The Fire Prince (The Cursed Kingdoms Trilogy Book 2) (41 page)

“But how...?”

“Pigeons?” Prince Kristof said.

“Perhaps.” The king pursed his lips, frowned. “It’s worth investigating.”

“I’ll see to it,” Prince Kristof said.

“Do they know the boys are here?” King Magnas said, his eyes on Karel. “And you and Yasma? And if they do, will they tell Jaegar?”

Karel’s heart seemed to stop beating for an instant.

“She called out my name,” Yasma said, in a small, scared voice.

“They knew exactly where Brigitta was,” the king said. “I think it likely they know the boys are here too. The question is, will they inform Jaegar? And will they mention you and Yasma?”

“By the All-Mother, I’ll find out how they knew,” Prince Kristof said grimly. “If any of our men—”

“Our families...” Yasma said, tears spilling from her eyes.

The king took both her hands in his. “You brought us our kin. We shall not abandon
your
kin.”

“How?” Karel asked.

“If Jaegar can sail to Esfaban and take up your families, so can we. Just tell me their names and where to find them.”

Karel opened his mouth, and closed it again. His tongue was frozen with horror—to uproot everyone, to tear them from their homes.
This wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted them to have freedom in Esfaban, not flight and exile
.

“I think it unlikely the Fithians will mention you,” the king told Yasma, his voice matter-of-fact and reassuring. “You’re servants, and most people look at servants without seeing them—and even if they
did
identify you, their goal was Brigitta, not the boys, not you or Karel. But we’ll take no chances. We have a ship in Osgaard’s harbor, a fast fishing smack, and ears and eyes in the palace. I’ll send word, tell the ship to stand ready. If Jaegar moves against your families, we’ll act.”

“Thank you,” Yasma whispered.

The king released her hands. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

Yasma wiped her face. She turned to Karel. He put an arm around her, hugged her. “Thank you,” he told the king. “But I pray to the All-Mother it isn’t necessary.”

“I don’t think it will be. You left convincing evidence of your deaths, and most men believe what’s in front of their eyes. Now...” King Magnas’s expression firmed. “What do we know of this plan to catch Harkeld? Will they intercept him as he passes through Roubos, or wait for him at the anchor stone in Sault?”

“Roubos,” Karel said. “That’s what Jaegar told the princess.”

T
HE HARBOR MASTER
came, bearing his records, and the sergeant on duty at the wharf. The Fithian ship was pinpointed as a sloop, low and fast, that had arrived five days previously. Half a dozen passengers had disembarked. Refugees from Vaere. All men.

“And today?”

“The captain paid the harbor fees this morning and sailed a couple of hours later.” The harbor master shrugged. “I didn’t pay much attention to it, sire. Didn’t see any reason to.”

“Did the captain say where they were going?”

The man shook his head.

“Did you see how many men embarked? Or you, sergeant?”

The harbor master shook his head again, but the sergeant said, “I saw a dinghy row out with maybe half a dozen men in it. Just a glimpse, mind. A ship was unloading; my attention was on that.”

“You won’t catch the sloop,” King Magnas said, after both men had gone. He leaned over the map of the Seven Kingdoms unrolled on the table. “But you should be no more than a day behind when you reach Roubos.” He tapped the map. “I’ll give you the best fighters we have here, but it won’t be more than a half-score. It’s skill you need, not numbers. You need to be fast on the ground.”

“Father, may I go?” Prince Tomas asked.

The king looked at his son for a long moment, then nodded. “Yes. But Karel leads this mission. He gives the orders.”

“Me?” Karel said.

“You’ve demonstrated you can plan, and think fast on your feet.”

“And fight,” Prince Tomas said. “You killed a
Fithian
. Single-handed!”

Karel shook his head, rejecting the admiration in the prince’s voice. “I’m a royal bodyguard. Your men could do it too.”

“Demonstrably not,” Prince Kristof said. “Four of mine are dead.”

“The command is yours, Karel.” The king stood. “Bring Brigitta back if you can. Help Harkeld if you can. I don’t wish to place more value on one life than the other, but the curse
must
be stopped.”

Karel nodded.

“If you do see Harkeld, tell him... tell him that I regret I can’t offer him a home here, now that he’s a witch.” The king’s mouth twisted. It seemed his regret was genuine. “But safe refuge for a brief time, a chance to see his half-brothers and say goodbye, that I can offer. And gold, if he needs it.”

Karel nodded again.

“Tell him that in my eyes, he is Harkeld before he is a witch.”

K
AREL STOOD ON
the wharf, dressed in Lundegaardan green. The king had outfitted him, given him clothes and weapons and gold. And armsmen. And a ship that was almost ready to sail. The crew and armsmen were aboard, the last provisions being loaded. As he watched, a barrel was hauled up over the side.

He shifted his gaze past the ship, staring at the horizon.
I’m coming, princess
. Fithians or no Fithians, he would rescue her.

When you loved people, you saved them.

He turned to King Magnas. “About Yasma—”

“She’ll be safe.”

