The Black Star (Book 3) (59 page)

"I'm from Pocket Cove," Minn said.

Taya's eyebrows did something they weren't inclined to do: they lifted. "Which your people never leave."

"It was time."

"There's more to this, isn't there?" Taya waited for them to go on. After a long moment, she folded her arms. "I don't know anything about Cellen or anyone in the Endless Pillars. But I know someone who might."

Blays grinned. "I knew it."

"Lady Carraday of Rollen."

"Oh," he said. "You mean the same Lady Carraday of Rollen I tried to destroy?"

"She's furious that the king snatched up the bossen from her."

"Isn't she equally furious with me for accepting the deal? Or how about the fact the deal was intended to wipe the buyer out?"

"She's aware that when Moddegan makes an offer, you smile and shake hands." Taya tipped her head forward; Blays had learned this meant she thought he was missing something bleedingly obvious. "And the fact you were attempting to bring him down will only endear you to her."

"Really? Because it sounds like she'd view me as a tool to beat him with. One she would gladly break in half over his head."

"Then it's your job to avoid getting broken."

Blays laughed. "Just when I thought I'd missed you."

Taya smiled. She made arrangements to contact Carraday and told Blays how to find one of her agents in Setteven, a man he and the Lady of Rollen could use to ferry messages without exposing themselves.

That was the extent of her aid. But it was more than Blays had expected. After his disastrous departure, he wouldn't have been surprised if the only thing Taya felt like offering him was the business end of her sword.

He and Minn rode back to their apartment in Setteven to wait out the tedious process of exchanging covert messages with a person as busy and important as Carraday. Yet it only took three notes from both sides and a day and a half of running the messenger ragged before Blays and Carraday had arranged a meet. Apparently, she was eager to ruin someone—either the king, or Blays.

He wasn't too worried about himself, however. He'd been practicing his shadowalking. And confirmed he could do it at will.

It turned out that Carraday had moved into Setteven for the winter, but she didn't want Blays to be seen at her residence any more than he wanted to jump on his own testicles. The rendezvous was arranged to take place at Sorren, a half-ruined amphitheater set in a hill on the southeast side of town. In days of yore, the site had served as a slow-motion battlefield between citizens who used the grounds for extra gardens and the transients who used it as a home. Several years ago, Moddegan had cleaned the place up to prepare it for restoration. The expense of the war had put a stop to that, yet the redshirts still patrolled it often enough to ensure it remained abandoned.

After a minor squabble, Minn accompanied him through the city, then hid herself in the remains of a stone house on the edge of the meadow. Blays crossed the dark field alone. His swords hung from his hips. A small cut dribbled blood on his right arm, waiting to feed the nether. Limestone arches ringed the theater. Some had crumbled, but most of the outer wall was intact, and he spotted three men lurking atop it, doing their best to conceal themselves behind the stonework.

He passed beneath them. Semicircular terraces led to the sunken center that had once served as the stage. Carraday waited there, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"Hello, 'Pendelles,'" she said. "How did you know I wouldn't kill you?"

"You can call me by my real name. Which you know. And that's how you know we're on the same side and thus would have no interest in killing me." He gazed up at the pale walls. "Anyway, if you wanted to do away with me, you'd have invited me to your house. There's no reason to fear being seen with a traitor when you intend to hang him from your rooftop."

"Fair warning: I'd already thought of that, and assumed you would have, too."

"Then I guess I'm just that eager to fuck over the king."

She chortled. "Blays Buckler. He'd pay a fortune for you. Maybe I should turn you in and retire somewhere sunny and carefree."

"I was having similar thoughts the other day," he said. "But I can't deny who I am."

"It's exhausting knowing yourself so well, isn't it?" She shook her head, smiling wryly. "In exchange for what I'm about to tell you, I'd settle for a slice of your luck."

"Just tell me how to extract it."

"I have people at the Pillars. Moddegan runs it the same way he runs his stables. His beasts are taken care of, but the only time they're let out is to be fitted with saddles and reins."

Blays clasped his hands. "Please tell me there's dissent within the ranks."

"These are sorcerers. They command the powers of the gods. Do you think they like being treated like trick ponies?"

