Deborah Hale (15 page)

“I’ll go see.” Rath headed toward the tree-girt hill calling Maura’s name. Was he going to have to puzzle his way through that miserable maze again to reach her? Its twisting, branching paths were no more baffling than his own feelings.

Rath had not gotten far when he spied the child coming toward him.

“If you are looking for Maura,” she said, “you must just have missed her. She and the others hurried away as soon as I spoke with them.”

They must have gone while he’d been talking to Dame Diotta. A pity they hadn’t been as sharp-eyed as the Oracle’s waiting woman, to glimpse him off in the distance.

“Did they say where they were headed?” he asked. “What did you tell them?”

The child flinched from his fierce tone.

Rath regretted his gruffness. He dropped to one knee, so as not to tower over her, and softened his voice. “Did you tell Maura what you told me…about my heir?”

The Oracle shook her head. “Perhaps I should have. But she’s been so kind to me, I did not want to grieve her. I warned her about something else. I had a vision of Maura’s ship floundering in a bad storm coming. I warned them to wait until it passes before they sail.”

Idrygon would not be pleased to hear that. His plan called for Maura and Delyon to sail in two days’ time, so they could slip ashore before the Han started keeping a sharper eye on the coast—as they were bound to once his forces landed in the north.

This delay would give Rath a few extra days in which to make things up with Maura. Or would it?

He scrambled to his feet. “Thank you for telling me.” Before he hurried off, something made him add, “You’re doing a good job, you know. I was left on my own when I was your age, and I got myself into all sorts of trouble.”

“I know.” The child looked as if she was trying to keep from grinning. “Namma had a vision of you. Something about setting fire to a Hanish sentry post. She feared you would get yourself killed ten times over before you got any sense knocked into you.”

Rath’s scalp prickled. He hadn’t thought about the Hanish sentry post in years. Yet an old woman hundreds of miles away had seen it and fretted over him. It gave him an even greater respect for the Oracle’s power…and made it harder to dismiss what she’d seen in his future. It also gave him a clearer insight into her daunting duty. How frustrating it must be to catch only tiny glimpses of things to come, disturbing and hard to interpret, then have to deliver warnings folks might not heed.

Pushing aside the weight of his regrets and worries for a moment, he answered the child’s grin with a wink. “I am still getting sense knocked into me.”

A few moments later, he strode back down the hill to Idrygon’s villa, wishing he’d had the sense to stay there and wait for Maura’s return, rather than trying in vain to chase her down.

The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that Idrygon would never stand to have his plans delayed. By waiting until the storm passed to send Maura and Delyon, he would have to wait longer still before he dared send troops against the Dusk Coast.

Rath’s spirits sagged when he saw no sign of the others at Idrygon’s villa.

“They came not long after you left.” Idrygon’s wife sounded apologetic. “I’m surprised you didn’t meet them on your way.
I told my husband you were looking for Her Highness. Perhaps they went off trying to find you.”

Rath doubted it. If Idrygon wanted Maura to sail ahead of the storm, he would not waste time scouring the town for her husband so she could bid him farewell. And that was assuming she wanted to. Rath wished he could be certain she had.

“If they come back here, tell them I’ve gone to the harbor.” He set off running as if chased by a party of Hanish soldiers.

The streets of the town wound back and forth up the hills to avoid steep slopes. So the fastest way down to the harbor meant cutting between houses. Rath drew more than a few curious stares as he vaulted fences and raced through yards. No doubt Idrygon would be vexed when he heard of it, but Rath did not care.

His frantic inquiries at the wharf revealed that Maura, Idrygon and Delyon had departed by barge a short while ago.

“A boat,” Rath muttered, searching for a small craft he could commandeer.

By this time it was near noon, and most of the boats were busy ferrying gear out to the fleet. At last he found a tiny one that did not look very seaworthy. Rath untied it, jumped in and grabbed the oars.

Only when he’d rowed toward the ships did he realize he had no idea which of them would take Maura and Delyon to the mainland. It would have to be a small craft—one that would not draw too much attention if it were spotted off the coast.

“Hey, there!” he bellowed to a young crewman on the deck of the nearest small vessel. “Is this ship…?”

He hesitated. What should he say? Is this the ship that’s taking the Destined Queen on a secret mission to the mainland? No, for it was a secret, known only to the Council of Sages.

