Eye of the Labyrinth (42 page)

Chapter 80

The longboat was right where Dal Falstov had promised, crewed by several familiar faces and Grigor Orneo, the
Orlando’s
first mate. He was a big man, with a broad girth and a foul mouth. Tia didn’t know him all that well, but right now he was the best thing she had ever laid eyes on.

“Are you all right?” he asked as she ran down the beach toward them.

“I’m fine. But my friend needs help.”

With a wave of his arm, Grigor dispatched two of the sailors to aid Misha down to the boat. Boris turned his cart around and was headed back to town before they had the longboat into the water. The sailors pulled hard against the undertow to get them out to the
Orlando,
which was anchored offshore. Misha sat in the bow, his eyes bright from a combination of poppy-dust and what was, Tia realized, probably the biggest adventure of his life.

What am I doing?
she wondered.
First I bring Dirk Provin to
Mil, now I’m bringing home the Lion of Senet’s heir! Will I never
learn?

It took three of the sailors to help Misha up to the
Orlando,
and he was looking quite queasy by the time they finally got him aboard. Tia clambered nimbly up the rope ladder behind them, and the other sailors began to winch the longboat up.

“Get her under way, Grigor,” Dal Falstov ordered as soon the longboat was secure. He turned to Tia and added, “I don’t like hanging around the coast off Senet without a good excuse.”

Dal was a small, dapper man, with dark hair and warm brown eyes, who enjoyed playing the part of the gentleman trader, even though the vast majority of his goods were acquired though theft. In many respects, he was the antithesis of Porl Isingrin, who was scarred and abrupt, and actually looked like a pirate. They were both good men, though, and she trusted Dal Falstov with the same confidence that she had in the captain of the
Makuan
.

“We need to head back to Mil,” Tia told him.

He shook his head. “Sorry, lass, but you’re lucky I even risked this detour to come get you. We’re headed for Bryton. We’ll get you home eventually, but I’m afraid we’ll have to take the long way round.”

“No, it’s you who doesn’t understand, Captain,” she insisted. “We must head straight for the Baenlands.”

“Why?”

“Dirk Provin has betrayed us.”

“Aye, I heard a rumor to that effect in Paislee. He seemed like such a nice lad, too.”

Tia rolled her eyes, but decided not to argue with the captain. She pointed to Misha, who was sitting on the deck, where the sailors had dropped him. He was still too weak to stand unaided on solid ground. He had no chance of keeping his feet on the heaving deck of a ship. “He’s the other reason.”

“Who is he?”

“Misha Latanya.”

Dal studied the prince for a moment and then treated Tia to a baleful glare. “You’ve kidnapped the Crown Prince of Senet.”

It was not so much a question as a bald statement of fact. Tia had not actually thought of it like that, though. Kidnapping sounded so . . . bad.

“I suppose...”

Dal stared at her for a moment longer and cursed. “Let’s turn this bitch around, lads!” he bellowed. “We’re heading back to Mil.”

When Mil finally came into view several days later, Tia was relieved to discover that the
Makuan
was anchored in the muddy waters of the delta, although she could see no sign of the
Wanderer
.

Dal Falstov navigated the tricky channels of the delta with skill. Tia knew the route through the delta—barely—but she had never tried it on her own.
Did Dirk know it, too?
she wondered, as they tacked yet again, while Dal Falstov bellowed instructions to his men.
And if he does know the route, has he already
told the Lion of Senet about it? Are they already preparing their invasion fleet? How much time do we have?

Dal finally gave the order to heave to, once they reached the calmer waters of the bay. Tia was already helping Misha into the longboat, before the anchor had been dropped.

The prince’s condition had changed little during the voyage. Dal had a supply of poppy-dust aboard, destined for Bryton, so they were able to keep him fairly stable; Tia just wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do with him now. Misha was appalled by his addiction, and kept wanting to refuse the poppy-dust, but Tia could not afford for him to go into withdrawal now. Even assuming he could eventually wean himself off the drug, it would be a long, painful process that she was not qualified to supervise.

“So, that’s Mil,” Misha remarked as the sailors dug their oars into the water and they left the
Orlando
behind. His eyes were bright with the false well-being of the poppy-dust. He had just taken another dose, so, for the next couple of hours at least, he would be quite alert and rational.

“Not what you were expecting?” Dal Falstov asked from the stern. The captain had left the
Orlando
in Grigor’s care. There were other, more pressing matters to be seen to at the moment, than the relatively simple task of securing his ship.

“After all the stories I’ve heard about this place, I was expecting some huge black fortress with massive defenses, and reinforced towers and smoking gargoyles.”

Tia smiled. “Legends and rumors can be rather useful at times.”

Misha scanned the small village with interest. “You couldn’t defend this place against attack for more than a few minutes.”

“We know,” Tia agreed. “That’s why it’s so useful that everybody thinks we have a huge black fortress with massive defenses, and reinforced towers and smoking gargoyles.”

