Chapter Four

Late that afternoon, as the sun settled low, Dänvârfij—Fated Music—stood impatiently at the prow of a small ship as it maneuvered into dock at the Isle of Wrêdelyd. Sailors on deck leisurely threw lines to men on the pier below, and she clenched her jaw in silence, wishing they would finish more quickly.

She had booked passage for her team on the first available vessel leaving Calm Seatt for the isle. But her quarry had more than a full day’s head start.

“We will overtake them,” Rhysís said softly beside her.

She glanced sidelong at him standing by her at the rail. She was tall enough to look him in the eyes, but she had no response. She knew well the lines of his narrow face. He always wore his long hair loose, and his lips were thin. Of the remaining members of her team, he was the closest thing she had to a companion. In his own way, he was trying to offer comfort.

It did not help.

His right arm was in a sling, as he was still recovering from an arrow wound in that shoulder, but he no longer wore his forest gray cloak. Their entire team—what was left of it—possessed only their anmaglâhk attire. Six of them dressing too much alike would arouse unwanted attention. As things stood, their pants and tunics were all still of the same forest gray. She would have to see to this, and soon.

“They could be gone already,” she replied. “Off on another ship.”

Rhysís remained silent for a moment. “Or they could still be here... with the traitor.” His amber eyes narrowed. At times he could not bring himself to speak the traitor’s name.

A year and a half earlier, when Most Aged Father had asked Dänvârfij to prepare a team and sail to this foreign continent, she had not hesitated. Their purpose then had been direct and clear. They were to locate the pale-skinned monster, Magiere, her half-blood consort, Léshil, and the tainted majay-hì who ran with the pair. Magiere and Léshil were to be captured, and tortured, if necessary, for information concerning the “artifact” they had carried off. Then they were to be eliminated—along with the majay-hì, if possible.

The last of that had not sat well with her team.

When they had left their homeland, they had been eleven in count. Never before had so many jointly taken up the same purpose. Their task had been of dire importance in the eyes of Most Aged Father, who feared any device of the Ancient Enemy remaining in human hands.

Eleven had left together, but one more had shadowed them across the world.

After the first and second deaths among them, before they knew for certain, Dänvârfij could not believe who that one had to be. Only on the night when she had seen his unmistakable shadow with her own eyes did she acknowledge the truth.

The traitor, Brot’ân’duivé, stole their lives one by one until only six remained.

A greimasg’äh—a master among their caste—was killing his own. Of the remaining six, including Dänvârfij, only five were functional to any degree.

“How soon can we disembark?” a strained female voice asked from behind her.

Dänvârfij looked back.

Leaning heavily on a wooden walking rod as she slid one foot after the other, Fréthfâre—Watcher of the Woods—struggled to make her way across the deck. Though she held the status of shared leader of the team, she was not fit in either body or mind. Perhaps not even in spirit.

Her wheat-gold hair, versus white-blond, hung in waves instead of silky and straight, making her somewhat unique among an’Cróan. In youth she had been viewed as slender and supple. Now approaching middle age, she was unseasonably brittle.

Once Covârleasa—“Trusted Advisor”—to Most Aged Father, as well as a sometimes cunning strategist, Fréthfâre was fanatically loyal to him and the caste.

Dänvârfij had never wanted the crippled ex-Covârleasa on this mission, and her reasons grew more solid with each passing moon.

Fréthfâre was nearly useless in their present situation. Even with his shoulder healing, Rhysís could still run swiftly and silently. He could fight with his feet and one hand. Fréthfâre could barely stand, and at times simply eating was a battle she did not win.

More than two years ago, Magiere had run a sword through Fréthfâre’s abdomen. The wound should have killed her, but a great an’Cróan healer had tended her. Even so, she had barely survived, and the damage could not be wholly undone. Now moon after moon of hard travel was weakening her further—though her physical limitations were overwhelmed only by her bitterness and hunger for revenge.

