‘Tell me about Marquensas,’ said Bernardo as he reseated himself.
‘For months now a town in the north of the barony, Beran’s Hill, has been very busy.’
‘This I know,’ said the cleric. ‘Rumours, little more.’
Piccolo nodded. ‘True, but persistent rumours, Your Eminence.’ He paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. ‘There is no pattern nor is there any one item worthy of serious consideration, but in total …’
‘A design?’
‘Not apparently, but … something is taking shape. Though if someone is behind it, it isn’t obvious.’
Bernardo nodded. ‘Something is going on in that town.’ He also organized his thoughts before adding, ‘It’s where Lodavico and I expect the lure to be. If Baron Daylon expects Sandura’s attack, and with Copper Hills’s aid, he could trap Lodavico’s forces there.’
‘Lose the town, but win the war,’ agreed Piccolo.
‘Exactly. Lodavico loses a huge number of his military, enrages allies expecting an easy victory, and convinces others of Sandura’s perfidy when whatever excuse Lodavico dreams up is exposed as a lie, so it’s a victory both militarily and politically. At worst, Sandura is wounded and weakened, perhaps enough for old enmity to rise and former allies to turn on Lodavico. At best, Dumarch has allies ready and launches a counter-offensive …’ He spread his hands slowly and moved them outwards, as if wiping away game pieces from a table. ‘… leaves Sandura much as Lodavico left Ithrace …’ Bernardo let out an audible sigh. ‘And that we cannot have.’
Piccolo glanced around the dark room. ‘Can’t say I’d miss this castle.’
‘On that we agree. But when the cathedral is finished and blessed it will be the seat of the Church’s power in the twin continents. And that must be protected.
‘This war is inevitable, given our king’s obsession with all things related to the fall of Ithrace. Even the suggestion that Daylon Dumarch is becoming the next King of Fire …’ Bernardo paused. ‘I have little problem with them making war on each other. I just wish it to be on my terms, at a time of my choosing. Remember, the perfect plan executed at the wrong time has another name.’
Piccolo raised an eyebrow. ‘A disaster?’
Delnocio chuckled. Piccolo was as lethal an agent as he could have wished for, but he was also clever, and occasionally amusing. ‘Yes.’
Piccolo nodded; then he asked, ‘Do you wish me to go?’
‘I do not; I would rather keep you here, but I think there is a need. We have rumours of odd comings and goings. The agents of Coaltachin are apparently poking around, and they have no business we know of that far west. I’ve also received reports of … those who are best kept under watch.’
‘The Azhante?’
‘I still employ their services. They are not a risk … yet. They are the ones sending me intelligence.’
‘Whom do they suspect?’
As if fearful of saying the name too loudly, Bernardo almost whispered, ‘The Flame Guard.’
Piccolo’s shoulders dropped slightly. ‘Is there no end to them?’
‘Apparently not. Most we killed or captured when Ithrace fell. But …’ He moved his hands again, this time in a vague sweeping gesture, wiggling his fingers. ‘Some seem to have been carried away on the wind.’
‘A few,’ observed Piccolo.
‘But with … magic. Power. Whatever you wish to label it.’ Bernardo remained silent for a moment then said, ‘I don’t suppose there are any reports of a young man or woman with copper-and-gold hair, by chance?’
Piccolo shook his head. ‘Even if there were, that doesn’t make them true. A Firemane heir conveniently landing in Marquensas, or even more so in Beran’s Hill, would spur Lodavico to act rashly, I would wager. Even your influence would barely slow him. If that rumour suddenly sprouted up, it very well might be Dumarch’s lure.’
‘Yes, agreed.’ Bernardo’s brow furrowed slightly. Then he said, ‘Not if we steal a march, and look for the man or woman. Ensure the rumours are false.’
‘So, I should leave now?’
‘Yes.’ Bernardo stood up. ‘Go, take a thorough look, then return with haste. I need to know if any of the rumours are true.’
‘If they are?’
‘Do nothing. Observe, then come back and we shall consider our position. Send word by pigeon and courier, stating clearly the time you will arrive outside Beran’s Hill. Take an armed escort, but look as if you’re travelling as mercenaries, then meet our agent outside the town; whoever arrives first must wait for the other. I’ll leave it to you to work out the details. Now, go.’ He made a dismissive gesture, hand held fingers downwards, then a flip up towards the door.
