Darrick snapped, leaning across the table, his bulk throwing a shadow across the Earl. 'You want evidence of the need for security, then wait and it will come to you. But Erienne Malanvai, mother of the child who is causing all this destruction, is on that ship and she must be made safe. The only way to do that is to let me on board and have that vessel moved offshore immediately.'
'Step away, General, or I'll have my men take you to the cells I've let you borrow to keep friends of mine under lock and key. You seem so scared of them and perhaps I now know why. Want them
kept from Erienne, do you? And what else are you scared of, the Black Wings? You really think they can get to her through me?'
But Darrick did not step away. Instead he grabbed the Earl by the collars of his expensive silk shirt, ripping it even as he dragged the man halfway across the table. 'The Raven are in jail because I fear for their lives, as I fear for yours,' he said, his voice rising in volume. 'And not from the Black Wings, damn you. Though they are far more dangerous than you seem to realise. You haven't been keeping up with the news from the east.' He shoved the Earl back and the older man grabbed for his chair and sat heavily, his face pale. Darrick found his hands were shaking and it wasn't just with anger. 'Xetesk is coming and unless that ship is gone, the Protectors will rip this town apart to get it.'
Chapter 20
Donetsk stumbled from the Bow Sprit ale-house in the Salt Quarter and began his meandering walk home. It had been a good night, the atmosphere in the Bow unusually light, with people still talking about the Earl's ejection of the Black Wings that morning.
He hated that scum and had followed their sorry procession all the way out of Arlen, before returning to the docks to complete a day's work that dragged on until at last he could get to the Bow for the first of many celebratory drinks.
Now, with midnight approaching, he had been ushered out as the doors closed, pausing only to hug the innkeeper who'd extended his credit another night. In the morning he'd remember the sympathy in his eyes and be irritated as always. For now, though, he needed a walk to help clear his head and bring the memories back to him.
The bad weather was coming back. He could feel a bite in the wind; beyond the mountains to the north, thunder rumbled and out to the south, way down the Arl, lightning flared across the horizon. But for now, the wind was fresh rather than chill and Donetsk decided to walk along the dockside, maybe take in the Ocean Elm at rest before going home to lie alone as he had done every night for the last twelve years. He had heard the whispers in the town, the muttering that magic was bringing the trouble, but he paid it little heed. If that was the case, the Colleges would see them safe. They would know what to do.
With his footsteps echoing off the warehouse walls in the quiet of the night, he took in the stark shapes of cranes, heard the gentle creak of timber on the water and smiled his brief smile.
He had been so proud. He had married a mage who wanted little more than to settle in Arlen, have children and operate her wonderful cleansing and healing charms on those that needed them. Their
daughter was blessed too and when she was ten, he had cried tears of joy as they stepped into a covered wagon for the journey to Julatsa.
They didn't ever arrive. Robbers, the coachman had said but the truth had come to Donetsk later. Black Wings. Witch Hunters working against the survival of the next mage generation.
His smile disappeared as the depression rolled over him, as it always did in the dead of night and always would. No matter how much he worked or drank to forget, there would be a moment every day when it got to him.
Donetsk put a hand to his face and prayed to the sky that the Gods would care for their souls. There was nothing for him now. Not even revenge. He had once craved it but now it seemed unimportant because it would make him feel worse, just bring the pain closer. And the Gods knew that was the last thing he needed.
He stopped and leaned against an old mooring-post, strong but splintering. His heart was racing and for a moment he found it hard to catch his breath. He looked to the ground until it stopped swaying before him, breathed deeply and cursed his muddled, drunken mind that tossed the memories through him like bodies twisting on a flaming pyre. Slowly, he blinked back the tears, swallowed the sudden grief and stared ahead. The Elm was not far and, beyond it past the fish market, his home and bed. Empty but welcoming for all that.
Walking on, he opened his eyes wide and blew out his cheeks, letting the wind blow into his face. He yawned, looking forward to lying down until the dawn birds brought his aching head to reluctant wakefulness. Picking up his pace, he strode past the Ocean Elm, smiling and waving at the guard patrolling the deck. The elf signalled back. Donetsk couldn't tell whether he smiled too but the acknowledgement was enough. He liked elves, most of them. They had magic about them. He could feel it.
He yawned again, tasting the strong smell of fish in his mouth. Strong but secure somehow. He was nearly home. Donetsk walked around the corner of the market, out of sight of the dock and that was when he saw them, issuing from the night, all on foot, their steps slow and quiet, swords or daggers in their hands, metal flashing dully as it caught the remnants of moonlight. He looked hard, still approaching, confusion muddling his head. There were ten, a
dozen, then twenty. First reaction was that they were town guard but a heartbeat later it was clear they were not.
Donetsk kept moving though he knew in the back of his mind it was a foolish act. He did it because they had not seen him but kept their eyes on a far larger prize. The Ocean Elm.
Black Wings. Black Wings walking the dockside when surely they had been expelled. Anger gripped him. An unquenchable force stemming from his longing for his long-dead family and a grievous insult to Arlen, the Earl and the town.
'Hey!' He started running, heedless of risk. He was Donetsk and the people of Arlen looked out for him.
Men looked up, stopped their movement. One in front spread his arms and they all straightened, falling completely quiet. He was cloaked and hooded, his gesture calming the rest and he made no move as Donetsk came forward.
'Get out!' he shouted, flailing his arms towards the road north. 'Get out!' He was breathless, running hard. 'Guard!' He looked around as he came but the street was empty but for him and them. His heart missed a beat. Too late to retreat now. He stumbled to a stop in front of them.
'You're not welcome here. You're expelled. Leave.'
'Come, come,' drawled the hooded man. 'You're a litde the worse for drink and don't know what you're saying. We're friends to everyone but those who deny the truth. Let some of my men escort you quietly home.'
Donetsk shook his head. 'No. You shouldn't be here.' He heaved in a breath and turned his head towards the castle. 'Gu-'
Pain, hot and intense, flared in his chest. He snapped his head back and the hooded man was so close he could feel his breath. The man put a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him closer. The pain spiralled. Donetsk grunted, feeling his strength flooding away.
'You cannot stand in the way of the righteous,' whispered the hooded man in his ear. 'You cannot be allowed to stand between us and the evil. Rest your soul now.'
Donetsk could feel his mouth moving though it felt numb and clumsy.
The man stepped back, withdrawing the long dagger. Donetsk
slumped to his knees, absurdly aware of how dark his blood looked as it slicked the cobbles. He frowned then, as the darkness closed in, disappointed he hadn't made them understand what they'd taken from his life.