Dänvârfij was ever vigilant in showing respect, both in words and actions, for the ex-Covârleasa, but revenge was no proper motive for fulfilling their purpose.

“Soon,” Dänvârfij answered politely. “The crew is tying off. I will gather the rest of us from below.”

“Our quarry must not be allowed to escape again,” Fréthfâre said. “Begin the search immediately.”

The one word, “allowed,” carried the weight of blame, as if Dänvârfij had simply stood by and watched Magiere slip away.

Dänvârfij was accustomed to this criticism and paid it no attention. She had other concerns as her gaze ran over Fréthfâre’s traditional forest gray cloak of an anmaglâhk. Such attire served them well in silence and in shadow, but not here in the open before so many eyes.

“It would be best,” Dänvârfij began, “for one of us to locate an inn where you might be settled. We must track Magiere and the traitor, but we have other needs as well.”

Fréthfâre’s gaze shifted from Dänvârfij to Rhysís, and she perhaps noted that neither wore their standard cloaks. This was all they could do at present. The team needed other clothing if they were to travel in daylight without the appearance of a uniform.

Fréthfâre’s mouth tightened, and Rhysís merely looked away.

This exchange had become too common: Fréthfâre’s rash orders, followed by Dänvârfij’s careful countering, along with sound suggestions that did not openly question the team’s other leader.

“Very well,” Fréthfâre agreed, leaning more heavily on her rod. “I will establish a base while you see to our needs.”

In poorly hidden relief, Rhysís nodded to Dänvârfij. “I will gather the others. Eywodan was napping when I left. I will wake him and tell him he is getting too old for such a mission.”

His attempt at a jest only made Dänvârfij feel tense. Rhysís never joked, so he must be speaking from the strain of pretending that the rift in their command structure was not growing worse.

Dänvârfij nodded once. “We will disperse as soon as the ramp is lowered.”

As Rhysís headed off, she watched the busy dock below. All that mattered was that she had neutralized one more thoughtless order from Fréthfâre. Perhaps eventually the ex-Covârleasa would become irrelevant.

Soon enough Dänvârfij, followed by her team, descended the ramp. Once on the dock, she waited as the others disembarked. Rhysís came first, followed by Eywodan, the oldest of their team. Tavithê came next, wearing his forest gray cloak with the hood thrown back.

Dänvârfij almost frowned as she objectively scrutinized the three men.

They were slender and tall—taller than any human male—with tan skin, white-blond hair, and large, slanted amber eyes. Even disguised in human clothes, they would stand out. Something more had to be done. But before she considered what, the last two descended the ramp.

With an audible groan, Fréthfâre managed to remain upright, but her double grip on the rod was not the only thing supporting her. The sixth and final member of their team came with her. Én’nish, the other female among them, held on to Fréthfâre’s arm and waist.

At least one of them had to go find lodging with Fréthfâre, who had been on her feet too much and would not last much longer. It would be embarrassing beyond words for the ex-Covârleasa to have to be carried. She would never ask this, but it would become necessary soon enough.

For an instant Dänvârfij considered letting that happen. It was an unworthy notion that she quickly pushed aside as Én’nish guided Fréthfâre’s hobbling steps onto the dock.

Én’nish was small for an an’Cróan and slight of build. Deceptive, as both could work to her advantage in a fight. But she was young, reckless, and suffered from their kind’s mourning madness over the loss of her betrothed—at the hands of Léshil. Her hunger for revenge easily matched the ex-Covârleasa’s. Though Dänvârfij had opposed Én’nish’s inclusion in their purpose, Fréthfâre had convinced Most Aged Father otherwise.

For now, Dänvârfij wanted off this busy dock. The others followed her at a creeping pace to match Fréthfâre’s, as Dänvârfij took in their surroundings.

