Tonight would not provide the chance she sought. These Minions weren't fools. Each night they made camp in an open spot where cover was scarce. Two tents always sat in the center of the camp, surrounded by the others. She was sure that those belonged to the Jin'Sai, Celeste, and the wizard. Tonight was no exception. Deciding that she would have to wait yet again, she retreated into the woods.
Her campsite was sparse, allowing her to move quickly should she need to. She had tied her gelding and her packhorse to a nearby tree. The saddlebags containing her food and weapons lay within easy reach on the forest floor. She had no fire, for she couldn't risk being discovered. A blanket lay on the ground, and her saddle served as her pillow. When dawn came she would rise, eat something quickly, and then set out again to find the warriors circling the sky in the distance.
She reached into a pocket of her tattered dress and removed a piece of folded parchment. She had been carrying it ever since Ivan had first given it to her in the dank cellar of the archery shop. At the time, she had thought his self-important skulduggery silly. But now-two kills later-she had to admit that the traitorous consuls and their unknown confederate in the palace had been immensely helpful.
She unfolded the parchment and held it up to the moonlight, memorizing the address on it and its related code phrases.
She looked back up at the three magenta moons. It would be at least ten hours until dawn, so she should have plenty of time to visit the nearby village. Besides, she thought, maybe they'll have some real food. She refolded the parchment and hid it in her boot.
After changing from her disguise into her usual clothing, she strapped her daggers onto her thighs and put on her cloak. She made certain that her packhorse was securely tied to the tree, then she mounted her gelding and set off. It would be slow going through the forest until she came to the road, but it would give her valuable time to think.
So far, the Jin'Sai and his group seemed to be sticking to the roads, heading northwest. They had avoided the few towns along their route. Only three hours earlier the royal party had gone around a small hamlet called Morningshire-no doubt in order to avoid the Minions frightening the inhabitants. Satine had chosen to continue following the royal party, rather than risk losing them by detouring through the village, which her parchment listed as the location of one of the rural consular sanctuaries. Once the prince and his companions had made camp for the night, she would be free to double back to the village and check to see if there was a message waiting for her there.
Once she emerged onto the road, she memorized the spot where she exited the forest, then turned her horse southeast and spurred him into a relaxed gallop.
Half an hour later, she could see the lights of Morningshire. She slowed her horse and entered the village cautiously. Few people were out and about; those on the streets took little heed of her. Morningshire struck her as the kind of place that wanted little to do with the rest of the world, and that suited her just fine. She passed a schoolhouse on her right, and then a small inn on her left. As she continued, a livery, a general store, and a bakery appeared out of the darkness and then retreated again, each of them closed.
She recalled the address: 555 Everwood Lane. It certainly sounded innocent enough-hardly the kind of place that might harbor dangerous, endowed rebels against the crown. She finally saw a sign marked Everwood Lane, and turned her horse at the corner.
The sanctuary proved to be a modest, thatch-roofed cottage. Warm light could be seen coming through the front windows; a swinging bench hung beneath the porch roof. Hickory-scented smoke curled out of the chimney, reminding her how cold she was. And a wreath of wildflowers hung from the door, indicating that a message awaited her inside.
She climbed down off her horse and looked around. Everything seemed peaceful. She tied the gelding to the rail. Without a sound she stepped onto the porch and walked to the door. After knocking twice, she reached beneath her cloak and settled her hands on the hilts of her daggers.
The door swung open. An old man stood there. He had to be ninety Seasons of New Life if he was a day. He very much reminded her of Aeolus. Despite his advanced age, he stood erect. He was bald, dressed in simple peasant's garb, and his sharp eyes looked her up and down. In one hand he grasped a long-stemmed clay pipe.
"Can I help you?" he asked quietly. His graceful fingers guided the clay pipe into his mouth and he clamped down on it with his teeth. This old man didn't seem like the other two consuls she had met. Satine wondered if she had come to the wrong place.
