Gulls squawked in raucous irritation as the squad of Defenders of the Stone tramped up the gang plank, ignoring the protestations of the Tarboner captain. With brusque efficiency half of the squad herded the small crew onto the forecastle and began to search them at sword point. The remaining soldiers disappeared below deck, doubtless to begin an equally thorough search.

Zoya Sakura watched, chagrined, from the porch of a wine shop. The captain of the Golden Pike was wringing his cap together in his hands and calling out curses and lamentations. He didn’t have what these soldiers were looking for but it was a rare captain indeed who could face the port authorities with a completely clean conscience. Hopefully it wouldn’t occur to him to disclose too much about the woman who had tried to book passage on his ship to Mayene. When the soldiers were done with their search, they tramped back ashore and the Golden Pike cast off. Two black clad soldiers remained aboard with the river pilot, when they reached Gordan at the mouth of the Erinin they would take ship back to the city, making it all but impossible for anyone to slip aboard one of the vessels. Only once the ship reached the outer harbor did the Defenders move on to the next vessel to be cleared. No ship had been allowed to leave the harbor without inspection for two days. No wagon or rider had been permitted to pass the gates without submitting to a similar search. The High Lords had given no reason for these measures, but rumors abounded, ranging from great treasures being stolen, to noble daughters attempting to elope with low born suitors. The most extreme versions of this tale even suggested the suitor was an Illianer.

The real reason for the High Lords’ agitation was more esoteric and much more damaging. Signs had been discovered of an intruder in the Stone. Initially assassins might have been suspected but once roused, Tariens could be damnabley efficient. They had discovered that a break in had occurred at the Great Holding, the vast fortified repository in which High Lords had, for hundreds of years, hoarded every item of Power they could find. Angreal and Ter’angreal in numbers that existed no where in the world save the Great Vault beneath the White Tower, all piled and collecting dust. Once the Holding had been indentified the Tariens had quickly realized that dozens of objects, described and recorded in dusty records ledgers were missing. Such an intrusion, so deep into the Stone and so close to Callandor was unthinkable and their determination to reverse it was bone deep and iron strong.

“Will there be anything more m’lady?” the wine shop attendant asked unctuously. Zoya sighed. She was no kind of a lady, but it was an easy mistake to make. She was short but full figured, giving the impression of a somewhat squashed hourglass, with dark brown hair and the olive skin of the Shadow Coast. Her accent was less definable, an amalgam of many lands that made most people shrug and speculate: Andor? Zoya’s most striking features were her eyes, they were large and spaced so as to give her a perpetually curious look, as if constantly fascinated by everything she beheld. This impression was not misleading and those who knew her quickly discovered that she just could not leave well enough alone. No onlooker could have guessed that for all her grace and beauty, she had been born in a hovel in an unnamed village, the daughter of a simple crabber.

That she was an Aes Sedai of the White Tower was a more likely guess, and a considerably bigger problem.

Not that Zoya exhibited the classic signs, the Great Serpent ring she won only a few years ago was hidden away in her rooms and she was too new to the sisterhood to have yet developed the ageless look for which they were famous. That was fortunate, for Aes Sedai were not welcome in Tear at the best of times, and this was far from the best of times. For all these precautions, a woman alone was suspicious in this land. Not for the first time she wished she had a warder who might pose as husband or servant, but she was a solitary woman, secretive and contained even in her own mind. To open herself up to another person was not something she had yet found the time for in her few years in the Shawl.

“No, thank you,” Zoya responded, producing a silver half crown and passing it to the man. Even at the somewhat inflated marketplace of Tear, it was twice what the drink was worth. The wine stood, barely touched, in the clay cup it had been served in. Zoya found the drink too sour. As a child she could not afford it, and since going to Tar Valon had found neither time nor inclination to develop a palette. Perhaps she should have forced herself to finish it for the sake of appearances but she could always plead a tender belly. The Light knew she felt a certain queasiness, she wasn’t getting out of Tear by ship, and that meant she needed a new plan.


@POOHEAD189

"I am certain the High Lady Estanda will understand, dear husband." Alteima said, whipping out her fan and waving it against her heart shaped face. Somehow the air did not rustle her immaculately wrapped up hair, the elaborate bun of dark brown hair tied up, letting only a small stream of her waves to cascade down her shapely shoulder in a fashionable side ponytail. "Time is of the essence, wouldn't you agree?"

Lord Tedosion, a handsome older gentleman with a thick body, looked unconvinced at his wife's rebuttal, but did not push the subject. "Indeed, master thief-taker, your task is of the upmost importance. You came recommended highly, and for that we entrust our search to you."

"As well as the city watch, I imagine." Davin replied, giving a gracious bow to hide his grin. The thief-taker was not unused to being hired for purposes that were not widely accepted throughout the civil government. The Lady Alteima was good, very good in fact. A lovely woman with a full bosom, she had big eyes that betrayed just how clever she was, but he could tell she pushed for this in order to gain higher standing in the circle of High Lords, and her husband going against her would only cause some to question his loyalty. And yet, if they failed and it was found out that he aided in the attempt, they would both be looked upon with some small amount of scorn for not plotting with their fellow lords to being this thief to justice for the good of all. A gamble, but they had made the correct one, however. Davin Baln'ashar was very good at what he did.

"You will be rewarded quiet handsomely, of course." Alteima remarked, giving him a coy smile. Had Davin not been privvy to her machinations, he might have felt a quickening of his heart at her look, but he had his own contacts. Alteima was as cutthroat as they came, which was why her husband had taken Lady Estanda, her rival, as his lover. The money she promised, however, was doubtless very real. He smiled back all the same.

"Worry not, my Lord and Lady. I will return within three days with your quarry in tow." He promised, granting them another courtly bow.

That had been nearly forty hours ago.

In that time, Davin had pulled every stop in his impressive repertoire to pinpoint just exactly who had the gall to infiltrate the Stone of Tear and steal some of its most auspicious items. After threatening or paying off a few witnesses and guards, he had learned the most likely candidate was a woman of ambiguous appearance. Pretty, perhaps beautiful by all accounts, but it was hard to gauge if she was a local or not. Dark hair, inquisitive eyes, an extravagant if plump figure, and not very tall. Most thief-takers would have scoffed at the idea of the culprit being a woman, but Davin was from Ebou Dar, where women dueled over men and the fairer sex was innocent until proven guilty over marital disputes. Women were not to be underestimated, he had received more than a few scars from them.

