Amberglas’s medallion was concealed beneath it, then examined the cloak. The heavy wool was still too damp for comfort. Jermain was trying to decide whether to continue once the cloak was dry or simply camp where he was when he heard a rustling from the woods behind him.
Jermain was on his feet in an instant. Three strides put the fire between him and the source of the noise. As he loosened his sword in its sheath, he saw a dark-haired man on a bay stallion riding slowly through the trees toward him.
The rider stopped just within speaking distance. He looked about forty, and he was dressed in dark blue velvet and a cloak of gray wool. His eyes were black and intelligent, and he had an air of decisiveness about him that Jermain liked. Jermain noted with surprise that he wore a dagger at his belt in place of a sword. Either he is very brave, or he is very foolish, Jermain thought. Possibly both, though he looks more like a warrior than a fool.
“I crave your pardon for this intrusion,” said the horseman after a moment, “but I have been traveling for some time and your fire was too inviting to resist. May I join you for a while?”
Jermain did not reply at once. He was well aware that his own appearance was barely respectable, and he wondered why a lone traveler would risk approaching him. Still, Jermain did not wish to refuse hospitality merely because of a few doubts, particularly when talking to the horseman was probably the only way he could ever learn the answers to his questions. He let his hand rest on the hilt of his sword with deceptive casualness. “You are welcome, sir.”
“I thank you.” The horseman dismounted and tethered the bay, then seated himself by the fire. “May I know your name?”
“Trevannon.”
“Ah.” The satisfaction in the man’s voice was unmistakable. “Then you are the man I have been looking for these past six months.”
Jermain tensed. “Indeed?” he said, trying to sound casual. “I’m afraid I don’t see why.”
“You have information I need and skills I want,” the man said promptly. He smiled. “It’s a common enough reason, I’m afraid, but true nonetheless.”
“Perhaps.” Jermain allowed his skepticism to creep into his tone. He was not the only man in the Seven Kingdoms to possess experience or skills of swordplay, and he doubted that anyone would risk a king’s enmity for such common abilities. That left three possibilities: his knowledge of Sevairn, his knowledge of the Hoven-Thalar, or his presumed treason. “What skills do you need, and why do you come to me to find them?”
“I know your reputation. I’ve been looking for you since I heard of your exile, but you went south too quickly for me.”
“I won’t betray Sevairn,” Jermain said abruptly.
The traveler raised an eyebrow, but all he said was “I have little interest in Sevairn at present, but I will bear that in mind.”
Jermain felt himself flushing. “Why should you want a man who has been convicted of treason? How do you know I won’t ‘betray’ you ?”
“Because you didn’t betray Marreth,” the man said flatly.
Jermain’s eyes narrowed in surprise. The man looked at him sharply and went on. “You were exiled for giving unpopular advice, no matter what name Marreth chose to put on it. What difference should that make to me, as long as the advice was good as well as unpopular? And the advice was certainly good.”
“How do you know?” Jermain said.
“You told Marreth to arm Sevairn because the nomads will move north this summer, did you not? I have my own sources in the south, and I do not think you are wrong. If I had known in time, I might have . . . But it is far too late for that now. Still, I think I can use your services, if you are willing to join me.”
“Who are you?” Jermain demanded.
The man hesitated an instant, then looked straight at Jermain. “My name is Carachel.”
Jermain felt his eyes widening. “The Wizard-King of
Jermain was on his feet in an instant. Three strides put the fire between him and the source of the noise. As he loosened his sword in its sheath, he saw a dark-haired man on a bay stallion riding slowly through the trees toward him.
The rider stopped just within speaking distance. He looked about forty, and he was dressed in dark blue velvet and a cloak of gray wool. His eyes were black and intelligent, and he had an air of decisiveness about him that Jermain liked. Jermain noted with surprise that he wore a dagger at his belt in place of a sword. Either he is very brave, or he is very foolish, Jermain thought. Possibly both, though he looks more like a warrior than a fool.
“I crave your pardon for this intrusion,” said the horseman after a moment, “but I have been traveling for some time and your fire was too inviting to resist. May I join you for a while?”
Jermain did not reply at once. He was well aware that his own appearance was barely respectable, and he wondered why a lone traveler would risk approaching him. Still, Jermain did not wish to refuse hospitality merely because of a few doubts, particularly when talking to the horseman was probably the only way he could ever learn the answers to his questions. He let his hand rest on the hilt of his sword with deceptive casualness. “You are welcome, sir.”
“I thank you.” The horseman dismounted and tethered the bay, then seated himself by the fire. “May I know your name?”
“Trevannon.”
“Ah.” The satisfaction in the man’s voice was unmistakable. “Then you are the man I have been looking for these past six months.”
Jermain tensed. “Indeed?” he said, trying to sound casual. “I’m afraid I don’t see why.”
“You have information I need and skills I want,” the man said promptly. He smiled. “It’s a common enough reason, I’m afraid, but true nonetheless.”
“Perhaps.” Jermain allowed his skepticism to creep into his tone. He was not the only man in the Seven Kingdoms to possess experience or skills of swordplay, and he doubted that anyone would risk a king’s enmity for such common abilities. That left three possibilities: his knowledge of Sevairn, his knowledge of the Hoven-Thalar, or his presumed treason. “What skills do you need, and why do you come to me to find them?”
“I know your reputation. I’ve been looking for you since I heard of your exile, but you went south too quickly for me.”
“I won’t betray Sevairn,” Jermain said abruptly.
The traveler raised an eyebrow, but all he said was “I have little interest in Sevairn at present, but I will bear that in mind.”
Jermain felt himself flushing. “Why should you want a man who has been convicted of treason? How do you know I won’t ‘betray’ you ?”
“Because you didn’t betray Marreth,” the man said flatly.
Jermain’s eyes narrowed in surprise. The man looked at him sharply and went on. “You were exiled for giving unpopular advice, no matter what name Marreth chose to put on it. What difference should that make to me, as long as the advice was good as well as unpopular? And the advice was certainly good.”
“How do you know?” Jermain said.
“You told Marreth to arm Sevairn because the nomads will move north this summer, did you not? I have my own sources in the south, and I do not think you are wrong. If I had known in time, I might have . . . But it is far too late for that now. Still, I think I can use your services, if you are willing to join me.”
“Who are you?” Jermain demanded.
The man hesitated an instant, then looked straight at Jermain. “My name is Carachel.”
Jermain felt his eyes widening. “The Wizard-King of
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