He stopped and looked back at the equipment. There were four backpacks there, you dolt, he realized. That wasn’t surprising in itself. Yet he had chatted with the dwarf earlier, and indeed they had been camped nearby for several hours now. Why hadn’t the fourth member of the party shown himself by now?
That fourth backpack was a large satchel suited more to a human-a tall human-than to any dwarf or gnome. The Captain of the Rose turned about and knelt beside the pack. Yes, indeed there was a long object there, something wrapped in a cloak.
“I say there, Cap’n? Is there something you want?” asked the dwarf, rising to his feet with hasty politeness.
Powell was already pulling aside the cloak. He saw the gilded hilt, the gold-engraved L as he revealed a weapon that he recognized instantly.
It was Giantsmiter, the sword of Lorimar. That meant the worst possible thing: the dread Assassin was nearby.
Probably hiding out in the ruin of the old house.
The old house where the Princess of Palanthas had just gone for a stroll.
Coryn’s left hand clenched the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles turned as white as her pristine robe. Angrily she exhaled, a snort of sound startlingly loud in the silent chamber, then shook her head, a toss of black hair momentarily obscuring her view of the bowl of sparkling wine.
She had to watch-she knew that much-even if she hated what she was now gazing upon. In her right hand, clutched so tightly that it was bending, was the miniature golden swordsman-the talisman of Jaymes Markham, the man most of Solamnia called Assassin. She could see certain events transpire in her bowl, but they were events beyond her influence, or her will. There was destiny at work here, a future affecting all the lands of the north.
It was more than luck that brought the Princess of Palanthas to this place, she thought with a pang. It was indeed destiny, a fate woven into the very tapestry of the world. Coryn had dreaded this moment, known it might come, had known this for a long time. It was a meeting that had been foretold in certain of her auguries, even abetted by her own plans and schemes.
If not her desires.
Of course Selinda herself had made the choice to go exploring among the buildings where Jaymes had secluded himself. Coryn knew her-she was proud and inquisitive, smart and confident, but also naive.
The wizard was startled by the flash of anger she felt. She recognized the emotion, in an intellectual sense, as jealousy even as she was startled by the flaming heat it raised in her breast.
“She is too damned beautiful!” snapped the wizard, shaking her head once again.
The image of Selinda du Chagne, lit from behind by the setting sun, glowed in her viewing bowl. Jaymes was dumbstruck and confused, staring at the gorgeous woman who had just discovered him, had him trapped like a cornered rat. He had a weapon, he had strength and speed. He could be past her, away from this place, in seconds.
Coryn remembered his roughness. She wanted him to use it now against Selinda, but Jaymes wouldn’t, didn’t. He stood there, stock-still.
In disgust Coryn waved a hand, and the image faded from the mirror, leaving the Scrying Room in darkness. The white wizard stood and paced through the chamber, knowing the exact dimensions even though she could not see the walls, the table, or her chair in the lightless confines. With a single word she could have illuminated the place as bright as daylight, but she was unwilling to utter that word.
She would have to let things happen, she knew, let destiny take its course, but she didn’t have to suffer the watching.
“You bastard,” she murmured, before composing herself and slowly, carefully, opening the door.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Who are you?” demanded the woman. She held the door wide, allowing the full intensity of the setting sun’s rays to fall upon the warrior, illuminating him like an actor on center stage. Jaymes held up a hand to shade his eyes, squinting but made no reply.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone blunt.
The swordsman could tell that she was young, probably not yet twenty, and while obviously startled, was unafraid. Certainly she made no move to run away. Instead, she stood in the open doorway, peering at him through the darkness of the shed.
Jaymes shrugged, lowering the hand in which he held his dagger. “Just a wanderer,” he said. “I thought this would be a comfortable place to spend the night. I was getting ready to go to sleep-I’ve covered a lot of ground today, and I have to admit I’m tired.”
“You’re lying,” she said calmly. She surprised him by stepping into the shed and, even more shocking, pulling the door shut behind her. “You’re traveling with that dwarf and those gnomes, the ones camping in the apple grove, aren’t you?”
He peered at her silhouette against the faint steak of daylight coming through the crack in the door frame. He could make out a halo of golden hair. Beyond that he could discern few details: She was taller than average for a woman, and though she had a cape hanging off of her shoulders he guessed that she was slender.
She was courageous. Foolish, perhaps, but also very brave-of that there could be no doubt.
Her voice was confident, even arrogant and a little amused. It was the voice of a person who was used to issuing orders without having to worry whether or not those commands would be obeyed. It was the voice of a noblewoman.
Jaymes guessed she was traveling with the company of knights he had earlier observed. It occurred to him that she might be the reason for that large company, that she was important enough to warrant a sizeable and well-armed escort.
But she was still youthful, and acted as though this was some kind of thrilling adventure for her. She was overconfident in the way of one who had never experienced anything terrible. She conveyed a sense of secret delight, as if it pleased her mightily to be away from her escort, and to have discovered him here.
It was altogether confusing, and he felt at a loss. A part of him wanted to rush past her, throw open the door, and race away into the gathering dusk. He wasn’t entirely sure why he declined that course of action, but the greater part of him felt no urge to run.
With what he hoped was a subtle gesture, he slipped his knife through his belt at the small of his back and held out his empty hands, palms displayed, before him. Still, he said nothing
“I asked you, what are you doing here, why are you hiding?” she said.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied. “Is it so incredible that I’d simply prefer a roof over my head?”
She sniffed. “There are lots of roofs around here. Why would you choose a place that smells so bad to make your bed? Or is that you I smell?” she added.
He blinked. “My turn. Who are you?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Just a traveler, like you. I know this place-my father used to send me here when I was a girl. My mother and I would take trips to the plains. We would come here to the apple farm, then go to Lord Lorimar’s estate to stay for a fortnight at the end of summer. Of course, that was a long time ago, but when we came back through here and made camp in the grove, I felt a pang of nostalgia and decided I wanted to have a look around.”
His vision, temporarily obscured by the brightness when she first opened the door, had begun to make out a beautiful woman with rounded cheeks and large, inquisitive eyes. The sunlight striking her hair colored it like spun gold. The swelling of her bosom beneath the cape suggested a pleasing form. Her head was held high as she stepped toward him.
“You said your father would send you from your home to the plains? From where is that, may I ask?” he asked.