"I don't know," Doc replied. "The swelling could be a good thing, protecting the eye while it heals.

There's no great amount of pus, no bleeding, but I can't make promises."

Firekeeper nodded glumly.

"He told me to remember that Lady Melina wasn't a wolf," she said. "And I forgot-twice. Twice she used that to defeat me."

They'd already heard her account of how she had pursued Lady Melina, how Bold and Elation had saved her and regained the ring, how she had let Lady Melina escape.

"Don't blame yourself," Derian said gently.

"Who else can I blame?" she asked bitterly. "Not Bold, not Elation-without them I would be dead. Not Blind Seer-he warned me."

Doc leaned over and touched Grateful Peace's forehead.

"Fever's breaking. Riding in the cold today may have kept him from burning alive, but it will take its toll.

How's the soup coming?"

Derian checked the small kettle where the livers and hearts from their evening meal simmered in snowmelt.

"It's taking on color," he said.

"Good. Ladle some into that mug. I want it to cool a bit before I spoon it into him."

As Derian complied, Doc went on: "Firekeeper, I've been thinking about what Lady Melina told you-about where Citrine might be. She'salmost certainly in the eastern part of Hawk Haven, probably down by the sh.o.r.e."

"You think so?" Firekeeper asked.

Derian relaxed from a tension he hadn't even been aware was holding him stiff, for the self-loathing had left the wolf-woman's tone, replaced by the eagerness she always demonstrated when action was contemplated.

"You know that Princess Lovella died going after enemies of Hawk Haven, right?"

"Yes," Firekeeper nodded eagerly, "and you were with her and were made knight for bravery."

"Well, those enemies were pirates and smugglers, allies of Bright Bay at that time, which is why we were so eager to be at them."

"Yes?"

"They had a stronghold, an old lighthouse in the swamps that spread north of Port Haven, near where the White Water meets the ocean. I've been thinking, like I said, and the more I think, the more likely it seems to me that Baron Endbrook may have stored his hostage there."

"Why?"

There was no challenge in Firekeeper's tone, only a desire for information.

"The Islanders have long been allies of the pirates, that's one reason. Secondly, the weather is bad for deep-water sailing, bad enough that I don't think he would have risked her on a voyage to the Isles. I want your help checking this."

"How?"

"Elise gave me the idea."

Derian grinned slightly as Doc's tone warmed slightly, the way it always did when he spoke of Elise.

Apparently, seeing her unwashed, half-shaved, and cranky had done nothing to diminish his admiration.

"Earlier, she mentioned that the Beasts should have given you more help. Well, I found myself musing over what we could do if we had a few more of your winged folk. Then I thought, well, we still have Bold with us and I've gathered that there are others who keep an eye on things."

Firekeeper nodded.

"If Bold would go ahead of us, down to the swamps, maybe talk to some of the seagulls or something..."

From Doc's tone, Derian could tell that despite the fact that he'd nearly killed himself to save Blind Seer, he felt ridiculous suggesting asking animals to do a job that would take conscious thought and planning.

"They could check if Citrine is at the lighthouse," Doc concluded. "That would save us a considerable amount of effort and then, if she is there, if a bird or two would carry messages to both King Tedric and King Allister..."

Doc swallowed hard.

"Well, not only could we rescue Citrine, maybe we could finish what Princess Lovella started, maybe we could put out Smuggler's Light."

BOOK.

THREE.

Chapter x.x.xIV.

Owl Moon had been showing her first quarter when Baron Endbrook had sent a messenger to Dragon's Breath with a box for Lady Melina Shield. When Owl Moon had shone fat and round, he had imagined the lady receiving the box and its grisly contents. By the time Owl Moon had waned to a quarter once more, Waln was eagerly awaiting her reply.

Yet he had not been idle as those days pa.s.sed.

Though pirates and smugglers by profession, scofflaws by choice, killers when needed, there were few among those hardened men and women who dwelled in the Smuggler's Light who had not been shocked by Waln's cool mutilation of young Citrine Shield's hand.

That he had done the deed himself, rather than ordering some lackey to do it for him, had only raised him in their estimation. Given the lives they led, the pirates often mistook the sensation of fear for that of respect.

Since his days as a gutter bully, Waln had learned how to capitalize on others' fears. He would not let the opportunity escape him now.

Even as Fess Bones was binding up the weeping girl's hand, Waln had swaggered down into the common area that occupied the second story of the lighthouse.

Longsight Scrounger, who to this moment had reigned supreme over those gathered in this illicit stronghold, didn't like seeing his va.s.sals shrink from another. Had he been a dog, his hackles would have risen and his lips curled back from his teeth.

