“My name is Lucy,” she told them.
The kender broke off their argument and bowed politely.
“If you are going to stay in Flotsam, you must come visit us,” Cosmo said. “We have the most disheveled hovels in town.”
Lucy checked in surprise at his choice of words. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again and thought better of opening that topic of conversation. Kender could talk all day on some of their favorite subjects, and at the moment she was too tired to listen.
“Who’s the tall man who likes you? Is he a sorcerer?” Pease asked as he pulled out drawers in the food cupboard.
Lucy came behind him and closed them again. She smiled a sad smile. “He used to be. His name is Ulin.”
From outside, the captain’s voice called his riders to mount, and to Lucy’s relief, the kender hastily jumped out of the wagon to fetch their ponies. Several spoons, a bag of salt, and a tin of hot pepper disappeared with them, but Lucy didn’t mind.
It was early evening before the wagons were ready to roll. Two drivers and seven guards had been buried by the road. The wounded had been bandaged, and the dead bandits were dumped in a gully for the scavengers. In the failing light of sunset the caravan set off under the escort of the Vigilance Force.
The miles rolled slowly by, and gradually the desolate hills gave way to grasslands dotted with copses of scrub oak, cedar, and wild olive trees. Trees in greater number had grown there once, until the powerful magic of the red dragon had changed the landscape and the weather and turned the lands into waste.
The single moon rose, shining and full-bellied, and cast a silver light on the dim trail. It was fully dark when Lysandros brought the caravan to a watering hole and called a halt. They were only eight miles from Flotsam, but the animals were weary and the wounded men needed rest. Ulin and his helpers made an easy meal, using all the remaining supplies left in the cook wagon. Everyone enjoyed the beans, spiced potatoes, flat bread, and bacon.
Dawn came, clean and clear and warm enough to promise another hot day. The caravan left shortly after daybreak and took the road over the grassy hills toward Flotsam.
Lucy drove, for Ulin had been pressed into service driving one of the freight wagons. Although he still could not manipulate the whip like the Khurs, Akkar-bin put him in the last ox wagon, knowing that on this gentle road, the oxen would simply follow the others. The caravan master then told Lysandros and his company to ride at the rear while he and his remaining guards rode at the front of the train.
Lysandros lifted one elegant eyebrow at that effrontery but chose to ignore it. He sent most of his riders on to Flotsam while he and a few others rode alongside the wagons.
Lucy soon realized why. As soon as the caravan was well underway, Challie tugged at her sleeve and pointed, and when Lucy looked around, she saw the captain riding his big gray close beside her. His silver gray hair shone in the early morning light, and his pale blue eyes gleamed like forget-me-nots against his tanned skin. A saber hung at his belt, and a silver horn was fastened to his saddle. He did not look up at her or say anything at first. He rode as if lost in thought and unaware he had pulled so far forward, yet Lucy saw him cast furtive glances at her, and she wondered why. She was honest enough with herself to know she was no beauty, so why was someone as dashing and handsome as the captain studying her so intently?
She saw Ulin glance back and frown at the rider. She could not resist giving him a smile and a wave. “So”-she turned to the captain-“you are a resistance leader and the master of the Thieves’ Guild? That’s an interesting combination.”
The half-elf lifted his chin, his mouth curved in good humor. “In this region, the two jobs go well together.”
“Are you related to the original Silver Fox?”
He rested his hand lightly on the hilt of his saber and nodded. “I am his youngest son. My oldest brother was the second Silver Fox until the Dark Knights caught up with him. We never found his body. Only this sword, which belonged to our father … and the dismembered bodies of his troop.”
Lucy hid a grimace. She had lived in a free realm for so long that she could not imagine what life was like under the merciless control of a dragon overlord. She wondered for a hundredth time why her pleasure-loving, irresponsible, rogue of a father had come to Flotsam, and if he had really died in that fire. She heard Lysandros ask her a question, and she pulled out of her thoughts.
“What are we doing here among the Khurs?” She flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and laughed. “It was the only way we could get to Flotsam. I have come to find my father.”
He looked up at her obviously intrigued. “Your father is in Flotsam? Who is he?”
Lucy was so busy shifting her attention back and forth from her task to her companion that she did not see the hard look Challie fired at the resistance leader. “It would be more accurate to ask who was he? The magistrate came to tell us he died. She asked us to come to Flotsam to identify a body.”
Lysandros pretended to ignore the dwarf and said in a startled voice, “You traveled all the way from Sanction to identify a body?”
“Actually,” Challie informed him coldly. “We’ve traveled all the way from Solace.”
Both of the captain’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Solace? But that’s …”
“Ridiculous?” Lucy offered. “Foolhardy? Dangerous?”
“I was thinking ‘far away.’ What sort of man engenders such devotion in his family that they would risk so much for his corpse?”
“One who doesn’t deserve it,” Lucy replied. She caught the startled look on his face and gave her shoulders a slight shrug. “Maybe you knew him. His name was Kethril Torkay.”
An odd, rather strangled sound forced itself past Lysandros’s tight lips. His face turned the strangest shade of red. “Are you all right?” Lucy asked in genuine concern.
“I’m sorry,” he managed to sputter. “Something just disagreed with my stomach. Excuse me, my lady.” Making wheezing noises, he reined his horse around and trotted off into the dust.
“I hope he’s not sick,” Challie said in her driest tone.
“I’m sure he’s fine. He probably just choked on the memory of my father,” Lucy replied. The corners of her mouth turned down, and her hands tightened on the reins.
Challie’s expression softened. “Surely your father wasn’t that bad to you.”
Lucy snorted. “He was a cheat, a con-man, a gambler, a womanizer, and a fake. He abandoned his wife and daughters, and he never bothered to write or visit or do anything to prove that he still cared about them. I’m glad he died a miserable death.” Her voice hardened with each word until she was spitting them out like nails. The sudden intensity of her feelings took her by surprise. She had tried for years to bury her anger and resentment toward her father, and she thought she had been moderately successful, yet all it had taken was the reaction of a stranger and the sympathy of an acquaintance to jiggle loose her poorly constructed defenses. She closed her mouth with a snap and stared down at the rump of the bay horse.
The dwarf looked around, startled by Lucy’s outburst. “Maybe he was, Lucy, but surely he must have had something positive about him to attract your mother. She seems to be a very nice person. Even if he did nothing else good, he fathered you and your sisters.”
Challie’s unlooked-for solicitude touched Lucy and surprised her. She shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t explode like that. He wasn’t that awful. That was the problem. He had just enough good qualities that we all adored him. I just wish I could have seen him one more time.” She fell silent, and her thoughts flowed back into the few memories she had of her father.
CHAPTER FIVE