“I didn’t,” Tavis said, his voice hard and low. “I did nothing to him, and he killed the one—”
Grinsa laid a hand on his arm, stopping him. “It’s all right,” he whispered.
“Who did he kill?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“My lady—”
“Tell me.”
“He killed someone dear to my friend here. That’s all you need to know.”
“But he would have had a reason. He doesn’t kill for the sake of killing. I know him better than that.”
“You’re right,” Tavis said savagely. “He doesn’t do it for the sake of killing. He murders for gold.”
Abruptly, she lifted a hand to her mouth, taking a sharp breath. “Gods!” she whispered, recognition in her eyes. “I had thought he might be a mercenary, or perhaps a thief. But it never occurred to me. . . . He’s an assassin.”
“What can you tell us of your time with him?” Grinsa asked.
“I’m not certain I want to tell you anything.”
Tavis glared at her. “He kills for money. And still you protect him?”
“I didn’t know him as a killer. I knew him as a musician, and as . . . as a friend.”
Grinsa gestured toward the tavern door. “Can we sit together and speak of this, my lady? My friend can be a bit too direct, but he does make a point. You may care for this man, you may even love him, but that doesn’t change who and what he is. You say that you know him as a singer; you may have known him to be kind as well. But I assure you that in time, he’ll kill again.”
“I saw him fight,” she said, making no move toward the tavern. “We were returning to Ailwyck from Fanshyre, and we were attacked by road brigands. He was going to let them take the gold.” She let out a small laugh. “If he was an assassin, the gold would have meant nothing to him. But when the men started to threaten my sister and me, he stopped them.” She swallowed, shaking her head. “There were five of them, and he bested them all without any help from the rest of us. I’d never seen anything like it. He seemed almost . . . crazed, as if once he began to kill them, he couldn’t stop himself. I knew then that he had to be so much more than just a singer.”
Grinsa and Tavis exchanged a look, the lord looking pallid and terribly young.
“What name did he use?” the gleaner asked.
“Corbin.” She narrowed her eyes. “Isn’t that his real name?”
“It’s not the name by which we know him.”
“Maybe we’re speaking of different men,” she said, clearly wanting to believe this.
“No. It’s the same man.”
She seemed to shiver. A moment later she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go inside, my lady?”
“What name did he give you?”
The gleaner hesitated, uncertain of whether he should tell her, though he couldn’t say why. “Cadel,” he told her at last.
“Cadel,” she repeated, giving a slight shake of her head.
“How did you meet him? Was it in Ailwyck?”
“No. We met them several years ago. In Thorald.”
“Them?” But even as Grinsa asked, he knew the answer. The other assassin, the man Cresenne had sent after him, the man he had killed in Kentigern Wood.
“Yes. Corbin and his friend, Honok.” She had been looking off again, but now her eyes snapped back to his. “Did Honok lie about his name, too?”
The gleaner was certain that he had, but the man had given him the same alias, and he sensed that she needed to hear this. “I knew him as Honok as well.”
“Honok wasn’t with him anymore when he came to Ailwyck. Corbin said that they had parted ways some time back, though he told me they were still friends.”
He saw no reason to tell her what had really happened to Honok. “So, was it mere chance that brought you both to Ailwyck, or? . . .” He stopped, the full import of what she had said finally reaching him. “You met him in Thorald?”
“Yes. My sister and I were traveling with the Revel, and—”
“When?”
“I told you, several years ago.”
“What year exactly?”
Her brow furrowed. “I guess it would be three years ago.” She nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Three years.”
Grinsa turned to Tavis, who was already watching him.
“Filib,” the young lord said.
The woman nodded. “Yes. It was the year Filib the Younger . . .”
The color fled from her cheeks and she reached out to steady herself against the wall of the tavern. “Demons and fire! He killed Filib, didn’t he?”
“We don’t know that,” Grinsa told her, though there was little doubt in his mind. Marston of Shanstead was right. The conspiracy had been striking at the Eandi courts for years now, though the nobles and their Qirsi allies had been painfully slow to realize it.
“But that’s what you think.”
