The men had Tobias’s coloring: nut brown skin, bronze hair.
“Thanks to you, we captured them as they tried to scale the north wall of the outer ward. Now, I have to ask again, do you know them?”
Tobias walked forward, his eyes never leaving their faces. He hadn’t recognized them in the corridor. But the light was better here, and despite their wounds he thought he might do so.
“Those might help,” the sovereign said, pointing to his desk.
Two golden sextants lay side by side on the polished wood, and next to those, a pair of devices unlike any he had seen before, and yet familiar enough to chill his blood. These appeared to be sextants as well, but they had three arcs instead of just one, each calibrated like the arc of a normal device. The devices were equipped with a single eyepiece and trigger. Aside from the arcs, they resembled normal sextants. Yet Tobias was certain they were anything but.
“What do you make of those?” Mearlan asked.
“I’m not sure.” Even as he said this, though, a memory stirred in the back of his mind.
The sovereign must have heard the catch in his voice. “Walker?”
“There was talk back in Windhome,” Tobias said, still studying the sextants, “of new devices that had been developed in Oaqamar, at their academy for Travelers. It was said their assassins possessed the means to Travel fully clothed and fully armed. I wonder if these devices are what make that possible.” He turned. “These men are Spanners?”
“As far as we can tell.”
There were clothes piled on the desk, similar to those worn by the kneeling men.
“Whose are these?”
“A fine question,” Mearlan said. “We found them in the courtyard, piled as if in haste. I don’t know how they got there.”
Tobias indicated the assassins with a lift of his chin. “And what about them? Do you know where they came from?”
The sovereign eyed the men, a sneer curling his lip. “They won’t say.”
Tobias eased closer to them, scrutinizing them as he had the strange sextants. The assassins returned his stare with keen interest.
“You were in the palace on Trevynisle when I first arrived there,” he said to the one with the bloodied brow. “You were one of the older novitiates. I don’t think I was there more than half a year before you left for… for somewhere.” He stared at the man, sifting through memories, trying to place the countenance before him with more precision. “Hovas,” he whispered, the name coming to him as an epiphany. “Your name is Hovas, and you came from Bellisi.”
The corner of the man’s mouth twitched, the only confirmation Tobias needed.
“Write to the chancellor, my liege. He should be able to tell you which court first purchased this man’s services.”
“Very good, Walker.”
Tobias acknowledged the praise, taking his eyes off the assassin for no more than an instant. That was enough.
Somehow Hovas managed to leap from his knees to his feet, and in the same motion lash out with a kick that would have caught Tobias square in the throat had a guard not cried a warning.
He threw himself back and flinched away, so that the toe of the man’s shoe missed his larynx. Still, it caught him on the cheek, snapping his head back and sending him sprawling onto the sovereign’s desk. Ink, a pen, and sheaves of parchment cascaded onto the floor.
Tobias lay there, addled, unable to move, his vision marred by swimming points of white light, his jaw aching. By the time Mearlan helped him to his feet, both assassins lay dead on the floor, blood from sword wounds pooling around them.
“Are you all right?”
“I believe so, my liege,” Tobias said, trying to stand on his own.
“You were right,” Mearlan said. “They were after you, not me. Somehow they knew of your arrival, and sought to rob me of my new Walker before I could make use of him.” He flashed a weak smile. “I fear I’ve made you infamous.”
Tobias cringed, realizing he had withheld important information. “This isn’t the first attempt on my life, my liege.”
“What?”
“The morning I sailed from Windhome, before I left the palace, a Belvora attacked me. I wasn’t harmed, but only because the Master Walker saved my life. He died in the attack.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think it important enough to mention.”
Mearlan scowled.
“I realize now how foolish that was. I beg your forgiveness.”
“It must be the Oaqamarans.”
Tobias started, looked to the side. The Seer sat in a plush chair, shrouded in shadow and appearing as dazed as ever. Belatedly, Tobias caught a hint of the sickly sweet scent of Tincture.
