"How are Camlee and Ness taking the news of Highwall's defeat?"

"Badly, Your Eminence. Ness is but three weeks hard march from Bren. It doesn't take a genius to see where Kylock's eye will fall next."

Tavalisk waved an asparagus stalk at Gamil. "Hmm. You're probably right. Kylock will be hoping that the mountain storms keep Annis on ice all winter. And now he's got his kingdoms' army with him, he'll be loathe to sit around and do nothing. There's no one more restless than a newly crowned king."

"He is in a very strong position, Your Eminence."

"Gamil, if I'd wanted someone to state the obvious, I could have brought in a copper-polisher. He might be illinformed, but at least he's sure to see everything in front of his face." The archbishop slipped the top half of the asparagus in his mouth. He never ate the bottoms. It was an act of kindness, for he always sent the remainders to the poor. "Come spring Kylock will have problems, though, Your Eminence. He'll have to cross the mountains and claim Highwall, keep Halcus subdued, and defeat Annis."

"He'll be stronger by spring, Gamil. Only half the troops in Bren are fully trained at the moment. There's all sorts: mercenaries, farmers, conscripts. If the man's got any sense at all, he'll spend the winter making sure they're fully trained for the spring."

"What of the invasion of Ness, Your Eminence?"

"The blackhelms and kingdoms' forces can take care of that. Ness can't be expected to put up much of a fight."

"But won't the south help the city?"

Tavalisk considered the asparagus: green, glossy with b.u.t.ter, scenting the air with the faint tang of sweat. With their furtive little spearheads, they were the perfect vegetable to scheme over. "The official line should be that the south is not prepared to help Ness at all."

"And the unofficial line, Your Eminence?"

"We need to give Bren the impression that we're wiping our hands of Ness, that way they'll be more likely to send out less troops and be less prepared. Only when they look set to conquer that wretched sheep-bound city will the south make its move. I say we arm Camlee in secret, mind our own business until the last possible moment, and then take young Kylock by surprise."

"Your Eminence is wise indeed."

Tavalisk beamed. He was still the chosen one, after all. Marod had certainly picked well when he'd picked him. "Any more news, Gamil?"

"The Fishy Few was spotted in the east bay this morning, Your Eminence. She's probably already docked by now."

"Hmm. I think it's best if we let the knight and his friends go. Wouldn't want to waste my time with such trivial matters as torturing commoners-not at the moment, anyway." Gamil was quick to bow. "Your Eminence is quite right. Let us concentrate on more important matters."

He'd certainly changed his tune. What did the pocket have on him? "'That's all for now, Gamil. After you've done me a little favor, you can go. " It was, Tavalisk considered, exactly the right time to put Gamil in his place.

"What favor, Your Eminence?"

"I'd like you to make me a written list of all your intelligence sources."

"All of them?"

"Yes. From the richest merchant down to the lowliest scullery boy."

Gamil looked worried. "But Your Eminence, that would take all day."

Tavalisk faked a yawn. "I'm prepared to wait."

"So the archbishop's chief aide was working for Larn?"

"That's right, Tawl. The Old Man was spot on."

"What is the man's name?"

"Gamil."

Tawl sat back in his chair. They were gathered around a small circular table in the Rose and Crown. The remainders of a roast pork dinner lay congealing on platters, and Nabber was just finishing off the last of the pie. The place was quiet and warm. The tavern-keeper had just put more logs on the fire, and the tavern-maid kept coming by to top up the ale.

Gamil. It was the name they had given him all those months ago at Larn. The man he'd delivered a letter to on their behalf. Tawl remembered his face clearly, remembered his surprise at seeing who was waiting outside his door. The man was just another self-serving coward-he and the archbishop deserved each other. Tawl rubbed his aching forehead. "Everything is connected in the end."

Jack looked up. During the telling of Nabber's and Megan's stories he hadn't said a word. "What's connected?" Tawl had dropped the comment casually, yet Jack's manner was anything but casual. Tawl shrugged. "You know: Larn, Rorn, Bren. Even you and Melli-the way you both came from the kingdoms."

