The Black March

By PL Nunn

When foreign raiders take what Kastel, the Winter King loves, he and Dante chase them across the sea and find themselves in a distant, brutal land, at the mercy of forces that put them at a distinct disadvantage. Strangers in a strange land they discover a power that has lain dormant since before the Pharaohs ruled.
Can Dante and Kastel overcome it, as well as the growing attraction between them?

• Language: English
• Publisher: PL Nunn
• Release date: Nov 4, 2010
• ISBN: 9781465922496

Book preview

THE BLACK MARCH

THE SILVER MAGE SERIES: BOOK 3

By

P.L. NUNN

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

P.L. Nunn on Smashwords

Lord of Fire

Copyright ©2010 by P.L. Nunn

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

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Prologue

The old master bard had a voice like mellowed wine. Deep and rich and sliding over the senses like so much priceless amber fluid. He could lull a crowd with his voice, enrapture them as if a spell were cast. Every eye was focused upon him, though a great many of them were languid with daydreams or relaxation. He took away tension and pain with his voice. Banished anxiety. There was no spell cast, but there was magic involved.

A few months ago, Lily might not have believed it, or accepted it, but now, as she sat amongst the crowd appreciating the master bard’s performance, she felt the smooth, undulating currents of power that laced through the baritone of his voice. She knew that music could hold magic, just not the kind that shattered armies or brought down mountains. She’d seen that type as well and found she preferred the gentler sort that drifted on the wings of a song.

Crayl said she had the potential. She didn’t know whether she believed him. Power of any kind was not a concept she was comfortable with in context with herself. Swaying a crowd with her voice. Yes. Swaying a man with the whisper of her lips, and the touch of her hands. Oh, yes. Very much so. But power of an unnatural sort? That frightened her. But not as much as it might have, once upon a time. Not since she had come to love certain things infused with unnatural powers.

The applause of the crowd signaled the end of the last song. The master bard put aside his dulcimer, gratefully accepting a mug of cold ale from a bright-eyed tavern wench. Crayl, who she was sitting with, rose and beckoned her to follow him as he weeded his way through the crowded taproom towards the older minstrel. Neither she, nor Crayl had their own instruments in hand since this had been an expedition to enjoy the talents of the competition. When Crayl had heard the mellow tones of the bard from the street outside, his eyes had lit with excitement and he’d practically pulled Lily into the tavern.

Well, was that a croak I heard in your voice? Is age making you creak, old man? Crayl said, surprising Lily at the rudeness as they approached the old man. Crayl was usually the epitome of genial good manners. But when the old minstrel looked up, his face split with a grin, causing creases and lines to spring up about his eyes and mouth. He had longish hair, sprinkled liberally with gray and balding on top, skin browned and seasoned into a leather-like hardness from a lifetime of roaming.

You’ll never hear a harsh note in my tones, boy. But the envious always hope for the worst, do they not?

Crayl laughed. As if I could ever be as good as you. Why bother wishing? He held out his hand and the other man clasped it.

It's been too long, Crayl. Are you headed for the fair?

Aye. That I am.

With that lot of surly youngsters you collected?

Them and more. Crayl turned his smile on Lily, urging her closer. Lily, this is my master. Selephio, this is Lily, who is vastly talented, even more so than she fully realizes.

The older man looked her over, not quite the way a man sized up an attractive young woman, but with a deeper, more peculiar stare. As if he were looking at her insides instead of her out.

Oh, you are by far the most lovely of Crayl’s misbegotten band of musicians, young Lily. And I think possessed of more gifts.

Oh, no. Not really, she stammered in modesty.

Selephio smiled at her, shaking his head. Oh yes. I can see these things. I saw it in the lad here, over a decade ago. It is a talent I have.

She ducked her head, embarrassed.

Are you traveling alone? Crayl asked, his brows knit in concern. There were more and more tales of pirates attacking the coastal cities, spurred on by the upheaval of the great ice storm that had devastated a good deal of the western coast some two months prior. They ventured further and further inland, pillaging towns, murdering, raping, taking women and children to sell as slaves. They had passed a small hamlet three days past that had been shattered by such an attack.

