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Raul touched the cold cheek. It was bare of any mark. Even as he took his fingers away, he felt the fading signature of Nicol Joannis of Fortezzien.
Death wipes all dishonor, Raul thought. Even yours, Nicol.
“She fought against all of us together,” the Károvín healer said. “Back there. We might have taken you if she had not held us back.” In a softer voice, she added, “She died bravely.”
* * *
THE SHIP WITH Gerek Hessler and Alesso Valturri arrived off the coast, five days past the appointed time. They had spent three days, at least, skirting around the royal fleet, another day evading a mysterious single ship, sighted on the horizon. Only after they spent an entire day without further sightings did the captain and Gerek consent to head toward Hallau’s shore.
Alesso had borrowed a glass from the captain, and he swept the coast for several long moments before he spoke. “Empty.”
His tone was impossible to read. “What do you mean, empty?” Gerek demanded.
“Just that. Nothing and no one on shore.”
Gerek snatched the glass and made his own examination. Though the captain warned them what to expect, the sight unnerved him. The city blackened and ruined. Empty. The wharves a desolate expanse of broken stone. As the ship slanted toward the coast, he glimpsed a small, one-masted boat tucked into a hiding spot, but no sign of the promised signals.
“What next?” Alesso said.
Over the past ten days, Alesso and the captain both had showed more respect than Gerek felt he deserved. And yet someone had to make decisions. “We send a launch to shore with six men,” he said. “You choose your followers. Make sure they are well-armed.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “I-I should go, too.”
It was a strange and silent journey to the wharf. The crew landed them neatly beside the other boat, which rocked in the waves, its single sail fluttering in the breeze. No one was on deck. As a precaution, Gerek sent Alesso over to search the small cabin.
“No one on board,” Alesso reported. “But no sign of any fight.”
Then one of the crew sniffed the air. “I smell wood smoke.”
There were fresh tracks in the dust, too, which another man discovered. Farther on, signs of a scuffle and dark stains in the dirt. Gerek sent the two men ahead to follow the scent and the tracks, while he followed behind with Alesso. “It could be a trap,” Alesso observed.
“It could,” Gerek replied, nettled. “Do you have a better suggestion?”
Alesso shrugged. “No. Only that we don’t go rushing forward with joy at finding your beloved master. After all, that boat might belong to a crew of testy smugglers.”
“Then we take precautions.”
Precautions meant they kept well behind their advance scouts, gliding through the unnaturally silent ruins. There were no birds here, Gerek noticed. No mice or crickets or toads creaking in the twilight. He almost remanded his order, thinking they should retreat to the ship for a conference, when footsteps ahead brought them all to attention.
One woman, two men rounded the corner from an alleyway. They stopped at the sight of Gerek and his guards.
There was a snick of tension. Both parties shifted into battle stance with weapons drawn.
Gerek tried to speak, but his tongue stuck on the first syllable. Then he recognized Kosenmark’s guards—Ada Geiss, Barrent, and Gervas. In the same moment, Ada spotted Gerek. She gave a signal. Her guards dropped back a few steps. A breath later, so did Alesso and the others.
Ada lowered her sword. “Maester Hessler,” she called out. “A good thing you came along.”
He nodded, not quite able to master his speech. She seemed to understand because she drew him off to one side. “I am glad you came, and not just because we knew you. We’ve had trouble. I can’t say more here, but take care when you speak with him.”
He found his voice at last. “What happened?”
/> “Károvín soldiers,” she said. “They came for that woman. The stranger.”
“Any dead?”
She shook her head, but Gerek understood her meaning. It was a thing she could not discuss yet, not here in the open. He motioned for the rest to stay behind with Ada and her crew, then hurried forward alone through the avenue, until he came to a wide plaza. More ruins met his gaze, more dust and emptiness. On the farther side of the plaza stood the campsite—several canvas shelters stretched between enormous fallen blocks. One man bent over a makeshift fire pit, stirring a pot filled with bubbling stew. Others were at work with different tasks.
One of the men recognized him. “Ah, Maester Hessler. You want Lord Kosenmark, don’t you?”
He pointed out Kosenmark’s tent, larger then the rest, which was situated at the edge of their camp. Gerek jogged toward it, taking in the sight of the wounded, the great charred square off to one side, and a lingering burnt stench that hung over everything. By the time he reached Kosenmark’s tent, his steps had slowed. He stopped a few feet away. “My lord,” he said, tentatively.