He now found himself just outside of The Maule, the long stretch of docks that spanned the entirety of Tear's western coast, and it was midday. Davin had taken a lunch, and decided to eat it above an awning in the southern district, within sight of the walls of the inner city. The Fingers of the Dragon were so close, he could smell the pungent humidity from that web of rivers and waterways. It was just as he was about to take the last bite of his trencher that he saw someone step out of Coliers Street and stride into the local wine shop. Davin's sharp eyes peered below as she disappeared from view, and he rolled over the odds and the description of the culprit in his head.

He had theorized that whoever was the thief, they would not have taken to an inn, and he made certain by making sure to know all records of the local inns in the outer city. The inner city was too full of watchmen and too easily watched by the High Lords for her to stay in. Davin was certain they would wait close to the docks, but not too close so as not to arouse suspicion, but with the ships grounded, it was only from some false hope they would keep in that area; an idea of freedom and safety, tantalizing but not entirely rational, unless they got lucky. Perhaps he had found his mark?

One moment, he was above the crowd below, the next he had appeared on the muddied street, doing his best to keep the wet and the dirt from catching him before he stepped into the winery. He spied a few foreigners, but most looked like merchants from Mayene or Illian. The locals were dressed as they usually were, in loose pants and wide hats to keep the rain and mud of the less clean outer city from their hair. But then his eyes fell on the woman that, at least to his observations, stood out. A travel worn but handsome dress, a woman that matched the description he had gathered, and she sat alone. He fixed his hair, the wind doing him a small favor of making his mane look fashionably windswept, but he still smoothed what loose hairs there were before he approached her with a congenial smile.

"Yes, one for me as well." Davin said with a raised finger, telling the attendant before the man had fully turned away. He gave the thief-taker a nod and turned to gather the drink. Without asking permission, Davin sat next to the woman with a casual air, glancing her way as if he had noticed her for the first time.

Davin was a darkly handsome man, not as well-formed as some, but he had a chin that looked sculpted and a sharp, commanding nose. His body was trim and tall, though he was no aielman in that regard. He wore a leather brown jerkin with red trim over a white linen shirt, buttoned with the collar wide and disheveled. He had left his falchion and mace outside, but a long dagger was hidden at the small of his back.

"Ah, forgive me, I hope I am not intruding. May I sit?" He asked, but as if it was the natural flow of the conversation, he spoke before she could answer, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. "The wine here is tastes like a Saldaean's horse water, but it does it's job."

Zoya considered how satisfying it would be to whip the man out of her sight with flows of air. In Tar Valon no man, even a handsome one like this, would impose on a woman like this. Unfortunately teaching him respect was not practical at the moment, and in any event it would merely have been her giving vent to her frustrations, which weren't his fault.

"I was just about to leave," she admitted, unable an uninclined to lie. An idea was forming in her mind and she wanted to tease it out before it became too concrete.

"I shall defer to your no doubt greater experience of Saldaean horse water," she replied with a wry twist of her lip. Across the square a formation of Defenders tramped into the square and began to fan out in what she knew as a random search. She had nothing on her that was incriminating, but she had no desire to be swept up when a few minutes of enduring this mans company would have them pass by. She returned to her seat and took a sip of the sour wine.

"So what brings you to Tear?" she asked, setting the cup down and tenting her fingers.

Davin smiled widely, hinting at his white teeth. He had thought she was about to leave as she had claimed, already planning on how best to follow her, but her sudden change of mind had caught him off guard. Still, he found it charming.

"Business, or lack thereof." He admitted with a sigh, a cup being placed down just before him not a moment later. He placed a half crown on the table, the attended sliding it into his hands with thanks. Davin sipped the wine, glad it was not quite as bad as horse water, but it was not worth the money, he was certain of that. "I've only been here a season, but work is not hard to find here so I've decided to stay for awhile. It reminds me of home, actually."

At further prompting, he would continue. "I come from Altara. Here in Tear the weather is the same, and the people look somewhat like my own people. I miss them. But the structure is so different, yes? The High Lords. Everyone seems to speak of them, as if they have eyes everywhere. Not so in Ebou Dar. Nobles are noble, but they do not congregate together and form groups to gossip and rule over the entirety of the land like they are Aes Sedai, scheming to dance us all on their strings."

Truthfully, David had no inclination to think he was speaking to one from such a legendary group of women as that. He shrugged his shoulders, regarding her with earnest embarrassment. "My apologies, I don't mean to prattle on with my partiality, but I thought to myself, 'surely she is not a local. Perhaps she might understand.' But ignore me, what brings you to Tear, lady...?"

Zoya had been prepared to dismiss the interaction as nothing more than a man intruding on a woman in an effort to flirt. It was a common enough occurrence but the mention of Aes Sedai made her suspicious. It might be nothing of course, opinions of Aes Sedai were rarely high among the common people, but as wound up as she was it set off some alarm bells. The Defenders were most of the way through their sweep of the square now so she need delay only a few more moments.

"Sakura," she responded. It was a common enough name in the Shadow Coast, there had been a half dozen families within a days walk of her home with the name or variations of it. There was no benefit to giving a false name when her true one would raise no questions.

"As for what brings me to Tear, I have a family obligation I have attend to," she responded. This was truthful as well as it was technically an affair of her Sisterhood.

"My sister has recently passed away and I am seeing to her wishes," she amplified. Doubtless an Aes Sedai had died recently, and doubtless anyone would give their eye teeth to recover objects of the Power long lost to the White Tower. Several pieces of a plan were coming together in her head. It had always worked this way for her, a thorny problem could unravel in moments if she just stopped thinking about it.

"I've given you my name Horsewater, shall you give me yours?"

Davin was still not quite certain he had found his true mark, but as the moments slipped by, he was growing more confident. She spoke carefully, her eyes moving past him, likely on the street. Whatever she was, she was nervous in some capacity.

A small part of him wondered if he had simply come on too strong, if he was just making her uncomfortable. Women from other nations were less aggressive than he was used to, sometimes women were even considered soft spoken! It was not a wholly odd concept, as every man and woman was different, but it was true in Ebou Dar it was the woman who tended to initiate flirtation. Perhaps this woman was just more demure than he had imagined? He doubted it, but if that was the case, he would certainly feel poorly. Particularly if she was telling the entire truth about her sister.

He gave a chuckle at the horsewater nickname, actually finding it quite amusing. Now it was time to pull his gambit. "I am Davin Baln'ashar, a thief-taker hired by the High Lords of this city to find a very successful thief. You seem like someone who could potentially be them, but I was not sure enough to wait outside and knock you out without being certain."

He took a generous sip of the subpar wine, and then rested his elbow on the table, swirling the remainder of the drink in his hand. Underneath the table, his free hand was steadied under the table, in case he needed to upend it if she pulled out a hidden weapon. "So you have two options, as I see it. Come with me quietly, and explain to me why you are innocent, or why you stole the items if you are not. No doubt for your poor sister, I imagine. Or make a scene in the middle of this quaint shop and knock this horsewater drink everywhere. The Defenders will not go far, even if you somehow evade me. So what shall it be?"

