Trails to follow, roads to tread
A growing danger lies ahead.
“We could find no trace of him, Commander,” Cairan reported unhappily.
“It does not make sense,” Raemint added in her soft voice. “The Winter can be felt in everything it touches – the stones, the air, living things. But we found only a faint memory of the first time he passed this way, some weeks ago. His presence should have been sharp and easy to follow, but it disappeared shortly beyond the shelter.”
Grisket frowned, rubbing his beard. “Could he have used some kind of spell to conceal his trail?”
Cairan shook his head. “No, Commander. A strong scent may mask another strong scent, but something recognisable would remain. He has simply vanished. It is baffling.”
Grisket’s frown deepened, troubled. He couldn’t pretend to know anything about magic, but from what he had learned from Hawk and Requar, Ferrian possessed a weapon of mysterious and exceptionally dangerous power, made of peculiar substances that were something other than ordinary magic. Was it possible that Ferrian used his Sword to elude them, in a way that the Centaurs couldn’t detect?
Or were they all simply missing something obvious?
He kept his fears to himself, however, instead nodding to his fellow Freeroamers in gratitude. “You’ve done your best,” he told them, and turned to look over his shoulder. “Perhaps those two will have better luck.”
Behind him, down on the rugged shoreline, Arzath stalked among the rock pools like a predatory black bird, electrocuting anything that moved with vivid flashes of violet light that hissed and sparked and wafted steam about him.
Clearly, he was in a foul mood.
Requar sat quietly on a boulder, where waves slapped against the rocks and stirred kelp languorously beneath his feet in the white foam. Facing towards the brilliant, sapphire-glittering sea, he stared down at a small shell in his hand, turning it over and over in his fingers.
The white-haired sorcerer had said very little since he had recovered and they had set forth along the highway, retracing their steps southward. The discovery of Ferrian’s unexpected absence had left him seeming somewhat lost and distracted.
Arzath, in contrast, was furious and agitated. No doubt humiliated that the boy had dared stand up to him – threaten him, in front of everyone – and force his already weakened brother to use precious energy to help a stranger.
Ferrian had certainly left all of them feeling rather rattled and unsure of exactly what to do next.
Grisket turned back to the Centaurs.
“You two head on to Skywater,” he said. “I’ve sent the survivors of Forthwhite there and given Middry my badge as acting Commander. They need to be warned of those black soldiers. I counted about two dozen of ‘em on the docks at Sunsee, but Gods know exactly how many of ‘em are wanderin’ about, or where.“
He gestured at the road south. “Take the coastal road. The Dragons seem to be headin’ inland, by all accounts. Keep out of sight and don’t engage those damned army rogues!”
“Commander,” Raemint hesitated. “If I may make a proposal?”
Grisket regarded her. “Go on.”
“Warning our people will not be enough. We cannot run and hide from these black soldiers or demon-wraiths forever. We have no weapons with which to fight them or means to defend ourselves...” She paused, exchanging a glance with Cairan. “However… the Angels do.”
Cairan nodded. “We wish to travel to Arkana to seek their aid.”
Grisket was silent for a moment, considering their words. “You may not receive a sympathetic ear,” he replied finally. “Fleetfleer is a mess and their government is in disarray…”
“As is ours,” Cairan pointed out.
“We must try.” Raemint’s expression was fierce, determined. He understood how grim and terrible her last battle must have been; a reflection of it could still be seen in her pool-dark eyes.
A fight to the death with enemies whose weapons and armour greatly outmatched her own, regular soldiers who were no longer entirely Human…
The helplessness of watching a friend and fellow Freeroamer fall before her…
She didn’t want to find herself in that situation again.
She didn’t want to see anyone else die or be turned into something hideous at the end of a black sword.
And neither did he. The bloody scene that had confronted him on this very highway only a couple of days before still haunted him. It was only by the grace of Lord Requar that beautiful Raemint stood here now in all her dark, sunlit fire, and not at rest on a lonely hillside beside poor Dogwyn.
Grisket nodded. “Go,” he said. “I dare say the Angels are well aware of what trigon is and will understand the peril. Not to mention they respect Centaurs a good deal better than Humans.” He gestured at the horses. “Take whatever supplies you need from the saddlebags, and best of luck to you.”
Raemint put her hand to her chest. “Thank you, Commander.”
As the Centaurs walked off to prepare for their journey north, he gazed down the road again. The well-worn cobblestones stretched along the coastline like an old, dry serpentskin between the hazy line of the Barlakks east and the blue expanse of the ocean to the west.
He nodded again, making a decision. I’ll travel to Skywater myself, then, he thought. Folks still need to be warned of the danger.
