by L J Chappell
‘Yes it was, Father,’ Pireon agreed.
He wasn’t completely sure what had just happened.
Someone had wanted a quiet moment, unobserved, with the Statue. That was all. And his two friends, or perhaps servants, had helped him achieve that – diverted the guard, and made sure he had his privacy at the top. There was nothing suspicious about that, surely: it was just a little odd.
But there were little details that felt slightly out of place: the way the two men had simply left without the girl, for example; and the way they had co-ordinated their actions without any obvious discussion. In fact, there had been something coldly proficient about the way they’d carried it out – something that was concealed without being furtive; well-practised, rather than casual or spontaneous.
Pireon had first imagined that they had somehow damaged the Statue, maybe painted slogans on it, but the queue after them resumed without a word. So what else might they have not wanted the guard to witness?
‘Best not to mention what we saw here,’ Father Ykerios interrupted his thoughts.
‘No,’ Pireon agreed, though he wasn’t sure exactly what they had seen.
Neither of them spoke again until they had finished eating, each lost in their own thoughts. And then they walked back to the Temple complex together.
Pireon was still awake when the others came in, perhaps half an hour later. Facing the other way, with the blankets pulled over him, he could hear their urgent whispers: his brother’s voice, joking; some of the girls giggling, surely including Ajiila; all of them stumbling around in the dark.
How quiet did they think they were being?
They sounded as if they’d been drinking, but he doubted that they had – they were simply elated by their own bravado.
He pretended to be asleep.
3
After he fell asleep again, Lanvik had an uncomfortable dream.
He was in a place that he didn’t recognise – a wood-panelled room with a wide balcony. The sky outside was deep blue and there was a clear view across to a range of low hills, covered in lime green vegetation.
There was a woman in the room with him: Human, with short red hair. They knew each other and were talking, but the talking became shouting and she was agitated, saying things that he couldn’t hear in the dream. He stepped towards her and she raised her hands as if to protect herself. He lifted his right arm and saw that he was holding a staff: a mage’s staff. And then there was a bright white flash, and he woke up.
It had felt more like reliving a memory, a disturbing memory, than a dream.
Perhaps I am a killer, he thought. Perhaps that was someone I’ve killed, as well as Lord Skollet of Urthgard. He opened his eyes – Thawn was shaking his shoulder: ‘It’s time to go,’ she told him. It was well before dawn, and completely dark outside.
In the bed beside him, Magda was just waking up.
‘Ethryk and Bane have gone for the wagon,’ Thawn said. ‘And Vrosko Din has gone out to discover what the Imperial guard have been doing overnight and what they have said.’
At the end of the room, Menska was talking to Vander of Arrento. He was awake, and sitting on the bed.
Lanvik went over. ‘How do you feel?’ he asked.
‘I have a bad taste in my mouth and my head hurts. This is a very strange rescue.’
‘You have to understand that we’re not working for you,’ Menska told him. ‘We’re working for the person who sent us to get you. What you want and what you think are not our main concern.’
‘I know,’ he nodded. ‘I understand.’
‘Then you’ll come with us? Willingly? So we don’t have to restrain you, or drug you again?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I don’t have much choice, do I?’
‘You don’t have any choice,’ Menska agreed.
‘Then at least find me some normal clothes, instead of these …’ He looked down at the bright red tunic and trousers that he was still wearing from the evening before, and couldn’t find words to describe them. ‘These,’ he repeated.
As everyone dressed and packed, Vrosko Din joined them.
‘Well?’ Lisamel asked.
‘Nothing at all. There are no soldiers in the streets; no-one’s going from building to building asking questions; there are no posters with our descriptions or Vander’s. No-one seems to be aware that anything has happened.’
‘Then they haven’t made any kind of announcement,’ Karuin sounded puzzled.
‘Perhaps they haven’t discovered he’s gone yet,’ Thawn suggested.