The presentation of a false dichotomy is a sign of rhetorical weakness. Zoya had never expected Sorelia Sedai's philosophy class t have any practical application. This thieftaker might well really believe that there were only two possible outcomes but that wasn't the case even if she hadn't been Aes Sedai. For a moment she considered simply wrapping him in flows of air, at which point she could either leave, or simply slip a knife into him. Unfortunately such simple and straight forward solutions rarely proved to be practical.

"I don't know who you are, but if you think I am going anywhere with a strange man who accosts women in wine shops, confesses to planning to knock them out in alley ways..." her voice was rising with each syllable, so that the conversation was audible to everyone in the wine shop. Some of the soldiers were also beginning to pay attention. Several nearby passers by took a step forward compelled by her tone as much as her words.

"Help!" she screamed at the top of a considerable set of lungs.

"Help this man is trying to take me!" she yelled. This brought soldiers and several passers by running.

"Help!" she screamed one more time, barely able to make herself audible over the clamor which she had instigated. Cries and the clatter of armored men filled the air, several men were reaching for Davian. Zoya embraced Saidar, feeling the one power course through her body. Colors became brighter, scents became shaper. She could smell the leather and oil, the stink of fish, even the tar that coated the running riggings of the ship. She stung several of the oncoming men with blows of the one power, subtle but enough to goad them to violence in the belief that Davian was somehow attacking them. Zoya stepped back through the chaos and ducked under the bar. A moment later she was across the street and down an alley. Emerging from it's mouth she found a number of bearers standing idle, ears cocked for the commotion behind her. She produced a gold piece and climbed onto one of the palanquins.

"Take me to the craftsmen's district," she instructed, and drew the curtains as the men set off through the muddy streets.

Bloody women! Just when you thought you knew all of their tricks, they make you feel like a wool-headed fool!

Davian was more used to women fighting their own battles, not letting a contingent of men do it for them! He tried reaching for the seal of the High Lords he had on his person, but a dandy with a cudgel swung at him, calling him a 'Fade's Goat' which was an uncreative way to compare one to a trolloc. Davian paid it no heed, he was far prettier than that. As hands reached in to grab at him, he did the only thing he could. The thief-taker grabbed the sour horsewater, gulped it greedily, and then spewed it on all the faces of those men that surrounded him. A few drops even splattered on their screaming wives egging them on. The wine stung the eyes and the poor quality caused them to hack, cough, and gag. Davian nearly did as well, but he was prepared for the horsewater, and leaped atop the counter of the establishment as the other men tried collecting themselves, racing across the wooden frame above the group and leaping toward the open door. Light burst forth as he made it outside, and he swiftly looked around, squinting to accommodate his eyes.

He believed he saw the glimmer of a dress racing down a back alley, and with a swift roll off the porch, he reached under the boards and retrieved his weapons. A few of the men had come outside in pursuit, but one look at the wicked sword and mace had the ruffians think twice. Davian scowled at them. "Light forsake you for fools!"

The thief-taker sprinted toward the direction he believed she had fled, trusting in his longer legs. Feet shoving off the ground, he leaped over a fallen pair of barrels and found himself on another street. The clatter of wheels drew his attention, and he gawked when he saw the accursed woman closing the curtains of the wagon. He nearly called out, but decided it was best not to. He couldn't let his frustrations get the better of him.

At least now he knew she was guilty of something.

A peddlar drew an oxen down the street beside him and a few children danced in the street, twirling small pieces of satin fastened to sticks in some strange game. Out of another alley walked an older man with a mare, the horse clopping lazily as it was led along by its bridle. Davian finally did take out the seal, a long tablet of bronze with the symbol of Alteima and Tedosion etched onto it. He jogged over to the elderly fellow and thrust it into his face.

"Apologies sir, but I must take your horse." Davian declared.

"My horse?" He asked, incredulously. He glanced at the brown mare, the beast regarding him as if it too understood. "This is my wife's. She will kick me into the bay if I don't bring it back to her. I canno-"

"The High Lords will see to it she gets it back," Davian said, mounting the horse with such swiftness the man barely knew the beast was being spurred away before he cried out in dismay, waving his hands and chasing after Davian. The thief-taker paid him no heed, racing after the cart that had already turned the corner out of sight. When he found the 'lady Sakura,' nothing would bring him greater joy than turning her in.

Unlike the Maule, the Craftsmen’s quarter was on higher ground closer to the immense fortress of the stone. This was not a comment on political aspirations; merely the effect of successful guildsmen being able to afford the higher rent such real estate commanded. The fact that the position between the town houses of nobility and the nest of boarding houses and hovels of the Maule maximized their traffic was a nice benefit too. Zoya went to her tasks with a will. Already she was regretting the fact that she hadn’t simply knifed the thieftaker. She was a meticulous planner, not some Blue who couldn’t complete one plan without hatching six more half cocked schemes. Improvisation did not appeal to her. She dismounted the palanquin and paid the drivers a few extra coins to carry the empty conveyance back to a local boarding house. It wasn’t logical to assume that she would manage to evade Davian for long and so she would act accordingly.

Her first stop was a butcher’s shop on the edge of the quarter. Here she paid for the delivery of a haunch of pork to a certain address. She left through the back and moved up into the quarter proper. She visited a chandlery and ordered candles, then a brass workers shop and ordered a set of dishes, then a draper for linens, and a cutler for knives and spoons. Each item she sent to a different address in the city, paying extra for delivery. More than once her Saidar enhanced sense caught the sounds of commotions behind her, but she couldn’t be sure if it was Davian in pursuit, or simply the normal bustle of city life. Zoya forced herself not to hurry; her time transcribing documents for Aes Sedai having taught her that the surest way to make an error was to rush. Besides, despite the situation, she found she was begging to enjoy herself. That wasn’t wise, it would be better in all respects if the Thieftaker were knifed in a dark alley, but she couldn’t help herself.

At length she emerged on a street devoted to wine shops and inns. She crossed to a prosperous looking establishment known as The Four Coins. It was typical of this section of Tear, neatly mortared stone with a tile roof. A section of wall created a paved outdoor garden, completely with trees and flowers growing in planters. Zoya passed through the doors to the polite nod off the doorman who lounged by the stone lintel smoking a pipe. Beyond him a tap room with pleasantly warm maple tables and several impressive views of the river rendered in oils. A few patrons, lower nobility and up thrusting merchants, were sipping at wine or playing cards. In an hour or so it would be crowded with people coming for lunch, for the quality of the kitchens was excellent, and presaged by the smell of fresh baked bread and simmering spices.

