The Eye and the Arm Page 8

  “We are,” Farrell said quickly.

  “That seems out of character for the son of Horgon and Baylec’s prized student.”

  “It’s not for the money.” Miceral glanced at Farrell. “Call it a favor to Wilhelm.”

  “Somehow I didn’t think you needed the money. Care to fill in some details on what you are really up to?”

  “No.” Scowling, Farrell stared at their guest. “Why do you ask?”

  “Easy there, little fellow.” Leothan flinched, sitting back farther in his chair. “No need to get your hackles up. Just a simple question.”

  Farrell locked his eyes on the man, looking for the source of his unease.

  “Any chance you can call your attack dog off?” Leothan looked at Miceral but kept checking Farrell warily. “He looks like he’s trying to stare a hole in me.”

  “Something wrong?” Miceral asked. “You look angry.”

  “Not sure.” He never took his eyes off Leothan. “I know he’s your friend, but something bothers me about him. I just can’t say what.”

  “Are you sure it’s not that he followed us?”

  “That’s probably a lot of it.” He finally turned his head.

  “I’d tread carefully, old friend. He only looks innocent.” Miceral winked at Farrell. “But I’d also like to know what your interest is in our business.”

  “Are you serious?” Leothan looked surprised. “Northhelm disappears, not conquered or destroyed, but disappears as if it never existed. There’s no word on where our people went, but there are rumors that a group of them, mounted on peregrines and unicorns, arrived suddenly to aid Prince Wilhelm when Meglar attacked, then they disappeared just as fast. The few of us who weren’t at Northhelm when it… vanished have had no information on where our people went or even if they’re okay. I think I’m entitled to ask questions, especially from the son of Northhelm’s leader.”

  “What we do has nothing to do with what happened to our people.” Miceral held up a hand. “But I can talk to my father, and he can work with you.”

  “Work with me? What in Neblor does that mean?”

  “It means everyone who enters Haven is tested before they’re admitted.” Farrell eyed the man, waiting for an objection.

  “Tested? Is this a joke?” Leothan turned toward Miceral, who shook his head. “Have our people fallen so low that we no longer trust each other?”

  “Meglar has agents everywhere and among all kingdoms. It’s a small precaution to ensure our safety.”

  “Did you test everyone at Northhelm before you let them enter?”

  “Those at Northhelm when the city was abandoned were approved by Lenore and her priestesses.” Miceral’s discomfort made Farrell want to reach over and hold him. “Leothan, this isn’t personal. Meglar would pay dearly to know where the people of Northhelm fled, for many reasons.”

  “I’m aware of his interest in our kind. You may not have heard, tucked away in your hiding place, but there’s a bounty out for any Muchari who can be captured alive.”

  “Where did you hear that?” The existence of an offer didn’t surprise Farrell; he expected as much from his father. But the fact he’d made it so openly that Muchari knew about it didn’t sound like Meglar.

  “A merc I worked with guarding a merchant convoy had too much to drink and mused about how he wanted to catch a Muchari and cash in on the reward. Evidently Meglar is offering a tidy sum, enough that this man thought he could retire.”

  “Stupid fool,” Miceral said. “Did he have any idea how he’d capture, much less keep in custody, one of our kind?”

  Leothan laughed. “None. But I’ve been careful to limit my skills of late. I’ve heard rumors that some of the faster or stronger mercs have disappeared in the last few months. Doesn’t take a scholar to figure out what’s happening.”

  “Do you know if any actual Muchari have been captured?” Farrell asked, draining the smile from his guest’s lips.

  “Not that I’ve heard, but I’m only in contact with the few who are in and around Belsport.”

  “When Northhelm disappeared, why didn’t you and the others go to Primilian?” Miceral asked.

  “Some did.” Leothan shrugged. “But my family and friends were in Northhelm, and we quickly learned that Northhelm hadn’t evacuated to Primilian. I decided to kick around here, hoping to find out where everyone went.”

  “And now you know.” Miceral smiled.