The port was much larger than expected—and louder and more crowded. Humans moved about everywhere, speaking in loud voices to be heard over others rushing past in all directions. Flocks of seagulls sailed overhead, occasionally smothering all voices with their piercing shrieks. Many locals glanced more than once at the tall, tan-skinned, white-haired elves in matching attire who were heading toward the shore.

Upon reaching the waterfront, Dänvârfij, seeking partial privacy, continued up the nearest steep street. One block up the cobbled slope, where the press of smelly humanity thinned, she stopped to assess her companions again.

This was what was left of her team, and she would do her best with them. She would not fail Most Aged Father again.

All other thoughts cleared as she made a mental list of their every need for success in both locating and capturing their quarry. Mundane daily necessities would be as essential as attaining information. Their monetary funds were limited, and Fréthfâre held most of them. Before the team had arrived in Calm Seatt, they had been living in the wild or stealing from farmlands.

Priorities had changed.

Dänvârfij found the others expectantly watching her, not Fréthfâre. This brought some relief, followed by brief shame at her own reaction.

“There is a slim chance our quarry may still be here,” she began quietly in their own tongue. “But more likely they are already gone. If so, we must learn what ship they took and their direction of travel, if not their destination. We need food and lodgings, if we stay more than a day, and diversified clothing to blend in.”

The others listened carefully, and Rhysís nodded once.

“If we buy passage on a ship,” she continued, “we will need local currency.”

“This is what you wish us to acquire first?” Tavithê asked. “Money, clothing, supplies?”

“Yes, but one of us will accompany Fréthfâre to procure lodging.” Dänvârfij looked to her crippled partner. “If you think this the wisest way to begin.”

Fréthfâre was clearly in great pain. To her credit, she behaved as if Dänvârfij’s plan had been her own as she addressed the others. “Én’nish accompanies me. Tavithê, Rhysís, and Eywodan will attend to acquiring local coin first. Fulfilling the other needs will be better served in that.”

“No killing,” Dänvârfij put in quickly. “We want no undue attention.”

She glanced again at Fréthfâre, who did not countermand her.

“I will begin tracking our quarry,” Dänvârfij continued, donning her cloak and pulling up her hood. “I will stand out less if I am alone. Én’nish, once you aid Fréthfâre in finding lodging, meet the rest of us in this spot, past dusk, to show us the location.”

Without a word, Tavithê, Rhysís, and Eywodan split off in separate directions and vanished into the port city. Dänvârfij had no doubt they would succeed in their tasks. But as she began to turn back toward the waterfront, Fréthfâre spoke again.

“I hope you will not squander this second chance given by Most Aged Father,” she said pointedly. “You have not striven hard enough in what is necessary to obtain the artifact.”

Dänvârfij neither stopped nor argued.

Fréthfâre could not begin to understand how hard she had striven to obtain the artifact.

This current expedition consisted of the second team, and the second attempt, that Most Aged Father had launched to take the artifact from Magiere. Dänvârfij had been the sole survivor of the first attempt, sent to the icy mountains of the Pock Peaks.

Fréthfâre had no idea what Dänvârfij had done so far at Most Aged Father’s bidding in those eternally white-capped mountains. Fréthfâre had no notion of what Dänvârfij herself had lost in that attempt.

Uncertain where to go amid the constant blur of human faces around her, Dänvârfij strode down the waterfront walkway. Blinking repeatedly, perhaps she tried to shut them out. In the flashes of darkness on the backs of her eyelids was a weathered face with sharp features and hair cut so short that it bristled upon his head.

Hkuan’duv—the Blackened Sea—had been her jeóin, her assentor, mentoring her for five years as his last student. She had come to love him as more than a teacher, regardless of the difference in their ages. Only after he had given her his assent, and she had been at labors among their caste, did she understand he loved her in turn.

Neither of them acted upon this, for the Anmaglâhk lived lives of service. They were not forbidden from bonding, but it was rarely done, and even more rarely with another caste member. They were wed to the guardianship of their people—in silence and in shadow.

