The Fall of Lostport

by R. J. Vickers

  Faolan lowered his voice. “I want someone I can trust watching over my new city. I will name you governor of Port Emerald, if I must.”

  Harrow nodded sharply. “Understood. I will see to it that nothing stands in the way of Port Emerald’s completion.”

  Chapter 10

  I t was an odd feeling to return to the town. When Conard rounded the last stand of trees and came out at the far end of the boardwalk, everything looked exactly as it had the day he was exiled. A part of him expected to see Laina striding through town to confront him about some mischief he had caused.

  “I wonder if the old general store is still somewhere hereabouts,” Grandfather said. “Bit of a dodgy old place, if I remember correctly.”

  Blinking, Conard dismissed the memories. “Yes, it’s still around. And still as dodgy as ever. Though I do think the owner has begun stocking more expensive goods in the past few years—glass imports, namely.”

  Grandfather chuckled. “That won’t do us much good. But we’ll start there.”

  “If you don’t mind, I might—vanish for a while,” Conard said. He avoided Grandfather’s eyes, afraid he was about to be reprimanded.

  Instead, Grandfather clapped him on the shoulder. “Best of luck. Meet us just in front of the pier before sundown, or we might have to leave without you.”

  Conard nodded. Turning from the main path, he climbed a short rise, squeezed between a pair of landscaped dragonleaf trees, and came out on the first bend of the winding path up to Laina’s manor. Even after so many years, he still felt he could not claim it as his own home. He had always been a temporary guest, a passing fancy. King Faolan might have come up with another reason to remove him from Laina’s presence before long, had the accident never occurred. As soon as an irresistible marriage offer came the king’s way, Conard would have been a potential danger. Now…he didn’t want to think about what he would find when he reached the top of the hill.

  Far too soon, Conard was nearing the end of the road. He climbed the last few paces and came out onto the lawn; someone was hard at work tending to the garden opposite him, but the man was engrossed in his work and did not notice Conard’s arrival. Though he expected it to have grown over somewhat, he edged along the border of the lawn until he reached a hidden pathway that he and Laina had known well. He could not count the number of times he and Laina had sneaked through the garden, up the hill behind the manor, and in through Laina’s back window, only to be discovered hours later, fast asleep in their respective rooms and pretending they had simply been playing hide-and-go-seek within the manor.

  The path was now carpeted in moss and daring blackberry brambles; Conard thought he could even see a few trees beginning to sprout. Without a bit more care, the way would soon vanish entirely.

  Through a gap in the understory, Conard could see the gardener working below, adding new soil to the flower plots that graced the slopes around the manor lawn. He was grateful that the ringing birdsong covered any sound his feet made against the earth. When he reached the rear of the garden and stood uphill of the manor entrance, now level with Laina’s second-story window, Conard had to stop and wait for his heart to slow. It’s just the exertion, he told himself. I can’t turn back now.

  But he was not prepared to see Laina again. What could he say to her? He knew Doran had been crippled, but what if Laina was hideously disfigured as well? How could he possibly apologize to her? In one ill-fated stroke, he had destroyed the crown prince and brought ruin to Lostport.

  These thoughts were not helping. Conard swallowed, wiped a trickle of sweat from his temple, and began creeping along the rear of the manor.

  There was Laina’s window. The curtains were drawn back, as always; Conard was the only one who had ever disturbed her privacy from above. He held his breath, dropped to his knees beside the window, and leaned forward.

  The room was empty. The bed was so tidily made that it looked as though no one had disturbed it in ages.

  Had Conard heard the wrong gossip? Could Laina be…dead?

  Hands shaking, he rose and staggered back down toward the lawn. He no longer cared if anyone saw him. This time he made straight for the steep flight of stairs cascading down the hillside; his knees jolted with each long step down, and he felt close to falling. When he stumbled to the base of the stairs and into town, he grabbed the first person he saw and said, “The princess. Is she alive?”