“Is this ship what?” the lad called back.

“Is this ship sailing with the rest of the fleet?”

The lad gave an eager nod. “I reckon we all are. Except the one that just set sail. Don’t know where it’s bound.”

Rath did.

“There it goes.” The lad pointed westward.

Though he knew there was no chance of even getting close enough in time to signal, Rath kept on rowing, threading his way among the fleet until he reached open water. There he met Idrygon, being poled back to shore in his barge. Off in the distance, the sails of Maura’s ship billowed in the breeze.

Taking her away from him. Perhaps forever.

M
aura stared back toward the shore of Margyle through a mist of tears. After several long days of growing estrangement between her and Rath, she had left with so much unresolved between them. They had parted without even a proper farewell.

She did not hear footsteps on the deck, but she sensed a warm, watchful presence beside her. “I am sorry we had to leave all of a sudden like this,” said Delyon, “without a chance for you to see His Highness.”

Maura acknowledged his words with a nod, keeping her face averted slightly from him.

“Don’t fret.” Delyon’s sensitive sympathy turned hearty. “The two of you will be back together before you know it.”

Maura barely resisted the urge to pitch him overboard.

Don’t fret?
Only someone who’d never known the sweet anguish of love could say something so heartless! And how could he be certain she would soon be reunited with Rath? They each faced many dangers in the days to come, with no assurance that both—or indeed,
either
of them—would survive this battle to
liberate their kingdom. None of the old legends told what became of the Waiting King and his Destined Queen afterward.

Paying no heed to her stony silence, Delyon rattled on, “I’ll go do some more reading. I’m making progress in deciphering that scroll I showed you the other morning.”

His words made Maura forget her regrets and worry for a moment. “You brought along ancient, sacred scrolls—where we are going? Are you daft?”

“Only one.” He shrank from her outburst. “And it is not the original. Give me credit for a little sense.”

“Your pardon, Delyon. I did not mean to snap at you.” She’d been seething with frustration and fear, and he had been the nearest person upon whom she could safely vent those feelings. It did not mean she thought ill of him.

Suddenly she could see Rath’s recent behavior in a new light. More than ever she wished she could order Captain Gull to turn the
Phantom
around and head back to Margyle. But if she did that, she might never be able to make herself leave again.

“No harm,” said Delyon. “I know most people think my fascination with deciphering old scrolls is daft. My work has come in handy, though, and I hope it may again.”

“Indeed?” Maura wished he would go away and let her brood in peace. But after speaking so rudely to him, she felt obliged to abide another of his wandering discourses on ancient writing.

“Oh, yes.” Delyon leaned closer to her. “The part I’ve managed to translate so far suggests it may contain a special spell for deep meditation.”

“Oh?”

With no more encouragement than that, he launched into a rambling explanation of how he had come to work out the meaning of some symbols, while others continued to baffle him. His words washed over Maura like the endless roll of the waves as she watched Margyle grow smaller and smaller in the distance.

A fragment of Delyon’s words caught her attention for a moment. Something about using a sort of ritual trance to unearth
any buried memories that might have been passed down to her by Queen Abrielle.

“If it is that important,” she said at last, “I should not keep you from your work. If you’ll excuse me, I must speak to Captain Gull.”

“As you wish.” Delyon did not appear to regret losing her company. “I hope I can find a quiet spot out of the wind to work.”

A stab of shame hit Maura. Delyon was a nice, harmless fellow, and he had taken her mind off her regrets just when they’d threatened to overwhelm her. “May the Giver bless you with enlightenment.”

Maura wished the Giver might bless her with a little peace of mind, though she feared she did not deserve it. After all those fine promises she had made to Rath on the enchanted daybreak of their wedding, the first gathering of storm clouds and rumble of thunder in their marriage had made her turn away from him. She would not take all the blame—he had been unreasonable and short-tempered and pigheaded. But she had been impatient, quick to take offense…and perhaps a trifle pigheaded, too.

Rath had only been worried about her safety, after all. Instead of dismissing his fears and pointing out all the reasons they were groundless, would it have hurt to reassure him that she felt the same way about him, and pledge to exercise every possible caution if he would promise her in turn? Of the two of them, he would face far greater danger.

Maura startled as something smooth and warm rubbed against her ankles. She lifted the hem of her gown to find Captain Gull’s hillcat slithering around her legs, purring.

