Deborah Hale (16 page)

Destiny.
The word drummed in Rath’s thoughts as he stared eastward over the prow of the ship Maura had launched in his
name. Every muted crash of the waves droned it, while every circling seabird screeched it.

Even after all that had happened, did he believe in it? Rath could not decide. It was a seductive notion to trust that his victory over the Han in the battles to come was assured. But if he believed that, then he must also believe the Oracle’s prophesy about his personal future.

Rath’s oversize fist clamped down on the deck railing. He would rather suffer a little uncertainty.

Sensing someone standing beside him, he glanced over to find Idrygon staring toward the horizon, as lost in thought as he’d just been.

“I’ve waited and worked thirty years for this day,” Idrygon murmured. “There were times I wondered if it would ever come.”

Rath’s gaze swept over the small but formidable fleet that now sailed to reclaim their homeland. All those years he had been thinking of nothing beyond his next theft, Idrygon had been laboring to make what was about to happen come true. Rath had seen enough in these past few weeks to know it had not been a quick or an easy task.

“I remember looking back at the coast as our ship sailed away,” Idrygon mused. “Watching smoke rise from some buildings our enemies had put to the torch. I swore then I would return someday with an army and scourge them from our shores.”

Why had the Giver not chosen Idrygon as the Waiting King? Rath wondered. The man was far more eager and better suited for the daunting burden of command than he would ever be.

His gaze strayed southward, pulled in the same direction as his thoughts and his heart. “Do you reckon they reached the coast ahead of that storm?”

While it had raged, he’d walked a lonely strip of Margyle beach, gazing out at the rampant waters and willing them not to harm Maura.

Idrygon stirred from his thoughts. “I regret you were not able to bid her farewell. Thank the Giver for the Oracle’s warning,
otherwise they might have been caught out at sea. I have never had much use for Captain Gull, but I respect his sailing ability. Rest your mind—knowing the danger, he will have raced the storm.”

A tiny ember of hope rekindled in Rath’s heart. Perhaps the Oracle’s vision of his future was like her warning about the storm—something he could escape with proper caution.

“Do not fret,” said Idrygon. “You will see Her Highness soon enough. In the meantime we must draw the Hanish forces northward to make the way to Venard safer for her and my brother.”

His fingers clenched and unclenched, as if around the hilt of an invisible sword. “I can hardly wait until the fighting begins! I have never drawn the blood of an enemy. Never drank the sweet wine of vengeance.”

“I have done both.” Rath shook his head. “Far too often. Vengeance
is
like strong drink. It makes you all dizzy and daft for a while, but it soon sours in your belly.”

“Maura,” said Delyon, “look at this symbol and see if you can make anything of it.”

The sudden sound of his voice made Maura start.

“Hush!” She waved him toward the corner of the cottage beside the door. “I thought I heard something out there.”

Perhaps she only fancied it after so many long days with little to do but worry and imagine approaching danger. It did not help that Delyon seemed oblivious to any peril. More than once, while lost in thought, he had almost wandered out of their hiding place in broad daylight.

Before he’d returned to his ship Gull had told Maura that the Han hereabouts thought Ven Gyllia was haunted—a belief he and his fellow smugglers did everything possible to foster. Though patrols seldom came near, they surely would not hesitate to search if they spied or heard anything suspicious. Maura was determined to give them no reason to venture closer.

With a huff, Delyon gathered up his scroll and moved to the
corner as she had bidden him. Maura ignored his sulky look, listening with every particle of concentration.

Finally she admitted, “It may not have been anything after all. A small animal, perhaps.”

Before Delyon could reply, she wagged her finger at him. “Just because it was nothing
this time,
does not mean we can let our guard down.”

The man hadn’t exactly let his guard down, she reminded herself. The problem was he’d never bothered to put it up in the first place.

With a rueful shake of his head, Delyon moved back near the door, where he had more light for reading. “Is everyone on the mainland as wary as you?”

“The ones who survive any length of time,” she snapped. “If you hope to remain among our number, you’d do well to exercise a little wariness yourself!”

