Kern nodded, but he seemed disappointed. “Then … you won’t be serving as steward yourself, sir?”
“Certainly not,” Gravis said. “My place is with her ladyship.”
“Of course, sir, but … who will lead us while you’re gone?”
“That’s what I wanted to speak with you about.” He lowered his voice. “There’s no finer man than Dent for a task like this, and Benwick will follow him well. I’m going to tell them now, but I want you to watch them closely—it’ll be you with Dent in the future, I don’t doubt, and I want you to see how it’s done.”
Kern’s eyes nearly doubled in size at that. “A quarter-court? Me? Sir, I—”
Gravis held up a hand. “I didn’t say now, or even in the near future. But you and I both know the value of being prepared in advance.”
Kern nodded, vigorously this time. “Of course, sir. Absolutely. I—I’ll learn all I can from them.”
“Good.” He would have said more, but circumstances prevented it. “While we’re on the subject, I really don’t have much time. Do you know where I can find them?”
“Well, I don’t know about Benwick, but I’m fairly certain I saw Guardsman Halley headed for patrol in the orchard.”
If it had been up to him, he would have collided with Almasy as he rounded the turn at the bottom of the stairs, but she moved adeptly to the side, not even seeming startled. “Gravis.”
“Almasy.” He should’ve said nothing more, but he couldn’t resist adding, “It seems I’ll be joining you this afternoon.”
Her eyebrows rose. “To Mist’s Edge? Did her ladyship—”
“Aye, she’s allowed it. We’ll be leaving a quarter-court.”
He’d expected Almasy to be irked—he was fairly sure she didn’t like his company—but she only nodded; she almost looked approving. “I had hoped you would take it upon yourself to convince her.”
Gravis frowned. “You did? Why?”
“For the same reason you did, I’m sure. None of the others are up to it, and if Elgar decides he feels like being an obstreperous guest—”
“She seems to think he won’t.”
“She is usually right,” Almasy said. “But it’s our job to assume she won’t be.” And there was her self-deprecating smile again, like a blade turned on herself. “Do you think we can find it within ourselves to put aside any grudges that may be between us for the duration? I wouldn’t like to give Elgar the pleasure of thinking he sees dissension in our ranks.”
“If it comes to that,” Gravis said, “neither would I.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
According to Vash, it was impossible to cross the Curse without a guide. But since it was a full day’s journey even when you knew where you were going, there wasn’t a soul who’d agree to take you if you showed up in the middle of the day. It was just before dawn, then, when they arrived at the waypost he had told them about, a squat, square structure of wood and stone, with stables running alongside it and a loose cluster of people milling about in front. Morgan had watched in disbelief as more and more color seeped out of the land the farther south they went, but the ground beyond the waypost was hardly to be believed. An empty shade between brown and gray, it was devoid of all but rock and dust, without even a single blade of grass to be seen. Here and there on the unvaryingly flat landscape you could spot the gnarled skeleton of a dead tree, always standing alone, always bleached the same dead gray. The ground itself was parched, crumbling underfoot, and she and Braddock kicked up clouds of dust as they walked that were nearly high enough to choke on. The clouds overhead were thick, packed so closely together she wasn’t entirely certain whether the sun had risen or not.
Braddock had been anxious and fidgety all morning, and the early hour probably wasn’t helping. He had sent a reply to Nasser to let him know they’d be coming in Vash’s place, but he didn’t want to waste precious time waiting for a reply. So they had no idea if Nasser was expecting them—or even if he was still in a position to receive any letters. “Come on,” he mumbled. “Damned if I’m looking forward to this, but we’d best get it over with.”
They eventually found their way to the woman in command of the post; she was forty or fifty and just a bit plump, with short, curly hair and slightly crooked teeth. They had to wait to speak with her until the handful of travelers ahead of them had moved off, and she regarded them with a somewhat bored expression. “Ten each in silver,” she said, “unless you’ll be wanting extra provisions on the journey.”