“Welcome back m’lady,” the doorman greeted, knuckling his forelock. He was nearly bald and had a scar from a fishing hook that twisted the corner of his mouth into a permanent smile.

“Thank you Master Griff,” she replied, producing a silver coin and tossing it to the man. Without apparent effort Griff snatched the coin from the air and made it vanish into his loose garments.

“Will you tell Master Calder that I will require my rooms for another day?” she asked. Griff nodded and smiled at the idea of another day with a guest who was pleasant to look at as well as a good tipper.

“Is there fresh water in the baths?” she asked. Griff nodded and Zoya passed him another silver half crown. She headed through a set of doors at the rear of the building and into the true glory of the Four Coins. A large stone bath house which was fed with water from the aqueducts passed through pools of sand and charcoal. There was a separate section for men and women, separated by a central strip planted with thick ferns. Zoya undressed and sank into the water. It was cool, having not been heated by the furnaces which would lift the temperature to steaming in the evening, but she had regularly swum in the Sea of Storms as a child, and been doused on many a fishing boat besides. Sighing, she settled in to bathe and to wait.

She was a meticulous one, he had to give her credit.

Davian had nearly fallen for the false lead of the palanquin, and in fact had passed her position on the street before realizing he had been temporarily duped, drawing his 'requisitioned' horse up short. The beast was a well-trained one, and he felt a sinking in his stomach when he realized he had not caught the name of the man he had taken it from. Guilt aside, he had retraced his steps and had left the beast with a contingent of Defenders, the local authorities accepting his explanation with the flash of his seal. Davian had decided to make this spot of the city his web, and had found a comfortable seat atop a tanner, reviewing all of the inns and bath houses on the rolled up map he had procured. Luckily he had a few contacts in a handful of local establishments in the craftsmen's quarter, mostly to be safe. He had no dreamed the thief would be a lovely woman in a handsome dress, but he was nothing if not thorough in his hunts.

Across the street, the local butchery called The Sharpened Knife was congested with locals and foreigners alike, the smell of cooked meat from the apartment windows to the south causing his stomach to complain. He found he looked away from the map from time to time at the men and women walking out with paper-wrapped flanks and prime cuts, causing his mouth to water. He had only reviewed half of the inns once he spotted his quarry, causing him to do a double-take when he realized the woman called Sakura walked out with a sizeable portion.

From there, the thief-taker followed, albeit as far off as he could manage, but she did not seem to be in a hurry.

At first, he did not take her because he wanted to find the right moment, but afterwards, he found he was impressed. She walked with careful purpose, and a confidence that seemed suited to royalty. Even the women from his home country had an arrogance that outstripped their high station, but this Sakura walked with perfect poise and with no false bravado. After two stops, he realized she was throwing him off her trail, and it would have worked had he not spotted her by chance. Silently, he applauded her. He found he felt it was a shame to toss her behind bars, but business was business, and even a woman as stately and attractive as her was not above the law. Or his pay.

Checking the map, he realized she was walking in a relatively short area of the city, and more like as not she would tire or grow weary of this game soon. He broke off from his pursuit, and decided to check in with one of his contacts.

---

Inesa plucked a plump piece of bread from a used dish, curling her lip and tossing the item out the open window and into the alleyway. The scullery maid shoved the dish under, scrubbing it with lye and dunking it into the clean water. She wore a typical chin-high collar and ankle-high hems, ensconced in a worn apron spattered with suds and stains. A fair woman with an imperious chin, she had always believed her life was worth more than working a job so her worthless husband could paint and deal with the merchants that frequented the craftsmen's quarters, but burn her it would break his heart if she quite. She dunked another dish in the water, and had she not known any better, she swore she had heard her name whispered.

"I suppose you want to keep working like this rather than being paid for something real?"

She nearly shoved the bucket over in fright, spinning around to see that louche Davian standing there, somehow having made it into the back of the kitchens. "Do not sneak up on me, and where have you been? It's been a month since-"

"Have you been watching the customers?" He asked, and narrowed his eyes. "Do not lie to me."

"O-Of course, I have!" She stammered, speaking as loud as she dared. "Why?"

"There is a woman I am looking for. I will tell you her description, and if you tell me what I wish to know, you will be well rewarded..."

---

Davian had sat in the common room, a wide brimmed hat hiding his eyes and a pipe in his mouth. The smoke wafting lazily before his dark eyes. An illainer tossed a pair of dice across his table, grinning like a snake as he discovered the creator smiling on him with the roll. A borderlander cursed, and a Saldean shook his head in disappointment. Davian's eyes gathered the table in a single moment, straying very little from the shapely woman that had come through the lobby. Silent as a half-man, Davian slid out of his chair and stepped into the lobby. He glanced to the left, and caught the eye of a young boy, ruddy cheeked and laughing at the jokes of a traveling tinker who regaled a table with no doubt fake tales of Shara. The boy clapped and nearly fell out of his chair from a well-turned phrase before he saw Davian's keen eyed look, and he subtly nodded, before scampering out of the Four Coins.

Inesa walked out of the corridor, plates in her hands. Her lips mouthed 'four' and eyed the left, before stepping away to complete her tasks. Davian paid the fee to enter the bathing area, before sliding into the fourth doorway.

A minute passed as Zoya lay in the bath, silence surrounding her. There was no noise of any footsteps, and it would be hard to tell Davian's movements even if he wore the Tairen clogs. As she ran a dainty hand of water over her arm, a familiar voice spoke from behind her.

"I checked your dress. Nice knife." One did not have to look to know Davian examined the blade with a professional air. "You're good, but the game is up. In minutes, twelve Defenders will have surrounded the place. You have a choice. If you want to go in with a bit of dignity, I suggest you finish bathing, get dressed, and come with me. Otherwise, the other men might be less accommodating."

“You have progressed from accosting women in wine shops to assaulting them in bath houses?” Zoya asked, her voice scathing with contempt. From a purely tactical standpoint, fear or anger might have been a better pose to adopt. The problem with dissembling was that you had to maintain the pose though, and for that reason something closer to the truth was to be preferred. She rose without hurry and toweled herself dry.

“If you are a thieftaker, and you work for the High Lords,” her voice dripped with doubt on both points, “I shall be happy to clear up whatever slander you have dreamed up.”


“So this is our thief?” Teodosin demanded. Zoya stood before the Highlords, her wrists shackled with irons that looked particularly incongruous in the sumptuously appointed audience chamber.

“My Lord, I don’t even know what I am supposed to have stolen,” Zoya protested, her voice now deferential and with a touch of fear appropriate for such lofty company.