  Belatedly he realized that the man was a foreigner, a young Varrilan. But the man said, “What do you mean? Of course she is.”

  Conard nearly collapsed in relief. Without thanking the man, he stumbled off to the general store, hoping Grandfather had not moved on quite yet. He was in luck. The three gypsies were just stuffing their purchases into three cavernous sacks—Conard could see dried food of all sorts, a sturdy length of rope, and something that looked like a bundle of parrot-feathers.

  “You weren’t meant to be back for hours,” Grandfather said when he noticed Conard. “Did you even see the girl?”

  Conard shook his head. “She wasn’t there.”

  “Where is she?”

  He shrugged.

  “After coming all this way—and nearly rotting yourself to death in that bog—you certainly gave up quickly.”

  “I can’t face her,” Conard muttered. “Not now.”

  Grandfather swept the final packet of beans into his sack and turned for the door. “Shame. Well, no point in delaying, then. You’ve just deprived your companions of the chance for a nice drink at the Seal’s Roost.”

  The other two gypsies gave Conard a matching disgruntled look.

  It was not long before the forest swallowed them again and the city vanished in the trees. With each step he took, Conard argued with himself—can I still turn back? No, it’s too late. Will she want to see me? Of course not. How could he have gone so far just to give up at the end? He should have marched up to the front door, confronted Laina’s father, and begged for a chance to apologize to Laina.

  No, that would have gotten him arrested.

  Conard was so deep in thought that he barely saw where they walked. He did register that the road had widened, though; it was odd to remember the long quarters of hacking, climbing, and struggling he and his father had gone through on their first visit to Port Emerald, when now they could reach the fjord with a minimum of exertion. In fact, the depths of the jungle were now far more accessible than the majority of Kohlmarsh.

  The light began fading to grey before long, and Grandfather struck a match to a lantern he’d clearly just bought. Soon after that, Conard glimpsed a series of glinting lights barely visible behind a layer of foliage; when he picked up the scent of woodsmoke, he knew they had reached the midway camp.

  Tents sprawled through the trees as far as Conard could see. The center of the camp was a cleared space, trampled to dirt; above and all around that were so many lanterns and campfires that Conard could not make out a single face.

  “Where’s your company?” he asked Grandfather.

  Immediately Grandfather pointed to the trees beyond the closest ring of tents. It took a moment for Conard to discern what Grandfather was indicating; then he recognized the banner from their boat, a gold peacock against a purple backing. Conard and his three companions edged their way through the bustling camp until they reached the cluster of tents where Silversmite and Ebony tended a white-hot fire.

  “Not exactly a sought-after location,” Silversmite said wryly, gesturing at their three tents.

  “I like it,” Ebony said. “Not so crowded.”

  Grandfather dropped his sack on the ground with a thud and straightened, readjusting his purple coat. “Have a dig through these, love,” he told Ebony. “There should be enough food to last us half a lifetime. If you don’t mind, I want to have a look around.”

  Grandfather melted into the chaos almost immediately, followed by Silversmite and Ladybird. After watching Ebony root through the largest of the three sacks for a while, Conard ambled off a
nd began prowling through the camp.

  Everywhere there were performers. The whole place felt like a fair, complete with strings of lights and colorful ribbons bedecking the trees overhead. Conard spotted groups from Varrival and Ruunas, but most were Whitish or Darden. Criminals and exiles, among others. A few of the tents were lined with silks and furs, with the flaps left enticingly open; Conard had no doubt as to their purpose. Past these, he saw tables and long benches laid out with wares that were still in progress—glass baubles halfway strung onto silver chains, engraved leather sheathes, jaunty caps, and intricate silver pendants. One table even held the widest array Conard had ever seen of hardened leather flasks.

  Eventually he made his way to the end of the wide circle and came out into the cleared space. Twenty or so of the builders were lounging on or against logs at one end of the circle, while a group of dancers were preparing for a show. A man playing a three-pronged flute set the mood.

