King of Assassins: The Elven Ways: Book Three by Jenna Rhodes Page A

good work from you and all your lads.”
    “Thanks for that. His Lordship might walk on air, but it’s we who bite the rock, and bite it deep.” He hefted his pick. Before joining his crew, who sat on break waiting for the ild Fallyn engineer, he surveyed his side of the cliff. His jaw worked a bit as if chewing the words up first. “I be sorry for the Jewel,” he offered, finally. “My brother is a fisherman, my father a short voyage trader. She guarded the harbor well for all of our lives. Our words of sorrow for the loss of your lordship.”
    Tranta dropped his chin. “I thank you for that.”
    The foreman nodded back and sauntered over to his crew. On the far side, Tranta could see the rest of the workers busy, and no sign of the ild Fallyn yet.
    Tranta traced the barrier with his sigil and passed through again. It parted reluctantly, with a shiver, and he knew that its force was weakening. He would have to decide, and soon, what to do with the remains of the fiery mistress who had dictated all of his life before she could be carted off and sullied by hands that would hold her only for wealth and greed.
    A ray dazzled his eye. Clouds thinned overhead and the rubble lit up, and he could hear a hum in his ears. The empty cradle turned in its stead at his elbow, but the noise did not come from the machine’s near silent workings. Tranta bent cautiously. He put his hand out. Warmth flooded his senses and vibration his hearing, and his nerves fired into vigilance. The hairs at his temples and back of his neck prickled. The gem nearest his palm nearly leaped into his grasp, burning, twisting in his hold.
    There, there, there.
    The stone fired in his hand, burning, glowing, and sending a beam striking outward. Not enough to destroy, no, but undeniably it pulsed in frantic warning.
    Tranta fumbled at his belt for his telescope as he strode to the seaward edge and knelt there, one hand full of the fiery eye and looked upon the waters. He swept the stretch once and then caught it, where the beam fell upon glittering waters, its red eye bobbing on the ocean’s tide.
    Intruder.
    He could see the helm of the boat cutting through the waters swiftly, and the lens brought into detail not the exact shape of the rowers, but enough of them to know they did not move like men.
    Tranta shot to his feet and bellowed, “Send a bird down to the port. On the leeward side of the cliff, near the cove of Keniel, intruders.”
    Excited shouts and cries followed his orders and in another breath, a bird took wing, followed by a second a long moment after as the work crew fumbled to send word. The first bird, undoubtedly, had escaped when they’d opened the cage to get the second. Someone had the presence of mind to yell, “Message away!” to confirm the obvious.
    Raymy. Scouts from the remnants of the original force, perhaps, lying off the coast and out of sight, venturing timidly into their waters to look for their army. Or perhaps not. Whoever or whatever sailed that boat did not bear a badge which gave them clearance to ply their trade upon these waters, the badge which allowed the Jewel of Tomarq to overlook them.
    Tranta’s hand trembled. He looked down at it, as the stone remained hot and heavy in his hand, pulsing with its wispy voice. Dare he call it that? Its voice thinned and then tailed off, as if knowing the alarm had been called and heard. Or had he heard anything but the wail of the wind over the cliff and across the cradle and through his hair? How could he have heard anything? It was his mind, only his mind, and the alarm he had called, had he condemned innocent men? He retrained his scope on the waters below, to the leeward side of the cliff where the boat cut the water closer and closer and he could no longer say with any surety if its occupants moved as men did or not. They had tarps up to cut off the sea spray and wore oil skin cloaks and floppy hats as further protection against the water, hunched over their oars as