Dänvârfij never revealed her awareness of Hkuan’duv’s true heart or hers to him. In the following years, they occasionally shared purpose in a mission. She found quiet contentment and simple joy in knowing she might again spend such times with him.

It was enough, for it had to be enough.

But two years ago Most Aged Father had given her and Hkuan’duv the initial purpose of tracking the monster, Magiere. The pale one had led them to a six-towered castle in the Pock Peaks. Their orders had been to wait and watch until she acquired what she sought there... an artifact left in hiding by the Ancient Enemy. They were to take it from Magiere and her companions by any means.

They soon discovered, to their near disbelief, that one of the most honorable of their caste—Sgäilsheilleache, Willow’s Shade—had sworn to protect Magiere and hers. It had all ended in horror beyond Dänvârfij’s imagining amid the wetlands of the Everfen.

Hkuan’duv and Sgäilsheilleache had pulled their blades, going at each other. It was an unthinkable act among their caste. They killed each other in the same instant. And a young anmaglâhk named Osha, with Dänvârfij’s own horror mirrored in his eyes, had witnessed this event.

Sgäilsheilleache had been Osha’s jeóin, his assentor. Osha had watched his teacher die at the hands of a greimasg’äh. Something in their world fractured in that moment for both him and Dänvârfij. Ever since, she had felt the crack widening, threatening a collapse.

In the aftermath, outnumbered and in failure, Dänvârfij had fled in grief. She would never forget stumbling alone through the marshlands of the Everfen, half-aware that she somehow must reach her people....

A seagull’s screech overhead jerked Dänvârfij from her pain-filled memories and brought the port of the isle back into focus. She slowed, studying the people coming toward her. An old woman pulling a cart filled with live, wriggling crabs caught her attention. The woman was bent and weary, but her eyes were sharp, strong, and alive. Seemingly content in her labor, she bore a smile, for whatever reasons.

Dänvârfij stepped closer. “Pardon.”

Of her team, Eywodan spoke Numanese the best. He picked up spoken languages faster than anyone she had ever known. But she had mastered most of the important words and basic syntax of Numanese.

“Harbormaster?” she asked. “Help me find?”

The old woman squinted up through milky blue eyes. If Dänvârfij’s foreign appearance surprised her, she did not show it. Instead she straightened and pointed to a faded wooden building down the way, nestled between two warehouses.

“There ya are, deary,” she answered kindly. “Best hurry. He don’t stay long after dusk.”

Dänvârfij nodded with a feigned smile. “My thanks.”

Moving quickly, she tried to forget the old woman, who was only a human. Something about that wrinkled face and cracking voice made Dänvârfij miss her land... her people. Even as she neared the small building, weatherworn with peeling paint and smudged windows, she could not stop the nagging memories.

The last time she had longed for home was after Hkuan’duv’s death.

She had not been able to bring him or his ashes home to the ancestors. She had simply run through muck and moss-laden trees until she dropped in exhaustion and her knees splashed down in greenish standing water. Unaware of anything but the image of Hkuan’duv’s body burned into her mind, she did not notice the tree nearby until a pattern of drops from its wet branches fell upon her hood and shoulders.

Removing the tawny oval of word-wood from her tunic, she pressed it against the tree to contact Most Aged Father... to tell him what had happened... to cause him great pain with her news. Two of their finest, one of virtue and one of skill, had died by each other’s hand.

The long night she’d spent afterward, kneeling in the muck and shivering alone, was the second-worst memory she would carry. When she contacted Most Aged Father again the following dawn, he told her of a coming an’Cróan vessel already slipping silently through human waters.

Run for the coast, he told her.

She fled across land to reach the south shore of the nation of Belaski. In the end she had to fight her emotions as she nearly wept at the sight of a päirvänean, one of the living ships of her people. She would again be among her own kind.

Once aboard she breathed in pure relief as the ship wheeled, heading toward the continent’s far northern point, where it would round again toward her homeland.