Morgan winced at that number, but Braddock looked unconcerned. “We won’t,” he said. “And I’ll pay for us both.”
She watched him count out the coins, then nodded her approval and turned to scan the yard. “Irjan!” she called. “These two are yours.”
The young man she’d addressed was sitting cross-legged in the dirt not too far away, bare to the waist except for his long and shaggy hair. He got to his feet before she’d even finished speaking, and buckled on the longsword that had been resting across his knees. Then, without so much as a word, he walked to the side of the building to dig through a pile of what seemed to be clothing.
The woman nodded at them again. “You’ll give the cloaks back to him once you’ve made the crossing.”
“Cloaks?” Morgan repeated.
“Aye. You’ll be glad enough to have them if a dust storm catches you while you’re out there.”
By that time the young man had joined them. Up close he appeared about Morgan’s own age, graceful and smooth-faced, and with a much milder expression than she’d thought at first glance. He bowed slightly, then held the cloaks out to them, saving the last for himself. “I am Irjan Tal. Well met.”
“Likewise,” Braddock said.
Morgan gave him a few moments to say more, then sighed. “He means to say that he’s Braddock, and my name’s Morgan. Don’t go looking for his manners; he’s never had any.”
Irjan smiled gently. “I confess that we’ve no need for manners where we’re going, but what I do need is your obedience. The Curse is a very confusing place, and I’ve known many a traveler who became convinced I had lost my way, and he had the right of it. Such thoughts will only waste your time and mine, and quite possibly put our lives at risk. I can assure you I’ve not gotten lost on the Curse since before I came of age, and I have made the crossing more times than I care to count.”
Morgan nodded. “You won’t see me arguing with you.”
“Aye,” Braddock said. “I’ve no talent for direction, and no wish to claim otherwise.”
“If I can hold you to that,” Irjan said, “the crossing will be simple. The horses are this way.” He wrapped his cloak about himself as he walked, and Morgan and Braddock did the same.
They had to wait for everyone ahead of them to leave before Irjan would move his horse, and even then he led them in a different direction; he explained that the horses had a greater tendency to spook if they clustered close together, so it was better to make the crossing in smaller groups. “They say animals are sensitive to certain undercurrents that humans miss,” he offered. “Perhaps the Curse is even more forsaken a place than we know.”
“It’s certainly bad enough for me,” Braddock said, looking about him. The waypost was fast fading into the dust, leaving only that empty color in its wake. “Having to see this landscape every day really doesn’t wear on you?”
Irjan shrugged. “At the moment, the Curse is the most convenient place for me to be. From here it is easy enough for me to decide whether I wish to be inside Issamira or outside it, and I can change my mind very quickly, if that becomes necessary.”
“Ah,” Braddock said. “So if there’s any trouble, you can stay well out of it, eh?”
Morgan rolled her eyes at him, but Irjan’s chuckle was genuine. “Actually, the opposite is true. I should very much like to travel the continent—perhaps the world itself, one day. But if any misfortune or strife should befall Issamira, I would feel it my duty to come to her aid.�
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Well, that didn’t sound promising. Morgan tried to choose her response carefully. “And do you anticipate very much, ah, strife in the future?”
He grimaced. “Not precisely, but I’ve been hearing more foolish talk lately than I could ever have imagined. The succession should be a simple matter, but…” He shook his head. “A few days ago I caught two of my fellow rangers saying the prince and princess should just have it out on the battlefield. Have you ever heard anything so preposterous? When men talk so glibly about such things, certain fears are warranted.”
Braddock’s scowl matched his. “Civil war is nothing to scoff at.”
“There will be no civil war,” Irjan said firmly. “Adora is the rightful queen of this realm, and her brother knows it as well as I do. He is not so craven as to deny it.” He pulled up short, scanning the scene before them. To Morgan everything looked the same, but Irjan soon made up his mind, turning his horse just slightly to the left.