Piccolo bowed and slipped through the hidden doorway. Bernardo was always slightly amused at his agent’s use of ancient passages not known even to the king.
Alone again, he put his mind to matters of the day. In the end the Church would rule Sandura and he would rule the Church, but until that time, he was His Most Holy Majesty’s loyal adviser. It was time to go and advise. Or at least sit feigning attention while watching a bored man pose for a portrait. And ponder this persistent rumour about a man with copper-and-gold hair in a small town half a world away.
• CHAPTER ONE •
Hunting and an Unexpected Encounter
The sound of a twig cracking underfoot made the deer’s head jerk upright from grazing, its ears moving as it looked around, seeking the source of the noise. Its nostrils flared as it tested the wind.
Hava froze, her bow halfway to a ready position, not wishing to startle the young buck. After a moment of sniffing the air, the deer started to wander away. Hava stole a glance at Molly Bowman, who looked back at Hava and with an inclination of her head indicated she would move off to her right, then with her lifted chin communicated that Hava should keep stalking the deer.
All this was new to the girl from Coaltachin: her home islands had no forests like this. Here the trees were so much bigger; the boles were massive compared to the smaller pines, balsams, and fir trees that littered the relatively small mountains on the islands. The lowlands had been cleared centuries earlier for farms and orchards.
She wended her way between massive oaks, while avoiding the sprawling beech trees and their multiple roots and low-hanging branches. Hava understood how easy it would be to get lost in this forest. This area, with its interlinked forests, woodlands, small hills with dells and dead-end canyons, was called the Wildlands and had once been a haven to savage tribes and outlaws. While the western half of the region was relatively peaceful, due to the Dumarch family’s pacification of their demesne over generations, it was still a very wild place to navigate. To a girl raised in tiny villages and schools on small islands, it was a veritable maze filled with potentially lethal traps. Navigating was hard: she couldn’t see the sun, and the shadows were confusing. All the tricks she knew for how to find her way from place to place in cities were useless in the densest forest she’d ever encountered.
Even the smells were different. There was a damp earthiness overlaid with something that was almost familiar, something like sandalwood, but not. Another note, more floral, teased her, almost apple or pear, but not. The alien quality of this place both intrigued and intimidated her.
The deer started to drift away and Hava glanced over to see that Molly was already moving. Hava tried to follow the deer as silently as possible, painfully aware that compared to Molly she was making enough noise to scare away half the wildlife in the forest.
Hava liked Molly. Of all the young women she had met since arriving at Beran’s Hill, Molly was by far the most interesting. The others were much as she expected from her own experiences with town girls while travelling, as well as the girls she had known at home, people caught up in their day-to-day tedium, living predictable lives. They served their families, then got married, moved out, and served their husbands. Or served many men as barmaids, shop girls, or whores.
Though Hava was not yet twenty years of age, she’d travelled, learned to sail, killed a man with a rock, and had seen things these women couldn’t dream of, let alone attempt. She had observed their relationships over the years, but they had no meaning to her personally. The hardest thing for Hava to understand was their blind acceptance of such an ordinary existence.
Since leaving her father’s house and joining the class at Master Facaria’s school, Hava had been just another student, one who excelled, but unlike the town and farm girls she had met she was her own person, not someone’s daughter or wife.
Molly, too, was different, and she knew some things better than Hava did. Hava might be able to negotiate a dark alley and remain unseen, or enter a house without noise, but she was little more than an awkward child in this forest. She wasn’t even certain how she would get back to the town if Molly wasn’t there.
Then Hava realized Molly wasn’t there. A tiny pang of concern twinged in the pit of her stomach: the first hint of fear. It needed to be ignored, lest it lead to panic. Immediately she employed part of her childhood training to prevent her imagination running wild and leading her into poor choices.
She took stock of her position. What would she do in a city? She started looking for anything that made this location unique. All she saw were trees! A chiding voice from her memory echoed, from a crew boss named Hilsbek, ‘You look, but you do not see. Learn to see!’