It was regrettable that the party had split so soon after their joyful reunion, but he could find no compelling reason to deny his Freeroamers their individual quests.
Still, worry for his companions had fractured now into a myriad of separate concerns – for Cairan and Raemint. Hawk and Mekka. Carmine and Sirannor.
And Ferrian.
Always Ferrian.
A dark, fateful feeling seeped into his chest as he pondered which of them, if any, he was likely to see again.
As Sirannor would say: Only Lady Fate knows.
Resigned but glum to the fact that he couldn’t influence the destinies of any of them, he left the highway and clambered down the rocky slope to inform Arzath and Requar of the news.
* * *
Ashen Cove was so named because once, a thousand years ago, it had been the lair of a Dragon.
Black soot still stained the uppermost reaches of the vast cavern, stalactites hanging like innumerable dark teeth in a cold maw beyond the vibrant glow of the myriad coloured lanterns arrayed about the lower walls. More lanterns of various sizes and styles hung on chains from poles around the labyrinth of rickety wooden walkways and piers that clustered against the back and sides of the cave. The wharves competed for space with warehouses, dockworkers’ huts and questionable shops and stalls in dark corners, where contraband and black market wares quietly shifted from one cloak to another.
The Red Watch maintained a presence here, inspecting barges and boats before they entered the mouth of the river Sel, which emptied into the Cove through a long, dark underground tunnel.
Most of the Watch were bribable, however.
Everine Arva wasn’t worried about the Watch. With her sweet, innocent face and pretty clothes with the neckline just short of immodest, she barely had to bat her eyelashes most days for the Watch to wave her through.
Today, however, Everine wasn’t smiling.
Today, her round face was frowning and flushed with irritation.
The entire cavern was packed full of ships and boats of every kind, hull to hull so that no one could move. It was as though every single seafaring vessel in Arvanor was trying to fit into Ashen Cove at once.
The Watch were just as flustered, trying to force their way through the anxious crowd milling about the docks and attempting in vain to placate angry merchants. Wagons and carts were backed up the cliffside road for at least half a mile.
Yelling did no good, because everyone was yelling.
The din inside the cave was tremendous. It was starting to give Everine a headache.
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She scrunched up her blue eyes, wondering ironically if any of these people actually knew the history of this place, and what exactly would happen if its former occupant decided to come back.
She supposed no one had thought of that. In their panic, no one wanted to be out in the open, especially not on the sea – half a dozen Darorian war brigs had been set aflame and sunk to the bottom of the ocean.
Everine wasn’t afraid of Dragons, either. She had yet to see one, and up until recently had been sceptical of the whispered rumours of the Aegis’s imminent failing. Until, of course, the great red shield simply wasn’t there. And the plume of thick black smoke rising on the horizon from the direction of Sunsee was further ample evidence that the Dragons were, indeed, no longer contained.
But she figured if a Dragon were to attack Ashen Cove, there was nothing anyone could do about it.
She was much more concerned about her cargo.
Not the cabbages, which had begun to go off and stunk so much that she was sure she’d never get the damned stink out of her clothes. No – the other consignment.
Duke Rufus was not going to be pleased.
She kicked at one of the open crates sitting on the deck. Her thick, well-worn leather boots were at odds with her exquisite, deep blue skirt with its lacy overlay, her fine waistcoat and pale blue, silken blouse with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows.
Everine was a wealthy woman, but she was no Lady. She was a pragmatic Enopian girl, and she swore like one.
A cabbage rolled off the top of the pile and fell to the deck with the kind of disgusting leafy thud only a half-rotten vegetable could make. Everine scowled at it, hoping that the next thing rolling about on this deck wasn’t going to be her head…
“Not fond of cabbages, I presume?” a voice said from behind her.
Everine spun with a start of surprise.
A dark figure slouched on top of the cabin, cutting a striking silhouette against the blue sky and sea behind him, the wind gently ruffling his hair and raven-black feathers. He held one of the aforementioned vegetables up in one hand, examining it.
“Neither am I.” He tossed it away. It landed on an adjacent boat with a dull thunk. “This, however…”
A round, orange-red coin appeared in his black-gloved hand. The Angel regarded it with interest, closing one eye and peering through the triangular hole in the centre. “A very good quality fake,” he commented. “You Enopians are fine craftspeople…”
Everine realised that her mouth was hanging open, and she closed it quickly. All the blood seemed to have drained out of her, but it returned in a sudden, hot rush. “Hey!” she said, pointing a finger in accusation. “You’re him! That spy from Sel Varence! The Darkshadow, the one who skulks about on the rooftops at night!”
He smiled slightly, still admiring the coin. “So it seems,” he replied. He gave her a wink. “But you may call me Mekka.” He tossed the coin into the air with a deft flick and caught it again. “And you,” he said, “are Everine Arva: general merchant and smuggler extraordinaire.”
