The Fox (102 page)

Headmaster Gand was there, overseeing the setting up of camp, and oh, how Evred remembered all the chores, the horse pickets, the cooking, the tent-rigs! Boys were busy everywhere, new-shorn scrubs running about until they were aware of him, then sedulously going about their business, every line of their small bodies indicative of self-consciousness.

Evred rode along the campsite, caught Gand’s eye, saw the deepened corners of the old dragoon’s tough mouth— not a smile, never that, but Evred recognized humor just the same, and fractionally lifted a hand. Officially there was no notice from king to headmaster, but Evred knew the boys would speculate on the meaning of his visit faster than he could ride by. Just as he had as a scrub the rare times his father had visited.

It was good to see order, to see things as they had been—it boded well for the future. Unless that was mere wish being taken for truth.

Tap.
The locket!

Evred rode by, but he no longer saw the horsetails busy with the horses or the pigtails at their chores.

He finished his circuit, and then started back, the outriders behind him; with one hand he fetched out the locket and flicked it open, his fingers catching the little paper before the wind could whip it away.

With one hand he unrolled it, read it, read it again.

The sea battle scarcely registered: what drove residual anger entirely out of his mind and set his heart to drumming were the words
I. ship sighted sailing twd. L.H.

Evred looked up, his emotions fierce, but just as fiercely he quashed them.

Inda’s ship was sailing toward Lindeth Harbor—two weeks’ ride from the Nob. Much, much farther from here. Inda might land, but he would be gone again before any message could reach him.

Too many disappointments made Evred wary, almost angry at that sudden surge of unreasoning hope, and so he did his best to dismiss conjecture—and his own reaction. He would keep himself busy. It wasn’t as if he did not have plenty to do.

Inda stood on the deck of the
Death.
He’d signaled
All captains
, and so they lined the lee rail, Iasca Leror behind them in the east, obscured by bands of rain from the passing storm.

They were silent after Signi’s unexpected announcement: “Do not go into the harbor.”

Fox sent her a fast glance, eloquent in its distrust. Signi’s face was troubled.

Gillor said, “Why not? Is all that stuff about kings and assassins true, then?”

“It is not the Marlovan king. We—the Venn—have watchers there. They will know this vessel.”

Inda said, “Do they have magic communications?”

Signi turned her face toward him, relieved he wasn’t angry with her, though she could sense in their quick, inadvertent movements and shuffles the angry reactions from the crew. “Yes and no. It is not what you think. The observers write reports. It is a mage-prentice job to transfer to a hidden place, then travel along and collect their reports. Then transfer back to Ymar, or wherever the Dag commands.”

“So, what, the Venn have spies among us?”

Gillor’s eyes flicked at the “us.” Even though the conversation was in Sartoran-laced Dock Talk, it was clear that their commander had already made the inward shift back to his homeland.

“Yes.”

“How good, how recent, is the news?”

Signi looked very uncomfortable. She said in a slow, reluctant undertone, “It is good. I know much of events in this land, for we have had watchers there since the fall of Idayago.”

Inda turned up his thumb. “All right, then, the harbor is out. We’ll land somewhere along the coast to the south.”

“I’m going with you,” Jeje stated. “If you’re going to face some king, then you’ll need someone to watch your back o’ nights.”

I’m going with you
. Tau had never felt so exquisite a pain. He did not delve for reasons, just spoke, once again— as aboard the flagship, before the Brotherhood attack so long ago—hearing his own voice as something entirely outside of himself. “And I,” his voice said, “will watch it of days.”

Inda gave him a distracted glance. “I appreciate the offer, but do you understand? I’m going inland—to the royal city—not just to Lindeth Harbor.”

Fox smiled mockingly, but said nothing.

“Wherever you go.” Jeje crossed her arms. “Because you need looking after.”

Everyone on deck laughed, but she just stood there glowering.

“I won’t argue,” Inda said. “Since
Death
can’t drop us at Lindeth, we’ll take the
Vixen
down the coast and land at some inlet where the Venn don’t have spies.”

“And we can continue down south, lead any pursuit away,” Fox said. “I don’t believe the entire Venn fleet is conveniently running north because of a fog bank.”

