it’s best for you to be somewhere else.’
They quickly finished the saddling done by the two dead lackeys and within ten minutes were riding out the postern gate of the palace, vanishing into the night.
Three days later they reached the village of Kempton and found the promised boat. They waited until the evening tide, then slipped out after dark, sailing along the coast on a north-easterly tack.
The third morning after heading up the coast, Ty scrambled up the mast and shouted, ‘Nothing in sight!’
Within moments, sails were raised and Hal pulled them around to catch a favourable wind blowing north. By rough reckoning, they should hit the southern shore of the Kingdom mainland close to Bas-Tyra. With luck, when they caught sight of land, they’d be pointed right at that harbour.
Twice they caught sight of sails and turned and ran, and for two days there was no sign of pursuit. During the war they had run afoul of Ceresian pirates, acting as privateers but in fact raiding the coast. But this trip passed uneventfully.
Three days after leaving the coast they saw a brown smudge on the northern horizon that promised land. Two hours later, the coast was clearly outlined against the sky. By midday they could make out features and judge roughly where they were. Hall pulled the tiller over and corrected his course, and soon coastal details could clearly be seen.
Three distant white spots indicated sails, but Hal made straight for them, because he knew exactly where they were. An hour before sundown, they could see a huge city, one to rival Rillanon and Roldem in size if not in majesty. The harbour mouth was flanked by two massive towers, but beyond that dozens of ships could be seen sailing among many more at anchor.
Hal looked at Ty and smiled. ‘Bas-Tyra.’
The Black Ram was like many other taverns in the cities along the coasts of the Sea of Kingdoms: crowded, dangerous, noisy and packed. It was filled with sailors avoiding duty aboard ships stuck in harbour, with mercenaries looking for employment either as auxiliaries to the city’s garrison or as guards for merchants, with prostitutes, gamblers, and the assorted riff-raff attracted to an approaching war. Two young men pushed their way through the press of bodies over the occasional objections of people who disliked being jostled, though once they saw two young men with serious expressions and fine swords on their hips, they soon gave way.
Reaching the bar, Ty signalled to the closest of three barmen, and when he approached said, ‘I’m looking for Anton.’
With a jerk of his head, the barman indicated a door off to the left. Pushing through complaining customers, Ty and Hal reached the door, masked by an ancient curtain. Pushing it aside, they found themselves looking down a dimly lit hall at the far end of which stood the largest man either of them had ever seen.
They were forced to look up to address him. As both Ty and Hal were over six feet in height, they judged this human mountain to be approaching seven feet tall. From the size of his shoulders and arms, he probably weighed close to three hundred pounds. His skin was coffee-coloured, so much of his ancestry would be Keshian, but his eyes were a vivid blue. His shaved head reflected the light from the one open lamp that hung halfway down the hall.
‘What?’ he asked in a voice so deep it almost rumbled.
‘We seek Anton,’ said Hal.
‘Who sent you?’ asked the human barricade.
Ty paused for a moment, then said, ‘Jim Dasher.’
The man nodded once, turned his back and opened the door. He leaned in and said, ‘Someone looking for you. From Jim Dasher.’
Somehow the monstrous guard stepped aside enough to allow Ty and Hal to enter the room. Inside they found a tiny desk behind which sat a slender man with the oddest hair Hal had ever seen. He was balding, but had a fringe of dark hair which he had allowed to grow, and which he swept up and forward to cover his pate. He used some manner of pomade or oil to keep it in place, so it looked as if he was wearing a strange, shiny helm. His clothing was ostentatious and he wore earrings and several necklaces. Only his thumbs lacked rings.
‘Jim Dasher?’ he said, rising. He moved around the desk, but did not offer his hand or bow. He just appraised the two young men silently.
Hal started to speak, but Anton cut him off with an upraised hand. ‘I do not need to know many things, and do not want to know almost as many. I’m in Jim Dasher’s debt, so tell me what you need and I’ll do what I can to help.’
‘We need to reach Prince Edward,’ said Hal.
Anton winced. ‘That tells me too much, but you had no choice. That way could prove dangerous.’ He fell silent for a moment, tapping his cheek. ‘I can get you safely to Salador. From there you must find your own way.’
‘Salador would be a good start,’ said Hal.
Anton went to his desk and removed a parchment, ink and quill, and began to write. ‘Our lord, the Duke of Bas-Tyra, has remained neutral in the contestation for the Crown. He’s a wise man, our duke, who will wait until he’s certain which way the wind is blowing, at which point he will declare for the winner.’
‘A practical man,’ observed Ty.
Anton shot him a dark look. ‘Now,’ he said, holding out the parchment. ‘Take this to the servants’ entrance to the palace. Ask for a man named Jaston, no one else. Someone at the gate may argue they’ll take the message, but do not permit it. Just keep insisting and eventually they’ll send for him.
‘You do not need to know who Jaston is, so do not ask. You do not need to know why he will do me this favour, so do not ask. More importantly, he doesn’t need to know anything more about you than I’ve written down here, so do not answer any of his questions, no matter how affable the conversation may be. Do you understand?’
Both Hal and Ty nodded.
‘Do what he says, however, and he will get you to Salador.’
Hal took the parchment and turned without remark, Ty a step behind.
The massive guard stepped aside as much as he was able, allowing the two travellers to squeeze through the door.
Within half an hour, Ty and Hal were at the servants’ gate to the palace arguing with a guard about summoning Jaston. Eventually, as predicted by Anton, Jaston was sent for and appeared.
By his dress, he was a man of some rank within the ducal household. He read Anton’s letter and then looked at Hal and Ty. ‘Come,’ he said brusquely, and led them through the gates.
They walked around the massive castle’s side yard, past some flowering gardens, and to the rear marshalling yard. There a company of horsemen was gathering. ‘Captain Reddic!’ Jaston shouted.
An officer of horse, dressed in the black tabard of Bas-Tyra, with a golden eagle spreading wings embroidered over his heart, turned and replied, ‘Sir?’
Jaston indicated Hal and Ty. ‘These two gentlemen are to accompany you to Salador.’
‘Sir?’ said the captain again, this time his tone curious.
‘They are men of rank, but their identities will remain unknown to you. Should there be cause to speak to them, keep it brief