Not even the songs of talented minstrels could lift the terror from the eyes of survivors trying to pick up the pieces. There had been a dozen or more fresh dug graves and a dozen more survivors who had lost children or wives or sisters to the sea bound devils.

I am. What is this look I see in your eyes? Do you think I’m so ancient and infirm, that I’ll fall prey to the evils of the road?

It had crossed my mind. The Fair was in Silvercroft Glen. It was the largest summer fair on the continent. A magnet for artisans of all flavor. Harpers were drawn to it like flies to a corpse -- as Dell liked to say with a wry glint in his eyes.

Would you like a little company on the road? It was a week’s journey away.

What? With the lot of your shiftless vagabonds?

Crayl smiled wanly. We’ve gained a little respectability, Master Selephio. Why, we entertain great lords on a constant basis.

Selephio snorted incredulously. Lily’s lips curved up in an insidious little smile. Crayl’s boast was quite accurate. They did entertain great lords -- or lord -- when the lord in question chose to loiter about when they were performing. More often than not, the clamor of the places they found the greatest profit in, taverns, alehouses and the like, drove him away fairly quickly. He was not a social creature. He despised crowds. He was solitary by nature, her lord, where Lily who had blossomed in her freedom, was gregarious. Surprisingly enough the difference inspired no conflict. It was a harmonious blending, those traits. There were a great many things they did harmoniously.

I suppose for the honor of your company, Selephio was saying. You expect me to give the girl a few pointers.

Oh, master Selephio, I would never think to impose on your vast and benevolent nature. But, if you were so inclined, I believe she would benefit greatly.

She is better to look at than you were.

Oh, wonderful. The others will be thrilled.

The old harper snorted. I’m sure they will, lad. I’m sure they will.

* * *

The village was called Oborhurst or some such thing. The names of all the feckless little glens and hamlets, road side shanties and sprawling towns he had passed through were meaningless trivia that slipped through Kastel’s mind as quickly as they entered. He did not despise the peasant folk who lived in them, or look down his nose at them -- well, not all of them -- they were useful, they performed vital tasks for their liege lords that kept the economy of all the lands robust, but he could summon little interest in them. There were too many other things that pulled at his attention. Internal things that he worried at endlessly, despite the fact that he had been told in no uncertain terms to leave be. Scabs and scars that were as insubstantial as air, but more worrisome than the crusted stump of a severed limb might have been.

Wounds left in the gaping holes where his magic had been, inflicted by a malicious will of the Prophet in a last ditch effort at victory. And though the Prophet had failed in his bid to steal Kastel's body, he had fried the mental pathways that channeled higher magics. Some things had come back. His arcane perceptions had been almost unscathed. He could feel the tremors of a great spell, or a powerful icon, or the passing of a wild elemental as well as he had ever been able to. Better even, with the lack of the other things making arcane awareness more sensitive. He could influence the minds of lesser animals, horses, dogs and the like. A minor skill at best, one even most hedge witches could claim. With effort he could perform small -- very small -- ice spells. But they left him reeling and sweating afterwards. The rest was locked away behind burned power channels that might or might not ever heal properly on their own.

Sera had been deceivingly optimistic. She had done what she could, which was damned little. Dante, who could bring life back to the dead, was completely at a loss when it came to the delicate variances of the mental planes that channeled power and magic. His black scowls had gone a good ways to negate Sera’s carefully thought out words of encouragement.

What it came down to was that he was crippled. Powerless compared to what he had been and likely to remain that way. One had to hate the Prophet, even though it was useless to waste time and energy repudiating the dead.

Oh, sweet gods, look at this.

He half glanced to the side as the young harper who seemed determined to attach himself to his every footstep, held up a carved fertility charm fashioned in the shape of four intertwined male and female forms in the throes of a very exaggerated sexual act. Breasts and penises were of mythical proportion in relation to the bodies. Kastel lifted a brow at Thizura, who was grinning idiotically, waving the thing about as if he were the high priest on some sex-oriented cult.

Do you think it would make me irresistible if I bought it?

I believe it is designed to attract the opposite sex, Kastel said wanly, turning his back on the harper’s wicked grin. The young man was an incurable flirt. He slept regularly with Allun, one of his fellow harpers, as well as picking up young men in a fair number of the villages they passed through.