"Then why would they help me stop the king from grabbing Cellen? Why not just use it to depose him? Or at least negotiate for more autonomy?"

She waved one hand. "Think, Sir Buckler."

He narrowed his eyes. "Because the fellows at the top have no intention of rocking the boat. If they are made to fail in their task, however, Moddegan will treat them the way you treat any horse that's outlived its use: feed them to the dogs."

"I see you've got more on your side than dumb luck." She sat on an eroded stone bench. "One of those who wants change knows how to achieve it. But they can't be directly involved."

"So you'll happily pass that danger to me. What do you want in return?"

"For you to get it done."

Blays grinned crookedly. "Deal. What do I have to do?"

"Steal a stone."

"Goodness, I can see why you had to call on a man of my talents."

"It's vital to the process of locating the object in question," she said. "Don't ask me how. I doubt my source knows."

"It's guarded, isn't it? Locked up at the top of the Pillars, behind a phalanx of the court's most terrible nethermancers."

"Would that be a problem? Then be glad you're wrong. It hasn't yet been found. They're homing in on it in the Norren Territories right now."

"The Territories?" Blays glanced around and lowered his voice. "Lady Carraday, you're positive of this?"

"You're friends with them, aren't you? Maybe you'll have a chance after all. Your target is a man named Kinnevan. If you don't recognize the name, be glad. Many consider him the most powerful member of the Endless Pillars."

"What else?"

"He won't be alone. I don't think they're traveling at the head of a legion of men, however. Moddegan's afraid of riling up the norren again." She chuckled. "My source says they're scheduled to leave Dollendun this morning. The rest is up to you."

"I might be able to pull this off." He extended his hand. "If I do, you'll understand if I don't come running to tell you about it."

She shook his hand. "The anguished screams of the king will have to serve as my herald."

He jogged up the amphitheater steps. As he left the ruins, he thought he ought to feel some reverence for the landmark, but at that moment, it was just a bunch of old rocks. Interesting? Maybe. But he had a mission.

He collected Minn from the ruined house and led the way back into the city.

"Well?" Minn said. "You look like you just fell in love."

"After what she told me, maybe I have. Listen to this: we're about to desert enemy territory and head to my home turf. We're headed to the Norren Territories."

"That's your home turf? If you're seven feet tall, you hide it well."

"Shave three times a day, too." He stumbled on a root and scowled over his shoulder. "I worked with the norren during the war. Unless I've been thrown out for non-attendance, I'm a member of one of their clans. We'll be hunting a group of sorcerers, and—"

"Sorcerers?"

"—I'll have the whole countryside to call upon for help finding them," Blays finished. "Hey, we know a few tricks ourselves. We'll have surprise on our side, too. Not to mention my unfathomable brilliance."

She watched him from the corner of her eye. "You're in a good mood."

"Glad to be getting out of here."

It was late—it felt like his entire life these days operated during the times a wise person was tucked beneath the covers—but he knew he wouldn't feel safe until they were outside Setteven. He jogged to the stables, glad he was back in a civilized place where a man could pick up his horse whenever he damned pleased, and paid his dues. They mounted up and struck southeast on the road to Dollendun.

"Even been to the Territories?" he asked once they were beyond the city gates.

"Never. My father made it clear they weren't the sort of place good people went."

"Well, try not to be insulted."

"By what?"

"Everything. They're different. Especially the clans."

She nodded without much interest. He didn't bother pressing the point. As a child, she'd lived among the sheltered and wealthy; as an adult, she'd lived among the society of hermits that comprised Pocket Cove. To her,
everyone
was different.

He rode the horses as hard as he dared. He still had plenty of Dennie's money and wasn't shy about spending it on lodging and care for their mounts. Wherever they stopped, he kept an ear open for gossip about Kinnevan and his group, but didn't pursue the matter hard enough to draw suspicion. He already knew the trail led to Dollendun.

Two days and several hours after leaving Setteven, Dollendun blanketed the hills along the river. Blays hurried through the human side and crossed the bridge to the east shore. Towering norren fished from the rocks. Others unloaded barges at the piers. Minn stared openly, but had the sense not to ask questions.

