“They do. A passage through the mountains that divides your lands from ours, one that only forms in winter. Here lies the path back to the woman you love.”

  The woman you love. Words that stabbed deeper than expected. And was that judgement in her tone? Had I actually disappointed her?

  “It’s not possible to love a monster,” I said, which brought a pitying frown to her brow.

  “Oh, Alwyn,” she said. “Of course it is.”

  She blinked, and the landscape changed, the chill mountain pass vanishing the instant she closed her eyes. When she opened them, we stood on a hillside of long grass swaying in a stiff breeze. Once again, she had brought me to an unfamiliar spot. Below us sat a broad crescent-shaped bay, the white sand of the beach assailed by tall waves sweeping in from a grey sea. Nearby stood a stone-walled stronghold, small in comparison to most. From the absence of a banner and the state of its walls, I deduced it had been out of use for a long time, though not yet fallen to ruin.

  “Where are we now?” I asked the Sack Witch, half expecting a cryptic response, so the precision of her reply came as a surprise.

  “The northern coast of the Caerith dominion. This bay was often visited by a man I once knew, a pirate by trade but an explorer at heart. You remind me of him in some ways, though he had a far more vicious temper, and a good deal more greed.”

  “The Hound,” I said in realisation. “You knew the Hound of the Sea?”

  “Calim hated that name, styling himself as the Overlord of the Cronsheldt Sea. He had grand visions of achieving royal recognition one day. ‘Steal enough of their gold,’ he told me, ‘and they’ll give you anything to have it back.’ It was thanks to me that my people allowed him to land here and trade for the shiny metals and stones your kind worship so. They even let him build a castle, of sorts.” She nodded to the abandoned stronghold. “He named it Castle Dreol, intending it to be the seat of his family for generations to come. There’s a well within its walls for fresh water and you’ll find the sarcophagus in the crypt filled with all the gold and gems your army will require.”

  “You want me to come here?”

  “I think you’ll find there is nowhere else for you to go. Not unless you intend to flee to far-off lands and leave your son in his mother’s clutches. I have had glimpses of what will happen if you do. They weren’t pleasant.”

  “So you knew, centuries ago.” My anger mounted once again, stoked by the sense of being controlled by another’s will; a puppet forever dancing to her hand on the strings. “You knew all that would happen. You knew what Evadine would become.”

  “Not become. What she always was. As you were always going to turn against her. But, no. I didn’t know all of it when I once stood in this same spot with a man who fancied himself a lord of the ocean. Ultimately, I control nothing, Alwyn. All I can do is guide.”

  More heated words rose to my lips, but I let them wither, suddenly wearied by it all. She was right. The paths of my life had always been my choice. I could have deserted before the Traitors’ Field. I could have let Evadine perish after Olversahl. I could have stayed her hand when she sliced open Luminant Durehl’s throat. But I hadn’t.

  “Does she know?” I asked the Sack Witch. “Does she know what she is?”

  “No. The malignity that dominates her is sublimely deceitful. In her own mind, she is all you pretended her to be: a champion of the poor and oppressed. A bringer of justice and enlightened rule. A soul divinely blessed to undertake a great mission. This belief runs deep in her, so deep it may be impossible to shatter.”

  The Sack Witch came towards me then, features once again filled with tender remorse. “One more thing,” she said, raising a hand to caress my cheek. “The Eithlisch is harsh in his manners and has no love for you or your people, but you can trust him. For he will know that your cause aligns with his. When you meet, tell him you must seek out the stone feather.”

  “And what is that?”

  “The key that unlocks all lies.” She stepped back from me, offering a final, sorrowful smile, and blinked.

  I awoke in a hammock, jerking into awareness with a violence that tipped me from my canvas bed to connect painfully with the deck beneath. My head felt as if it had not one, but several hatchets buried in it, and my bladder and guts were bloated to the point of nearly bursting.

  “See?” I heard Toria say, looking up to find her offering a grin to a far less amused Juhlina. “Told you he wasn’t dead.” Toria angled her head to survey my splayed form, mouth quirking to smother a laugh. One of my feet was still entangled in the hammock, and I flopped about in an unsuccessful attempt to dislodge it.