How much longer would it be until the sun set? she wondered. Once it got dark enough, she could venture outside to stretch her legs and get a bit of air. Between that and sleeping, the nights passed quickly. But these past days of waiting and hiding were some of the most tedious Maura had ever endured.

Was there such a thing as
too much
peace and quiet? She fancied the walls of the little cottage were closing in on her a bit more each day—as were the worries that haunted her.

Delyon had enough sense not to argue with her, but had gone back to studying his scroll with furrowed brow.

Though Maura knew he would not want to be disturbed until the light faded, she could not keep her fears locked inside her a moment longer. “Gull promised someone would bring us a message when it is time to begin our journey. Do you suppose something has happened to the messenger…or…?”

No. She would not allow herself to think something had gone wrong with Rath’s invasion of the Dusk Coast.

“It may be the fleet was delayed longer than they expected by the storm.” Delyon spared only a crumb of his attention for
her. “Some of the ships may have been damaged and needed repairs before they could set sail. Perhaps news of the invasion has not traveled as fast as my brother hoped.”

That all made sense, Maura conceded grudgingly. Still, she could not help resenting Delyon’s lack of concern.

He dug out a charstick from his pack and scrawled a note on the scroll. After staring at it for a moment, he shook his head and rubbed the marks off with a lump of sandstone.

“I could use a few more days of peace and quiet,” he muttered, “to decipher this spell of deep meditation. It could save us a great deal of time once we reach the palace.”

“I will give you three more days.” She stared out the door opening at another deserted cottage, its thatched roof caved in. “After that, we must head for Venard and keep our ears open for news as we go.”

The words had scarcely left her lips when some movement behind the deserted cottage caught her eye.

“Get back again, Delyon!” she ordered in an urgent whisper. “There
is
someone out there!”

Grumbling under his breath, Delyon picked up his scroll and moved back to the corner where he would not be seen unless someone entered the cottage.

Maura dug a pinch of
genow
scales from her sash and chanted the invisibility spell under her breath. Many times in the past few days, she’d been tempted to make herself invisible so she could wander abroad in daylight. But Idrygon had given strict orders not to use the spell except in emergencies.

Well, this qualified. If someone was lurking about Ven Gyllia, she must find out if it was Gull’s messenger. If she’d only fancied seeing something, then she needed to get out of the cottage before the waiting drove her daft.

Maura knew when the invisibility spell took effect, for Delyon let out a soft gasp.

“Keep quiet,” she whispered as she slipped through the door, fumbling in her sash for some madfern.

If someone other than Gull’s messenger was out there, a little madfern together with a tap on the shoulder and a disembodied voice should be enough to bolster Ven Gyllia’s reputation for being haunted.

The moment she stepped out of the cottage Maura heard someone chopping wood nearby. She followed the sound to a wooded area where she found a man attacking the slender trunk of a whitebark tree with a hatchet. While he chopped at the tree, he grumbled to himself in a voice loud enough for Maura to hear.

“‘Take the news to Ven Gyllia,’ Gull tells me. ‘What news might that be?’ says I. ‘Ye’ll know what news when ye hear it,’ says he. A pretty riddle that.”

In her excitement, Maura forgot the caution about which she’d lectured Delyon. “What news have you heard?”

“Who’s there?” The man spun about, holding his ax in front of him. “Show yerself!”

“I cannot.” Maura backed away, taking shelter behind a tree. “But I am a friend of Gull’s. Please tell me the news he bid you bring.”

The man’s grip on his ax eased a little. “The Han are all in an uproar and folks say the Waiting King has come with an army to set us free.”

Weak with relief, Maura slumped against the tree, savoring the rough caress of its bark against her cheek.

“It is true,” she breathed.

The messenger must have heard her, for his ax fell slack. “Well, I never…the Waiting King? I reckoned he was no more than a tale for the younglings.”

“Spread the word among your neighbors,” Maura bid him. “And tell me how I can reach Venard from here without drawing unwanted attention.”

“Stay in the woods as far as you can.” The man pointed east. “Then you’ll see the main road. It goes to Venard…like all the main roads do. Stay as far back from it as you can while still
keeping it in sight. Many Hanish soldiers may be heading north to fight the Waiting King, but the ones who are left will be making sure no Umbrians go to fight at his side.”

