She replied with a tight smile, her tone formal. “Only that you allow me to join this mission, brother. And to ensure my training doesn’t slacken during the voyage.”
Frentis forced down the impulse to order her from the ship as she continued, “Davoka wasn’t happy about it either, if that’s any comfort.”
“It isn’t . . . sister. She stays by the queen’s side, I take it?”
Illian nodded. “Not without regret. She did give me this.” She held up a sack containing a number of leather flasks. “Mixed by Brother Kehlan according to the Lonak recipe.”
Frentis nodded. “Keep it safe, and don’t be tempted to open a single flask.” He rose from the dogs as Thirty-Four came forward to grip his hand. “You are a free man now,” he reminded the former slave. “Returning to the land of your bondage. And our success is far from certain.”
“I’ve yet to find my name,” Thirty-Four replied with a shrug, dropping his voice a little and slipping into Volarian. “And I find your queen . . . troubling.”
Frentis released his hand and turned to Master Rensial, standing apart from the others, expression more vacant than usual. “I had hoped you would return to the stables, Master,” Frentis told him. “The Order will have need of your talents.”
“The boy isn’t there,” Rensial muttered. “Or the girl, or the tall woman.” He glanced around suspiciously and moved closer, speaking in a whisper. “Where are the horses?”
“We go to find them, Master.” Frentis gripped his arm in reassurance. “Far across the sea is a whole empire of horses.”
Rensial replied with a grave nod then wandered off towards the prow. Frentis decided to warn Captain Belorath to make sure his men gave the horse master as much space as possible. His gaze was drawn to the rail where an unfamiliar figure stood staring out to sea, a young well-built man with a thick head of curly blond hair.
“His name’s Weaver,” Draker said. “Doesn’t talk much.”
Frentis knew the name of course.
“Not really sure, brother. He was already aboard when we arrived.”
Frentis nodded, turning back to meet the weight of their collected gaze. “I thank you all,” he said. “But you offer me too much. Please go ashore and leave me to this mission.” They stared back in silence, expressions expectant rather than angry. None made a single step towards the gangplank. “This mission holds no return journey . . .” he began then stopped as Draker gave a broad grin.
“I think our captain is eager to be off, brother,” he said.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lord Brahdor’s house must have been a grand place once. Formerly a minor stronghold, successive generations had seen it moulded into a sprawling three-storey mansion, grown beyond the walls that once enclosed it, the defensive ditch long since filled in. The surrounding fields were dotted with stables, storehouses, and, Reva well knew, a large barn over the crest of a nearby hill. She had called there earlier, halting her horse a good distance short of the dilapidated pile of leaning timber, the roof now vanished and the doors lying on the weed-rich ground.
She was alone, having ordered her guards to proceed to Alltor without her some miles back. She found Kernmill ravaged and burnt as expected, all the people she had once spied on dead, taken by slavers or fled. The house of Lord Brahdor lay some two miles north and was in only marginally better repair. It seemed to have escaped the attentions of the Volarians, possibly because its evident ruin had been wrought before their arrival, the various rooftops stripped of slate, either by the elements or greedy villagers, the walls streaked with dirt and peeling daub, every door seemingly vanished.
