“I can get us there,” Ferrin said. “So the Blind King is Galloran?”
“I didn’t say that,” Jason protested.
“You didn’t need to. I once suspected as much, but discounted my theory after observing him. He looked too old, sounded too pathetic, acted too eccentric. To think he was actually the famed hero! Felrook took a heavy toll.”
“The Blind King really is Galloran?” Aram said, a hint of disillusionment in his tone.
“It appears that way,” Ferrin replied.
Jason had not meant to share this information with Ferrin, of all people! But the displacer already seemed certain. Maldor had long known the truth about the Blind King, but the secret had not been widely shared. Jason supposed that if Ferrin joined him and Aram on their way to Felrook, Galloran himself could decide how to deal with the displacer. “I can’t confirm your guess.”
“No need,” Aram muttered.
Ferrin glanced at the ferryman. The prostrated man continued to hum, hands clamped to the sides of his head. Ferrin raised his voice. “I suppose we should kill the boatman. We can’t leave witnesses behind.”
Jason began to protest, but Ferrin held up his hand and glared. “Let’s see, I’ll just insert my knife right here and open him up.” The man continued to hum without missing a note.
“He had to be certain the ferry operator wasn’t eavesdropping,” Aram explained, but Jason had already caught on. The raft rotated so much that Aram moved to a different side. “This vessel is unwieldy.”
“You’re doing a remarkable job,” Ferrin said. “Start easing us toward the southern bank. I propose we bind and gag the boatman, then set him adrift.”
“Seems like the gentlest option,” Aram agreed. “You have rope and a gag?”
Ferrin pulled a length of cord and a wet strip of material from a pocket. “I like to plan ahead. Could I possibly have my hand back? If we get cornered, we all might want me to have it.”
“Might as well,” Aram said.
Jason dug into his backpack and fished out the hand. He hefted it for a moment, then passed it to Ferrin. The displacer reattached it seamlessly, flexed his fingers, then crouched and bound the ferryman. “It’s good to be whole.”
“You’re still wearing the eye patch,” Jason mentioned. “I thought it was part of a disguise.”
“Sadly, no,” Ferrin said. “I grafted my eye to an alley cat in Weych. The precaution provided an early warning when they came for me, but I couldn’t manage to retrieve my eye in time. It’s still there.”
“Unnatural,” Aram muttered in disgust. “Many soldiers are trailing us from the north.”
Squatting beside the ferryman, Ferrin secured the gag. “We need only concern ourselves with the forces on the southern bank for now. I sabotaged the other ferry, along with the three largest watercrafts in town.”
“Remind me to stay on your good side,” Aram said.
“There are still enough enemies on the southern bank to waylay us,” Ferrin cautioned. “The cover of darkness will soon be lost. Speed and stealth will be imperative.”
The half giant stopped plying the oar long enough to wipe sweat from his brow. The sculling was finally tiring him. “You and Jason should take the horses and flee,” Aram said. “I can catch up later.”
“Are you serious?” Ferrin asked.
“We only have two mounts, and I’m the heaviest rider.”
“I already prepared a fresh horse for myself, along with weapons.”
“Impossible.”
“I work fast. I beat you here by almost two hours.”
From up the river came an angry cry, followed by dismayed shouts.
“Get us to the shore,” Ferrin said calmly. “They’ve finally recognized that we cut the guideline. They can travel much faster by horseback than we can on the water. My new mount is close by.”
Aram grunted as the oar sloshed noisily. The commotion upriver continued to escalate.
When the raft reached the bank, Ferrin and Jason led the horses ashore. Keeping the oar, Aram shoved the raft back onto the water. The ferryman continued humming as best he could around the gag.
Ferrin crashed through the riverside vegetation and returned astride a black horse. He had wrapped a long strip of black linen around his head several times to cover his face. Aram studied the horizon, where the oncoming dawn had purpled the starry night.
“Come,” Ferrin said. They could hear horses charging along the river in their direction.
Jason and Aram climbed onto their mounts, and the three galloped away from the river into open, brushy country. “Not much cover,” Aram called. “How many had horses?”
“I counted eight. They could commandeer others.”
“We better find a place to make a stand.”
“Three versus eight? Or possibly twelve? Why not run?”
Aram hesitated before answering. “Because they might catch up after sunrise.”
“So?”
“I’m no use after dawn.”
“What do you mean?”
Aram didn’t answer.
“What happens at dawn?” Ferrin pressed.
“This is not something I share lightly,” Aram said. “I don’t have much choice right now. I’d kill to keep this secret.”
“I keep secrets for a living. I won’t tell.”
“I turn into a weakling during the day,” Aram confessed. “I’m half giant.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“You’ll feel differently after sunrise. Remember Goya?”
There came a pause in the shouted discussion. Jason felt sorry for Aram. He knew the big man would never have wanted Ferrin to learn his history. But under the circumstances, there was no way to avoid blowing his secret.
“Very well,” Ferrin finally said. “Where?”
“How about between those hills?” Aram pointed. “The way narrows right where that boulder offers some cover. Jason can lob stones from a flanking position.”
In answer, Ferrin swerved toward the gap between the steep hills.
“What do you mean I’ll lob rocks?” Jason called.
“This is no occasion for a first lesson in swordplay,” Aram said.
“He’s right,” Ferrin said. “You’ll do much more harm harassing them from the hillside. When we get there, gather a pile of rocks in a sheltered position. We’ll place the horses by you. If the giant and I go down, try to ride away.”