Richard Byers - The Reaver

Nobanion’s golden eyes scrutinized them for another breath or two. Then he turned and padded back the way they’d come.

Anton blinked, or felt as if he might have, and in that instant, the huge lion disappeared. With his departure, even the trail back into the depths of Gulthandor looked suddenly indistinct and overgrown, like it was disappearing now that he didn’t need it anymore.

Fortunately, the trail to the east remained as clearly defined and passable as before. And when the travelers glimpsed the brown ramparts of the Orsraun Mountains to the south, and later came upon a circle of the warty-looking mushrooms called spit-thrice, it was evident, to Anton at least, that Nobanion had kept his promise to see the human travelers safety to the limits of his domain.

That night, the pirate lay waiting while the campfires burned down and his companions snored and shifted under whatever coverings they’d contrived to keep off the rain. A sentry was also awake, but he wasn’t looking in Anton’s direction. When the moment felt right, the Turmishan rose silently, buckled on his saber and cutlass, and picked up the rest of his gear.

As he tucked his crossbow, quiver, bundles, and wadded blanket under his arms, his gaze fell on Stedd. The boy lay mostly concealed under a blanket, but his golden hair stuck out and gleamed even in the waning firelight.

Something clenched in Anton’s neck and chest. He didn’t know precisely what he was feeling, but that was all right because he didn’t want to know. Scowling, he tried to will it away and feel nothing.

The sentry was looking away to the north, perhaps wistfully, considering that was where the sea was. Anton crept west, back up the section of trail the travelers had traversed before the light failed.

He soon reached a stand of beeches. Once he passed through, he’d be out of sight of the camp and vice versa. He felt a momentary urge to take a last look back and made himself quicken his stride instead.

When he reached the other side, he set down the articles he was carrying and started to roll his blanket. Then a voice asked, “Why?”

He dropped the blanket, pivoted away from the sound, and snatched for the hilts of his swords. He had them halfway drawn when he realized the disembodied voice was female and, in fact, familiar.

Umara wavered from invisible to visible, semitransparent and blurry for a moment, then locking into opacity and focus. The darkness hid the complex layered textures of her mage’s garb and turned the red cloth black, but it didn’t conceal her frown.

He took a breath. “I would have thought it beneath the dignity of a Red Wizard to play pranks.”

“If I gave you a fright,” Umara answered, “that’s the least you deserve.”

“Did you follow me out of camp?”

She shook her head. “I was waiting for you here. The moment you promised Nobanion you’d stay with Stedd, I knew you were lying.”

He frowned. “Truly? I consider myself a pretty fair liar. What gave me away?”

“I don’t know, exactly, and it doesn’t matter. I want to know what you think you’re doing.”

“Surely, that’s obvious.” He smiled. “And don’t ask how dare I lie to the great lion king’s face and flout his will. Since this madness started, I’ve acted against the interests of Lathander, Amaunator, Umberlee, and Malar and lived to tell the tale. I don’t feel all that inclined to cower in awe of a magical animal, no matter how impressive.”

“I can understand that.” Despite the rain, Umara pushed her cowl back. Anton had the feeling it was so he could see her fair-complexioned, fine-boned face more clearly. “Nobanion inspired considerable … respect in me, but he’s not the sort of entity that ever allied itself with my order or my country. He’s more like one of the animal spirits the witches of Rashemen send against us. So I don’t feel inclined to grovel before him, either.”

“Yet you mean to do what he told you to.”

“I’m doing what I decided back aboard the galley. And with Kymas dead by your hand and mine, I don’t have much choice but to see it through.”

Anton sighed. “That’s unfortunate. But I do see a choice.”

“To walk back into Gulthandor alone? Even if you make it out the other side, what lies beyond? Westgate? Teziir? A boat back to Pirate Isle? There’s only death awaiting you in any of those places.”

“My ill-wishers will have to catch me first.”

“But what’s the point ?”

“The point is that I’ve had my little flirtation with high and sacred matters. Now it’s time to go back to being the man I truly am.”

Umara hesitated then said, “Since I listened to Stedd, I’m a stranger to myself, too. It’s not so much murdering my superior. With luck, that’s the kind of thing for which a Red Wizard can be forgiven, and Kymas … gave me reason to want to dispose of him. But I’m disobeying Szass Tam- Szass Tam! -and gambling that somehow, it will come out all right. That’s pure insanity, and it was comforting that I at least had another mad soul to keep me company as I went racing toward my doom.”

The tightness in Anton’s neck and chest was back. He covered the discomfort with a smirk. “You know just how to make prolonging our partnership sound appealing.”

Umara drew herself up straight. “I’m a Red Wizard. You’re an outlander and a pirate. Yet I just indicated I consider you a friend. Don’t expect me to plead .”

“I don’t. But truly, you can’t be shocked I’m leaving. I said early on that I would when the time was right. And later, when the matter came up again, I had the lion king of Gulthandor himself urging me to change my mind, with you, Stedd, and all the mariners looking on. Who wouldn’t have said yes, whatever was truly in his mind?”

She sneered. “Coward.”

“I prefer to see myself as tactful.”

“ Why won’t you go back to Turmish?”

“People hate me there.”

“People hate you everywhere.”

“Once again, I’ll observe that you truly do know how to persuade a fellow.”

“Answer the question, curse you! After what we’ve gone through together, you owe me that.”

Anton sighed. “Just … if Stedd needs the good will of the folk of Sapra, I’m the last man who should be standing at his side. Can we leave it at that?”

“No!”

Anton drew breath to tell her she’d have to. For after all, he’d never talked about what had happened in Sapra with anyone.

Yet it was no secret, at least not in the more populous parts of Turmish, and maybe he did owe Umara something. Or perhaps her badgering had simply worn him down.

“All right,” he growled. “Turmish is a republic. It doesn’t have kings or princes like many another land. But it has wealthy merchants who pretty much run the place under the watchful eyes of the druids, and my father, Diero Marivaldi, was one such.” He smiled fleetingly. “So you see, snooty lady, in my fashion, I’m highborn, too.”

“I’m not ‘snooty.’ I simply see no reason to behave as if I’m less than what I am.”

“If you say so. Anyway, my ancestors and relatives weren’t only merchants. Some would say we weren’t even traders first and foremost. It was our tradition that every young Marivaldi serve in the Turmishan navy. Some fulfilled their obligations and moved on to command the family’s commercial ventures. Others, finding a life of duty satisfying, remained with the fleet until old age beached them.”

Umara nodded. “I’ll hazard you expected to be one of the latter.”

Anton blinked. “Considering all I’ve done to steal other people’s wealth in recent years, I’m surprised you’d say that. But you’re right. When I was small, tales of my heroic ancestors battling despicable pirates and sea serpents thrilled me, and any suggestion that I learn to pore over ledgers in a counting house or dicker over bushels of Aglarondan grain moved me to truancy and general rebellion.”