His head was spinning. He could barely keep his eyes open and he couldn’t get the dream out of his head. I bring the Black Moon. What did that mean?
He shook himself, wincing again. Dreams were stupid and it was much too early to be awake. He put on a nightshirt and went looking for some water. Moonlight robes made his dream-person a priest, didn’t it? A moon-priest. He’d known a moon-priest back in Deephaven. Garrent. But a priest with a burned face and one eye? He didn’t remember anyone like that.
When he got back, Hain was dressed. He gave Berren a sour look. They’d never really got past that punch on the nose. ‘What happened to you?’
‘Looking for water.’
Hain nodded at a jug on the table and mumbled something. Behind Berren the door opened and Master Sy came in. Except this wasn’t his Master Sy any more. This Syannis was older, angrier, his face pinched tight in frustration. The heady mix of fear and awe Berren remembered as his apprentice was gone, not a trace of it left. What he saw now both made him feel pity and repelled him. And after all this time, after all that had gone between them, neither could think of a word to say to the other. He’d had so many questions — the warlock, the golden knife, the priests, Tasahre — so many questions and so much to say and so much anger. . And ever since that night on the beach, all his questions had crumbled into ash and even his anger wouldn’t burn.
Are you sure?
‘Berren.’ Master Sy gave him a nod. I’m sorry about how it all ended. That was as much as Berren ever got. And when Berren pestered him about what he’d said in the wood by the beach, about Tasahre being still alive, about that Are you sure? what did he get? Nothing. A shake of the head. I saw the same as you did. I did not see what happened afterwards and I never spoke to you in the wood by the beach that night. You must have been dreaming.
He should just leave, he knew it, and yet he couldn’t. Because he had to know. . something. He didn’t even know what. Just needed to be with Master Sy for a while so he could finally be rid of him. ‘Where are we?’ he asked.
‘Galsmouth, dark-skin,’ muttered Hain.
‘North of Tethis. Meridian’s territory,’ said Master Sy.
Berren rubbed his eyes. Yes, they’d crossed the river into Galsmouth yesterday. Today they’d set off for Tethis itself, a few more days down the south road. As far as Berren understood it, they were going to walk right up to King Meridian’s castle and have a look around, spy on who was there for a bit, check on its defences, count soldiers, that sort of thing. Then they were going to sneak in, murder the king, sneak out again and slip away back to Forgenver. Just like that. They were going to get away with this because. . He had no idea. Because they were going to change their clothes and stop looking like swords for hire at some point? He’d assumed that the whole bit about murdering the king had been a joke, but the closer they got the less sure he became. Whatever Master Sy’s plan was, he seemed to think it was going to work. And Berren? He was still here. Somehow it was better than staying in Forgenver, knowing that he could have been with the thief-taker, talking to him and trying to understand. .
I loved her! She was everything that was right and good and you killed her! And why? She tried to stop you from murdering someone, that’s all! She had you beaten! She tried to let you live! She gave you every chance! Why did you have to kill her? Why? Why did you do it?
But not a word would come out. Not a single one. The awkwardness between them was a physical thing. It would have been easy, Berren thought, for the thief-taker to have walked away, to have turned his shoulder and sniffed with disdain, to have ignored Berren completely. It would have made it easier for Berren too because it would have woken the anger again.
Sorry? You’re sorry? And that’s supposed to be enough?
Master Sy shifted from one foot to the other. He stood stiffly, almost as though he knew what Berren was thinking and didn’t know what to say either. ‘When we get to Tethis you will present yourselves to the castle,’ he said. ‘You will find a sergeant to one of the companies and you will offer yourselves as labour for the day for a penny and a supper apiece. You’ll work and you’ll do as you’re told.’ He glanced at Berren. ‘Stay away from the castle and from any of the king’s guard who might recognise you. Keep your eyes open and see what men of what companies are there. At the end of the day you will leave with the other labourers. Join me after dark on the river road beneath the castle, where the valley is steepest. We’ll wait for three hours and then go into the castle together. Sun willing, we’ll take Prince Aimes and return to Forgenver.’
‘We will, will we?’ Berren forced the words out through gritted teeth. ‘And how will we get out again?’
‘Leave that to me.’ Syannis looked aimlessly around the room. ‘Breakfast. Five minutes sharp.’
As he left, Hain leaned into Berren, the smell of last night’s beer still strong on his breath. ‘What are you doing here, dark-skin?’
Berren pushed him away. Five minutes later, the three of them sat in the same uncomfortable silence, eating with the ruthless efficiency of three men who’d do anything for a decent excuse not to talk to each other.
From Galsmouth to Tethis was two more days by mule. They stopped at villages on the way and Syannis traded their cloaks for some old farming clothes and a couple of well used axes. Over the next night they slept rough under the shelter of a copse of trees. They set out again early, pushing on along the coast road that ran all the way to Forgenver and beyond. In sight of Tethis, they stopped and camped another night. From the sea the town was laid out for all to see, sprawled along the shore beneath the line of hills and cliffs. From the land it was almost invisible: aside from the castle with its one piece of wall and its watchtowers, you’d hardly know it was there.
‘Meridian’s at home,’ muttered Syannis as soon as they saw it. Berren wondered how he knew until the thief-taker pointed at the clusters of flags flying above the two towers. Among them was a red flag with four white ships. The flag of Radek of Kalda. Berren knew it at once — he’d spent years looking out for it, every day.
Syannis grunted, and for a moment Berren saw a glimpse of the old thief-taker who’d taught him most of what he knew, the Master Sy with the flashing eyes and the quick cutting tongue and the simmering rage buried beneath. For a moment and then it was gone. ‘Come on.’ The thief-taker led them off the road until he found a hole under a fallen tree. The three of them wrapped their swords and their armour in cloth and buried them along with anything else that marked them as men of war. When they were done, Syannis brushed himself down. ‘See? Now we’re farmers.’ With a flourish he produced a skin full of cider, and there it was again, a glimmer of the man Berren had once known.
Berren scratched his head and took a gulp. ‘Talon led us along this road when we left Tethis the last time. Up to Galsmouth and through the next duchy.’
‘Gorandale.’
‘That’s the one.’
Hain snorted. ‘Nothing but hills and sheep. Mind you, Tethis isn’t much better, nor Forgenver if it comes to it.’
‘We came along this road.’ Berren screwed up his face, trying to remember. ‘We passed through a few villages on the first day. Once we were out of the town, everything was so empty. The hills got bigger. And yes — ’ he frowned ‘- there were a lot of sheep.’
Syannis shrugged. ‘Can’t be leaving the mules. Swords and stuff we can bury. Mules, they’ll wander, or else someone will take them.’ He swept his arm across the landscape. ‘Look at this place. Almost deserted. Scraps of woodland. A few big rocks here and there. Sharp bends, steep valleys. A forgotten hut or two.’ He shook his head. ‘Outside Tethis itself, this country has its own laws. Especially inland. Hain’s right. Hills and hills and more hills and nothing much else except bloody sheep.’