The young Mage smiled, remembering how unnerved the rebels had been at first—and how quickly they had settled in. Vannor’s redoubtable housekeeper, Dulsina, had, of course, been the first to point out that they were clearly being helped and protected, so they ought to make the most of it—as indeed they had. D’arvan’s haven, apparently, was a vast’ improvement over their hideaway in the sewers of Nexis!
It was with great reluctance that Vannor had eventually pointed out that this idyll in the forest was accomplishing nothing. Accepting the need for tidings of their enemies, and also wishing to increase his forces and bring more people from the city to this place of safety, he had decided that someone must return to Nexis. Hargorn, to Maya’s palpable dismay, had been selected for the mission.
“Are you sure you have everything?” Dulsina asked Hargorn.
Vannor, who sat watching on a nearby log, grinned to himself at the disgusted expression on the veteran’s face.
“For goodness’ sake, woman,” Hargorn protested, “I’ve been packing for campaigns since you were a little lass at your mother’s skirts! Of course I have everything!”
“Are you absolutely certain?”
Vannor, alerted by a familiar, wicked twinkle in Dul-sina’s eyes, leaned forward expectantly.
The veteran sighed, and raised his eyes heavenward. “Food, water flask, change of clothing, blanket, flint and striker ...” He counted them off on his fingers. “Bow, sword, knives ...” He patted various parts of his clothing and boots where daggers were concealed. “Cloak . . . Anything else? Or are you willing to concede defeat?”
Smiling sweetly, Dulsina thrust her hand into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a small but bulging leather pouch.
“Money?” she suggested. “Or were you planning to sing for your supper when you get to Nexis? I’ve heard your singing, Hargorn—I wouldn’t like to think of you having to depend on it!”
Vannor, who had given the silver—the last of his slender supply—to Dulsina to pass on to the grizzled warrior, burst out laughing.
“Seven bloody demons!” Hargorn said feelingly. He turned on the chortling merchant. “This is your fault—she’s your housekeeper!”
“How is it my fault?” the merchant protested. “You brought her along—you’ve only yourself to blame! Besides, I dismissed her long ago—but she refuses to leave!”
“Indeed, you did dismiss me—and came back about ten days later, begging me to return because the house was falling apart around your ears!” Dulsina snorted. Now it was Hargorn’s turn to chuckle at Vannor’s discomfiture. “It always ends the same way,” Dulsina told die warrior. “The truth is, he can’t survive without me!”
“Be quiet!” Vannor growled, putting an affectionate arm around her waist, “Or I’ll beat some sense into you, as I should have done long ago!”
Far from being impressed by his threat, Dulsina howled with mirth.
“Stop laughing, woman!”
“Stop playing the fool, then,” Dulsina chuckled, and slipped away before he could think of a retort.
“Do you ever manage to get the last word with that woman?” Hargorn asked.
“I’ve known her more than twenty years—and I haven’t managed it yet!” Vannor looked across the clearing at his housekeeper, who was checking the contents of Fional’s pack. “On the other hand,” he said, “I would place my fortune, my children, and my life in her hands without hesitation!” He shrugged. “To be honest, Hargorn, I don’t know what I’d do without her, I’m glad she talked you into smuggling her along with us—but don’t you tell her so”
Hargorn chuckled. “I knew you’d see sense eventually—at least, Dulsina assured me you would!” The veteran smiled to himself at the rueful expression on the merchant’s blunt and bearded face. What a pity, he thought, that Vannor is still obsessed with the memory of that sly little bitch he married! It’s such a waste! It’s plain that he’s fond of Dulsina—and by the looks of it, I suspect she’s been in love with him for years! A lovely, clever, sensible woman like that is what a man like Vannor needs—not some common miller’s daughter half his age who was only after his riches! Hargorn sighed. Poor Dulsina—wasted on a fool without the wit to appreciate her! Why, were I ten years younger, I’d court her myself—not that I think for a moment that she’d have me!
Just then Fional approached, and the sight of the young man’s anguished expression gave Hargorn second thoughts,
“Vannor, Dulsina is emptying my pack out all over the ground,” the young archer complained, He ran a distracted hand through his shaggy brown curls, “Tell her to stop it!”
Vannor was sending the bowman to the Nightrunners with messages. He wanted to let his daughter Zanna know that they were safe in the Valley—and also, he wished to arrange for Yanis, the Nightrunner leader, to be able to Hargorn in Nexis, where the smugglers had an agent in concealment. Since the escape of the rebels, Miathan kept the city well guarded. Movements were monitored, so if Hargorn found folk who wished to leave—and Vannor was certain he would—he wanted to be sure that the smugglers could get them out by river. At the moment, however, it looked as though Fional would be lucky to get away at all!
“You were supposed to pack this, Fional,” Dulsina scolded, “not stuff everything in!” She was holding the young archer’s spare tunic, which had been wadded into a ball in the bottom of the pack.
“What difference will a few creases make?” the bowman protested. “I was busy making new arrows—I didn’t have time for fancy folding!”
Dulsina sighed. “It’s not the creases. If you fold things properly, like this, you’ll have more room for food. You haven’t put in nearly enough!”
Fional sighed, with the air of one who already knew that it was hopeless. “I thought I could shoot rabbits and birds on the way.” The young archer was justifiably proud of his skills, but Dulsina was unimpressed with his practicality.
“Have you forgotten it’s winter out there?” she told him. “There’ll be few creatures out and about on those moors—and besides, you won’t have time to spare for hunting!”
Beneath his beard, the young man reddened, and Dulsina patted him on the arm. “Never mind,” she said, “it was just an oversight. I’ll fetch you some extra provisions . . .”
Vannor and Hargorn exchanged sympathetic looks with the younger man. “I know,” the merchant told him. “Believe me, I know—but the thing is, she’s always right!”
D’arvan, watching from his hiding place, was dismayed. He had known that Hargorn was going—but Fional too! In addition to Maya, the archer had become his friend when Aurian had first taken him with her on her visits to the Garrison. The two of them. Mage and Mortal, had discovered a common passion for archery—one that, in D’arvan’s case, was only exceeded by his love for Maya—and in Fional’s case, was exceeded by no one and nothing at all. Not so far, at any rate, the young Mage thought, remembering how his own passion for Forral’s dark-haired second-in-command had taken him so completely by surprise.
When the Archmage had taken control of Nexis, D’arvan had fretted for Fional’s safety, and had been relieved to find him, safe and sound, among the rebels seeking sanctuary in the Vale. Here, at least, the Mage had been able to protect his friend—but to think of him roaming those freezing moors alone, exposed to all manner of dangers . . . Yet Fional was a levelheaded young man who could more than hold his own with a blade, and who was, of course, lethal with his bow. Furthermore, he was an experienced tracker who was unlikely to lose his way on the moors—which, of course, was the reason Vannor had chosen him. D’arvan, in his heart of hearts, was aware of all these facts, but nevertheless, he worried. Oh, if he could only leave the Valley and accompany his friend, to see him safe! But that would mean abandoning Maya—and besides, he and the unicorn were unable to leave. They were Guardians here, and had their allotted tasks to perform.