“We have other enemies,” the sovereign said. “Westisle. Sheraigh. And others of whom we might not even know.”
“Sheraigh hasn’t the resources to buy one Traveler, much less two,” the Seer replied. “I’m not sure Westisle does either. And no one from a southern isle would know enough about Belvora to stage an attack of the sort the lad describes. Besides, all of this is too subtle, too clever, not to mention too immediate. Noak and Gedeon are more likely to strike directly at you, my liege. In my opinion.”
“And you see the necessary subtlety and cleverness in the autarch?”
“Reluctantly, my liege. Reluctantly.”
Tobias’s jaw still throbbed, but the dizziness had passed and his vision had cleared. “They couldn’t have followed me all the way from Trevynisle,” he said. “Unless they were on Captain Larr’s ship the whole time.”
Mearlan shook his head. “No. Perhaps they’ve been watching the port for your arrival. Somehow they must have learned of my missive to the chancellor.”
“A traitor?” the Seer asked, his tone mild.
“Loath as I am to acknowledge the possibility, I’d be a fool to ignore it.”
“Shall I make some inquiries, my liege?”
“Quietly, Seer.”
“Like a mouse, my liege.”
Osten rose, walked dreamily to the chamber door, and slipped out into the darkened corridor. Tobias couldn’t help thinking that of all the people he had met since arriving in Hayncalde, the Seer seemed the most likely to betray Mearlan. He kept this to himself, however. For now.
“Clean this up,” the sovereign said to his guards, staring at the dead assassins. “Make sure to get the blood out of the stone. And find me a new rug.”
Guards carried the corpses out of the chamber. Moments after, servants rushed in bearing buckets of water, soap, and rags. The sovereign stepped closer to Tobias, eyeing his face critically.
“You’ll have a nasty bruise by morning. Are you all right?”
“Yes, my liege.”
“You’re taking this well: being the target of assassins, not to mention a demon. Most lads your age would be in a panic by now.”
“I suppose. I don’t understand why these men would be after me. You’re the more valuable target by far. If not you, then the sovereign queen, or your daughter. And if not one of them, then the Seer, or one of the ministers. I’m…” He shook his head, which made his jaw throb more. “I know Walkers are valuable, but I’ve only just arrived.”
“That’s the point, I think. Adding a Walker to my court changes things, makes me a more formidable enemy to those who want me dead. There’s a reason I paid so much for you. I’m not saying you’re worth more than I am, or than my family, or those others you’ve mentioned, but you’re worth a good bit.” He grinned. “At least I hope you are.”
Tobias’s answering smile didn’t last. “Do you agree that they were probably sent by the Oaqamarans?”
“The Seer makes a compelling case.”
“And they think killing me would tip the balance of the war?”
“I don’t know,” Mearlan said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Perhaps they know how I intend to use you.”
Tobias’s gaze snapped to the sovereign’
s face. “Then they know more than I do.”
He regretted this the instant he said it.
“Is that a complaint, Walker Doljan?”
“No, my liege. I beg your pardon.”
Mearlan frowned. “Go back to your chamber. Try to sleep. There are a few bells left until dawn. Guards will escort you, and they’ll keep watch on your door, though I doubt we need worry about another attempt on your life tonight.”
“Yes, my liege.” He bowed and crossed to the door.
“I won’t keep you in the dark for long,” the sovereign said, stopping him. “I’ve made no decisions yet and I’ve no intention of doing anything rash. But I must entertain all options. I hope you understand that.”
Tobias could do naught but nod. “Of course, my liege.”
Chapter 11
17th Day of Kheraya’s Ascent, Year 647
Even after returning to his chamber and his pallet, and despite knowing that armed men guarded his door, Tobias didn’t expect to sleep.
He did. When finally he woke, once more to the tolling of the tower bells, he sensed that he had remained abed far longer than he intended.
