“So I think you have your answer.” Hasham rested an elbow on his desk, running fingers through the thick grey bristles of his beard. He studied the same map with a pair of keen and penetrating brown eyes. “In three days Elio could have made it a hundred miles from here, perhaps double that if he keeps a strong pace. I have men watching the river to the north, and have informed Moonlord Ranaartan at Starcat Keep to maintain a constant lookout as well. I doubt he would go that way, however. East? Well, he has caused such strife in the east that he would not be welcomed there. Kolash, Matia, both sacked by his coalition. Eagle’s Perch lost to Cedrik Kastor and then left abandoned. There are places in the plains he could hide, but those heights have grown treacherous now. He will know he will not last long there, not even if he has mustered a menacing host to accompany him, which I would doubt. No, more likely he and Mar Malaan and perhaps a few others tucked their tails and ran together. So west…” He nodded. “Yes, that would be my guess as well. There have been reports of men crossing the river the night of the battle, not long before sunrise. Several watchmen upon the walls corroborate this. If one of them was Elio Krator, then he is now beyond our grasp, I fear to say.”
She could not hide her disappointment. “But…can’t you send men to hunt him? He’ll have left a trail. You have trackers…”
“I do. Fine trackers and fine hunters who I could deploy if I wished.”
“But you won’t? You’ll just let him go free?”
The man’s gaze narrowed. Careful, that said. “If Elio has indeed gone west, he will have ridden for an ally, and if that is the case, he will have swords about him soon. I would not expose a band of my best men to that risk, not until I have better information.” He checked her eyes. “You’re displeased. I understand. And so am I, do not doubt it. That man has brought this entire duchy to the brink of ruin, and as soon as I get the faintest whiff of his whereabouts, I will seek him out and destroy him, in that you have my word.”
She believed him. But first he needed that whiff. And she couldn’t speak for his sense of smell. “Thank you, my lord. That is all I can ask. Though…”
“Yes?”
She glanced back to the tent flaps, wondering why the Wall hadn’t interrupted them yet. “Sir Ralston…he thinks I need to let my vengeance lie, but I can’t, not with him. If you do find him…can you make me a promise?”
His jaw jut out. “Let me hear it first.”
“Imprison him,” she said. “Keep him locked away for me, so I can return to see the light leave his eyes.”
The old moonlord raised a bushy grey eyebrow. He did not take long to consider it. “No,” he said, firmly, and with finality. “I understand why you have made this request, but no, I cannot grant it. If Elio Krator is found and brought here during your absence, he will suffer no imprisonment or trial. Such a man is too dangerous to be left alive, and the city will demand his death. When I pit your wants against theirs, there is only one voice I will listen to. The collective, my lady, is always more powerful than the one. The day Krator is returned here will be the day he dies. Whether you’re present for that or not is, regrettably, of no consequence.”
Well, that told me. She felt the fool for even asking it. “Fine. I understand.” Knowing that Krator had died to a chorus of jeers and taunts would have to be enough. I’ll have some bard sing a song about it for me, she thought. Maybe I’ll even commission a play…a mummer’s play, to mock him...
“Is there anything else you wish to discuss?”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to take up any more of your time.” She was halfway through turning when he stopped her.
“Oh, before you go.” She turned back to see him reach into a drawer. “A letter was found this morning, in the ruin of the Tukoran encampment.” He reached out. “It is addressed to you.”
She frowned and stepped back over. “Does it say who from?”
“The seal is House Lukar. I suspect it is from the prince.”
Robbert. She took the letter from his leathery fingers and tore the seal, withdrawing the note. She smiled as she read the words.
“What does it say?” Hasham asked.
“He apologises for the haste of his leaving, and…for everything else that happened.” She looked up; Lord Iziah Hasham had taken some convincing that Prince Robbert Lukar was an ally, not an enemy, and that he and his broken army ought to be left to leave without harassment. It had not been easy, but eventually Hasham had acceded. But still there is mistrust in him.
“And? Anything else?”
“He says he will aim to leave these lands with all speed, and won’t raise a blade against any of its inhabitants, lest they first do the same to him.”
“I’m sure. And what of the bands of men who did not leave with him? Can he promise they will act peaceably toward our people as well?”
I would doubt it, Saska thought. As with Elio Krator’s forces, the Tukorans had splintered during the battle, and many had gone racing for the hills. Now they would rove like bandits, it was feared, rogue elements stalking across their lands, plundering and pillaging as they went. She scanned the note. “He makes no mention of them. But most of his surviving men went with him. We saw that from the palace.”
It had been two days ago that Robbert Lukar left, marching east toward the coast with the ragged remains of his army at his back. Saska had stood at the parapet wall of the terrace gardens, dressed in silk, her body freshly stitched and bandaged, wondering if this was the last time she would ever see the prince who had saved her life. There had never been a time in all history when the seas were so treacherous to travel. Greatsharks and greywhales in massive, wrathful pods; rare and ancient leviathans; krakens and manators and other monstrous things. If half his remaining fleet made it home to Tukor it would be a miracle. A tenth even felt unlikely. But it only takes one ship, she told herself. Just the one…just his.
Lord Hasham appeared to be thinking the same. “The seas will judge him,” he intoned. “I am no godly man, as you know, but I respect the power of nature. Let the wrath of the waves decide on whether this Robbert Lukar is worthy. As to these roving bands, they will soon find that the plains of Aramatia are unfriendly to unwelcome guests. The wells and rivers are running dry and this heat is becoming unnatural. They will not survive for long.” He looked at the note. “Is there more?”
She scanned it once again. After the apologies and the promises, what remained was a little more personal. Gratitude toward Del and Leshie for saving his life. A hope that they would see one another again soon. A jape about the oddity of their meeting, there in the midst of the chaos of the fighting. And there at the end, scrawled beneath his signature, was a postscript that mentioned a gift.
“He says he left a gift for me.” She looked up. “Did you find anything with the letter?”
“A chest,” Hasham said. “The letter was lying atop it in the wreckage of the boy’s pavilion. I had it checked, for obvious reasons. There was a concern it might contain something harmful. I had to be sure.”
“And did it?”
“That would depend on your point of view. It contained godsteel, Saska. My men were unable to move it, of course, so I had the Surgeon summoned to help. He and some of his men. They hauled it up to your chambers.”
Saska was already stepping back toward the flaps. “Then I’ll not take up any of your time, Lord Hasham.”
“Is Sir Ralston out there?” the moonlord asked.
She paused in motion. “He is.”
“I’ll have his report, then. Send him in, if you would.”
Saska nodded, turned, and slipped out past the guards into the maelstrom of noise. It was curious how much quieter it had seemed inside that tent with only canvas walls to shield them. The Wall was taking report from the Strong Eagle, hearing of his latest operations in the city. When he saw her emerge he absented himself and stamped over, spotting the note in her grasp. “I am told there was a letter.”
She waved it. “There was.”
“Is it of any consequence?”
To me, yes. She folded it, stashing it in a pocket to join her other treasures; the list of jokes from Bawdry Bronn, the quill-knife Lancel had given her, the shell necklace from little Billy Bowen and the pitted piece of coral that had called to her, once, during that lazy day on the reef. All little mementoes of her time and travels, of the people who had shaped her path. “Not especially,” she said. “It’s from Prince Robbert. It came with a gift.”
The Wall seemed to know that already. “A chest of godsteel, I’m told.”
