Bonds of Vengeance

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Duvenry, Wethyrn, Anton’s Moon waning

Their ride from the City of Kings to Rennach took two days longer than Grinsa had told Keziah it would. Two days. And though the gleaner and Tavis quickly found a Wethy merchant who agreed to give them passage across the Gulf of Kreanna, they had to wait a full day before he and his crew were ready to set sail. The man’s price was reasonable, but they would be sailing to Duvenry rather than Helke, which would add more time to their travels. Still, Grinsa and Tavis were not in a position to be particular. Even the passage itself would have cost them a day had it not been for Grinsa’s magic. The weather was clear, the winds calm, as he had hoped they would be for Tavis’s sake. Indeed, the day proved so mild that the ship nearly was becalmed in the first hours of their journey.

The captain, a dour, black-haired Eandi, with a barrel chest and thick forearms that were tanned and marked with pale scars, had his men lower the mainsail and go belowdecks to row. Grinsa thought about offering to raise a wind, but judging from the way the captain eyed him, he knew the man would refuse. He and Tavis had been fortunate just to gain passage-clearly this Eandi captain didn’t care for Qirsi. Still, their speed on oar was intolerably slow, and even with the waters of the gulf as tranquil as Grinsa had ever seen them, Tavis was leaning over the edge of the top deck, his face so ashen that his scars looked black.

With nothing to lose and time to be gained, Grinsa stood beside the young lord, using his magic to raise a soft breeze. He did it so gradually, with so little visible effort, that neither the captain nor his crew seemed to suspect anything. He even went to far as to draw the wind from the southwest, so that they couldn’t steer a direct course to Duvenry, fearing that a more favorable wind might have raised the captain’s suspicions.

Feeling the wind freshen, the crew raised the mainsail again, and the small ship began to carve a crooked course across the gulf. After a time Tavis raised his head, eyeing the gleaner.

“Are you doing this?” he asked, his voice low.

“Yes. I’m sorry, Tavis, but already this is taking more time than I would have liked.”

The lord shook his head, the mere motion seeming to make his stomach turn. “It’s all right. The sooner I’m off this damned ship the better.”

They sailed around the north shore of Brigands’ Island, a small mass of trees and rock whose narrow coves and difficult landings had once been a haven for privateers. Then they turned south, away from the promontory of the lower Crown and toward the port of Duvenry. The shore appeared close, as if they could reach it in just moments if they simply turned due west, but the passage took the better part of the day.

Tavis said little, though after emptying his stomach early in the journey, he did seem to adjust to the gentle rhythm of the ship. The captain’s men ignored them, as if ordered to do so, leaving Grinsa to his thoughts and the subtle, constant demands of the wind he had conjured. Eventually, as the day went on, a natural breeze began to rise, and he was able to drop his wind, a good thing, since they encountered more ships as they drew nearer to Wethyrn, and it would have raised eyebrows had theirs been the only ship under sail.

As he watched gulls wheeling over the ship, and murres floating lazily on the gentle swells of the gulf, Grinsa’s thoughts turned again and again to Cresenne and Bryntelle. For just that one last night in Audun’s Castle, they had been a family, tied to one another by love and the shared sense that this was the future awaiting them, if only they could survive the coming war. He had long dreamed of again sharing his life with another, of knowing such passion and intimacy and-dare he think it? — joy. Years before, when he had been too young to appreciate fully what it meant to be tied to someone in this way, he had thought to share his life with Pheba, his Eandi wife, who died from the pestilence shordy after their joining. Now, it seemed, he had it with Cresenne. In the night they passed together, there had been the promise of a lifetime together. Yet there had been something else as well, an aching sadness, as if they both understood that the future they foresaw was but a dream. So many obstacles stood before them, so many paths to pain and grief and loss. Grinsa felt as though he were standing at the mouth of a great labyrinth, knowing that Cresenne and Bryntelle stood waiting on the other side, but unable to discern any pattern to the twists and turns in between that might lead him to them.

“Is that Duvenry?”