He was disconcertingly single-minded in his admiration of Kastel. Not overt enough to get in trouble over it -- he was wary enough of Kastel’s reputation not to pester him -- but he tended to stare and sigh and make wistfully suggestive comments.

Lily thought it was vastly amusing. Kastel fluctuated between annoyance and acute embarrassment. But one could hardly order the boy away when one was not presently playing the role of lord of the northern provinces. When one was in fact, presently enjoying a stretch of no responsibility at all. It was not a bad thing, to have no world shattering events taking place around him. To have no barbarians screaming at his gates, no city to maintain, no facade to employ, no all powerful enemies to make his life miserable.

And there was Lily. A light-hearted, carefree Lily who had no qualms about letting anyone know they shared a bed. Who proclaimed nightly her love -- with words and actions. Who he did not think he could quite live without. And he was happy when he was with her when he had not been happy in a very, very long time.

What he did not care for were the bug infested beds -- when there were beds -- that they were forced to sleep in. The foul smell of sweat and worse things on the sheets and the old straw of the mattresses. The disparaging, sometimes mockingly cruel treatment the harpers often received by town bullyboys or drunken patrons of the taverns they performed. He did not like the lust in the eyes of men when they watched Lily sing, or perform the blatantly sexual dances designed to bring a crowd to the frothing point and thus separate it from its coin.

He wore his sword -- not the Ice Saber, that was not a blade to carry casually about when he had not the resources to contain it -- when he knew she would dance. He sat as far from the press of the crowd as he could get, watching over her, a silent protector.

Dell sneered at him, claiming that harpers knew the way to control crowds. He hardly ever responded to the tall harper’s sarcasm, save with an icy stare. He often thought it was good he did not have his magics, for Dell would have probably ceased to exist some time back. But, Dell was had yet to be proven wrong. No drunken patron ever attacked her, beyond a grope or a leering suggestion.

He browsed around the market square a while longer, Thizura dogging his steps. Not much of a market, just a small section of street where a few venders had set up tents to hawk their wares. Nothing of real interest, merely a way to pass time.

Nighttime was fast approaching and the mosquitoes were out in force. He kept them away with a slight stab of coercion. Their tiny, single-minded intellects were easy to control, but it was a subtle draw on his limited energies that disheartened him. He despised the feeling of stretching his limits with such inconsequential things.

He headed back to their inn, but veered to the stables instead of going inside. Seeing that he was intent upon tending his horse, Thizura gave up on him and retreated inside where the sounds of music could be heard.

The stable smelled of hay and horse, good clean smells that appealed to him. His horse was by far the finest animal in the stable, probably the finest ever to cross its threshold. A young, bay stallion from his own line. Light enough to be dexterous and quick, strong enough to carry a man in armor for long distances without tiring. Sturdy enough to survive the harsh northern winters.

The stallion stuck his nose over the sagging stall door at the sound and smell of his master. The soft muzzle inspected Kastel’s tunic for hidden apples.

I’m sorry, Brawaith, I didn’t think to bring you a treat, Kastel apologized solemnly, scratching under the heavy forelock. Brawaith was not mollified, ears momentarily twitching back, until Kastel found the right spot to itch, and the sleight was forgotten. He spent time currying the animal, until the stallion’s coat was glossy. Though the horse would pick up mud from the road tomorrow again, Kastel enjoyed the labor.

He gave Brawaith a measure of grain to compensate for the apple, and left the stallion happily munching when he went inside. A few of the minstrels were playing. Allun and Dell. Thizura sat drinking, talking to a young man, probably a traveler by the look of his clothing. Of Crayl and Lily there was no sign. They had been out plying the other local drinking establishments.

The fact that he accepted such a thing without blinking an eye, frankly amazed him. He would not ever have imagined himself so blithely unconcerned about a woman he loved traipsing around taverns. But, Lily had proved she was capable of taking care for herself. And he trusted Crayl. Of all of the harpers, he liked Crayl the most. There was a calm, reasoning intelligence about the man that was soothing. When he sang, the crowd was enraptured by his voice. When he and Lily sang together -- sometimes even Kastel found himself drifting along with the melody, mindless of all else.

