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 hera"was she just learning now of the singer's true profession?a"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 diea"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.

CHAPTER.

Twenty-Eight.

Helke, Wethyrn "He's a good 'un, tha' singer at the Grey Seal. Best I've heard in some time."

The peddler took another long pull on his ale and wiped the foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. He had been talking to Grinsa and Tavis for the better part of an hour, drinking ales bought with Curgh gold and regaling them with tales of all the taverns in Helke.

"If it's music yer lookin' fera"good music, mind yea"tha's where I'd begin."

It had been Grinsa's idea, and Tavis had to admit that it had worked quite well.

"The closer we get to Helke," the gleaner had said a few days before, "the more likely it becomes that we'll run across people who know of Cadel. So rather than asking about him in particular, and possibly drawing attention to ourselves, I'd like to try just asking about the musicians in the city. From what we've heard, this man can sing. If he's there, we'll hear of him."

At the time, Tavis hadn't been convinced that the strategy would work, but on this night the peddler had given them all the information they would need to find the singer. And then some.

"Now, if ye like the pipes," he went on, draining his tankard and beckoning to the serving girl with his free hand, "then I'd send ye t' the Mainmast, over on the south end o' the city. Tha's a rougher place, though." He grinned at Tavis, revealing broken yellow teeth. "From the looks o' the boy, I'd say he's had enough o' tha' kind o' tavern. Better t' stick wi' the Grey Seal."

"Well, friend," Grinsa said, digging into his pocket for coins to pay for all the ale the man had drunk, "we thank you for your advice. When we're in Helke, listening to all this fine music you've told us about, we'll raise an ale and drink to your good health."

Tavis and the gleaner pushed back their chairs.

"But wait!" the peddler said with widened eyes, no doubt fearing the loss of his free drink. "I've told ye nothin' o' the taverns in Strempfar. The musicians there aren' as fine as those in Helke, but there are a few worth mentionin'."

Grinsa stood and motioned for Tavis to do the same.

"Perhaps another night, friend."

The peddler's face fell. "Very well. I thank ye fer the ale."

They left him there, sipping this last ale far more slowly than he had the previous ones and looking around for his next patron.

Tavis and the gleaner didn't speak as they wound their way through the crowded tavern to the door. Once they were in the street, however, Grinsa smiled, looking pleased with himself.

"I told you it would work."

"If you were half as clever as you think you are, you would have thought of this while we were still in Aneira, asking questions of barkeeps who refused to speak with us."

"I'm not certain it would have worked as well in Aneira. We didn't know what city he'd be in, and I wouldn't have wanted to listen to tales of every tavern singer in the realm."

Tavis nodded, conceding the point.

It was a warm night, the air heavy with a light mist and the faint scent of the sea. They were already in the dukedom of Helke, though they still had another two leagues to travel before they reached the ducal city. The sky flickered brieflya"lightning from a distant storma"but they heard no answering rumble of thunder. It had been like this for several nights now, the pale glimmering of the sky holding out the promise of rain, but as of yet none had fallen.

"So now we know where to find him," the young lord said.

"Yes, I suppose we do."

Something in the gleaner's voice made Tavis falter briefly in midstride. It almost seemed that he didn't believe what the peddler had told them. Or perhaps he hoped that they wouldn't find the singer, fearinga"knowing?a"that Tavis wouldn't survive their encounter.

Tavis regretted having said anything.

They had hardly spoken since leaving Duvenry, though not because of any conflict between them. Tavis simply didn't feel like talking, and the gleaner seemed to understand this. The young lord could think of nothing but his coming confrontation with the assassin and what Grinsa had told him of his vision of their battle. He had bested the man once, in Mertesse, when Grinsa forced him to let the singer go, and he should have been able to draw some confidence from that memory. But if anything, it merely served to make him more afraid of their next meeting. Tavis had no illusions as to his skills as a fighter. He had brought along Xaver's short sword, hoping that it might improve his chances somewhat. Thanks in large part to his training under the keen eyes of Hagan MarCullet, he had always been good with a sword, far better than he was with daggers. But even so armed, against a man like Cadel Tavis could expect to prevail once in a hundred fights. And he had already claimed his one victory, hollow though it was. Chances were the assassin would prevail the next time they fought.

It's not too late to turn back. Grinsa had spoken the words so many times that Tavis now heard them in his dreams. And sometimes, late at night, when Grinsa was asleep and Tavis should have been as well, he considered returning to Eibithar without facing Brienne's killer. He wanted to avenge her. Ean knew he did. But he also wanted to live, to reclaim his place in the court of his forefathers and pass his years as a noble, as he once had thought to do. Certainly Grinsa would have leaped at the chance to leave Wethyrn. Even traveling in silence, Tavis sensed how much Grinsa longed to be with Cresenne and their daughter. He was equally certain that if he returned to Curgh without facing the assassin, his parents would welcome him back without question, as would Xaver and Hagan MarCullet and anyone else whose opinion mattered to him.