‘They will certainly have discovered that,’ Kiergard Slorn said, ‘but they haven’t decided what to do about it. If they admit that one of the Tributes has escaped, then that would be a terrible loss of face, especially in as public a place as Darkfall. Things would look even worse if they announce his disappearance but then fail to recover him in time for the sacrifice. So if they admit what has happened, there are a number of extremely unfavourable consequences. In the end they’ll likely choose to say nothing, especially with the Confederacy and Corvak here.’
‘Are you ready?’ Bane interrupted from the door. ‘The wagon’s ready.’
‘Let’s go, then.’
They each shouldered a pack and left the dormitory.
Lanvik could see that a number of modifications had been made to the wagon since their arrival. It was longer now, by means of an extension at the back, so there would be space for another two passengers; and the canopy not only had proper flaps at the front and back, but now projected two or three feet above the drivers’ bench at the front.
As they loaded their bags into the back, Vander of Arrento spotted a moment when no-one was watching him and dashed away. Ubrik, Bane, Garran and Thawn immediately gave chase. Their footing proved more secure than his and, less than a minute later, he had slipped and fallen on the icy streets. Bane brought him back over one shoulder and pushed him into the back of the wagon.
After that, they turned the wagon around in a wide circle and headed for the highway south. There was hardly anyone else on the road at that time in the morning, in either direction.
Vorrigan, Ethryk and Thawn sat at the front; Kiergard Slorn and Bane walked alongside.
‘This is almost alarmingly quiet,’ Ubrik commented.
‘Who else would be on the road at this time?’ Vrosko Din shrugged. ‘Anyone arriving now would be extremely late, and no-one would leave on the last day of the Festival, before its climax. A lot of them come for the Crown, but they almost all stay for the sacrifices.’
‘It’s not every day you get to see people torn apart and eaten,’ Garran said, cheerfully, ‘but we have to miss it.’
‘We’ll be really conspicuous if the road’s empty,’ Lanvik said.
‘Yes, we will. And the Imperial delegation might have posted guards on the road to Stormhaven, in case someone tries to smuggle Vander out.’
‘If we’re stopped, we’re locals returning home early to avoid the rush,’ Ubrik advised: ‘after selling all our goods in Darkfall.’
‘And if they don’t believe us?’
‘Then our swords will be ready,’ Slorn said, from behind the wagon. ‘This is not the Empire – they cannot throw up well-garrisoned roadblocks overnight. They lack the authority and the manpower. So they will be discreet. Even if we are stopped, it is unlikely that there will be more than two of them.’
‘And they will be tired, and bored,’ Ubrik said. ‘However quiet they’ve been about it, and however secret they would like to keep it, every available soldier will have been busy searching through the night.’
‘Yes,’ Slorn nodded. ‘And for that reason, I doubt we will even be stopped – their soldiers will need to sleep.’
He was wrong, for once. Just at the point where the wide sprawl of tents was giving way to open countryside, there were two armed soldiers in Imperial uniforms standing beside the road and watching the traffic. One of the men was scanning the faces of the handful of people who
passed on foot: he looked bored. There was no telling how many hours he’d been there.
His friend stepped into the road and waved down the wagon.
‘Hey,’ they greeted him.
‘Can we have a look in the back?’
‘If you like.’
The man and his friend walked round to the back of the wagon, pulled the canvas further to one side in order to see inside better, and looked at their faces one by one. They completely ignored the pile of packs and bags towards the front of the wagon, at the bottom of which lay Vander of Arrento – still unconscious and rolled inside two blankets.
‘Thanks,’ the soldiers said, and waved them on their way.
In the back of the wagon, everyone relaxed. It seemed that the soldiers had been looking specifically for Vander, presumably believing that they would recognise him from the trip here – rather than a mixed party of Elves plus one male Human. So the Company might still not be under any suspicion.
After that, the only interruptions to their journey were when they rested and fed the buffalo. Most of the overnight pitches were now empty, silent and closed: their owners presumably waiting for the deluge of pilgrims to begin again that night or the next day. The sites that were still operating offered limited facilities, no entertainment and nothing to see except the bleak and rocky coastal plain.