  “The princess regent was expecting you at council,” Juhlina said, moving to drag my foot clear of its canvas snare. “I’ve had the entire company scouring the city for your drunken arse.”

  After some grunting effort, I succeeded in raising myself to a kneeling position. “The charts,” I said to Toria. “Did Din Faud give you any copies?”

  “Here,” I said a few hours later, tapping a finger to the chart splayed out on the table. Leannor had taken over the mansion of a merchant who had fled the city. It boasted a fine library with many maps, but I fancied none were so detailed as the one before us. Although a copy, the excellence of the cartography was still evident in every line and letter. I had only a partial knowledge of sea charts, but those I had seen before were rarely so comprehensive as this rendering of the lower reaches of the Cronsheldt Sea. Compass lines intersected at key points and finely inscribed numbers indicated the depth of the ocean at regular intervals. Calim Dreol may never have risen to be Overlord of the Cronsheldt, but I would be forever happy to dub him the King of Map Makers.

  The bay under my finger had been easy to find due to its crescent shape and the fact that it was the only point on this map marked with a symbol indicating a fortress. “The Caerith Wastes,” Leannor said with a doubtful frown. “That’s where you want us to go?”

  “I do, and thanks to Mistress Sahken, we have the means to transport our entire force there. It has a natural harbour, a castle, fresh water, and our enemies will have scant chance of striking at us there.”

  “As we will have scant chance of striking at them,” Ehlbert pointed out.

  “Nor do we now,” I countered. “This will be our base. There we can train our host, send ships back to the realm to gather more recruits, and there will be more, have no doubt of that. When we’re strong enough, we march on Albermaine.”

  “The Caerith are famously hostile to outsiders,” Leannor said. “You imagine they will simply allow us to land a large body of soldiers on their coast?”

  “I do.” I hesitated, unwilling to risk the scorn that would surely arise if I explained the source of my certainty. “They know me. I enjoy the favour of the Eithlisch, their principal shaman.” An exaggeration bordering on outrageous deceit, but a necessary one. “Besides, they are endangered too. Evadine hates their kind with a passion. A crusade against the Caerith has long been her ambition. All of which makes them a powerful potential ally.”

  I fell silent, stepping back from the table and watching the calculation on Leannor’s face. I had already resolved to take the Free Company and abandon her here if she refused this course. I would bring Lady Ducinda too, a task involving a risky abduction under Sir Ehlbert’s nose, but I was determined not to abandon her to Evadine’s doubtful mercy. Not so her betrothed. I would happily leave the king in his mother’s care, as his demanding manners and recurrent tantrums were becoming decidedly irksome.

  Discerning a good deal of resistance in Leannor’s bearing, I decided the proposal required some gilding. “Also,” I said, “I’m reliably informed that the current state of the royal purse will be greatly improved by what we find in this stronghold.”

  “Pirate’s treasure, is it, Scribe?” Ehlbert asked, brows knitted in sceptical amusement.

  “In truth, yes,” I replied, addressing my next words to Leannor. “You have my word on it, Majesty.”

  Leannor was gracious enough not to pass comment on the merits of this statement, instead looking to Shilva. “Mistress Sahken, have you counsel to share?”

  “I’m all for sailing away as soon as is practical, Majesty,” Shilva said, her shrewd gaze focused on the map. “There are various places in the Westward Isles that offer sanctuary, though none boast a castle and so sound an anchorage. Also, the isles are a good deal more distant from the realm. If the Scribe speaks true, and I’ve no reason to doubt him, this appears a better option. Yet, I too worry over the Caerith’s response, shaman’s favour or no.”

  “I can sail ahead to parley,” I said. “Captain Toria possesses the swiftest ship in our fleet. She tells me she can reach this spot in six days with a decent wind. Once there, I will seek out the Caerith and send word if they welcome us.”

  “And if they don’t?” Leannor asked.

  “Then you will hear nothing from me and the Westward Isles will be your destination.”