Crayl talked about a magic that resided in music. Not to Kastel, but to Lily he talked a great deal of it and she spoke of it at night to Kastel. He didn’t believe it. He had never seen a wizard who used music as his weapon and he had researched magics extensively. Lily had suggested that such talents might be closely guarded, only spoken of between journeymen bards. If there were such a thing - - such a power over listeners -- then it would benefit bards not at all to have it known.

Still, Kastel didn’t put much credence in it, other than the allure of a vastly talented minstrel on a listener, though he thought Lily had begun to believe.

He went up to the room on the top floor that he and Lily shared. He bought the best accommodations available and insisted whenever possible on fresh straw in the mattress and clean sheets. The Harpers, more often than not, declined his generosity and slept in the common room, or the stables, or four to a bed in one of the cheaper rooms. It was their life and they enjoyed it. And though Kastel had chosen to be with Lily as she traveled with her company, he had no personal desire for the hardships of the life of a traveling mistral. Lily never complained.

He took off his boots, cleaned the mud from them, and neatly laid his overtunic over a chair back. He sat in loose linen shirt and trousers with his back against the wall on the relatively clean bed and probed the extent of his injuries.

He shut his eyes, using the arcane senses he did still have to investigate the progress of healing. He checked every night, vainly hoping to find some miraculous change in the state of his ethereal self. He generally found very little.

He tested his limits gingerly, but not in the mood for a raging headache tonight, he ceased in short order. Sera had told him not to stretch the healing channels. That in doing so he might tear them and make more of a mess than Angelo had in the initial wounding. But, like an itch that had to be scratched, he could not quite leave it alone.

He worried at it a little longer, something to while away the time until Lily returned. She kept late hours, being what she was.

He drifted off eventually and came awake when she slipped into the bed next to him, curling herself around him like a contented cat. He blinked at her sleepily. She kissed him, a languid, thorough kiss that chased away drowsiness. She tasted of sweet wine and excitement. There was about her the fervor of the dance. The sensual power that she always exuded after she had driven a roomful of men to distraction by the power of her voice and her body and the aura of sensuality that she exuded so strongly. Heady with that power she was aggressive and more often than not he was generally left breathless and amazed when they had done.

Did you dance tonight? he asked.

No, she responded, nuzzling his neck, her lips and tongue warm against his pulse. The beat picked up dramatically. She pulled back a little, looking up at him, her dark eyes sparkling.

I felt it tonight, Kastel. Crayl was right. There is something. There is a -- power -- to be found in music.

How so?

We met Crayl’s master. He has it. Oh, gods, you can feel it in the air when he sings. It's so powerful. He says only the barest few have it, and most hardly realize they do. I never really believed -- until he showed me how to feel it.

Her hands twined around his neck, fingers in his hair. Her body was taught with thrill. I felt it in myself and --- ooohh, it was so good.

Did you? he was a little wary now at the talk of power and the fervor in her voice.

Just a little, but Selephio says I’ve got potential.

Potential for what? If no one’s ever heard of this -- music magic -- then what good is it? What has it ever accomplished?

She beetled her brows. Well -- well, I’m not quite certain. We didn’t get around to talking about that. But, he’ll be traveling with us to the fair an you can ask him then.

If you don’t know what this thing does, why are you so eager to have it? It seemed a reasonable question.

Would it upset you?

No. I don’t -- know. He found himself actually wondering if it would. If he were crippled to power and she suddenly found herself the recipient of it, could he tolerate it? He stared at her stricken at the uncertainty he found in himself.

She sighed and pressed her lips lightly against his. I think I understand, my love. I forget sometimes what you’ve lost.

He never did. He shut his eyes to avoid her look of pity. She stroked his hair, whispering. We’ll see what comes. The sun rises and new possibilities come with it, no?

He was not that optimistic. He did not reply. She let her lips and her fingers coax him out of his mood. Her talents were boundless. Even with all his powers intact he could not have resisted her for long.

* * *

The road along the coast leading southward was a broad track that sometimes ran so close to the sea that you could hear the rush of the waves and smell the salt in the air. Sometimes it meandered deeper inland, closer to the foothills of the mountain chain that ran the length -- south to north -- of the continent. The weather was undeniably beautiful. Warm days and cool nights, the breeze from the western ocean cooling what otherwise might have been oppressive summer heat.

