She recalled the address: 555 Everwood Lane. It certainly sounded innocent enough-hardly the kind of place that might harbor dangerous, endowed rebels against the crown. She finally saw a sign marked Everwood Lane, and turned her horse at the corner.
The sanctuary proved to be a modest, thatch-roofed cottage. Warm light could be seen coming through the front windows; a swinging bench hung beneath the porch roof. Hickory-scented smoke curled out of the chimney, reminding her how cold she was. And a wreath of wildflowers hung from the door, indicating that a message awaited her inside.
She climbed down off her horse and looked around. Everything seemed peaceful. She tied the gelding to the rail. Without a sound she stepped onto the porch and walked to the door. After knocking twice, she reached beneath her cloak and settled her hands on the hilts of her daggers.
The door swung open. An old man stood there. He had to be ninety Seasons of New Life if he was a day. He very much reminded her of Aeolus. Despite his advanced age, he stood erect. He was bald, dressed in simple peasant's garb, and his sharp eyes looked her up and down. In one hand he grasped a long-stemmed clay pipe.
"Can I help you?" he asked quietly. His graceful fingers guided the clay pipe into his mouth and he clamped down on it with his teeth. This old man didn't seem like the other two consuls she had met. Satine wondered if she had come to the wrong place.
"Pardon me," she said, "but I'm looking for the master of the house. Can you tell me if he's here?"
"You're looking at him, lass," the man said. His voice was strong and deep.
Surprised, Satine continued to size him up. He didn't look like a threat to anyone-much less like one of the vaunted Consuls of the Redoubt.
"I've been told that calmatrass berries are in season and that you sell them," she said, using the code phrase she had read on the parchment.
"Right on both counts," he answered. A whiff of smoke escaped his pipe bowl. "I sell them by the pound."
Upon hearing the proper phrase come back in return, Satine raised an eyebrow. "In that case I'd like to buy some," she answered back. "I want to make a pie."
With a wry smile, the man pushed the door open wider. Her hands still lightly on her daggers, Satine walked inside.
The cottage was modest, but it was warm and clean. On the far side of the room a fire danced in a fieldstone hearth. A stout, elderly woman with a bun of gray hair bustled about in the adjoining kitchen. The smell of warm food made Satine's stomach growl.
The man closed the door behind her. "How long has it been since the Gray Fox has eaten?" he asked. His endowed hearing had apparently not missed the rumbling of her gut. She began to relax a little.
"I've been three days without hot food," she answered.
The man turned to look at his wife. "Evelyn, please fix a plate," he said. "We have important company." Evelyn smiled back.
The man beckoned Satine to a table. She removed her cloak and sat down. She welcomed the warmth that had begun to seep into her bones. The man poured out two glasses of wine.
"What is your name?" Satine asked.
"I am Shamus," he answered. He smiled. "And I am well aware that there is no point in asking yours."
Satine took a sip of wine. "You don't look like a consul," she said.
Smirking, Shamus took the pipe from his mouth and he placed it in a bowl.
"Really?" he asked. "Tell me, lass. Just what is one of us supposed to look like?" He gave her a wink. "Don't make the mistake of painting us all with the same brush."
He was right. Her only association with consuls had been with the menacing Bratach and his greasy underling Ivan. This calm, married man in his neat little country cottage seemed worlds away from their kind. But if he was a consul, married or not, he was powerful.
Evelyn appeared with a plate of food. It looked like stew-mutton with rosemary, Satine's nose told her-and boiled red potatoes. A big hunk of aged cheese sat on one side of the plate.
Satine began to shovel the food in hungrily. Shamus remained silent for a time as he watched her eat. When she was done, Satine wiped her mouth and sat back in her chair. Shamus poured her another glass of wine.
"Thank you," she said. "Now then, what is the message you have for me?"
Shamus' face darkened a bit. "Let's the three of us go and sit by the fire," he answered.
Satine nodded, picked up her wine glass and followed the consul and his wife to the fireplace. The three overstuffed chairs looked very comfortable. Satine sat and crossed one of her long legs over the other.
Shamus noticed that his pipe had gone out. He took a wax taper from the mantle and set it alight in the fire. Soon the pipe was smoking again. Waving out the taper, he looked at Satine.
"Forgive me," he said. "Would you like a pipe?" Satine shook her head.
Shamus sat down across from his wife, who took up her knitting as she settled into her chair.
Seeing that the fire was low, Shamus called the craft. A dry hickory log from the pile next to the hearth lifted into the air to gently land atop the ones already burning. Its smoky fragrance gradually filled the room. Apparently satisfied, Shamus turned his attention to Satine.
"Bratach and Ivan are dead," he said.
Satine took a quick breath. Leaning forward, she scowled.
"How?" she asked.
"Faegan," he answered. "It had to be. Bratach was found in the tunnel, hanging in a web of the craft. He had bled out. He could have been killed by the wizard, or it might have been suicide. There is no way to know."
"Why would he commit suicide?" she asked.
"He would have gladly taken his own life, rather than be forced to reveal information to the wizards of the Redoubt," Shamus answered.
"We all would."
"And Ivan?"
"His body-or should I say, what was left of it-was found upstairs. It seems he was blown apart by a bolt of the craft. In any event, you will be receiving no more help from them. I strongly suggest that you never visit that archery shop again."
Satine sat back in her chair. She had never liked Bratach or Ivan, but she had come to rely upon the information they provided her. This would make her sanctions more difficult.
"How will you proceed?" Shamus asked her.
The Gray Fox thought for a moment. "I will keep going," she answered. "There are four more people on my list. I'm following two of them now. To the best of my knowledge, the other two remain in Tammerland. If I can dispatch the ones I'm following, then I can deal with the others at my leisure. But without benefit of Bratach and Ivan's information, things will be more difficult. When did they die?"
"One of our agents visited the shop three days ago," Shamus answered. "The killings had apparently just occurred. Consul riders from our network were immediately sent out with word to all of the other sanctuaries. The one who informed us arrived here yesterday. He stayed the night and then rode back."
Satine decided to take a chance. "What of the orb?" she asked. "On my way here I passed by a great canyon that had been gouged into the earth. I have never seen anything like it. The orb did that, didn't it?"
Shamus nodded. "The Orb of the Vigors is bleeding. These are wonderful times for us, my dear. But of course you must already know this; it is the reason you were hired. It is said that only Tristan or Shailiha can heal the orb. If you can kill them both, victory will be within our grasp."