"Pardon me," she said, "but I'm looking for the master of the house. Can you tell me if he's here?"
"You're looking at him, lass," the man said. His voice was strong and deep.
Surprised, Satine continued to size him up. He didn't look like a threat to anyone-much less like one of the vaunted Consuls of the Redoubt.
"I've been told that calmatrass berries are in season and that you sell them," she said, using the code phrase she had read on the parchment.
"Right on both counts," he answered. A whiff of smoke escaped his pipe bowl. "I sell them by the pound."
Upon hearing the proper phrase come back in return, Satine raised an eyebrow. "In that case I'd like to buy some," she answered back. "I want to make a pie."
With a wry smile, the man pushed the door open wider. Her hands still lightly on her daggers, Satine walked inside.
The cottage was modest, but it was warm and clean. On the far side of the room a fire danced in a fieldstone hearth. A stout, elderly woman with a bun of gray hair bustled about in the adjoining kitchen. The smell of warm food made Satine's stomach growl.
The man closed the door behind her. "How long has it been since the Gray Fox has eaten?" he asked. His endowed hearing had apparently not missed the rumbling of her gut. She began to relax a little.
"I've been three days without hot food," she answered.
The man turned to look at his wife. "Evelyn, please fix a plate," he said. "We have important company." Evelyn smiled back.
The man beckoned Satine to a table. She removed her cloak and sat down. She welcomed the warmth that had begun to seep into her bones. The man poured out two glasses of wine.
"What is your name?" Satine asked.
"I am Shamus," he answered. He smiled. "And I am well aware that there is no point in asking yours."
Satine took a sip of wine. "You don't look like a consul," she said.
Smirking, Shamus took the pipe from his mouth and he placed it in a bowl.
"Really?" he asked. "Tell me, lass. Just what is one of us supposed to look like?" He gave her a wink. "Don't make the mistake of painting us all with the same brush."
He was right. Her only association with consuls had been with the menacing Bratach and his greasy underling Ivan. This calm, married man in his neat little country cottage seemed worlds away from their kind. But if he was a consul, married or not, he was powerful.
Evelyn appeared with a plate of food. It looked like stew-mutton with rosemary, Satine's nose told her-and boiled red potatoes. A big hunk of aged cheese sat on one side of the plate.
Satine began to shovel the food in hungrily. Shamus remained silent for a time as he watched her eat. When she was done, Satine wiped her mouth and sat back in her chair. Shamus poured her another glass of wine.
"Thank you," she said. "Now then, what is the message you have for me?"
Shamus' face darkened a bit. "Let's the three of us go and sit by the fire," he answered.
Satine nodded, picked up her wine glass and followed the consul and his wife to the fireplace. The three overstuffed chairs looked very comfortable. Satine sat and crossed one of her long legs over the other.
Shamus noticed that his pipe had gone out. He took a wax taper from the mantle and set it alight in the fire. Soon the pipe was smoking again. Waving out the taper, he looked at Satine.
"Forgive me," he said. "Would you like a pipe?" Satine shook her head.
Shamus sat down across from his wife, w
ho took up her knitting as she settled into her chair.
Seeing that the fire was low, Shamus called the craft. A dry hickory log from the pile next to the hearth lifted into the air to gently land atop the ones already burning. Its smoky fragrance gradually filled the room. Apparently satisfied, Shamus turned his attention to Satine.
"Bratach and Ivan are dead," he said.
Satine took a quick breath. Leaning forward, she scowled.
"How?" she asked.
"Faegan," he answered. "It had to be. Bratach was found in the tunnel, hanging in a web of the craft. He had bled out. He could have been killed by the wizard, or it might have been suicide. There is no way to know."
"Why would he commit suicide?" she asked.
"He would have gladly taken his own life, rather than be forced to reveal information to the wizards of the Redoubt," Shamus answered.
"We all would."
"And Ivan?"
