Mazaret frowned. The object was a stubby leather cylinder with a glass disc in either end. Taking it, he realised that it was actually made of two tubes of leather, one slightly smaller and able to slip in and out of the other.
"A neareye device," Mazaret said, putting it to his right eye. "I have heard of them but never used one."
Geraine showed him how to twist the larger piece in or out, and the dark blur of the building opposite suddenly coalesced into a sharp, detailed image. Mazaret uttered an oath and snatched the device away, then smiled and raised it again. In the encroaching night the rear of the draper's was a mass of darkness, apart from those windows lit from within. He surveyed every one but saw no flowers as Bardow had mentioned, only a very large woman down in the back court soaking yards of cloth in a trough, and a servant girl sewing at a fourth floor window.
Mazaret sighed and returned the neareye. Geraine gave him a questioning look, then shrugged and resumed his own scrutiny of the draper's.
"So what are we looking for?" he murmured.
Mazaret considered telling him about Bardow's vision, but wondered if it would sound improbable. It had also occurred to him that this window with flowers might be at the front of the building, or even that it might be a window with flowers carved in the stonework around it and how would they see that in this darkness?
"Hmm, she certainly is pretty," Geraine said. "Can't say she's familiar, though. Maybe she - " He went still and silent for an instant, then gave a low whistle. "Well now, who is this?"
Smiling, he straightened and passed the neareye to Mazaret who quickly adjusted it till he could see the fourth floor window clearly again. The girl had put aside her sewing and was talking to a burly man dressed in the plain brown garments of a town trader. It was Volyn.
Then the second shock came when the girl, upset about something, stood and moved away from the window, revealing a few yellow flowers in a small white vase. He lowered the neareye and handed it back to Geraine.
"Who is it?" said one of the others.
"Why, none other than the honourable Captain Volyn," said Geraine.
There was a stir of surprise and exchanged mutters in the attic.
A girl
, Mazaret was thinking madly.
The heir of House Tor-Galantai is a girl
.
"It's her, isn't it, my lord?" Geraine was giving him a penetrating look. "She's the one you want taken, and you're none to happy about it, I wager."
He ignored the last comment. "Yes, she is the one I must take back to Krusivel." And his words sounded hollow to his own ears.
"When is it to be done?"
"This very night. Volyn may be planning to move her, so we move first." Mazaret met Geraine's hard gaze. "We move now."
Revenge begets ruin,
And dreams grow solid,
In the sundered light,
Of the tyrant's night.
—Calabos,
Beneath The Towers
, Act 2, iv.20.
The barge-train moved slowly along the canal towards Oumetra's lock gate, hauled by four well-muscled men. The three barges were laden with sacks of grain, vegetables and fruit, a farewell harvest from the fertile fields of northeast Kejana. A single long tarpaulin covered all three vessels, protecting the cargo from the elements, and in the night gloom the barge-train resembled some huge serpentine creature, the pilot's lamps like oddly askew glowing eyes.
Tauric and Sentinel Kodel and the Armourer were huddled together in a small round boat tied to the heavy hawser that linked the second and third barges. Loosened flaps of tarpaulin hid them from view on either side, but through holes made in the canvas with sharp dagger points they were able to see something of the outside. Kodel and the Armourer were braced against the stern before and the prow behind in an attempt to keep their boat from thumping against the barge hulls.
Tauric could hardly see a thing in the darkness beneath the canopy, and was constantly fighting the nausea brought on by the stench of over-ripe food and the appalling odour of fish-rot rising from the bottom of their boat. The Armourer had acquired it from an unwatched jetty several miles along the riverbank from the northern bridge earlier that day, and it had been a good couple of hours since managing to steal this ride into Oumetra. Tauric was relieved that they were about to enter the city, and looking forward to smelling anything other than cabbages and fishguts.
The barges slowed and Tauric heard voices outside, the pilot exchanging greetings and ribald banter with the lock wardens before the gates opened and they were under way again. Through one of the holes in the tarpaulin he could see the cobbled towpath and the high side of the canal sliding slowly past, lit by an occasional wall lamp. Dark moss and lichen, gleaming with moisture, covered the huge stone blocks of the canal wall, while pale fungal growths sprouted here and there like malformed hands.
