'Scared, eh?' The hard face softened.
'Very. They don't like my kind.'
The man acknowledged the admission. 'Your business,' he said.
'Thank you.'
He nodded. 'I'll look for you.' He pointed to his eyes with splayed fingers. 'Go carefully.'
Ren'erei gave a small, respectful bow. 'Already in your debt. One thing. How many are there?'
'Black Wings?' The man shrugged. 'Thirty, forty. Long gone by sundown.'
T hope so.' She caught the man's eye. ' Ren'erei.'
'Donetsk,' responded the man. 'Always on the dock.'
The ghost of a smile. 'Always at sea. We'll know you. One last thing. See The Raven, come to the Ocean Elm.'' Ren'erei didn't wait for the response. She knew Donetsk would do exactly that should he see or hear of them. Dockers could be useful allies. There were always deals to be done and whispers to be heard but knowing the clipped patter made it possible. This time, though, Ren'erei wasn't worried about securing supplies at low cost. Security, muscle and discreet eyes were the goods of real value today.
The elf carried on along the dockside, assessing the readiness and flags of the other three ships at birth. All were ocean-going merchantmen as opposed to coastal vessels. None was less than one hundred feet long and while one was flying the flag of the much diminished Pontois barony, the other two were elven, hailing from Calaius.
All three were unloading or freighting normally and that was a relief to Ren'erei, who had considered the possibility that she might have been watching Black Wings preparing to board. She smiled. Not now. Arlen was a good man if sometimes a little overprotective towards his town. One thing was sure, the Black Wings wouldn't be granted re-entry.
With Donetsk able to put the word around the docks and Salt Quarter, where tenements and warehouses crowded, Ren'erei headed north to the Centenary Square market. The focal point of trade in all but the finest goods, the Centenary market was where she expected to hear if anyone as renowned as The Raven rode into town.
Ren'erei Could not keep the thrill from her heart as she scouted the thronging market, ducking into every inn and eating house, not even sure what she expected to find. In her mind's eye, she saw herself walking into an inn, maybe, and seeing The Raven seated quietly round a table.
She was sure she'd recognise them though she'd never actually set eyes on them. Because, even though she spent most of her time at sea or on Herendeneth, The Raven were a living legend. The massive, shaven-headed warrior they called 'The Unknown'; the dark-robed and bearded Xeteskian, Denser; the black-haired, quiet and assured elf, Ilkar, and the thickset, powerful barbarian warrior, Hirad Coldheart. Maybe even Thraun-the-wolf. They surely couldn't be hard to spot.
But she found no sign of them in the market or its surrounds. They weren't in the Park of the Martyrs' Souls or riding down Market Approach. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised but she couldn't shut out the disappointment. Erienne's first, and only as it turned out, contact with Denser suggested they wouldn't arrive until later that evening. She'd hoped anyway.
Ambling more slowly back through the market, she dropped
words into the ears of those she knew she could rely upon to be circumspect if they found information, and made her way back to the docks.
By the Fish Market, she was ordered aside by a mounted town guardsman riding ahead of a knot of Arlen's soldiers and a column of other riders. Melting quickly into the mildly irritated crowds packing to either side of the street, she watched the Black Wings escorted up the hill and, presumably, out to the borders of Arlen. Staring at as many faces as possible, searching for the men who had tortured Tryuun, she bit back a shouted curse, leaving the jeers to the crowd. She felt a welling of hatred for these men, and the black rose-and-wings tattoos on their necks; and an utter contempt for everything they stood for. Tryuun would forever be scarred by their action and, while any of them lived, mages across the world would be at risk from the violent punishment they willingly gave out for the 'crime' of having magical ability.
Wishing death on them all, she watched their backs for a while before turning and immediately noticing a pair of tall, slim men walking a good forty yards behind the riders as the street began to move with normal traffic once again. For all the world, they looked like merchants headed for the silk market; however they were anything but.
Arlen wasn't a stupid man and mage scouts were just one more level of certainty that the Black Wings would not be back. A smile tugging at the corners of her mouth again as she walked back to the Elm, Ren'erei just wished they had been assassins instead.
Another thunderstorm was prematurely darkening the sky as Dar-rick's cavalry and its three prisoners approached Arlen from the north east. Communion with the Dordovan camp to the south of the town had left Darrick and the reporting mage a little puzzled and, once his scouts had returned with messages of cautious welcome from Earl Arlen, he decided to camp away from his allies of necessity and take his prisoners into the town.
The General was uneasy. The Ocean Elm, the elven vessel reportedly carrying Erienne, had been sighted sailing up the Arl in the early morning, yet she had not been boarded, nor even contacted by the Dordovan mage delegation. The reasons why were confusing to
say the least, and seemed to shelter behind obscure port regulations and protocols. And again, it became clear during the Communion questioning that no one had spoken to the Harbour Master or any of Aden's administrative officers.
It was equally clear that the irritated General would have to speak to the Earl himself. The actions of the Dordovans would be questioned later.
With ten guards in a loose circle around them, Darrick chose to ride with The Raven. He felt sick at the whole ridiculous affair and felt sorry for what he knew he was putting Denser through. The guilt he knew he couldn't fully admit was not helped by the venomous looks the tight-lipped Xeteskian shot him on the half-hour ride into the town.
'So, what's the deal?' asked The Unknown. 'Is there some problem with keeping us in the camp?'
'It's a military decision,' said Darrick stiffly. T don't want you getting hurt if there's trouble.'
'When,' grated Denser.
'Don't make this more difficult than it already is, please, Denser,' said Darrick, half turning in his saddle.
'Sure, no problem. I'd hate you to be in any way inconvenienced.'
'Look, I'm not enjoying this either,' said Darrick. 'But if it hadn't been me, it would have been somebody else and you'd be in chains.'
'I'm overcome by your kindness,' spat Denser.
Darrick turned all the way, left hand resting on the back of his saddle. 'Let me make one thing very clear, Denser of Xetesk. I am a soldier of Lystern and honoured to be so. In that capacity, I was ordered to bring about your capture and to deliver you to a secure holding point. This I will do. I don't have to like it, or even agree with it, I just have to do it. Right now, I am breaking every rule in the book regarding the transport of mage prisoners because I respect and trust you. Do not convince me I should act otherwise.'
He turned back in his saddle, a knot in his stomach. He hated what he said though he was glad his men had heard his words. It was a while before The Unknown spoke again.
'This secure place. The castle or the jail?'
Darrick raised his eyebrows. 'The jail, I'm afraid. It has a standing mage guard and I can leave some of my own men too.'
'You really are serious about this, aren't you?' said Ilkar, real disappointment in his voice.
Darrick didn't look round. He couldn't face the elf. 'I'm always serious.'
With the markets closed but the inns and eateries open, noisy and crowded, Arlen took on a very different aspect at night. Shore-leave sailors were intent on sinking as much ale and spirits as they could while whores turned brisk business as alcohol loosened purses, drowned promises to those back home and stoked loins with undeniable lust.