Again she surveyed her surroundings and saw there was one tree with deep scratches in the bark at chest-height, as if someone had used a blade or saw on it, and then stopped. To the left of that tree was a stump, perhaps from timber felling, or a diseased tree falling, she didn’t know, but it was old, covered in some sort of vine.
Quickly she inventoried more details: a small outcropping of rocks to her right; a half-broken bough hanging from a large spread of branches forming a sort of canopy behind her. After a moment, she had confidence that should she return, she’d recognize this spot.
She turned around, and was making every detail indelible in her mind, when she heard Molly say, ‘You coming?’
Looking towards the source of the voice, she could barely make out Molly between two trees growing close together. Hava jogged forward, circling the trees, then saw a hint of movement behind Molly.
Without hesitation, Hava drew and shot, sending a shaft past Molly’s neck. The sound of the arrow striking and a slight grunt was followed by silence. Molly didn’t flinch or even show surprise, but turned to see what Hava had loosed at.
Molly looked back at Hava. ‘I hope what you saw was a deer and not some fool wearing a deerskin jerkin!’
Hava smiled. ‘Hadn’t thought of that.’
She moved purposefully through the trees, pausing a couple of times to circumnavigate barriers of brush and tree trunks. Reaching the fallen animal, she knelt and saw it was still alive but motionless in shock, breathing rapidly and shallowly.
Molly knelt next to Hava and with a quick movement slit the deer’s throat. ‘Best to put it out of its misery.’ Sitting back on her heels, she added, ‘Good shot.’ She glanced back. ‘You had maybe a foot of sight, through five, six trees?’
‘I saw movement and took the shot,’ Hava said with a shrug.
Molly slid her pack off her shoulder and took out a large sack. ‘Waste nothing,’ she said to Hava, unfolding the sack. Then she drew a light rope out of the pack and in moments had the deer hanging from a branch. Gutting the animal, she gathered the offal into the sack and tied it off. She handed the bag to Hava. ‘Someone might want the liver or kidneys for pie, and Jarman will give me a few coppers for the rest for his hogs.’
‘What about skinning it?’ asked Hava.
‘When we get back to town.’ Molly cut down the deer and with Hava’s help – though Hava thought Molly hardly needed it – she shouldered the carcass easily.
As Hava picked up the bag, Molly said, ‘Where did you learn to shoot like that?’
Falling into the almost unthinking default of lying about her past, Hava said, ‘My father taught us all. I was the oldest, so I had more time to learn.’ She paused, then added, ‘We all learned.’
Molly said nothing for a few paces then asked, ‘You didn’t hunt much, did you?’
‘A bit,’ replied Hava quickly, seeing where the conversation was heading. ‘It’s different where I’m from. We don’t have forests like these.’
‘Oh?’ Molly sounded curious.
‘My family lived on an island …’ Hava let the thought trail off as she quickly realized she didn’t know if Molly had met Master Bodai when he passed through Beran’s Hill in the role of a horse trader. That had been before Hava and Hatu returned to purchase the burned-out inn Hatu was working at restoring while Hava hunted with Molly. The story then was that her ‘father’ was a horse trader.
Hava resumed her story, making a mental note to speak with Hatu when they were alone so they could reconcile their false past history. ‘The island was small but pirates and raiders came close sometimes. We had little of worth, so they rarely troubled us, but occasionally they would take food and, if they could, prisoners they could rape or sell to slavers.
‘So we all learned the bow. We’d grab what we could and head up into the hills, leaving behind enough for the raiders so they wouldn’t risk following us. Everyone in my village did this.’
Molly glanced at Hava. ‘I was curious, because you’re a very good – or lucky – archer, but you seem completely lost in the forest.’
‘We left the island when I was young,’ said Hava, which was close to the truth. She had been barely seven years of age when she was sent to Facaria’s school. ‘Trading horses … you need to be able to defend yourself. Father didn’t like paying for guards …’ She shrugged as she let the explanation drop. One thing she had been taught in her training was not to volunteer too much information; it made keeping a false story consistent more difficult. She switched topics. ‘I admit I had just lost sight of you for a moment and was wondering how to get back to town.’
‘Most girls from town would get lost quickly … and a fair number of the boys, too.