A few days before, Grinsa had said that Tavis pursued the man out of vengeance and nothing more. But in the days since the young lord had come to realize that he wasn't doing this for revenge, or for pride, or even for love of his lost queen. He did it for himself, because he knew that if he turned away now, and never faced the assassin, he would curse himself as a coward for the rest of his days. Was it better to die a fool's death than to live a long life hating oneself? The question had kept him up the last four nights running, and probably would again tonight.

"It shouldn't be hard to find the Grey Seal," Grinsa said after some time. "Chances are Cadel will be staying therea"musicians often take a free room as part of their compensation. Perhaps we can find some way to gain access to his chambera""

"You know that's not going to happen," Tavis said in a low voice. "We fight on the seashore. You've already seen it."

"I've told you before, Tavis. When I have a vision of someone's fate, be it in a dream or during a gleaning, I'm merely seeing one possible future among many."

"Then why tell me all that you did about my fight with the singer?"

Grinsa gave a small shrug, his mouth twisting. "Because if what I saw turns out to be real, I want you to know what to expect." He started to say more, then appeared to stop himself.

"You don't want that vision to be real, do you? You've said all along that you never saw the end of our battle, but you don't like what you did see, isn't that right?"

"When it comes right down to it, I don't like the whole idea of you fighting this man. But yes, given the choice, I'd rather you fought him elsewhere, somewhere a bit lessa""

He halted abruptly, falling silent and turning his head slightly, as if listening for something behind them.

"Did you hear that?" he whispered.

"Hear what?"

"Footsteps."

Tavis looked back down the lane they had been following. They were near the inn at which they had taken a room and the street seemed to be empty. Actually the entire town, the name of which he had already forgotten, struck him as rather desolate.

"I didn't hear anything."

"This isn't the first time I've had this feeling."

"What feeling?"

"That we're being followed, watched. I even had it in the tavern just now, while we were sitting with the peddler. It seemed that someone else was listening to our conversation."

Had it been any other man, Tavis wouldn't have been alarmed. Even coming from the gleaner, it sounded like little more than irrational fear born of too many days worrying about assassins and conspiracies. But he had never known Grinsa to speak of such things without cause, and though he wasn't certain that a Weaver's powers of perception were any stronger than those of other Qirsi, he felt certain that they were more finely honed than his own.

"What do you want to do?" he asked.

Grinsa continued to stare down the street. Finally he shook his head. "I don't think there's anything we can do. If we were being followed, whoever it was will have seen us stop and will be ever more cautious." He started walking again, a bit more quickly than before, and the young lord hurried to follow him. "I should have been more careful," he murmured, more to himself than to Tavis. "Next time I won't turn until I'm certain that I can catch him."

Tihod watched them from a shadowy alleyway between a smithy and a wheelwright's shop, cursing his own foolishness and fearing that at any moment the gleaner might start back up the lane toward where he was hiding. He had already determined to his own satisfaction that Grinsa and the Curgh boy were returning to their inn. After their conversation with the drunken peddler, he was certain that they would be eager to retire for the night, so as to begin the final leg of their journey to Helke with first light. Once he realized the direction in which they were walking from the pub, he should have stopped following and gone back to his own room. Instead, he had continued after them, ignoring the risk.

It had been no more than the scuff of his boot on the dirt lane that made Grinsa stop, a slight misstep that other men would have missed. Certainly Tavis hadn't noticed it. Dusaan would have, but the Weaver was not like other mena"it seemed he and Grinsa had more in common than just the extent of their powers.

Perhaps wielding such magica"knowing that if the extent of their power were discovered by the Eandi they would be executeda"made men like Dusaan and Grinsa more cautious than others, and thus more aware of their surroundings. Or maybe possessing so many magics that were linked to the land and the elementsa"fire, mists and winds, language of beastsa"also served to heighten a Weaver's perceptions of the world in which he lived. Whatever the explanation, Tihod knew that he would have to be more careful if he were to make an attempt on Grinsa's life without getting killed himself.

He couldn't hear what the gleaner and Tavis said to each other, but after a few moments they started walking again. Without leaving the alley, Tihod watched them enter the inn. Still he didn't move, lest Grinsa was watching for him from within the tavern. Only after he had waited for some time did he finally step warily into the lane and make his way back to his inn and the small, dingy room he had rented for the night.