During one of these breaks, Lanvik made a point of finding himself alone with Kiergard Slorn, away from the others.
‘You went out again last night,’ he said. ‘With Magda and Bane.’
‘Yes.’
‘You had something else to do.’
‘Don’t tell the others,’ Slorn told him in a dry voice, empty of emotion: part instruction and part warning.
‘Another commission?’
‘Something private.’
His tone had been flat and terminal: that subject was closed. So Lanvik asked: ‘Where now? After Stormhaven?’
‘Our contract is not complete yet: we must escort Vander to the Inner Sea, hand him over and collect the balance of our payment. From Stormhaven, we have passage arranged down the Western Reach and on to the Isthmus. We’ll cross there, and arrange another boat.’
‘To Arrento?’
‘No. Our appointment is in Perastia.’
Lanvik took the next shift riding at the front of the wagon, facing forwards and steering the buffalo. There was no view to speak of and the snow seemed to be mostly falling sideways, driven by the wind, rather than straight down. Even with the new canopy in place, that bench was the coldest position by far – worse than walking.
After their second stop, Menska suggested they wake Vander – he was still lying unconscious in the back. ‘It’s not good to keep him drugged all this time,’ she said.
‘Maybe he’ll be more sensible now,’ Magda agreed.
So Menska brought him round.
‘Gods, I feel sick,’ he complained.
‘Maybe it was something you ate,’ she suggested.
‘Don’t try to get out,’ Garran warned him, ‘or we’ll do the same again. And I’ve no idea how safe it is drugging you this many times, for this long.’
‘Where are we?’
‘A few hours north of Stormhaven. It’s afternoon now, so you’re too late. Even if you jump out the wagon, you can’t get back to Darkfall in time to die. There’s no point trying.’
‘This was a mistake,’ he shook his head. ‘You have no idea what will happen.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Magda agreed, ‘but that’s a question to take up with our employer. We’re just doing a job.’
They tried shifting seats a number of times, but with Vander sitting instead of lying unconscious on the floor of the wagon, someone else would have to walk. Bane eventually gave up, and jumped down from the back of the wagon.
After the sun sank over the mountains, the temperature dropped again. They pulled blankets from their packs and huddled beneath them: Lanvik had forgotten just how cold the open countryside of Tremark was. It took them another five hours before they entered Stormhaven, late at night. They found fair lodgings at a fair price: four large rooms in a rather grand hotel that afforded them more space than anywhere they’d stayed previously, with a private washroom in each. The establishment also offered a number of stables, provisioned with fresh hay.
The manager seemed mainly concerned that they would be gone by tomorrow night, when he was expecting the first wave of pilgrims to arrive: those with speedy transportation, and a pressing need to be elsewhere.
Lanvik found himself in the same room as Kiergard Slorn and the brothers, Ubrik and Garran. Vander would share with Bane, Ethryk and Vorrigan.
‘We should check whether the ship is here,’ Slorn told the others. ‘She should have berthed earlier today, but sometimes there is no accounting for wind, weather and tides.’
‘Your Captain Redwolf?’
‘Indeed, but here he will be sailing under the name “Captain Torbin”: in certain waters, he prefers to travel incognito. Be sure you use the name: “Captain Torbin”.’
Stormhaven seemed empty that night – a ghost town – but the harbour was busy and noisy, lit by braziers and torches. Hundreds of people milled about on the quayside and on the ships that were docked, loading and unloading cargo. An endless procession of laden wagons pulled up the hill into the town.
The spectacle was so fascinating that Lanvik found he had actually stopped walking to watch the activity. He couldn’t remember ever spending time on ships or in port towns, so everything seemed new to him – the sights and sounds and smells: everything from the way the ships were tied up, to the wooden booms that swung goods in slow circles from the ships to the dockside and back.
