Trevn

In the dead of night, Ulagan—who turned out to be the headman’s orange-haired translator—led Trevn, Saria, and fifty-two of their people from the slave tunnels along a wide corridor in the lowest level of the fortress. There were still over two hundred Sarikarians left behind, but Grayson said they shouldn’t take more than two boats at once, and so they’d brought as many as they could fit.

They entered a steaming chamber that housed an underground reamway hot spring. Where the stone floor ended and the river passed by, two animal-skin longboats were tied to the landing with twine ropes. Above the water, on the topside of the reamway, dripstones hung thick, sprinkling drops every now and then.

Mosquitoes swarmed. Trevn must have slapped several dozen away as he waited for the people to climb into the boats. Ulagan gave instructions about the bowl lamps, reekats, and using the paddles to keep the crafts from crashing into the stone walls. There would be no place to stop, so they’d have to take shifts.

“Tell me when you reach the ocean,” Grayson said, “and I’ll come meet you.”

“How long will it take?” Trevn asked.

“Two and a half days,” Grayson said. “Since it’s night, you’ll probably get there around dawn three days from now. I’ll meet you there and help you find your ship.”

Trevn bid farewell to Ulagan and Grayson, and climbed into the first boat. Ulagan untied the rope, and the current sucked the craft down the reamway, blowing a soft, humid breeze back in Trevn’s face. The low bowl light cast a faint gleam over the rock walls, which were slimy, brown, and had formed dripstone-like textures down the surface. Overall it was very dark. Waterdrops fell from the dripstones like a light sprinkling of rain. The river was mostly straight, and the paddles were rarely needed.

Trevn sat in the bow a long while, but he finally realized that there was nothing to see and settled down to voice Captain Bussie, Mielle, Wilek, and Hinck in that order.

Trevn told Captain Bussie he was on the way and to remain anchored in the inlet until he arrived.

Mielle was thrilled to hear Trevn had escaped without trouble. “I hope it won’t be long now before we see each other.”

Trevn’s escape pleased Wilek too. “One burden lifted,” he said. “Now if only I could get Sarikar to join me against Rogedoth, defeat him, and my wife and son’s health would improve.”

“They are still unwell?” Trevn asked.

“Their eyes no longer water, and Chadek has gained a little weight. Kal thinks they might have been poisoned. Rayim suggested I ask King Loran for help, and he is sending his personal physician, who should arrive soon.”

“Surely he will know what to do,” Trevn said, sensing the worry in his brother.

Hinck had been spying more carefully ever since Rogedoth had tried to kill him. Arman’s healing had cleared his name, as far as he could tell. Even Rosârah Laviel had been kind of late. Rogedoth had focused on New Sarikar and continued to direct Fonu and his squadron of compelled giants to wreak havoc on the outer settlements. He also wanted to capture Grayson. He had sacrificed his daughter Darlis to create the root child and felt the boy belonged to him. Trevn promised Hinck he would do everything he could to keep Grayson far from Rogedoth’s grasp.

Trevn grew restless trapped in the longboat, but as predicted, on the third day the reamway emptied into the inlet. The morning was bright and sunny. A cool breeze gave welcome relief after days of stifling, humid air. As the movement of the boat slowed against the gentle rocking waves, the motion filled Trevn with a longing remembrance of the months he had spent at sea.

“Grayson,” Trevn voiced. “We’ve reached the inlet.”

The boy appeared suddenly in their boat, landing atop Maleen, who howled in surprise.

Grayson laughed it off. “Sorry about that. Knowing where I’ll pop out is always tricky.”

The boy directed the soldiers to paddle the boats to a nearby cave, where they tied them up with several others.

Grayson led the way on foot along a reddish-brown, clay-like dirt road that wound north along the coast. A narrow expanse of giant trees separated them from the beach, the ground underneath covered with spongy green moss and stiff ferns big enough to sit under.

Trevn walked in the middle of the procession near Princess Saria, who looked a little more like herself in the light of day. He voiced updates on their location to Wilek, Bussie, and Mielle, who felt closer than ever before.

“I feel it too,” Mielle said. “It won’t be long until we are together again.”

The force of their combined joy caused Trevn to stumble into Princess Saria.

“Sorry.” He loosened his hold on the connection to Mielle, fighting for a semblance of calm so that he could keep his balance.

