IN THE bustling trade city of Castlemere, Bartolo Thorn sat gazing out at the ocean and fingering the threads of Ella's hair.
There was no enmity between Castlemere and Altura, and he was able to openly wear his armoursilk, his zenblade scabbarded at his side. Even so, he received some curious glances from the gruff denizens of the city — it was one thing for an ordinary Alturan to visit the city, another altogether for a bladesinger. By reputation, Bartolo could defeat their entire city guard single-handed. Bartolo grinned. Seeing the pitiful defences of the mercantile city and the lacklustre attention of the guards, it was probably true.
Still, the traders had put up a fight when he'd asked to search the wagon train, back on the road from Altura. Bartolo thought it unlikely Jehral of Tarn Teharan and Hermen Tosch of Castlemere would choose such a slow method of transportation, but he had to be thorough. The traders hadn't liked it one bit when the bladesinger had shown up, demanding to search each and every one of the forty-odd vehicles.
It took him a day to search the first twenty cargo-filled wagons from top to bottom — time Bartolo could ill-afford to lose — first emptying out each cargo with the traders' reluctant help, then searching the wagon and moving on to the next.
Bartolo raged as he searched, knowing that every moment he spent with the wagons was taking Ella and Shani further away. He owed a debt to Miro, he knew. Bartolo had been asked to take care of his friend's sister, but the woman — that scratched Petryan! — had gotten to him, and he'd left the two women unprotected.
Only for a moment, but that was all it took.
The following day, when Bartolo had demanded to search the other twenty wagons, the wagon master, a broad-shouldered trader named Ingo Bacher, flatly refused, demanding compensation from Bartolo for the lost time — much of the cargo was perishable, he said. Bartolo had grinned, loosening his zenblade. He would give the man compensation; that was for certain.
At that moment a boy had run up to where the confrontation was about to get heated. He'd found something, he said. The boy led Bartolo deep into the forest that lined both sides of the road, pointing out the remnants of a fire that couldn't have been more than a day old.
Bartolo was no tracker, he was a swordsman, but he recognised the white rope that the Petryan woman, Shani, had used as a belt around her red robe. Bartolo's thoughts darkened. If either of the two captors had harmed Shani, or Ella, he would face the bladesinger's wrath.
The fire proved to Bartolo that his quarry wasn't with the wagons, and anxious to make up for lost time, Bartolo walked back to where Ingo Bacher stood frowning. "Sorry, trader, but you won't get anything from me. Tell your people they shouldn't consort with those barbarians from the Hazara Desert. Seek your compensation from Hermen Tosch."
Ignoring Ingo Bacher's reply, Bartolo passed the wagons that had escaped his search as he walked past.
Then something attracted his attention. Next to a wagon where an elderly woman in a black robe regarded him with cold dark eyes, he saw loose strands of golden hair, blowing gently in the breeze.
Bartolo knelt and picked up the lock of hair. "Ella," he murmured to himself.
Bartolo pocketed the lock of hair and put the white rope in his rucksack. He swiftly outdistanced the wagons, searching, zigzagging between the forest and the road, desperately searching for the women he'd been charged to find.
Now Bartolo sat alone at the dock in Castlemere, breaking his vigil of the ocean and looking on disconsolately as the wagons he'd left behind so long ago arrived to unload their cargo.
Three were unloaded at one ship, four at another. Two more vehicles were unloaded at a third ship, and eight at one huge cargo vessel. Bartolo squinted at one squat ship where only one wagon was unloaded.
The captors had to come this way, he knew. Why else would they go to Castlemere, if it wasn't to take passage on a ship?
He watched the ships as they left with the changing tide, following them with his eyes until they vanished one by one over the horizon. The squat ship was the last to disappear, taking hours to do so, but finally even it was gone too.
Bartolo didn't know how, but he was going to get answers. He had a duty to Miro and he knew Jehral must come this way.
As if answering a prayer, he recognised the man with the round face walking towards him.
Hermen Tosch.
The trader saw Bartolo even as Bartolo saw him. Hermen turned to run, but Bartolo was quick, even for a bladesinger.
Bartolo dragged Hermen through the street until he found a convenient wall. People screamed and ran from the bladesinger with the black expression, his zenblade held in one hand and a local man held captive in the other. Guards were called for, but Bartolo paid the townsfolk no heed.
Bartolo shoved Hermen high up against the wall and pressed the point of his zenblade to the trader's cheek.