“There you are, Abri!” Gull suddenly appeared behind Maura. “Naughty girl, you mustn’t pester the queen.”

He scooped the cat back up onto its accustomed perch around his neck.

“I don’t mind.” Maura managed a shaky smile. “It just surprised me to see Abri acting friendly. It’s the first time she’s come near without hissing at me.”

Gull reached up to scratch the cat behind its ears. “I told you, she’s a jealous creature. I reckon she knows you belong to somebody else now and aren’t any threat to her.”

His words made Maura’s eyes sting again. She belonged to Rath—even a smuggler’s pet cat knew it. When a tear slid down her cheek, she did not feel so compelled to hide it from Gull as she had from Delyon, though she was not sure why that might be. Perhaps because the tough little smuggler reminded her of her big rugged outlaw in many ways. The harsh climate of Hanish rule had made them hard, clever and sometimes ruthless, but it had not destroyed their capacity for love.

Gull reached out and brushed away her tear with a gentle touch usually reserved for his cat. “Abri might have been thinking there are times when females need to stick together. I don’t know what it is you and Lord Idrygon’s brother have to do on the mainland, but I reckon it must be important.”

Maura nodded.

Looking back toward the island, Gull murmured, “That doesn’t make it any easier, does it?”

Tears sluiced down the back of her throat. “What if I never see him again?”

“That could happen, I reckon.” Gull did not try to make light of her fears, which Maura found comforting in some perverse way. “If it’ll do you any good to wallow in worry, while you’re aboard my ship you may fret to your heart’s content.”

His words coaxed a moist hiccup of laughter from Maura.

“Once we reach the mainland,” said Gull, “you’ll need to forget about that and keep your mind on doing whatever you have to do and staying out of harm while you’re doing it.”

That reminded her of something she and Rath had once talked about. She’d asked if feelings were something to pack away when they were inconvenient, then bring out to air when a body had time for them. She recalled his answer so clearly, she fancied she could hear his voice.
You make it sound like a bad thing.

“Folks might say that’s no way for a smuggler to talk to a
queen.” Gull pulled a face that made Maura laugh again. “But you’re aboard my ship, where I’m king, so you’d better heed me.”

Heartless as it might sound, Maura decided he was right. Worrying about a future she could not control and fretting about a past she could not change would only hinder her ability to carry out the tasks she must accomplish now.

So much depended on the success of her mission—perhaps even Rath’s life. She could not afford to put that in jeopardy by letting her thoughts wander. Somehow she must channel the power of her emotions into her present quest, the way she had harnessed her grief for Langbard to strengthen her resolve during her last one. She must have faith that Rath would cheat death as he had so many times before, and she must get back to him as quickly as possible with the staff.

Only then could they heal the breach between them.

“There’s a storm brewing out there, all right,” said Gull, late on the third day after they’d set sail from Margyle. “A good job we put out to sea when we did. Remind me to get a little present to thank the Oracle. Do you reckon she’d like a kitten?”

“I think she’d love one.” Maura chuckled. “Why, is Abri…?”

“Aye, the naughty creature.” Gull gave the cat’s tail a gentle tug. “Don’t ask me how she got ashore and back again…or what sort of creature she found on the island to dally with. Just what we need on the
Phantom
—a litter of kittens!”

The notion made Maura smile, but that smile froze on her lips when she glanced behind her. Dark clouds poised on the western horizon like hungry beasts ready to pounce.

“Can we race the storm?” Her belly gave a lurch at the thought of enduring another tempest at sea.

“Don’t fret,” said Gull, “we haven’t far to go. I’m making for a wee island off the coast where we can anchor and ride out the storm away from Hanish eyes. With luck, the rain will hit just as night falls—perfect cover to smuggle you and Lord Delyon ashore.”

The captain proved something of an oracle himself in that guess. The first drops of rain were beginning to spatter against the deck when the
Phantom
dropped anchor in a small cove. The island scarcely deserved that name for it was little more than a bit of rock sporting a sparse crop of trees.

On a clear day, nightfall might still have been an hour or more away. But with the western horizon shrouded in storm clouds, the sky had already grown dark enough to suit Gull.

“Let’s go!” In his disguise as a hunchbacked old fisherman, he motioned Maura and Delyon toward the edge of the deck. “Before it gets any worse.”