The gleaner looked up from the dark waters. Tavis was pointing toward a great walled city before them on the shore, bathed in the golden light of late day. Beyond the rocky coast and the formidable wall of the city, stood a great fortress, solid and implacable, grey as smoke save for the yellow and black banners rippling in the light wind above its towers. Grinsa had only been to Wethyrn’s royal city once before, and that had been many years ago. But Duvenry Castle was unmistakable and there was no other city in the realm that compared with this one.

“Yes. That’s Duvenry.” The gleaner straightened, and glanced about the ship. Already the captain was calling for his men to lower the mainsail and return to their sweeps. They would be docking shortly.

“How long will it take us to reach Helke?”

Hearing the tightness in Tavis’s voice, Grinsa regarded him for a moment before responding. His color had returned, leading the gleaner to hope that their return voyage across the gulf wouldn’t take such a toll on the boy. But still the young lord looked anxious.

“We can still turn back, Tavis. There’d be no shame in it, despite what you might think. Certainly I would never question the wisdom of doing so, nor would your parents.”

“I don’t want to go back. I’m just asking how long the journey north will take.”

Grinsa shrugged, staring at Duvenry Castle. “Five or six days, perhaps four, if we can manage to purchase mounts.”

Tavis’s father had given them more gold for the journey, though he had made no effort to conceal his disapproval. They could afford horses, and they would have no reason not to stay at whatever inns would have them. They would have little choice, though, but to stay in Duvenry this night before setting out for the northern city in the morning, and Grinsa begrudged even this delay. Every day he spent away from the City of Kings placed Cresenne, Bryntelle, and Keziah in greater danger, for each passing day increased the likelihood that the Weaver would grow impatient with Keziah’s failure to kill Cresenne and would make another attempt on her life himself. The gleaner would gladly have traded all the gold in their pockets for a quick return to Audun’s Castle.

“And you’re certain he’s in Helke?”

“Not entirely, no. In my vision the two of you were fighting at the northern end of the Crown, but I couldn’t tell the time of year. We’ll find him near Helke eventually, but I can’t say for certain when. I can only hope that it’s soon.”

Tavis said nothing, and for some time they stood in silence, gazing at the city and its port as the merchant ship approached the shore, the rhythmic cries of the rowmaster and the splash of the sweeps marking their progress. Whatever else Grinsa might have thought of the vessel’s captain, he could only admire the skill with which the man and his crew steered the ship to the broad wooden dock. In a few moments, the ship had been moored and the plank lowered. Grinsa and Tavis crossed the deck to where the captain stood, the young lord counting out gold coins to pay the man the balance of what they owed.

“W’ made fine time,” the captain said as Tavis handed him the gold, his accent so thick Grinsa barely understood him.

The gleaner nodded. “Yes, we did, Captain. Thank you.”

“I didn’ ’spect w’ would when w’ started out.” He gave Grinsa a sly look. “Yer a good’un to have “round, aren’t ye?”

“I’m not certain I know what you mean.”

“Aye, ye do.” He started to walk away. “If ye need passage back, ye c’n “ave it. Nex’ time, though, give us a more d’rect wind. Crossin’s slow “nough as “tis.”

The gleaner could only smile. After a moment he touched Tavis lightly on the shoulder and gestured for him to lead the way off the ship.

It was a short walk from the pier to the city gates and before long they had found an inn at which to stay the night. Relations between Eibithar and Wethyrn had been good for centuries, and so they were able to eschew most of the precautions they had taken while traveling through Aneira. Still, because of Brienne’s murder, the name Tavis of Curgh was now known throughout the Forelands, and the two companions agreed that it would be safer if the young lord went by Xaver’s name instead of his own, just as he had while traveling through the southern realm.

At Tavis’s suggestion, they spent much of the evening walking the streets of the city, searching for musicians in Duvenry’s taverns. They asked about the assassin in several of the inns, describing his appearance and claiming that he was a friend who they were supposed to meet here in the royal city, but none of the musicians or innkeepers with whom they spoke seemed to know the man.

As they left the fifth or sixth tavern-Grinsa had lost count-the gleaner cleared his throat, intending to suggest that they return to their inn and go to sleep. They had a good deal of travel ahead of them, and he was eager to be on the road with first light.

Before he could say any of this, however, he heard a light footfall behind them. Apparently Tavis heard it as well, for they turned at the same time, both of them drawing their blades.