“You’re talking to someone, aren’t you?” Saria asked. “I can hear it, muffled like a conversation someone is having behind a very thick door.”

Surprised, Trevn asked, “Can you tell what was said?”

“Not at all. It’s low, whispered nonsense. Who are you speaking to?”

“My wife,” Trevn said.

Saria frowned, suddenly looking fragile. “Miss Mielle is truly alive, then?”

“Oh yes,” Trevn said. “Captain Stockton and I estimate that she is but forty leagues—”

The soldier in front of Trevn and Saria grunted and fell. Up ahead two more went down. Men shouted as they whipped around or dove into the ferns, weaponless.

Trevn felt Mielle’s fear spike as she reacted to the excitement within him. “Trevn, what’s wrong?” she asked.

“We are under attack. Pray.”

Cadoc pulled Trevn under some leathery ferns. Saria’s guards had done the same, and she was crouched but an arm’s length from him. The foliage hid them from sight, but it also obstructed their view of their attackers.

From what Trevn could see, the road was deserted now but for the body of the soldier who had been walking before them.

Grayson appeared under the bush, and Trevn barely managed to block Cadoc’s arm as he instinctively moved to strike the newcomer.

If Grayson had noticed Cadoc, he didn’t let on. “Giants attacking,” he said. “There are eight. You’ve got four men down.”

“We have no weapons,” Cadoc said. “What can we do?”

Trevn despaired at the idea of being taken back to the beetle caves. On his left he could see the open water, a pale backdrop against a couple dozen tree trunks. “To the ocean?” he suggested.

“It’ll put us out in the open,” Cadoc said.

“Wee nopla way. Suu!”

Trevn peeked over the fern. A giant stood above them, hand raised and clutching a rock the size of a melon. As the giant glared down, an arrow pierced his cheek. He howled, dropped his rock, and doubled over.

“Go!” Cadoc yelled.

Trevn ran. Grayson quickly took the lead, disappearing and reappearing at intervals only a few steps ahead of each previous location. Cadoc clenched Trevn’s arm and propelled him after the boy. The spongy moss underfoot made running awkward. Around them arrows and rocks flew as the giants and their mysterious attackers engaged in battle. A rock grazed Cadoc’s shoulder, struck Trevn’s wrist, and tumbled into the moss. Trevn lurched, but only slowed a moment before Cadoc yanked him onward.

The forest ended on a ledge, dropping sharply to where the sand of the beach began. With no time to stop, Cadoc yelled, “Jump!”

Trevn leapt down the incline. His feet sank into deep sand that shifted under his weight. Beside him Cadoc slipped and dragged Trevn down with him.

Trevn hit the ground on his side and rolled, ripping out of Cadoc’s hold. When he stopped, he looked back up the hill. Saria and her men were running toward them. A few paces to the right, Maleen and Ottee were crawling down the slope. Ten total, Cadoc and himself included. They were missing four-fifths of their party. And where had Grayson gone? On the plus side he saw no giants, even though he could still hear the occasional scream within the forest.

“Your Highness,” Cadoc said, nodding out to sea.

Trevn pushed himself up and followed Cadoc’s gaze. A ship was anchored in the small cove. Hope soared at the idea of boarding the Seffynaw, but this ship was much smaller, a two-masted, lateen-rigged cog. Trevn quickly sought out the name on the side.

Taradok.

He knew that name but couldn’t place it.

Grayson appeared between Trevn and Cadoc. “Zahara rescued us,” he said.

“Will you stop doing that?” Cadoc asked.

Grayson frowned. “Should I, Your Highness?”

“It’s all right, Grayson. It will just take some getting used to. Now, who is Zahara?”

“She wants to talk to you. See? She’s coming now.” Grayson pointed up to where some bedraggled pirates were easing their way down the incline. Behind them groups of Trevn’s and Saria’s men emerged from the forest.

Trevn suddenly remembered where he’d heard the name Taradok. “She’s Randmuir Khal’s daughter. Grayson, you should hide yourself.”

“She’s on our side,” Grayson said.

“Pirates are only ever on their own side,” Cadoc said.

The woman arrived then, dressed in a black tunic and breeches like the rest of the pirates. She was short and stocky; the sleeves of her tunic clung to muscled arms. She smirked as she appraised Cadoc. “Who’s the smart one, Grayson? He knows a lot about pirates.”