Kodel whispered something to the Armourer, then leaned closer to Tauric.
"The barges will be turning into one of the private wharfs very soon," he said. "Be ready to push away when I signal."
Tauric nodded, and watched the two men carefully lift the tarpaulin at one side up and over their heads. Then the Armourer unfastened the rope that bound them to the barge hawser as they heard the pilot's voice again and the creaking of ropes as the barges began to slow. Kodel looked back along towpath then up ahead for a little longer, then gestured them to push. Momentum took their boat towards the towpath, then strenuous paddling carried them to the foot of stone steps out of sight of the private wharf.
The boat was tied to a rusting iron stanchion and as they climbed up to the towpath Tauric began to hear the muffled sound of many voices shouting somewhere on the other side. At the top of the steps Kodel paused to look around him, sniffing the air.
"Rioters," he said. "Armourer, you will remain here and guard the boy while I meet Volyn and decide what our next step shall be."
"As you say, Sentinel."
"Use that alcove there. If anyone presents any threat, deal with them as you see fit." He looked at Tauric. "We've given you a blade, but you are only to use it if the Armourer tells you to. Otherwise, keep it sheathed and do as you are bid. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," Tauric said nervously.
Kodel gazed at him for a moment, then gave a thin smile. "It is only my concern for you that makes me direct you thus. Your safety is vital, and once our business here is concluded we can be safely away."
He nodded sharply to the Armourer, then turned and hurried off into the darkness.
Tauric and the Armourer went over to the alcove, found a couple of discarded crates and were about to settle down to wait when Tauric paused to stare at a big yellow glow coming from behind a large warehouse on the other side of the canal.
"It's a fire," said the Armourer. "Someone's house or shop is burning. The riot won't last, however. The Mogaun will be in the city soon, and that will be an end of it. Which is why you should sit and look like you're not involved."
Pulling his cloak tight about himself, Tauric sat on the crate and waited, trying to imagine what was happening across the canal.
* * *
The top floor was deserted. Thick tallow candles in wall niches lit the main corridor along which Mazaret and Havall crept, careful to avoid creaking floorboards as they peered in room after room. But there was not a soul to be found, just a few overturned chairs, half-sewn garments lying draped on benches and tables, and in one room a large unfinished tapestry of a joust on a frame, coloured threads trailing on the floor.
In the rooms at the front of the building they could hear the angry sounds of the crowd in the square outside. News of the unrest had come just as Mazaret and Geraine and his men were reaching the abandoned upper floors of the warehouse next door to the drapers. Geraine had listened to the messenger tell of how a taphouse brawl had spilled into a street off the Merchant's Quarter then turned into a riot.
"Most of the dog soldiers are over in the Beggar District, having running fights with bands of rogues and outcasts," the messenger had said, still gasping for breath. "The other apprentices are heading here to join in. Some are saying they'll put the custom houses to the torch."
"What about Vaush?" Geraine had said. "What is he doing?"
Vaush was the commander of the mercenary company.
"No one's seen him, but there's been ragtalk that he left the keep with nearly half his company and he's somewhere in the city." The messenger coughed. "Them Mogaun warlocks are still up at the keep, though."
Geraine had nodded then began to give orders. He and his men would descend to the square and try to talk some sense into the apprentices, while Havall accompanied Mazaret and Kammer guarded their escape route through the loft.
Mazaret paused on the threshold of the room nearest the landing and the main stairs and sniffed the air. Woodsmoke.
"The fools have set a lumber yard alight," Havall said quietly from across the corridor. "The Mogaun can't fail to see it from their camp."
"If Vaush asks Begrajic to intervene," Mazaret said, "how long before they're at the square?"
Havall shrugged. "Less than a quarter of an hour." He seemed to come to a decision. "May I suggest, my lord, that you go down to the next floor by the servants' stairs while I take the main stairway and scout for any guards?"
Mazaret raised an eyebrow. "Why do I feel that I have little say about such a course of action?"
"Actually, it is none at all," Havall said cheerily, then he stepped warily out onto the landing and out of sight. Mazaret shook his head and moved off in the other direction.