After a bit of hunting, Blays found the unmarked pub. It was mid-morning, but the games of Nulladoon were already in full swing—and Forrd was there to watch. Blays moved beside him. Forrd didn't look up. Blays cleared his throat, then elbowed the man in the ribs.

Forrd turned on him with the momentum of a bull. To prevent the impending head-smashing coming his way, Blays tugged his hood down and winked.

The norren grinned. "Pend—!"

"Shh," Blays said. "Can we go somewhere private?"

"Do you ever not have secrets?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Forrd smirked, detached himself from the Nulladoon table, and brought Blays and Minn into a back room that also had a game board. It was unoccupied, however; Nulladoon was a public event, and Blays doubted whether this room was used for private games more than once a season.

"I'm sorry to impose on you," Blays said once Forrd had latched the door, "but I'm here to save the world. You know how it is."

"Sounds like my finder's fee is going to be enormous," Forrd said. "I'm all ears."

"A few days ago, a human male named Kinnevan passed through here. He would have been with a small group—no more than a dozen."

"If he was human, I doubt he spent much time on the Eastern Bank."

"He might have. He was heading into the Territories."

Forrd rubbed his hand up and down his beard, ruffling it. "I'll ask around."

"Great. Even better if you can find me someone who speaks to Josun Joh." Blays tapped his ear. "Follow?"

The norren blinked. "How do you know about that?"

"Through perfectly legitimate means. I'll tell you about it later. Like at a moment when the fate of the land doesn't hang in the balance."

"I can find you someone who speaks to Josun Joh. But you ought to know better than to think they'll want to talk to you about it."

"Then it's time to put this cursed name of mine to good use. Tell them it's for Blays Buckler of the Broken Herons."

Forrd planted his palm on the wall and laughed for days. "That's
true
? How were you ever allowed to join a clan?"

"Again, a story for a non-disastrous time. Right now, every minute counts."

Blays let him know they'd be at the inn across the street under a fake name. In the common room, Forrd cast a lingering glance at the Nulladoon tables, then hit the streets. Blays and Minn walked into the inn and rented a room on the ground floor.

"I didn't realize they'd be
that
tall," she said. "It's like being a child again."

"It's only frightening when they're mad at you."

He felt like he ought to be running down leads, but he didn't know as many people in Dollendun as he once had, and if Forrd got results as quickly as he seemed to think he could, Blays would be better served staying put where the man could find him. He seized the opportunity to get some of that "sleep" he kept hearing about, sprawling in the oversized norren bed, but was yanked from his nap less than an hour later by a knock on the door.

Forrd walked in with a woman just as tall as he was. The norren's scaled-up features made it tricky to gauge their exact age, but she was on the younger side.

Seeing Blays, she grinned, then forced herself to go sober. "How do I know you're you?"

"If I were Mourn of the Nine Pines," he said, "I might ask how you know
you're
you. Or you could loon Hopp of the Broken Herons and ask him exactly how far I had to swim to join the tribe."

Her grin retook its place. Pleased though she was to meet him, like most norren, she wasn't one to take a person's word at face value, especially any words spoken by a human. Gazing steadily at Blays, she sat on the bed and conducted a series of terse conversations through the bone earring in her left ear. In the end, she described him head to toe to whoever was on the other end of the loon.

She closed the line and looked him in the eye. "You're you. Tell me what you need done."

"Several days ago, a human named Kinnevan entered the Norren Territories via this city. He's traveling with a small group of men. They may be searching for a stone of some kind. I need them found."

"Can you narrow down the area?"

"Nope. Fortunately, I've spent enough time with the clans to know they watch their lands the way a farmer watches after his daughter."

She laughed. "I'll see what I can do."

She sat on the bed and muttered into her loon, repeating Blays' description of the men four different times—presumably to four different clans, which was a good start. There were scores of clans, and historically, they'd been the definition of clannish, squabbling over territory, grievances, and differences of philosophy. But during the Chainbreakers' War, Blays, Dante, Hopp, and Mourn had united them, providing them with loons they could use to keep in contact and coordinate their movements against the many tendrils of the king's invasion. Blays didn't know exactly how well that network had held up in peacetime, but unless it had collapsed completely, word was about to spread far and wide.