‘And they’ve been here over two weeks.’ Arlen took a long sip of his wine. ‘Now, I’ve left them alone because they have been the souls of politeness whenever they have come here. They have arranged charter of the Calaian Sun, they have eaten and drunk with my people and said nothing about what they’re doing. Strange then, their alliance with the Black Wings, who are nothing but mindless thugs I have had to expel. I understood the Colleges to be united in their hatred of these people.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Darrick started, unsure he had heard the Earl correctly.
‘And I’m even more surprised a man of your apparent honour and standing being linked with such an alliance. I thought Lystern above such mire,’ continued Arlen.
‘My Lord Earl, I must—’
Arlen raised a hand. ‘This is my drawing room and I will speak until I am done. Now I understand you to have in the region of two hundred cavalry to the north west of my town. Take them home, General Darrick. They aren’t needed here. I will not suffer College forces here any longer. The Black Wings are gone, your dubious allies are going to sail to Ornouth to find this child, and all will be put right.’ He refilled his goblet.
Darrick rose, unable to keep seated. He couldn’t believe what he had heard of the Dordovans.
‘Earl Arlen, please,’ he said, knowing his agitation was showing but not caring. ‘The Black Wings. You are saying they are working with the Dordovans?’
It was such a bizarre question, he could barely credit it coming from his lips. Arlen looked at him for a long moment, confusion chasing itself across his face.
‘You didn’t know?’ He pointed at Darrick. ‘You didn’t know.’
‘No, and I’m afraid I cannot leave your town though I promise no harm will come to your people by the hand of a Lysternan,’ said Darrick. ‘There will be bloodshed and destruction here unless I stop it.’
‘My dear General, you’re being over-emotional. Ask anyone in the town what happened this morning. I snuffed out the situation. The Black Wings have been expelled, sent away with their tails between their legs. There is no one for you to fight.’ He chuckled and shook his head.
Darrick fought to keep his temper. ‘My Lord, there is a ship in your harbour. An elven vessel recently arrived.’
Arlen nodded. ‘The Ocean Elm. Beautiful, isn’t she?’
‘You must give me permission to board her immediately.’
‘Must?’ Arlen raised his eyebrows. ‘General Darrick, I am unused to having such demands made of me in my own drawing room.’
‘Nevertheless, I stand by my request. Do I have your permission?’
‘No, General, you don’t.’ Arlen rose to his feet. ‘And until you can convince me it is a necessity for the security of Arlen, I shall continue to refuse.’
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.