Birlerion reported that Torsion’s rooms were deserted; according to the locals at the inn, he’d been gone for quite a few months and no one knew when he would return, which matched what Jason had said.
As they prepared to leave, Hannah insisted that she accompany them and the Lady Alyssa to the keep. Jerrol didn’t waste time arguing.
Jerrol passed the unconscious girl up to Birlerion and then boosted Hannah up on Zin’talia, who protested about carrying someone other than Jerrol – just out of habit, he thought.
Leading Zin’talia up the road, her warm breath huffing against his cheek and chasing away the cold morning air, Jerrol turned back to speak to Birlerion when his face suddenly froze. In an instant, he had thrown the reins at Hannah, unsheathed his sword and slapped Zin’talia on the rump. “Get them to the keep quick,” he barked. With a sweep of his sword, he was deflecting an arrow heading straight for Birlerion and Alyssa.
Birlerion and Hannah galloped away immediately, Hannah flailing for the reins. Jerrol charged towards the ambushers, closing in to fluster the archers.
Jerrol sized the opposition up, relieved they were not particularly organised. The two men with bows panicked as soon as he charged them, losing their rhythm, their arrows going wildly off target. Jerrol cut them down swiftly and moved on to the men behind them. They were no match for his speed as he parried a wild swing, flicking his dagger at one trying to circle behind him.
A swift glance noted positions and weapons, and he coldly dispatched them as they advanced. He spun inside the uncontrolled strike of one of the last men standing and hit him sharply behind his ear. The man dropped like a stone to the road. Jerrol hoped when Birlerion returned he would ask questions first.
He retrieved his dagger and vaulted into the saddle of one of the sturdier specimens and was in pursuit of the fleeing horse and rider in moments. Jerrol followed, scowling in disgust. The man was not trying to disguise his route or shake any pursuit. He was travelling in a straight line towards Deepwater.
Jerrol nursed the nag over the faint trails and across fields. It was in no condition to chase fugitives; he was surprised it was still moving considering its poor condition. He closed the distance, checking the tracks occasionally, but the trail didn’t deviate.
The sun was overhead as Jerrol reached the outskirts of the grounds at Deepwater. He pulled his horse off the road and tied up its reins so it wouldn’t get tangled in them. The horse drooped in exhaustion. It didn’t even have the energy to graze; it wasn’t going to stray far.
He scouted around the perimeter, noting the positions of the guards and their movements, which were nonexistent. They weren’t expecting any trouble and didn’t seem to be concerned with the arrival of a lone horseman in a frantic hurry.
Following the tree line, Jerrol slipped through the shadows and down to the first of the three large lakes from which the land took its name. Tall reeds and grasses lined the lake edges and rustled in the gentle breeze. Gaps revealed swims punctuated with lines and nets tied to tall posts jutting out of the water. Small wooden skiffs made of a few planks nailed together nestled along the shoreline, and bundles of rope freshwater shrimp pots provided ample cover for someone used to sneaking around unseen.
The rotting odour of dead fish and lake weed permeated the air, overlaid by occasional gusts of pungent herbal remedies that cleared the nasal system. Jerrol recognised Malhan weed and the scent of Trealt, a very rare essence only found in the Fuertes district of Terolia and often used to subvert the will of another. Why would Deepwater need that illicit drug?
Jerrol stood in the shadows of the building, assessing the climb and the stability of the wooden trellis attached to the wall. Voices caught his attention from a room on the ground floor. He knelt under the window; it had frosted glass panes, but they were held in by nails rather than the more insulating clay-like paste people were now using. He listened to the heated exchange carefully, his eyes quartering the terrain around him.
A high-pitched voice was berating the unfortunate man. “How dare you ride up here in broad daylight. You were given your instructions; you were to wait for us to contact you, you fool. There was to be no contact. No contact and no connection between us.”
“But sir, Per’itise and his men are dead. I can’t go back to the camp, not unless you give us the money. The lads are all riled up, spitting mad – you never said nothing about a rearguard.” It sounded as if the man gulped nervously. “We did what you said. We caught them unawares and slaughtered them! But them guards killed Per’itise. We followed them over towards Stoneford, but we couldn’t catch them.”
“You mean you were seen on the field? And you came here?” The man was almost spitting in fury.
“You owe us, we did what you said, we killed them all,” the man repeated sullenly.
A lighter voice joined the conversation. “Take it off your back, Peverill. The job’s done, and most of the clean-up as well by the sounds of it. Save yourself some money and pay him off. He’s stinking up my study.”
“My lord.” Peverill tried to temper his voice and spoke more calmly. “You shouldn’t be seen with this man. You are supposed to be travelling to Greenswatch. You know the plan.”
“Yes, yes. I’ll go shortly. I wanted to see the calibre of man that bested the best of Greenswatch, and handed that gem into our hands.”
“Hush, m’lord. We need to be careful. You know what Var’geris said: the less said, the better.”
“Well, he