  Leannor stood in silent regard of the map for a while longer before turning to Gilferd. “And your counsel, my lord Duke?”

  The young lord’s reluctance to abandon his duchy was plain in the hardness of his features, but they softened somewhat when he glanced at Ayin. Thanks to her status as the princess regent’s only lady-in-waiting, she was rarely far from Leannor’s side now. This had the fortunate outcome of ensuring she was present whenever Gilferd was called to council. I watched her give a barely perceptible nod, the duke letting out a heavy sigh before bowing to Leannor.

  “I cannot give surety that all my soldiers will consent to sail off to distant lands while their homes stand imperilled,” he said. “But I have sworn myself to the king’s cause and am therefore bound to follow.”

  “Very well.” Leannor straightened and turned to me. “Lord Scribe, I will furnish you with a letter for our soon-to-be allies, one I’m sure you can assist in phrasing. You will sail with the first tide.”

  I was surprised at the depth of my regret at having to leave Blackfoot behind. He responded to my farewell treat of a proffered apple by snatching it from my hand and shifting his head to an indifferent angle as he chomped away. “I’ll miss you too,” I said, stroking his neck, which he at least consented to acknowledge with a snort. I left him in the care of the stable master at Leannor’s stolen mansion with instructions to set him loose should the Ascendant Queen’s army hove into view. The thought of him being pressed into service in her host sat ill, since I might end up facing him in battle before long.

  The Sea Crow sailed forth with the morning tide and the next few hours provided a stark reminder of why I detested ship life. “I had hoped I would never have to do this again,” Wilhum groaned, echoing my thoughts as we leaned over the starboard rail. Most of the Free Company were in a similar state, save for Quintrell and Juhlina. The minstrel’s career had seen him sail far and wide while Juhlina’s prior life of endless pilgrimage had involved more than a few sea crossings to distant Covenant outposts.

  “There’s many a shrine in the Westward Isles,” she told me, her face lacking the pale grey tinge afflicting myself and the others. “The Most Favoured had us spend the better part of a year sailing from one to the other.”

  It transpired that Toria was more active in her role as captain than she let on, striding about the deck and calling out orders to the sailors in the rigging. “It’s mostly for appearances’ sake,” she confided come the evening. “Captains are supposed to shout a lot, y’see. The crew expects it.”

  The sea retained a grey choppiness for the first two days before the sky cleared to allow for calmer waters. More sails were hauled aloft and the Sea Crow took on a speed that matched Toria’s boasts. “This is nothing,” she said with an air of pride. “Should see her when she catches the south-easterlies on the southern seas. It’s like she’s flying.”

  We encountered no other vessels for the entirety of the remaining voyage, something I ascribed to the reluctance of captains to venture into waters beset by war. Also, Shilva Sahken had made it known that any ship or merchant who traded with the Ascendant Queen would no longer enjoy her protection. In either case, I was grateful for the empty seas and absence of eyes to witness our course, although I didn’t know how long it would be before Evadine received a vision of the king’s current whereabouts. The frequency of her arcane insights had always been mysterious. But, given her efficient suppression of potential enemies recently, I suspected she now experienced visions on a regular basis, causing me to wonder: What will that do to an already disturbed mind?

  I pushed such questions away, knowing I had no choice but to concentrate on the task at hand. Besides, the more I thought of her, the more I dwelt upon what we had shared, memories that were as enticing as they were painful. And the child, of course. The son yet to be born. My son. It all made for poor sleep and long days suffering the twin miseries of seasickness and anxious brooding.

  So it was with considerable relief that, near noon on the fifth day at sea, I heard the lookout’s cry from the crow’s nest: “Land to southward!”

  Toria’s third mate was plainly a skilled navigator, for the bay hove into view shortly thereafter. The northern coast of the Caerith dominion was dominated by cliffs and rocky inlets inhospitable to ships seeking anchorage. Yet, here in this one spot, there sat a curving beach of white sand fringed by grassy bluffs, all overlooked by a small stronghold atop a nearby hill.