“That’s Cadoc. He’s Sâr Trevn’s shield.”

Zahara turned her dark gaze on Trevn. “And you’re the highborn royal.”

Trevn’s cheeks burned, and he did his best to return her smoldering stare. “You wish to talk to me?”

“Not me,” she said. “My father does.”

Cadoc stepped between Trevn and Zahara. “That’s not going to happen.”

“My but you’re a loyal man.” Zahara winked at Cadoc. “Your concern is unnecessary. My father needs your royal’s help. None of us mean him any harm.”

“Why would I help the man who wants to kill my brother?” Trevn asked.

“Because if you help him, he’ll declare a truce with all you royals.”

A simple conversation was a fair price to pay for a potential truce with the pirates. “Where is he?”

Zahara walked away and motioned him to follow. “I’ll take you to him.”

A short hike through the forest brought them to a clearing filled with the one-sided cape tents of the Omatta nomads. The tops of the canvas clung to a single pole while the wide ends were pegged into the ground, forming an army of half-circle cones. Trevn selected ten soldiers to follow him into Randmuir’s camp. He made Grayson stay behind with Princess Saria.

Cadoc and three soldiers entered the tent with Zahara to make sure it was safe before allowing Trevn inside. When Cadoc declared all was well, he and Trevn stepped inside alone, leaving the others to guard the entrance. What Trevn found inside rendered him speechless.

Randmuir Khal had been tied up like some kind of captive. Thick braided hemp circled his torso at least twenty times, pinning his arms to his sides. Not only that, his legs were bound as well, trussed from ankle to knee. Additional ropes had been lashed to those bindings and staked into the ground like guy lines.

“You found the mantic boy?” Randmuir asked Zahara, eager.

“He’s obsessed with catching Grayson,” Zahara told Trevn. “It got so bad I had to tie him up. He’s forgotten who he is. What matters to him.”

“Who is this?” Randmuir asked, eyes narrowed at Trevn.

“This is Sâr Trevn Hadar,” Zahara said.

Randmuir’s eyes lit up. “Royal spawn. Tell me how your brother broke the soul-binding between him and the mantic witch.”

Pity for the man gave Trevn pause, but he could only answer truthfully. “He got lucky. His backman at the time turned out to be a mantic. He was able to undo the spell.”

Randmuir grunted. “I doubt his mantic would be willing to help a pirate.”

“He’s no longer Wilek’s mantic. He turned traitor and is in Rogedoth’s camp now, serving as the man’s general.”

Laughing, Randmuir tipped back his head, which was the only part of him that wasn’t tied in place. “See now? You royal spawn use people enough, they’ll pay you back.”

Trevn hadn’t come here to be insulted. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Master Randmuir?”

His face twisted in sorrow. “Help me break this compulsion. I can’t go on like this.”

“I’m sorry,” Trevn said. “I don’t know how.”

Randmuir’s face darkened with rage and he screamed, straining against the ropes that bound him.

Zahara raised her voice over her father’s fit and asked, “Why did Sâr Wilek kill my grandmother?”

That quieted Randmuir.

“He didn’t,” Trevn said. “Charlon Sonber killed her.”

“That crow who soul-bound your brother?” Randmuir asked.

“The same. She has also killed the Magonian Chieftess and taken the role as her own. Last I heard, she has settled midway up the Great River. We suspect she means to attack us at some point, so Wilek is doing all he can to ensure peace between the realms.”

“See now? That’s exactly why I hate royalty. Who do they think they are to tell the rest of us what to do? I’m done with it. Because of your brother king, my mother is dead and my son is still deformed. We’ll all be better off when Wilek Hadar becomes worm food.”

Trevn didn’t care for the pirate’s threats or caustic tone. “I understand your anger, but your blame is misplaced. All of our troubles have been caused by mantics and their shadir, looking to further their own agendas. If you want to blame someone, look there.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Randmuir snapped. “But what else can I do? My daughter has had to bind me so I won’t lead my tribe into madness.”

“Trust Arman,” Trevn said, thinking of how the God had saved Hinck. “Only the Father God can set you free.”

Randmuir chuckled at this, so Trevn went on.