Kastel preferred the cold. He liked the pristine clarity of winter far better than the myriad tones of summer. The ocean made him wary. Its magnitude had always daunted him a little. He hated the ponderous sway of its motion. Once, during their campaigns, years and years ago, Dante had set his sights upon one of the island kingdoms. It was the producer of a particular spice that he had discovered and found he couldn’t live without. He wanted it under his control. A whim. Nothing more. But he had commandeered a fleet of ships to carry out his plans and loaded his Brethren, then Kastel and Kheron, both considerably younger than they were now, aboard and set out to sea.

It had taken Kastel precisely a dozen breaths to loose his land bound stability. A dozen more and no spell of his could calm the rolling of his stomach. Kheron had found it amusing until it hit her an hour out to sea. As the old adage went, wizards and the great blue sea were not a steady mixture. A day out and Kheron was throwing up her guts over the rail. Even Dante had begun to feel a the tinges of nausea. Kastel had just wanted to die. And the deeper the ocean got, the worse it became, as if the tenuous connection to the earth made magic a weak and quarrelsome thing. He had been worse off than he was now, with all his channels burned closed. Then, with the sea surrounding him, it was as if there was no magic to compel.

By the time it had begun to seep away at Dante ’s power, both his disciples were worse than invalids and having no wish to end up the same, he reluctantly had to give up on any notions of conquering his spice island. Kastel never even remembered getting back to dry land. Dante had stomped around in a rage for days and Kheron had not let him forget the incident for ages, conveniently forgetting her own indisposition.

He had not set foot on a ship since. He had a healthy distrust of the sea in general. It had never been his ally anyway. Saltwater didn’t freeze.

Lily loved the ocean. When they passed through a seaport town, or a fishing village she roamed the docks, or went out onto the shores looking for treasures washed up on shore. She had a pouch of delicate little shells she’d collected. She said she would make a necklace from them.

A day out from Oborhurst, which was not a substantial distance considering that they traveled at the pace of a walking man, his horse being the only one among them, the road ran along a gentle bluff overlooking the sea. The old man that had joined them claimed to know a hundred different songs of the ocean, none of which Kastel particularly wished hear. There was such a thing, he was beginning to think, as too much music. A little silence was a desirable thing, but not to harpers. They could not survive without creating noise.

The old man was an odd sort. He was cranky and bossy, deliberately rude to the younger members of Crayl’s troupe, but they took it with good cheer, even Dell who was usually sarcastic and sharp. He even harped at Lily on occasion, though he was more inclined to flirt with her. But other than demanding to know why a perfectly good horse was not being utilized to carry their packs, he hadn’t spoken to Kastel at all. Kastel had responded to that one communication with a curt; Brawaith is not a pack mule, nor shall he become one. And that had been that.

Lily had walked beside the old man, along with Crayl for a good part of the day, the three of them discussing topics of minstrelsy which held no interest for Kastel. Dell strummed idly upon his lute as he walked, while Allun and he practiced a harmony they had been creating.

Thizura dogged Kastel’s steps, keeping the Winter King between him and the spirited stallion. The horse had nipped him once, drawing blood when he’d ventured too close and he had developed a certain fear of him. Brawaith, being trained for war, and of high spirits sensed the fear and hesitated not at all to nip at the young minstrel or show his sizable equine teeth should he venture too close.

He’s Crayl’s old master you know? Thizura was saying of the old man.

Kastel didn’t comment, knowing already.

His name is known far and wide. He’s performed for practically every royal court in the lands. A lot of the songs you hear today, he wrote when he was a young minstrel.

Kastel had never heard the name of Selephio, but then he had never paid much heed to the arts. Dante had always been the one to indulge in entertainments.

Lily says he’s more than a minstrel. That his music has the power of magic. Is this true?

Thizura’s brows shot up. I don’t know if magic is the word I’d use. You’d really have to ask him to explain it. It's not my place to disclose trade secrets. Then the little harper smiled slyly and added. Well, if you asked really nicely maybe I could.

Kastel gave him a cold stare. Thizura shrugged. You need to develop a sense of humor, you truly do.

