Queen's Hunt Part 24

She slipped through the door and was gone.

Gerek released his long-held breath. Nadine was wrong. I spoke too soon.

Or not. There might be a chance if he could only explain ...

He rushed through the door, only to run into Kosenmark's senior runner. "Maester Hessler. A message came for you just a moment ago."

The man thrust a letter at him. Gerek muttered a curse in old Erythandran. He saw Kathe at the far end of the corridor, just rounding the corner into one of the servants' pa.s.sageways.

The runner jabbered at him, insistent. Gerek growled back, but it was no use. He would have to seek Kathe out later. With a curse, he fumbled open the letter, barely noticing the magic that p.r.i.c.kled at his fingertips. Someone who knew him. Yes, yes. He was not surprised. It came from the first agent for the s.h.i.+p. The man had written in the house code even.

Then he read the words again. Someone had suborned one of the agents in their chain. The man could not tell which one. He wanted to consult with Maester Hessler himself, to determine what action they could take to repair the damage.

For a moment, he pretended he could ignore this information another hour. But no. Kosenmark trusted him too much. With a last curse for that trust, Gerek jogged to his office and slammed the door shut. He tried to scribble a letter to Kathe, asking her for just a few moments ... No, that was no good. He crumpled the paper. He could not write what he felt. He needed to speak directly with her, to watch her face, to read the subtle alterations in her expression, some of which he had learned to decipher these past few weeks. He wanted to learn more of them.

In the end, he left word with Mistress Denk that he had errands to run and would return by evening.

He had not lost all sense of discretion, however. He took a guard with him, one particularly recommended by Ivva.n.u.s Bek. He and the guard rode to a square within a half mile of the harbor district. From there, they made their way on foot to their destination. He had worked out several meeting places with the agent, in case of emergencies. The first was a wine shop in an alley bordering the wharf district. Gerek stepped into the shadows. His guard moved past him, knife held ready as the man scouted the perimeter of the room. It was impossible to see anything after the brilliant sunlight outside. He could smell the shop. Sour wine. The reek of fish and tar. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could make out a few rough tables and stools, scattered about. Ahead was a plank that served as the counter. No sign of the agent, but Gerek would wait a few moments before he tried the next meeting place.

He ventured forward to the nearest table.

Several things happened at once. The door swung shut. Several tables crashed end over end. Gerek turned in time to see his guard grappling with three men. He spun around and ran into another. Gerek swung a fist and downed the man. He had just reached the door and was clawing it open when he caught a glimpse of a club arcing toward his head.

GEREK WOKE TO darkness and a ferocious throbbing in his skull. He sprawled on his stomach, as if someone had tossed him there. The ground felt cold and damp. Dirt, not plank or stone. The air stank of mud and salt.w.a.ter and his own vomit. Where am I? What happened?

Vaguely he remembered entering the wine shop. Oh, yes. Someone attacked him. His head throbbed too hard for him to think clearly, but he remembered a skirmish and a sickening smell he thought might be blood.

He drew one arm close. First clue: no ropes or chains. Either his abductors had forgotten to tie him up, or they didn't think it was necessary. The second, he decided. Not a good sign.

Very slowly, cautiously, he levered himself to sitting. Breathed through his nose until the nausea subsided. When he was certain he would not vomit, he opened his eyes to slits. Dark, dark, dark, but as his eyes adjusted, he could make out gray shapes towering over him. Farther off, a thin bright line marked a rectangle. Door, he translated for the rectangle. And ... and barrels?

Barrels. Laughter overtook him. Stupid, cursed barrels. He would never be free of them, even when taken prisoner by enemies unknown. He gulped down the laughter. Hiccuped. Then nearly wept. It was too absurd. Too terrifying.

Gerek bit down on his cheek. Pain revived him. Helped him to think more clearly. So. Taken prisoner near the wharves. His abductors had not removed him from that district, however. Belatedly, he remembered his guard. He called the man's name softly.

Without warning, the door crashed open. A flood of sunlight attacked Gerek's eyes. He flung up a hand to cover his eyes. Another crash, and the door closed. Gerek blinked, but sparks and specks danced across his vision. Dimly, he made out a monstrous figure approaching, blotting out the sunlight. Another blink, and the monstrous figure divided into three. Two smaller monsters. One leaner, taller figure that stumped toward him in a strange up-and-down gait.

