Maggie Furey - Sword of Flames

To Vannor’s mind, his friend’s brightly casual tones rang false. The merchant’s heart sank. He knew that, if there had been any good news, Parric would have told him immediately, instead of trying to avoid the subject. Though he quailed inside at what he might hear, Vannor could bear the suspense no longer. “Parric—what about Sara?” he asked directly. “Do you have any word of my wife?”

The cavalrymaster swore softly. “Yes,” he replied with equal bluntness. “And I’m not going to tell you she’s dead, Vannor, so you can set your mind at rest. Nonetheless, old friend, it’s news you should hear sitting down. Go on: sit!” he added in a growl.

Numbly, Vannor let himself sink into a carved wooden chair.

Parric stood fidgeting in front of the fire, his wet clothes steaming gently in the heat. “She never was any good for you, you know,” he began awkwardly.

The merchant half rose from his seat, hot words of anger on his lips—but Parric’s next words froze him into stone. “She’s gone, Vannor. Left you for good. Aurian and Anvar say she deserted them in the far southlands—to marry a king.”

Vannor sank limply back into the chair, his thoughts an inchoate whirl of denial, bitterness, and rage. After a moment he became aware that Parric, his weather-beaten face creased with concern, was trying to push a cup into his hand. The merchant grasped it almost tightly enough to crack the glaze, and downed the strong distillate in a single gulp.

Parric, at his elbow, instantly refilled the cup. This time, Vannor sipped more slowly, and after a moment, he found himself beginning to laugh. “So a mere merchant wasn’t enough to satisfy her ambitions. Well, I always knew, in my heart, that she never wed me for my good looks and charm. Zanna, bless her, tried to warn me,” he added bitterly. “But there’s no fool like an old fool they say—and a rich old fool is twenty times worse.”

Vannor rubbed a hand across his eyes, dismissing their watering as the effect of the strong spirits. Doubtless, it must also be due to the drink that he suddenly felt light-headed, as though a massive burden had been lifted away from his shoulders. Surely, there could be no other reason! Taking a deep breath, he held out the cup again. “One more, Parric, if you please,” he said wryly. “As far as wealth and good fortune are concerned, it looks like the little bitch has outdone the lot of us. Had she been a man, you know, the two of us would have admired—or at least respected—such ruthless and single-minded ambition. Let’s drink a toast to her, to speed her on her way.”

The cavalrymaster scowled. “I’m all for speeding her on her way,” he muttered, “but personally, I’d rather drink to her never coming back.”

Though Zanna grieved for her father, plain common sense told her that Sara’s betrayal was for the best. She would do everything in her power to help him get over it—and she wouldn’t be the only one! As she slipped quietly away from Parric’s door, she couldn’t suppress a mischievous chuckle. What would Dulsina make of this when she heard? Oh, I wish I could be the one to tell her, Zanna thought. For herself, she was so relieved that she wanted to sing and dance. It had been a daily torment to look on in silence, while that ruthless little guttersnipe made a fool of her dad. “May the gods help that King, whoever he is, if someday she meets an Emperor!” Zanna muttered. But Parric was right. Who cared what Sara did—so long as she did it well away from here?

The sound of voices raised in argument brought her abruptly out of her thoughts. Zanna looked up, to find that she was passing the open door of Yanis’s chambers.

“Well, of course we must help the Lady Aurian!” The voice belonged to the Nightrunner leader. “Surely after seeing what the Magefolk did to Vannor, you must want to help in their overthrow. And you folk who have stayed here, safe and protected in this stronghold, don’t know the half of what’s going on in the city and the lands around. Why, surely—”

“You’re right. I don’t know—and I don’t want to. The less we’re involved in this business, the better it’ll be for all of us.”

Zanna recognized the grating, whining voice as that of the old smuggler captain Idris.

“As you said, Yanis,” the captain went on, “the Nightrunners are protected here—this is our stronghold. As long as we stay hidden, we’re safe—but already our caverns are swarming with the lowest dregs of humanity from Nexis, and thanks to Vannor, there are half a hundred folk up in the Lady’s Vale who know our secrets. What do you think would have happened if the merchant’s little lass hadn’t managed to get him out of the Academy when she did? We’d have had the accursed Archmage down on us by now—that’s what. And now that little turd Parric has betrayed our whereabouts to some stinking foreign spy. If you were any kind of leader, you’d be putting the interests of your own folk first, for that’s how we Nightrunners have always prospered. You mark my words, if we get mixed up with the bloody Magefolk and their disputes, then nothing but trouble will come of it. I should know—I damn near lost my ship the last time I had a Mage on board.”

“Why, you bloody-minded, shortsighted old fool,” Remana began wrathfully, but her voice was drowned by a chorus of protests, presumably from the other Nightrunner captains, who seemed to agree with Idris’s tirade. Zanna recognized Gevan’s voice and, seething with rage, was just about to burst in and tell them what she thought of them, when the sound of Yanis’s voice made her pause with one hand on the door.

“Have you quite finished, Idris? Then it’s my turn to speak.” Though the smuggler leader did not shout, his tones were forceful enough to halt the general clamor. “Have the Nightrunners really turned into a bunch of whining cowards?” he demanded. “Have you all skulked here, safe in your burrows, for so long that you’ve forgotten the courage and daring for which we are renowned? I’m ashamed of the lot of you! Had my father still been alive, he’d have had you thrown into the sea for shark bait, for at least then you’d be some use in the world! What the Archmage is doing imperils us just the same as it threatens those who fled to us, or those still in Nexis, or the rebels in the Vale. If we just sit here on our backsides and do nothing, how long do you think it will be before he discovers us—and what chance will we have when he does? I tell you, if we don’t join with our allies now to make an end of him, then he’ll finish us, soon or late. Miathan has already taken our livelihood—next it’ll be our lives, and those of our children. Now, I don’t want to hear any more of this griping and coward’s talk. We’re going to help the Lady Aurian, and there’s an end to it. That’s the only way we can still hold our heads up and be proud to call ourselves Nightrunners!”

A stunned silence greeted his words; then, one by one, the captains began to call out their agreement—all save one.

“You damned young fool,” Idris roared. “You’ll get us all killed!” But save for Yanis’s mate Gevan, he no longer had any support within the chamber. Zanna drew back from the door into the shadows, lest the disgruntled captain should come storming out, but she was still close enough to hear him speak.

“Well, if that’s how you all feel about it there’s nothing more to be said. Let this idiot lead you to disaster if you will—but I’ll tell you one thing: I’m not carrying any bloody Magefolk or stinking foreigners on my ship!”

“That you won’t,” Yanis agreed heartily. “Because it’s no longer your ship, Idris—it never was. As well you know, all our vessels are Nightrunner property, and if you don’t have balls enough to join this venture, then it’s high time you retired and let a younger man step in. I’m giving your command to Tarnal—and that decision stands, whether you change your mind about the Magefolk or not.”