Angelaeon Circle 2 - Eye of the Sword (28 page)

“Varic’s on his way,” she panted. “I’ve alerted Paullus and Cilla. They’re going to try to stall him when he arrives.”

“How did he know I was here?” asked Trevin.

“Someone saw you. I’ll tell you what I know as we go to the wharves.”

“The wharves?” asked Catellus.

“Jarrod is booking passage for the four of you. It’s the only way to leave the city. Varic has lookouts for you at every gate.”

Trevin gaped at her. “Where—”

“We can talk on the way.” Livia grabbed his arm and tugged him toward his room.

Trevin tugged back. “I can’t leave the city. I have to clear my name.”

“You can’t clear your name dangling from a rope.”

“King Laetham wouldn’t go that far.”

“King Laetham won’t know until it’s too late.” Livia firmly drew him into his room and began stuffing his scattered belongings into his pack. “Varic has at least a dozen guards with him, several of them malevolents. They’re talking of a hanging.”

Ollena appeared in the doorway, her journey bags in hand.

Trevin buckled on his sword belt and took over Livia’s frantic efforts to tie his pack. He made sure the harp was securely covered, then handed it to her. “Take the harp to the temple. Lock it away, and don’t let anyone play it.”

Pym and Catellus were already heading downstairs when Trevin reached the landing. He and Livia followed, Ollena behind them. As they slipped out the rear door of the Full Sail, the thud of horse hoofs and the calls of Varic’s men resounded over the clamor of carts and laborers. Trevin sensed the oily, impure color of the malevolents and hoped the strength of Paullus’s color and Cilla’s would mask the Angelaeon in his own group until they could gain distance.

They sprinted east down a back road, then cut south toward the wharves, where they mingled with sailors, merchants, and fishmongers.

Livia craned her neck to see around the hulking dockworkers. “Keep an eye out for Jarrod,” she said.

Trevin sidled up to her. “What about meeting with King Laetham? While Varic hunts us all over the city, we could be safely inside the palace, presenting our evidence against the jackal.”

“I pushed for a private audience,” said Livia, “but the king is in one of his downswings, seeing no one for a few days.” She pointed to a dock where Jarrod stood beside a ship being loaded with casks and trunks.

Jarrod nodded when he saw them but kept scanning the crowds.

Gulls screeched. Waves slapped against the pilings. Trevin motioned to the others. Ollena crowded his elbow, and they all gathered around Jarrod. Except Pym.

Pym stepped back, pale and frowning. “I don’t want to offend, but I’m not one for the sea. I’ll go with you if you insist, Main Trevin, but I’ll not be of use until we’ve put ashore somewhere.”

“He’s right to stay,” said Catellus. “He’s in no danger here. Pym can move freely around the city and keep searching for the comains.”

“That I will,” said Pym. “That I surely will.”

“Agreed,” said Trevin. “And help Livia and Jarrod protect Melaia.”

“Done,” said Pym, the color returning to his face.

Jarrod palmed the hilt of his dagger, alert to the swarm of activity around them. “I suggest you board as soon as possible,” he said. “Varic will surely have the wharves searched.”

Pym’s words echoed in Trevin’s head.
Until we’ve put ashore somewhere
. “Where is this vessel going?” he asked.

“To the fortress of Tigerre at the mouth of the Davernon,” said Jarrod. “Across the river from the Dregmoors.”

Trevin narrowed his eyes. “Did you talk with Paullus last night?”

Jarrod shrugged.

“They’re here,” said Ollena.

Trevin spotted two riders slowly making their way down the wharf road, eying the bustle around them.

Livia and Jarrod saw them too. They nodded farewell and went in separate directions, leaving Pym to see off his comain.

“Wait!” Trevin called after them. “When do we return?”

But neither angel heard.

“Probably when you’ve found a third harp,” said Ollena, giving him a nudge.

Trevin shouldered his pack and followed her on board.

revin turned his face to the wind and gripped the bulwarks, watching for the coastline to appear in the distance through the morning fog. It was their second day at sea, and he was trying to get the sea legs Paullus longed for. As wind whistled through the rigging, Trevin cocked his head, hoping to hear from Windweaver. But if the Archon was nearby, he wasn’t speaking.

Ollena stepped up and handed him a round of bread.

“Was I right to leave Qanreef?” he asked. “Wouldn’t it have been better to stand and fight?”

“Often the best way to win is not to fight at all,” said Ollena. “You trusted Jarrod and Livia. I wouldn’t say your trust was misplaced.”

Trevin tore off a hunk of bread. Jarrod and Livia wanted the harps above all. Everything else was expendable. He had heard them say so the previous fall when they tried to get Melaia to forget that her father was king. They didn’t care who the king was.

“A conniving schemer,” muttered Trevin. “That’s what Jarrod is.”

“Oh?” Ollena brushed windblown strands of hair from her face.

“He intentionally sent me within spitting distance of the Dregmoors, knowing full well that I would be tempted to search for the last harp.” Trevin chewed on the dry barley bread. Searching for the harp wasn’t the problem. That had been his plan all along. He had just hoped to clear his name first and spend some time with Melaia. He felt like Jarrod had forced him to reverse his priorities.

“Doesn’t Princess Melaia want all three harps?” said Ollena.

Trevin sighed. Although his first allegiance was to Melaia, her first allegiance was to the harps. There was no way around it. He glanced sideways at Ollena. “You’re in on this, aren’t you?”

“I
am
Angelaeon.” Her face brightened, and she pointed at the fog. “Seaspinner.”

Trevin squinted at the haze drifting lazily over the waves. At one spot it swirled and a figure emerged, pale with short white hair. She danced across the breakers and sank back into the fog. “Is that a good omen?” he asked.

