‘Mark?’ Garec hadn’t expected this. ‘You mean all that nonsense about being Rona’s prince, Eldarn’s king?’
‘Exactly,’ Gilmour said, ‘and since so few things we’ve experienced or encountered in the past several Twinmoons appear to be coincidental-’
‘There haven’t been many; I admit.’
‘Then I think you may be the one who can save Mark… or who will save Mark, I suppose, if Mark can be saved.’
‘Me? How?’
‘Again, this is only an old man’s speculation, but I believe your great-great-grandfather would have wanted you there, to follow in his footsteps as the king’s protector.’
‘Hold just a moment, Gilmour.’ Garec held up his hands. ‘Are you saying that you knew my great-great-grandfather?’
‘No,’ Gilmour frowned. ‘I knew your great-great-grandmother. Her name was Etrina Lippman, and she came from Capehill.’
‘Right, right,’ Garec yawned. ‘My mother mentioned her; they used to call her Ettie or Etta or something.’
‘Etrina Lippman of Capehill, Garec. Does that name sound at all familiar to you?’
‘Only if you hearken all the way back to my childhood and those early days on the farm with-’ he stopped himself. ‘Wait… Etrina Lippman. I have heard that name. It was-’
‘In Tenner Wynne’s letter.’ Gilmour pulled the faded parchment from his tunic. It had been wet so many times now that the ink was a blurry smear.
‘Pissing demons.’ Garec exhaled through pursed lips. ‘Not me, too. I don’t want that. I don’t want anything to do with that. That’s all-’
‘Don’t worry. You heard Steven: if he has anything to do with it, Eldarn’s new government will be a democracy, probably a republic, once we get the schools organised and the printing presses up and working and the populace better informed and… oh, rutters, but there’s lots to do, assuming, of course, that we’re all still here in two days.’ He turned to lean on the port rail. The river was a black highway in both directions. Barges, shallow drafting schooners, ketches and catboats plied the waters, their watchlights lit and flickering in the middlenight breeze.
Garec looked out over northern Malakasia. There was a tremor in his voice, in part from the cold, but more from the catastrophic news that he was next in line to rule Falkan. ‘You use those words, demo-thing and repub-whatever. Gilmour, I don’t even know what they mean.’
‘Trust me, Garec, I am not interested in you as a potential monarch of Falkan. I think it would be a profound waste of an otherwise productive and compassionate person. However, I am interested in your great-great-grandfather’s legacy. He was the king’s protector and, like it or not, essentially nothing of what we have encountered, done, seen or accomplished in the past three Twinmoons seems to be by chance.’
‘Some grand plan,’ Garec muttered. ‘It’s a perfect tangle to me. We’ve barely known if we were up or down, ahead or behind. How can you suggest that this is all part of some intricately woven tapestry?’
‘We can’t take the risk. We need you there.’ Gilmour watched the waves lap and splash along the waterline. ‘You’ve always thought of yourself as the Bringer of Death. It was wrong of Sallax and Versen to give you that nickname, because you have a real gift, Garec, you are a real virtuoso with a bow. Like it or not, I believe that’s your grandfather’s legacy.’
‘And a great deal of practising,’ Garec said. ‘Give me some credit. I put in the avens at the yard.’
‘True, but think of your dream, that vision from Lessek on Seer’s Peak.’
‘To be honest, I was hoping you wouldn’t bring that up,’ Garec admitted. ‘It was Rona. I watched Prince Tenner’s attempt to continue the Grayslip family line and then I watched as the Forbidden Forest, the hills around Riverend, dried to dust and died.’
‘Rona’s protector,’ Gilmour whispered, ‘not the Bringer of Death.’
‘I won’t rule,’ Garec insisted. ‘It isn’t in me. I’m no leader; I’m a worker. I’ll do anything, but I won’t rule.’
‘You think I see that as a character flaw?’ Gilmour grinned. ‘It may actually be a sign of great wisdom and self-knowledge that you wish to avoid your birthright. But, given our experiences along this merry trail thus far, I need you with us at Jones Beach. You know Steven; he’ll be looking for any opportunity to save Mark. It will be his weakness and there’s nothing we can do about it, except to convince him that you’ll be watching for a chance too.’
‘Very well, then.’ Garec looked for Kellin; she was still in the bow, wrapped in a cloak and bouncing on her toes to keep warm. ‘I’d better go and talk to her.’
‘Good luck with that.’
‘Thanks,’ he said as he started forward, then paused. ‘Wait, one other thing – Gilmour, how did you know Ettie?’
‘Tenner Wynne never arrived in Capehill. We assume he died the night Riverend burned. That left your great-great-grandmother pregnant and alone, an embarrassing situation for her. She was the daughter of an important import-export merchant from Capehill and rumours about her condition, and how she came to be in that condition, were all over northern Falkan-’
‘Where you happened to be wandering, lost and plenty dishevelled-’
‘After failing to defeat Nerak at Sandcliff, yes.’
‘How’d you meet her?’
‘She was a rich woman with no husband and a burgeoning stomach.’ Gilmour smirked at the memories. ‘But she lost no social standing, suffered no humiliation and never went into hiding. I introduced myself to her and we became friends; I about pissed myself when I read her name in Prince Tenner’s notes. But looking back on it now, it makes sense. She held her head high, knowing her child was special.’
‘Well, that was certainly- how does it go? Naked pastry-chef luck?’
The old sorcerer laughed out loud and hugged Garec. ‘Good night, my boy.’
‘Good night, Gilmour.’
He watched Garec move beyond the foremast, then whispered, ‘I’m proud of you, Garec. I truly am. If I’d ever had a son-’ Gilmour wiped his eyes. ‘Well, that’s just silly, isn’t it?’
EIGHT AVENS
Dawn found the Morning Star running north, with Captain Ford at the helm and clearly in his element. He was deeply relieved to be putting distance between his ship and the Welstar docks. Shouting orders to his weary crewman, he gazed downriver, plotting how to reach the Pellia headlands by the midday aven. The morning was cold and steely; the sun barely rose behind low clouds.
‘Pel!’ he ordered, ‘haul those mains in tighter; I want to squeeze this crosswind while it lasts.’
‘Aye aye, Captain!’
‘Then you and Kellin get some rest. Send Garec and Brexan up to take your place, and Hoyt if he’s feeling up to it.’
‘Sir, don’t you think-?’
‘Pel! Tubbs, Kanthil, Marrin and Sera are on their way to the Northern Forest-’ he smiled sadly as memories crowded his mind, ‘-are you honestly going to take over as the one dough-headed horsecock on this boat who insists on questioning my every order?’
‘Captain?’ Pel snapped to false attention, saluting smartly but comically. ‘Everyone questioned your orders, Captain.’
‘Get out of my sight, Pel,’ he laughed. ‘You too, Kellin. Get some sleep.’
The Falkan woman, clearly not as amused by the sailor’s antics, nodded as she disappeared below.
‘Garec will have his hands full with that one,’ the captain murmured to himself. ‘She doesn’t look happy, nope, not happy at all.’ He hummed a jaunty shanty, at odds with the grey day, and basked in the moment, alone on the deck of his beloved old ship and heading for open water. The Welstar River was still crowded, but no one gave the little brig-sloop with her oversized colours a second glance.
When Pel’s replacements appeared, he motioned Garec into the bow and gestured for Hoyt and Brexan to join him at the helm.
‘Good morning, Captain,’ Hoyt said. ‘Did you sleep?’
‘Not yet, son. I find it’s easier to go with no sleep than to have just a bit.’
‘I hear you on that,’ Hoyt agreed. ‘I feel like I’ve been run over by a laden wagon.’