The ship did not make it that far.

The ship’s hkoeda —“caregiver” of that living vessel—informed her that they were to anchor just beyond the human city called Bela. He told her that another anmaglâhk would board there, and she wondered who it could be. Few of her caste were out this far, always keeping the human nations turning a suspicious eye on each other... directing their curious attentions away from her people.

Later, in privacy, Dänvârfij placed her word-wood against the living ship’s hull. The Päirvänean—Wave-Wanderers—were as alive as any tree in the world, even more so. Through the ship, she spoke to Most Aged Father again.

She was left utterly numb when he told her of Osha’s coming to the ship.

With the horror of what she and he had both witnessed, she had no wish to be trapped on a ship with him for the entire journey home. Worse, Most Aged Father gave her further orders concerning Osha.

On waterfront of the Isle of Wrêdelyd, Dänvârfij finally closed upon the harbormaster’s office. Taking long, labored breaths, she stared at one of its weathered windowpanes without really seeing anyone inside beyond the glass. For, no matter how she tried, she saw only the ghost reflection of Osha as he had stepped aboard the ship on that long-past morning....

* * *

Dänvârfij had steeled herself where she stood on the deck of the Päirvänean. The crew around her kept their distance as she watched the small skiff return from the forested shoreline. It had departed the ship with only two aboard. Now there were three, the third sitting in the prow with his back turned.

There was no mistaking Osha. He was the only one in the skiff dressed as an anmaglâhk.

Two of the crew rowed the skiff in near the ship’s hull, but Osha did not move.

Dänvârfij looked away, anywhere, at anything besides him. Her gaze drifted about her surroundings, from the sidewall, with its shallow swoop-and-peak edge, to the deck’s tawny wood with its complete absence of planks.

The glistening wood was as smooth as the rainwater barrels nestled near the masts. The latter had been fashioned by elven Makers born with an innate gift for shaping inert wood into useful things. The entire hull appeared molded in one solid piece, without a single crack or seam in its smooth surface. For it was one piece, born in a secret place as one living being.

Dänvârfij had always loved sailing on her people’s living vessels, but she drew no pleasure from it in this moment. Rolling her head back, she looked up to the bulges of furled sails hanging from pale yellow masts. The fabric was an almost iridescent white, made from shéot’a cloth, as delicate as silk but much stronger.

One of the crew onboard hesitantly stepped past her to drop a rope ladder over the side. She lowered her gaze and steeled herself once more.

Osha came up over the rail wall and landed lightly upon the deck.

He looked thin and worn, and his forest gray cloak was ragged at the edges. Otherwise he appeared no different than he had during that moment of horror in which she had last seen him. His face was long, and his features somewhat flat for an an’Cróan. It gave him the look of one of the great silvery-furred deer, the clhuassas—“listeners”—who guarded their people’s land along with the majay-hì.

Osha’s eyes were still haunted as they locked on to hers. Then they filled with shock. He had not expected to find her here. Shock turned to something near hate.

“Below, now,” she ordered.

His fury faltered. “What do you...? What are you—?”

“Now,” she repeated.

Confusion held him until too late. Two an’Cróan soldiers flanked him while remaining beyond his reach. Both were armored in hauberks of hardened leather with ornate bone and horn plates. Each carried a long bow of subtle curves that curled more at the ends. Though both bows were strung, neither soldier had nocked an arrow from the quivers perched over their right shoulders.

There was only one thing that could supersede their own chain of command: an anmaglâhk operating under the direction of Most Aged Father for the sake of the people’s safety. Here and now, even Dänvârfij wondered what possible threat Osha posed, as one of the soldiers glanced briefly at her.

She had her orders... her purpose.

Osha never looked at either soldier. Shock faded from his eyes. Without a word he simply headed toward the aft and the stairs to below.