Longsight and Waln had been fencing with each other from the moment Waln had arisen from his sickbed, but to this moment neither had struck decisively. They had growled and snarled, snapped and sniffed about for weaknesses, but neither had attacked.

Had Longsight been a different kind of man, Waln might not have even challenged him-he had no desire to be a pirate king. Longsight, however, could not work with anyone else. Either he worked for others or, preferably, they worked for him.

Perhaps the shadow of Queen Valora's influence as much as anything about Waln himself had cautioned Longsight to hold back any attempt to openly dominate Waln, but now faced with what he perceived a challenge to his authority Longsight forgot queen, wealth, and t.i.tle.

Without their enn.o.bling aura, he saw only a large man, somewhat pale from illness, a man who daredstrut into Longsight's hall as if he owned it.

"I must admire you, Waln," Longsight Scrounger sneered, his voice silky as a whiplash drawn lazily over the skin it antic.i.p.ates cutting, "for how you discipline little girls. So firm! So direct! No wonder Queen Valora uses you for her errand boy. She must recognize a well-trained nursery hand."

Waln didn't speak a single word in response to this taunt.

Never pausing in the lazy stride with which he'd entered the common room, Waln strolled over to where Longsight sat in a high-backed cushioned chair at the best table among those arrayed about the hall.

Right until Waln raised his hand, Longsight might have thought the other man too fl.u.s.tered to fight back.

Then lightning strike of Waln's hand as he brutally backhanded Longsight across one side of his face gave answer.

Longsight's head snapped back and impacted with the hard wooden back of his chair. For a bare breath it seemed that he might have been stunned; then Longsight rose to his feet, pushing the chair behind him so that it toppled over and crashed to the floor.

The common room of Smuggler's Light was decorated rather after the fashion of a large tavern. Now it resembled one more than ever as tables were dragged back and chairs scooted aside to open a makeshift arena for the combatants in the center of the floor.

Not one of those men and women who in other circ.u.mstances would have followed Longsight Scrounger to the death rose to offer him aid. Not one protested Waln's attack upon their leader. Only the old crone who had been by Waln's bed when he had awakened cried out-and that shrill sound might well have been fierce excitement rather than protest.

Bets were laid on-though few bet in favor of Waln. Rather the pirates bet on how long it would take Longsight to knock the challenger down, how many blows Longsight might need, whether a dirty trick or two might come into play.

To one side of the room, Lucky Shortleg could be heard loudly bemoaning that he had not time to set proper odds.

Yes, the bets were on Longsight. The pirates knew him, knew his ferocity, his tenacity, his skill in a dirty brawl. Those who knew Waln at all knew him as a shipping magnate, a man who possessed wealth and t.i.tle. They had no idea how he had won those prizes.

Fess Bones-coming down into the commotion after wrapping Citrine's hand in layers of gauze and dosing the girl with a powerful sleeping draught-Fess Bones found many who were willing to take his bet that Baron Endbrook would be the one to stagger from the makeshift arena.

Fess Bones set himself up for life with his winnings from that betting. It was Longsight Scrounger who, when all was ended, spat teeth onto the floor and then collapsed onto the scarred wood, sliding into a puddle of his own blood and spit.

Some sixteen days later, when Fleet Herald, the messenger Waln had sent to Lady Melina, returned to Smuggler's Light, it was Baron Endbrook who stood at the top of the lighthouse overlooking the swamp, and Longsight-recovered from the worst of his beating, though inclined to whistle between broken teeth-who answered the door and then scurried away.

A more loyal lieutenant than Longsight Scrounger Waln could not have asked for, not if he ordered himself one out of his own warehouses. Like Waln himself-who served Queen Valora out ofself-interest, tinged with fear-Longsight respected those more powerful than himself. When he had thought Waln physically vulnerable, he had been willing to dismiss t.i.tle and wealth. Now these became two more chains that bound Longsight like a whining cur at his master's heel.

If Fleet Herald was surprised at this change to the order of things, he said not a word. He merely dipped his bow deeper than he might have and licked his lips nervously.

Looking down at the cringing messenger, Waln felt deep foreboding replace the comfortable self-satisfaction that had been his daily diet since he had defeated Longsight and stomped a few opportunistic types who had thought to take him on when he was-presumably-weakened.

"I expected you days ago," Waln growled at Fleet. "What is your report?"

Fleet made no excuses nor apologies. He knew-as Waln himself did-that he had made excellent time, especially given the winter weather and the nature of his mission.

"The lady sent no reply to your message, sir," he said in as soft a voice as he dared.

"None!" Waln bellowed.