“I’m sure they don’t want to be late to their invasion,” Dasta said.

There was a mild laugh at this, but the humor did not last long. Everyone imagined the huge fleet traveling north to load up with the Venn invasion force, to return as soon as they had the western wind they’d need to drive those loaded, heavy ships back across the strait.

Tcholan said, “We’ll probably see raider packs, is my guess. Soon’s they figure out—or nosers tell ’em—which way we went. They’ll want to stop us if they can.” And turned up a hand in agreement.

Inda slung his dunnage up over his shoulder.

“Well, then.” Fox was unsmiling.

Inda faced him. For a moment they stood there, wind fingering their hair and clothing, Fox defiant in pose. There was nothing really to say. The two had spent most of the night before over the charts, drinking mulled wine as Inda rambled on about what he would do next in this or that contingency, and Fox listened but said little.

Now the fleet captains stood against the lee rail, watching. They and the
Death
’s crew seemed to expect at least words, if not a gesture, the way their eyes tracked between the old leader and the new. The crew had accepted the change of command with typical seagoing practicality. Fox had commanded single ships, and had run weapons drills; they respected his fists and his sharp tongue as well as his skill.

It wasn’t the change of command so much as how it was done that seemed so strange. The old pirates found a peaceful transfer of power difficult to believe. Inda’s people expected nothing else, but did not like to see Inda going off again.

“We’ll be back,” Inda said finally. “We’re only carrying the news. We still have the Venn fleet to fight.”

Fox opened a hand. It could have meant anything.

And so Inda led the way over the side, followed by the others, Tau last, Fox laughing silently at how some of the women watched Tau depart, their faces sober, though Tau did not look back.

Then the Fisher brothers sheeted the
Vixen
’s long curved sail home. It filled with wind and the privateers watched their old commander carried to the southeast, the lovely little craft slanting as it picked up speed. On the
Death
’s foremasthead, Mutt clung to the shrouds, his eyes blurred with tears.

From the captain’s deck Fox watched the
Vixen
dwindle into a sliver against the land, and then he raised his hand. “Let’s give our Venn friends ashore something to spy on and report to the chief snakes, shall we?”

The captains returned to their ships.

And so, guided by Fibi’s squawk, the
Death
raised every sail that could draw wind, tacking coastward under the black-and-gold fox banner.

As for those on the
Vixen,
the wind soon brought them the scents of land, familiar scents that evoked in Jeje, Tau, and Inda so many childhood memories. They watched the shoreline grow as Loos slanted them southward, tacking against the currents.

“What we can do is this,” Inda finally said. “Jeje, you can keep your gold thing. I’ve got its mate with the others.” He shook his gear bag, from which came the muted clatter of gold cases. “If I need the
Vixen
, I can signal you.”

She shook her head. “I said I’m coming, and that means on land.”

Inda grimaced. “I appreciate the offer, but trusty as you are in battle you can’t really ward a whole army. If Aldren-Harvaldar wants me dead, he has an entire kingdom to see to it.”

“Evred-Harvaldar,” Signi said softly.

Inda almost didn’t hear her. “You were wonderful in Bren, and I wouldn’t ask—” He had been talking to Jeje, whose arms were crossed, her face stubborn. He turned sharply on Signi. “What did you say?”

Signi stepped back, startled by this unfamiliar voice, the intensity of his gaze. “You did not know? The king is named Evred. The second son of Tlennen-Harvaldar. It is so for at least a year.”

“Evred,” Inda repeated, the words,
Why didn’t you tell me?
forming in his throat, but the name was a mere name to Signi. To Tau. To Jeje.

He let out a long sigh, then dug his palm heels into his eyes. They knew that gesture. But when he looked up he was smiling, a smile they had so rarely seen, a smile of un-shadowed joy as his entire being filled with sunlight.

“I take it this news alters our plans?” Tau asked.

“Yes. And no,” Inda said, turning that smile toward the land. “It doesn’t change the news we carry to the king.” Then he faced them again, the happiness breaking into laughter. “But it does change how we get it to him.”