“It’s what a military commander would do,” Allta said. “What is not known cannot be revealed.”
Mark grunted. “We operated similarly in the urchins to keep the city watch from finding us after we’d stolen something too valuable.” He paused to scratch beneath his arm. “That’s scant comfort. It means the Fayit thinks there’s a good chance one of us will be taken.”
“Which brings us to the point,” Pellin said looking south to where the smell of the sea drifted to him. “We’re going to the southern continent.”
“What did the Fayit tell you to do?” Allta asked.
He took a deep breath. “Something no one in the Vigil has been able to do in its long history. I have to discover a way to break Dura’s vault without destroying his mind.”
Mark shook his head. “Why not ask Dura? From what he’s said, he broke Queen Cailin’s vault right after Bas-solas and she survived.”
Pellin nodded in approval. The boy’s thoughts ran along the same path as his own. “Unfortunately, Dura doesn’t know why Cailin survived, but even if he did, there would be an additional reason to go south. We have to break the vault without losing the information within it.”
“The Fayit said this?” Allta asked.
Pellin nodded. “Of the Vigil that remain, I am by far the most experienced. Toria Deel is six hundred years younger in the gift than I am, Willet and Fess seven hundred. And while I do not possess the prodigious memory of our friend Custos, there is no knowledge within our library that can aid me in this. If the knowledge is to be found, it will be on the southern continent with our brothers there.”
Pellin made some pretense to confidence, but even so Allta and Mark quieted. When they stopped for the lack of light still some distance from Port City and took rooms, his guard and apprentice still showed no desire to talk.
Mark was the first to break the silence. “How far is it to the southern continent?” he asked as they ate that evening. Their inn had the benefit of being indistinguishable from countless others in Aille. If someone had tracked them here, they would have had to follow them the entire distance from Edring to do it. Even so, Mark kept up a steady scan of the interior, searching for dwimor.
“Almost two hundred leagues,” Pellin said.” A bit over a week by ship with a good captain and fair wind—longer with a full load.”
“What if it’s not fair?” Mark asked.
A memory of Pellin’s last crossing rose before him, of rough gray-green seas and swells that sent their vessel up and down the troughs like a child’s toy while he fought and failed to keep his stomach under control in the crew’s quarters. “It should be fair now, but the journey south is best avoided during the winter.”
“What’s it—” Mark stopped. His eyes fixed on the front entrance of the inn. Allta had already noted his manner and turned toward the door, his hands moving beneath the table to his weapons. Pellin had just begun the motion when Mark turned back to them, his face and voice calm.
“There’s a dwimor by the door. Don’t,” he said as Allta started to rise. “It’s already seen everyone in here. I don’t think it’s here for us.” Pellin watched his apprentice take another glance around the room, his gaze roving across the patrons without landing anywhere. Clever, the dwimor wouldn’t know it had been seen.
Pellin lifted his glass to his lips, let the wine wet them without drinking. His hand shook, but he ignored the splashes that stained his clothes. “What’s it doing?”
Mark cocked his head as he took a bite, the motion smooth. Pellin prayed a quick thanks to Aer. The boy had ice water in his veins.
“It’s moving toward the kitchens. I guess even dwimor have to eat.”
“Take him,” Pellin said.
“Her,” Mark corrected.
“Regardless,” Allta said, “the risk cannot be taken. Mark, you will follow the dwimor and kill her.”
“No,” Pellin said. “If Mark can take her, I can delve her. Who knows what we might discover?”
His guard shook his head. “Eldest, consider. If Mark should fall to the dwimor, I will have no way to protect you here or for the remainder of the journey south.”
Pellin sighed. Once again, his guard had managed to plot the safest course of action, offering prudence while he proposed risk. When had he become so reckless? Pellin turned to confirm Allta’s order. “Curse that little thief,” he breathed. “He’s done it again.”
Mark was already gone.
“Impressive,” Allta said. “I should have heard him slip away.”
A clatter of dishes and a scream came from the kitchen. Allta rose, conflict written plain on his face—between his desire to aid Mark and his duty to protect Pellin at all costs. Men and women in the inn ran toward the sound of struggle, two of them wearing a reeve’s insignia.
“Here now,” a deep voice called. “What’s this?”
“I’m telling you the truth, you stupid growler,” Mark’s voice came from the kitchen. “She was robbing you. Look at all that food.”
Allta led Pellin toward the kitchen at a run. Mark’s voice paused for a moment, followed by a thump.
“What was that for?” another man yelled. “Are you trying to kill her?”
“She’s dangerous,” Mark said. “You really don’t want her to wake up.”
Allta shouldered the crowd away, and they came into a circle of men, some almost as big as the guard, surrounding the figure of Mark standing over the now visible form of a young woman.
Pellin itched to remove his gloves, but the crowd of men around Mark had grown ugly, their protective instincts roused by sight of a defenseless girl being attacked. He dug into the pocket of his cloak, his fingers searching among the emblems stored there for the symbol of the Merum faith. His fingers brushed across the silver medallion of the intersecting arcs and brought it forth. “Gentlemen,”