“You have my thanks,” said Maura, “for bringing this welcome news. When the Waiting King is restored to his throne, come to court and you will be well rewarded.”

The word
reward
seemed to remind the messenger of something. Laying down his ax, he pulled a small pouch from his pocket and tossed it in Maura’s direction. It jingled when it hit the ground near her.

“Gull said I was to give you that. In case you need to buy supplies or bribe your way out of a tight spot.”

After thanking him again, Maura grabbed the little purse and ran back to the cottage. Delyon had moved closer to the doorway in her absence, the better to study his scroll. But Maura was too happy to scold him for his lack of caution.

Instead, she stooped and threw her arms around his neck. “It’s all right! The invasion has begun well!”

Only when Delyon let out a strangled scream and tried to fight her off did Maura remember he could not see her.

“Delyon, stop!” She could scarcely get the words out for laughing—a release of her tightly wound nerves. “It’s only Maura. I’m sorry I frightened you.”

“Maura?” He sank back to the floor of the cabin, his chest heaving and his voice shaky. “Of course. I should have known. But you gave me such a start.”

She tried to stifle her heartless mirth, reminding herself how she would have felt in his place. Another part of her wondered if Delyon might have needed a good scare to make him a little more cautious. She told him what she’d learned from Gull’s messenger.

“Study your scroll to your heart’s content while the light lasts.” Maura rolled up in her blanket. “Or try to get some sleep. Once the sun sets, we must be off. Until we reach Venard, we’ll travel by night, then hide and sleep by day.”

The next thing she knew, Delyon was nudging her. “Wake up, Maura. You said we must go once the sun set.”

Maura yawned and rubbed her eyes. “Did you sleep?” she asked Delyon. “I almost wish I hadn’t. I feel more tired now than I did when I lay down.”

“I meant to.” Delyon knelt beside her in the rapidly deepening darkness. “But I got caught up studying the scroll. I am almost certain I have figured out another of the words. It looks like the
twara
symbol for the ritual of passing, which makes me wonder if—”

“Tell me later.” Maura jumped up and began to roll her blanket. “We must be on our way now. Are you ready to go?”

She regretted her rudeness for interrupting him, but if she didn’t he could go on for hours.

“All my supplies are packed.” Delyon did not sound offended. Perhaps he was accustomed to people not sharing his passion for ancient languages.

“Let’s go.” Maura fished a leaf of quickfoil from her sash and began to chew it. As the sharp tang suffused her mouth, the fog of sleep lifted from her mind and her senses sharpened.

She and Delyon made good progress that night. They found the main road just where Gull’s messenger had said they would, then followed it until the first tentative glow of dawn kindled on the eastern horizon.

“This looks as good a place as any to hide and rest for the day.” Maura pointed to a barn at the far edge of a field of ripening grain.

Delyon replied with a soft grunt that did not sound fully awake.

“Get a good sleep today,” Maura scolded him gently. “I won’t have you studying that scroll so many hours that you cannot keep your wits about you at night. Understand?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

They had scarcely crept into the barn and settled themselves in a far corner of its loft when Delyon’s breathing settled into
the quiet buzz of sleep. Maura meant to keep watch until he woke, but the early-morning twitter of the birds outside and the dry warmth of the barn lulled her.

When she roused some hours later, Delyon was studying his scroll again.

“Don’t fret.” He glanced up at her with a smile. “It has been quiet. I hope the rest of our journey continues this well.”

Maura hoped so, too. But she knew better than to expect it.

Sure enough, they emerged from their hideout that night into a steady drizzle of rain. Lights bobbed on the road—perhaps movement of Hanish troops, forcing her and Delyon to keep even farther away. They had to wait a long time before it was safe to cross a road that wound up from the south to meet the main one. Dawn caught them far sooner than Maura would have liked, and the only hiding place they could find was a damp, smelly root cellar.

The next three days were no better. The fourth got worse. Would they ever reach the capital? Maura wondered. Or would they rot first?