“My friend Hinck was dying when he called out to Arman. The God answered his faith by healing him. I ask only that you consider the possibility. Understanding takes time.”

“Crazy royal spawn,” Randmuir mumbled. “You have no idea how powerful shadir are, do you? They are always watching. You might think you can hide things from them, but you can’t. They see everything.”

“Without Arman, the only way to remove the spell is to find a mantic,” Trevn said. “There are no mantics in Armania anymore. If you want one, you have to go to Rogedoth or Charlon. Otherwise, the compulsion will stay with you your whole life.”

Randmuir’s eyes widened. “Finally an option that makes sense. Dying is the way to free the Omatta tribe from my compulsion. Zahara, bring me a knife.”

“No one is dying,” Zahara said. “I thank you for coming, Sâr Trevn. I’ll walk you out.”

Trevn voiced Captain Bussie as they left the Omatta camp, and with Grayson’s help, by dusk, they had reached the ship. Trevn stepped out of the dinghy and onto the quarterdeck, where Captain Bussie, Nietz, and Rzasa were waiting.

“Shinn is in the hold?” Trevn asked.

“Yes, Your Highness. Still doesn’t know why, though.”

Trevn had no time to talk with Shinn now. “He’ll have to go on wondering. We’ll stay here for the night and leave at dawn to find Mielle and the others.”

“How will we find them?” Cadoc asked.

“With Grayson’s help.”

Trevn sent Ottee to fetch Mielle’s cloak from the cabin. The moment he returned and placed it in Trevn’s hands, Mielle felt closer.

“The mind-speak magic doesn’t work well between strangers,” Trevn said, handing Grayson the cloak, “but as I learned with your boots, if you hold a personal belonging, it can create a link. Use this and see if you can travel to Mielle. I’ve already told her to expect you and what you look like. If you can find her, maybe you can figure out the best route to reach her.”

“I’ll do it right now,” Grayson said, and he disappeared.

“Can he not give a warning?” Cadoc asked. “Say farewell before he pops away?”

“He is eager to please, Cadoc. I like that about him.”

“I don’t see her,” Grayson voiced.

“Don’t give up so soon,” Trevn said.

“I’ll find her, Your Highness. I promise.”

Trevn hoped so.

It took a lot of willpower not to voice Grayson and Mielle constantly to ask whether or not they were together. Trevn stood on the main deck with a grow lens and surveyed the surrounding land. From this vantage point the great forest ran for leagues to the south. The mountain range filled the distant southwest, with that one massive peak towering above the others. Directly west were flatlands and forest. And in the distant north another mountain chain stretched out of sight. Mielle was somewhere between the two mountain ranges, that much Trevn knew.

“Are you going to leave me behind?”

Trevn lowered the grow lens and regarded Princess Saria. She had cleaned herself up but still wore the uniform of a Sarikarian soldier. “I claim no authority over you, Princess,” he said. “Whatever I have is at your disposal. If you want to leave, feel free. Or you are welcome to remain on the Seffynaw.”

“Being here makes me nervous,” she said. “I had no desire to step foot on a sailing ship ever again. Might we go with you? My men would double your numbers.”

“I would welcome the help.” Trevn had no idea what they would do if they met giants; he also doubted Mielle would be pleased to see Princess Saria in his company. He would have to warn her ahead of time.

“Your Highness!”

Trevn had barely spotted Grayson waving at him from the quarterdeck when the boy vanished and, in a blink, appeared at Trevn’s side. Saria yelped and clapped a hand over her heart.

“You scared me!” she said.

“I found her, Your Highness,” Grayson said. “There’s a—” His eyes lost focus as he stared just above Trevn’s head. “Ragaz is here. We should talk in our heads. There’s a great lake not too far that way.” He pointed west. “It stretches for leagues and leagues. We are at one end of the lake, and Miss Mielle is at the other.”

Because of the presence of Fonu’s shadir, Trevn wrote out his orders to Captain Bussie. Trevn would take a party west on foot, heading toward the great lake. The Seffynaw would remain anchored until receiving further instructions.

“We will await your orders, Your Highness,” Captain Bussie said. “It sounds like a fair distance to travel on foot. How will you find her?”

Trevn tapped his temple. “We will find each other, Captain. Communication is the most powerful tool Arman has given us. If we use it well, we cannot fail.”