“I’m merely visiting your city. My sister has recently died and I wanted to perform some acts of charity in her memory,” she pressed on. The words skirted perilously close to her Oath but didn’t actually infringe on it.

“You are of noble birth?” Teodosin demanded. Zoya nodded her head quickly, reminding herself that crabbing was an ancient and noble profession.

“From the Shadow Coast in southern Amadicia my lord,” she supplied quickly. “I don’t know why this man has accused me, I had never seen him before today when he accosted me while drinking in a wine shop and then forced his way into my bath house when I was in a state of undress.” The account was unflattering but technically truthful and she delivered it with scandalized disgust. The Highlord’s eyebrows raised at that. All eyes pivoted to Davian.

“Take her to the cells,” Teodosin ordered. “We will discuss the matter with the Thieftaker.

Two Defenders locked Zoya into the cell. It was clean if musty from disuse. Clearly this part of the Stone saw few visitors, willing or otherwise. Zoya felt the old thrill of excitement kindle in her. The same spark which she had always felt while climbing into some merchant’s townhouse back in Tanchico, or slipping into some Aes Sedai’s chamber as a novice. Weeks of planning were about to be put to the test. She hadn’t planned on Davian bringing her here, but here was where she had wanted to be. Saidar flowed into her and she reached out with Earth, unbinding the shackles. With her hands free she crept to the door. One of the Defenders had returned to the higher levels, leaving only one guard. Zoya wove flows of spirit in a complicated net that settled over the man. He slumped where he stood, sound asleep. She wove a web of air to keep him standing while he slept. Drawing her hairpins free she set to work on the lock, it took less than a minute to spring the lock, few heavy locks were particularly sophisticated, and then she was out the door.

Zoya reached the doors to the Great Holding in less then ten minutes. The plans she had found in the Tower Library did not lead her false. A pair of Defenders stood before the door, backs straight and with bored expressions on their mustachioed faces. Zoya repeated her sleep weave in duplicate, sweating from the effort of managing so many flows at once. Both men settled into the nets of air, eyes closed in somnolence. Zoya slipped passed the sleeping men and into the Great Holding itself. Her breath caught at once. Thousands of items were piled on shelves, scatted across the floor, or piled against the walls. They had been cleaned and organized recently, part of the inventory which had been taken when Zoya had spread rumors of theft. Tarien archivists had compared what they found in the Holding to ancient manuscripts which listed the contents. It had never occurred to them that someone might add items to those lists, items which, for reason of being purely imaginary, they had failed to find. Saraita Sedai’s lessons on caring for documents put to good, if unorthodox use.

“Where are you?” Zoya whispered, but she could already see her goal. A small puzzle box fashioned of gold, ivory and jet. Just as she had Foretold. She crossed the room and picked it up. It was surprisingly warm to her hand as she slipped it into a pocket sewn into the inside of her dress. She felt a surge of triumph ever since she had come to the White Tower she had dreamed of doing something, doing something important, and now here she was, where no Aes Sedai had stood in centuries, recovering a vital and priceless artifact. There were other artifacts, so many, and they would languish here unstudied and useless. Zoya started grabbing things. Small valuable looking things. A disc carved with the image of an owl, a small crystal rod, figurines wrought in cundilliar, several rings and other small pieces of jewelery. She pulled her bodice open, it was quilted on the inside and she began slicing the lining and slipping object into the spaces. Several items she wrapped in a cloth and tucked beneath her breasts, then hastily refastened her dress. There was so much more she could take, but nothing brought more necks to the rope than greed. She slipped out of the holding, releasing the weaves on the guards once she was out of sight. Both men started awake but remained silent out of embarrassment for having fallen asleep on watch, the penalty for which was severe. She made it back to her cell and slipped inside, relocking the door and refastening her chains, finally she woke the guard who turned to see her reclining against the back wall of the cell.

She had already been searched. All she had to do now was wait for the High Lords to throw her out on the street.

The High Lords had gathered, or those that could be summoned at such short notice. After the accused had been sent to her 'chambers,' Davian had been called to recount his entire investigation into the matter. Tedosian and Alteima, as well as Corleon seemed particularly of interest to the tale, hoping their investment had paid off. Davian had a good memory, something in dire need for a thief-taker, and once he was done, he lowered his head to grant the High Lords time to speak in the elaborately furnished chamber.

High Lord Sunamon Haellin cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, the cushions beneath not quite thick enough to retain his weighty mass. "We can see why you suspected this woman, but most of this evidence is circumstantial, and there is no solid proof! Even still, I believe I would have had similar thoughts to you, Master Thief-Taker..." He did not appear to wish for an argument, hoping Davian would be able to contradict him, at least to the thief-taker's eyes. He did his best to quell his pride enough to not ask he be called by his name rather than his profession. He merely wished for the gold and then to be gone.

"That is why I was honest with her as to who I was, your eminence." Davian said, inclining his head, his eyes sweeping over the other lords that had gathered. They all looked in different states of duress. "But when I did so, rather than being allowed to be questioned..."

"She fled, and the trollop had a meticulous plan laid out just for such an eventuality." Alteima said with a look of distaste on her pretty face, snapping her fan out and fluttering it back and forth like a humming bird's wings. It seems she had elected to let her innocent facade slip amongst this group. "She is not here for reasons above suspicion, regardless. My only question is where she has stashed what she stole?"

Davian regarded the High Lady, his hands out, hiding a smile. "I have informants coordinating her places of residence now, my lady. If she put them in any place she was seen to frequent, we will have them."

"We should have questioned her further, or put her under duress. I know that might be unbecoming, but these are pieces beyond value." High Lord Corleon argued, not even deigning to look Davian's way. If the rumors were true, he was Alteima's lover, for the simple fact they both despised her husband.

"Even if various things point to her, she does deserve a fair trial as all citizens do." Sunamon said, raising his head. It made his neck stand out like a turkey's. Davian applauded the large lord for his sense of fairness, but another part of him was unsure if this was an act or not.

Lord Tedosian snapped at him as if this were an old argument. "Might I remind you she is not a citizen? Light, she could be a spy for Mayene!"

As they began to squabble like so many quacking ducks, a small side door opened. A man wearing a red surcoat embroidered with gold trim approached and knelt before Alteima. In the doorway at the back of a chamber, a man in what looked to be commoner clothing waited, his hat off. Davian eyed him thoughtfully, then looked at lady Alteima's way when she stifled a gasp. Her big, pretty eyes, always so lovely, snapped at Davian with a dangerous gaze.

"You, thief-taker!" She called. "What did you say the woman's name was?"

Davian blinked, but spoke without hesitation. "Sakura, only, my lady. I did not know if that was a surname or not. Likely a lie."

