Though he was sorry to see the Crescents taken, Kovrim was glad to see them alive and well for the moment. They were ordered in no uncertain terms not to speak, so the priest got little information from any of them. Each time a new handful of prisoners was added to the ever-growing collection of mercenaries and their charges, Kovrim was both relieved and worried that Vambran was not among them.
As nightfall came, the prisoners-who numbered twelve Crescents by then-and their escort arrived at a large encampment. Numerous tents had been set up, gathered in small clumps around campfires. Even in the failing light, it was easy for Kovrim to see that the place was more than just a rest stop for the troops. A large, ruined tower stood in the middle of the open area, most of its stones tumbled and scattered. A newer but no less abandoned cottage, perhaps once belonging to a woodsman or hermit, had been built with some of the stone from the much older tower. It, too, had fallen into ruin, with only one partial stone wall still standing and a chimney leaning haphazardly against it. Stunted trees and tall grasses filled the clearing as the forest did its work, taking back the lands once cleared by men.
The captured Crescents were led over to one side of the camp, near the edge of the clearing. There, an old barn still stood, crafted from rough, natural logs. The building still looked stout enough to keep prisoners confined. The Crescents were led to the makeshift jail and ordered inside.
Once confined, Kovrim sank down wearily in the darkness and sighed, feeling the ache in his feet. The narrow door swung shut behind the mercenaries, and Kovrim watched through chinks in the wall as two burly figures settled a heavy log in place across the portal, effectively locking most of them inside. Kovrim still had options, he knew, but using his little remaining magic would require careful planning. He did not like the thought of leaving the men behind.
"Well, this is a fine mess," one of the Crescents said. It was Hort Bloagermun, known as Old Bloagy to everyone in the unit. He was as old as Kovrim and a veteran of many seasons' worth of campaigning. Though he wasn't quite as spry with a blade as he had once been, he was still a crack shot with his crossbow, which was how he had managed to stay with the company for so many years.
Kovrim nodded, though he knew Old Bloagy couldn't see him in the near-darkness. "Aye, and it'll get finer before it's finished, I'll wager," he said as Hort moved to sit beside him. "Tell me what you know so far."
Hort snorted in the twilight. "Not much, and that's more than most of us," he said. "When the ship went down, we all tried to rally to the beach, but a couple of the lads and I got cut off by one of them accursed pirate ships, which had enough archers on it to stick us all twenty times over. We had to hightail it the other direction, and by the time we had outdistanced them, we couldn't see where the main group had gone. We headed for shore anyway, and hooked up with three more boys, but that's when a whole mess of these fellows' cavalry arrived. We were outnumbered at least ten to one and didn't see the sense in putting up much of a fight, and now here we are."
The rest of the group had similar tales to tell. When they had all recounted their own fates in the attack, Kovrim quizzed the group on how many of their companions they knew had fallen in battle, if any of them had seen or had been with Vambran at any point during the confusion, and what sorts of equipment they had been allowed to keep.
At one point, the priest's information gathering was interrupted as the door was unbarred and opened.
Several soldiers came inside carrying a large kettle of some sort of fish stew and a handful of wooden bowls. "Finish what you want and use the kettle for your jakes," one of the soldiers said. The stew was weak and watery, but to Kovrim, who hadn't eaten in more than a day because of his seasickness, it tasted fine. After everyone had a chance to nourish themselves, the priest continued his questioning.
In the end, despite the total surprise of the corsairs' attack, it sounded as though the company's losses were light. Only four were confirmed dead or mortally wounded at sea, and none of them had seen Vambran fall. Kovrim's hope that his nephew was still alive, and possibly still free, began to grow.
The supplies were not so promising. Most of their equipment, including packs, belts with pouches, and any holy symbols belonging to the priests among them, had been taken. Old Bloagy had managed to keep a small knife concealed, tucked way down in his boot, but it was hardly a weapon, and it certainly couldn't get anyone far in an escape attempt.
"Well, Crescents," Kovrim said at last, "it looks like we'll be biding our time here for the night." When everyone began to speak at once, asking why they had been attacked on the sea and why they had been taken prisoner without having even engaged the enemy in battle, Kovrim had to shout to get them to settle down. "Those are questions we don't have the answers to, yet. But if these soldiers follow any of the code, I'm sure we'll be learning more soon. In the meantime, get some rest, and no one is to try anything foolish on their own. We're still on campaign, and I'm the ranking officer, and those are my orders. Any questions?"
None of the twelve had any issues, so after another bowl of stew for each, the Crescents settled in for the night. Kovrim found a relatively comfortable spot leaning against one wall of the barn and began to try to piece together what he could of the day's events. Assuming that both the encounters with the pirates and the mercenaries were coordinated, he was troubled by the incongruity of their purposes. The pirates had wanted them dead, no quarter offered-he suspected that the kraken was their doing and not just lousy luck. The silver ravens, on the other hand, had seemed loathe to kill them, even going so far as to allow him to heal Velati. Something didn't quite make sense, but Kovrim had a suspicion he would eventually come to regret finding out the answer. He considered whether or not it was an opportune time to slip away unseen and try to hunt for some help, but he decided against it, at least for the time being. He wasn't sure if the guards had taken a head count, and he didn't want to create more trouble for the rest of the Crescents. He would wait to escape until he knew he could get away with it.
The priest fell asleep fretting about many things.
"Now remember, this place is real trouble, so be on your toes, and stay out of everyone's way," Xaphira cautioned again as she led Emriana around a corner and down the narrow side street toward the entrance to The Silver Fish.
Emriana tried to contain her sigh of exasperation. "Yes, I know," she said. "You've told me five times already."
"Well, I want to make sure you get it, Em," her aunt snapped back, startling the younger girl with her vehemence. "I'm not kidding around. This isn't practicing in the barnyard. A body or two winds up sitting outside the doors of this place just about every night."
Emriana was more careful to sound respectful and agreeable. "All right, I'll watch out."
"Good."
Emriana could hear loud, boisterous music and singing as they approached, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. They reached the entrance to the rathrur and Xaphira led the way inside. Immediately, Emriana could see what her aunt was talking about. The clientele were of the surliest, roughest sort she could have imagined, all dirty, sweaty men and women who performed the most menial labors of the city. As the two women strolled in, more than a few conversations halted as many pairs of eyes turned curiously toward them. Xaphira didn't seem to notice, but Emriana found herself feeling very self-conscious. She caught herself crowding in a little tighter behind Xaphira, almost stepping on her heels.