"Isn't that a little late in the day?" Danae murmured, clearly halfway to falling asleep right there in her chair.
"I'll tell them you want to fly over Kelaine City at sunset. They'll buy it—clients are always making crazy requests like that."
"Four o'clock, then," Hart nodded, getting to his feet. "Ms. mal ce Taeger, I'll be right next door if you need me. Ravagin, there's an extra bed in the other room if you'd care to sleep here."
"No, thanks," Ravagin shook his head. "I'll sleep better in my own house."
"Very well. Pleasant dreams, then."
Ravagin left; and it was as the suite door closed behind him that he abruptly remembered where he'd seen that glint before. In the early dawn in the marshlands of the Davrahil River on Karyx... when Hart had made up his mind to sacrifice his life for Danae.
They rendezvoused at the Crosspoint Building precisely at four o'clock. No one questioned or tried to stop them as they went through the checkout procedure, proving that Corah Lea had indeed kept her promise to leave Ravagin's name on the Courier Corps' duty roster.
Perhaps more surprising was the fact that there was nothing waiting for them as they walked out of the Tunnel into Shamsheer. Ravagin had half expected they would have to talk their way past some of Castle-lord Simrahi's soldiers, or even be forced to outfight another of those commandeered trolls the spirits seemed determined to throw at them. But the Tunnel entrance was clear, and the sky-plane that came at their command took them to the tiny village of Phamyr without any signs of hesitation.
At Phamyr they switched sky-planes and headed northeast, and as night closed over them they reached the southwest part of the Trassp Protectorate and the southern shore of Lake Trassp. Fed by six rivers, with three thousand square kilometers of surface area, the lake served as the major source of water for both the southern half of the protectorate and also for the Tweens area immediately to the west. From the sky an almost complete ring of village lights could be seen hugging the lake's shore, a panorama which some of Ravagin's clients in the past had found interesting. At the moment, though, far more important than scenery was the fact that Lake Trassp was the center of an extensive fishing industry.
Most of which had already closed down for the night... but with a little persistence Ravagin found what he was looking for.
"What do you think?" Ravagin asked Hart as they all sat around the small inn room they'd hired for the night.
The other shrugged, holding up one corner of the large fishing net for a closer inspection and giving it a stiff tug. "Well enough made, I suppose, as these things go. Certainly strong enough to handle any fish you might find in a lake this size. But we're talking a lot more weight here than that of the average fish."
"My question was more aimed at whether you're going to be able to set it up in the first place,"
Ravagin said with a touch of asperity. "The net itself isn't going to last very long no matter how we slice it. So to speak."
Beside Ravagin, Danae shifted uncomfortably in her seat but said nothing. "Of course I can set it up," Hart said, folding the net and laying it aside. "You'll need to give me a few hours' head start, but the techniques are perfectly straightforward. The real question is whether you're going to live long enough for it to do any good."
"I wish to hell," Danae growled, "that for once in your life you'd try to be a little diplomatic."
"No, he's right," Ravagin shook his head. "But I should be safe enough. The Darcane Forest's pretty dense—Danae, you can attest to that—and once I'm in among the trees there shouldn't be any way for a sky-plane to get to me."
"Too dense for a sky-plane, but not too dense for a man on horseback?" Hart asked pointedly.
"Perhaps; but you make the assumption that the demon will indeed come after you with a sky-plane.
Suppose he merely commandeers a troll and chases you on foot?"
The same question had occurred to Ravagin. Often. "If he does, then I'm in trouble," he admitted.
"But my guess is that he won't think to do that. He's presumably been on Shamsheer long enough to have become used to the convenience of sky-planes, and I think that by the time he realizes his mistake it'll be too late for him to backtrack. Anyway, I don't really have any choice. We know the parasite spirits can enter and exert limited control over sky-planes; weakened the way they seem to be here, I don't think they'll be able to do the same with horses. I'd rather take my chances with the forest and your skills with that—" he gestured to the net—"than wind up being flown somewhere nice and deserted where the demon can kill me at his leisure."
Danae took a shuddering breath. "Oh, God, I wish this were over."
Ravagin put his arm around her. "It will be soon," he promised, trying hard to sound convincing.
"Tomorrow night. Well—" his eyes flicked to Hart. "I guess there's nothing really left to say. I suppose we'd better get some rest; we'll want an early start in the morning."
"Yes," Hart nodded. For a second his eyes met Ravagin's. "Though I'm not particularly tired at the moment," he said, getting to his feet and heading for the door. "If you'll both excuse me, I think I'll go downstairs for awhile, check things out, then perhaps take a walk around the town. I've heard that Shamsheer's night life is worth sampling, and I didn't get the chance to try it the last trip in. See you in a couple of hours."
The door closed behind him, and for a moment Danae and Ravagin looked at each other. Then, without a word being spoken, they stood up and, holding each other tightly, walked to the bed. One final chance at a quiet moment before the storm... possibly the last chance they'd ever have. Briefly, one last stray thought flickered through Ravagin's mind, before all stray thoughts were crowded out: that perhaps Hart did indeed know how to be diplomatic, after all.
Chapter 44
Omaranjo Saban's way house was larger and more elegant than most Ravagin had seen on Shamsheer, its dimensions all the more pronounced when the modest size of the town of Horma over which it towered was taken into account. Horma, its outer buildings edging precariously close to the westernmost fringes of Darcane Forest in south-central Feymar Protectorate, was barely a tenth of the size of Kelaine City; yet Saban's way house was at least twice the size of the one Pornish Essen presided over there. But it wasn't just the size of the place that set Ravagin's teeth on edge. A sense of arrogant power seemed to permeate the house, from the harsh decor of the conversation area to the strained expression of the local servant girl who went to summon Saban. It evoked unpleasant comparisons with Melentha's mansion in Karyx, and Ravagin found his right hand curling his scorpion glove into a hard fist as he stood at the window and waited for Saban to appear.
"Yes?" a sharp voice came from behind Ravagin. "You wished to see me?"
Ravagin turned to face him... and in that first instant he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that this man was indeed the one.
Not just because Saban's face, with its thinly tight mouth and hollow eyes fairly oozing hatred and impatience, reminded him so much of the demon face in Melentha's post line archway. Not even because of the hand twitching nervously at the hilt of the watchblade belted at his waist, a hand that, for all the arrogance of the man's voice and expression, proclaimed him to be deep in the grips of a full-bodied paranoia.
It was because of the way Ravagin's face seemed to register in those hate-filled eyes... and the way the man reacted. "Ravagin!" he whispered hoarsely. "But you were the one—he said you were gone