back, ‘You’re paying the fee for the return trip.’
Hatu struggled not to laugh at that moment and changed the topic. ‘So, what do you think about those two men Molly and Hava saw on the road three days ago?’
‘I think I need to talk to the baron about it, or his man Balven. What do you think?’
Hatu shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to make of it. I mean, I understand why you’d warn the baron about armed men from some army skulking around but … I have no idea who they could be.’
‘You’ve travelled, seen things. You must have some thoughts,’ suggested Declan.
Hatu had ensured the two men under suspicion were still abed, their horses still over at Jacob’s barn before leaving, a sorrel gelding and an off-grey mare, according to Hava. Both men had returned in the evening after having spent a futile afternoon asking around the caravanserai about the red-headed children. Hatu had bid them both goodnight. Passing Jacob’s barn, he saw that both their horses were there, so Hatu knew they couldn’t reach Marquenet without passing Hatu and Declan’s wagon. To do so unseen would require a large looping course beyond farms on both sides of the baron’s road, so they could not reach the city before the wagon.
In reply, Hatu said, ‘They rode in from the east, and rumours claim Sandura is making trouble for everyone.’ He shrugged, then continued, ‘They were alone in a corner of the inn last night, and barely spoke to either Hava or me yesterday, other than ordering food and ale.’ He elected not to share the questions about red-headed youngsters passing through Beran’s Hill with fictitious parents. Declan apparently had enough cause to alert the baron to the strangers’ arrival in town without Hatu even remotely suggesting he might be part of their reason for being there. Others might bring it up should Declan speak to them of it, for if those two travellers were as indiscreet with others as they had been with Hatu and Hava, word would spread. It was also likely someone would bring up the rumours of the Firemane child.
Declan was by nature a man of few words, and Hatu had a tendency to guard his words, a trait drilled into him since childhood, so the two of them fell into a comfortable silence.
Hatu scanned the horizon as a matter of habit and was taken with the beauty of Marquensas, the rolling hills, distant orchards, and lush fields. The weather was kinder than any place he had visited before, warm and sunny with cooling breezes off the ocean in the late afternoon. If fate determined this would be his home from now on, he could embrace it with enthusiasm, he decided.
He glanced past Declan, then to the rear. Declan said, ‘Worried we’re being followed?’
Hatu feigned a dismissive chuckle. ‘Old habits are hard to break, I guess. Moving horses from market to market is risky.’ He fixed his eyes on the road ahead. Still, he could not shake the feeling that they were being watched.
* * *
A SMALL HUT STOOD AT the edge of a tiny clearing in the woods east of Beran’s Hill. It had once been occupied by charcoal burners but had long since been abandoned. Inside waited two figures crouching under heavy blankets, for they did not risk fires at night. A third figure had just dismounted a horse and entered the hut.
Catharian was wearing his disguise as a friar of the Order of Tathan, who had once been worshipped as a god, but was now regarded as a ‘prophesying divine spirit’ of the One. He looked at the young woman who sat across from her bodyguard and asked, ‘Anything?’
‘Just flickers,’ answered Sabella. ‘Even without training he’s managed to develop … a shielding of his presence. An instinct, perhaps.’ She sighed. ‘I only get a hint of him being in the town two, three times a day.’ With a shy smile, she added, ‘Mostly his guard lowers when he’s having sex with that girl.’
‘His wife,’ amended Catharian. He knelt. ‘How are you holding up?’
‘I’m all right,’ she answered.
Catharian glanced at the man: Denbe, a master of the martial order of the Flame Guard, then returned his gaze to Sabella for a moment and smiled. Despite the privation of this journey, Sabella looked better than she had at the Sanctuary. Getting out in the sunlight, breathing fresh air, and not sitting all day in a dark room using her gifts to search for the lost son of the line of Firemane seemed to be reviving her. For a passing moment he wondered how the other Far Seers were doing now that this hunt was over. He had little doubt that their leader, Elmish, had found plenty for them to do.
The Flame Guard had become complacent over generations with the rise of the Firemane line and had taken root in Ithra, the capital city of the kingdom of Ithrace. In so doing they had enabled their enemies almost to obliterate the order in one blow.
It was thought that all of those in the sacking of Ithra had perished, where the former Hall of the Guardians had stood: what few knew was that some survivors had retreated to the original hall in the distant south which had been abandoned centuries earlier, a hall within the ancient Sanctuary. Enough members of the Flame Guard had survived that the order had managed to endure. For nearly two decades they had hidden and slowly recruited adepts and willing soldiers, but people with the vision and capacity to serve a higher calling were rare. Now they were beginning to venture into the world again, despite being few in number, to ensure a balance was restored. Still a long way from the power they were twenty years ago, they were continuing to find recruits to their cause, and were getting prepared for a battle they knew must eventually come.
Catharian sat down. They had spent almost a month identifying which young man in the town was the Firemane child. By process of elimination it had quickly become obvious that the lad from an unnamed eastern land who had purchased a burned-out inn and restored it, with his wife, was the missing heir. Many questions remained unanswered as to how he had survived until adulthood, how he’d come to somewhat conceal his powers without proper training, and whether he knew how much danger he was in, as well as the more mundane questions of how he had ended up an innkeeper in Marquensas. All this was piquing Catharian’s curiosity.
The false monk had become a familiar face to Hatushaly because of his acquaintance with Declan and Ratigan. Catharian was known as a mendicant friar, so when he passed through the town on his way to Port Colos, Copper Hills or Marquenet, it raised no suspicions when he appeared at the Inn of the Three Stars. Hatu and Hava had even taken to providing him with a meal, or food for the road, for they found his stories amusing.
Catharian had hinted he might be given the duty to raise a shrine to Tathan in Beran’s Hill. That had given him a reasonable excuse to be in town often, and should the need arise to have agents of the Flame Guard there constantly, they could start construction on the false shrine.
The earlier arrival of a newcomer had made him think that the latter option was now unlikely, and that the three of them might have to act sooner rather than later, but the story that they were going to build a shrine gave him good reason to linger. He hoped it wasn’t too soon, as he would prefer to act when more agents of the Flame Guard arrived, and Sabella and Denbe were better rested.
‘I think I recognized a man who arrived a few days ago,’ said the false monk.
‘Who?’ asked Denbe, looking interested. The old soldier had no problem with taking rest when it came his way. While weeks of travelling up to Beran’s Hill had kept him alert, a week of sitting in this hut had made him restless. The hint of a possible upcoming fight made him sit up and take notice.
‘If he’s who I think he is, he’s an agent of the Church.’
Denbe nodded. No further clarification