Kastel arched a brow. Brawaith butted his shoulder, nickering. Kastel glanced at the horse, at the twitching ears, and sensed the animal’s awareness of other horses.

He lifted a hand to shade his eyes, peering towards the rise ahead of them. The bluffs rose gradually, the road was liberally sprinkled with wind blown sand and surrounded on either side by the tall, tough grasses so common to the sea shore. A band of riders topped the rise. Six or more men, their figures dark with the sun backing them.

The harpers seemed to have little concern, but Kastel having heard the tales of pirates and bandits plaguing the coast tensed, casually reaching up and shifting the sword fastened to his saddle to a more convenient position.

The riders approached at a canter. As they grew closer it became apparent they wore uniforms of a military nature. Green and black issue with a standard sewn into the breast that Kastel was not familiar with.

Halt there, one of them commanded, as the lot of them blocked the road with their horses. A few of them trampled the tall grasses, circling about behind the troupe. Where are you headed?

To Silvercroft for the fair, Crayl spoke up, smiling genially. We’re minstrels. He indicated the instrument on his back. The others stared at the soldiers curiously.

There are bandits plying this road. Waylaying travelers. As well as pirates come to shore to pick off merchants and the like.

We’re neither rich nor merchants, so we’ve little to fear.

The officer eyed Lily. They take more than gold and goods.

It's considered bad luck to slit a bard's throat, the old man, Selephio said.

If you’re bards and not bandits in disguise.

Thizura snorted in laughter at that. Dell strummed a few bars of a tune on his harp. We’re rather well washed to be bandits, don’t you think? the tall, red haired harper observed.

That’s a fine horse for a lot of wastrel’s to have. One of the riders came around to get a better look at Brawiath. A damned fine animal. And since when do minstrel’s go armed?

Kastel stared up at the soldier expressionlessly.

He’s not a minstrel, Dell said snidely. He’s just tagging along. Please don’t hold him against us.

The old soldier, squinted down at Kastel, then past him at Brawaith. Where’d you get such a fine animal? That steed’s worth a years pay or I’m deaf and blind. Take a look commander.

As one of the other riders rode closer, the old soldier snapped at Kastel. Well, answer me, boy.

Ask nicer, Kastel suggested in a tone that brought to mind silk covered in a layer of ice. The man’s commander was staring at Brawaith, then his eyes shifted down to Kastel and widened.

Goddess of mercy, the man exclaimed. Kastel glanced up at him, and felt a pang of vague recognition. He had known this man. Or fought with him, or against him. One of Dante ’s underlings, he thought. One of the knights that had fought to stop him, when he had been rampaging under Galgaga’s control.

Is it -- you? The man’s eyes were practically bugging. He swung down off his horse, then slapped his sergeant’s knee harshly when the man began to chastise Kastel for not responding right away. He wasn’t certain he wanted anyone to know who he was. His reputation had been rather tarnished of late and what with the ice storm of his summoning that had destroyed a fair bit of the western coastline, the Winter King was in no wise popular.

If I denied it, would you believe me?

The knight lifted both brows dubiously. Kastel might not be as flamboyant as his mentor, but people tended to remember his face. Which tended to be annoying when one wished for anonymity.

My lord. What are you doing out here? With these --- musicians? Without escort -- without --

Kastel held up a hand. The bards and the soldiers were staring with open curiosity. The bards were well aware of course, save for the old man, but he’d rather not have this group of soldiers carrying word that he was wondering about the coast to every town they passed.

Please. Bokarah? He thought he recalled the man's name. He'd not been at his most focused during those dark years.

The man nodded warily. He’d gotten the name right at least. He thrust Brawaith’s reins at Thizura, who paled visibly left in charge of the stallion, and indicated Bokarah should walk ahead with him. When they were out of easy earshot, Kastel said.

I will be in your debt if you speak not my name to your men. I’m rather trying to avoid notice.

Bokarah looked back to the minstrels, the question plain on his face.

Don’t ask. Please. Kastel answered before the kight could form the question.

The man inclined his head. Of course, I will do as you ask. But -- are you really headed to the fair at Silvercroft?

Kastel sighed. Truly. What standard is this you wear? I’m not familiar with it?

Bokarah looked down at his uniform and grinned. Allied Kingdom forces, under control of the Regent.