She shook her head, but then waved Davian away as if he were a fly and spoke to the other high lords present. "I believe she is incapable of lying." Alteima responded ominously. "And I say we must kill her, and do it quietly."

"Kill her?" Tedosian asked. "Why?"

Even Corleon looked surprised enough to question her, but he held his tongue. She fanned herself with more force as she spoke. "I have received word that there are reports of an Aes Sedai within the region, one who's name is Sakura." Davian saw the High Lord's look aghast, and Davian did not blame them. If he had truly walked in on an Aes Sedai in the bath, he felt lucky she did not fling him into the street with the swiftness of a loosed arrow. "Even if this rumor is false, we cannot take the chance."

"But if she is Aes Sedai, then she is innocent...?" Lord Sunamon remarked, but Tedosian cut him off.

"She did not directly say that she did not steal the items. You are not learned in such things. She spoke in a way that left us to make our own doubts. And if this is true, my dear wife is right. We must kill her, and quietly."

Zoya was feeling so self congratulatory that the first crossbowman stepping through the door caught her by surprise. The bearded Defender raised the weapon but hesitated a critical second as one of the guards, unaware of the situation steeped defensively in front of the door.

“Move you fool!” the Defender shouted “she is a damn witch!” Even as the words were leaving his mouth flows of air wrapped him, freezing him in place. A second crossbowman, then a third crowded into the chamber and were similarly immobilized. The two guards spun to face her eyes wide. The first she wrapped in air, the strain of so many weaves making sweat spring from her skin. She drank deeper of Saidar, pulling down a dangerous amount of power to weave the last man. She couldn’t quite manage to contain him completely; her flows enough to hold him in place but not totally immobilize him. With wide eyes and teeth gritted he forced his leveled pike forward, inch by inch as though driving it through a wooden wall by main strength.

Don’t make me kill you Zoya wanted to scream but the effort of maintaining so many weaves forced her teeth to clench in a riktus of effort. It was clear that her life was in danger, but killing a half dozen Defenders of the Stone would virtually guarantee she never left Tear alive, even if she managed it the High Lords would hound her till the end of her days. Wind stirred in the chamber; spill over from so many flows of air. The pike point came closer. A queasy feeling came over her. How would she do it? Strangle them? To slow. Fire? To much effort to weave another flow. Blades of Air… messy but her only realistic option. Zoya’s vision began to waver from the crushing strain and her bones seemed to burn from the amount of the Power she was wielding. It was now or never.

"From trophies the Aiel carried, it was obvious they were coming back from the Blight. The Trollocs had followed, but by the tracks only a few lived to return after killing the Aiel. As for the girl, she would not let anyone touch her, even to tend her wounds. But she seized the Seeker of that band by his coat, and this is what she said, word for word. 'Leafblighter means to blind the Eye of the World, Lost One. He means to slay the Great Serpent. Warn the People, Lost One. Sightburner comes. Tell them to stand ready for the end. Tell them ...' And then she died."

Smoke wafted lazily out of the storyteller's pipe as the common room went quiet. Only the soft thuds of mugs setting down on wooden tabletops could be heard, as if the very world held its breath. Davian stared into his own cup, worry rising in his gullet. Not because he feared for the world at large, but because he knew his mind was changing already.

After they had announced their intentions to kill the thief-woman, Davian had felt regret rise in his throat. It was an old feeling, and one he quite disliked. Not that he felt he did wrong by bringing a thief to justice, but before they even discovered what she had stolen, they had thought to execute her! He had no love for Aes Sedai, but it was not justice in the way he had imagined. Davian had hunted less reputable men for other men to get petty vengeances, he was not above such things if he could fill his belly. However, the High Lords were a reputable body and people he had assumed were to grant him the chance to make a name for himself in the south. Now, he knew not only were they going to keep their association a secret, but they were going to simply snip the head off the Aes Sedai without even speaking to her.

He had left the Stone to grab himself a drink, making himself put one foot in front of the other for the money. It was not his business, he told himself. He had performed his duties and had done it well. Now he would wait for his payment...

But then the light blasted storyteller walked into the common room. Someone without the flair of a true gleeman but with a voice that could captivate a crowd, only this night it was not of rumors in Illain, but portents of doom. Thunder and fire, Aiel, the roof of the world. He listened despite himself, and it only honed in just how poorly he felt of the whole situation. And he felt it in his gut as well. Witches they might be, but Aes Sedai were the largest thorns in the side of the dark one.

"Blood and bloody ashes." He cursed, downing the last of his ale.

---

One Hour later...

Davian could feel nothing, see nothing. The flows of Saidar were as translucent to him as still air, and yet he saw the men being immobilized and flung back as if they were naught but toys. All save the last man, who gave a heroic effort to thrust his pike forward and end the woman's life. Even now Davian was unsure of what to do. He had convinced himself to save her, but seeing the power now wielded in front of him, it was unnatural, unsettling. He almost understood the Whitecloaks and their ravings about the Tar Valon heresies. For a moment he felt it would be best to stay in the shadows, watch the woman die, and collect his payment.

And yet he found himself walking forward, saw himself take out his mace, and bludgeoned the pikeman on the back of the head. He saw the woman's eyes widen in surprise, and Davian's gaze met hers, locking for a moment. He then turned and proceeded to do the same to every man caught in her web, knocking them either unconscious or senseless. There was little blood, he was good at hitting someone without causing much damage to their body if need be. Once finished, standing over the last Defender, he glanced at her.

"I will let you out of there. Just don't fling me around as well, deal?"

Zoya let out an explosive breath as she released her flows fighting the urge to simply collapse from exhaustion. It as one thing to weave or tie a flow, it was another to keep so many alive for so long. She had been ready to end the men's lives to save her own, but it would have taken all of her flagging strength.

"I've already sworn all the Oaths I plan to," Zoya replied, reaching out to touch the lock. The simple flow of Earth was a tremendous effort but the lock fell open with a click. She tried to walk out of the cell with her head held high but she was more than a little unsteady.

"None the less, I thank you for these men's lives," she replied, nudging one of the senseless defenders with her boot. "It would have been a pity to have to kill them." Davian looked her up and down, as though trying to decide whether she was joking. It was hard to joke when the Oath prevented you from telling an untruth.

"I wonder how they figured it out," Zoya mused as she edged towards the door. "I played everything perfectly."

"One of them recognized your name, I guess pigeons fly both ways," Davian replied.

"Bad luck then," Zoya decided. Her arms were growing heavy and she staggered slightly. Davian caught her and steadied her, making her simultaneously try to smile and scowl with an overall effect that looked like she had just eaten something unpleasant.

