The Lords of Anavar (3 page)

A cry sounded from their quarters. Gerrand raced ahead to where Faeya Ryr's servants were fleeing from the room. Crew members filled the corridor. The third servant laid dead in the room, his blood pooling on the floor.

"Oh, Donnelin," said Faeya Ryr. "He has served me since he was a boy." She knelt down beside him, cradling his head.

Gerrand closed his eyes and concentrated on the energy in the room, trying to find someone out of place. There were too many people close by; he couldn't separate them from his senses.

Sudden movement electrified the old sorcerer. Gerrand wove a spell as the murderer charged him. The attacker rolled to the floor and came up with a dagger. Gerrand gripped the attacker's wrist. The attacker's eyes widened at the strength of the old man. Gerrand twisted his arm and bones snapped. The man cried out in pain and pushed away from Gerrand. The sorcerer gestured, releasing his spell and the man was frozen in place. The Captain thundered down the passage into the room. He cursed long and loud.

"One of yours, Captain?" asked Gerrand.

The captain stared at the man. "No. I have not seen him before. How did he get on board?" He glared at his first mate.

"Then whose man was he I wonder?" said Gerrand.

"He is not familiar to me," said Faeya Ryr. "I know all the High Priestess's assassins by sight. He is foreign to Cothos."

"Look at his knife. Yerasin assassin."

"Not possible. I know them all," said Faeya Ryr.

"You know all the assassins that they want you to know," said Gerrand. "There is another training center besides the one at Yerasin. I'm sure they have assassins scattered across the kingdoms. This might be only a message."

"You mean he was meant to fail?"

"Armed with only a knife to kill us? The Yerasin are well prepared for their contracts and seldom fail. This one was not prepared to survive."

"Yerasin?" whispered Captain Har Tonle. "Could there be another on board?"

"Perhaps. I will search," said Gerrand. "Safer for your crew that way. Set sail immediately. We will send this one for a swim once you are far from shore."

The Captain ran off shouting to his crew.

"It comes so quick," said Gerrand.

"Yes, the game is in motion. Will we win?"

"My dear, do you really want an honest answer?"

Gerrand stood against the polished rail as the ship made its way south out of the harbor. Faeya Ryr stood beside him, her arm through his. The winds were rising and the water rough. The captain called to his crew who climbed the riggings like squirrels. The sails filled with wind and gained speed. Clouds hung on the horizon hiding the coast of Wierland from their view. They turned back to watch the green hills of the Isle of Cothos fall away from them. The salt air brought a smile to Gerrand. Riding the sea in his father's boat was his earliest memory. The wind slapped at his face and he felt the change in himself when on the sea. He felt lighter, happier, and turned and kissed Faeya Ryr. She pushed him away, but smiled.

The captain gave orders to his mate who shouted at the crew. The barefoot men quickly found their places to reset the sails. Gerrand tried to remember the first time he sailed alone but could only find the memory of a damp chill. His boat had been swamped in heavy seas and he nearly drowned.

"Do you sail much?" Gerrand asked.

"I have sailed in smaller craft," said Faeya Ryr. "But only as a passenger, I have no sea-craft. I prefer watching the waves rather than outthinking them. And you? What experience do you have? I can't imagine you not having sailed a great deal."

"Actually, my earliest memories are of the sea. My father was a fisherman and trader to the west of here. But my memory is not clear. I do not know how much I sailed although I did learn enough to sail alone to the southern coast of Anavar. Indeed, to the limits of the mapmakers of my time. I even clarified some maps once. I wrote of my journeys, but I do not know where the manuscripts are today. I vaguely recall that I spent almost two solid years at sea. However, I'm afraid whatever skill I may have possessed is beyond recall."

"Were you a fisherman like your father?"

"No. I was apprenticed to a smith. I worked with iron. Then the smith showed me arts I never guessed existed."

"What arts?"

"The smith's name was Macelan."

"What? Macelan was a blacksmith?"

"Yes. Humbling for the Mage Council if they were to know that Macelan and Gerrand were both common smiths."

"Some members, but not all. Where did Macelan learn the arts?"