A woman stood before them, her face illuminated by a nearby torch. She had long hair, pale blue eyes, and a round, attractive face. In the dim light, Grinsa couldn’t tell how old she was, but he wouldn’t have thought her much past her middle twenties.

She eyed their daggers briefly, raising an eyebrow. “For men who claim to be searching for a friend, you’re rather quick to draw your blades.” She glanced at the short sword hanging from Tavis’s belt. “You’re well armed, too.”

The sword had been Tavis’s idea, and Grinsa hadn’t approved at first, fearing that the weapon would only serve to draw attention to them. Few outside the courts traveled with such arms. It bothered him as well that he hadn’t seen the blade in his vision, though perhaps he should have been heartened by Tavis’s insistence that he bring it along. Didn’t its presence here at least raise the possibility that his vision no longer carried the weight of prophecy? No matter his feelings on the matter, he did understand why the boy would want the weapon with him. He had seen Tavis training with Xaver MarCullet in the courtyard of Audun’s Castle. Whatever the young lord’s limitations with a dagger, he had some skill with the longer blade. And, as it turned out, this sword belonged to Xaver; no doubt Tavis took some comfort in carrying it with them on this journey.

“Forgive us, my lady,” Grinsa said, relaxing his stance and returning his weapon to the sheath on his belt. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tavis do the same. “We’ve only just arrived in Wethyrn today and our previous travels have taken us places that are somewhat less hospitable.”

“I see,” she answered, sounding unconvinced.

“Can we be of service in some way?”

She seemed to consider this for several moments, her eyes flicking from one of them to the other and finally coming to rest on Tavis’s face. “I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head. “Forgive me for disturbing you.”

She turned to go.

“You heard us asking about the singer,” Grinsa said.

The woman halted, though she kept her back to them.

“You know him?” A moment later, he answered his own question. “Of course you do. Why else would you have stopped us?”

“I just want to go,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “I don’t want any trouble.”

It was the last thing Grinsa had expected, though it shouldn’t have been. They were tracking an assassin. “I assure you, my lady, we have no intention of harming you.” He paused. “But you do know him, don’t you?”

She nodded, turning slowly to face them once more. “I heard you say that you were his friends and that you were looking for him. And since I’m looking for him, too, I thought that perhaps we could help each other.”

“Perhaps we can.”

Their eyes met, and in that moment Grinsa knew: she and the singer had been lovers.

“I don’t think so,” she told him. She nodded toward Tavis. “I see his scars, and I see the way both of you draw blades at the least hint of danger. You’re no friend of his.”

The gleaner considered denying this, but he didn’t bother. She wouldn’t have believed him.

“It’s important that we find him, my lady.”

“Did he give those scars to the boy?”

“He didn’t wield the blade, but he’s as responsible for them as anyone. Does that surprise you?”

She shrugged, looking off to the side. “Not really. But it tells me that the boy must have wronged him in some way.”

“I didn’t,” Tavis said, his voice hard and low. “I did nothing to him, and he killed the one-”

Grinsa laid a hand on his arm, stopping him. “It’s all right,” he whispered.

“Who did he kill?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“My lady-”

“Tell me.”

“He killed someone dear to my friend here. That’s all you need to know.”

“But he would have had a reason. He doesn’t kill for the sake of killing. I know him better than that.”

“You’re right,” Tavis said savagely. “He doesn’t do it for the sake of killing. He murders for gold.”

Abruptly, she lifted a hand to her mouth, taking a sharp breath. “Gods!” she whispered, recognition in her eyes. “I had thought he might be a mercenary, or perhaps a thief. But it never occurred to me. . He’s an assassin.”

“What can you tell us of your time with him?” Grinsa asked.

“I’m not certain I want to tell you anything.”

Tavis glared at her. “He kills for money. And still you protect him?”

“I didn’t know him as a killer. I knew him as a musician, and as. . as a friend.”

Grinsa gestured toward the tavern door. “Can we sit together and speak of this, my lady? My friend can be a bit too direct, but he does make a point. You may care for this man, you may even love him, but that doesn’t change who and what he is. You say that you know him as a singer; you may have known him to be kind as well. But I assure you that in time, he’ll kill again.”

