Bonds of Vengeance (71 page)
Aindreas should have gone after her. He should have killed her for what she had done, though he wasn’t certain how to go about killing a shaper. Instead, he just knelt there.
And the king’s man stared sightlessly at the ceiling.
Duvenry, Wethyrn, Anton’s Moon waning
Their ride from the City of Kings to Rennach took two days longer than Grinsa had told Keziah it would. Two days. And though the gleaner and Tavis quickly found a Wethy merchant who agreed to give them passage across the Gulf of Kreanna, they had to wait a full day before he and his crew were ready to set sail. The man’s price was reasonable, but they would be sailing to Duvenry rather than Helke, which would add more time to their travels. Still, Grinsa and Tavis were not in a position to be particular. Even the passage itself would have cost them a day had it not been for Grinsa’s magic. The weather was clear, the winds calm, as he had hoped they would be for Tavis’s sake. Indeed, the day proved so mild that the ship nearly was becalmed in the first hours of their journey.
The captain, a dour, black-haired Eandi, with a barrel chest and thick forearms that were tanned and marked with pale scars, had his men lower the mainsail and go belowdecks to row. Grinsa thought about offering to raise a wind, but judging from the way the captain eyed him, he knew the man would refuse. He and Tavis had been fortunate just to gain passage—clearly this Eandi captain didn’t care for Qirsi. Still, their speed on oar was intolerably slow, and even with the waters of the gulf as tranquil as Grinsa had ever seen them, Tavis was
leaning over the edge of the top deck, his face so ashen that his scars looked black.
With nothing to lose and time to be gained, Grinsa stood beside the young lord, using his magic to raise a soft breeze. He did it so gradually, with so little visible effort, that neither the captain nor his crew seemed to suspect anything. He even went to far as to draw the wind from the southwest, so that they couldn’t steer a direct course to Duvenry, fearing that a more favorable wind might have raised the captain’s suspicions.
Feeling the wind freshen, the crew raised the mainsail again, and the small ship began to carve a crooked course across the gulf. After a time Tavis raised his head, eyeing the gleaner.
“Are you doing this?” he asked, his voice low.
“Yes. I’m sorry, Tavis, but already this is taking more time than I would have liked.”
The lord shook his head, the mere motion seeming to make his stomach turn. “It’s all right. The sooner I’m off this damned ship the better.”
They sailed around the north shore of Brigands’ Island, a small mass of trees and rock whose narrow coves and difficult landings had once been a haven for privateers. Then they turned south, away from the promontory of the lower Crown and toward the port of Duvenry. The shore appeared close, as if they could reach it in just moments if they simply turned due west, but the passage took the better part of the day.
Tavis said little, though after emptying his stomach early in the journey, he did seem to adjust to the gentle rhythm of the ship. The captain’s men ignored them, as if ordered to do so, leaving Grinsa to his thoughts and the subtle, constant demands of the wind he had conjured. Eventually, as the day went on, a natural breeze began to rise, and he was able to drop his wind, a good thing, since they encountered more ships as they drew nearer to Wethyrn, and it would have raised eyebrows had theirs been the only ship under sail.
As he watched gulls wheeling over the ship, and murres floating lazily on the gentle swells of the gulf, Grinsa’s thoughts turned again and again to Cresenne and Bryntelle. For just that one last night in Audun’s Castle, they had been a family, tied to one another by love and the shared sense that this was the future awaiting them, if only they could survive the coming war. He had long dreamed of again sharing his life with another, of knowing such passion and intimacy and—dare he think it?—joy. Years before, when he had been too young to appreciate
fully what it meant to be tied to someone in this way, he had thought to share his life with Pheba, his Eandi wife, who died from the pestilence shordy after their joining. Now, it seemed, he had it with Cresenne. In the night they passed together, there had been the promise of a lifetime together. Yet there had been something else as well, an aching sadness, as if they both understood that the future they foresaw was but a dream. So many obstacles stood before them, so many paths to pain and grief and loss. Grinsa felt as though he were standing at the mouth of a great labyrinth, knowing that Cresenne and Bryntelle stood waiting on the other side, but unable to discern any pattern to the twists and turns in between that might lead him to them.
“Is that Duvenry?”
The gleaner looked up from the dark waters. Tavis was pointing toward a great walled city before them on the shore, bathed in the golden light of late day. Beyond the rocky coast and the formidable wall of the city, stood a great fortress, solid and implacable, grey as smoke save for the yellow and black banners rippling in the light wind above its towers. Grinsa had only been to Wethyrn’s royal city once before, and that had been many years ago. But Duvenry Castle was unmistakable and there was no other city in the realm that compared with this one.
“Yes. That’s Duvenry.” The gleaner straightened, and glanced about the ship. Already the captain was calling for his men to lower the mainsail and return to their sweeps. They would be docking shortly.
“How long will it take us to reach Helke?”
Hearing the tightness in Tavis’s voice, Grinsa regarded him for a moment before responding. His color had returned, leading the gleaner to hope that their return voyage across the gulf wouldn’t take such a toll on the boy. But still the young lord looked anxious.
“We can still turn back, Tavis. There’d be no shame in it, despite what you might think. Certainly I would never question the wisdom of doing so, nor would your parents.”
“I don’t want to go back. I’m just asking how long the journey north will take.”
Grinsa shrugged, staring at Duvenry Castle. “Five or six days, perhaps four, if we can manage to purchase mounts.”
