The day was cooler than of late and Kedryn availed himself of a cloak that served both to fend off the wind blowing from the river and disguise him sufficiently that they succeeded in reaching the harbor area with a minimum of fuss. There he was able to move unnoticed, for the quarter was marked by a refreshing degree of informality, and busy besides. As Tepshen had remarked, folk were already arriving for the coronation and the docks were packed with boats disembarking Tamurin and Keshi from the farther reaches of the Three Kingdoms. The sky had become overcast, a threat of rain redolent in the moist air, mingling with the odors of fish and fruit and people that hung about the warehouses. Bustle was everywhere, stevedores manhandling cargo from the vessels bobbing on the swell as captains bellowed instructions and merchants screamed offers and counteroffers, the harbor officials adding their own cries to the cheerful tumult, and more than one man cursing the horsemen who pushed among the throng.

  “By the Lady!” complained one red-faced exciseman. “Do you know no better than to bring animals here? Are you too good to walk like the rest of us?”

  Kedryn saw Tepshen Lahl about to respond and gestured the easterner to remain silent. “Forgive us,” he smiled, “we seek Galen Sadreth.”

  The official craned his head back to peer up at the tall young man on the massive Keshi charger, the irritation writ fierce on his ruddy features dissolving as recognition dawned.

  “You are . . . ,” he stared doubtfully, confused by the absence of escort for one so exalted, "... are you not Prince Kedryn?”

  Kedryn nodded, “But I would not have it voiced abroad, my friend.”

  “Sir, forgive me.” The exciseman ducked an obsequious head. “I had not recognized you. Let me summon an escort to clear a way.”

  “No!” Kedryn shook his head quickly. “I travel incognito. Simply tell me where I may find Galen Sadreth and I shall no longer clutter your harbor.”

  “I did not know,” spluttered the embarrassed official. “I crave your pardon, Sire.”

  Kedryn curbed his impatience at this reminder of Andurel’s formality: in Tamur the directions would have been given without such rigmarole, and said, “You have it. And my thanks if you can furnish directions.”

  The official nodded vigorously and pointed across the seething dockside. “You might try The Grapes, Prince. Or The Lantern. Otherwise you will find the Vashti anchored on the farther pier.”

  “Thank you,” Kedryn responded, and urged the Keshi war- horse forward before the man could reveal his identity with his bowing.

  “Lady’s blood! Get that clubfoot nag out of my way.”

  Now Kedryn laughed aloud as a stevedore wide as he was tall and laden with a huge crate pushed past.

  “Forgive me, I do not mean to block your path.”

  “Then don’t,” grunted the sturdy man, adding in a milder tone, “You’d do better afoot, lad. And offend fewer folk.”

  “Sound advice,” Kedryn agreed, and dismounted, leading the horse toward the tavern the exciseman had indicated.

  The place had a small courtyard where they were able to leave the animals happily investigating the vines that gave it its name as they went inside, the interior only slightly less crowded than the harbor. The ceiling was low and beamed with smoke-stained oak, a pall of bluish vapor hanging in the body-heated air. The floor, what little of it was visible, was planked and strewn with straw, the walls stone, their whitewash covered with graffiti of remarkable imagination. A massive hearth occupied most of the far wall, the remains of a roast pig impaled on a spit above a bed of cold charcoal. A second wall was fronted by a long counter of stained wood on which stood numerous barrels and sundry mugs, glasses, and cups, and the others were hidden behind trestle tables occupied by rivermen and stevedores. Rough tables filled the space between, and a troubadour was attempting vainly to make his balur heard above the racket.

  Kedryn paused at the entrance, aware of Brannoc slipping his saber to his side and Tepshen hiking a thumb with seeming casualness over the scabbard of his longsword. He studied the room, feeling, for all its claustrophobic press, more at ease than in the spacious halls of the White Palace, more at home in this noisy, inelegant gathering where men jostled him with cheerful unconcern and the tavern wenches eyed him speculatively.