"I never found out. I think he was far older than I knew. I have some suspicions but I never took the time to pursue my investigation. Something always came up. I heard him mutter Kerthon's name, but Kerthon's time was in the dim past, before Cothos was resettled. But as I recollected he did mention a woman that he had loved. Apparently, something terrible happened and he never saw her again. Daura, I think her name was. Funny the things one remembers."

"It's hard to imagine you as a blacksmith."

"No harder than imagining me as a twenty-year old."

"You're right. It is impossible."

"Wait! What about your romantic words back there?"

"I'm not interested in twenty year old smiths. I like a mature, experienced man."

Gerrand started to blush and turned away. He noticed two men along the rail watching them. One was tall with dark hair, and mustached. The man moved gracefully, his robes flowing - a noble of some sort. His companion, a shorter thin man seemed nervous; his eyes darted everywhere, trying to see everything. He reminded Gerrand of a man on his own deathwatch.

Gerrand sensed no magic about the duo and relaxed. If they were assassins, he did not fear them.

"Greetings, fellow travelers," said the tall one. "My name is Festic Ells. My companion is Systin Farmoush." They both bowed. Gerrand inclined his head. Faeya Ryr merely stared.

"If it is not impertinent," said Ells. "We would appreciate conversation with you. Systin and I are couriers and have been on the road for quite a long time. This trip across the straits is our first chance to catch our breaths. Then, of course, we are still stuck with each other. We talked ourselves out long ago. If you would be so kind as to discuss various topics with us, we would appreciate your conversation. Of course, any subject that offends you we shall leave off. Is it agreeable?"

Gerrand glanced at Faeya Ryr. She shrugged her shoulders.

"Excellent," said Ells. "Now, where shall we begin? Where are you from?"

"Isle of Cothos," replied Gerrand, nodding in the direction of the port.

"Where are you going?" Ells twisted the end of his mustache from habit.

"Wierland."

"Really? We have business there ourselves. What city?"

"Inland."

"Inland? Systin, Inland?" His companion shook his head. "We've not heard of it."

"Idiot," snapped Gerrand. "In land. We are going in land. I did not name the town and I shall not."

"Excuse me," said Festic Ells, reddening. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"He didn't mean to," said Systin Farmoush. "His words often run faster than his head."

"Could be dangerous in your line of work," said Gerrand, raising his eyebrow.

"Couriers are often forgiven for sloppy speech," said Festic Ells. "Speed is the true test."

"I wasn't speaking of couriers; I meant your true work."

"I don't know what you mean."

"You are lucky my patience is bolstered by my lovely companion. I would say that you are from Calendia and Farmoush is from Curesia. Am I far wrong?"

"Why no," said Festic Ells. "That is true." The couriers seemed pleased to have met such enlightened travelers.

"Would High Lord Gharom and King Teslet be aware that you travel together? I assume they are aware of your true business."

Ells and Farmoush said nothing. Ells' mouth hung open. Systin twisted a ring on his finger.

"I thought so." Gerrand smiled to himself.

"Who are they?" asked Faeya Ryr.

"Spies."

"Spies?"

"Wouldn't suspect them, would you?"

"How did you know?" asked Festic Ells.

"I am Gerrand."

"Oh, how could we not know that?" asked Festic Ells. "The most famous sorcerer in the world and we do not recognize him."

"For the very reason we travel together," replied Systin Farmoush. "It is hard to gather all the information necessary to satisfy our liege lords. We pool the general information to pad our reports. We do not share critical information; just the harmless stuff."

"It would be hard to convince your lords otherwise."

"True. But now that we know who you are we have a good idea of where you are going."

"Do you?" asked Gerrand, his voice hardening. "I think you mentioned earlier that you agreed to stay away from some topics. This is one of those topics."

"Of course," spluttered Systin Farmoush. "May we travel with you for a while in Wierland?"

"What direction are you going?" asked Faeya Ryr.

Ells and Farmoush looked at each other.

"Very well. We shall drop the subject."

"Don't follow us or I will know," said Gerrand. "I have no patience for either of your masters. My business is my own."

"Wouldn't think of following," said Festic Ells. "To offer amends, we will share a tidbit we picked up just yesterday. Seems Warlord Torby Mola has some friends in Curesia."

"What kind of friends?"