This had been a possibility he had contemplated only in his gloomiest moments. A doting father himself, he had thought the threat to Lady Melina's daughter would bring him some message from the lady. In his brighter moments, Waln had even contemplated a future where the messenger returned with the three artifacts.

Waln considered the possibility that Fleet had stolen the artifacts, but dismissed it at once. Longsight had recommended Fleet precisely because the man was utterly trustworthy in this type of job and had made himself valuable by being so. Fleet would not risk his reputation for cursed artifacts that he-like any sane man-doubtless feared.

Nor did Fleet Herald have a kingdom to support him-as did Queen Valora or Lady Melina-if he turned thief.

"Are you certain there was no message?" Waln asked, giving Fleet every opportunity to say something that would mitigate the circ.u.mstances.

"None, Baron." Fleet straightened and met Waln's eyes. "I waited a full day lest she change her mind, but she sent no word to me, nor did she send out any other messenger. From what I gathered, she must have put what you told her from her mind, for she simply went about her duties."

Waln swallowed a groan of despair. He'd been playing at pirate. Now, it seemed, he might need to turn pirate. Certainly, there would be no returning to the Isles-to his family and fortune-without those artifacts...

Not unless he made every effort to regain them. Queen Valora might forgive him then.

Waln had received Fleet in his private chambers, a decadently overfurnished room that took over the entire s.p.a.ce once devoted to housing the light. He'd wanted to be alone to savor his triumph and to contemplate his next move.

How could he counter when the Lady Melina refused to play?

Or what if she didn't intend to play his game, but to write the rules for one of her own?"Go," Waln said to Fleet. "Get some hot food, a good night's sleep. Tomorrow I'm going to want to know everything-no matter how minor-you learned about Lady Melina and her position in New Kelvin."

Fleet gulped nervously as he made yet another slovenly bow and retreated. Waln, turning to watch him go, saw someone on the landing without-someone who had been bold enough to sneak upstairs and listen.

Sunlight caught fire from the gemstone on her brow as Lady Melina's youngest daughter looked in at him.

Citrine's big blue eyes were wide and slightly crazed. She waved her maimed hand at him in a parody of greeting.

She was laughing.

If I live to be as old as King Tedric, Elise thought, I will never forget that journey.

A glimmer of wry humor colored her next thought, Though I might wish to do so.

For three days they had pushed hard, taking side roads whenever possible, riding during the hours they were least likely to meet anyone. As they had descended along the edge of the Sword of Kelvin Mountains, heading not only south but to lower alt.i.tudes, the weather had warmed-not enough to offer comfort, but enough that they were forced to contend with mud and slush in the daylight hours.

Sleigh travel was heavier on the roads at night, so night was when they took cover. Always the sense that they were just one step ahead of the alert preyed on them. More than once, Elise had awakened from nightmares where the New Kelvinese guards were at the door to whatever barn or shack they had sheltered in.

Indeed there had been times when, bent over Cream Delight's neck so that she could gather what heat she could from the mare, Elise had felt certain that the alarm must have gotten ahead of them. Every time Firekeeper or Blind Seer brought word of a cl.u.s.ter of houses, an inn, or a larger than usual traveling party, Elise had been certain that their desperate bid for freedom had ended.

Even Elation's return to them two days into their journey had given Elise only a little rea.s.surance. The Royal Peregrine had reported that the New Kelvinese had searched the vicinity around Dragon's Breath for a half-day before finding the imprisoned guards at the end of the sewer tunnel and thus confirming the means of escape from the city.

The heavy snowfall had made it impossible for the New Kelvinese to send out pigeons or to confirm the direction in which the fugitives had gone. When the snow let up, only a few of the reluctant birds could be convinced to fly. Those that had taken off had met with a quick end.

Elation couldn't be certain she had gotten all the pigeons, for she had wisely waited to stoop upon them when they were out of sight of the Beast Lore covey. Riders had been sent out with orders to leave word of the fugitives along the road. The same weather that had made their own journey a misery had slowed these riders as well.

Elise was not comforted by Derian's conjecture that the riders would not be as desperate as the fugitives.

He rea.s.sured his companions that the messengers would be inclined to take advantage of a gossip-hungry innkeeper's offer of a gla.s.s of something hot or comfortable shelter when night drew on.

Derian spoke rea.s.suringly enough, telling anecdotes from his own experience, but Elise noted that theredhead often glanced back along their trail and that more than once Bold was sent to see if any pursued.

Bold had to serve as their aerial spy. As soon as Elation had rested-and Firekeeper had little patience with the peregrine, saying that she was already fat on rich pigeon flesh-the falcon was sent east to the swamps in hope that she would learn something of Citrine Shield's precise whereabouts.