She followed him with the soldiers close behind her and directed him to a small cabin, where she finally waved off the escort. The two men exchanged glances of doubt, but they nodded and turned away. Neither of them appeared any more comfortable with what was happening than she felt. But she stepped inside and closed the cabin door.

Alone, all they did at first was stare at each other.

Dänvârfij did not know much about him, only rumors that he was the most inept initiate to ever be granted acceptance by a caste elder. But elders did not make idle decisions, so whichever had accepted Osha must have seen something in him. And, by the grace of the ancestors, this inadequate young man had gained Sgäilsheilleache as his jeóin.

In that, Dänvârfij would not underestimate Osha. There was something more to him than her eyes could discern—there had to be.

“Am I to be imprisoned?” he asked in a cold whisper.

How he must be struggling to control himself. In his view she was second only to Hkuan’duv in blame for the death of his teacher. She fought her own unwanted anger, for she saw him the same way in the loss of Hkuan’duv.

How could any honorable anmaglâhk go against his own caste—even at the behest of his mentor—to protect a human monster and her allies?

The very thought made Dänvârfij’s stomach twist.

She did not answer his question and simply continued to watch him. She knew from experience that silence could unsettle those who were already shaken. Anger would eat at him until he might make a slip. She could gain a better idea of what she did not yet know about why he was here... why she had been sent to do this to him.

“You go against the wishes of Most Aged Father,” he said. “I spoke with him by my word-wood. He told me a ship had come to bring me home.”

“I spoke with him as well,” she countered.

Osha went still, his breath catching once. “Did you tell him that Hkuan’duv hunted Sgäilsheilleache... and killed him when he would not break his sworn guardianship?”

“I told Most Aged Father the truth!” she shot back, losing control. “Sgäilsheilleache turned on his own caste!”

Osha’s features twisted again. He looked stricken, as if he, too, could not stop seeing that moment, and Dänvârfij regretted her outburst.

“You mark Sgäilsheilleache as a criminal,” Osha whispered. “Am I? Of what am I accused?”

She had no answer. Osha had not taken part in the fight. In full faith of his own sworn guardianship of the humans, he had pinned the small sage, Wynn Hygeorht, up against a shack. He had protected her with his body once weapons were drawn, but he had never raised a hand against his own.

When word of this event spread among her caste, she did not know how others would view or judge the outcome. Sgäilsheilleache had sworn guardianship, a tradition of the people far older than the Anmaglâhk. But that he had done so for humans and, worse, for the monster Magiere left everything in doubt.

What had happened between Hkuan’duv and Sgäilsheilleache was not easy to understand. Hkuan’duv had obeyed the ways of his caste and the word of Most Aged Father. But Sgäilsheilleache had stood fast by the honor and traditions of the people as a whole. What was left in the aftermath became murky... difficult to define... impossible to count wholly as right or wrong.

Most Aged Father wanted to know what had truly happened, before rumors spread to taint the caste. He was taking no chances—and Dänvârfij supported him. She had been ordered to take Osha into custody, to keep him from speaking to anyone else, and to bring him back for questioning.

“Am I still anmaglâhk?” he asked, catching her off guard.

“Yes, certainly.”

“Then why shut me in this room?”

He paused long enough for an answer, but she could not give one.

“I have done nothing to breach any of my oaths,” he continued, his tone sounding in warning. “I am still of my people and their ways... older than my oath—your oath—as anmaglâhk.”

Dänvârfij remembered the exchanged glance between the soldiers. Perhaps they had not been concerned at leaving her alone with Osha. Perhaps they experienced confusion, doubt, even suppressed fear at what they had witnessed here.

In truth, Osha was not wrong.

No one else besides Most Aged Father knew even a little of what had happened in the Everfen, and he had not gained the whole account as yet. Only the two who now stood in this small cabin could give him what he needed.

Osha had not breached any code of their caste, and Dänvârfij wavered. This was the first time she had ever doubted Most Aged Father’s wisdom.

Osha strode past her for the door.