  Leothan shook his head. “No, I don’t. All I’ve learned is they’re in a place called Haven and that only those who are goddess tested and approved may join them.”

  “Unless you’re hiding something, you’ll be welcome at Haven.” Farrell waited until Leothan looked at him. “What we do is for the safety of your family and friends. There is no intent to keep you away from them.”

  “I understand. It still feels like I’m not trusted, but I understand.”

  “I’m sure you’ll feel differently when you’re reunited with the rest of our people.” Miceral clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Now tell me where you’ve been and what you’ve been up to. It’s been too long.”

  “FOURTH HOUR?” Farrell yawned as they walked along the muddy, rut-filled street. “Why didn’t anyone tell me we had to get up that early?”

  Miceral let out a sigh. “Because everyone knew if we told you, we’d hear you grumble all day before and after. This way, only Peter and I have to listen to you whine.”

  Peter snickered, drawing a glare from Farrell. “Given the number of spells that draw energy from me on a constant basis, I, like most reasonably active wizards, need more sleep than everyone else, even warriors. And, since the more powerful the wizard, the greater the demand on us, there is no one in Haven or Belsport who needs as much sleep as I do.”

  “Did he just remind us that he’s the greatest wizard he knows?” Peter spared Farrell a sideward glance before turning to Miceral.

  “Ignore him. He’s always grumpy in the early-morning hours.”

  Farrell declined to engage them and focused on their surroundings. He’d never been to Glaston before, and from what he could see so far, he hadn’t missed much. The largest of the free cities north of Khron’s Spine, Glaston still had the dirty, gritty feel of a minor city-state.

  For centuries Yar-del, with its superior location and powerful navy, had been the destination for merchants on the eastern side of the continent. The prince of Glaston and the sovereigns of the other free cities of the north didn’t help their cause when they opted to spend more on personal consumption than on creating and maintaining a powerful navy.

  “The city seems so… so dingy.” Peter’s comment drew Farrell’s attention. “Isn’t Glaston the wealthiest of the Northern Free Cities?”

  “It is, but since Yar-del fell, all the northern cities, except Spagrom, have fallen on hard times.” Farrell stopped to watch a gaunt, dirty child approach a well-dressed merchant. When the man raised his ring-covered hand, Farrell exerted the barest hint of power toward the mud. The man’s feet slid forward, dumping him ass-first in the muck. The impact, and another small use of magic, caused the man’s purse to come loose, landing inches from the child.

  Quicker than the wealthy man could react, the boy scooped up the small leather bag and ran off. Attempting to get to his feet, the man suddenly lurched forward, planting his red face into the soggy dirt.

  “Was that necessary?” Miceral shook his head.

  Farrell shrugged. “I hate bullies.”

  “What happened to not drawing attention to ourselves?” Scanning the area around them, Miceral motioned for them to start walking.

  “No one will be able to trace it to me. I used very little power.”

  “Even so, I’d feel better if you didn’t try to right every wrong you see on the way to the ship.”

  Farrell nodded. He didn’t mean to put Miceral on edge. “Sorry, I just reacted.”

  “I know.” He put a hand on Farrell’s shoulder. “And it’s one of the thi
ngs I love about you, but we promised Wilhelm we’d watch out for Peter. That’s got to be first in your mind.”

  “Speaking of putting me first, I’m hungry.” Peter patted his stomach. “Can we stop and get something to eat?”

  Miceral smiled at Farrell and nodded. “Between you and Peter, I’m not sure we’ll have enough food on board. We may need to hire a second ship to carry provisions.”

  “Is he going to be this bad the whole trip?”

  Farrell put his arm around Peter’s shoulder. “Sadly, it’ll probably get worse.”

  THE THREE munched on bread baked with cheese and meat as they walked toward the warehouse district. With the salty air, the sound of the waves, and the call of seagulls, if Farrell closed his eyes he could almost imagine himself back in Yar-del. As a boy he’d begged his master to take him back so he could run into the water and splash around. Who cared if he slept in the servants’ quarters in a tiny room on a pallet? Most days those memories drowned out the ache of the loss of Kel’s gleaming city.