He missed his ship. For a man accustomed to sleeping in the comfortable cabin of his own vessel, being carried into his slumber each night by the gentle rise and fall of the sea, a tavern bed was a terrible place to pass the night. He hadn't slept well since leaving Duvenry, nor did he have much of an appetite. He knew that many found the sea unsettling to the stomach, but he, of course, did not. He didn't understand how anyone could live and sleep and eat on this dead rock they called land. On the ocean Tihod felt that he was riding the back of some great living beast, moving as she did, living by her rhythms and off her bounty. The pitch and roll of his ship on the ocean waves, the taste of sea spray on his lips, the scent of brine in the winda"these gave him more than a livelihood, they gave him life. They fed his appetite and his thirst, they told him when to sleep and when to wake, they gave life and color to his dreams at night. They even enhanced the act of love. He had once lain with a woman on land, in some tavern bedchamber in Aneira, and the experience only confirmed for him what he had already known. Women, like food and wine, like storms and sunsets, were best enjoyed on the sea.

Dusaan, who had never traveled well by ship himself, had nevertheless come to appreciate Tihod's passion for the sea, and so had been deeply surprised three nights before when he entered the merchant's dreams.

"You're not on your ship," the Weaver had said immediately, a look of concern in his golden eyes. "Why?"

They were standing together on Ayvencalde Moor, as they always did during these encounters, the stones and grasses bathed in bright sunlight, a soft wind stirring Dusaan's wild white hair.

Tihod told him of finding Grinsa and Tavis in Duvenry and of his decision to follow the two of them north to Helke, where he hoped they would lead him to the assassin. He had expected Dusaan to be pleased by these tidings, perhaps even to compliment him on his decision to follow the gleaner over land. Instead, he warned Tihod to be careful and vowed that they would speak again before the merchant and his quarry reached Helke.

Thus, Tihod knew even as he drifted toward sleep that Dusaan would walk in his dreams again this night. In fact, it seemed the Weaver had been waiting for him, for as soon as he fell asleep he found himself on the moor again, wading through the tall grasses. Dusaan stood some distance away, the still waters of the Scabbard at his back.

"What news?" he demanded, as Tihod halted before him.

"I'm in Krilde, less than a day's walk from Helke."

"Grinsa and the boy are there as well?"

"Yes. They spoke with a peddler tonight, a man who had heard Cadel singing in Helke just a few days ago. He gave them the name of a tavern. If all goes as I expect, this matter will be settled by this time tomorrow."

"This isn't something that can or should be rushed," Dusaan said, his face grim.

"I know that. I was only sayinga""

"I want you to find the assassin before they do. Get to Helke firsta"leave tonight if you have to. Pay him the usual and have him kill both men. I don't want you fighting Grinsa."

"You're going to send an Eandi assassin to kill a Weaver?"

"He's killed Qirsi before."

"Never a Qirsi like this."

"And you have?"

"That's not the point, and you know it," Tihod said. "I'm sure that Cadel is very good at what he doesa""

"He's the best in the Forelands."

"But skill with a blade or a garrote isn't enough in this case. No matter how good he is with a weapon, without any magic at his disposal, he stands no chance against Grinsa."

"Believe me when I tell you that you don't either."

"Then neither of us should make the attempt."

Dusaan narrowed his eyes, as if trying to gauge whether Tihod was merely arguing the point to anger him.

"This is a task for an assassin," he said slowly. "And should Cadel die trying to kill Grinsa, then I'll find another assassin. If necessary, I'll send a dozen. Assassins can be replaced. You can't."

Tihod grinned. "True. But I've left my ship, and come a long way. I refuse to allow this effort to be in vain. I may not be a Weaver, but I have powers and I know how to use them."

"Any power you have Grinsa can turn to his purposes. You think that because you can shape, and raise a mist, that you're powerful enough to fight him?" Dusaan gave a short, sharp laugh. "You're not."

"Perhaps you're right, but surely he'll be expecting Cadel to attack him. There's no chance at all that the assassin will surprise him. Both he and the boy know what Cadel looks like. They know he's in Helke. But they know nothing of me. If I strike fast enough, Grinsa won't have time to turn my powers against me."

Dusaan glared at him, the look on his face as cold and hard as ice in the northern reaches. Tihod had pushed him far, perhaps too far. Dusaan was not a man accustomed to having others argue with him, either in his capacity as Harel's high chancellor or as leader of the movement. No one else in all the Forelands would have dared speak to him this way, and though Tihod did not think that Dusaan would harm him, he did realize that one way or another, this discussion was nearing its end.

"You'll work with Cadel," the Weaver said at last. "There are two of them, there should be two of you as well. I still want you to get to Helke ahead of the gleaner. Find Cadel and tell him what's happening. I've heard that he doesn't particularly like taking our golda"apparently he has little more regard for our people than do the nobles he killsa"but one would hope that he'd see the benefit of working with you in this instance."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Offer him more money. That always seems to work with the Eandi."

"And if after Grinsa is dead, he's still reluctant to take on this new job?"

"We have other inducements that should convince him to do as we ask. They always have in the past."

The merchant nodded. "Very well."