  Close to the hearth he espied a familiar figure, a bald head glistening above gigantic shoulders, hands like hamhocks clutching what appeared to be one whole leg of the spit-roasted pig, a flagon that would undoubtedly contain evshan beside an elbow sleeved in garish green. Flanked by Tepshen and Brannoc he forced a way through the throng to confront Galen Sadreth.

  The master of the Vashti looked up as the three men halted before his table and wiped a hand across his greasy mouth, beaming hugely.

  “Well, met, Galen,” Kedryn said, adding before the river captain could speak, “I come incognito.”

  “My friends, sit down.” Galen’s voice was a stentorian rumble that turned heads on all sides, rising to a bellow as he added for benefit of the closest serving wench, “Three mugs and a new jug, woman!”

  His eyes twinkled beneath overhanging brows, like stars shining from the moon-round of his face. “It seems you always come incognito, Kedryn. How fere you?”

  “Well enough,” Kedryn smiled. “Though wearied by the formalities of the palace.”

  Galen nodded sagely, as if familiar with palace protocols. “You discover that your new-won fortune brings its own restrictions? Little wonder—responsibility is a hard mistress.” He wiped a hand on a soiled napkin, glancing about to ensure none listened. “And your bride? How is Wynett?”

  “Well,” responded Kedryn. “And you?”

  Galen spread expansive arms, the gesture serving to clear space on either side and simultaneously expose the embroidered frontage of his viridescent tunic. “I do well, my reputation enhanced by our acquaintance. I have already brought several guests to your,” he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial level, “forthcoming event.”

  “I am delighted to aid you,” grinned Kedryn, stretching long legs beneath the table. “And I trust you will attend the . . . event.”

  “I would not miss it,” said the riverman, looking up as a buxom woman appeared with a flagon and three mugs clutched to her ample bosom. “My thanks, Bella.”

  The woman smiled as he tossed coins on the table, dismissing Kedryn’s offer to pay with a wave of one mighty hand and the whisper that few might claim to have bought the new king a mug of evshan. He filled the mugs and raised his in silent toast. Kedryn sipped cautiously, savoring the fiery liquor that was the chosen brew of the rivermen. Brannoc sighed and smacked his lips. “A pleasant change from all that vintage wine.”

  “If the gods drink, they drink evshan,” beamed Galen. “Health to us all.”

  “And prosperity,” added Brannoc.

  “That, it would seem from those fine clothes, has come already,” Galen remarked, studying the half-breed’s outfit with some envy. “Your tailor has improved since last we shared a cup.”

  “There are certain advantages to living in the palace,” murmured Brannoc.

  “And you wear them well,” chuckled the giant. “And you, Tepshen? Does the palace suit you?”

  Tepshen had seated himself across the table from Kedryn, where he was able to study the room, and his dark eyes flickered sideways, a brief, thin smile curving his lips.

  “My place is at Kedryn’s side. That suits me well enough.”

  Galen clapped a hand to the kyo’s shoulder, rocking the easterner forward. “Ever loyal, eh? You are fortunate to have such friends, Kedryn.”

  “Aye,” the young man nodded, “I am.”

  “So, what,” Galen enquired, “brings you incognito to the harbor?”

  “A desire to be myself,” Kedryn shrugged. “To be free again for a little while.”

  "And a great boredom with tailors,” Brannoc chuckled. “He takes to the fitting of his ceremonial robes like an unbroken stallion to its first taste of the saddle.” '

  Galen nodded. “There is much to be said for the life of the common man. But rumor has it our new king already lays plans to free himself. I have heard talk of a council.”

  An inquiring eyebrow cocked in Kedryn’s direction and he grinned, asking, “How do you know that?”

  “Secrets are hard to keep in a city packed as close as Andurel,” said the captain blandly.

  “And how are they received?” Kedryn took another mouthful of evshan.

  “Well,” said Galen. “Folk say that our new king must be a man willing to listen to his people—not that they had complaint of Darr! But they feel the notion of a council affords the common man a greater say in his own destiny.”

  Kedryn nodded, smiling, for this was the reaction he had hoped for. “I intend to announce it after I am crowned,” he said. “Initially my father and Jarl will preside, but in time I hope to see representatives elected from amongst the folk of the Kingdoms.”

