“Quite a mess,” she said. Spies from Preble had brought word of who was responsible; and that the Gellerts had left, none knew where. “But Adrian won’t be bothering us here anymore.”
Her father worked his wounded arm, testing the healing. “My dear, I’m afraid we haven’t heard the end of either of the Gellerts,” he said. “If not here, then elsewhere.” He raised the arm in salute, as one should to a capable enemy. It cost nothing to be polite, even when duty required that one kill a man; he went on:
“Still, it was a first-rate job of work. Maybe the gods are whispering in that young Emerald’s ear.” Another snort of laughter. “Maybe he’s a god in disguise, as the old stories tell of—and this was like the War of the Thousand Ships.”
His daughter’s grin grew wider, and she ducked her head towards her saddlebow. In that case, Father dear, I suspect you’re going to be grandfather to a demigod. It was better to laugh than cry.
She looked out to sea. And she suspected her father was right; sooner rather than later, they would be hearing from Adrian again.
Helga Demansk decided she was rather looking forward to that.
Maps
THE END