They crossed the waterfront to the ancient pile of stone that was the harbour garrison, armoury, and informal palace of Dariyal.
‘You’ll like this,’ Hairlock chuckled. ‘If it’s what I think it is.’
They passed through numerous guarded entryways and doors, and were directed towards a small side room, a private meeting chamber. Two of Surly’s Claws guarded this door, and when they opened it Cartheron saw Surly at a table flanked by two more Claw bodyguards, the boyish-looking cadre mage Calot, and their ‘High Mage’ Tayschrenn.
The table held some sort of glowing object, not unlike a lantern, except that the pale light was constant, not flickering.
‘Hairlock,’ Tayschrenn called, ‘if you would please …’
Grunting, the burly mage went to the table and raised his hands to the globe.
‘Been working on this for a while,’ the High Mage explained to Cartheron. ‘This is our first trial.’ He raised a questioning brow to Surly, who nodded her assent.
‘Ap-Athlan,’ Tayschrenn called to the table. ‘I would speak with you.’
Everyone waited in silence. Cartheron couldn’t help cocking a sceptical eye to Surly; her attention, however, was steady upon the single bluish light in the darkened room.
Something flickered in the glow, a blurry shape, and a voice whispered faintly, wavering in and out, ‘Who would speak?’
‘I am Tayschrenn. I speak for the ruler of Malaz and the Napan Isles.’
A long silence followed this, until the weak voice answered, ‘Very well. Speak.’
‘I wish to propose an agreement to our mutual benefit.’
Silence again, until a whispered, ‘I see … I shall take your request to my mistress.’
‘Agreed. We shall speak again – one day hence.’
‘Agreed.’
A collective gasp of relief burst from the mages as the glow snapped out, plunging the room into darkness. Light blossomed from a lantern Surly now held, its sliding panel raised. Cartheron saw other shielded lanterns and opened them as well. The light revealed the three mages clinging to the table like shipwreck survivors. Their faces gleamed with sweat and they were gasping for breath.
‘One day?’ Calot complained to Tayschrenn, when he could speak. ‘You’re optimistic.’
* * *
Orjin cleaned his nicked and gouged two-handed blade as best he could, then eased himself down on a rock to rest. He was exhausted, famished to his core, and hadn’t had a proper drink since a mouthful of muddy rainwater someone had kept too long in a goatskin gerber.
At least the numerous bruises and cuts up and down his body weren’t serious enough to slow him down – yet. He was lucky in that. Many were down one good arm, or had leg wounds that meant they were barely able to keep up when the troop was on the move.
He gathered up a handful of dirt and rubbed his hands together to scrape off the dried blood.
Soon. It would have to be soon now. The decision he’d been putting off.
If it wasn’t already too late.
One by one the other principals of the troop came limping up to sit with him at his fire in the traditional dusk gathering. Not that there was anything to discuss these days. They were surrounded, and the ground was disappearing beneath their feet. At some point ahead – not so far off at all – things would settle into an informal siege, with Renquill starving them out.
At least, that’s what he’d do.
He nodded to Orhan, Terath, Yune and Prevost Jeral as they either sat or squatted down, inviting any ideas. This night the Wickan Arkady was with them too, back in camp between his contacts with the hill tribes.
Orjin looked from one haggard and drawn face to another, Terath and Jeral with eyes downcast as if unable, or unwilling, to meet his gaze, and decided then that now would be the time. He drew breath to speak, just as Prevost Jeral raised her hand. He lifted a brow. ‘Yes?’
She extended a sealed scroll. ‘Another message from Renquill.’
Orjin took it, commenting, ‘Downright chatty, our pursuer.’ This raised a few half-smiles.
He broke the seals and read the message, then tossed the vellum roll into the fire. ‘As expected – my head for the lives of the troop.’
‘As I said before,’ Terath cut in, ‘he may mean it, but we cannot trust Quon and Tali. They want everyone’s head.’
Orjin pulled a hand down his face, as if he could draw the exhaustion from his spirit and flesh; how hard it was to concentrate when just standing was an effort! ‘An exchange could be arranged,’ he mused. ‘Perhaps right at the Seti border. You could all make a run for it there.’
‘No more talk of that,’ Jeral growled.
‘But that pretty much is my proposal,’ Orjin explained. ‘We break out to the north, then east along the Purge border – that may slow Renquill down – then part into small companies and spread out. Some of us will make it.’ He didn’t say that if it came to it he would offer himself as a diversion to allow as many as possible to get away.
Orhan and Terath were shaking their heads. ‘Not good enough,’ Terath answered. ‘It’s all or none.’
‘There’s nothing else.’ Orjin eyed everyone in turn. ‘Unless anyone else has a better idea?’
Heads turned as the group looked at one another; but no one spoke.
Orjin nodded. ‘Very well then. Tomorrow at dawn. We strike north, then dash east.’
Terath threw a handful of gravel into the fire, saying, exasperated, ‘But Renquill will be expecting just such a move.’
He held out his arms in an open shrug. ‘What choice do we have?’
At this point Yune raised a skeleton-thin hand. It shook with a terrible palsy, and Orjin knew the ancient had been driving himself harder than any of them, keeping tabs on as many of their pursuers as he could. He nodded for him to speak. ‘Yes?’
The elder cleared his throat. ‘We may have nothing to say, but there is one present who is very eager to speak indeed. And has been for some time, though he has held himself back as he is afraid of how he will be received.’
Everyone was puzzled. ‘Who, and why?’ Terath demanded.
‘Well,’ said Yune, ‘you see … he is a spy.’
Both Terath and Jeral surged to their feet, hands going to weapons. ‘What?’ Jeral snarled, glaring about at the surrounding encampment.
Orjin gestured for them to sit; he wasn’t surprised. Many states kept hired informants and even infiltrators in their neighbours’ armies – or should, if they were smart enough. ‘And he or she is eager to come forward now? Has a proposal?’
Yune shrugged. ‘Let us hear from him.’
Orjin nodded his compliance and the Dal Hon elder crooked a hand to the night.
A short, sturdy figure rose from one of the nearest campfires and approached, hesitantly. It proved to be a youth, in simple rags, not even armed. Orjin raked his memory, but couldn’t recall seeing the lad before. He eyed him narrowly. ‘And you are …?’
The lad gave an uneasy shrug. ‘Names can change, yes?’
Terath pointed a finger. ‘I know you! You claimed to be a runaway from a Quon estate.’
The youth nodded. ‘That much is true.’
Orjin waved for silence. ‘Never mind. Who do you speak for?’
‘An interested third party.’
Orjin was unimpressed. ‘Interested in what? Watching us get run down?’
The youth flushed, showing some measure of inexperience, but nodded to Orjin. ‘You said you had no options … I am empowered to offer one.’
Orjin rubbed his jaw, still a touch puzzled. ‘I believe my tactical evaluation to be pretty damned accurate.’
The young lad flushed anew. ‘It is. The picture changes, however, when you consider that while the party I speak for might not possess an army, it does possess a great number of ships.’
Everyone save Yune and Orjin jumped to their feet, all speaking at once.
‘How many ships?’ Terath demanded.