“The shore near Nessadene.” He took Valyrie’s hand. “It would’ve been dangerous to appear in the middle of the city.”
Brice mounted his horse. “Do you think we’ll find a ship to take us to Azura?”
“Only one way to find out,” Laedron replied, climbing onto his horse. He rode toward the docks, and he heard the gallop of his companions’ horses keeping pace.
Reaching the port, Laedron and his friends hopped down and approached a man who seemed to be taking note of things being loaded off a boat. The man’s well-kept clothes with green and white bars and the griffin symbol indicated that he might be an official of some sort.
Laedron waited, but the man kept scrawling on the page. “Pardon me, sir. Might I have a word?”
The man stopped writing. “Yes?”
“Know of any ships going to Azura anytime soon?”
“This one in a few days, if we can get the cargos switched out. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
“Will they take on passengers?” Marac asked.
The official started writing again, glancing at the boxes being carried away. “You’ll have to ask the captain. Over there, the one with the red coat.” He pointed with feathered end of his quill.
“Thank you.” Laedron walked over to the ship’s captain. Upon approaching, he recognized the embroidery of the man’s coat. An Arcanist. Of course, for no others can navigate the Sea of Pillars. He gestured at his friends when they stopped next to him. “Pardon us, Captain. Would you be willing to take us with you?”
“We’re returning to Azura the day after tomorrow. Is that where you want to go?”
Laedron nodded.
“Then, it shouldn’t be a problem. Do you have coin to pay for the passage?”
“How much?” Laedron squeezed his pockets from the outside, confident, by the size of the bulge, that he had enough money.
“Four sovereigns each should make it worth our time.”
Marac leaned toward Laedron and whispered, “No way. We’ll walk if that’s the case.”
“We have plenty of coin, more than enough.”
“It’s not a matter of how much we have, Lae. Robbery is robbery, no matter how rich the victim.”
Laedron gulped. “’Tis only two days’ travel, Captain. Why so much?”
“Have you ever booked passage for the route before?”
“Yes, actually.”
The captain crossed his arms. “Well, well. How much did you pay that time?”
“We didn’t, actually. The Arcanists brought us here without charging.”
Rubbing his chin, the captain asked, “I think you intend to trick me, young man, for no self-respecting Arcanist would haul cargo-people or otherwise-without some form of payment.”
“I’m not lying, sir. It was by order of the Grand Vicar.”
“The Grand Vicar, no less?” The captain let out a chuckle, then smiled with obvious contempt. “And who, my high lords and lady, might you be that you command the attention of the Grand Vicar and draw favor from him?”
“My name’s Laedron Telpist,” he said, then gestured at each of his companions. “Marac Reven, Brice-”
“Laedron Telpist…” The captain tilted his head and seemed to search the night sky for answers. “Where have I heard that name before? Are you a wanted man? A fugitive from justice?”
“To some, probably so.” He heaved a sigh. “We aided Aldric Jurgen against Andolis Drakkar, the Zyvdredi-”
“That was you?” the captain asked, his eyes wide and jaw slack. “Saved us from the Zyvdredi, did you?”
Laedron didn’t answer, clasping his hands at his waist.
“In that case, four gold is far too high a price. One sovereign each. Four in total.” The captain gestured toward the gangplank. “And we can be underway as soon as my men can finish unloading. We should make the Heraldan coast early in the morning after next. My crew will see about your horses, too.”
“We appreciate your kindness,” Laedron said, handing over the coins before ascending the plank ahead of his friends. While waiting for the crew to bring the horses onboard, he stared into the distance, the spikes with strange writing jutting above the waves as far as the eye could see. He recalled the first time he’d seen them on his journey to Nessadene, a time that seemed so uncertain and unnerving. Glimpsing them again filled him with a longing to see his family and his native Sorbia.
Soon, mother. Soon, sister. He closed his eyes. I count the hours until I may see your faces again.
* * *
Stepping onto the docks of Azura, Laedron held out his arms and stretched. The days aboard ship had instilled a dull ache in his back and muscles. “Glad that’s over.”
“You don’t like boats?” Marac asked, following him down.
“I was referring to Lasoron.”
Valyrie joined them. “Where first, Lae?”
“Jurgen, I suppose. Then, we can visit Piers and Caleb at the chapterhouse.”
“I’ve got a few choice words for Caleb,” Brice said, balling his fist.
Marac put his arm around Brice’s shoulder. “You’re still on about that trapped lock?”
“Still on about it? It hurts! You wouldn’t be mad?”
“Of course I would. It’s just that I’ve never seen this side of you.”
Laedron gestured at the avenue leading into the city. “Shall we?”
They each gave a nod, and Laedron led the way into the streets. The city seemed just as he’d left it, and he figured that little could have changed in the span of a couple of weeks. Still, the people he saw as he rode through the streets toward the Vicariate Palace appeared happier, more lively than they once had been, as if a burden had been lifted from their backs.
The steps in front of the Vicariate Palace still bore the scars of the battle a week or so prior, a fight which had matched Andolis’s sorcerer-assassins against the Heraldan militia, Laedron, and his friends. They tied their horses at the hitching post, and ascending the steps. Laedron stared at the crater, the only thing that remained to show where he and Dalton Greathis had been struck by a Zyvdredi’s spell. Rest in peace, Master Greathis. I hope that our deeds have met with your approval, and I pray that your life was not spent in vain.
He gave his friends a nervous glance before opening the door.
Inside, a steward approached them. “Greetings. Can I help you?”
“We’ve come to see Vicar Jurgen.” Laedron looked at the walls and floors of the entry foyer, noting the change of tapestries, rugs, and paint colors since his last visit.
“Vicar Jurgen?”
Laedron cleared his throat. “Grand Vicar Petrius III.”
“His Holiness is quite busy with the work of the church. Perhaps we could arrange an appointment for you in the future?”
“Our time is short, for we’ll be heading home soon. Could you pass him a message for us?”
“Certainly,” the steward said, taking a quill and a scrap of parchment in hand.
“Tell him, Laedron, Marac, Brice, and Valyrie said to be safe and go with Azura.”
The steward nodded as he wrote, then paused halfway through, his eyes widening at what he’d written. “Did you say… Laedron?”
“And Marac, Brice-”
“Wait here.” The steward rushed down a nearby corridor and disappeared.
When the page returned, he said, “He’ll see you now,” gestured for them to follow, and led them to a private chamber up a flight of stairs. “Your Holiness, I’ve retrieved them as you instructed.”
Laedron beheld the spectacle of the room when he entered. He had never been in the chamber before, and he was stricken with its decadence. He wondered if the picture frames were made of real gold. Surely they are. They’ve spared no other expense. The curtains draped the entire length of the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the fine marble floors had been dressed with exquisite runners and rugs.
Stepping out from behind a wooden divider, Jurgen smiled, his kind face shining bright. “My friends, welcome to the Vicariate Palace, and only by your many efforts does this hallowed place take you in, arms wide open.”