On instinct she grabbed the side of his cloak. As he whirled on her, his eyes narrowing, something fell out from beneath his cloak. Before she could look, he slapped her hand away and reached up one sleeve... for a stiletto.

Dänvârfij back-stepped, reaching for a blade.

With a weapon in hand, Osha snarled at her, “Do not give me reason to...”

His voice failed. His eyes glistened as if tears might come amid anger, though they did not.

“Do not give me a reason,” he whispered this time. “Not for more lost blood between us.”

There was no doubt who would die if this moment did not pass. It would not be her, though she would be the cause of it. She did not want this.

Dänvârfij slowly pulled her empty hand from her sleeve and held it up in plain sight. Osha slid his blade back up his sleeve, and it was then that Dänvârfij finally glanced down.

A worn book with a faded blue cover, perhaps made from the dyed cotton over paperboard that humans often preferred in bookmaking, lay at Osha’s feet. It was open to some middle page of its contents.

The characters written there were those of her people’s tongue but written hastily as opposed to the formal work of a scribe. Perhaps it was a journal, but anmaglâhk did not carry such things unless instructed to do so for a purpose.

“What is that?” she asked.

Osha, never taking his eyes off her, snatched up the book and shoved it back inside his cloak.

“It is personal. It has nothing to do with anything here.” He started to turn away.

“Wait. Most Aged Father orders... requests that we do not speak to anyone of what happened until he has seen us first, heard us first. Will you obey?”

When Osha glanced back at her, his eyes were still filled with pain and anger.

“If I am not forced to speak of it,” he said slowly, “in exchange for my rightful freedom... then I do not wish to speak of it at all! I am leaving this cabin and going up on deck, and you have no cause to stop me. Do not try. When we have returned home, make any claim you wish before the people... like an an’Cróan. They will hear both of our stories, as is our way.”

She kept from wincing at his last reproach, for in this he was right.

Osha ripped the door open and left without a backward glance, as if daring her to stop him.

No matter whether he went up on deck, she was still guarding him. He would go before Most Aged Father to explain the actions of Sgäilsheilleache. Yet, caught between their people’s ways and those of her caste, she was at a loss under the weight of his words.

Had this been any part of what drove Sgäilsheilleache in those last moments of his life? Pulling out her word-wood, she pressed it against the ship’s hull.

“Father?”

I am here, Daughter. Do you have him in custody?

She faltered, for she did and did not. One other detail pushed forward in her thoughts.

“Father... he carries a small text, like a journal. He guards it as something dear to him. I do not know why or what it is.”

Most Aged Father was quiet too long before he asked, A human’s journal?

* * *

With her hands braced against the windowsill of the harbormaster’s office, Dänvârfij breathed through her mouth to force calm and clarity. She was not wholly successful. Perhaps it would have been better had she never seen that book in Osha’s possession.

There was no choice now but to deal with the present.

Turning, she opened the harbormaster’s door without knocking and stepped into a large room with two desks, an enormous brass telescope, and a variety of maps covering the walls. Two humans inside were engaged in a conversation.

“I don’t think he’ll take no for an answer,” said a slender man with unkempt hair, a loose shirt, and ink-stained hands. “He’s come back twice.”

“I’ll deal with him,” said the other. “His ship’s too big to dock at the available piers, and he knows it. Sorry I left you alone so long today. Couldn’t be helped.”

Both men finally took notice of Dänvârfij’s presence, but she focused her attention on the second. He was clearly the one in charge, and she took his measure in a glance.

He was not tall, but his chest and shoulders suggested strength. He wore boots, breeches, and a belted burgundy tunic—with no visible weapons other than a cudgel-like cane leaning nearby against the closer desk. Unlike the slender one’s, his fingers were not stained with ink. He left the paperwork to others and focused on more active duties. His hair was dark, almost black, pulled into a tail at the nape of his neck, and his face was clean shaven.