“It’s that easy, is it?” Braddock asked.
“Why shouldn’t it be? It’s not as if they are twins. Adora is Hephestion’s elder, and that is all she needs to be, to have the law on her side.”
“Er, no.” He scratched his cheek. “I meant … knowing where you’re going.”
“Ah.” Irjan looked surprised only for a moment, then chuckled again. “One gets used to everything, I suppose. I’ve spent more time on the Curse than anyplace else, I think; perhaps even the incomprehensible becomes comprehensible once it’s familiar.”
“That’s true enough,” Morgan said to Braddock. “In Sheath we’d have to guide him.”
“Aye, but in Sheath things look different, at least.”
“Where is Sheath?” Irjan asked.
“Oh … it’s part of Valyanrend,” Morgan said. “It’s where we come from.”
“Valyanrend?” He considered it. “I should like to see that place someday. They say it was once the greatest city in the world.”
Morgan laughed. “If it ever was, that must have been a long time ago.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “You don’t care for it, then?”
“I love it,” Morgan said, “but … well, let me put it like this: Did you ever know a man who kept a really ugly dog?” Braddock laughed so hard at that, he nearly fell off his horse, but Irjan just kept looking at her politely, only the barest suggestion of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Well, that was understandable; he’d never seen Valyanrend, after all. “I suppose what I mean to say is sometimes you love a thing more when it seems as if you shouldn’t, or when other people don’t. It’s like … if you don’t love it, who will?”
“Hmm.” Irjan still hadn’t laughed. “Is Valyanrend an ugly city, then?”
“No, it’s—or it mostly isn’t, anyway. It’s easy to see how it could have been beautiful, once. But beauty doesn’t mean very much, in the end—it’s the character of a place people love, if they love anything, and Valyanrend’s is … stubborn, and uncompromising, and always persistent. It won’t ever give up, and you have to be like that too, if you live there.” The wind blew a cloud of dust into her face, and she blinked. “But it can be surprisingly flexible, too—there are many different ways to get to the same place, even if none of it seems to make sense at first.”
She would have blushed by then, if she were at all the blushing sort, but Irjan actually looked as if he understood. “Interesting,” he said. “Eldren Cael isn’t like that at all.”
“Well, what’s Eldren Cael like?”
He took only a moment to think on it. “Fierce and proud—and surprisingly hot-blooded, beneath the veneer of stateliness. It won’t ever consent to be caged, but it demands that you follow its rules, all the same.” He looked vaguely ahead of him as he spoke, and at first Morgan couldn’t tell if he was speaking in praise of the city or not. But then he smiled. “It is difficult, but worthwhile, as many difficult things are.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Will you be heading there?”
Morgan, in her turn, looked at Braddock, who shifted in his saddle uneasily. “Hard to say. I doubt we’ll find ourselves that far south, but…”
Irjan took his evasiveness easily enough. “Well, if you do find yourselves there, I hope you enjoy it. But be on the watch for bandits; I hear they’ve been especially bold of late.”
From what Morgan had heard, the street bandits in Eldren Cael made Lucius and Deinol look like infants. Well, they made Deinol look like an infant, anyway. “We’ll keep that in mind.”
He nodded. “There’s another thing: if you’re heading south at all, you should make for Ibb’s Rest. It’s a traveler’s haven, so it’ll serve you well.” He could see he’d only confused them, so he added, “I expect you don’t care to know the details, but travelers are honored in Issamira for … religious reasons. At a traveler’s haven you may stay at no cost, so long as you are on a journey.”
Braddock raised his eyebrows. “Well, that sounds convenient. Who does pay them, then?”
“The crown,” Irjan replied, “though how much it pays them depends on the monarch. King Jotun was a religious man, so he lavished them with riches; his eldest son was … not, but that matters little now. As to what Queen Adora will decide to do with them, I cannot say, but they must have coin enough for the present. If you’re passing anywhere near it, you’ll not want to stay anywhere else, I promise you.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Morgan said. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” He turned his eyes to the sky, and frowned. “Hmm. We’ll want to move a bit faster. And”—he turned his horse’s head—“just a touch more this way.”