“I saw him fight,” she said, making no move toward the tavern. “We were returning to Ailwyck from Fanshyre, and we were attacked by road brigands. He was going to let them take the gold.” She let out a small laugh. “If he was an assassin, the gold would have meant nothing to him. But when the men started to threaten my sister and me, he stopped them.” She swallowed, shaking her head. “There were five of them, and he bested them all without any help from the rest of us. I’d never seen anything like it. He seemed almost. . crazed, as if once he began to kill them, he couldn’t stop himself. I knew then that he had to be so much more than just a singer.”

Grinsa and Tavis exchanged a look, the lord looking pallid and terribly young.

“What name did he use?” the gleaner asked.

“Corbin.” She narrowed her eyes. “Isn’t that his real name?”

“It’s not the name by which we know him.”

“Maybe we’re speaking of different men,” she said, clearly wanting to believe this.

“No. It’s the same man.”

She seemed to shiver. A moment later she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go inside, my lady?”

“What name did he give you?”

The gleaner hesitated, uncertain of whether he should tell her, though he couldn’t say why. “Cadel,” he told her at last.

“Cadel,” she repeated, giving a slight shake of her head.

“How did you meet him? Was it in Ailwyck?”

“No. We met them several years ago. In Thorald.”

“Them?” But even as Grinsa asked, he knew the answer. The other assassin, the man Cresenne had sent after him, the man he had killed in Kentigern Wood.

“Yes. Corbin and his friend, Honok.” She had been looking off again, but now her eyes snapped back to his. “Did Honok lie about his name, too?”

The gleaner was certain that he had, but the man had given him the same alias, and he sensed that she needed to hear this. “I knew him as Honok as well.”

“Honok wasn’t with him anymore when he came to Ailwyck. Corbin said that they had parted ways some time back, though he told me they were still friends.”

He saw no reason to tell her what had really happened to Honok. “So, was it mere chance that brought you both to Ailwyck, or?. .” He stopped, the full import of what she had said finally reaching him. “You met him in Thorald?”

“Yes. My sister and I were traveling with the Revel, and-”

“When?”

“I told you, several years ago.”

“What year exactly?”

Her brow furrowed. “I guess it would be three years ago.” She nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Three years.”

Grinsa turned to Tavis, who was already watching him.

“Filib,” the young lord said.

The woman nodded. “Yes. It was the year Filib the Younger. .” The color fled from her cheeks and she reached out to steady herself against the wall of the tavern. “Demons and fire! He killed Filib, didn’t he?”

“We don’t know that,” Grinsa told her, though there was little doubt in his mind. Marston of Shanstead was right. The conspiracy had been striking at the Eandi courts for years now, though the nobles and their Qirsi allies had been painfully slow to realize it.

“But that’s what you think.”

“You see now why we have to find him,” Tavis said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Whatever he was to you, he’s also a killer. I lost the woman I was to marry. Thorald lost its duke and Eibithar its future king. We have to find him before he murders again.”

“So you intend to kill him.”

Grinsa winced, fearing that now she would refuse to help them. But the woman surprised him.

“You’d better have more than mists and winds, Qirsi,” she said, eyeing the gleaner. “Because blade to blade, the two of you won’t stand a chance against him.”

“You followed him here from Ailwyck,” Grinsa said. “Do you think he might have gone farther north?”

“I don’t know where he went. I came north because there’s little in Wethyrn’s southern cities to attract a musician. Krasthem is a minor city, with few good taverns, and Olfan is little more than that. Ailwyck, Duvenry, Jistingham-those are the places I’d go, were I looking to find taverns in which to sing.”

“What about Strempfar, or Helke?”

“Helke, maybe,” she said. “It’s smaller than some of the other cities, but the port is always busy, and seamen tend to like music when they put in to land.”

Grinsa nodded. “Thank you, my lady. You’ve told us more than we had any right to expect.”

She said nothing and after a lengthy silence, Tavis and Grinsa shared a look and turned to go.

“You were right before,” she said. “He could be kind when he wasn’t killing. And he sang with a voice that came from Adriel herself.”

“Did the brigands hurt you?” Tavis asked.