‘I was an only child, so my father took me hunting, despite my mother being furious. I tried to learn the things my mother wanted to teach me, cooking, baking, and all that.’
Hava fell into stride with her as Molly went on, ‘I learned some of it. I can bake simple bread, cook a bit. I can’t make … whatever they call that fruit … preserves, yes; I can’t get that right. I recently opened a jar I’d stored away and it was nasty.’ She chuckled ruefully. ‘I never realized how much my mother knew until after she died.’
Hava reflected on that for a moment, realizing she’d never thought much about her own mother, a woman constantly beset by the demands of four younger siblings when Hava left. As a child, Hava had taken her mother’s efforts for granted. Then when she was at the school, those needs were met by the matrons, from wiping noses and bottoms to tending cuts and bruises, and occasionally comforting a crying child, until such time as the children learned not to cry.
Hava said, ‘My mother … I lost her before I was seven years old. I really don’t remember too much about her …’
Molly turned slightly so she could glance at Hava, then returned her attention to where they were going. ‘See that dip ahead?’
‘Yes.’
‘Follow me,’ she instructed, seemingly unburdened by the heavy deer she was carrying across her shoulders. When they reached the dip, Molly said, ‘This little rill here has been cut by run-off when it rains. Check and you’ll see which end is lower. If you get lost up here, look for a stream and follow it downhill. There’s a river on the other side of a road the baron’s family cut through here years ago, and if you follow any of them it will lead you to that road. Turn west and in less than an hour you’re back at Beran’s Hill.’
‘If there’s a road nearby, why aren’t we taking it?’
Molly chuckled. ‘Roads mean people. People mean that animals only cross at night when people aren’t around.’ She lifted her chin to her left and added, ‘That’s a game trail. See how it’s packed earth and rocks?’
Hava nodded.
‘You follow those to find game or water.’ Molly grinned. ‘You’re very good with a bow. We’ll hunt again soon and I’ll teach you some woodlore.’
‘I’d like that,’ Hava replied.
Molly took a step, then froze. Hava became motionless a second later, her training instinctively taking over so that she was ready for whatever came next. She put down the bag of entrails, silently drew an arrow from her hip quiver and nocked it to her bowstring.
Molly unloaded the deer carcass onto a small flat rock outcropping, letting her shoulder pack drop next to it; then she pulled an arrow from her quiver and nodded approval at Hava already being ready for trouble.
Hava remained motionless and silent, waiting for Molly’s instruction. Molly lifted her chin to show the direction she wished to move. Hava fell in behind her, glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone was following, an old city habit.
Molly moved with purpose and Hava could tell from her posture and economy of motion that she was ready for a fight, though her quiet caution also told Hava that Molly wasn’t looking for one.
Then Hava heard what had alerted Molly. Riders approaching: the sound of them growing noticeably louder. Molly headed down a slope, then knelt low.
Hava knelt beside her and saw there was a break in the trees a dozen yards or so ahead, and beyond that, the road. Within moments the party of riders came into view, moving at an easy canter, a gait designed to cover long distances quickly without ruining the horses. As they passed, the man in front raised his arm and reined in a bit, and the horses slowed to a trot.
As they rode out of view, Molly stood up and said, ‘Come on.’
‘We’re going to follow them?’ asked Hava. ‘What about the deer?’
Molly shouldered her bow. ‘Scavengers are already on it. There are more deer to hunt.’ She pointed up the road. ‘This is more interesting.’
‘A company of mercenaries on their way to Port Colos is interesting?’
‘Did you see how they reined in on command?’ Molly asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Not mercenaries. Soldiers dressed like mercenaries. They rode in formation and reined in on a hand signal. Well-trained cavalry.’
Hava chided herself; she should have noticed that. ‘The baron’s?’
‘If they turn south, they’re the baron’s.’
‘If they don’t, they’re someone else’s.’
‘Interesting?’
Hava nodded, her expression conceding Molly’s point. ‘Very.’
Molly started to move up the road at a fast walk, and as Hava caught up they both broke into a jogging run.