Down on the fourth floor he strove to be even quieter than before, while seized by a heightened tension between hope that the girl would still be there and fear for the same reason. The discovery that the scion of House Tor-Galantai was female had struck deep, adding further to the weight of indecision he carried. He felt sick at heart at the thought of killing a young woman purely on the basis of her bloodline, yet he clung to it despite the burning of his shame.
He had listened at and looked in three chambers at the rear of the building and was softly approaching the fourth when he froze, hearing a girl's voice humming a simple tune. Almost at once the humming stopped and swiftly he pushed open the door and stepped inside. The young woman was over in the opposite corner, hands gripping a long, carved tapestry pole, her stance full of readiness and determination.
"I know why you are here," she said.
She was of a slight physique, slender, almost willowy, her well-proportioned narrow face framed by long straight golden hair. She could not have seen many more than sixteen summers, yet she had a presence and a dignity beyond her years. And her eyes, so clear and steady, were strangely unsettling.
She tried to strike Mazaret with the pole as he moved towards her, but he caught it effortlessly in one gauntleted hand and wrenched it from her grasp. She flinched but did not cower, and with a trembling stillness stared him in the eye, and for an instant it was as if Suviel was standing there before him, her sad disapproving gaze looking into his inner spirit and seeing the shame there.
And he knew he could not do it. Any vestige of intent to violence evaporated under that courageous regard. He opened his mouth to say something reassuring, to calm her, but the sound of running feet made him turn.
Havall appeared in the doorway, panting for breath, one hand leaning against the frame. "There were guards down at the front doors, but rioters are getting in through the windows. And I met Kammer on my way back - says he spotted some of Vaush's mercenaries creeping through the warehouse next door, so he's gone down to the back court to find another way out." He glanced at the girl, and sketched a half bow. "Milady..."
"Havall, we have no time for introductions," Mazaret said. "If the situation is as grave as you say, we must leave now." He held out a hand to the young woman. "Come with us. I give you my word that no harm will come to you - "
There was a thud and a cry and Mazaret spun to see Volyn standing over a sprawled and groaning Havall, a club in one hand and a small metal crossbow held in the other, outstretched and pointing straight at Mazaret.
"That I doubt very much." Volyn regarded Mazaret with a burning stare. "Drop your blade, my lord. Good. Alael, my dear, we must be gone with all speed. Come to my side, quickly."
Powerless, Mazaret watched the young woman go over to stand behind the Captain.
"Turn around, my lord," said Volyn, levelling the crossbow at Mazaret's face. "Now, if you please."
He did so, the wild impulse to lash out curbed by thoughts of a steel quarrel burying itself in the back of his head. He heard Volyn move closer and say;
"I leave you with the gift of your life. If I see you again, I may take it back."
Mazaret was listening not to the Captain's words but to the sounds of his movements, the creak of his leather boots, the faint clink of a buckle, and the swift rustle of a swinging arm. He bent forward in an attempt to duck, but the club glanced off his head and struck his shield-arm shoulder, throwing him against the wall near the window. Stunned, he slumped to the floor with agony in his shoulder and a sickening nausea surging in his head, and fought to remain conscious.
He heard Volyn mutter something, then footsteps receded. The room swum before him as he opened his eyes and struggled to his feet. He gingerly probed his shoulder and was sure it was not broken despite the painful swelling that was already forming above the shoulderblade. He went to Havall, still prone in the doorway, but he was out cold so Mazaret recovered his sword from the floor, winced at the stabbing pain in his left temple, and staggered out of the room in pursuit.
* * *
Arogal Volyn first felt the touch of destiny at the age of twenty-three as a serjeant in the Seventh Roharkan Echelion, then garrisoned in Sejeend. During an Imperial visit to the city one summer, he had been patrolling a pallisade down by the docks when he saw a dripping form haul itself out of the water almost directly below him. The Emperor and his entourage were alighting with all due ceremony and fanfare and at first Volyn had been seized with panic. Then an astonishing thrill had passed through him as the figure raised a bow and took aim at the very person of the Emperor as he strode across the gantry between his ship and the quayside.