Teo?

Yes. There’s been enough unrest since the whole damn church of the One God lost its mouthpiece that the regent decided he needed a force that was not hampered by borders and jurisdiction to keep the peace. He formed us.

What are you doing here? You're rather far from Alliance jurisdiction.

Yes, but there have been so many pirate attacks this season that the outlying provinces have asked for help. It's been a damned bad year.

Yes, Kastel agreed. It had been a terrible year.

I’d warn you to be careful of bandits, but I don’t suppose you have much to fear from them.

If only that were so. But Kastel neglected to mention it.

Bokarah gestured up the road the way they were headed. There was a landing about seven leagues from here where they wrecked holy hell on a fishing village two days past. Damned dusky devils. Caught one of them that was injured. He didn’t speak of word we could understand. Eyes black as pitch and skin like tanned leather. He drove a knife into his own heart before we could question him. Can’t last for long though, soon as the fall storms start to hit, they won’t have as easy access to the coast. The raids will slack off.

They walked back towards the waiting group. Bokarah mounted, throwing Kastel a snappy salute. Fair weather to you and safe travel.

Kastel nodded. The harpers returned the pleasantry before Bokarah signaled his men and they cantered off down the road. The lot of them looked at Kastel as if they expected him to report what had been said. They were ever meddlesome in other’s business, but one supposed it was the trade.

Well, what did he have to say? Dell inquired in exasperation after Kastel had retrieved Brawaith’s reins and continued on without bothering to respond to the curious stares.

He advised caution against pirates.

"Well, that we knew," Dell responded testily.

Humm, Kastel remarked and refused to say more.

Lily drifted up to walk beside him, twining her arm in his.

You have the most austere ways of annoying him.

He shrugged.

Their commander knew you, didn’t he?

We had occasion to meet, yes, he agreed. If she asked, he would tell her, but he did not like to speak of the wars with her. There were things he had done that made him dead inside when he thought of them now, and he did not wish to mar the purity he felt with her by sharing them.

She slanted a glance up at him, her dark eyes studying his face. She had the ability to see through the cool facade he usually affected, which made it hard to hide things from her. Her lips turned up in a gentle smile and she said.

Crayl says we won’t reach the next village till tomorrow, so we’ll have to camp out. There’s a place he and Selephio know right on the beach that they’ve used before.

Wonderful. Close enough to the ocean to feel her spray and feel the thunderous crash of her waves against the beach. Something to look forward to.

It was not long after dusk had begun to fall that they came upon a traveler’s shelter beside the track. There was a lean-to at the edge of the bluffs overlooking the ocean, and down a gentle sand slope from that, a fire pit with a few charred embers resting at the bottom and a stack of dry driftwood under the lean-to, waiting for the next traveler to use it. A common courtesy among seasoned travelers.

The minstrels were ecstatic over the view. Allun, Thizura and Dell, tromped out onto the night-darkened beach. There was much laughter and clowning, with Thizura ending up thrown in the surf and Dell outrunning him down the beach when he went for revenge.

Crayl built the fire while Lily rummaged about their packs for supper. The old man situated himself on the sand beside the pit, overlooking the younger bards. Kastel saw to Brawaith. Brushed him, gave him his portion of oats and let him loose to gnaw at the tough grasses.

As always, after their bellies were full, they sat around a pleasant fire, the minstrel’s seeking to outdo each other. They played song games, some of which were entertaining, some of which were purely annoying. The old man brought out a bottle of some bitter brew and passed it around the fire. Kastel declined, the rest, including Lily, took swigs of the stuff and soon the lot of them were laughing and hitting sour notes on their instruments.

Gods help them if pirates were in the area. They could be heard for leagues and not a one of them would have seen a pirate till their throats were laid open.

Eventually, after Thizura had convinced Allun to go off with him into the darkness, Lily and Crayl crowded about the old man on the other side of the fire, making occasional thrums of one lute or another, or testing a line of song. Dell, who was not included in the little gathering, shifted to sit a body length or so from Kastel, stretching his long legs out before the fire pit and leaning back against a large chunk of driftwood.

If he’s a teacher, Kastel asked softly, twirling a sharpened stick between his fingers. "Why are you not