"Larn, Rorn, Bren, and the kingdoms," repeated Jack. He had been acting strangely since he got off the ship. Distracted and introverted, he had kept his distance from them all. Tawl wondered what was going on in his mind.

"Why don't you get some rest?" Tawl said. "Nabber's taken three rooms for the night" As he spoke, he shot a quick glance at Nabber.

Nabber nodded. He stood up, walked over to where Jack sat, and pulled on his arm. "Come on, Jack. I'll take you upstairs. You can have the room with the bed. Two golds extra it cost me."

Jack allowed himself to be led away. Tawl watched him go.

"You are worried about your friend?" Megan drew her chair closer to his.

"Yes. We've all been through a lot." Tawl took hold of Megan's hand and kissed it. "But none as much as you." Her smile was so sweet, it pained his heart to see it.

She raised her finger to his lips. "Don't blame yourself, Tawl. You can't go through life protecting everyone you care for. It just can't be done."

Tawl shook his head. "Megan, I-"

"You care too much, Tawl. You always live for others, never for yourself."

"If I'd known you were in danger, I would have come." Megan ran her forger down his cheek. She smiled softly. "Don't you think I know that, Tawl?"

She was so beautiful. More beautiful now than she had ever been. The bright curls she had lost were nothing compared to the sparkle in her eyes. He reached over and kissed her on the lips. "I have so much to thank you for."

"You don't owe me thanks, Tawl. You've been so hard on yourself for so long that you expect others to be, too. Telling you that my imprisonment wasn't your fault isn't a favor. It's the truth. The archbishop threw me in a dungeon, not you."

"But "

"Tawl, you cared. If you'd known, you would have been there." Megan's deep green eyes looked straight into his. "That's enough for me."

It was enough. She wasn't lying to spare his feelings. She was speaking the truth. Tawl felt a subtle shifting in his heart. A lightening. Perhaps there was something to what she said. Perhaps sometimes caring could be enough.

Megan was smiling like a wily fox. "Now, tell me about the woman you love."

Tawl didn't bother to hide his surprise. He did take a deep draught of ale, though, to give himself a moment to think. "What makes you say that?"

"Your kiss. It was sweet rather than pa.s.sionate."

What was it about this woman? How could she know so much?

Megan laughed. "You look quite indignant. I didn't mean to offend you."

No. She meant to let him off lightly. By bringing the subject up, she was relinquishing all claims on him, telling him he was free to leave. "You are a remarkable woman."

"I'm glad you've found someone to love."

Tawl took both her hands in his. "Wasn't it you who told me it's love, not achievement, that will rid me of my demons?"

Megan rested her head upon his shoulder. "You still have a fair distance to go."

Jack lay on the bed but didn't sleep. His head was bursting. His senses were overpowering him. He felt the rough wool of the blanket scratching his wrists, felt a droplet of sweat run along his cheek. He saw the air swirl and thicken in front of the fire, and the ceiling bear the strain of footsteps above. He heard everything: moths beating their wings against the shutter, worms burrowing into the wood, a man in the next room snoring, and the tide pushing its way to the sh.o.r.e.

Voices. He heard voices, too.

Fyler's last words: "I've never seen the captain care for anyone the way he cared for you on the voyage home. Treated you like a son, he did "

Quain's last words: "Jack, next time you're in Rorn be sure to come and see me. We've got a lot in common, you and I. "

Tawl in the tavern: "Everything is connected in the end. "

Voices, hundreds of them, buzzed across his mind like flies around a joint. Why wouldn't they leave him in peace?

Jack tossed and turned in the bed. The blankets beneath him were wet with sweat. Outside someone was walking down the street-their footsteps pattered in time with his heart. Like a guard listening for intruders, Jack strained his ears to hear more. The fire crackled, the moths flew, the man in the next room snored, and the sea lapped against the sh.o.r.e-all in time with Larn.

Jack couldn't bear it. He felt as if he were going mad. Larn was squeezing him from all sides.

"Did what she wanted, didn't you?"

The voices grew loud again. Taunting, arbitrary, lashing against his soul.

Stillfox sitting by the fire: "I heard a tale about a girl who came from Larn once. Her mother was a servant to the priests. "

Falk talking about his mother: "It seems to me that she might have kept her past a secret to protect you. "

Quain before the storm: "She was adrift on a skiff with neither sails nor oars to get her moving. "

Jack clamped his hands to his ears. The voices still wouldn't stop.