“No, nor did they hurt my sister. But her husband is still recovering from the beating they gave him.”

“I’m sorry. I hope he heals quickly.”

“From the looks of your face, it seems that you suffered mightily for what Corbin did to you. You must hate him very much.”

“More than I can say.”

Grinsa sensed that they were now straying into dangerous terrain, and he thought it time to end their conversation. “Again, my lady, you have our thanks.”

“Will you continue to search for him?” Tavis asked her.

The woman shook her head. “I’ve already been away from my sister for too long, and I’ve nearly run out of gold. Even if he is in Helke, I haven’t the means to get there. And I’m not certain I want to be anywhere near the two of you when next you meet.”

“No,” Tavis said. “I don’t believe you do.”

She glanced at the gleaner, her expression grim, her cheeks still pale. Then she left them, walking quickly down the narrow lane that led back to Duvenry’s marketplace.

“You were right,” Tavis said softly, as they watched her go. “We do want to be in Helke.”

Grinsa wasn’t so certain. He had no doubt that they would find the assassin there. Even had the vision that came to him in the City of Kings not been enough to convince him, this conversation with the woman would have been. But after listening to her description of the singer’s fight with the road thieves, he was more certain than ever that Tavis had been fortunate to survive his first encounter with the man. Chances were that he wouldn’t fare so well the second time they met.

“You heard what she said about the brigands.”

The boy nodded, still gazing down the lane.

“And still you’re sure that you want to pursue this matter?”

“You said yourself that he’ll kill again, given time.”

“Maybe he will. But the last time he killed, he struck at the conspiracy.”

“I need to do this, Grinsa. I need to clear my name.”

Grinsa turned to face him. “Stop saying that. Your name has been cleared, at least to the extent that it ever will be. Cresenne saw to that when she admitted to the king what she’d done. Aindreas may refuse to believe it, and the lords of Galdasten as well. But for any reasonable person, her confession should be enough.”

“So you think I should just let Brienne’s killer go free?”

“I think you should admit that this is all about vengeance, nothing more, nothing less. The singer killed your betrothed, and because of that you suffered greatly, not only from grief but also from her father’s thirst for revenge. I, of all people, know how much pain you’ve had to endure. I healed you, and I’ve journeyed the land with you for the better part of a year. I have no sympathy for Cadel, and I understand why you want him dead. But that doesn’t change the fact that you only pursue him to exact a measure of revenge. No good will come of his death, should you manage to kill him. And chances are, you’ll die in the attempt. All for nothing. You can tell me that you want to clear your name, to reclaim your place in the Order of Ascension, but in the end, you’re driven solely by your need for retribution. You’re no different than Aindreas.”

As soon as he spoke these last words, the gleaner knew that he had gone too far. But rather than railing at him, the young lord simply stood there for a moment, his lips pressed thin, before stalking past Grinsa and entering the tavern once more.

“I’m an idiot,” the gleaner muttered to himself. He would have liked to return to the inn at which they had taken their room. Tavis needed some time to himself before he would be ready to listen to an apology. But he wasn’t sure that the young lord could find his way back to the inn, this being his first night in Duvenry. Grinsa waited a short while, though he knew it wouldn’t be enough time to cool the boy’s rage at what he had said. Finally, reluctantly, he stepped into the tavern.

He spotted Tavis immediately, sitting alone at a small table by the side wall, his back to the door as he sipped an ale. Grinsa walked to the table and sat.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

The young lord stared at the dark ale in his tankard. “I’m not like Aindreas.”

“Tavis-”

“I’m not. Aindreas assumed that I had killed Brienne, and so he tortured me. He enjoyed seeing me suffer, and it never occurred to him to wonder if he might be wrong.” He looked up. “We know that the singer killed her, and I’m not interested in torturing him. I want to kill him and be done with it. This may be a quest born of vengeance, but at least it’s justified.”

“You’re right. I was wrong to say what I did.”

Tavis regarded him briefly, as he often did when the gleaner agreed with him. It almost seemed that the young lord expected Grinsa to argue with him, that he was surprised when the gleaner paid him any compliment or acquiesced to anything he said.

“What is it you saw in your vision, gleaner?”