Tavis’s father had given them more gold for the journey, though he had made no effort to conceal his disapproval. They could afford horses, and they would have no reason not to stay at whatever inns would have them. They would have little choice, though, but to stay in
Duvenry this night before setting out for the northern city in the morning, and Grinsa begrudged even this delay. Every day he spent away from the City of Kings placed Cresenne, Bryntelle, and Keziah in greater danger, for each passing day increased the likelihood that the Weaver would grow impatient with Keziah’s failure to kill Cresenne and would make another attempt on her life himself. The gleaner would gladly have traded all the gold in their pockets for a quick return to Audun’s Castle.
“And you’re certain he’s in Helke?”
“Not entirely, no. In my vision the two of you were fighting at the northern end of the Crown, but I couldn’t tell the time of year. We’ll find him near Helke eventually, but I can’t say for certain when. I can only hope that it’s soon.”
Tavis said nothing, and for some time they stood in silence, gazing at the city and its port as the merchant ship approached the shore, the rhythmic cries of the rowmaster and the splash of the sweeps marking their progress. Whatever else Grinsa might have thought of the vessel’s captain, he could only admire the skill with which the man and his crew steered the ship to the broad wooden dock. In a few moments, the ship had been moored and the plank lowered. Grinsa and Tavis crossed the deck to where the captain stood, the young lord counting out gold coins to pay the man the balance of what they owed.
“W’ made fine time,” the captain said as Tavis handed him the gold, his accent so thick Grinsa barely understood him.
The gleaner nodded. “Yes, we did, Captain. Thank you.”
“I didn’ ’spect w’ would when w’ started out.” He gave Grinsa a sly look. “Yer a good’un to have “round, aren’t ye?”
“I’m not certain I know what you mean.”
“Aye, ye do.” He started to walk away. “If ye need passage back, ye c’n “ave it. Nex’ time, though, give us a more d’rect wind. Crossin’s slow “nough as “tis.”
The gleaner could only smile. After a moment he touched Tavis lightly on the shoulder and gestured for him to lead the way off the ship.
It was a short walk from the pier to the city gates and before long they had found an inn at which to stay the night. Relations between Eibithar and Wethyrn had been good for centuries, and so they were able to eschew most of the precautions they had taken while traveling through Aneira. Still, because of Brienne’s murder, the name Tavis of Curgh was now known throughout the Forelands, and the two companions
agreed that it would be safer if the young lord went by Xaver’s name instead of his own, just as he had while traveling through the southern realm.
At Tavis’s suggestion, they spent much of the evening walking the streets of the city, searching for musicians in Duvenry’s taverns. They asked about the assassin in several of the inns, describing his appearance and claiming that he was a friend who they were supposed to meet here in the royal city, but none of the musicians or innkeepers with whom they spoke seemed to know the man.
As they left the fifth or sixth tavern—Grinsa had lost count—the gleaner cleared his throat, intending to suggest that they return to their inn and go to sleep. They had a good deal of travel ahead of them, and he was eager to be on the road with first light.
Before he could say any of this, however, he heard a light footfall behind them. Apparently Tavis heard it as well, for they turned at the same time, both of them drawing their blades.
A woman stood before them, her face illuminated by a nearby torch. She had long hair, pale blue eyes, and a round, attractive face. In the dim light, Grinsa couldn’t tell how old she was, but he wouldn’t have thought her much past her middle twenties.
She eyed their daggers briefly, raising an eyebrow. “For men who claim to be searching for a friend, you’re rather quick to draw your blades.” She glanced at the short sword hanging from Tavis’s belt. “You’re well armed, too.”
The sword had been Tavis’s idea, and Grinsa hadn’t approved at first, fearing that the weapon would only serve to draw attention to them. Few outside the courts traveled with such arms. It bothered him as well that he hadn’t seen the blade in his vision, though perhaps he should have been heartened by Tavis’s insistence that he bring it along. Didn’t its presence here at least raise the possibility that his vision no longer carried the weight of prophecy? No matter his feelings on the matter, he did understand why the boy would want the weapon with him. He had seen Tavis training with Xaver MarCullet in the courtyard of Audun’s Castle. Whatever the young lord’s limitations with a dagger, he had some skill with the longer blade. And, as it turned out, this sword belonged to Xaver; no doubt Tavis took some comfort in carrying it with them on this journey.
“Forgive us, my lady,” Grinsa said, relaxing his stance and returning his weapon to the sheath on his belt. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tavis do the same. “We’ve only just arrived in Wethyrn today
and our previous travels have taken us places that are somewhat less hospitable.”
“I see,” she answered, sounding unconvinced.
“Can we be of service in some way?”
She seemed to consider this for several moments, her eyes flicking from one of them to the other and finally coming to rest on Tavis’s face. “I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head. “Forgive me for disturbing you.”
She turned to go.
“You heard us asking about the singer,” Grinsa said.
The woman halted, though she kept her back to them.
“You know him?” A moment later, he answered his own question. “Of course you do. Why else would you have stopped us?”
“I just want to go,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “I don’t want any trouble.”
It was the last thing Grinsa had expected, though it shouldn’t have been. They were tracking an assassin. “I assure you, my lady, we have no intention of harming you.” He paused. “But you do know him, don’t you?”
She nodded, turning slowly to face them once more. “I heard you say that you were his friends and that you were looking for him. And since I’m looking for him, too, I thought that perhaps we could help each other.”
“Perhaps we can.”
Their eyes met, and in that moment Grinsa knew: she and the singer had been lovers.
“I don’t think so,” she told him. She nodded toward Tavis. “I see his scars, and I see the way both of you draw blades at the least hint of danger. You’re no friend of his.”
The gleaner considered denying this, but he didn’t bother. She wouldn’t have believed him.
“It’s important that we find him, my lady.”
“Did he give those scars to the boy?”
“He didn’t wield the blade, but he’s as responsible for them as anyone. Does that surprise you?”
She shrugged, looking off to the side. “Not really. But it tells me that the boy must have wronged him in some way.”