  “Bedyr and Jarl?” Galen’s bushy brows rose. “You make it sound as though you will take no part.”

  “I go to Estrevan,” Kedryn explained. “To seek the blessing of the Sisterhood, and deliver Ashrivelle to the Sacred City.”

  “Poor Ashrivelle,” Galen murmured. “There are those who name her traitor.”

  “Calumny!” snapped Kedryn, his voice fierce. “What Ashrivelle did was done under the influence of a love potion. She was not responsible for either. Hattim’s treachery or Darr’s death.”

  Galen’s head ducked in agreement. “I do not name myself amongst those who say it,” he remarked mildly. “Merely that it is said.”

  “Best not in my hearing,” grunted Kedryn. “And when you hear such imputations I should mark it a favor were you to correct them.”

  “Consider it done,” beamed the riverman. “But this journey to Estrevan? Might my services be required? The Vashti is ever at your beck.”

  “I know that, and you have my gratitude for all you have done,” Kedryn replied, “but this will not be a warrior’s mission; rather a royal progress. Wynett accompanies me, and Ashrivelle, and these stalwarts.”

  He gestured toward Tepshen and Brannoc, adding apologetically, “The Vashti is built for speed more than comfort, and I suspect the ladies would prefer a cabin.”

  “No matter.” Galen dismissed the apology with a smile and a wave of one huge hand. “There’ll be work enough for all honest rivermen when your guests depart. And a larger vessel will afford you room for a guard.”

  “A guard?” Kedryn heard something in the captain’s voice that chilled his smile a little. “Why should I need a guard? I had thought to sail as far as Gennyf and travel overland from there, and in Tamur there will be warriors enough to provide escort.”

  Galen’s broad shoulders lifted in a shrug that threatened to burst the seams of his gaudy tunic. “Likely you’ll not, but ...”

  "But?” Tepshen Lahl’s voice cut sword-sharp into the pause, his dark eyes fixing on the riverman’s face.

  “There is talk,” Galen continued, his moon-face growing serious under the easterner’s scrutiny. “Likely no more than river gossip, and so feu- unproven, but still ...”

  He paused again, topping his mug, glancing at each man in turn before returning his gaze to Kedryn’s face.

  “I have heard of craft disappearing with all their crew. No explanation is offered—and these things are prone to exaggeration—but I have heard it said that boats have been found in splinters; destroyed as though struck by a thunderbolt, and their crews gone the Lady alone knows where.”

  “Pirates?” asked Brannoc, his swarthy features alert with interest.

  “I think not.” Galen shook his head. “Pirates are not wont to wreck what they have taken, and from what I have heard— which is, I must admit, vague—no cargoes have been offered for sale.”

  “How many?” Kedryn asked.

  Again the riverman shook his massive head. “I do not know. I simply repeat what I have heard of waterfront gossip. There is only one such of which I have personal knowledge.” He swallowed evshan and licked his lips. “I have recently brought a Keshi landril by name of Xendral south from Bayard. That holding stands a little downriver from Gennyf, on the eastern bank, and the landril anticipated a summons to Andurel. I know it for a fact that Tam Lemal and his brothers sailed under palace commission, and with a cargo of Galichian fruit, for Bayard. But they did not arrive there and the Keshi booked passage with me. The "Vendrelle has not been seen farther north than Lam—some four days’ sail from Bayard—and though I have inquired of fellow captains, none has word nor sight of the Vendrelle or the Lemal brothers.”

  “Mayhap they grounded,” Kedryn suggested. “Or sold their cargo elsewhere.”

  “Not Tarn,” said Galen. “He’d know his best profit was to be made the farther north he traveled, and he carried the summons for Xendral, besides. He’s a greedy man, but he’d not renege on that undertaking.”

  “Might he have encountered some problem?” Kedryn wondered. “Something that caused him to put ashore so that you passed him on the river?”

  “Were that the case,” Galen answered, “he’d have put in on the Keshi side, and I brought the Vashti in close enough to spot any beached craft. There was no sign.”

  “A storm?” queried Brannoc.