Braddock shook his head. “I’ve still got no idea how you do that.”
Irjan chuckled again. “Well, if you did, I wouldn’t be taking your coin, would I?”
* * *
The hills north of Reglay were lumpy and low, covered with stunted grass slowly fading to yellow. They hadn’t seen the sun for three days, but at least it hadn’t rained, and they’d made impressive progress for two city rats who had to get directions at every inn. Seth had been born southeast of the capital, and their trip to Hornoak had already taken him farther afield than he’d ever traveled. But Deinol had finally announced that they were farther east even than that, though he only knew because he’d asked a traveling carpenter.
They hadn’t run into any battalions yet, but the chance of that grew likelier as they approached the border. “I still think we ought to have gone south,” Seth said, though it was far too late for that now.
Deinol shook his head. “Trust me, with the way things are now, five minutes in Reglay is too long. And if we tried to cross the Curse and then cut back across, we’d both be graybeards by the time we got to Esthrades—if we made it at all.”
“But what if we can’t cross the border? We’ll have come all this way for nothing.”
“Seth,” Deinol said with a laugh, “even if Elgar didn’t keep old Lanvaldis so clear of soldiers on the pretext of not actually wanting to conquer the whole continent, there are always ways around these things. We’ll slip through one way or another.”
“I wonder what it’s like,” Seth said. “Stonespire Hall, I mean, or the Fellspire, or whatever it is. Are we really going to go all the way there?”
“If we have to, to find Almasy,” Deinol replied. “Though I’m personally more interested in seeing old Lanvaldis.”
“Why?”
“Why? Well, because they used to say it was the most beautiful country, back when it still was one. I expect the landscapes are much the same, even if the ruler’s different.” He adjusted his pack on his shoulder. “You holding up all right?”
“I might like to sit down fairly soon,” Seth admitted.
Deinol jerked his chin at the horizon, where they could see a tiny settlement sprawled out across several hills. “Let’s see if we can make it that far. We can make sure we’re still going the right way, maybe get a couple drinks or a meal.”
; “All right.” Seth focused his eyes on the little buildings and tried not to look as weary as he felt.
By the time they finally reached the village, Seth’s legs were starting to ache something fierce, and it was all he could do not to beg Deinol to let him sit down. Luckily, Deinol had developed quite a thirst, and they soon found their way to a tavern by the settlement’s single road, just a narrow dirt track that meandered off into the hills. Seth looked at the red painted rooster over the doorway and thought of the Dragon’s Head. It would be lonely there with only Roger to take care of it.
Seth didn’t care about getting the barkeep’s attention, so he just slumped into the nearest empty chair, hanging on to the back of it gratefully. Deinol unslung his pack and left it in the adjacent chair, then hesitated before passing Seth on his way to the bar. “Get you anything?”
“We can look for a well once I feel like moving,” Seth said, “but not ale, no.” Deinol nodded, and Seth followed him with his eyes as he approached the barkeep, a portly man with receding ginger hair who couldn’t have looked less like Morgan.
“A full tankard,” Deinol said. “And some directions, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t,” the man said, pouring it. “Where’re you headed?”
“The Fellspire.”
The barkeep scratched at his stubble. “Well, you’ve got a long way to go yet. Planning to cross from old Lanvaldis?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, if you make for Stone’s Throw, you can head straight south from there—Cutter’s Vale is usually pretty clear. Things’ve been quiet most everywhere lately … perhaps too quiet, given what happened in Reglay.”
“What happened in Reglay?” Seth called from his table.
The barkeep spat. “Old Kelken’s dead. Long live the new Kelken, or some such. Though I suppose he’s not likely to, if those legs are as twisted up as people say.”
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