"Criminals often blame bad luck in my experience," Davian replied.

"I told you I hadn't stolen anything," Zoya insisted stubbornly. At the time she had told him that it had been true of course, and she didn't feel any need to bring him more up to date.

"Now we have to get out of here.. before... more Defenders... show up," she gasped. Davian was already leading her towards the door.

The Aes Sedai was exhausted from her use of the One Power, which made Davian a bit more comfortable being around her, but it also made escaping a bit more complicated. The thief-taker ushered her out of the gaol and escorted her as best he could to the servant's quearters close by. He had only been in the Stone for less than two weeks and had spent the majority of his time in the city, but he knew the rough outline of the place. They passed by maids and servants who more or less did not look their way save for a few curious glances, but Davian knew they would eventually get unlucky and run into someone who recognized one or both of them.

Down a short corridor, the lean man pulled Zoya into a room of cloths, blankets, and towels. He swiftly rummaged through stacks of the thicker, less intricately designed sheets and found one that was bland enough to serve the purpose he was searching for. He then pulled a more embroidered, bright red cloth out from under a pile and measured it with his arm, pursing his lips.

"Turn around," He told Zoya. She merely looked at him with a raised eyebrow. He sighed. "Turn around please, Sakura-Sedai."

"That's better," she said, clearly not used to being pulled anywhere, particularly by a man. She stepped away, but before she could ask the purpose, Davian had enshrouded her in the sheet and she gave a girlish squeak that was particularly un-Aes Sedai like. "We can't hide you're a woman with that body, but we can make you appear not as you are."

"Don't speak of me in such familiar terms." She warned him as he placed it around her form like a cloak.

"I'm just being pragmatic." He said, next wrapping her hair in a blue sheet of golden trim, and then grabbing the smaller red cloth, wrapping it around her waist and clinching it emphasize her hourglass figure. "If we get out of here, you can thank me again."

He stepped back, and she peered down and then glanced at a window to view her reflection. It dawned on her very quickly, as he had expected. She was an intelligent woman. "While I don't think it quite fits the bill, this is not a bad attempt at making me one of the Atha'an Miere. At least at a passable glance."

"That's all we will allow anyone to see." He said, inclining his head with a swift and subtle nod. It was too bad she was Aes Sedai, she was truly did catch the eye. Hopefully, once they had escaped, there would be a reward or at least a suitable compensation for his trouble, but the more realistic part of him knew that was not coming. He had put her in the cell in the first place, after all. Davian cursed himself silently, knowing no matter how he sliced his time in Tear, he was a fool. Either for capturing her or breaking her out, one of those was a failure that would see his time here wasted. Some thief-taker he was. "Follow me, we must reach the stables."

"Once we do, I will lead us out." She said imperiously. He opened his mouth to argue, but she had already begun to open the door and step into the hallway. He hurried out with her and took the lead, wondering why all the world he had rescued an Aes Sedai with an attitude.

Zoya followed Davian down a series of winding corridors, cutting through access corridors, empty barracks and storerooms. The Stone was an immense structure, the greatest fortress in the world; it could contain whole armies to garrison it. Fortunately for the fugitives, that very fact meant that much of it was empty during times of relative peace. What servants they did pass spared them curious glances, but didn’t offer comment or obstruction.

They were only a few stories above the ground when the air was split by the sound of a great gong. The sound resonated throughout the stone, startlingly flights of gulls from their nests in great clouds of feathers and tumultuous squawking. The had gotten further than Zoya had any right to hope before the alarm had been raised. A squad of Defenders, half dressed and scrambling, rushed around the corner to confront the pair.

“What are you standing around for!” Zoya shouted, “There are intruders in the building and the Highlords are in residence! Get up there and secure them!” The guards gave them a further confused glance and then the officer in charge nodded.

“Move!” he shouted and lead his men towards the stairs to the higher level.

“You’re lucky that worked,” Davian said, glancing at the departing squad. Zoya sniffed.

“Men usually respond to someone acting like they are in command,” Zoya replied. The clanking of boots alerted them that more soldiers were coming up from below. Davian grabbed the Aes Sedai and hauled her into one of the many turrets which studded the side of the stone and closed the door. The interior was dry and dusty, little more than a gallery with loopholes cut into the stone to allow archers to shoot down at besiegers. Through the loopholes the city of Tear sprawled out, tumbling gracelessly down to the river of the River Erinin.

“There is no way we will make it down without a fight,” Davian said, moving over to the loophole and looking out. Below them could be seen another projecting turret, and below that the slate roof of the stables. The drop between each was easily fifty yards.

“Any chance you know how to climb?” he asked. Zoya gave him a superior smile.

“I am a thief, afterall.”

Getting through the loophole was no easy feat, particularly for Zoya’s hips, but with a good deal of twisting she managed to force herself out. It had been many years since she had made her living as street waif in Tanchico, but she had climbed to the roofs many times. Davian followed her out, navigating the climb with ease. The wind tugged at her clothing and she focused on her hand holds rather than the dizzying drop below. Hand over hand she eased herself down the face of the Stone, pressing herself as flat as she could to minimize the area the wind could get at. Other gongs and bells were sounding in the city bellow as the alarm spread. Zoya reached the roof of the lower turret and slid down the roof to the edge. Davian landed lightly behind her.

“If I’d known I’d be doing this I’d have bought a rope,” he griped.

“If I’d known I’d be doing this, I wouldn’t be doing this,” Zoya retorted and gazed down at the fifty yard drop to the roof of the stables. The lowest section of the walls was the smoothest, there were no practicable hand holds that she could see. They could try to climb back into these loopholes, but that would have them running into the soldiers swarming into the Stone in response to the alarm.

“We will have to jump,” she decided. Davian’s eyes widened in alarm.

“It’s fifty yards!” Davian replied incredulously.

“Try to stay against the wall, the friction will help,” Zoya advised and then stepped off into nothing. Friction or no, she plunged like a catapult stone. Saidar filled her and she again wove flows of air, this time in a great gust that rushed up the front of the Stone sowing her fall markedly. She hit the slate roof of the stables, bending her knees to absorb the shock. Looking up she gestured at Davian. He mouthed an obscenity then jumped. Zoya sent a blast of air up to meet him, stronger than the one she had used for herself. He hit the roof with little more than a tap of boots on slate. Zoya sagged from the effort, not having yet recovered from her earlier exertions.

“What is the plan now?” Davian asked.

“We steal two horses and ride for the waterfront, there is a ship about to get underway, I saw her spreading her foresails. If we can get aboard, I can get us away.”