He splashed water on his face, wincing at its first cold touch. His jaw ached, and the muscles in his back, neck, and shoulders were stiff and sore. Moving like an old man, he washed, donned fresh clothes, and slipped on his court robe. Upon opening his door, he found Grig in the corridor, dwarfed between the guards.
“I could have helped you dress, my lord.”
Tobias cast an embarrassed glance at the soldiers, but their expressions remained neutral. “I’ve no doubt you could,” he said, having some difficulty forming his words. “But I’ve been dressing myself for a long time now. I think I can manage.”
The lad’s expression bespoke disapproval more than disappointment. Tobias wondered if he had erred in some way.
Grig led him to the kitchen, the soldiers flanking them. There Tobias enjoyed a quick breakfast of fried bread, eggs, and an apple. When he had eaten his fill, they walked to the sovereign’s quarters.
The sky had grown overcast, and a stiff wind blew out of the west, making the flags atop the towers ripple and snap. Reaching Mearlan’s door, Tobias hesitated, reluctant to enter uninvited. Voices came from within; he didn’t wish to interrupt a conversation that didn’t concern him.
“I believe he’s expecting you, my lord,” Grig said.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes. I have it from one of the steward’s boys. He wants you to join him as soon as possible.”
“All right.” Tobias raised his hand, faltered again, but finally knocked.
“Enter.”
Mearlan sat at his desk, his shoulders slumped. The Seer and the minister of arms sat in chairs facing him, though they peered over their shoulders when they heard the door open. The air reeked of the Seer’s Tincture.
“Ah, good. Come in, Walker.” Mearlan pointed to a third chair near one of the windows. “Join us. We were discussing last night’s events. I trust you’re well?”
“Thank you, my liege. I’m fine.”
“You met my minister of arms last night, didn’t you? Isak Moar.”
“It’s good to see you again, minister,” Tobias said, as he retrieved the chair and set it beside the man.
“That’s an ugly bruise,” Isak said. He was burly, compact, his cheeks ruddy and full, his head shaved, save for a thin plait of red hair, salted generously with white, that hung from the nape of his neck. He spoke with a burr characteristic of the Knot. “You might see a healer. A poultice will bring down the swelling a bit.”
“I will. My thanks.”
Only when he was seated, did Tobias realize he had positioned himself as far from the Seer as possible.
“You know, I’m curious,” the minister said to Mearlan. “If our Seer is tasked with glimpsing the future, how did he not anticipate this attack on the castle? I would think this a fairly important event, the sort of thing his powers ought to catch, if you get my meaning.”
The sovereign glowered back at him, seeming more angered by the question than by any possible failure on the Seer’s part.
“I’ve told you before, minister,” the Seer drawled, sounding bored, “I See hints and portents of occurrences that may or may not happen. The future is as changeable as the present; it is a pattern woven on an ever-shuttling loom. Our new Walker arrived only yesterday, after an uncertain voyage. His would-be assassins came to the castle last night and their futures were altered by what I must say was a clever and entirely novel gambit undertaken by our young friend.” He favored Tobias with an unctuous smile. “Thus, there was little opportunity for these events to come to my attention, and there never was any specific future fixed in time. I don’t know what kind of vision I might have received, or even whether I would have recognized it as an outcome of last night’s events.” He fixed the minister of arms with a cold eye. “Does that satisfy your… curiosity?”
The armsman cleared his throat. “It might have. I’m not sure. I nodded off during your explanation.”
“That’s enough, Isak,” the sovereign said.
“Yes, my liege.”
“But his point is taken, Seer. Tobias is part of my court now. I expect to be made aware of any future threats to his safety.”
“Naturally, my liege, as the God allows.”
Annoyance flickered in Mearlan’s eyes. “You’ve made inquiries as to Oaqamar’s involvement?”
“I’ve sent messages, encoded, of course. I don’t know how long we shall have to await replies.”
