'And Gaderion? How hard do you want the Torunnans pressed there?'
'Very hard, Bardolin. Corfe must be persuaded that his pre shy;sence at the gap is essential to prevent its fall, so the assault must be pressed home with the utmost ferocity. If it falls, so much the better. But it does not have to fall; its role is to suck in the main Torunnan armies and keep them occupied.'
Bardolin nodded grimly. 'It shall be so.'
'What of Golophin? Have you had any more words with him?'
'He has disappeared. He has cloaked his mind and cut himself off. He may not even be in Torunna any longer.'
'Our friend Golophin is running out of time’ Aruan said tartly, mopping his bald pate. 'Track him down, Bardolin.'
'I will. You may count on it.'
'Good. I must rest now. I will need all my strength in the days to come. Four of the Five Kingdoms are ours now, Bardolin, but the fifth, that will prove the hardest. When it falls we will be close to matching the Fimbrian Empire of old.'
'And the Fimbrians, what of them?' Bardolin asked. 'We've heard no word since their embassy left Charibon, weeks ago now.'
'They're waiting to see how Torunna fares. Oh, I have plans for Fimbria also, make no mistake. The Electors have stood aloof too long; they think their homeland is inviolable. I may have to prove them wrong.' Aruan smiled, his eyes gazing upon a vision of a single authority that spanned the continent. Firm, but benign, harsh at times, but always fair.
'You shall be Presbyter of Torunna, once it falls,' he told Bardolin. Then his eyes narrowed. He pursed his full lips. 'As for master Golophin, I shall give him one last chance. Find him, speak with him. Tell him that if he comes over to us with a full heart and a clear conscience, he shall have Hebrion to govern in my name. I cannot say fairer than that.'
Bardolin's eyes shone. 'That will do it; I'm sure of it. It will be enough to tip the scales in our favour.'
'Yes. We will have to disappoint Murad, of course, but I am sure we will find something else for him to do, once he has slain the Hebrian Queen and her mariner. Good! Things are progressing, my friend. Orkh is already installing himself in Astarac and our armies are poised for the final campaign. You must go back to Gaderion and begin hammering on those walls again.' He gripped Bardolin by the hand. 'My Mage-General. Get me Golophin's loyalty, and the three of us will together set this unhappy world to rights.'
The vast foam-flecked and moonlit expanse of the Levangore, stirred into a stiff swell by an inconstant wind blustering out of the south-south-east. Above it a sky empty of cloud, the stars brilliant pinpoints in that black vault, the moon as bright as a silver lantern.
Richard Hawkwood fixed his eye on the North Star and stared through the two tiny sights on his quadrant. The plumb line of the instrument hung free and he swayed easily with the ship, compensating without conscious effort for the pitch and roll. When he was satisfied, he caught the plumb line and read off the numbers on the scale. The ship was six degrees south of Abrusio's latitude. Those six degrees of latitude corresponded to over a hundred leagues. By his dead-reckoning, they had made some two hundred leagues of easting in the past eleven days. They were south of Candelaria, not far off the latitude of Garmidalan, and two thirds of their journey was behind them.
Hawkwood checked the pegs of the traverse board. They were headed north-north-east, and the wind was on the starboard quarter. He had sent up the square yards on fore and main at last, retaining the lateen only on the mizzen, and the Seahare rode the swells easily under courses and topsails, making perhaps five knots. Sprightly though her progress might be, an experienced observer would note that much of the rigging had been knotted and spliced several times over, and her foremast had been fished with beams of oak and line after line of woolding to hold together the crack which ran through it from top to bottom.
They had outpaced the storm, and had run through the Malacar Straits at a fearsome clip, Hawkwood on deck day and night, the leadsman in the forechains continually calling out the depth. The wind had backed round after that, and had slowly become a natural thing once more, the seasonal airs of the Hebrian Sea replacing the Dweomer-birthed gale. But that had not ended the hard labour on board. The Seahare had taken a severe battering in her race with the squall and while she could neither pause in her voyage nor put in to shore, her crew were able to start the work of restoring her to full sea shy;worthiness.
The repairs had taken the better part of a week, and even now the ship was making more water than Hawkwood liked, and the pumps had to be manned for half a glass in every watch. But they were still afloat, and they seemed to have outrun their pursuers with a mixture of luck, good seaman shy;ship, and the valour of a swift-sailing ship. The ship's com shy;pany were a crowd of whey-faced ghosts who dropped off to sleep as soon as they were off their feet, but they were alive. The worst was over.
Hawkwood put the traverse board away in the binnacle-housing, noted the ship's position in the crowded chart that was his mind, and yawned mightily. His belt hung slack about his waist; he would have to make another hole in it soon. But at least he had hair on his head once more, a salt-and-pepper crop which stood up like the bristles of a brush on his scalp.
Ordio, one of the more capable master's mates, had the watch. He was scanning the brilliant night sky with studied nonchalance, standing by the larboard rail. They were two glasses into the morning watch, and it would be dawn in another hour. When they had finally made landfall, Hawk shy;wood promised himself, he would sleep the clock around. He had not had more than an hour or two's uninterrupted rest in weeks.
'Call me if the wind changes,' he told Ordio automatically, and went below, staggering a little with the ever-present tiredness. The blankets in his swinging cot were damp and smelled of mould, but he could not have cared less. He drew off his sodden clothes and crawled under them gratefully and was asleep in moments.
He woke some time later, instantly alert. The sun had come up by now despite the darkness in the cabin, and the Seahare was still on her course, though by the tone of the water running past the hull she had picked up a knot or so. But it was not that which had woken him. There was someone else in the cabin.
He sat up, throwing the blankets aside in the closed dark shy;ness, but two hands on his shoulders stopped him from getting to his feet. He flinched as a pair of cold lips were placed on his own, and then the warm tongue came questing over his teeth. His hands came up to cup the face of the one who kissed him, and he felt under his fingers the ridged scar tissue on the otherwise smooth cheek. Tsolla.'
But she said no word, only pushed him back down into the cot. There were rustlings and the click of buttons, and she climbed in beside him, shivering at the touch of the fetid blankets on her skin. Her hair was down and covered both their faces with its feather-touch as they sought each other in the darkness. The cot swung and the ropes which supported it creaked and groaned in time with their own smothered sounds. When they were done her skin was hot and moist under his hands and their bodies were glued together by sweat. He started to speak, but her hand covered his mouth and she kissed him into silence. She climbed off the cot and he heard her bare feet padding on the wood of the deck as she dressed. He raised himself up on one elbow and saw her slim silhouette in the cracks of light which slipped under the cabin door.