“You see now why we have to find him,” Tavis said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Whatever he was to you, he’s also a killer. I lost the woman I was to marry. Thorald lost its duke and Eibithar its future king. We have to find him before he murders again.”
“So you intend to kill him.”
Grinsa winced, fearing that now she would refuse to help them. But the woman surprised him.
“You’d better have more than mists and winds, Qirsi,” she said, eyeing the gleaner. “Because blade to blade, the two of you won’t stand a chance against him.”
“You followed him here from Ailwyck,” Grinsa said. “Do you think he might have gone farther north?”
“I don’t know where he went. I came north because there’s little in Wethyrn’s southern cities to attract a musician. Krasthem is a minor city, with few good taverns, and Olfan is little more than that. Ailwyck, Duvenry, Jistingham—those are the places I’d go, were I looking to find taverns in which to sing.”
“What about Strempfar, or Helke?”
“Helke, maybe,” she said. “It’s smaller than some of the other cities, but the port is always busy, and seamen tend to like music when they put in to land.”
Grinsa nodded. “Thank you, my lady. You’ve told us more than we had any right to expect.”
She said nothing and after a lengthy silence, Tavis and Grinsa shared a look and turned to go.
“You were right before,” she said. “He could be kind when he wasn’t killing. And he sang with a voice that came from Adriel herself.”
“Did the brigands hurt you?” Tavis asked.
“No, nor did they hurt my sister. But her husband is still recovering from the beating they gave him.”
“I’m sorry. I hope he heals quickly.”
“From the looks of your face, it seems that you suffered mightily for what Corbin did to you. You must hate him very much.”
“More than I can say.”
Grinsa sensed that they were now straying into dangerous terrain, and he thought it time to end their conversation. “Again, my lady, you have our thanks.”
“Will you continue to search for him?” Tavis asked her.
The woman shook her head. “I’ve already been away from my sister for too long, and I’ve nearly run out of gold. Even if he is in Helke, I haven’t the means to get there. And I’m not certain I want to be anywhere near the two of you when next you meet.”
“No,” Tavis said. “I don’t believe you do.”
She glanced at the gleaner, her expression grim, her cheeks still pale. Then she left them, walking quickly down the narrow lane that led back to Duvenry’s marketplace.
“You were right,” Tavis said softly, as they watched her go. “We do want to be in Helke.”
Grinsa wasn’t so certain. He had no doubt that they would find the assassin there. Even had the vision that came to him in the City of Kings not been enough to convince him, this conversation with the woman would have been. But after listening to her description of the singer’s fight with the road thieves, he was more certain than ever that Tavis had been fortunate to survive his first encounter with the man. Chances were that he wouldn’t fare so well the second time they met.
“You heard what she said about the brigands.”
The boy nodded, still gazing down the lane.
“And still you’re sure that you want to pursue this matter?”
“You said yourself that he’ll kill again, given time.”
“Maybe he will. But the last time he killed, he struck at the conspiracy.”
“I need to do this, Grinsa. I need to clear my name.”
Grinsa turned to face him. “Stop saying that. Your name has been cleared, at least to the extent that it ever will be. Cresenne saw to that when she admitted to the king what she’d done. Aindreas may refuse to believe it, and the lords of Galdasten as well. But for any reasonable person, her confession should be enough.”
“So you think I should just let Brienne’s killer go free?”
“I think you should admit that this is all about vengeance, nothing
more, nothing less. The singer killed your betrothed, and because of that you suffered greatly, not only from grief but also from her father’s thirst for revenge. I, of all people, know how much pain you’ve had to endure. I healed you, and I’ve journeyed the land with you for the better part of a year. I have no sympathy for Cadel, and I understand why you want him dead. But that doesn’t change the fact that you only pursue him to exact a measure of revenge. No good will come of his death, should you manage to kill him. And chances are, you’ll die in the attempt. All for nothing. You can tell me that you want to clear your name, to reclaim your place in the Order of Ascension, but in the end, you’re driven solely by your need for retribution. You’re no different than Aindreas.”
