Maybe they’re working on their own plans. Will smiled as he began to descend the stairs. Alexia could figure out a way to free Crow. Kerrigan, well, Will wasn’t all that certain about the magicker, but Kerrigan had shown some spine on the retreat, so anything was possible.
Will’s descent carried him into the inn’s small common room and, for a moment, the familiar din of tavern chaos made him smile. Then, slowly, the noise died as people turned to look at him. Most of them wore masks, save for a bunch of pig farmers back in the cold-corner. While the masks hid much of their expressions, Will did see some eyes widen, then smiles begin to blossom.
Applause erupted spontaneously, then one corpulent man who seemed to have gained a pound around his middle for every hair he had lost from his crown, stood and waved Will forward. “My friends, this is Will Norrington—the Norrington. He’s the one who will destroy Chytrine. He led Princess Ryhope right here to our town. Even more importantly, he’s the one who finally delivered the Traitor to justice.”
Will’s eyes widened in horror. “No, no, that’s not it at all.”
The man’s smile grew, his rosy cheeks piling up around the corners of his mouth. “See, and modest, too! A true Oriosan hero.”
The applause grew and the insanity of it hit Will in increasing waves. These people had it all wrong about Crow. More importantly, they were ignoring the fact that he was there because Chytrine had crushed Fortress Draconis and before spring she could be sacking Tolsin.
The joy on their faces stopped him from wanting to yell at them. These people knew full well how he had come to be there. To dwell on that, however—to think about their homes being burned, their children slain, their town and their nation vanishing—would drive them insane. They were taking joy in a small victory, a small act of defiance, because it gave them hope.
My presence gives them hope.
Will shivered. A quarter century ago the rulers of the world had destroyed Hawkins to preserve hope for their people. Now these people would raise Will up as a symbol of hope. He had done nothing and would be exalted, whereas Crow, who had done so much, had been vilified.
The bald man took Will by the arm and led him to a table. “An ale for our hero. Please, Lord Norrington, sit, sit. Join us.”
Will sat mechanically, staring at the sloshing wooden mug of ale that appeared before him.
His host called to the minstrel by the fire. “Songbird, play us something good.” The man hesitated for a moment, then slapped Will on the back. “Sing to us of Squab. You’d be liking that, wouldn’t you, m’lord?”
Will’s eyes narrowed, as the hints of a shadow plan began to collect in his mind. “Yes, yes, I would like that.” The young thief smiled up at his host. “Sing to me of Squab. There is much I want to learn.”
3
Kerrigan Reese shivered in his bed, huddled beneath a thick woolen blanket that smelled of sour sweat. The corpulent youth had pulled the blanket up over his head. He endeavored to keep still, so that the crackling scrunch of the mattress’ straw couldn’t drag him back to reality.
The shivers betrayed him, however. The tremors coaxed little sounds from the straw. The scrabbling of rodents, perhaps, or of insects. Or of beetles burrowing into a grave, devouring the flesh of the dead…
He shook his head, letting the resulting thunderclap of sound banish those thoughts. For a moment or two it worked, then the sounds returned. And beneath them, the buzzed roar of the common room’s rabble: laughing, shouting, and singing some stupid song.
Kerrigan wondered how they could sing at a time like this. Everything had come crashing in on him. The world he had known in his first seventeen years had exploded like an alembic in a failed spellcasting. His life on Vilwan had been one of peace and comfort—though he had failed to recognize that at the time. His tutors had been severe taskmasters, but had taught him all manner of spells that no Human sorcerer had mastered in centuries. If ever!
He had known the way of the world, of the evil that was Chytrine. The grand history of Vilwan had informed him of the wars that had been fought against her. He had read of the loss of Vorquellyn and of the war before his birth. Okrannel had fallen to Chytrine’s forces then, but she had been stopped at Fortress Draconis. The clear assumption had been that the last war had put a stop to her predations, but her renewed attacks against the Southlands gave lie to that idea.
And her attacks had destroyed his life.
Chytrine had formed an alliance with Vionna, the Pirate Queen of Wruona. The pirates had sent a fleet to attack Vilwan, complete with dragonels mounted aboard the ships. There was even a dragon. A fierce battle had raged at the northern tip of the island. The pirates had failed in their invasion, but not without exacting a terrible price.
Kerrigan did not know of that battle firsthand. He, like so many sorcerers his age and younger, had been evacuated from Vilwan. As the ships that had brought troops to Vilwan took Apprentices and Adepts away, the true focus of Chytrine’s plan was revealed. Pirates attacked the evacuation fleet—destroying ships, devastating a whole generation of magickers. Kerrigan himself had been sorely wounded, and save for luck and circumstance would have died.
From there he had been made a plaything of Panqui juveniles, traveled to Yslin and on to Okrannel, where he had helped with the preparations for the siege of Svoin. He’d then been sent to steal a portion of the DragonCrown that Vionna’s consort, the Azure Spider, had stolen from Jerana. On that quest his last tutor, Orla, had been slain.
And then there was the siege of Fortress Draconis and a second evacuation to the south. In that one, he had taken charge of a small company of children. He’d been unable to protect the young sorcerers who had been on the ship with him, but he vowed he would not let these children—the scions of the fortress’ brave defenders—come to harm.
He’d borne up bravely through it all. He was able to acknowledge that, but once they’d reached Oriosa and he was freed of the vow he’d given the Draconis Baron, things had spiraled down into him. Orla, as she was dying, told him to have nothing further to do with Vilwan and to follow Crow and Resolute. Resolute clearly had nothing but contempt for him—it helped very little that Resolute seemed to hold everyone in contempt. Crow, who had been kindly and gentle, now languished in prison, leaving Kerrigan very much alone.
Strains of a melody leaked up from below and Kerrigan recognized it, which rather surprised him. Though he could wield great magicks, he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. One of his mentors had a weakness for common tavern songs, and performers had come to Vilwan to entertain him—all for Kerrigan’s benefit, of course. Kerrigan remembered none of the verses of this song, but the refrain came back strongly as the audience below joined in.
The song would continue with some Squab misadventure or other, showing him a fool. Kerrigan did not doubt that Crow had been Hawkins. When the Oriosan authorities came to arrest him, Crow had warned Kerrigan to keep the secret the Draconis Baron had entrusted to him. Crow’s cryptic and secretive behavior at that point had told Kerrigan that he was guilty as charged. But as for Crow’s being Squab, that had surprised Kerrigan—primarily because Squab had always been a simpleton and Crow had been anything but.