‘There she is,’ Kiergard Slorn pointed. ‘Second from the end. Morning Cloud.’ He led the others along the cobbled stone jetty past a long line of berthed ships, some quiet and others crowded with activity. The ship that he had indicated was a low, wide merchant vessel, unloading a cargo of crates onto the dock. A brightly coloured canvas covered her hull, with bright patterns and pictures of distant ports, islands and giant sea creatures all along the sides: she would have been difficult to miss.
At least a dozen men were working in the cold darkness: lashing ropes around crates, hoisting them up, swinging them out over the dock, and then guiding them slowly down onto wagons. Three or four other vessels were unloading nearby, and the noise of agitated livestock added to the din and commotion.
‘Why is it this busy?’ Ethryk wondered. ‘And why would they work through the night like this?’
‘I imagine all the inns, taverns and eateries will be desperate for as much stock as they can store, as soon as possible,’ Vorrigan guessed. ‘Before the pilgrims arrive back from Darkfall.’
‘And demand for transportation is about to overwhelm Stormhaven and her port, so berthing fees will suddenly become stupidly expensive tomorrow,’ Vander added. ‘No captain of a cargo vessel would wish to remain here any longer than they must.’
‘Good point,’ Vorrigan agreed.
‘Captain Torbin!’ Slorn waved from the quayside to a fat sailor in a smart uniform who was standing at the side of the deck, leaning on the bulwark and surveying both his ship and the harbour. The Captain waved back, and beckoned Slorn up to the quarterdeck.
They disappeared into a cabin for a few minutes.
The man had not been at all what Lanvik had expected of “Captain Redwolf”.
‘Everything’s in order,’ Slorn told the others when he rejoined them. ‘We leave around midday tomorrow. They have space and men to load our trunks into the hold now, so we should use the wagon to bring them down now: a last job before selling it, to save a few pennies.’
‘Now would not be a good time to sell the wagon,’ Vorrigan shrugged. ‘For one thing, it is the middle of the night. And we have just finished a long and arduous journey. If we are to secure the best price, the wagon will need cleaned and the buffalo fed and rested. But I agree – we should deal wi
th the trunks now.’
Their trunks were stowed in one corner of a secure warehouse, three blocks uphill from the port. Vorrigan brought the wagon round, while Kiergard Slorn found someone to open the warehouse and collect the storage fee. There were four, standing as high as Lanvik’s waist and equally wide. Each was heavy enough to need at least four people to carry them out into the street and lift them into the back of the wagon.
‘What’s in them?’
‘Things we might have needed,’ Magda said. ‘Like the instruments, camping and climbing equipment, weapons, clothes …’
It took fifteen minutes to load the wagon, and then Kiergard, Ethryk, Bane, Ubrik and Garran went with it back down to the harbour to help with loading.
‘I would like to look around the harbour some more,’ Vander said, ‘to see how things are done. I am from a port city as well, and although we came through Stormhaven on the way, we spent no time here.’
‘Fine,’ Kiergard said. ‘You can come with us, then.’
They headed back down the hill while the others returned to their new lodgings. Most headed to bed – even those who had not walked at all were tired from the jolting of the wagon – but a handful of them roused the kitchen staff in order to secure something hot to eat, partly on the promise that more diners would join them shortly.
The hotel also offered a cold buffet for late suppers, so instead of eating with the others, Lanvik took a simple plate of meats, sauces and salad up to the room.
He stoked the fire from the stack of short timber logs in the corner, pulled up a chair, and ate his evening meal in front of the hearth, holding his hands outstretched towards the fire from time to time and revelling in the heat. When he was finished, he left the platter outside the door and rinsed his hands: the water in the pipes was pleasantly warm, and there was a small slab of soap.
As he dried his hands, he could see Kiergard Slorn’s pack and his grey bag, tucked away neatly under the bed … the grey bag that he had taken with him when he went back out into Darkfall with Bane and Magda last night. It would surely be some time before the others were back, and Lanvik couldn’t contain his curiosity about what Slorn might have in there. Other than his souvenir crown, of course.