"I'm not sure. I recognized a courier from Curesia at the Palace in Isle of Cothos. I saw him meet with Torby Mola. I do know there is money and power behind the envoy from Curesia. No names were mentioned but money changed hands. I am sure Mola knows the identity of the figure in Curesia. We do know that the High Priestess has not reopened relations with Curesia and Mola is too far down the hierarchy to conduct these meetings for her. Mola's brothers might be in line to do it, but they would never let the Warlord handle it himself. I have reason to believe his brothers think him a hothead and best left to battle.

"I think Mola is maneuvering for his own interests without the knowledge of the High Priestess. We are trying to find out who his contact is in Curesia."

"What you say makes sense," said Gerrand. "I share your opinion of Torby Mola."

"Your findings go to both your lords?" asked Faeya Ryr.

"Yes. We have already sent messages."

The seas grew rougher and rain began to patter on the railings. Gerrand and Faeya Ryr took their leave of Ells and Farmoush and found an overhang to squeeze under. They pulled their hoods low over their faces and watched the rain begin to pound the decks.

The town of Finald rose up along a deep harbor. The town grew along the low hills and the nobles built their houses overlooking the town and harbor. Finald had been built in haste when the natural harbor was found, but the construction methods did not change over the years and the town stood as a jumble of boards and planks slapped together. The trees surrounding the town acted as a wind break so the poor construction never felt the full test of the wind. It was a town run on commerce and few people other than merchants lingered in its dingy buildings. The nobles kept to their high places sending representatives to the port to conduct business.

Noise and people crowded this busiest port in Wierland. Gerrand led Faeya Ryr through the mass of people in the market next to the dock. Many voices were shouting. Faeya Ryr's servants pushed a narrow route through the market. The smell of fish overpowered them and they took refuge at an inn. Unfortunately, fish stew was all they could purchase and after a few bites they decided to continue their journey.

"How can they do that to fish?" asked Faeya Ryr. "They ruined the flavor. Uncivilized, that's what they are. Let's not come here again." Gerrand smiled behind his hand.

They purchased horses at the Finald stables and left the town on the south road. Faeya Ryr's servants bargained hard for the horses, leaving the stable owner muttering to himself. The road wasted no time in reaching higher elevations and curved back and forth so often it became hard to remember which direction they traveled.

At a clearing protected from the wind by several large trees, Gerrand halted. He shook his head.

"What is the matter?"

"Those two spies are following us. Not close enough to see, but they are coming."

"It is their job," said Faeya Ryr.

"My concern is that they don't lose their lives. Not that I care particularity about either one of them, but I dislike foolish loss of life. Up ahead of us there are bandits."

"Are you certain?"

"My dear, no one can be as certain as I am. The problem is that they have a warding stone; I can sense it. It will inhibit our abilities."

"But not entirely."

"No, not entirely. However, if they are a dozen or more, we shall not be able to overcome them with the warding stone present. Are any of your servants fighters?"

"No. Handy with a knife for protection, but against swords and clubs they shall be of little use."

"Then I suggest we wait," said Gerrand. "Wait until our two friends join us. I guess they might have some prowess for swordplay. They both wore one. Besides, I am hungry and if my memory is not faulty, this is one of the few promising places along the road for a picnic."

Gerrand stopped at a clearing off the road shaded by large sweeping branches. Faeya Ryr's servants spread out lunch and opened a skin of wine. Gerrand sighed as he settled in for a nap. Faeya Ryr nudged him with her foot and he squinted at her.

"If you are eating, do it now. I shall have them pack it away as soon as I am done."

"That's not a becoming quality, you know my dear. It may just turn my heart from you."

"Do not fear that I shall let you go, old man. I have set my eyes on you and I shall not be deterred from my goal. I am headstrong and very determined. I will use everything in my power to get what I want." She heard the soft snore and snapped her head toward Gerrand. A flash of anger transformed her face, but just as quickly, it was gone.

The servants packed away everything just as Festic Ells and Systin Farmoush rounded the bend. The duo stopped abruptly as a yawning Gerrand waved to them. He was dusting himself off, wondering how he spilled wine on his beard. He looked to Faeya Ryr but she ignored him. Gerrand waved at the newcomers again. With a rue grin, Ells dismounted and walked to them.