Grinsa shifted in his chair. “I’ve told you. I saw you fighting with the singer on the north coast of the Crown.”

“Did you see him kill me?”

“No. I didn’t see the ending at all.”

“But you saw enough to convince you that I don’t survive the encounter.”

He shook his head. “I swear to you I didn’t.”

“Then why is it that ever since that dream, you’ve been trying to warn me off this pursuit?”

“It’s precisely because I don’t know how it all turns out. If I knew he was going to kill you, I’d do everything in my power to keep you away from the Crown. And if I knew that you were going to prevail, I wouldn’t be so frightened. But I have no idea what’s going to happen, and that’s a very difficult thing for a gleaner.”

Tavis grinned. “We Eandi live with such uncertainty every day.”

“Yes. And at times I don’t know how you do it.” They sat in silence, Tavis staring at his ale again, Grinsa watching him. “There will be a storm,” he said at last.

Tavis looked up, his eyes widening slightly.

“And the singer will have cut you at least twice, though neither wound looked too serious. You’ll be right on the coast, on rocks that are slick with sea spray and rain. But that can actually work to your advantage if you let it. On even footing, you’re no match for him. You know that. But anything can happen when the terrain is uncertain. Try to use that.”

The young lord nodded. “Where does he cut me?”

“Your neck and your right forearm. But as I said, neither wound looked too deep.”

“Had I marked him?”

Grinsa hesitated, shook his head.

Tavis forced a smile. “Of course not.”

“You can defeat him, Tavis. You have to believe that, or you’re doomed to fail.”

“I thought you didn’t approve of all this, that you didn’t want me to face him.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why offer the advice?”

A barmaid approached the table, but Grinsa waved her away. He was in no mood for another ale. “If I were to command you to leave the Crown without facing this man, would you do it?”

“You know I wouldn’t.”

“Well, there’s your answer. You intend to do this no matter what I say or do. And even if I were willing to kill him for you, I don’t think you’d want that either. This is your battle, for better or for worse. I believe you have a role to play in the coming war, an important one, though I don’t know what it is. I know you well enough to understand that you won’t be able to fulfill that role until you’ve faced the assassin one final time.” He gave a small shrug, opening his hands. “Your chances of surviving this encounter will be better if you know what to expect.”

Tavis nodded, taking a long breath. “Thank you.”

The gleaner stood. “Come on. We’ve a long journey ahead of us, and the sooner we get to Helke the better. We need sleep.”

Tavis dropped two silvers on the table and they left the tavern, making their way back to the inn.

“Did you notice anything else in your vision?” Tavis asked as they walked.

Grinsa faltered, but only for an instant. Best to tell him all, the good and the bad.

“The singer seemed quite confident. He’s not afraid of you, even after what happened in Mertesse.” Then, to soften it, he added. “But that too could work to your advantage. Too much confidence can be a dangerous thing.”

The young lord gave a wry grin. “Then I have nothing to worry about.”

Tihod jal Brossa watched from his table in the back corner of the tavern as they left, keeping his face in the shadows, and his head lowered so that it would seem to all who saw him that he was just another drunk Qirsi, intent on his ale.

He felt reasonably certain that they would be heading back to their inn, and so he made no effort to follow them. He knew where they were staying the night, and he had every intention of following them come morning. For now it seemed most prudent to remain here until the Qirsi gleaner and his Eandi companion had time enough to put some distance between themselves and the tavern. Then he would return to his ship.

He had been fortunate to find them at all. Dusaan had sent him to Wethyrn in pursuit of different quarry, an assassin who had done a good deal of work on behalf of the movement and to whom Tihod had paid large amounts of the Weaver’s gold. But late this day, as he left his ship, the Silver Flame, intending to return to the city marketplace, he saw a strange pair disembarking from a nearby Eandi vessel.

They would have caught his eye under any circumstances, but in his most recent conversation with the Weaver, Dusaan had told him of another Weaver living in the Forelands, a man named Grinsa jal Arriet. Dusaan had described this man briefly, but it was the Qirsi’s companion who made him so easy to spot. He had never seen Tavis of Curgh before, but he couldn’t imagine that any other young Eandi of noble bearing carried such scars on his face.