THEY MANAGED TO STAY CLOSE enough to the riders to keep them in earshot, as the soldiers disguised as mercenaries were travelling at a modest trot and the women were alternately running and jogging. Finally, when the sound of hoofbeats stopped, Molly glanced at Hava and gestured that they should move into the trees and keep following out of sight.
After skirting the road for a few minutes, Hava glimpsed the riders through the trees. The two young women retreated upslope a little more, staying low behind brush and fallen tree trunks. When the baron had had the road cleared, most of the timber not harvested – mainly mounds of branches and an occasional diseased bole – had simply been dragged uphill on either side, providing several convenient places for an ambush, or to spy.
Molly crouched, put her cheek next to Hava’s and asked, ‘What do you think?’
Hava observed how the riders organized themselves: two feeding horses out of nosebags while four others stood in a circle in discussion. One walked a short distance back down the road, apparently to see if they were being followed. Hava said, ‘They’re meeting someone.’
‘How do you know?’
‘If they were just pausing to rest the horses they’d walk them slowly and then feed them once they reached town. They don’t know how long they have to wait for whoever is meeting them, and don’t want the horses hungry and restless if they have to linger. If it was anything else, they’d be riding into town, or finding a place to let them graze.’
Molly raised a questioning eyebrow.
Hava grinned. ‘My father, horse trader?’
Molly returned the smile. ‘Now?’
‘We wait,’ said Hava, and Molly nodded.
Hava had endured enough stints of observation as part of her training that she ignored the urge to drift off into random thoughts: the many unanswered questions about the choices that would come, if not soon, eventually. About her loyalty to the Council on Coaltachin and her years spent with Hatu – and their lost friend Donte – coming into conflict. She wrestled with that occasionally, electing to push it aside most times, content that when the time came for her to choose between a lifetime of friendship and love, and a sense of duty instilled since childhood, she would make that choice.
Instead she turned her attention to the soldiers waiting at the verge of the road below, attempting to see as much as she could without being seen. Molly had been correct; these men were a poor excuse for a mercenary company. She’d seen a number of those in her travels, and they were at best a scruffy lot, given to all manner of choices in armour, weapons, saddles, and mounts. The men below had chosen to wear some unlike garments, but they were all too clean, not in need of mending, obviously little worn. More revealing, they all wore the same boots, and the horses had identical tack. She was convinced if she got closer the swords and any bows would be alike. This was a company of soldiers, should anyone take a few moments to study them, and not just any soldiers – for garrison soldiers had variations in armour, weapons, and boots. These were castellans: personal soldiers of a noble, the best of his army, whichever army that might be.
‘Why are there so many of them?’ Molly whispered.
Hava shrugged. ‘Maybe we’ll find out.’
The two young women waited in silence while the men stood idly rotating every so often to ensure the horses didn’t wander off the road now that the feeding was over. Hava knew that sooner or later the horses would need water and softly asked Molly, ‘How far to water?’
Molly pointed to the road and then beyond it. ‘That way. Not far.’
Hava murmured, ‘They’ll have to water the horses soon.’
Molly nodded.
As Hava had predicted, two of the soldiers led half the horses off towards the small river that ran to the north of the road, and after a short while, returned and led off the other mounts.
Minutes passed slowly. As the sun lowered in the sky, the last of the freshly watered horses returned.
Hava leaned over and whispered, ‘See those two men, standing a little way off?’
Molly turned her attention to the indicated pair. One stood tall, a soldier by his bearing, but the other was a short man, apparently slender under his heavy cloak. Hava whispered, ‘The shorter one is not a soldier, but the tall one – their leader – seems respectful of him.’
‘How do you know?’
Hava again returned to the fabricated history she had concocted. ‘My father taught me early to study people; horse traders need to know whom they are bargaining with, even if they’re strangers. You look at who jumps to follow instructions, or their faces when they’re told something.’ As if to punctuate her observation, the tall man nodded and said something to the other soldiers, who immediately started inspecting the horses and making ready to ride soon.
‘Someone is coming,’ said Molly.
As soon as she spoke, Hava heard hoofbeats and a rider came into view, followed by the soldier who had been stationed down the road. The rider jumped down from his mount and nodded a greeting to the two men Hava had observed. The tall man moved away, leaving the short fellow and the newcomer alone to speak.