  “No one’s come to greet us,” Toria reported after scanning the bluffs with a spyglass.

  “They’ll be along soon enough,” I said. “It would be best if we claimed the castle for the king before they do.”

  “I thought they liked you,” Wilhum said. “You lived among them for months, learned their language and such.”

  “The Caerith here are not those I know.” I judged it best not to share my concerns over the reception I was likely to receive from the Eithlisch, should he deign to appear. “A little caution seems prudent.”

  Castle Dreol resembled a large house rather than a stronghold, albeit one built with scant concession to comfort. Its walls stood about fifteen feet high, enclosing a narrow tower only fractionally taller. Fitting an entire company into such a space was impossible, so I ordered tents pitched outside the walls. The gate that once filled the arched entrance was long vanished to either thievery or the elements. A survey of the surrounding country revealed a stretch of woodland to the south, but I refused Wilhum’s suggestion he lead a party there to gather timber for a replacement.

  “The Caerith are protective of their forests,” I said, eyeing the distant trees with an increasing sense of foreboding. This land appeared empty of people, but I had no doubt our arrival had been observed, one way or another. “Come.” I turned away, stepping through the vacant gateway. “We have a treasure to find.”

  The tower, if it could truly be called worthy of such a name, was solidly built, but its interior lacked any feature save a solid set of stone steps leading to the roof. I set Adlar to climb up and take station as a sentry while the rest of us embarked upon a search for the crypt. It was young Falko who found it, his thief’s eyes best attuned to seeking out a hiding place.

  “Here, Captain,” he said, crouching to run the tip of his dagger along the mortar surrounding a particularly large flagstone. “Sits a little lower than the others, and the mortar slips down beneath the stone when you scrape it.”

  Toria and I drew our own daggers and joined him in scraping at the mortar until most of it had flaked way to leave a gap. It required a good deal of levering and heaving to get the stone raised, hauling it aside to reveal a set of rough-hewn steps disappearing into darkness.

  “Three torches,” I said. “Just me, Lord Wilhum and Captain Toria. The rest of you, keep guard.” I didn’t doubt the commitment of those who had followed me this far, but the sight of riches can inflame even the most resolute to nefarious action.

  The air inside the crypt was all musty dampness, since it appeared the Hound of the Sea hadn’t bothered to line its walls with stone. Loose earth hissed and subsided as we descended, displaced by the inrush of fresh air. The space was small and cramped, most of it taken up with the sarcophagus. It was much like those to be found beneath castles throughout Albermaine, its sides decorated with relief carvings and lid fashioned into the stone image of a recumbent man with a sword resting on his chest.

  “Thought a lot of himself, this Hound,” Toria commented. The light of her torch revealed a handsome, bearded face rendered in stone with masterly craftsmanship. The decoration on the sides of the sarcophagus were a catalogue of ships in full sail and various seafaring motifs, all displaying much the same impressive skill with the chisel. Calim Dreol had stinted in constructing his crypt, but not, apparently, in the fashioning of his coffin, even though he was destined never to occupy it.

  “Ready?” I asked Toria, resting my hands on the edge of the lid. We shared a smile then, wry with the strangeness of arriving at a moment we had striven for but never truly expected to arrive: the discovery of a real, true treasure.

  “This better not be another fucking bundle of charts,” she grunted, setting her weight against the marble slab.

  The lid consented to shift only after all three of us strained at it for long enough to make our arms ache. A short, grinding movement, then another shove, and it slid clear of the coffin. I felt a pang of relief when the effigy tumbled off the sarcophagus but failed to shatter on the soft earth of the crypt. Testament to vanity or not, it was too finely made a thing to deserve such casual vandalism.

  Toria let out a sigh as she lowered her torch to illuminate the coffin’s interior, raising the gleam of untarnished gold and glitter of gems. Ancient coinage and jewellery covered the bottom of the stone box, the pile broken here and there by small statues of bronze and jade draped in pearls.

  “All this,” Wilhum said, casting a puzzled glance at Toria, “and you never came to claim it until now?”