They beached the boat a few minutes later. There were several people waiting for them, wondering what had made the
Orlando
return so early. Dal sent one of the boys who came to meet them for Petra, the herb woman, to take care of Misha. When she arrived sometime later, she was leaning on the arm of an old man that Tia recognized as the man they had helped escape Elcast the night Morna Provin died.

“Master Helgin!” Misha declared in surprise when he saw the old physician. “What are you doing here?”

“Exactly the question I was about to ask you, your highness.”

“Take care of him,” Dal ordered the physician. “We’ll work out what to do with him later.”

Master Helgin nodded and led the way back down the beach toward the village, as Misha was carried between two sailors.

As Tia watched the prince being taken away, Porl Isingrin slipped down the black dunes toward them.

“Tia!”

“Hello, Captain,” she said as she turned to face him.

“Goddess! When we heard the news, we feared the worst. How did you get away?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Well, you can tell us up at the house. Lexie’s waiting for you.”

“Is Reithan here?”

“He will be soon. The lookout just spotted the
Wanderer
entering the delta.”

“Then we’d best get ready,” she warned. “We’ve got big trouble coming.”

Chapter 81

Dirk was wary of any summons to attend the Lion of Senet, particularly when it was delivered without warning, and required his presence on the terrace outside Antonov’s study. He had killed Johan Thorn on that terrace, and had no desire to revisit it in this lifetime.

Antonov was alone when Dirk arrived, sitting on the low marble balustrade, staring up at the night sky that was streaked with red, as if some giant animal had clawed a savage opening through the clouds.

“The beauty of the Goddess is everywhere we look,” Antonov remarked when he heard Dirk behind him. Then he turned to look at him. “Do you remember this place?”

“Very well.”

When Dirk offered no further comment, Antonov glanced at the paving, in the general direction of where Johan’s body had fallen. “They’ve never been able to completely remove the stain from the tiles.”

“I’m sorry. Perhaps the next time I kill someone for you, I can do it without making quite so much mess.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, boy.”

“You sent for me, your highness?” Dirk replied. He wasn’t going to stand here and reminisce with Antonov. Not when it involved the killing of his own father.

Antonov remained seated, but turned on the balustrade until he was facing Dirk. “I wanted to speak to you about Alenor.”

Dirk was instantly on his guard. “Wouldn’t you be better served talking to Kirsh? He’s married to her.”

“But you’re her friend, Dirk. You two have always been close. And I know you visit her frequently. How does she seem to you?”

“I’m not sure if I understand what you mean, sire.”

“Does she seem happy to you?”

“She just lost her baby, and almost lost her life, your highness. It’s a bit much to expect her to be jumping for joy just yet.”

“I understand that, Dirk. It’s just she seems so . . . morose. She will barely speak to Kirshov, and my presence helps little. And the rumor that her miscarriage wasn’t an accident refuses to go away.”

Antonov sounded genuinely concerned. Was he afraid for Alenor, or merely impatient that she was not getting over her loss quickly enough? He was unashamedly impatient for an heir.

“Who would want to harm Alenor or her child?” Dirk asked, without giving any hint that he knew the answer.

“If I didn’t know better, I might think you were responsible,” Antonov replied, watching his reaction to the accusation carefully.

“Me?”

“You probably know enough herb lore to produce a concoction that would rid her of a child, and if Alenor dies without an heir, like it or not, you are the only other living Thorn besides Rainan.”

“If I wanted Alenor’s throne, your highness, all I need do is ask you for it.”

The Lion of Senet smiled. “Which is why I’m certain you had nothing to do with it. Still, the rumors concern me. As does her obvious depression.”

“Maybe she’s just homesick,” Dirk suggested, thinking that he might be able to do one small thing to aid Alenor. “That lady-in-waiting you have watching over her is worse than a drill sergeant. Perhaps if you allowed her own people to care for her, she might start to perk up a little.”

“Lady Dorra has done an excellent job with Alenor,” Antonov disagreed.

“Not if someone managed to slip Alenor an abortifacient, she hasn’t,” Dirk retorted.

Antonov was silent for a moment. He apparently had not thought of that. “Are you suggesting that it was Dorra?”

“Not at all. I’m simply suggesting that Dorra works for you, your highness, not for Alenor. Her first and only consideration is what you require of her. Alenor is merely a job to her. Get rid of the woman. Let Alenor send for some of her own friends from Kalarada until she’s well enough to return home. Unless you think she’s plotting against you, or you suspect she has a lover stashed away in the garderobe, there’s no need to watch her so closely. It can’t be easy for her—or Kirsh—to have someone constantly looking over their shoulders, especially during such a trying time as this.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Antonov conceded thoughtfully.

They were interrupted by Barin Welacin before Dirk could aid Alenor further. The Prefect of Avacas stepped out onto the terrace from the study and glanced at Dirk curiously, before bowing to Antonov.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, your highness,” he said, his mild-mannered, pleasant face creased with concern. “I’ve just received news from Tolace that I thought you would want to hear.”