The lean figure stopped. Mumbled a command. Light flared from a lamp, which one of the others hung from a hook on the low ceiling. Gerek blinked several times, took in more details. Directly in front of him stood a tall man who leaned heavily upon a thick walking stick. Thin white hair drawn back tight from a thin face, deeply scored with lines. Pale brown eyes, almost yellow.

With a jerky motion, the man pointed at Gerek. A second man, the largest of the three, strode forward and slapped Gerek across the face. "Tell me about the s.h.i.+p. Where is it bound?"

No need to ask which s.h.i.+p. A dozen different possibilities occurred to Gerek. The agent discovered. Ralf and Udo dead. The house runner taking a bribe to betray Kosenmark. His own mistakes. He shook his head. "I-I don't kn-kn-know."

The man slid a knife from his belt. "You should wish you did."

He slashed Gerek across the chest. Gerek bit back a cry. The man flipped the knife around and sent the hilt cras.h.i.+ng into Gerek's cheek. Red washed over Gerek's vision. He screamed, unable to stop himself.

"Now you understand," the man said. "Tell me."

Gerek spat blood from his mouth. The teeth on that side were loose. But there were no broken bones. He could still talk. The man had judged the blow well.

"I-I have n-n-nothing to say."

The man slapped him hard-the same place where he'd struck him with the knife hilt. "Tell me, or you die in the most unpleasant way possible."

It was not hard to feign terror. He was s.h.i.+vering. Blood trickled from the gash on his chest. He swallowed and tasted more blood. His stomach heaved against his ribs, but he willed himself not to vomit again. "I have nothing to say."

The man shrugged and turned aside. Now the lean figure approached, limping heavily and leaning upon his stick.

"I am Lord Markus Khandarr," he said. "I would know the truth from you."

Khandarr. Gerek nearly fainted. This was the man who killed Dedrick. The king's own mage councillor. But the man's voice was strange-the speech garbled, as if he had an impediment like Gerek's. Then he remembered Alesso Valturri's report, and how the king's mage had suffered injury from his confrontation with the Morenniouen queen.

Injured or not, Khandarr went on to question Gerek closely, though he often needed several attempts to speak. Which agents had Gerek used? Where and when did Kosenmark intend to meet the s.h.i.+p? What was his destination?

"I-I do not know," Gerek said.

Khandarr gave an inarticulate cry. Choked. The guards stepped forward to intervene, but Khandarr rounded on them, furious, and gestured for them to keep their distance.

He turned back to Gerek. Mumbled a few words in Erythandran. The air turned cool and crisp, like the mountains above the Gallenz Valley. "Where is Lord Kosenmark? He has a s.h.i.+p. Which one? Where do they meet?

Gerek shook his head.

"Where?" Khandarr struck him with his staff. "Answer."

Then he spoke-a stuttering string of Old Erythandran. The philosophers always said that spoken words were only one medium for magic. If you imprinted the discipline on your mind, you did not need the words. Khandarr proved the theories true, because the air drew tight around them, a thick green cloud that almost suffocated Gerek even as it loosened his tongue.

He had no choice. Even as he realized it, he hated how easily he confessed everything to this man. Yes, Kosenmark left Tiralien weeks ago. There was a s.h.i.+p. A meeting. Where? Tu on Osek. No, he did not know the s.h.i.+p's final destination, but yes, the matter did concern the recent events in Osterling Keep. The rest he did not know, did not- He choked. Abruptly the magic released him. Gerek fell to the floor, gasping for breath. He heard, through the thundering in his ears, Khandarr giving orders but he could not make out the words.

Then, unexpectedly, a loud hammering at the door, and someone demanding entry in the name of the watch. One of Khandarr's men doused the lamp, the other flung himself against the door. Gerek scrabbled away from his captors, shouting for help. One man grabbed him by the collar and cuffed him across the face. Gerek wrestled with the man and they both fell to the floor, taking Khandarr with them.

The door burst open. Khandarr gabbled more Erythandran, but he was too late and too slow. A dozen men poured inside, all of them wielding clubs. Gerek ducked under one man's arm, rolled over in time to see another bring his weapon down hard on Khandarr's head. Khandarr collapsed into a heap. There was a brief struggle before the intruders subdued his two men.

Gerek s.n.a.t.c.hed up Khandarr's staff and backed into a corner, breathing heavily. One of the strangers-the new set of strangers, that is-gazed around the cramped room. The others fell into that waiting quiet of soldiers expecting orders. Gerek s.h.i.+fted his grip on the staff.