“It means the Archon is doing her job.” Ollena strolled on down the deck.

Trevin stared at the thinning fog, hoping to glimpse Seaspinner once more, but she had vanished.

At midday the dark gray cliffs of the Dregmoors appeared on the horizon. Draks grew more numerous as well, but the spy-birds kept their distance. Trevin tried to pick out a small one that might be Peron, but he saw several smaller draks and was never certain Peron flew among them.

At sunset they disembarked at the fortress of Tigerre, where Angelaeon presence was strong. Ollena discovered she knew the commander, a runty, stout angel named Rys, who appeared to have had his nose broken more than once. Rys gladly provided them with ample food and comfortable quarters for the night.

After everyone retired, Trevin and Catellus lit an oil lamp in the room they shared and bent over a rude map of the Dregmoors that Rys had loaned them. Trevin rubbed at the dull ache that had lodged in his right hand.

Catellus ran a finger north along the line that marked the Davernon River and tapped a spot. “Here’s where Rys says we’ll find the ferry.”

“Nearer than I thought,” said Trevin. “We’ll leave the horses with Ollena.”

“No you won’t.” Ollena stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips.

Trevin rolled his eyes. Every time he concentrated his attention on one issue, he missed the presence of angels. He couldn’t afford such a lapse in the Dregmoors. “I need stealth,” he said. “My instincts say it’s best for you to wait for us here. You’ll keep my sword and shield. Dagger and knife will serve me better in the caves.”

“Leave your sword and shield here if you want.” Ollena stepped into the room. “But I’m going with you.”

“No you’re not,” said Trevin.

Catellus sat back and folded his arms, watching them.

Ollena scanned the map. “It’s my duty to go with you, Main Trevin.”

“Your duty is to protect me. If you go into the Dregmoors, every malevolent within sensing distance will be drawn our way. I value your skills and would welcome your company, but I cannot compromise my task.”

Ollena bit her lip, her eyes on the map.

Trevin could see she was trying to think of a way around his reasoning. “Do you think malevolent guards can sense you from across the river?” he asked.

“Possibly.”

“I want you to head north ahead of Catellus and me. Travel along the riverbank well past the ferry. Malevolents should sense you and be drawn upriver, away from us.”

Ollena narrowed her eyes. “If anything happens to you, Queen Ambria will hang me.”

Trevin chuckled. “I happen to know that only an angel or an immortal can kill an angel. Queen Ambria is very human.”

“She’ll find an angel to do the job for her, hmm?”

“I can’t risk taking you.”

Ollena scowled. “I’ll patrol the riverbank.”

“The Camrithian side.”

Ollena exhaled slowly. “All right. The Camrithian side.”

After giving Ollena an hour to travel north the next morning, Trevin and Catellus trekked upriver. The recommended ferryman, a long-legged fellow, was touted as the only person with the skills to successfully cross the current. He seemed glad for the business, though his price was high. Trevin was grateful to have more than enough in King Kedemeth’s pouch to pay for their passage. His right hand throbbed, so he used his left to select coins from the purse.

“Keep a lookout on the cliff face across the way,” said the ferryman as he poled them into the swift current. “The Cliffs of Balemourne. A white-robed creature called the Ibex walks the cliffs on occasion. Not the top of the cliffs,
mind you—the face of the cliffs. I’ve not seen the Ibex lately, so it’s high time for her to show up again.”

“Her?” asked Trevin.

“Rumor says it’s a woman, but how a woman or a man could scale those cliffs, I’ve no notion. I say she’s a specter sent to scare strangers like yourself from entering the land.”

Trevin scanned the dark gray cliffs. Caves pocked the stone wall, resembling grotesque eyes and mouths. Varic’s land.

A chill crawled along Trevin’s spine. Melaia would never enter the Dregmoors. Not if he could help it.

Once they reached the rocky eastern bank of the Davernon, Trevin and Catellus followed the river south toward the sea. The ground was uneven and strewn with rocks, and more than once Trevin wished he had not left his staff with Ollena.

When they came within sight of the sea, they paused to rest beneath an outcropping of stone. Trevin studied the fortress of Tigerre, squat and solid on the far bank of the river. He had described Dwin to Rys, but the commander had not seen him. Even so, Dwin may have stood at this very spot and looked west.

“Drak droppings!” said Catellus. “I thought we’d lost the spy-birds, but they’re everywhere.”

Trevin gulped water from his flask and scanned the sky. Dozens of draks rode the wind currents, circling out over the sea, skimming the sparkling waves. One dived and came out with a fish, and the others chased it inland.

“I don’t think they’re following us,” said Trevin.

Catellus pointed overhead. “What about that one?”

Trevin shaded his eyes. A lone drak. Small. He wondered if the salted beef in his pack would tempt the bird to his hand. If it came, how would he know it was Peron? Melaia could identify Peron by her hands, but he had never met the girl, never seen her hands.

The small drak banked in a high curve, then soared north along the cliffs alone. “She’s homing,” Trevin murmured.

“You think it’s the little girl?”

“I want to think so.”

“Who does she home to?”

“I wish I knew.”

Trevin watched the drak duck through an arch in the rock and disappear. He opened and closed his right hand, trying to work out the pain. Then he headed across the scree, leading Catellus east along the ragged coast at the foot of the cliffs.

Boulders jagged out of the sea, treacherous islands in the crashing waves. Trevin edged as close to the cliffs as he could, pitying sailors who didn’t heed the warning watch fires. He squinted up at the coastal caves. Eight, nine, maybe more. He doubted that they were guarded. Only the most determined intruder would climb these cliffs. Or a comain raised by a stonecutter and trained to climb. He was eager to nose around up there.