Rob Scott - Lessek_s Key

Brexan looked over at Sallax, who nodded. ‘That should do just fine.’

As the tide turned, the three of them stood together among the skeletal stalks of winter cordgrass. Almost everything on the marsh had died, but the remains were still there, frozen and delicate, like finely blown glass. The water had come up, taken Carpello in its frigid embrace and carried his corpulent form out to sea. They could still see him, floating in the distance. Brexan watched closely, hoping to see the inky waters pull him down into the darkness.

Sallax put an arm around her shoulders. ‘We got what we needed.’

She nodded. ‘He’s at the old imperial palace.’

‘It will be difficult to get in, even more challenging to get back out,’ Sallax lied. He knew it would be suicide to try to assassinate Jacrys in the Barstag family residence.

‘But he won’t be expecting us.’

Alen belted his tunic tightly and pulled his cloak loosely about his neck. Communicating with Fantus, even for those few moments, had drained him noticeably and he had slept like a dead man for the rest of the night. He could have done with another aven or two in bed, but with Churn, Hoyt and Hannah already out and about in Treven, investigating safe passage down the Welstar River, he felt compelled to rouse himself.

In the bar he armed himself with a flagon of tecan, a hunk of bread and some cheese, then dropped some copper Mareks next to the bread basket. He waved to the innkeeper, gesturing that he would return the flagon later; the innkeeper, absorbed with repairs to a torn leather satchel, nodded in understanding.

Alen stepped into the street and felt the cold work its way inside the folds of his cloak. Winter was upon Malakasia; this far north it had been for much of the past Moon, but it was colder along the river than it had been descending the foothills and crossing the arable plains south of Treven.

Treven was more of a large town than a city, but it had a very healthy economy, thanks to its position as the first major settlement upriver from Welstar Palace. Treven’s shipping and merchant fraternity were kept busy running goods in and out of the military encampment next to Prince Malagon’s hilltop residence.

Hoyt was out searching for a barge captain willing to sign them on – as crew, they’d have legitimate papers to get past the customs officials who checked everyone on the river around the military base. Alen wanted an opportunity to reconnoitre, and floating by the encampment was the only way they could come up with to gain even a cursory look at the defences through which they would have to pass to reach the palace.

As he walked down a steep hill towards the docks, Alen was troubled. The news from Fantus had been disappointing: Nerak was not in Malakasia, so there would be no final battle between the two of them, at least not yet, and there was no password to Welstar. He was still determined to get into the palace, and to kill the magicians who had forced him to remain in hiding since Sandcliff fell.

You did that to yourself, his conscience chided him.

He wanted to kill them, and he wanted to kill Bellan. He tried to convince himself it was because she was Nerak’s only opportunity to continue ruling Eldarn from Welstar Palace, but the truth was, Alen wanted Bellan dead because she was Malagon’s daughter. Alen wanted to be the one to look into the girl’s eyes and watch as her life faded. It wouldn’t bring Pikan or Reia back, but that didn’t matter: what mattered was vengeance.

Fantus had had other troubling news, though: if there was no far portal in the palace, there was no reason to take Hannah, Hoyt and Churn with him – there was certainly no sense risking their lives to achieve his own selfish goal of vengeance for his wife and daughter. He would have to find some way to trick them, to break away and sneak inside the palace alone – perhaps masked by the same spell he had used to hide their horses and satchels outside the forest of ghosts. He smiled at the thought of Hannah’s reaction: she would be furious, she would rave like a madwoman for avens. He hoped news of Steven Taylor and his Larion far portal would persuade her to leave Malakasia and to go with Hoyt – Churn would probably remain behind – to the Eastlands to find Fantus and the other foreigners.

As he picked his way towards the river, he spotted Hoyt and Churn emerging from a dockside tavern, each carrying a flagon of something. The Pragan giant saw him and raised his in greeting.

‘Well met, boys,’ Alen called. ‘I take it you slept well.’

‘Not like you,’ Hoyt said, ‘Alen, you sleep like a champion! How you do it escapes me.’

‘I have a talent for it; that I admit. However, last night was something special.’

‘Difficult spell?’

‘The worst I know.’

‘What did you do? We didn’t notice anything, no phantom dragons, no hugely breasted women, not even a talking dog.’

‘I contacted an old friend, Fantus. He is in Gorsk.’

Churn signed, ‘That’s tiring?’

Alen nodded ‘We didn’t speak for long, but it left me shattered.’

‘Fantus – that’s Gilmour, isn’t it? The famous partisan from the Eastlands? Did you reach him?’

‘Yes, yes and yes.’

‘So what’s the news?’

Alen shrugged. ‘Not much. He’s moving towards Traver’s Notch, hoping to make contact with members of the Falkan Resistance.’

‘They mounting an attack?’

‘He didn’t say.’

‘It would make sense, given what we’ve learned in the past few avens. First off, we found a barge captain. He’s a pretty disagreeable fellow, but for a bit of silver he-’

‘Where’s Hannah?’ Alen interrupted.

‘Oh, she’s inside. The kitchen workers had some gansel eggs, and Hannah’s paid them just about all the copper she had on her to cook them herself. Can you believe it? And what a mess: eggs with cheese and bits of ham, pepper weed, even sausage, all mixed in together. Good rutting whores, but it looks like it’s already been eaten at least once.’ Hoyt grimaced. ‘She’ll be done in a bit. We came out here to get away from the smell. It was grim.’

Alen smiled. Looked like the omelette wouldn’t take off in Eldarn just yet. ‘Go on about the captain, please.’

‘He’ll give four members of his own crew a few days’ leave – once he got a look at Churn, he offered five or six! We pay him for the cruise, work the barge for him, and he gets his normal take from the stops we’ll make along the way. There’s no downside for him.’

‘So if we get boarded, we’re legitimate?’

‘We are legitimate, perfectly legal and beyond reproach.’

‘Is he willing to make more than one pass?’

‘Only if we work the return trip,’ Hoyt said. ‘He nearly shut down negotiations when I mentioned lingering a few avens near the palace. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who’s afraid of much, but he went white and nearly passed out right there on his deck when I asked if we could play in Malagon’s back yard for a few days.’

‘So down and back?’ Alen confirmed.

‘Right, but we have stops at the military docks on both journeys, so we’ll have two decent opportunities to survey the place and plenty of time in between to scribble out a map or to note areas we want to examine more closely on our second pass.’

Alen pursed his lips. ‘Good,’ he said finally. ‘That’s fine. Thank you both.’

Hoyt shrugged his cloak up higher across his shoulders. ‘It’s not ideal, but I can’t think of any other way to get near the palace. Wagon shipments are all taken over by the army and carried in by military transports. Even on the river we’ll most likely have a naval escort most of the way.’

‘When do we leave?’