difficulties, another word for secrets betrayed and plans come to grief.
“In that case,” Kosenmark added, “we must withdraw and devise a new strategy.”
She found herself smiling at the phrase, caught him smiling in return.
Ah, he is a dangerous man. Too charming and clever.
She would have to guard against that.
The following morning, they set off at a much faster pace. Kosenmark had rejected Valara’s suggestion of horses. They could move more easily, more unobtrusively, without them. So they marched at a punishing pace through the hills above the Gallenz River, angling north and east toward the coast, until they came to a small fishing village named Isersee.
There, Detlef bargained with the local fishermen for a boat and a pilot. The terms were high. The men obviously suspected these tough-faced warriors to be smugglers or brigands. In the end, however, they provided their largest boat, a single-masted cutter, which the village used to fish the outer reaches of the bay.
“What if they betray us?” Valara murmured to Kosenmark, after he finished speaking with Detlef.
“That is my concern,” he said. “You will have sailed far beyond pursuit before they can.”
An unsatisfactory answer. She would not be beyond Armand of Angersee’s grasp until she landed on Enzeloc Island, if then. Luxa’s Hand had already proved insufficient to the right spells. She rubbed her throat, remembering how her tongue had become like a separate creature under Khandarr’s magic. Markus Khandarr might not be Leos Dzavek’s equal, but he had more than enough skill to make him a dangerous enemy.
They sailed at dawn with the turning of the tide. Heavy blue clouds obscured the sky. The clouds thinned toward the horizon, and pale sunlight glanced over the rolling swells. Three fishermen had offered their services to Detlef, and together with Kosenmark’s versatile guards, they set the single sail and laid in a course for the southeast.