Stillfox again: "It was her mother-a woman so badly deformed that she could use no muscles on the right side of her face, nor lift her right arm-who saved her. With her help the girl was cast adrift on a small boat in the treacherous waters that surround the island. "

Master Frallit: "She was a foreign wh.o.r.e at that. "

His mother on the castle battlements each morning: "Keep your head low, Jack, you might be spotted. "

Jack felt as if he were suffocating. He was being crushed by the weight of the voices. The words were heavy, penetrating, persistent. They would give him no peace.

Sweat dripped from his nose and into his mouth. It tasted of the sea.

Stillfox: "She swore a terrible oath that one day she would destroy Larn. "

Quain: "She was running away. "

Falk: "Perhaps she was afraid for you more than herself. "

"STOP!".

Jack sat up. His ears were ringing. His heart was racing. The blankets were ropes binding him to the bed. He tore them from his body. He had to get away.

The coolness of the wooden floor was a blessing. He dressed quickly, pausing only to splash water on his face. He took the stairs three at a time, and if a door wouldn't open, he forced it. People tried to stop him, but he shook them off. Their voices were no different than the ones in his head.

At last he was outside. Taking a calming breath of the night air, he willed the madness to recede. The voices faded to whispers, to senseless humming, and then to nothing.

Jack felt drained. His feet found their own way along the streets.

Prost.i.tutes called to him, drunken men appraised him, old women crossed the street when he pa.s.sed. The stars were out tonight. They glittered in time to Larn. Jack quickened his pace. No matter how fast he walked, Larn was inside him. No matter how hard he tried, things would never be the same.

Down toward the sea he walked. Across half a league of seafront, along the eastern quay, between row upon row of fishing boats, and up the gangway to The Fishy Few. Until he got there, Jack didn't even know where he was going, but as soon as he saw the bull of the ship, he knew he'd come to the right place.

"Who goes there? Disturb this ship at your peril."

"Carver. It's me, Jack. I've come to see the captain."

"Well, you're in luck. He hasn't left yet. He's still in his cabin, making a log of the voyage." Carver let him board the ship. "Hey! You best not be proposing to go on another journey, matey. Because if you are, I'll throw you overboard right here and now. Ain't never sailing to Larn again. And I'm prepared to commit murder to keep it that way."

"It's all right, Carver. Larn is just another barren island in the middle of the sea." Even as Jack said it, he didn't believe it. How could he? Larn beat in his heart and in his soul.

"Hmm. Just you watch it, matey."

"I will, Carver. I will."

Jack went belowdecks. The wood of the ship smelled sharp and confining. The low ceilings cut down the size of the night. The captain's door was closed.

Jack didn't knock. He pushed.

The captain was sitting at his desk, scribing in a ledger. He didn't look up. "Come in. Sit down. I've filled you a gla.s.s." Jack stepped into the room. It was warm, but not too warm. Bright, but not dazzling. On the table lay two gla.s.ses: one was full to the rim, the other was short of the mark.

Quain swung around to face him. "I thought you'd be here by now."

Jack sat. "You knew I would come?"

"Well, I had an inkling you might."

"And if I hadn't?"

"Then I'd have the second gla.s.s all to myself." The captain smiled softly. "I'm rather fond of arrangements where I get to win either way."

Jack took hold of the full gla.s.s. It was smooth and heavy in his hand. "What became of the girl from Larn?" The captain spoke straightaway, as if he'd been expecting the question all night. "After The Bountiful Breeze docked, I took her home with me. She was still ill, and my mother and I looked after her for several weeks. I've never seen a woman so determined to get well-she near as willed herself to health. The day she was strong enough to walk was the day she left the city. There was no stopping her. She was afraid of Larn, afraid the priests would track her down and kill her. Though it broke my heart to do it, I gave her my savings and let her go."

Jack felt as if the night itself was spinning, and he and Quain were the only stationary points. "Where did she go?"

"She wouldn't tell me. She didn't want to put me at risk." Quain spoke in a whisper. "I think she headed north."