The stranger's gaze fell on him. To Gerek's surprise, the man smiled. A brilliant, open smile, completely at odds to what had just transpired. He was so taken aback, it took Gerek a few moments before he recognized the man. Alesso Valturri. "You," he breathed.

Valturri smiled, a lazy seductive smile that reminded Gerek of Dedrick. Or Kosenmark. "I am delighted you remember me. However, we do not have time for pleasantries." He turned to the others and gave them a rapid string of orders. Then he held out a hand to Gerek. "Come."

But Gerek refused to trust him so easily. "What happened? How did you find me?"

Alesso sighed. Motioned for the others to leave the room.

"I cannot blame you for mistrusting me," he said. "So, let me begin again. You know Kosenmark and I had an agreement. No? I am disappointed but not surprised. Listen to me then. Your Lord Kosenmark offered certain a.s.sistance to me and my a.s.sociates, in return for other favors. In the spirit of that a.s.sistance, I followed these three men to Tiralien's wharves."

Gerek gripped his aching head in both hands. "A very good story. Thank you for the distraction."

Valturri grabbed Gerek by his s.h.i.+rt and shoved him against the wall. "Listen, you stammering idiot. Your Lord Kosenmark expects a s.h.i.+p. I learned that in his own household. What he, and you, do not understand is that Khandarr's agents have taken your agent and all his records. Your man is dead, do you understand? He killed himself before they could question him. So they decided to arrest you."

Gerek absorbed this news with dismay. So very plausible. Too plausible. "How do you kn-kn-know that?"

Alesso shrugged. "Does it matter how I know? What does matter is that you must get to the s.h.i.+p and tell them to sail at once. Never mind about the stores or all the rest. Leave before this one"-he gestured toward Khandarr, lying insensible at their feet-"recovers and closes the port."

Gerek wanted to argue, but he was too sick to make the effort. And too much of Alesso's explanation made sense. The man might be a questionable ally, but he was right in this matter. He rubbed his aching head. "Very well. I will go at once."

Alesso's grin was unnerving, almost gleeful. "And I will come with you."

IT TOOK THEM longer than Alesso liked, but Gerek only had the name of the s.h.i.+p and the captain, not where they had anch.o.r.ed, and they were both too wary to use these names indiscriminately. Eventually they found the s.h.i.+p-it lay well off sh.o.r.e-and hired a boat to take them over.

The argument with the captain took longer. At first the man would not believe Gerek. But when Gerek repeated the sum of money paid, named the presence of Ralf and Udo, and recited the exact instructions he had written to the agent, and finally remembered the code words pa.s.sed along by Ralf and Udo to ensure just such an emergency, the captain relented.

"Have you read those instructions?" Alesso asked.

The captain shook his head. "My orders were to read them once at sea."

"Do it now," Gerek said.

The man took Kosenmark's letter from a locked chest. Ran his hands over the paper and tried the wax seal. He shook his head. "No good, sir. I don't know magic, but I know enough that it won't open without the right spell."

"Let me see it," Alesso said.

He, too, tried a few spells but to no effect. While the other two muttered about secret orders, Gerek examined the letter. He was an amateur, he reminded himself. And yet, so was the captain. Kosenmark surely did not expect Gerek or an unknown captain to decipher such a key.

He went through all the instructions. They were simple, short. Read everything. How many ways could a man interpret that? Read the instructions. Every word. Wasn't that obvious?

Oh. Now I understand.

"To the captain," he said softly. "Read everything. Private orders."

The envelope unfolded. Inside was a single short paragraph: Sail to Hallau, Jelyndak Islands. Send a boat with six men into the old city. We will keep a watch for you, but if we are detained, have the men wait ten days. Return once more in three weeks. If that meeting fails, depart the region at once. Send word through the agent for further instructions. Above all else, do not hail any other s.h.i.+ps.

Alesso and the captain were both staring at him. He felt a bit shaken himself. He handed the letter to the captain, who read it through quickly. Gerek watched as a series of emotions pa.s.sed over the man's face-surprise, curiosity, and a measure of unease. "You have your orders, with one difference," Gerek told him. "If our companions fail to show, you take your further instructions from me."

And Lir help us if that happens.

But he would consider that difficulty later. For now, he only wanted to depart as swiftly as the winds allowed. "How soon can you set sail? At once?"