Everine chewed her lip, feeling her heart start to throb with panic even as it sank into the depths of her stomach. Dammit! she thought. Where did HE come from?! How did he find the royals? Did someone tip him off?
Noticing her expression, the Angel flipped the coin down to her. “Relax. I am not going to turn you in to the Watch.”
Everine caught the coin, glancing nervously at the piers, but the Watch had plenty to occupy themselves with already: no one was paying her or the Angel any attention. She shoved the coin quickly down the front of her blouse, then brushed a blonde curl out of her eyes, put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Then what the hell are you doing on my ship?”
Mekka shifted into a cross-legged position, black wings arcing behind him, looking all at once very serious. “You are friends with Carmine, are you not?”
Everine blinked. “Carmine Vandaris?” She folded her arms across her chest, then examined her chipped and sadly chewed fingernails. She gnawed one of them. “Maybe,” she admitted. She shrugged. “She comes into my shop to gossip, sometimes. What’s it to you?”
The Angel stared at her intently. “She is in trouble.”
Everine frowned. Well, that was hardly news. Every time the red-haired girl came to visit she had another exciting story of misadventure to relate. But Carmine always managed to find a way out of her predicaments. She was someone who was capable of looking after herself.
Everine didn’t see what this had to do with her. She was about to find herself in a sticky situation of her own, if she didn’t get this illicit cargo to the Duke. This deal was rapidly turning into one of the worst decisions she’d ever made…
She glanced up at Mekka. “Carmine’s always in trouble.” She shrugged. “So what?”
“She is on the Middle Isle,” the Angel replied. “I am in need of a vessel.”
Everine eyed him suspiciously. “You’re an Angel,” she pointed out. “Or are those pretty black things on your back just for show?” She stuck her tongue out.
Mekka didn’t smile, however. His look was dark. “It is a rescue mission,” he explained. “There may be more than one person involved. I cannot retrieve them and carry them both across half an ocean.” He nodded towards the crowded shore. “And I am not alone.”
Everine considered, but only for a moment before shaking her head, and letting out a sigh. “Look, as much as I would like to help, I can’t. The Duke–”
“I will deal with the Duke,” Mekka assured her. “I can handle his cronies. But I dare say that you cannot.” He gestured at the cabin beneath him. “Or your little brother.”
Everine looked at the cabin. The door was ajar, and there was a brief glimpse of an eye before it ducked out of sight.
She put her hands on her hips again. “Ben!” she chided. “Did you overhear all of that?”
“No,” a call came from inside.
Everine let out a loud sigh. She turned aside, trying to think. She could barely hear her own thoughts, let alone make important decisions with all the racket going on.
This blockade wasn’t going to clear any time soon, that was for sure. Her shipment was already delayed, and she would be forced to find alternative means to get the royals to Selvar. With Dragons roaming the country, all trading was uncertain. Mekka was offering her a perfect opportunity to get out of the deal, as well as taking the blame.
But something held her back.
It wasn’t as though she had no heart. She liked Carmine, maybe even admired her. Carmine was brave where she was not. Carmine sought out danger for the fun of it. Everine took risks, of course, but they were calculated ones; careful. She didn’t like the unknown, and sudden changes of plans made her anxious.
And she was pretty sure that Mekka wasn’t telling her everything. There were a million secrets locked up in that dashing head of his, and he wasn’t going to share any of them with her unless he had to. He seemed deadly serious, intense. He was calm, but had an air of patient urgency about him. She had an awful feeling that something terribly bad was going on, and wasn’t sure that she was willing to go sailing off into the middle of it…
She chewed on a nail again, looking around at her little ship, the Blueflower. She was fond of it, and didn’t want to see it burnt up and sent to the bottom of the sea. And there was Ben to think about…
Some part of her brain made a decision without consulting her. Before she could stop it, her mouth opened and the word “No,” came out, loud and clear.
She took a deep breath as though to change her mind, then thought better of it. “No,” she repeated. “I… can’t.”
Turning her back on Mekka, she went to pick up the fallen cabbage, and set it back in the crate. When she looked again, the Angel was gone.
She searched the forest of masts filling the rainbow-lit cavern, then the sea spreading out behind her, but there was no sign of him.
She looked back down at the cabbage under her hand, and closed her eyes, feeling ashamed.
Sorry, Carmine. But Mekka would find another sailor; there were plenty about…
“Did we just miss out on an adventure?”
Everine opened her eyes to see that young Ben had emerged, looking highly disappointed.