“She was a bondservant, she’s...”
Been raped, many times
. “She’s not comfortable around men. She’s—”

“I understand,” King Magnas said, and something in his eyes told Karel he did. “Yasma has my full protection. No one will harm her. You have my word as king.”

Karel nodded. He believed King Magnas—he
did
—but to leave Yasma here... He glanced back towards the buildings, remembering how she’d clung to him when he’d said farewell.

“We’re ready to sail!”

It was Prince Tomas who’d shouted. He stood with Prince Kristof at the wharf edge, a fierce grin on his scarred face.

Karel bowed to the king. “Goodbye, sire. And thank you.”

King Magnas held out his hand to Karel, as if they were equals. “Good luck.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

T
HE DIRT TRAIL
brought them to a river, and the river brought them to the town called Mrelk. Mrelk lay on the wide road from Roubos. It had houses of mud-brick and a marketplace and a ferry across the river on a cable. Downstream of the ferry, a wooden jetty thrust into the brown river. A large boat with crumpled sails and slack oars was being loaded with sacks of jungle moss, boxes of fruit, bales of dried leaves. Gant said that if you smoked the leaves, it made you dream you were floating to the All-Mother and feeding on honey, but if you used it too much your skin wrinkled and your brain wrinkled too and you grew old and died. They saw men with loose gray skin sleeping with the dogs on the riverbank—waiting to die, Jaumé thought.

The Brother had a house at the back of the town. He was an old man, stooped and bald—but not wrinkled, this one. A pigeon house on a pole stood in the yard.

“Loomath,” the old man said. He made no sign of welcome. His left arm was bent and scarred, the muscles wasted.

“Nolt,” Nolt replied.

“You’re late.”

“We’re here.”

Loomath gave a twist of his mouth. It might be taken for a smile. “Here and gone. Nolt, eh? I’ve heard of you. My house is small.” He made a short gesture with his hand. Nolt went into the house, and Loomath followed.

“What did he mean, here and gone?” Jaumé whispered to Bennick.

“He’s one of the old bastards. They get like that. Look after your pony, Jaumé. And keep your mouth shut here.”

They watered the horses at a trough at the back of the yard, and found hay in a shed and fed them.

Nolt came out of the house. “The boat takes us four days downriver.”

“The horses?” Gant asked.

“Our mounts, that’s all. The packhorses stay. Loomath has saddlebags. Take only what you need. You, boy.” He turned to Jaumé.

Jaumé’s mouth went dry.
They’re going to leave me behind.

“The jungle gets worse. It kills people”—Nolt snapped his fingers—“like that.”

Jaumé saw Loomath listening from the doorway.

“I’ll come,” he said.

“If you can’t keep up, we’ll leave you.”

“I’ll come.” He saw a gleam of approval in Nolt’s eyes. Bennick patted him on the shoulder. The old man in the doorway had a sour look, but maybe his eyes showed approval too.

“The boat goes mid-afternoon,” Nolt told the men. “Be ready.” He went back into the house with Loomath.

“What’s downriver?” Jaumé asked Bennick.

“More jungle.”

They ate and repacked, then led the horses to the jetty. The wide, brown river turned over slowly like a snake. The boat crew, half-naked and sweating, were nervous of Nolt and his men. They lifted the horses and the pony one by one in a sling and led them into stalls in the hold. The eight Brothers found places for themselves on the deck. A slow, warm breeze caught the sails and the oars dug into the water.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

T
HEY HAD THREE
days of fine weather, three days when they rode fast on drying roads, not stopping until after dusk. There was no time for lessons, no time for anything other than riding, eating, and sleeping. Harkeld’s anger cooled, congealing into a cold, solid lump in his chest. He ignored Justen, spoke only when spoken to, and shared his tent with Ebril each night. The red-haired witch was subdued. Harkeld didn’t hear him whistle once.

On the third night, after a meal eaten mostly in silence, Cora brought out the map. “We’re only a few leagues from Vlesnik. Once we cross the river, we’ll head north.”

To the anchor stone
. Harkeld’s heart seemed to speed up.

“We need to restock in Vlesnik. My question is... do we stay the night there?”

There was silence. No one looked overjoyed by the prospect.

“For my preference, no,” Rand said.

“I agree,” Katlen said. “It’s too risky.”

Hew nodded.

“Tomorrow I’d like you to ride ahead with some packhorses, Rand. Leave before dawn. Take... not one of the shapeshifters... Katlen, you go with him. If anyone asks, we’re headed for Roubos.”

“What would you like us to buy?”

“Grain for the horses. Dried meat for us.”

Harkeld reached for the map. There was Vlesnik, there the River Szal, and there, where the Szal joined the Yresk: the anchor stone.

His gaze drifted east, to the border with Roubos. Most of that kingdom was off the map. Sault wasn’t on it, or Vaere. Where was the curse now? Had it taken all of Vaere in its inexorable advance westward? Was it into Sault, poisoning wells and streams? How many lives had it claimed?