Raymond E. Feist - Queen of Storms

Piccolo raised an eyebrow. ‘A disaster?’

Delnocio chuckled. Piccolo was as lethal an agent as he could have wished for, but he was also clever, and occasionally amusing. ‘Yes.’

Piccolo nodded; then he asked, ‘Do you wish me to go?’

‘I do not; I would rather keep you here, but I think there is a need. We have rumours of odd comings and goings. The agents of Coaltachin are apparently poking around, and they have no business we know of that far west. I’ve also received reports of … those who are best kept under watch.’

‘The Azhante?’

‘I still employ their services. They are not a risk … yet. They are the ones sending me intelligence.’

‘Whom do they suspect?’

As if fearful of saying the name too loudly, Bernardo almost whispered, ‘The Flame Guard.’

Piccolo’s shoulders dropped slightly. ‘Is there no end to them?’

‘Apparently not. Most we killed or captured when Ithrace fell. But …’ He moved his hands again, this time in a vague sweeping gesture, wiggling his fingers. ‘Some seem to have been carried away on the wind.’

‘A few,’ observed Piccolo.

‘But with … magic. Power. Whatever you wish to label it.’ Bernardo remained silent for a moment then said, ‘I don’t suppose there are any reports of a young man or woman with copper-and-gold hair, by chance?’

Piccolo shook his head. ‘Even if there were, that doesn’t make them true. A Firemane heir conveniently landing in Marquensas, or even more so in Beran’s Hill, would spur Lodavico to act rashly, I would wager. Even your influence would barely slow him. If that rumour suddenly sprouted up, it very well might be Dumarch’s lure.’

‘Yes, agreed.’ Bernardo’s brow furrowed slightly. Then he said, ‘Not if we steal a march, and look for the man or woman. Ensure the rumours are false.’

‘So, I should leave now?’

‘Yes.’ Bernardo stood up. ‘Go, take a thorough look, then return with haste. I need to know if any of the rumours are true.’

‘If they are?’

‘Do nothing. Observe, then come back and we shall consider our position. Send word by pigeon and courier, stating clearly the time you will arrive outside Beran’s Hill. Take an armed escort, but look as if you’re travelling as mercenaries, then meet our agent outside the town; whoever arrives first must wait for the other. I’ll leave it to you to work out the details. Now, go.’ He made a dismissive gesture, hand held fingers downwards, then a flip up towards the door.

Piccolo bowed and slipped through the hidden doorway. Bernardo was always slightly amused at his agent’s use of ancient passages not known even to the king.

Alone again, he put his mind to matters of the day. In the end the Church would rule Sandura and he would rule the Church, but until that time, he was His Most Holy Majesty’s loyal adviser. It was time to go and advise. Or at least sit feigning attention while watching a bored man pose for a portrait. And ponder this persistent rumour about a man with copper-and-gold hair in a small town half a world away.

The sound of a twig cracking underfoot made the deer’s head jerk upright from grazing, its ears moving as it looked around, seeking the source of the noise. Its nostrils flared as it tested the wind.

Hava froze, her bow halfway to a ready position, not wishing to startle the young buck. After a moment of sniffing the air, the deer started to wander away. Hava stole a glance at Molly Bowman, who looked back at Hava and with an inclination of her head indicated she would move off to her right, then with her lifted chin communicated that Hava should keep stalking the deer.

All this was new to the girl from Coaltachin: her home islands had no forests like this. Here the trees were so much bigger; the boles were massive compared to the smaller pines, balsams, and fir trees that littered the relatively small mountains on the islands. The lowlands had been cleared centuries earlier for farms and orchards.

She wended her way between massive oaks, while avoiding the sprawling beech trees and their multiple roots and low-hanging branches. Hava understood how easy it would be to get lost in this forest. This area, with its interlinked forests, woodlands, small hills with dells and dead-end canyons, was called the Wildlands and had once been a haven to savage tribes and outlaws. While the western half of the region was relatively peaceful, due to the Dumarch family’s pacification of their demesne over generations, it was still a very wild place to navigate. To a girl raised in tiny villages and schools on small islands, it was a veritable maze filled with potentially lethal traps. Navigating was hard: she couldn’t see the sun, and the shadows were confusing. All the tricks she knew for how to find her way from place to place in cities were useless in the densest forest she’d ever encountered.

Even the smells were different. There was a damp earthiness overlaid with something that was almost familiar, something like sandalwood, but not. Another note, more floral, teased her, almost apple or pear, but not. The alien quality of this place both intrigued and intimidated her.

The deer started to drift away and Hava glanced over to see that Molly was already moving. Hava tried to follow the deer as silently as possible, painfully aware that compared to Molly she was making enough noise to scare away half the wildlife in the forest.