“Good.” Taking his reins from the man, the duke hesitated. The stablemaster was nearly as tall as Aindreas, though not nearly so large. Still. .
“You have a cloak?” Aindreas demanded.
The man blinked. “Yes, my lord, I do.”
“Give it here.”
He opened his mouth, closed it again. “It’s but a simple wrap, my lord. It’s hardly worthy-”
“I don’t give a damn what it looks like! Give it here. I’ll return it to you before the night ends.” Better it shouldn’t look like a noble’s cape. Many within the city would recognize him no matter what he wore, at least during the day. Few men in the realm were as large as Aindreas or rode as great a horse. But beyond the city walls, this plain cloak might fool a few and keep word of his late-night ride from spreading through the dukedom.
The man bowed and quickly retrieved his cloak from where it hung on a nail just inside the stable.
“You may keep it, my lord. I’d be honored if you did.”
They were all so afraid of him. Had he used such a heavy hand over the years?
“As I said, I’ll return it before first light. My thanks, stablemaster.”
He threw the cloak over his shoulders and swung himself onto his great black mount. He snapped the reins and the beast started forward. The soldiers at the castle gates called greetings to him as he rode past, but Aindreas offered no response.
Only when he started down the winding lane toward the city did Aindreas remember that the Revel was in Kentigern. Even this late, the city streets would be choked with people, and with the dancers, musicians, and peddlers who traveled with the festival. He almost turned back, thinking to ride through the castle and use the Tarbin gate, which was still being repaired. Instead, he took the quickest route out of Kentigern, keeping his head low as he rode past the guards at the city gate. It seemed that at least one of the men recognized him, but Aindreas didn’t slow his mount. Already, he was thinking of where he might find the woman he sought.
Her name was Jastanne ja Triln. She was a Qirsi merchant and the captain of a ship, the White Erne. Indeed, the one time they met, she told him that she was usually on her vessel. “If you need to find me,” she said that night in his quarters, “just look for the Erne.” She also told him that she expected them to communicate solely through written messages. She wouldn’t be pleased to see him.
If she saw him at all. Riding away from the city walls, Aindreas realized that she could be anywhere in the Forelands, “from Rawsyn Bay to the Bronze Inlet,” as she had put it. The chances of her being in the quays of the Tarbin were so remote that he actually reined his mount to a halt. After a moment, however, he rode on. He had already left Kentigern. It was but a small matter to continue on to the river. If her ship wasn’t there, he would return to the castle. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too late to seek out the duchess after all.
He rode westward for nearly a league and then turned south toward the river. The Tarbin was the boundary between Aneira and Eibithar and had been crossed many times by the armies of Mertesse and Kentigern. But here, west of the cities and their soldiers, the river became a place for trade, not war. Merchants from both realms traded with the sea captains who sailed up the river from the Scabbard, haggling over prices rather than borders, and counting their successes in gold rather than blood. “Kings must have their wars,” it was often said, “and merchants must have their gold.” Nowhere was this more true than on the banks of the Tarbin.
Long before he reached the river, Aindreas could see torches burning brightly on the quays, and as he drew nearer, he heard music and laughter. He couldn’t begin to guess the time, though he thought it must be well past gate closing in Kentigern. But in the port, the night was just beginning.
Qirsi ships tended to dock near the end of the pier, although not by choice. The nearer landings were the more desirable, offering as they did easier access to the roads leading to Kentigern city and the smaller villages that lay nearby. These the rivermaster held for Eandi ships.
Aindreas halted his mount a short distance from the closest of the piers, tying the beast to a tree and covering the remaining ground on foot. The duke lowered his gaze as he walked, keeping the cloak tight about his shoulders and throwing the hood over his head. Had anyone been watching for him, they would have recognized Aindreas instantly. But he was aided by the foolishness of what he was doing. No one would have thought to look for him, and so no one noticed him.
Reaching the first quay, he passed a group of men carrying jugs of ale.
“I’m looking for the White Erne,” he said, not bothering to stop or look at them.
“Go to the end of the third pier,” one of the men answered. “I believe she arrived last night.”
He could scarcely believe his good fortune. Managing a quick thank-you, he hurried on. He turned onto the third quay, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. There were three ships close to the shore-all captained by Eandi, no doubt-and a single ship at the end of the pier. The Erne. No one seemed to take note of him as he walked past the Eandi ships, but before he was halfway to the Erne, three Qirsi men blocked his path.
“What do you want, Eandi?” asked one of them, a lanky, narrowfaced man with white hair that hung loose to his shoulders and bright yellow eyes that glimmered like gold rounds in die torch fire.
“I’m going to that ship there. The White Erne.”
The Qirsi grinned, though the expression in those golden eyes didn’t change. “I had guessed that much. It was either the Erne, or you fancied yourself a fish.” His grin widened. “Or perhaps a whale.”
The other two laughed, low and menacing. Aindreas noticed that they had unsheathed their blades.
“I see you carry a sword, Eandi,” the man said, stepping closer to him. Aindreas had the distinct impression that the man had expected him, that he knew exactly who Aindreas was, and that he wasn’t the least bit frightened of him. “You don’t intend to use it on any of us, do you?”
The duke would have liked to pull the weapon from its scabbard and cleave this impertinent white-hair in two. Instead, he opened his hands, keeping his gaze fixed on the Qirsi.
“Not at all, friend. I merely wish a word with the Erne’s captain.”
“Her captain,” the Qirsi repeated, glancing back at his companions. “She’s a busy woman, and she hasn’t much patience for Eandi whales interrupting her evening meal.”
Aindreas placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, no longer caring what magic this man might possess, or how far word of his visit to the Erne might travel. “And I haven’t much patience for any man who insults me in my realm. Now tell her Aindreas, duke of Kentigern has come to speak with her, or I’ll have your head on a pike before dawn.”
The man didn’t flinch, nor did the duke’s threat wipe the grin from his face. But after a moment he nodded, and turned back toward the ship. The other two remained, blades still in hand.
Aindreas had thought she might keep him waiting, but only a minute or two later, the first man returned and with a quick gesture, beckoned Aindreas to the Qirsi vessel.
It was a larger ship than the duke had expected, with a mainmast nearly twenty fourspans tall and a wide, sturdy hull that appeared hardy enough to weather even the worst storms of the snows and early planting season. There were perhaps a dozen men on the deck and Aindreas had no doubt that the Erne’s crew numbered at least twice that many. All this under a captain whom he remembered looking as frail as a reed and as young as Affery.
The Qirsi men led him onto the ship and down into the hold, which was ample and clean and smelled slightly of pipeweed and brine. As they neared the bow belowdecks, they came to a small oaken door. The Qirsi knocked, and in response to the summons from within, indicated to Aindreas that he should enter.