Against all odds, we had dragged Mirian Raas from the surf alive, so you can imagine my reluctance to let her dash off to almost certain doom. But what was I to do? At that point, the jewels were my responsibility, as was Rendak’s survival. I had little choice but to obey her orders and lead the others to the exit, hoping our luck would hold.
—From The Collected Writings of Lord Ivrian Galanor
Four men in guard armor hurried down the steps into the arena’s lower level just as Ivrian arrived with Jeneta and Rendak.
“The prisoners have escaped,” Rendak said. “I’m escorting the priests to safety.”
The scarred fellow in the lead nodded as they hurried past. From somewhere nearby came an ear-rattling roar.
Ivrian and the others were up the stairs and almost to the open doorway, a rectangle of light more welcome than a lover’s touch, when he heard the shout behind him.
“That’s not a guard!”
Ivrian turned to find all four guards halted at the foot of the stairs. The imitation blond from the side gate was pointing to Rendak while the other three turned. “He’s not wearing any shoes!”
Rendak lifted a dirty bare foot and laughed. “Come on, Sister!” He charged with Jeneta up through the doorway. Ivrian bolted after, whirled to see the onrush of the guards, and slammed the door as the pursuit was still halfway up the stairs. He looked in vain for the board that should have been nearby to bar it closed. Jeneta and Rendak ran on.
Ivrian spied a heavy table strewn with cards, leapt it. He shoved the table at the door, gaining momentum with every step. Three feet out, the door started to swing open, a hand gripping its edge.
The heavy table struck the door, slamming it shut with a heavy thud. There was a long wailing scream from its other side. Ivrian winced in sympathy. He really hadn’t meant to hurt anyone.
He turned and raced after his friends. Once in the sun, he joined a stream of frightened Sargavans fleeing the arena. Jeneta and Rendak dashed for the small carriage emblazoned with the golden-haloed sword of Iomedae.
Jeneta threw the door open for the limping salvager, who clambered inside, then hopped after and turned to reach down for Ivrian. As soon as his feet were inside, she knocked on the carriage wall, shouting for the driver to go.
They heard the crack of the carriage whip and the vehicle lurched forward.
“How far is it?” Ivrian asked, panting.
“Down past the harbor.” Jeneta eyed Ivrian keenly.
“I’m sorry about how that went,” he said. “If there’d been some other way—”
“I’ll have to leave Crown’s End.” She sounded matter-of-fact. “You didn’t tell me your friend was a madwoman.”
“Mirian’s not mad,” Ivrian objected.
“She has little chance, but I salute her bravery. We should all hope to have friends as loyal, some day.”
“Amen, sister.” Rendak pushed his lank dark hair back from his forehead, struggling to render himself more presentable. “I’m Rendak, by the way. Thank you for your help.”
The young woman nodded, her long face the picture of dignity. “I am Jeneta.”
“No offense, Jeneta,” Rendak said, “but Mirian’s going to make it. You don’t know her.”
Another nod. “I hope you’re right.”
The cart jounced and bounced down the steep road, and Ivrian peered fitfully through the curtains as they drew near the harbor. The driver advanced at a more leisurely pace through the port. They passed mule teams pulling cargo wagons, and strolling sailors, their occupation obvious from their rolling gaits.
“Is it just me,” Ivrian asked, “or does everyone here look like a pirate?”
“If you’re looking to find something, no questions asked,” Rendak said, “Crown’s End’s your best bet.”
“It’s a snake pit,” Jeneta said. “It will be a pleasure to leave this place. Though I will miss Grandfather.”
“You can come with us, if you like,” Ivrian volunteered.
“Where will you go? To Eleder?” Jeneta shook her head. “I would have no place there.”
“You can have any room in my mansion.”
The woman considered him for a moment, as if wondering whether he were serious. “You’re a generous man, Lord Galanor.”
Him, a lord! He laughed a little, but said nothing. All he could think about were his friends. Could Mirian really pull the lizardfolk out of the arena and escape with them alive? It would have seemed impossible. And yet they’d done a dozen impossible things in the last weeks.
Down one quay he spotted what he thought were the masts of Sylena’s ship. He couldn’t help wondering if their other treasures remained aboard, and if there were some way to get them back, but he supposed he was already asking for too many miracles just to get Mirian and the lizardfolk out alive. He closed his eyes and offered a prayer to Shelyn. When he opened his eyes he discovered Jeneta staring at him.
“You were praying.”
“Yes.”
“A wise idea,” she said. “Your friends need all the luck the gods can give.”
“Aye,” Rendak said glumly.
Jeneta bent her head and began speaking in her native tongue.
The cobblestones ended abruptly, and the carriage thumped onto a road now consisting solely of packed dirt.
On the carriage rolled, jolting and thrashing them thoroughly before it finally stopped. The driver called to them: “Sister, the road pretty much ends here. The bay’s about a quarter mile through those mangroves.”
Ivrian and Rendak hopped out. The younger man reached into his robes to free the wand Mirian had given him.
A forest of tropical foliage stood in the sun, leafy upper limbs waving in a breeze. The water was gray and choppy.
The driver, a curly-haired Mulaa man, tipped his dented brown hat and pointed. “If your friends made it, they’re somewhere in there.”
“Ivrian,” Rendak said, “you stay here and watch for pursuers. I’ll go in and see what I can find.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“If they did make it out, and anyone saw how they exited, they’ll send riders to follow. We need someone to stand guard. And you’ve got that wand.”
Ivrian looked back along the dirt track. The view of the harbor and the city was blocked by a mass of palm trees and an intervening hill. “All right. Good luck, Rendak.”
“It’s our friends who need the luck, lad. My part’s easy.”
Ivrian watched the sturdy older man stride into the mangroves, still limping slightly, and briefly wondered how he could ever have thought to judge in one glance what a hero looked like.
He turned to the driver and the priestess, to whom he gave a polite nod. “I’m going to go watch from that hill.” He indicated it with a vague wave and started to climb.