“Yeah,” she told him, trying to push away an unaccountable feeling of regret. “Yeah, I… guess… we did.” She took a steadying breath. “Well, I don’t feel like growing old waiting for all these idiots to shove off, do you? Let’s get out of here.”
She moved away, preparing to set sail.
“Mekka,” Hawk ventured after a while. “What exactly are we doing?”
They stood on the edge of the cliff, bathed in sunshine and a chill sea breeze, on the road just past the queue of stalled merchant carts leading up from the sea cavern.
The Angel said nothing, just stood with his arms folded, staring out at the ocean as though waiting for something. A strong wind from the north tossed the dark blue waves into restless whitecaps, and sent them crashing thunderously against the rocks below.
Hawk gave up. Mekka was a mystery at the best of times. “Wish we didn’t have to abandon Ardance,” he said regretfully, looking back up the road, to the grassy-topped cliffs, where beyond, in lonely fields, the black horse now roamed free. “She was a good horse. I wonder where Cimmeran got her from?” He fell silent, musing. “Do you suppose he stole–”
“There,” Mekka said abruptly, pointing.
Hawk looked. A brightly painted, blue and green merchant vessel was making its way out of Ashen Cove. A pale blue flower bloomed on its sail as the wind caught it, sending the small ship swiftly across the waves, heading south.
Hawk frowned. “I thought you said she didn’t want to help us?”
“She said ‘no’.” Mekka turned to him and smiled. Then, without any warning, before another word could leave Hawk’s mouth, the Angel grabbed him and threw both of them off the edge of the cliff.
Everine felt a little better with the wind in her face and sun on her skin, the reassuring rustle of canvas and splash of the waves. It was good to be moving again, for better or worse, and not mired in uncertainty and doubt.
Rufus would get his damned cargo, one way or another, and then she was done doing shady deals with the nobility.
Everine re-tied a red scarf around her head, keeping her golden curls in place. Ben was at the rudder. Seagulls swirled in the air above them, and a wall of sun-drenched cliffs passed on their port side. Sunsee was a couple of days sailing, but for now they had a good wind at their back.
And then a shadow passed overhead.
She didn’t even have time to look up before something dropped from the sky onto the deck of her ship, causing her to throw herself against the railing with a frightened yelp.
Ben let out a startled cry as well; the ship rocked as he accidentally twitched the rudder.
Everine picked herself up and stared in shock.
It was the black-winged Angel again. And this time, he’d brought along his companion.
“I apologise,” Mekka said with a small bow. “But I’m afraid I cannot take no for an answer.” He held out his arm and a wicked silver spike shot out of his sleeve, pointing at Everine’s face. She gasped in startlement.
“Mekka!” his companion exclaimed, getting to his feet. “Is this absolutely necessary?!”
The Angel ignored him. “You will take us to the Middle Isle,” he ordered, dark eyes locked on Everine. “Now.”
The other man made a sound of exasperation. He looked like a soldier of some kind, though Everine didn’t recognise his uniform. He wore black with a blue left sleeve, and a beautiful, ornate golden breastplate. His thick, scruffy, pale brown hair was flying around all over the place in the wind.
He put his face in his hand. “I thought you’d just regained your sanity,” he muttered hopelessly.
Everine stared back at Mekka and composed herself, straightening her clothing and attempting to restore some measure of dignity. She pursed her lips. “Very well,” she told him, and sniffed. “Have it your way.”
Mekka regarded her for a moment more, then lowered his weapon. It retracted with a metallic swish back into his sleeve.
There was an awkward moment, filled with the cries of sea birds and an uncomfortable silence on board the ship. The golden-armoured man scratched his head. “Er,” he said, then stuck out a gauntleted hand with a friendly smile. “Sergeant Devandar Hawk of the Freeroamers.”
She shook it warily. “Everine Arva.”
Hawk glanced aside at Mekka. “I guess you know...”
“I do.” She gave the Angel a disparaging look, then sniffed again and folded her arms. “And there I was worried about Rufus’s thugs…”
“There is a great deal worse to worry about than the Duke,” Mekka replied ominously. He turned to Hawk. “I am going on ahead. I will leave you in the esteemed company of Miss Arva.”
He gave Everine another bow, then spun, spread his black wings and lifted off, catching the breeze.
“Sorry about this,” Hawk apologised, having the decency to look embarrassed. “It wasn’t my idea. I’m pretty sure Mekka just enjoys being a pain in the arse.” He looked around himself. “Er. And I think I might’ve squashed a few of your cabbages…”
There came an excited whoop as Ben jumped up from the stern. “Adventure!” he cried.
Everine lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she watched the black-winged Angel soar effortlessly through the blue sky ahead of them, banking west. She felt a smile creep across her face despite herself. “Adventure it is, then,” she said.