“This situation could be trouble. The leaders may be suspicious. They may separate us in order to question us alone—make sure our stories match.” He stretched out on one of the four beds. “I’ve dealt with isolated groups of people before. They don’t like strangers and authority. We’ll need to tread carefully. And follow my lead. Go along with anything I say, even if it doesn’t make sense.”
“And how’s that different than normal?” I teased.
He threw a pillow at me. I caught it and plopped it on my bed.
“Did you bring your switchblade?” Leif asked.
“Yes. Why?”
“They’ll probably confiscate our weapons, claiming they don’t allow violence within their territory, but promising to return them when we leave.”
“Yet, they’ll be well armed. Right?” I asked.
“Yep. And they’ll have a justifiable reason as to why. Don’t believe everything they tell you, either. Otherwise, you’ll want to join them.”
“It’s a good thing I have Skippy here.”
The magician didn’t even bother to correct me. He glared, but his heart wasn’t in it.
“I’ll bite. Why is it good he’s here?” Leif asked.
“I’m sure he has orders to make sure I return to the Keep. If I decide to go native and dive for oysters, he’ll save me.”
“You’re right. Wow. He’s actually going to be useful. I need to write home about it.” Leif searched through his bag as if looking for paper.
Skippy ignored him. He gathered a few items and left for the washroom. I noticed he walked with a slight limp. We’d been on horseback for a week and a half. Skippy started bugging Leif about travel time a few days into our trip. Standoffish and snide remarks were expected, but not whiny.
When Skippy returned, I kept an eye on him as he prepared for bed. His stiff movements and little winces confirmed my suspicions.
I stood and stretched, groaning a bit over my aching ribs. “Phew. I’m saddle sore. Do you have any barbasco yams, Leif?”
“Of course.” He dug through his supplies, pulling out an orange lump. He sliced a section off and handed it to me. “I could use some, too.” Cutting a few more pieces, he popped one into his mouth. Then he reached over with a casual motion and gave one to Skippy.
I looked away before Skippy caught me staring. Arranging my pillows, I chewed on my yam, then slipped into bed.
“That’s a heck of a wall,” Leif said.
As we traveled toward the peninsula’s tip, the land narrowed until the sea was visible on both sides of the trail—more like a goat path. Black rocks and sand dominated the landscape. A few bushes and trees clung to life, but, other than the occasional gull swooping above, the area was barren.
I agreed with Leif. It was an impressive barrier. Boulders had been stacked together, forming at least an eight-foot-high wall. Sitting on Quartz, I still couldn’t see over it. The barricade spanned the entire length of the peninsula. Continuous except for a sturdy iron gate.
“I bet the gate’s locked,” Leif said. “Any takers?”
“No. Go on,” I urged. “Knock.”
Leif dismounted and strode up to the gate. “Hello?”
A well-armed man appeared on the other side. “What do you want?” he demanded. His manner oozed hostility and contempt.
“Good morning to you, too,” Leif parried with sarcasm.
The man’s deadly gaze would have sent most people running.
All pleasantness dropped from Leif’s face. He stepped forward, his nose an inch from the gate. “I want to talk to the person in charge. Now.”
“Why?”
“Not your concern.”
The big brute towered at least a foot over Leif. Stubble covered his cheeks, chin and the top of his head. “Request denied.”
“Fine. I’ll come back with the authorities.” Leif turned to us. “Do you think we should tell Bain? Perhaps he would want to join us.”
“Oh yes,” I said. “First Magician is a Bloodgood. He’ll want to visit his family, and the sea air would be healthy for him.”
“Who are you?” the guard asked.
“I am Leif Liana Zaltana, a representative of the Sitian Council.”
The man failed to look impressed.
“Either fetch your boss or I’ll fetch a squadron of soldiers,” Leif said.
“Jay, get Walsh,” he barked to another person beyond our view. He kept his gaze on us.
We didn’t wait long. Soon another man arrived. Walsh perhaps. He was a few inches taller than the guard, and a lot thinner—almost skeletal. His white tunic and pants hung on his frame. The sun had bleached his long blond hair almost white.
“What’s going on here?” he demanded.
“Are you in charge?” Leif asked.
“Yes.”
“Then I need to speak with you. In private.”
“Jay said you’re from the Sitian Council?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll need proof. We don’t…associate with many people outside our family.”
Leif opened one of his saddlebags and brought out a scroll. He handed the document through the bars to Walsh. The man unrolled it and scanned the paper.
“Open the gate,” Walsh said to the guard. “I would apologize, but we don’t usually receive unexpected visitors. Since we harvest pearls, we are naturally suspicious of foreigners. If you had sent me a message and arranged a meeting…” He swept a bony hand out as if to imply none of this would have happened.