Book 1 - Reap the East Wind by Glen Cook Page A

back.”
    “Well, I’ll wait and walk you down. If you don’t mind.”
    She didn’t mind. She didn’t mind much of anything these days.
    The barge was a great fat thing manned by Necremnen rivermen. Michael Trebilcock and Aral Dantice were aboard, along with the majority of the Marshall’s henchmen. The two youths spent the morning trying to flirt her into a better mood. By the time the barge tied up near the Necremnen headquarters she was feeling a little gay.
    She almost felt a traitor to Ethrian because she was enjoying herself.
    She stayed aboard while Bragi and Varthlokkur visited the Necremnens. Michael and Aral tagged after him, two young men milking their moments near the center of power. Bragi’s brother Haaken joined her for a while, trying to express regrets on her behalf, but he wasn’t an articulate man. He was a soldier to the bone, a man who had been fighting almost constantly since his fifteenth year. He’d never learned to express his feelings. She touched his hand lightly and thanked him for his concern. She felt a great sorrow for him. He’d had less joy of life than she.
    There was a sudden clash of weapons ashore. Men shouted. Haaken bolted toward the action. A fight was something he could handle. Nepanthe followed him.
    She came upon the duel and nearly fainted. Michael had gotten into a fight—with her missing husband! “What happened?” she asked Aral.
    “He was hiding in the bushes watching us. When we went over to him, he came out fighting.”
    What was he doing here? Where had he come from? Why hadn’t he made his presence known? Surely he had been able to see her at the rail of the barge.
    Ragnarson bulled through the onlookers. “Enough! Michael! Back off.”
    Trebilcock stepped back, dropped his guard. His opponent spun around, face painted with the fear of the hopelessly trapped.
    Nepanthe ran into him, closed him in her arms and buried her face in his throat. “Darling. What’re you doing? Where have you been?” And so on. She knew she was babbling, that he couldn’t answer if he wanted, but she couldn’t get her mouth to slow down.
    “Back to the barge,” Bragi said. “Time to move out. Nepanthe, keep hold of him.”
    She did. She didn’t let go even when it became obvious that her joy in their reunion far exceeded his.
    There were long days together on the road home, catching up, remembering when, sharing chagrin at the way the Tervola called Chin had made fools of them both. Mocker didn’t speak much about what had happened to him during their separation. She deduced that it had been grim. He had new scars. And the old wild, unpredictable exuberance had abandoned him. It was impossible to get him to laugh.
    For her part, she avoided the subject of Ethrian. He seemed content to ignore the matter.
    She thought she was bringing him around, luring the old Mocker out, but then the army paused on the outskirts of Throyes while its quartermasters obtained provisions. Mocker went into town.
    Haaken Blackfang brought him back on a stretcher. Haaken wouldn’t say much about the circumstances, but Nepanthe soon noticed a cooling toward Mocker by Blackfang, Bragi, and Varthlokkur. When she thought her husband had recovered sufficiently, she started asking questions.
    He wouldn’t talk about it. She tried everything. He remained as obdurate as a stone. He even lost all interest in sex, a problem she’d never faced no matter how rough times had become.
    The army was in the Mountains of M’Hand, traversing the Savernake Gap, nearing Fortress Maisak, Kavelin’s easternmost outpost. From its Marshall down to its footsoldiers the army was a-bubble with anticipation. Mocker was the exception. He became more morose with every step taken westward. Then he told her he wanted her to slip away and stay at Maisak.
    “Why?” she demanded, almost as suspicious as Bragi and Varthlokkur seemed to be. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
    “No.”
    “Then I’m not