The Gathering Storm (Crown of Stars 5)

Something about the way he tilted up his chin and squinted his eyes skyward triggered a cascade of memories. Something about the way he lifted his left hand, as if giving a benediction or a command, spilled recognition into plain sight.

Zacharias had seen him before. He was one of those who had remained in the valley after Kansi-a-lari defeated the sorcerers. He was one of the Seven Sleepers.

As was Wolfhere.

Light flashed around the cleric’s head. The sky darkened as a cloud scudded in to cover the sun, and that same wisp of light caressed Zacharias’ neck before flitting on to twist across the sprawl of bodies. It tangled within the mane of the restive stallion curling around its ears. Was he hallucinating? The stallion snorted and backed so hard into the groom that the poor man tumbled off the wharf and fell with a shriek and a splash into the filthy water.

Blessing took another step forward. The stallion reared, trumpeting.

Zacharias could not shift his feet. Wolfhere thrust past the men blocking his way and sprinted to her, bearing her bodily into the safety of the crowd as Blessing shouted in protest and kicked him. The cleric turned.

“Who are you?” the man asked in his prim voice, his lips set in a terse line. “Too late for questions, since you have already seen me.” A breath of wind teased his ear. A flutter of breeze wrapped around his face and choked off the air. Light crackled before his eyes. Faded.

He fell.

Woke, sick to his stomach and with the ground heaving beneath him. He rolled backward, bumped up against a lumpy sack, and opened his eyes. It was dark except for a dull glow beyond his feet, too diffuse to make out. He could not tell where he was, but the splintered wood planks stank of old vomit and dried piss and the floor kept tilting gently up and down, up and down.

He heard footsteps, the scrape of an object dragged over the ground, and hurriedly shut his eyes.

“I’ll search him, then.” That was the cleric speaking in his thickly accented Wendish. Zacharias willed his breathing to slow, his body to relax, so the cleric would think him asleep. Hands patted his body, an intimate but efficient touch. “God have mercy. Does the man never wash?”

“He doesn’t like his disfigurement to be seen, so I suppose that accounts for him not bathing. I told you it was rash to grab him, Marcus. Couldn’t you have left well enough alone? Now we’ll have to kill him.”

Even after the years he had survived as a slave, the years he had learned to absorb whatever humiliation was meted out to him, it was hard not to suck in his breath, not to whimper in fear.

That was Wolfhere’s voice.

Hadn’t he guessed all along that Wolfhere could not be trusted?

“I take no chances,” said the other man, not to be distracted from his search. “He saw me with you and might carry tales back to the prince.” Quickly enough those hands found the little pocket sewn into Zacharias’ robes; those hands extracted the folded parchment and retreated. By some miracle, Zacharias kept his breathing steady, did not open his eyes.

Do not let them know. Wait it out. Patience is its own reward.

“Do you recognize this?” asked Marcus.

“The scratchings of a mathematicus. You know I am not skilled in calculation.”

“Nor in intrigue. This bears the mark of Liathano’s idle musings. How did the eunuch come to possess it?”

“I do not know. He is a secretive man, much taken by an interest in arcane matters. He believes he has seen some vision, a glimpse into the secret nature of the cosmos. I do not claim to understand it. But he will ever have at me, wanting to be taught the hidden knowledge of the universe.”

“Is that so? Hmm.”

Wolfhere’s laugh was sharp. “Do you think to recruit him? He is a coward. Not to be trusted. He says so himself. I have witnessed his cowardice with my own eyes.”

“I was thinking more of throwing him over the side once we are well out at sea. But I wonder what it is that he thought you could teach him. Why he thought you were traveling with Prince Sanglant.”

A good question, but Zacharias could scarcely concentrate; it was hard enough to hold his bladder so he wouldn’t piss himself from fear. “Throwing him over the side.” No wonder the ground rocked beneath him. He was on a ship.

“One of us must watch those who present the most danger. Hasn’t that always been my task? I am the messenger who rides in the world.”

“Not you alone. I have done my part among the presbyters and clerics in Darre.”

“It is not the same.”

“No, it is not, for they are all cultured men and women. You have fulfilled the part your birth suited you for. Now you are needed to play your part elsewhere, Brother Lupus.”

“I am needed here. Prince Sanglant poses a threat. One of us must watch him.”