"His body-or should I say, what was left of it-was found upstairs. It seems he was blown apart by a bolt of the craft. In any event, you will be receiving no more help from them. I strongly suggest that you never visit that archery shop again."
Satine sat back in her chair. She had never liked Bratach or Ivan, but she had come to rely upon the information they provided her. This would make her sanctions more difficult.
"How will you proceed?" Shamus asked her.
The Gray Fox thought for a moment. "I will keep going," she answered. "There are four more people on my list. I'm following two of them now. To the best of my knowledge, the other two remain in Tammerland. If I can dispatch the ones I'm following, then I can deal with the others at my leisure. But without benefit of Bratach and Ivan's information, things will be more difficult. When did they die?"
"One of our agents visited the shop three days ago," Shamus answered. "The killings had apparently just occurred. Consul riders from our network were immediately sent out with word to all of the other sanctuaries. The one who informed us arrived here yesterday. He stayed the night and then rode back."
Satine decided to take a chance. "What of the orb?" she asked. "On my way here I passed by a great canyon that had been gouged into the earth. I have never seen anything like it. The orb did that, didn't it?"
Shamus nodded. "The Orb of the Vigors is bleeding. These are wonderful times for us, my dear. But of course you must already know this; it is the reason you were hired. It is said that only Tristan or Shailiha can heal the orb. If you can kill them both, victory will be within our grasp."
"How did you and Evelyn come to live here in Morningshire?" Satine asked.
"I knew Wigg and the other wizards of the Directorate well," Shamus answered. "Later, I was also one of those who helped build the Gates of Dawn. Nicholas-Tristan's son-altered the nature of our blood signatures, bringing us out of the darkness and into the light. I was proud to serve him. Before that, Evelyn and I lived in Tammerland for many years. When the Gates of Dawn fell, the surviving consular network sent us here. It certainly isn't Tammerland, but I have come to like it. Each of us in the brotherhood must do his part, whatever and wherever that might be."
"Forgive me, but how do you make ends meet?" Satine asked. "It is my understanding that the Directorate never allowed the consuls to learn how to conjure kisa."
Shamus smiled. "The story about the calmatrass berries is true," he said. "I have a small patch out back that I harvest and sell. Evelyn cans the rest for sale in the winter, and she also sells her knitting. With a little help from the craft to make our work go faster, we get by."
Evelyn looked up from her knitting. "Tell me, father," she asked, "does she remind you of anyone?"
"Of course, mother," he answered. "I saw it the moment she walked in."
"What are you talking about?" Satine asked.
"You remind us of our granddaughter," Shamus said.
"Where is she now?" Satine asked.
Shamus' face grew hard again. "Clarissa is dead," he answered softly.
"During the ill-conceived return of the Coven, she was raped and butchered by the very same winged ones the prince now commands. Her parents were also killed. Clarissa was a schoolteacher in Tammerland, and she was about your age. She knew nothing of the craft, or of my part in it all. Many of us have paid dearly to see the defeat of the prince and his wizards."
Silence reigned for a time, the only sound the occasional crackling of the fire.
Sensing that it was time for her to go, Satine stood. "I must leave," she said. "I want to thank you both for everything that you have done for me."
"Please stay the night, child," Evelyn said. "There's no reason for you to sleep out in the cold."
Satine shook her head. "I cannot afford to miss seeing the Minions when they take flight. That is how I have been following the prince and his group."
Shamus rose. "Suppose I arranged to have you wake two hours before dawn?" he suggested. "Would that give you enough time?"
Satine carefully considered their offer. The prospect of a warm bed was very tempting, and the odds of a roving Minion patrol discovering her campsite were next to nil.
"Very well," she said. "I accept. And thank you."
"It is we who thank you," Evelyn said. "It is good to have a young woman in the house again."
"I have a small barn round back," Shamus said. "I'll go and bed down your horse."
The elderly consul went to the door. Taking his overcoat from a peg on the wall, he walked outside.