As soon as he spoke these last words, the gleaner knew that he had gone too far. But rather than railing at him, the young lord simply stood there for a moment, his lips pressed thin, before stalking past Grinsa and entering the tavern once more.
“I’m an idiot,” the gleaner muttered to himself. He would have liked to return to the inn at which they had taken their room. Tavis needed some time to himself before he would be ready to listen to an apology. But he wasn’t sure that the young lord could find his way back to the inn, this being his first night in Duvenry. Grinsa waited a short while, though he knew it wouldn’t be enough time to cool the boy’s rage at what he had said. Finally, reluctantly, he stepped into the tavern.
He spotted Tavis immediately, sitting alone at a small table by the side wall, his back to the door as he sipped an ale. Grinsa walked to the table and sat.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
The young lord stared at the dark ale in his tankard. “I’m not like Aindreas.”
“Tavis—”
“I’m not. Aindreas assumed that I had killed Brienne, and so he tortured me. He enjoyed seeing me suffer, and it never occurred to him to wonder if he might be wrong.” He looked up. “We know that the singer killed her, and I’m not interested in torturing him. I want to kill him and be done with it. This may be a quest born of vengeance, but at least it’s justified.”
“You’re right. I was wrong to say what I did.”
Tavis regarded him briefly, as he often did when the gleaner agreed with him. It almost seemed that the young lord expected Grinsa to argue
with him, that he was surprised when the gleaner paid him any compliment or acquiesced to anything he said.
“What is it you saw in your vision, gleaner?”
Grinsa shifted in his chair. “I’ve told you. I saw you fighting with the singer on the north coast of the Crown.”
“Did you see him kill me?”
“No. I didn’t see the ending at all.”
“But you saw enough to convince you that I don’t survive the encounter.”
He shook his head. “I swear to you I didn’t.”
“Then why is it that ever since that dream, you’ve been trying to warn me off this pursuit?”
“It’s precisely because I don’t know how it all turns out. If I knew he was going to kill you, I’d do everything in my power to keep you away from the Crown. And if I knew that you were going to prevail, I wouldn’t be so frightened. But I have no idea what’s going to happen, and that’s a very difficult thing for a gleaner.”
Tavis grinned. “We Eandi live with such uncertainty every day.”
“Yes. And at times I don’t know how you do it.” They sat in silence, Tavis staring at his ale again, Grinsa watching him. “There will be a storm,” he said at last.
Tavis looked up, his eyes widening slightly.
“And the singer will have cut you at least twice, though neither wound looked too serious. You’ll be right on the coast, on rocks that are slick with sea spray and rain. But that can actually work to your advantage if you let it. On even footing, you’re no match for him. You know that. But anything can happen when the terrain is uncertain. Try to use that.”
The young lord nodded. “Where does he cut me?”
“Your neck and your right forearm. But as I said, neither wound looked too deep.”
“Had I marked him?”
Grinsa hesitated, shook his head.
Tavis forced a smile. “Of course not.”
“You can defeat him, Tavis. You have to believe that, or you’re doomed to fail.”
“I thought you didn’t approve of all this, that you didn’t want me to face him.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why offer the advice?”
A barmaid approached the table, but Grinsa waved her away. He was in no mood for another ale. “If I were to command you to leave the Crown without facing this man, would you do it?”
“You know I wouldn’t.”
“Well, there’s your answer. You intend to do this no matter what I say or do. And even if I were willing to kill him for you, I don’t think you’d want that either. This is your battle, for better or for worse. I believe you have a role to play in the coming war, an important one, though I don’t know what it is. I know you well enough to understand that you won’t be able to fulfill that role until you’ve faced the assassin one final time.” He gave a small shrug, opening his hands. “Your chances of surviving this encounter will be better if you know what to expect.”
Tavis nodded, taking a long breath. “Thank you.”
The gleaner stood. “Come on. We’ve a long journey ahead of us, and the sooner we get to Helke the better. We need sleep.”
Tavis dropped two silvers on the table and they left the tavern, making their way back to the inn.
“Did you notice anything else in your vision?” Tavis asked as they walked.
Grinsa faltered, but only for an instant. Best to tell him all, the good and the bad.