A gust of wind whipped Maura’s hood back as she scrambled down the rope ladder into a boat that bobbed alongside the
Phantom.
By the time she settled herself in the bow of the small craft, her hair was so wet, it was hardly worth pulling her hood back up again.

The splash of rain and spray on her face and the struggle to keep the wind from sucking away her breath took her mind off the anxious churning in her belly. The choppy sea was only partly to blame for that. During her stay on the Vestan Islands, she had quickly grown accustomed to the peace and safety of the place. Now the Hanish-occupied mainland loomed more dangerous than ever.

Two of Gull’s brawny-armed crewmen took up the oars and began to pull for shore. They did not have to work very hard on the inbound journey, for each wave lifted the small boat and bore it landward with relentless, primal power. Maura did not envy the men their return trip, rowing against the incoming breakers.

A cry rose in her throat when the sea slammed the boat onto the shore. In the deepening darkness, she could just make out the two oarsmen scrambling from the craft and hauling it farther up the beach, before the waves could claw it back.

Gull swatted Maura on the arm to get her attention. “Step lively!” he hollered to be heard over the howl of the wind and the pounding of the surf. “And stick close to me!”

Delyon hopped out of the boat, then reached back to help Maura out.

“Don’t forget these!” Gull shoved bulky bundles into their arms.

With the haste of their departure from Margyle, Maura was not even certain what the bundles contained. Nevertheless, she clung to hers as she and Delyon staggered up the dark, storm-swept beach after Captain Gull.

She hoped the smuggler knew his way. With almost no light, she could not tell where they were going, or how soon they might reach their destination. The darkness did not alter from one stride to the next, neither did the rhythmic thunder of the sea or the gusting sheets of rain.

All that changed to give her any assurance they were making progress was the feel of the ground beneath her feet. It soon shifted from wet sand to a springy turf riddled with clumps of shore grass. Then it changed again to slippery rocks on which Maura had to concentrate mightily to keep from losing her footing. After an endless time groping up the shallow slope, she felt firm ground beneath her boots, and shoots of wet meadow grass slipped under her gown to whisper against her legs.

Even with a waterproof cloak wrapped around her, she wondered if she would ever be truly dry again. All the same, she thanked the Giver for the Oracle’s warning. The only thing worse than being lashed by this storm on land would have been to endure it on a pitching ship out in the middle of the sea.

She reached toward the vague shadow of Captain Gull and tugged on a bit of his cloak. “Is it much farther?”

“Not much!” he shouted back. “Can you make it?”

Maura gave a grim nod. “I will.”

Forcing one foot in front of the other, she kept moving until at last they stumbled into some manner of shelter.

Maura dropped her bundle and sank to her knees. “What is this place?”

Gull groped for her hand, thrusting a twig into it. “Can you make greenfire?”

“Since I was no higher than Langbard’s knee.” She concentrated on the twig, chanting the simple spell.

As a soft green glow kindled in the tip of the wood, Maura could see they were standing in a small empty cottage with no windows and only a gaping hole that had once held a door. Now the rain blew in through it, leaving a large wet patch on the floor. The corners looked dry enough, though.

Maura lurched to her feet long enough to drag her bundle into one. She cast a wistful gaze at the low hearth opposite the door, wishing she had a few sticks of dry wood to light a fire. Gull and Delyon joined her in the corner. Abri crawled out from under Gull’s cloak and began to groom herself.

“Welcome,” said Gull, his voice laced with wry mockery, “to your new home for the next week or so.”

“What is this place?” asked Maura.

“It used to be called Ven Gyllia…”

“Gathering of the Wise,” murmured Delyon. “I have heard of it. It was a community of scholars and sages, and a training academy for young wizards and enchantresses.”

“I suppose they all went to Margyle after the Han invaded,” said Maura. The twig in her hand was almost exhausted of greenfire. She looked around for another but could see none.

In the rapidly fading light, she saw Delyon shake his head. “When the Han invaded, Ven Gyllia was one of the first places they attacked. It was a slaughter. Only a few escaped.”

Maura could picture it all too vividly. Like the slaughter of outlaws in Betchwood from which she’d rescued Rath. Perhaps it was fitting their campaign to drive the Han
out
of Umbria had begun here. Perhaps it was…destiny.