  But today images of his youth fueled his excitement. With Kel’s help, he would reclaim what they’d lost, and he could take Miceral to the spots he had staked out as his own. Kel. Everything depended on finding the great Kel. And today, with the smell of the ocean in his nostrils, they’d begin the journey to find him.

  “Kelvin!” Miceral’s angry voice forced him away from his thoughts. Only now did he realize they’d been calling his “name.”

  Farrell could see the reproach in Miceral’s eyes. He should have been keeping an eye on their surroundings, not dreaming of what only might happen. “Sorry. My mind was elsewhere.”

  “I knew that.” Miceral’s tone didn’t soften with Farrell’s apology. “Try to remember that even if we aren’t mercenaries, we really are supposed to guard Peter.”

  “You couldn’t have said that privately? It had to be out loud?” Farrell’s face flushed and his ears grew warm. He deserved the reprimand, but he still didn’t like it.

  “Sorry. But I can’t baby you.” Miceral’s tone said more than his words. “You may not be in danger, but Peter is our responsibility. We promised Wilhelm.”

  “Fine.” Farrell tried not to let the rebuke bother him, but it still ruined his mood. Maybe they should have left Peter in Belsport and found a different way to get to Dumbarten. He had no doubts that he’d slip up again. And as much as it embarrassed him, Miceral was right. He did need to make sure Peter didn’t come to any harm.

  Mercenaries seemed to outnumber merchants, vendors, and buyers. Every ship had its share of determined-looking men, casting their gaze at the press of people moving past their ships.

  “The docks at Belsport don’t have this many mercs standing guard.” Peter mimicked Miceral and kept his hand resting on his sword.

  “With Yar-del gone, the pirate problem has exploded, making life more difficult for honest merchants.” This close to his ancestral home, Farrell felt the bite of his loss anew.

  “Your father leveraged our skills to create a bidding war among the merchant vessels he contacted.” Miceral chuckled even as he rolled his eyes. “From what Darius told us, the captain of the Seafoam Rose invited us to travel with his ship free of charge.”

  “That sounds like my father.” Peter’s eyes darted from ship to stall and back. “Leave it to him to find guards he didn’t have to pay and use them to get out of paying for my passage, as well.”

  Farrell looked at Miceral and couldn’t stifle a laugh.

  “That shady town square merchant.” Miceral seemed to grip his sword tighter. “He stole our weapons when our heads were turned.”

  “Not really.” Farrell gave his partner a wink. “Since we don’t actually work for him, he can’t sell our services. Since he hired us out, he acted as our agent, and he owes us a fee. When he sees what we charge, he’ll wish he’d just paid for our passage instead of trying to strike a bargain.”

  “You can’t do that.” Peter’s protest caught them by surprise, but they quickly recovered and began laughing.

  “Spoken like a true son of Belsport.” Miceral put his arm around Peter. “And yes, we can.”

  WHEN THEY arrived at the ship, Farrell noticed a middle-aged man giving orders to a group of sailors. The man ran his hand over his leathery skin and pushed back a strand of graying hair. When the officer spotted the trio, his face broke into a grin and he beckoned them over.

  “Greeting, Your Highness,” he said when they were closer. His attempt at a formal bow came off comical. “I’m Captain Nathan of the Seafoam Rose. It’s an honor to have you on board.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” Peter gave the man the barest of nods. “I’m pleased to be aboard so fine a vessel.”

  “I can see Your Highness has an astute eye. The Rose is the finest ship in Glaston.” This came from a large, muscular man dressed as an officer.

  “Prince Peter.” The captain politely motioned toward the newcomer. “May I present Mr. Emerson, the first officer of the Seafoam Rose.”

  “An honor to meet you, Your Highness.” Farrell noted Mr. Emerson did a much better job of bowing to the prince. “If I can make your voyage any easier, please let me know.”

  “Captain,” Miceral interrupted, his eyes darting around, surveying the wharf. “Permission to take the prince aboard and see to his accommodations.”

