“The Urghul,” Gwenna said. “I guess the Flea didn’t get to Long Fist.”

It seemed as though she’d always known he wouldn’t. Whatever the case, there was no time to worry about the older Wing Leader, not anymore.

“What do we do now?” Bridger asked.

“We fight. Make sure all the very old and young are off East Island and out of the way. Tell Annick to get the archers ready.” It was a pointless order. Knowing Annick, the men and women probably had their bows half drawn by the second horn. Still, saying something made Gwenna feel like she was doing something.

Bridger nodded, turned, then Gwenna stopped him.

“It’s not that different,” she said.

He shook his head. “What’s not?”

“Killing a man. Felling a tree. Just hit it with the ax until it goes down. Not that different.”

The logger smiled shakily. “Thank you, sir. We know how to hit things with axes, here.”

Gwenna turned back to the dark trees lining the eastern bank before he could see the lie in her eyes. Maybe she should have told him the truth, maybe he deserved that, but with Long Fist somewhere back in those dark shadows, the truth didn’t look likely to do anyone a ’Kent-kissing bit of good.

40

Neutral ground” turned out to be a dilapidated wooden warehouse down by the docks, a huge, cavernous place stacked ceiling high with crates and barrels, reeking of salt, and tar, and mold. Pulleys and tackle hung silently from the rafters overhead, ropes as thick as Kaden’s wrist ending in great steel hooks. It was only the apparatus necessary to the movement and storage of heavy cargo, but late at night, in the flickering light of their storm lantern, the silent lengths of rope with their rusting tackle seemed morbid, menacing. Gabril had offered to host the secret meeting in his own palace, but the others had refused, insisting on neutral ground. That insistence, too, seemed menacing.

The three of them, Kaden, Kiel, and Gabril, paused just inside the door, allowing their eyes to adjust to the darkness.

“You must remember,” Gabril murmured, “that these people hate your empire, but their hatred bubbles up from different wells.”

“But you’re all in agreement,” Kaden replied. “You see eye to eye on the basic issues?”

The First Speaker frowned. “For a long time we hoped to fight the same foe.”

“Not the same thing,” Kiel observed quietly.

“It is a bond,” Gabril said.

Kiel shook his head. “A tenuous one, and delicately balanced. I have seen it plenty of times.”

Gabril turned to stare at the Csestriim. They had been working together for days, since Kaden’s visit to the First Speaker’s palace, and the two had developed a delicate verbal dance, Gabril trying to ferret out Kiel’s history while Kiel deftly deflected the questions, always turning the conversation away from himself.