  Just then, a horse stepped from among the tents, its owner guiding it carefully through the clearing and back toward the road. Conard was surprised; no one owned horses in Lostport. Until the forest road had been built, there had been no use whatsoever for ground transport.

  Then he looked up at the person riding the horse, and forgot everything else.

  It was Laina.

  * * *

  Night had fallen too quickly. Laina could not stay in the camp until dawn, or her father would panic and send a party to find her. After that, he would never allow her to set foot outside the manor again.

  Someone handed her a lantern, which she accepted gratefully. “I will return,” she promised, waving to the young builder. Holding the lantern aloft, she guided Feather onto the road and turned left toward Lostport.

  This was the first time she had ridden far without the company of her father or Jairus and Swick. Swick had been busy completing a map one of the architects had commissioned, while Jairus had been poking around town to see what materials were available for his plans to sabotage the construction project. The task had therefore been left to Laina to ingratiate herself with the performers and gauge whether they would be willing to help.

  She had not realized how late the hour had grown. As soon as the performers had realized who she was, they had welcomed her among them, served her a fine meal, and plied her with gifts.

  Now her grip on the lantern was slick with icy sweat. Swick had warned her that horses could sense emotions, so she tried not to convey any of her apprehension to Feather. As the lights began to fade behind her, the forest road seemed to narrow, until the trees were in danger of closing about her. The birdcalls had faded; only chirping insects and rustling wind broke the heavy silence.

  Feather did not seem spooked by the darkness. Gradually Laina relaxed, trusting her horse to find the familiar path home. It did not seem like much time had passed before she spotted the narrow waterfall that lay close to halfway, and not long after that she recognized the hot stream.

  She pulled up short. Someone had tied a silk scarf about the tree. Farther upstream, she thought she could make out a second bit of cloth, catching the lamplight in its bright yellow folds.

  The hot spring was not far from the path. Laina could not continue down the road now, not with this mystery nagging at her. Neither scarf had been there when she’d ridden by earlier that day. It looked as though someone intended her to find them.

  “What do you say, Feather?” Laina whispered. “Should I investigate?”

  Feather snorted and rubbed her ear against a tree.

  Dismounting, Laina looped Feather’s reins over a branch and waded into the stream. The branches ahead hung lower than she’d remembered, but she could clear most of them without bending too low. The lantern-light did not penetrate far into the trees; Laina wished she could see who waited for her at the hot pool, but everything before her was an uninterrupted wall of blackness. Soon she reached the short, rocky rise that lay just before the spring, and she picked her way carefully up the narrow waterfall.

  As the lamplight spread before her, Laina could see a mop of sandy hair and an unusual raven-feather mask. A man sat in the hot pool.

  The mask covered his forehead down to his upper lip, leaving his mouth and scruffy chin bare. When he turned to her, his lips twitched into a hesitant smile.

  She froze, wary, and put a hand to the small knife that hung at her waist. Yet the man was almost naked, without shoes or leather to protect him. She could run much faster than him over the treacherous ground if he turned on her.

  “Were those your silk scarves?” Laina asked warily. “How did you know about the spring?”

  “Yes, the scarves were mine. Come join me.”

  That voice—it was so familiar! Could it be…? Despite the mask, Laina allowed her guard to drop.

  “Are you scared?”

  “Just wary of being tricked,” Laina said, smiling in spite of herself.

  “Oh, come on. What will it hurt?”

  She was certain now it was Conard. His teasing, insistent tone usually preceded all sorts of adventurous mischief. “Very well then.” She tugged her dress over her head, until she wore nothing but her thin undergarments, and then stepped gingerly into the pool. It was difficult to keep the joy of recognition from flooding her face. She had missed him so much, more than she could have guessed. Yet she would play along with his game. He likely feared arrest if he was recognized.