Davian and Zoya clodded out of the gates on steeds of esteemed breeding, fit for the High Lords of Tear themselves. Zoya rode a splended white mare, and Davian was astride a dappled stallion. The two of them rode behind an carriage, likely to head for the docks and be brought back before day's end laden with goods. Davian was unsure if the men had recollected themselves and reported him being an accomplice of Zoya, or if the bodies had merely been discovered and they were seeking only the Aes Sedai. Either way, it felt safer going with a third party to not seem too suspicious riding out of the gates. It worked, light be praised, for a good quarter of a mile.

But a group of twenty defenders and two armored cavalrymen were marching back to the Stone, when one of the riders, a man of dark hair and a hook nose, squinted at Zoya suspiciously. Davian did not glance his way, urging the Aes Sedai on until they heard a call of "halt!" behind them.

Suddenly, some unseen force struck the cavalryman off his horse. The man fell onto three of his fellows, and Davian whipped the reins of his horse just as Zoya did, both turning right to barrel down a causeway. A men carrying a tray of turnips screamed and tossed his goods aside, scrambling out of the way before he was bowled over by the steeds charging into the busy street.

"Stop!" A voice yelled.

"You'll not get away so easily, witch!" Another cried with ardent fervor that would make the Children of the Light proud. The thief and the thief-taker charged past wagons, nearly ramming into men and women who squealed and shrieked from the heavy mounts. A woman yanked a child out of the way, but Davian fancied he saw the child fly to the right far quicker than his mother could have moved him with her own strength.

"This way!" He shouted, pointing left. The street turned onto a terraced walkway, their well shod hooved clapping loudly against the sandstone. The breadth of the Erinin appeared before them. The horses whinnied in fright from the steps, but at Davian's call they now slowed, changing their gallop to a canter. It was lucky for them that the only patrol that had seen them had yet made it to the gates. That meant at best twenty Defenders on foot would be searching for them, whilst the cavalrymen likely had ridden to report their sighting to the Stone. They still had some time to be hidden and make their escape, as long as the ships left when they desired.

Somehow, what the Aes Sedai prophesied was true. A large caravel with wide foresails were taking the last man aboard, hustling onto the deck before the gangway was removed.

"Hurry!" Zoya cried with all the command of an Aes Sedai of Tar Valon, and urged her mount on. Her white mare shrieked, and Zoya took the lead to tear into the docks with Davian in her wake.

Pedestrians scattered in all directions as Zoya and Davian charged across the quay, iron shod hooves striking sparks from the flagstones. The crowd at the waterfront dissolved into screams of confusion made all the worse as baskets of live poultry were upended in a storm of feathers, squawking, and showers of dung from the panicked birds. The two sailors at the gangplank stood slack mouthed as the two fugitives came on at a gallop. Davian’s steed, the stronger of the two pushed forward and pounded up the gangway, screaming as he made the deck and sawed at the reins to halt the beast before it took him over the far side. The sailors made a half hearted grab for the gang plank as the ship continued to pull away, succeeding in dislodging one end from the pier side. The plank promptly upended and plunged into the widening gap between the ship and the quay. Zoya’s horse screamed and tried to turn, but she grimly yanked the reigns this way and that to keep it on course. The horse leaped into the air, vaulting the gap with the grace of a born steeple chaser and landing on the deck with a hollow boom. A hanging rope caught Zoya across the shoulders and pitched her from the saddle onto the deck. She landed on her back with an impact that drove the wind from her lungs and started spots across her vision. Her horse reared and came close to trampling her but one of the sailors, possessed of quicker wits than the others, snatched the beasts bridle. Screams and curses rang out deafeningly as sailors, spectators, and the soldiers trying to force their way to the ship bawled themselves hoarse trying to be heard.

“Those soldiers will be aboard in a moment!” Davian shouted into her ear, still barely audible over the din. Zoya gasped for air and sat up, tasting blood, she reached down and grasped at a stabbing pain in her bosom, her hand emerging with a sculpted statueete she had taken from the Holding. It was in the shape of an anthropoid snail atop which a naked woman rode, the sword she held aloft red where it had driven into Zoya’s flesh. She stuffed the thing to her pocket and struggled to her feet.

“Take me to the side,” she gasped, too low to possibly be audible, but Davian grasped her intention and dragged her to the side. One of the sailors, confusion on his face, reached out to grab her, but a sharp punch with a beaked fist from Davian dropped the man retching to the deck. Zoya reached the side as the soldiers reached they quay, separated by no more than ten feet. Embracing Saidar she wove wrist thick flows of water and the river surged upwards between the hull and the quay so violently that a spray of dank river water rained down on the deck. The out thrust of the water shoved the ship away from the quay, opening the gap by more than forty feet in a matter of a few seconds. One of the soldiers raised something and Zoya heard Davian curse. He grabbed a wooden belaying pin and swung it. There was a crack and the pin spun from his hand, the quarrel of a crossbow bolt splitting the timber almost in two. It would have pierced her heart if he hadn’t acted her Saidar enhanced perceptions informed her. Several other crossbows raised by she dropped below the bulwark a moment before the series of musical thunks impacted the hull. A few seconds later and the strong current of the Erinn had pulled them out into the channel and the sails, ignored in the confusion by their tenders, billowed and filled. The ship began to pick up speed and with Zoya’s encouragement, the current quickened. Before the crossbowmen could reload the ship was well down river, a white bow wake foaming around her forepost.

“Who in the name of the black depths are you, and what in the name of the Light are you doing on my ship!?” a white bearded man with piercing blue eyes demanded. It took no great leap of logic to deduce he was the captain.

“You may call me Zea,” Zoya said, her voice strong despite her exhaustion and the adrenaline burning through her. “The name of my clan and my salt name are unimportant.” The Captain’s eyes bugged as if he were about to suffer a fit of apoplexy. Then his eyes took in her Sea Folk garb and he settled slightly.

“And why shouldn’t I turn this ship around and take you back right this moment?”

“Because you have incurred the wrath of the Highlords of Tear, but you have not yet incurred the anger of the Athan’miere,” she explained, her tone sharp but controlled.

“Which do you imagine is a greater peril to a sailor?” she underscored. The Captain blanched slightly. Not being able to make port in Tear for a time was an inconvenience, the hostility of the sharp prowed Sea Folk rakers which might fall upon him in anywhere from Shara to the Sea of Storms would certainly prove lethal.

“I will of course bestow a suitable Gift of Passage, assuming this scow doesn’t take us to the Father of Storms,” she added with a twist of her lip. The Captain vacillated a moment, looked back at the furious confusion on the now distant waterfront and sighed. Then he turned to his men.

“What’a’ya starin’ at,” he bawled at his crew, “wanna’be holdin’yer tackle when the mustachios get organized?!”