by evil magicians, others say they’re the souls of the dead, or men who wear the skins of stitched together beasts and become something more.”
Whatever the creature was, it looked angry. It growled, pacing forward, and Royce found those great yellow eyes fixed on him. For a moment, Royce thought that maybe the creature would leap at him. Then Ember landed on his shoulder again.
“His name is Gwylim.”
“Who?” Royce asked. “What’s happening here, Lori?”
But the bird took flight again, and Royce suspected he wouldn’t have gotten any answers even if she hadn’t. He looked back to see Sir Bolis moving forward, sword raised as if to strike down the beast.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I’ll deal with it.”
The knight started to swing his blade, and almost without thinking, Royce leapt in the way, catching hold of the young knight’s arm.
“Wait,” he said. “Wait, Bolis.”
He felt the knight back down in the face of that, but Bolis still kept his blade at the ready.
“That thing has killed two men, and it’s threatening us,” Bolis said. “We should kill it so it doesn’t hurt anyone else!”
“Not yet,” Royce said. He looked over to the… what was it Neave had called it? A bhargir? He could see now that not all of the blood on it was the men’s. There was a wound on its side, running the length of its flank. No wonder the creature was snarling.
“Gwylim?” Royce asked.
Almost as soon as he said it, the growling stopped and the bhargir cocked its head to one side, regarding him with far more intelligence than a wolf had a right to.
“You can understand some of what I’m saying, can’t you?” Royce guessed. “The witch Lori sent me. If she knows your name, maybe you know her?”
The creature clearly had no way of replying, but even so, it seemed to settle down, moving over to Royce and lying at his feet. As the bhargir did so, Royce noticed something that seemed impossible: the wound on its side was starting to close, knitting together with almost impossible speed. There was definitely nothing normal about this creature.
Royce wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Lori had obviously directed him to this creature for a reason, but what reason? He looked in the house, trying to work it out, but the house seemed bare of everything, its contents clearly forming a part of the fire in front of it. Why would raiders like the two dead men do something like that?
Unsure of an answer, Royce moved back to his horse. He found the bhargir watching him, sitting behind the fire, close enough that its eyes glowed in the heat of it.
“I don’t know what to do with you,” he said. “But I guess you might be clever enough to decide that for yourself. Do you want to come with us?”
In answer to that, the wolf-like beast padded forward to sit beside Royce’s horse. Somehow, Royce suspected that it would have no problem in keeping up.
“We’re taking monsters with us now?” Sir Bolis asked.
“It’s no stranger than the rest of us,” Matilde said.
“It’s a lot more dangerous,” Neave said, her expression serious. “This is not a good idea.”
Good idea or not, Royce was sure that it was the thing he was meant to do. He pushed his horse forward, heading in the direction of Ablaver, with Ember above, leading the way. If the bird held any clue as to why he’d been brought to find the bhargir that followed now, it didn’t offer any answers.
The town of Ablaver hit Royce with its smell before he saw it, the scent of fish mixed in with the sea in a way that proclaimed what happened there. It was a smell that made him want to turn away and head back, but he kept going.
The sight of it wasn’t much of an improvement, made ugly by the whaling stations to one side, where something about the sight of such large, beautiful creatures being gutted made Royce want to retch. He didn’t, but it was an effort.
“We can’t tell people who we are,” he warned the others.
“Because a group with both Picti and knights could be anyone,” Mark pointed out.
“If people ask, we’re mercenaries leaving the war, looking for our next engagement,” Royce said. “People will probably assume that we’re deserters, or bandits, or something like that.”
“I don’t want people thinking that I’m a bandit,” Bolis said. “I’m a loyal warrior of Earl Undine!”
“And right now the best way you can be loyal is to pretend to be something else,” Royce said. The knight seemed to get the message. He even smeared mud on his shield, muttering all the while, so that no one would see the heraldry there. “Everyone keep your hoods up. Especially you, Neave.”
Royce wasn’t sure how the inhabitants of the town would react to one of the Picti among them. He didn’t want to have to fight his way through a whole town. It was bad enough that Gwylim was still pacing beside them, looking far too large and frightening for a wolf.
They walked into the place, looking around the ramshackle buildings while heading down toward the docks and the waiting ships. Most of them were little more than fishing boats, but some of the whaling ships were larger, and in among them were cogs and long ships that looked as though they might have been there to trade.
There were taverns where Royce could hear the sounds of drunken celebration and occasional violence, and market stalls where it seemed that rancid meat and fine foreign goods were set side by side.
“We should spread out,” Matilde said. She seemed to be eyeing a tavern.
Royce shook his head. “We need to stay together. We’ll head to the docks, find a ship, and then we can explore.”
Matilde didn’t look happy with that, but even so, they headed down to the docks. There, things appeared to be proceeding lazily, with sailors up on the decks of ships standing around or sitting in the sun.
“How do we do this?” Mark asked, looking around. “I guess finding a captain who will head to the Seven Isles won’t be easy.”
Royce wasn’t sure there was a good answer to that. As far as he could see, there was only one option, and it was anything but subtle.
“Listen to me!” he called out over the vague hubbub of the docks. “I need a ship. Is there a captain here who is willing to sail to the Seven Isles?”
“Is this entirely wise?” Bolis asked.
“How else are we going to find someone?” Royce asked. Even if they walked into the taverns and asked quietly, the news would quickly get around. Maybe this way was even better. He raised his voice. “I’ll ask again: who will take us to the Seven Isles?”
“Why do you want to go there?” a man’s voice called. The man who strode forward wore the bright silks of a merchant, and was barrel bellied with too much good living.
“I’ve business there,” Royce said, not wanting to give away more than that. “There are people who would hire my and my companions’ skills.”
The man came further forward. Royce watched his face, searching for any sign that the man had recognized them. There was nothing, though.
“As what?” the man asked. “Are you jesters, jugglers?”
Royce thought quickly. Maybe they couldn’t pass for mercenaries so easily, but this…
“Of course,” he said. He very carefully didn’t look Bolis in the eye. “We have an engagement in the Seven Isles.”
“The money must be good for you to go there,” the captain said. “Which means you can pay, yes?”
Royce took out a small pouch. “Up to a point.”
If it got them to where his father was, he would pay every