  “I hear Lostport has lost its heir,” Conard said, sinking deeper into the hot pool. He was looking at the mist swirling through the trees, deliberately avoiding Laina’s gaze. “What’s happened to Prince Doran? Will he be okay?”

  Laina bit her lip. “He’s on his way to Chelt. He’s paralyzed from the waist down, and he seems to have lost the will to live.

  “And you, Laina? Were you injured?” When Conard reached up to readjust the ties that secured the mask in place, Laina saw the narrow band of iron about his left wrist. She recognized it immediately. Conard had never meant to leave her, then; her father had exiled him. He must have gone through great lengths to return here in secret.

  “Take off the mask, Conard,” she said gently. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  Conard froze. Moving carefully, as though she approached a spooked horse, Laina reached for the mask and lifted it free.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered.

  Conard dropped his eyes to the water. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I was so worried. I came to the manor earlier today, looking for you, and your room was empty. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in nearly a span! I thought you were dead, or maybe you’d been crippled instead of Doran.”

  “It would have been better that way,” Laina said sourly. “I’m fine, but Lostport is going to be handed over to Whitland when my father dies. Everything we’ve worked for will go to waste.”

  “I’ve ruined everything for you,” Conard said flatly. “I was stupid and careless. You should kill me. Just throw me in the caves and be done with it.”

  Laina set aside the mask and took Conard’s hands. “I’m not upset with you. It was my own fault as much as yours. You’ve just spent the last span trying to get back here. Did you really expect to be killed the moment you returned?”

  “I don’t know what I expected. I just wanted to see you again. It was worth risking a lot for that.”

  Laina hardly knew how to respond. It was the sweetest thing she had heard in a long time.

  “I’m sorry, Laina. Nine plagues, I’m sorry. I’ll do anything for you to make it up. I am utterly yours.”

  Laina’s heartbeat quickened, though she tried to hide it with a scowl. “I’m fine. I’ve already forgiven you. My father is going to sell me off to Prince Ronnick before long, but I’m okay. I thought you were on the run. Now that I know you’ve been trying your hardest to get back here…”

  Conard withdrew fractionally. “Who is this Prince Ronnick?”

  “He’s the youngest son of King Luistan. He’s a useless pra
t, in case you were wondering, but my father’s just promised him my hand in exchange for funding Port Emerald.”

  “And you—”

  “I’m hoping he loses his way in the wilderness and never returns,” Laina said vehemently. “He’s on his way to Whitland to ask for supplies now.”

  Conard released Laina’s hand, still looking miserable. “I have no place here. I’m nothing but a burden. I’ve come back and I’ve seen you again, and now I should get myself as far away from here as possible. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’ve been traveling with a company of performers, but they don’t really know what to do with me. I’m not a gypsy.”

  “Stay here,” Laina said. She had never seen Conard so distressed, so serious. “I want you here. I thought I’d lost everything I used to love. My brother had lost his will to live, Lostport was no longer ours, and my dearest friend had fled rather than confess what he had done.”

  “I’m sorry,” Conard said again.

  “Stop that,” Laina said. “You’re here now. And you offered to do anything I asked, did you not? I might have a request for you.”

  Some of the worry eased from Conard’s face as he narrowed his eyes. “You’re going to make me regret I ever said that, I can just tell.”

  “Maybe,” Laina said. “But it’s not a selfish request. I would do it myself, if I weren’t so easily recognized.”

  Conard slid across the pool until he was sitting beside Laina, their knees barely touching. “Do tell.” The water rippled about his bare shoulders.

  Laina hesitated for a long moment. Now that Conard was here, beside her, she was no longer certain she should go ahead with the plan. She liked even less the idea of mixing him up in anything dangerous. Still, she had promised Jairus she would do what she could, and anything involving Conard was more than she could have offered before. At last she took a slow breath of the sulfurous steam and said, “It’s my father. He has some goat-headed notion that he can find Doran a magical cure from one of those far-off kingdoms. Only—”