"The next tide," the man answered. "Within the hour."

"Then do it." To Alesso's unspoken question, he added, "We don't have time to disembark. As you said, the ports will close any moment. Besides, you and I know too much."

THE s.h.i.+P'S SURGEON saw to Gerek's injuries at once. After that, though the hour was early, the captain fed them well at his table, while the crew ordered a cabin for their use. After they had dined, Alesso remained with the captain and Kosenmark's two guards to discuss a course that would keep them away from any other s.h.i.+ps. Gerek retired to their cabin. It was small-barely wide enough for two hanging cots, and a couple sea chests stacked in one corner. A covered lamp swung from its chain, sending a ripple of light and shadow over the walls.

Gerek climbed awkwardly into the cot nearest the porthole. Dinner and a quant.i.ty of good wine had done much, but his jaw still ached, and every movement reminded him of the slash across his chest. Tomorrow he would see the s.h.i.+p's surgeon again for another application of herbs. Now ... now he wanted nothing more than to lie quietly.

No, that was not the truth. The truth was that he wished himself back in Tiralien, in his own snug rooms. He wished for a quiet dinner, a book to read. He wished ...

I wish I had one more chance to speak with Kathe.

That would come later. How much later, he did not know. It was the old conundrum of the magical journey, where you could not reach home before traveling through all the rest of the worlds first. Well, he did not have to travel through all the worlds, just to Hallau Island and Lord Raul Kosenmark. It was a long enough voyage, for all that, he thought and yawned.

He fell asleep to the creaking of the rigging and the rush of water against the s.h.i.+p.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

THROUGHOUT THE NEXT ten days, Ilse and Raul and their companions traveled as a military company. It was an aspect of Raul that Ilse had never suspected before. She had known him as a sophisticated n.o.bleman, trained in matters of state, someone gifted in both conversation and weaponry. She had not considered he knew anything about wilderness travel and commanding soldiers.

"I learned from my father," Raul said, when she asked. "He had served as a garrison commander in his younger days. Later, he found it useful to maintain a private company. They patrol the more remote regions of Valentain, and deal with smugglers along the coast. I served under our senior officers for a while, then led my own squad the year before I left for Duenne."

"I never guessed," Ilse murmured. "Though I should have."

Raul's mouth tilted into a smile. "It would be terrible, if you had guessed everything about me within a few months. It leaves us nothing for the future."

The future. Which would be delayed for three years.

Her eyes stung with tears. She had not allowed herself to weep these past two weeks. She wanted to remember this interval with joy, a secret treasure to hold tight throughout her exile. Raul guessed her mood, but in silent agreement, he, too, never spoke of their coming separation. For the most part, they kept their conversation on the present-the hills turning green and golden with the advancing season, the logistics for setting up camp. Even that mention of his childhood was brief.

It was too much like their last hours in Tiralien, she thought.

"Until forever," Raul murmured.

She glanced toward him sharply. He did not meet her gaze, but she could tell that his thoughts echoed hers.

Until forever, yes. He had promised that once. He was a man who kept his promises.

They had eight more days together, she told herself. Then a temporary exile. At least its ending lay within her control. She had but to find the third jewel and she could return. Their plans did not end there, of course. Until the exile began, however, she would not dwell upon further obstacles.

FIVE DAYS INTO their journey to the coast, the guard named Katje returned with a letter from Raul's secretary in Tiralien. Valara observed the woman's return from the edge of camp. Two guards sent, only one came back. Interesting. She noted how Kosenmark and Ilse Zhalina vanished for a private conference, well away from the campsite. She also noted how the other guards did not ask about their missing companion. More of Lord Kosenmark's mysterious plans, which he had not bothered to share with her.

The private conference lasted nearly an hour. Valara mistrusted this delay, mistrusted this obvious exclusion. But when Kosenmark at last summoned her to join them, she hid her irritation. He was a king, whether or not he admitted it, and he behaved like one. She could picture her grandfather or father acting just the same. Or herself, once her council installed her on Morenniou's throne.

The letter itself was short. Kosenmark's secretary reported the s.h.i.+p acquired. Outfitting and repairs were nearly complete, and the captain predicted their s.h.i.+p would sail within the next week. The secretary also reported that the watch on the ports continued, with reinforcements brought in from neighboring garrisons. The royal fleet had doubled its patrols along the coast, by direct order of the king.

Which means by order of Markus Khandarr.