  “There have been no storms,” said the riverman. “The spring floods are ended and the Idre runs smooth as a compliant woman. Besides, it would take a most powerful storm to sink the Vendrelle, and Tam was an experienced captain—he’d not be caught out by bad weather.”

  “Mayhap he sought the western bank,” said Kedryn.

  “No. ” Galen was positive, emphasizing the negative with a further shaking of his head. “Bayard bound, Tam would sail closer to Kesh than Tamur. Had he put in for any reason it would be on the Keshi side.”

  “I still say it could be pirates,” Brannoc mused.

  “You do not know the Idre,” retorted Galen, a trifle sharply, as if he considered the comment critical of his undoubted expertise. “Were pirates abroad we captains should have word of it; and they’d need dispose of that fruity cargo swiftly—or lose their profit.”

  “Mayhap they wanted the boat,” argued Brannoc, refusing to be deterred.

  “Too easily recognized,” said the riverman, “and too hard to hide. No, my wolf’s-head friend, you must not confuse river craft with horses or trade goods sold beyond the Lozins. What few pirates do dare sail our Idre are minor cutthroats—they might sally forth in dories to ransack a likely vessel, but they’d not take the Vendrelle. And of the Lemals’ boat there is no sign at all.”

  Brannoc grinned easily, bowing his head in acknowledgement of Galen’s superior familiarity with the ways of the river. Tepshen demanded, “What interpretation do you make?”

  Galen shrugged again. “I have no idea. I know only that the Vendrelle is gone.”

  “And others,” Kedryn murmured.

  “Aye. So it would seem from the waterfront gossip. A fishing craft here, a ferry boat there, and no one to say how.”

  He drained his mug and tilted the flagon again, emptying it and shouting for more.

  “We sail with an escort,” said Tepshen firmly.

  “Very well.” Kedryn saw no reason to argue the point. “Though I doubt any cutthroat would dare attack a royal vessel.”

  “It may not be any human agency,” grunted Galen, this time allowing Kedryn to purchase the flagon.

  “A monster?” asked the young man dubiously. “Some mythic beast from the depths of the river?”

  “The Idre runs deep,” responded Galen, his smile a trifle defensive. “Who knows what she holds?”

  “Water,” said Brannoc, “but in the event of her revealing worse secrets I doubt we shall encounter anything that may not be slain by honest steel, or a squad of archers.”

  “We shall take no chances,” declared Tepshen. “The craft that carries us north will bear a full complement of soldiery.”

  “As well to take such precautions,” nodded Galen.

  “I am well guarded,” grinned Kedryn, refusing to let the riverman’s ominous gossip dampen his spirits. “And now let us talk of more cheerful matters.”

  “Aye,” Galen agreed. “Tell me, Brannoc, does this tailor of yours charge excessively?”

  Kedryn chuckled as the half-breed embarked on a discussion of cloth and cutting with the massive captain, interrupting to suggest that Galen present himself at the emporium in question to request an outfit suitable for an honored guest and inform the tailor that the bill should be presented to the White Palace.

  “And,” he added, eyeing the remains of the roast pork still set before the riverman, ‘let us eat. The palace will not miss us for one meal.”

  They dined on cold cuts and bread, cheese and fruit, washed down with pale beer and then bade farewell to Galen, retrieving their horses from the courtyard and leading them back through the busy harbor to the wider avenues beyond.

  The overcast that hung above the city had solidified into dark rafts of threatening gray as they negotiated the streets, and heavy droplets of rain splattered on the cobbles, freshening the scents of the place. As they climbed the broad roadway leading to the palace gates the sky to the north grew black, the wind strengthening so that the Idre rippled and spat wavelets against the docks, the masts of the craft moored there bobbing and ducking, their pennants snapping in the growing bluster.

  “A storm approaches,” Brannoc remarked, easing the hood of his cloak over his braided hair.

  “Aye.” Kedryn shivered suddenly, feeling a strange chill. For no reason he could define he clutched the stone about his neck, but it remained cool and hard, as if no more than a jewel worn for ornament.

  “The river is full of stories,” murmured Tepshen, noticing the gesture. “And rivermen love nothing more than to embroider them.”