Usually Dusaan asked little of him. He knew that Tihod would gladly have done more for the movement, but he had made it clear long ago that he dared not risk Tihod’s life on matters that could be handled by others.

“I need you to distribute my gold,” he had once said. “And to do so in a way that makes it untraceable. No one else can do this for me.” Tihod knew that he was right. The payments he made to Dusaan’s other followers were not terribly complicated; any merchant with a bit of sense could have set up a similar network of couriers. But not all of them were so successful that they could absorb all of the imperial qinde Dusaan sent to him and exchange it for common currency, and fewer still had such extensive knowledge of all the major ports in the Forelands. And of these few, only Tihod had known Dusaan since childhood; only he could be trusted with the knowledge that the man was a Weaver in command of a great cause. It was no exaggeration to state that after the Weaver himself, Tihod was the most important man in the movement. This was why Dusaan sought to protect him. This was how Tihod knew just how much the Weaver wanted Grinsa jal Arriet dead.

Because when Dusaan spoke to him of this second Weaver, in a dream less than a turn before, he didn’t hesitate to tell Tihod to kill the man if he had the opportunity.

“Remember that he’s a Weaver,” Dusaan told him that night. “Take great care in approaching him. But he’s seen my face and so must die, and as much as I’d enjoy killing him myself, I can’t risk waiting that long.”

Tihod may not have been a Weaver, but he was not without formidable powers of his own. He was a gleaner and a shaper, and he also possessed the power of mists and winds, a valuable asset for any sea captain. He had some skill with both sword and dagger as well, and one did not brave the storms of the Scabbard and the unpredictable currents and winds of the Narrows without growing strong and agile. Watching Grinsa and the boy make their way from the pier toward Duvenry’s marketplace, he had every intention of following them and making an attempt on their lives this very night.

But Dusaan had also told him to find the assassin. The man had not plied his trade on behalf of the movement in some time, though Dusaan’s servants had sought to hire him for the past several turns. Few even knew where he was, and so when word reached Tihod that a man matching the assassin’s description had been seen in southern Wethyrn two turns before, he steered his ship southward, past the Crown, to Grinnyd. He soon learned that the singer had been there only a half turn before, but had moved on. Rumor at the time placed him in Ailwyck, too far inland for a sea merchant to venture without calling attention to himself, but near enough to send a courier. Once again, however, the assassin resumed his journeying before the movement’s gold reached him, and for much of Amon’s waxing Tihod was at a loss as where to search next for the man.

But just a few nights before the Night of Two Moons, word reached him of another singer, a woman named Kalida Betzel who had sung with the assassin in Ailwyck and who, it was said, might even have been his lover. This woman had left Ailwyck shortly after the assassin did, journeying north to Duvenry. Having no other clues as to the man’s whereabouts, Tihod came to the royal city as well, and soon found Kalida. He kept his distance, not wishing to raise her suspicions, but he gathered that she was inquiring after the singer, and the merchant guessed that if he waited long enough, she would lead him to the man.

It seemed to Tihod that more than coincidence and good fortune had brought Grinsa and this woman to the same city and, ultimately on this night, to the same tavern. But only when he heard the gleaner asking the barman about the very singer she had been seeking, did he finally understand. He remembered now that the assassin had been paid to kill Lady Brienne of Kentigern, and that Tavis had been blamed for her murder. Thus, it didn’t surprise him when Kalida followed Grinsa and the boy outside, or when creeping to the doorway himself, he saw the three of them speaking in the lane just beyond the tavern door. He didn’t step into the street himself, though he would have given a good deal of gold to hear their conversation. He merely watched, noting Kalida’s shock at what they told her-was she just learning now of the singer’s true profession? — and when the Curgh boy raised his voice in anger, hearing snatches of conversation. From what he observed, he could only assume that the Qirsi and the lord intended to continue their search for the man.

It seemed he wouldn’t be killing Grinsa jal Arriet here in Duvenry after all. Clearly, the gleaner still had to die-Dusaan had left no question of that and Tihod was more than happy to strike the killing blow. But first, Grinsa and his companion were going to lead Tihod to the assassin, Cadel Nistaad.