“We’ll send it by ship after we receive word that all is set,” Saldur explained. There was another pause, and then he spoke again. “I think we all understand that.”

“I see no reason to hesitate any longer,” Ethelred said. “Then we’re all in agreement?”

A number of voices spoke their acknowledgment.

“Excellent. Marius, you should leave immediately …”

“There’s just one more thing …” She had not heard this voice before and it faded, probably because the man speaking was walking away from the window.

Saldur’s voice returned. “You have? Where? Tell us at once!”

More muffled conversation.

“Blast, man! I can assure you that you’ll get paid,” Ethelred said.

“If he’s led you to the heir, he’s no longer of any use. That’s right, isn’t it, Sauly? You and Guy have a greater interest in this, but unless you have an objection, I say be done with him at your earliest convenience.”

Another long pause.

“I think the Nyphron Empire is good for it, don’t you?” Saldur said.

“You’re quite the magician, aren’t you, Marius?” said Ethelred. “We should have hired your services earlier. I’m not a fan of Luis Guy or any of the Patriarch’s sentinels, but it seems his decision to employ you was certainly a good one.”

The voices drifted off, growing fainter until it was quiet.

Most of what she had heard held no interest for Modina—too many unknown names and places. She had only the vaguest notions of the terms Nationalist, Royalist, and Imperialist. Tur Del Fur was a famous city—someplace south—that she had heard of before, but Degan Gaunt was only a name. She was glad the talking was over. She preferred the quiet sounds of the wind, the trees, and the birds. They took her back to an earlier time, a different place. As she sat looking out at her sliver of the world, she found herself wishing she could still cry.

CHAPTER 14

THE EVE

Gill had a hard time seeing anything clearly in the pouring rain, but he was certain that a man was walking right at him. He felt for the horn hanging at his side and regretted trapping it underneath his rain smock that morning. During thirty watches, he had never needed it. He peered through the gray curtain—no army, just the one guy.

He was dressed in a cloak that hung like a soaked rag, his hood cast back, his hair slicked flat. No armor or shield, but two swords hung from his belt, and Gill spotted the two-handed pommel of a great sword on his back. The man walked steadily through the muddy field. He seemed to be alone and could hardly pose a threat to the nearly one thousand men bivouacked on the hill. If Gill sounded the alarm without cause, he would never hear the end of it. He was confident he could handle one guy.