Satine sat back down in the chair by the fire. Evelyn came to pour her another glass of the calmatrass berry wine.
The three of them talked for hours as the logs burned low in the hearth. Satine awoke with a start. at first she didn't recognize her surroundings and immediately lunged for the dagger beneath her pillow. Then she remembered that she had stayed the night with Shamus and Evelyn and she calmed down. She got out of the warm bed and dressed quickly.
The sleeping spell with which Shamus had gifted her had worked perfectly. She felt wonderfully rested and refreshed. Looking out the window of her room, she saw that it was still dark outside. She quietly opened the bedroom door and walked into the front room.
The fire had gone out, and a package lay on the table next to her cloak. A parchment note pinned to the package read: "For the journey." She opened it to see a wedge of cheese, a generous amount of jerky, and a small package of purple calmatrass berries.
She tiptoed to the other bedroom door and opened it a crack. Beneath a great, patterned quilt, Evelyn and Shamus lay asleep in each other's arms. A tear formed in Satine's eyes and she quickly brushed it away.
She walked back into the front room, put on her cloak, picked up the package, and headed for the door. She was just about to leave when she had a thought. She walked back over to the table and put the package down.
She looked around for something to write with, but she couldn't find anything. Instead, she took a piece of warm charcoal from the hearth. She removed five gold coins worth twenty kisa each from her cloak and put them on the table. Using the charcoal, she wrote, "For your kindnesses" on the tablecloth. She took up the package again and left. Four hours later the Gray Fox found herself at a fork in the narrow country road. She was in disguise again, and she held the reins of her packhorse firmly in one hand. The Minions had dwindled to specks in the sky as they traveled west, following the branch of road that bore away to her left. The road to the right led east, toward the coast. The way behind her would take her back to Shamus and Evelyn's comfortable cottage, where she knew she would be welcome to stay for as long as she liked. She found it an oddly attractive prospect. Even though she had collected only half of her fee, she was already one of the wealthiest women in Eutracia. But Wulfgar's reach was long, and if she quit now, she knew that the specter of his wrath would haunt her forever.
Thinking to herself, she reached down into her boot and withdrew the precious piece of parchment. From here on, her sanctions would prove to be even more dangerous. If she
were killed, she wanted no harm to come to Shamus and Evelyn as a result of her failures. Their names and address were at the bottom of the list.
Ripping their information from the page, she tore the small section into pieces then cast them to the wind.
Eager for his mistress to choose her path, the gelding danced beneath her. She looked at first one branch of the road, and then the other. She thought for a moment about Aeolus and Shamus. They were so alike, she realized. And yet also so different.
Finally she made up her mind. Her jaw set, the Gray Fox turned her horse and spurred him into a trot down the road leading west.
CHAPTER LXXI
From where he stood in the bow of his black ship, Wulfgar looked out over the moonlit sea. His fleet was making good time. The six other Black Ships traveled abreast in a broad line. The ebony vessels and their cargo of Earthshakers and demonslavers flew quickly and silently above the waves.
Miraculous, Wulfgar thought. They had traveled from the Citadel to the coast of Eutracia in only five days. The wizards of the Redoubt would rue the day that they created these mighty ships-he would make sure of that.
Suddenly Wulfgar stiffened. For the briefest moment he thought he sensed something, but then it was gone. Relaxing again, he returned to his previous thoughts. Suddenly the feeling returned. This time the sensation was unmistakable.
"What is it, my lord?" Captain Merriwhether asked. His eerie green eyes glowed brightly from within his dark skull. "Is something amiss?"
Wulfgar quickly raised his good hand, demanding silence.
"There is endowed blood out there," Wulfgar said after a time. "It lies to the west, not far off the coast. You will probably not be able to sense it, but I can. It is blood of a very high order. Its quality is slightly higher than my own, but not altogether perfect. That leads me to only one conclusion. It must belong to the Jin'Saiou. But the Jin'Sai is not traveling with her.
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