“Is it Misha?” Antonov asked, with a certain degree of resignation. Dirk wondered if this was finally the news that Misha had died, which everyone seemed to be quietly expecting to be delivered at any moment.

“He’s not dead, your highness,” Barin hurried to assure him. “At least not that we’re aware. He’s missing.”

“What do you mean he’s missing?” Antonov snapped. “How can he be
missing
?”

“There was a fire in Tolace, your highness. Deliberately lit, it was discovered afterward. The fire was in one of the storage rooms of the Hospice, and far from your son’s accommodation. He was never in any danger from the flames. Afterward, however, there were only two people unaccounted for. One of them was Prince Misha.”

“And the other?”

“A Lady Natasha Orlando,” Barin told him. “From the duchy of Grissony in northern Senet.”

“Grissony? I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s because it doesn’t exist, your highness.”

“Then who was she?”

“Tia Veran,” Dirk said, not bothering to hide his smile.

Both Antonov and Barin Welacin looked at him.

“The Orlando name is a new twist,” he explained, “but she always goes by the name Natasha when she’s in Senet. If Misha is missing, your highness, the first place I’d be looking, if I were you, is the Baenlands.”

“Are you suggesting the Baenlanders have kidnapped my son?”

“Well, they’ve tried everything else they can think of to get at you.”

Antonov was silent for a moment, and then he turned to Barin. “Fetch Kirshov, and the High Priestess. And Palinov, too.”

“I’ll leave you then, sire, to deal with this...”

“The hell you will,” Antonov snorted. “You’ll stay right where you are, Dirk Provin. You’re the only person I have who has any reliable knowledge of these Baenlanders. It’s time to prove that you really are genuine in your desire to serve me and the Goddess.”

The High Priestess was the last to arrive, as she had returned to the Hall of Shadows and it took some time to get a message to her. She took a seat on the terrace beside Antonov, and listened carefully as Barin explained all that had happened, adding in the intelligence that Dirk had provided about the identity of Lady Natasha Orlando.

“Tia Veran?” Kirsh asked with concern. “How can you be certain it was her?”

Dirk thought he looked more than a little guilty. Since it was Kirsh that allowed her to escape, he was probably blaming himself for this. Or if not himself, then Dirk.

“It’s the sort of thing Tia would do,” Dirk informed them.

“Do you know this girl well, then?”

Dirk shrugged. “Reasonably.”

“Then where would she have taken him?” Barin asked.

“The Baenlands, of course,” he replied, his tone leaving no doubt about how stupid he thought the question was. “Where else would they go?”

“And you are certain you don’t know the way through the delta?” Antonov asked him, watching him closely.

“I swear by the Goddess, your highness,” Dirk lied smoothly, his face open and honest, his whole demeanor radiating sincerity. “I cannot tell you the way through the Spakan River delta.”

“Then we’ll have to find somebody who does,” Kirsh said, giving Dirk an accusing look.

“Anton, have you considered waiting until you receive a ransom demand?” Belagren suggested. “Perhaps the best way to deal with this is to wait until they contact us, and we find out what they want.”

“I will not deal with those pirates,” Antonov declared. “I don’t care if all they want is two sacks of flour and a milk goat. I will not trade with them.”

“Even if it means saving Misha’s life?” Dirk asked curiously.

“Even if it means that,” the Lion of Senet agreed harshly.

“The High Priestess’s suggestion does have merit, your highness,” Palinov ventured. “I mean, we all know how sick the prince is. There is no guarantee he will survive long in the care of the Baenlanders. Perhaps we should simply take a ‘wait-andsee’ approach?”

“You’re suggesting I simply leave my son to die, Palinov?”

“It’s a harsh way to put it, your highness, but yes, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”

Antonov did not immediately dismiss the suggestion out of hand. Kirsh, however, exploded with fury at the idea. “Absolutely not!” he cried. “How dare you sit there and suggest that we leave my brother to die in the hands of those barbarians!”

“Settle down, Kirsh,” Antonov warned. “We must consider every possibility here, even the unpalatable ones.” Then he turned to Dirk. “What do you recommend we do, Dirk?”

“It’s not really my business, your highness.”

“I’m making it your business, Dirk. You know these people. What are they likely to do with Misha?”

“They won’t kill him,” he assured them. “At least, not deliberately. They may ask for a ransom, they may even insist you withdraw from Dhevyn.”

“They must know that will never happen, no matter what they threaten.”

“The more sensible ones will understand, but Tia’s more passionate about her cause than most. She won’t give Misha up for anything insubstantial.”

“It doesn’t matter what the ransom is,” Antonov repeated. “I will not pay it.”

“Then your only option is to launch a rescue mission,” Dirk advised. “If you won’t deal with them, then all you can do is go in and get Misha out yourselves.”

“But we don’t know the way through the delta,” Kirsh reminded him.

“Then you should pray to the Goddess for guidance,” Dirk replied. “Because I don’t see any other way for you to rescue Misha from Mil.”