  “Permission granted.” He pointed toward the deck. “Ask any sailor to show you to the prince’s quarters. As Prince Wilhelm instructed, you two will be staying in the anteroom to the prince’s room. A might cramped, but ain’t that everything on a ship?”

  Farrell smiled. It had been years since he’d last been on a vessel like the Rose. The accommodations notwithstanding, he looked forward to the trip. “Sounds about right, Captain.”

  Chapter 8

  WELL-BUILT AND sleek—at least for a merchant vessel—the Seafoam Rose raced across the water despite a full hold. Driven by a strong eastern breeze, the vessel left a small wake in its path. Before they’d set sail, Farrell probed the spells used to prevent leaks and rot. What he found impressed him. The ship’s owner must have spent a fair number of coins to pay for the amount of magic used to preserve this ship. Despite that, Farrell had found a couple of spells that needed to be repaired, and he took care of them without telling the captain.

  Under the clear, sunny sky, Farrell sat cross-legged, hovering above the quarterdeck, Kel’s open book in his lap. It still amazed him how a centuries-old book could reach out and connect him to a man—nay, a legend—he’d never met. But reading the long, flowing script, he could almost see his distant ancestor feeling terribly clever at spots and grinning at others.

  Having sat for the better part of the morning, Farrell closed the book and sent it back to their quarters. Lowering his legs, he took a moment to stretch and breathe in deeply. He’d always enjoyed the times he went to sea with one of his mother’s ships. Aside from being free of Heminaltose and his mother’s watchful eye, occasionally one of the junior officers had proved good company.

  Recalling that aspect of his prior trips made him feel a bit guilty, with his life partner mere feet away. He grabbed the stiff leather jerkin he now had to wear at all times and shifted it to make it more comfortable. It still amazed him how people could wear armor all day and not complain.

  “Can you come spar with Peter? It will be a lot easier for me to train him if I can step back and watch.” Miceral’s voice in his mind broke his concentration.

  “Sure.” He didn’t have anything better to do. “Give me a minute to get ready.”

  Peter’s lesson continued for almost an hour. By the time Miceral called an end to their training, Peter and Farrell were sweaty messes.

  “You’ve made a big improvement in just three days.” Farrell looked to Miceral, who nodded.

  “He’s right. You’ll be the best swordsman in Belsport before I send you home.”

  “Go ahead and wash up first.” Farrell gave Miceral back the practice weapon and retr
ieved his sword and staff. “I’ll fill the tub with clean, warm water.”

  Peter grinned at him. “Did I ever mention that you’re the best servant I’ve ever had?”

  “Did I mention I could turn the water to ice while you’re sitting in the tub?” He conjured a snowball and tossed it the air.

  “Go.” Miceral nodded toward the stairs before swatting Farrell’s snowball out to sea. “I’ll make sure he behaves.”

  AFTER LUNCH Farrell went in search of a quieter place to sit than the quarterdeck. He traveled from bow to stern before he settled on the small empty space before the bowsprit. When the spray hit his face, he knew couldn’t read there, but as a place to sit and think, it was perfect. Sitting cross-legged, he peered at the unbroken expanse of sea before him. The stiff breeze that propelled them made it impossible for him to see much besides the water.

  Tentatively he pushed his consciousness under the waves. The vast array of life that dwelled just below the awareness of humans amazed and fascinated him. Under scrutiny of his wizard’s inner sight, the water teamed with life. Ambient energy swirled in a dazzling display of mostly blue and green hues. Tiny organisms, too small for the naked eye, saturated the water. As they moved about, they created a shimmering effect in the energy. Something unseen in the pools of power found on land.

  Farrell lost himself in the beauty of the menagerie visible only in the deep waters far offshore. Gently he probed the water in search of new creatures. His mind brushed against a myriad of life, most of which lacked the requisite consciousness to be aware of their own existence, let alone the mind probing them.

  As he prepared to end his search, he felt the barest touch of a mind push against his. Curiosity and bewilderment exuded from the counterprobe, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. Farrell extended his search, delving deeper into the water in a vain attempt to reestablish the link.