“You think the Oaqamarans were behind last night’s attempt?” Isak asked.
“The Seer believes so.”
The minister glared at Osten. “When were you going to inform me of this?”
The Seer stared back, giving no indication that he was cowed by the minister’s expression. “Just as soon as there was something for you to attack.”
“Would it be possible for the two of you to pretend, if not for my sake then for the Walker’s, that you are capable of being in the same chamber for more than a quarter bell without behaving like children?”
Tobias shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t know the minister well, but he sensed that he could come to like the man, just as he liked Gillian. It hadn’t escaped his notice that neither had much good to say about Osten. Was Mearlan the only person in the castle who trusted the Seer?
“Do you think it’s possible?” The sovereign went on after a weighty pause. “The Oaqamarans, I mean.”
Minister Moar shifted in his seat. “I suppose.” The admission appeared to come at some cost. “They have the resources, the motivation, the moral turpitude.”
“You see? Stop baiting each other, and the two of you might find that you agree more often than not.”
Neither man answered.
Mearlan frowned once more. “What’s the latest from Aiyanth?”
“Little has changed, my liege,” the minister said, standing and walking to a large table near the back wall of the chamber.
Osten and the sovereign followed.
“Come along, Walker. You should see this, too.”
A large map of the Aiyanthan Sea and its isles had been pinned to the table. Small wooden blocks rested on the map in clusters; some had been painted red, others black, green, and gold.
“The red blocks represent our fleet,” the minister told Tobias as he joined the others. “The gold are Aiyanth, the black Oaqamar, the green Milnos.”
“What about Vleros, and the Labyrinth?”
Isak’s laugh was as brittle as old parchment. “When they deploy enough ships to make a difference, we’ll give them a block. Until then…” He broke off with a shrug.
Tobias scrutinized the map and blocks, noting that the black and green outnumbered the red and gold by nearly two to one. Most of Aiyanth’s fleet remained close to its home isle, and the red blocks formed a broad arc around those golden ones: a defensive position. Green blocks gathe
red in number to the southwest, near the shores of Milnos, and a horde of black blocks menaced the red and gold from the north. That defensive posture looked tenuous at best.
“We haven’t seen much movement from the Oaqamarans,” the minister said. “I think they like things where they are. It’s the ships from Milnos that worry me. The Vleros fleet is penned up in their waters, and according to our admirals, the ships of the shield have grown more aggressive.”
“Have we engaged them?”
“Not yet, my liege. I fear that if we do, the Oaqamarans will strike directly at Aiyanth. And if the Axle falls, the Outer and Inner Rings could be next. We need more ships. We need more allies.”
“We’re building more ships, but I fear they won’t be ready in time. As for more allies… well, who wants to ally himself with the weaker party in a war approaching its decisive battle?”
“Anyone who fears an imperial Oaqamar,” Tobias said.
The others eyed him.
“You’re right,” Mearlan said, “at least in theory. I’ve tried to make that case with the leaders of the Outer Ring isles. The Aiyanthan king has done the same. But we’re weak, and we have little to offer by way of assurances. If they join our cause and we lose, they’ll bear the brunt of the autarch’s vengeance.”
“It doesn’t help,” the minister added, “that most young folk in Rencyr and Kantaad, and lately Herjes, too, are chasing gold and silver in Chayde. Even if the isles had enough ships to turn the war, they wouldn’t have the men and women to crew them.”
“What do you have to say, Seer?” Mearlan asked. “What ending have you visioned for this war?”
“Well, my liege, the future is ever-changing, as I’ve told you before.”
“Too many times,” Isak muttered.
The Seer’s gaze slid his way for a moment, but he offered no other reaction. “The truth is, I’ve Seen few conclusions to the conflict that bode well for us. If we withdraw, we leave Aiyanth to the autarch. If we remain, we risk our fleet and leave ourselves open to a devastating attack. We can sue for peace, but no doubt the autarch’s terms–”
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