CLXIII

CERRYL GLANCED PAST Layel, past the polished wooden railing of the Western Sun, toward the dark gray waters of the harbor and beyond, toward the Northern Ocean.

Layel clapped Cerryl on the back. “Best I stay here, but Wandrel will get you there.” The balding trader grinned. “Better quarters here, and the crew is safer, too. The Western Sun’s a good ship.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“Besides, this way Wertel can send back more of that dried fruit and those tools and blades I agreed to get for the sawmill fellow. Still think he can make the kind of planks that the Sligan yards need, and that will mean more golds in tariffs.”

Cerryl gave a half-smile. “I’m glad you came here.”

“Except for the cold…I am, too. Don’t have to worry about what Muneat’s doing or whether I can get haulers or wagons…” Layel laughed. “Could talk your ear off, and you best be going.” The balding trader frowned and looked directly at Cerryl. “You sure you don’t want some guards once you get to Lydiar?”

“No. Just a pair of mounts. No one will remember I was there.”

“Mage stuff?”

“Magery,” Cerryl confirmed.

“You coming back soon?”

“Probably not.” If you’re successful you’ll stay, and if you’re not…you’ll be dead-or mind-blind and working on the road crew.

“Feared of that. Well…you know how I feel. Try to keep that daughter of mine in line.”

“More likely, she’ll keep me in line.”

Layel nodded a last time, then climbed slowly over the railing and scrambled down the gangway to the wharf. “She’s yours, Master Wandrel.”

“Single up the lines!”

Cerryl stepped back and watched as the crew began the effort to take the Western Sun out of the harbor and back to Lydiar.

Toward what? Cerryl had kept checking the glass, watching Kinowin and Leyladin, but both seemed to continue their daily routines, from what Cerryl could tell, and he dared not use the glass on those he distrusted the most, fearing that alone would tell them too much.

His eyes went to the north and the colder waters of the Northern Ocean beyond the breakwater.

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