‘What’s to be done, then?’ Dakar appealed, wracked by his galling frustration. ‘Shipsport’s dungeon can’t keep us protected.’ He need not press his point: once the brutal news of the Alliance’s losses travelled the eastshore trade routes, Fionn Areth’s unnatural resemblance to Arithon would turn into a red-hot liability. ‘We’ve missed our planned rendezvous. Evenstar’s already weighed anchor and sailed on her scheduled run south.’
Luhaine subsided to stilled cogitation, as much to measure the rigid distress behind Fionn Areth’s stark quiet. ‘You’ll have to change plans. A sea berth’s unwise.’
Fresh off the docks, even the back-country goatherd was forced to the same grim assessment. Every ship bearing flags of town registry flew the gold sunwheel of the Alliance. Aboard such a vessel, amid Arithon’s pledged enemies, the young double could all too easily find himself hung from the mainmast yard-arm. Yet lacking the natural defence of salt water, a spellbinder’s skills risked being outmatched by the quartz-driven snares unleashed by the Koriani Order. Until the pair reached warded walls at Alestron, Fionn Areth’s contested freedom was bound to remain under constant siege.
Begrudging the ice-water freezing his bollocks, and ambivalent toward the powers of sorcery, the beleaguered herder buried his fears behind his uncivil suspicion. ‘You’d rather we came to grief on the road?’
Luhaine had the grace not to rise to offence, though the chill in his silence rippled the brine, and the Mad Prophet hissed through his teeth.
‘I don’t like rats, either,’ Fionn Areth lashed back, tired of being a bone in the jaws of a deadlocked political conflict.
The stillness stretched, filled by the slosh of the tide. The Sorcerer’s presence stayed, a poised force welded into obsidian air. The truth kept its cruel edges: Arithon Teir’s’Ffalenn would never have been forced into flight through Daon Ramon, if not for Fionn Areth’s obstinate wish to align with Lysaer’s Alliance. The Light’s war host would have had no hazed fugitive to chase and no fresh round of slaughter to lay at the feet of the man they called Spinner of Darkness.
Justly reviled by the uncanny weight of the Fellowship Sorcerer’s displeasure, the Araethurian flushed with embarrassment. No use to lie, or to pretend his deliverance by Arithon’s hand had not torn his youthful ideals to raw wounds and conflicted loyalty.
Thrown out of his depth, Fionn Areth clung yet to his obdurate, grass-lands honesty. He dared not rely on the spellbinder’s word or place trust in the doings of Sorcerers. The s’Ffalenn prince himself had yet to account for the criminal charges against him. Until guilt or innocence could be resolved, Luhaine must respect the unquiet fact: that the straightforward cut of country-bred cloth could not reconcile a stance that had plotted a cold-blooded massacre.
Though he drowned, gnawed by vermin, Fionn Areth would as soon run his steel through Prince Arithon’s heart. While he lived and breathed, he would not embrace the dread choice of abetting dark magecraft.
‘Boy you grant me no opening to respond,’ Luhaine pronounced at due length. ‘Your grounds for safe conduct must still rely on the oath Dakar swore to appease his Grace of Rathain. Remain in the spellbinder’s company, and the shield of crown justice will provide you with shelter. Leave, and all ties become forfeit.’
‘I can’t stand down the Koriani Prime Matriarch alone,’ Dakar appealed in trepidation. ‘My defence wards won’t hold. The instant the tide ebbs, we’ll be stripped and hung by our heels like a brace of skinned rabbits.’
Luhaine’s leashed presence revolved, unperturbed. ‘Then you’ll have no choice but to show their trained scryers precisely what they expect.’
‘Cast me off in surrender?’ Fionn Areth cried, shocked. ‘Your crown prince risked death, first!’ Despite his ambivalence, the meddling Koriathain had wrought the bane that unravelled his destiny in the first place.
