HE WOKE TO FIND LARKIN QUILL standing over him. Even from the back—for he was turned away—the cloaked form of the ex-Tracker was instantly recognizable. He was facing toward Simralin, who was busy strapping a still-unconscious Angel to a wooden frame that cradled her body on a broad piece of tightly stretched canvas. Kirisin raised himself to a sitting position, noting as he did so that the day was bright and sunny and all but devoid of evidence of the previous night’s storm. Save for a few puddles and damp spots on the otherwise dry ground, there was nothing to indicate the deluge had ever happened.
“Wake up, wake up, Kirisin Belloruus,” Larkin Quill intoned. He turned his head slightly. “Awake, maybe you can be of some use.”
Kirisin rubbed his eyes and stretched. “Sim was supposed to wake me. She let me sleep.”
“Yes, it is all her fault, no question. She’s like that, Simralin is, always thinking only of herself. So selfish.” He was grinning as he gestured toward the river, swift flowing and choppy in the wake of the downpour. “But now that you’ve made it back from the land of dreams all on your own, I need to be going my way, as well. Would you help me carry our wounded Angel down to the boat so I can ferry her back across?”
Kirisin rose, and together they bore Angel Perez along the banks of Redonnelin Deep to where the ex-Tracker’s boat was beached and tied off. As before, Larkin Quill was sure-footed and steady, seemingly able to see as well as the boy. Simralin came, too, lending an extra hand while they loaded Angel aboard and settled her on a long bench at the stern where the stretcher could be secured.
“I have a ramp at my dock that will allow me to drag off the stretcher when we get to where we’re going. I’ve had to do this before when I wasn’t ready for it, so this time I came prepared.”
“Can you help her?” Kirisin asked.
The older man grinned. “Oh, I think so. She’s banged up pretty good, but she’s already healing at the breaks and cracks. Some of that Knight of the Word magic, I imagine. I’ll be able to help her mend faster still with a little magic of my own, the kind that relies on potions and poultices and sleep. A week or so, she’ll be back to fighting form.”
“That’s awfully fast,” Kirisin said doubtfully.
Larkin said nothing.
“She won’t be easy to keep down even that long,” Simralin declared. “She’ll want to be up and on her way.”
Larkin Quill shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about that. I can manage her. You have the harder task, I’d guess.”
“We’ll do what we have to,” Kirisin declared bravely. “We won’t let anything stop us.”
Larkin grinned anew. “Well said, young man. Still, be careful how you go. Especially with the King. He’s not to be trusted, whether he is Elf or demon. You’ll need the Council’s support to keep him in line. A few are worth enlisting to your cause. Ordanna Frae’s a good man; he will see that you have your say. Maybe more than that, if you’re lucky. You can trust Maurin Ortish, too, even if he isn’t a member of the Council. The Home Guard lives for him as much as for the King, though I would never say it to his face. The rest you should not put your faith in.”
He walked over to Simralin and embraced her. “You were always the best of the lot, you know. The best of the Trackers I knew. The others were good—skilled and brave. But you were the smart one, the clever one, the one who always knew how to make the right decision.” He turned toward Kirisin. “If anyone can see you through this, your sister will. Pay attention to her.”
“I know enough to do that,” the boy answered. “I won’t take foolish chances.”
“I think that might be so.” Larkin Quill’s smile dropped away. “One last thing. The King’s Hunters. They haven’t come here yet, which is troublesome. They should be looking for you everywhere by now, and especially here. They know we were friends, Simralin, and a handful, at least, know how to find me. But no one has come. It may be that they know something none of us does. So watch yourselves. Keep your presence hidden from them for as long as you can and then choose wisely a time and place to reveal yourselves.”
He turned away, put one hand on the gunwale of his boat, and vaulted aboard effortlessly. “Not so old, you see?” he offered, turning back to them. “But I could use a push off the rocks.”
Simralin obliged, putting her shoulder against the bow and shoving until the boat slid free. Larkin Quill was already at the helm, the sails raised and billowing with the fresh breeze. “I’ll see you on the new wind,” he called back to them as he leaned into the rudder and the boat began to turn away.
“Good-bye, Larkin,” Simralin shouted.
Kirisin called out to him, as well, something about seeing him again soon. But he could not shake the feeling that they were all wishing for something that would never happen.
FIVE