As he boldly took her measure in turn, he assumed the manner of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

“Can we help you?” he asked.

Hkuan’duv had spent years teaching her the art of interrogation. He had been a master, able to keep a captive alive for days to extract every ounce of information. She knew how to use pain and fear and the promise of relief in equal measures.

This was not an interrogation. How could this human be motivated?

Dänvârfij pulled back the hood of her cloak, letting both men stare at her long white-blond hair.

“I need... find someone, find name of ship,” she said, attempting her best Numanese as she met the harbormaster’s steady gaze. “Who left here... maybe today or...” She could not think of the Numanese word for “yesterday.”

The harbormaster took a step closer, frowning in puzzlement, fixating on her strange appearance, her dark skin and amber eyes—as she intended.

“Where were they headed?” he asked.

She realized she had not made herself clear. Ignoring everything else in the room, the slender man with the unkempt hair turned to a stack of paperwork on his desk.

“Do not know,” she answered. “Need to know. Where... someone take a ship from here?”

The harbormaster’s frown deepened. “You’re looking for someone, and you don’t know which direction they went?”

“Need to find,” she answered coldly.

He stood there for a long moment, studying her, and then asked, “Did someone hurt you? Steal something from you? Some man you trusted?”

She blinked, finding him far too blunt but not bothering to correct him. “Need to find,” she repeated.

He shook his head in seeming resignation and turned to pull a paper off the other desk. “Here’s a list of the ships that set sail today.”

She did not even glance at the paper. “How many?”

“Five.”

“Where they go?”

Setting the paper back down, he walked to the wall and pointed to a map. “Two headed for Calm Seatt, one headed up north, and two sailed south along the coast.”

“What is north?”

At this he shook his head. “You don’t know what’s north of the isle?”

“What is there?” she insisted, still meeting his eyes.

“Nothing much. A few Northlander villages and one big shipyard just shy of the great cold Wastes.”

This did not seem a destination Brot’ân’duivé would choose. He would not take Magiere to an uncivilized land where she could more easily be tracked and taken from him. He must be headed somewhere for a reason.

A few villages and a shipyard did not offer possibilities, nor did Calm Seatt. Doubling back was a legitimate tactic, but he had already faced great difficulty in hiding so many companions. No, he would flee in order to plan. And by the map, there were many ports south along the coast of these human nations. Several appeared to be large cities, by their symbols.

“One of the ships heading south was military,” the harbormaster added, “so unless the man you’re chasing is a soldier, I’d count that one out.”

Now he had her full attention. “What of other?”

“A big cargo vessel called the Cloud Queen, going all the way to the Suman capital port at il’Dha’ab Najuum. She’d be the only of those two to take on passengers.”

She had the name of Brot’ân’duivé’s ship and its final destination, though this did not necessarily mean the traitor would go that far. She now had to find a ship traveling that same route.

“I need to follow,” she said. “Help me find passage... for tonight or tomorrow.”

Crossing his arms, he shook his head again. “I don’t have anything taking on passengers leaving that soon. Check back the day after next. Nearest that I know of right now is a small Suman vessel setting sail in five days.”

As his words sank in, her disappointment was bitter. It would not be pleasant to deliver such news to Fréthfâre.

The harbormaster stepped nearer until she felt his breath on her cheek.

“I’ll find you something,” he said. “Are you hungry? I was just going for dinner.”

She stepped back. As if she would sit and share food with a human.

“No... I... thank you. I will come back.” She turned to leave.

“You do that,” he called cheerfully after her.

Nightfall was nearly complete when Dänvârfij stepped out onto the waterfront to breathe in air that had not cooled much from the day’s warmth. Although she would have preferred a direct interrogation, her inquiry had not been a complete loss. As she turned up the shore, still filled with a scattering of passersby, she hoped the others had acquired all else that was needed.

They might be stalled here longer than any of them had anticipated.

Дата добавления: 2015-10-16