‘Fionn, be quiet! You won’t be betrayed.’ Too short and fat for his tether of chain, Dakar wrestled the pain of wracked joints, and pursued harried converse with Luhaine. ‘Yes, my fit of erratic behaviour disrupted their spelled sweep of the Kittiwake’s tap-room. But now we owe fines. We can’t lose their probes by seeding a wild rash of bar brawls. What do you actually suggest?’
‘Give them the whoring wastrel.’ Luhaine’s pause carried a poison simplicity. ‘Would any celibate circle of women, rigidly scrutinized by their seniormost peers, play the role of voyeur to keep pace with unsavoury company?’
‘Sithaer’s coupling fiends!’ Dakar gasped, half-strangled. ‘Oh, please, let them try!’ The order’s initiates were female, after all, with most of them blushing virgins. The calm state their scryers required for trance could scarcely withstand the raw onslaught of vice, with its bestial range of sensation. The spellbinder whooped, his eyes leaking tears. ‘You know, I could wreck those prim ladies through drink!’
Quartz crystal would magnify his drunken stupor. Even an experienced circle must falter, hazed out of focus as their snooping seeresses threaded their watch sigils through him.
‘Give them debauchery,’ Luhaine agreed. ‘Who would waste breath to comment? For you, rank indulgence is not out of character. The distortions such excess will spin through your aura can be made to mask my wrought binding to shield Fionn Areth.’
‘Well, you’d better not fail me,’ the Mad Prophet said, tart. ‘Wasting hangovers hurt, not to mention, my access to conjury is going to get pissed straight to shambles.’ Undone that way, he would be incapable of even the small cantrips to cure his myopic eyesight.
Luhaine stayed unmoved. ‘The stakes could go far worse for your charge, if Prime Selidie learns that you’ve balked her will by asking for Fellowship backing.’
‘I’ll bang myself witless,’ Dakar said point-blank. Before Fionn drew breath, he doused the inevitable protest. ‘The witches had you swear an oath of permission over the Skyron aquamarine. That tie has kept you in peril since the moment Prince Arithon snatched you from Jaelot. The Koriani hold on your life might turn out to be revocable. If so, you’ll need the trained help of an embodied Fellowship Sorcerer. Or else find your way to a Brotherhood hostel, and risk the chance you can beg Ath’s adepts to call down a divine intercession.’
‘If indeed, they would extend such relief,’ Luhaine temporized, ‘and provided you arrived with your freedom intact to ask for the grace of their sanctuary’ The nearest such haven lay too far removed from Dakar’s planned route to Alestron. ‘Very few supplicants who petition receive the fruits of exalted, wise counsel.’ The Sorcerer gave that faint hope his crisp closure. ‘You can’t sustain such a pilgrimage, herder. None pass the threshold to enjoin the high mysteries who walk with an unsettled heart.’
‘Should I argue mixed feelings?’ Fionn Areth attacked. ‘By Alliance tenets which might pose the truth, your Fellowship’s practice is tainted. The Light’s doctrine also holds that Ath’s Brotherhood is corrupt, suborned by the powers of Darkness.’
Luhaine’s presence recoiled.
‘Forgive backlands ignorance!’ the Mad Prophet cried. ‘Leave Rathain’s crown prince his preferred right to answer this.’
Yet Fionn Areth lashed out, goaded on to brash fury. ‘I don’t need—’
‘Shut up, you dolt! The bright powers of Athera are not Lysaer’s enemies, no matter who taught you to fear them.’ Dakar leaned forward, jerked breathless as his manacled wrists wrenched him short. ‘Luhaine, for pity! Respect the constraints of my bond to Prince Arithon.’ The spellbinder’s appeal gained a frantic, shrill edge, as the hair on his skin stabbed erect. ‘You know the young fool has a vicious tongue, and no semblance of manners when he’s been terrified.’
‘An apology would be civil,’ the Sorcerer snapped, vexed. ‘If the cant of Avenor’s