Venture to Uncertainty (#1)

33 | The Separation of Uncertainty

It was pitch back, the sky obsidian. The moon was hidden beneath a thickening layer of clouds, the usually comforting bathe of its grey light absent tonight.

Archer glanced up at the sails, invisible against the roof of the world. No stars tonight, no snow tonight. He leaned silently against the rail of the ship, watching the rowboat as it was lowered from above. It splashed into the swirling water below.

Denver and Lyra climbed eagerly down the later like they couldn't wait, dragging Kerian along with them. Archer could wait. He didn't move, just watched.

They'd been up at the rail together, silhouetted there at the bow of the ship, but now they came down the stairs from the topdeck, speaking in hushed tones to each other. Bardarian glanced up as he passed by Archer, all sure and debonair, but Silta did not. Archer wondered what lies she'd fed to Bardarian about Archer's purpose on this mission, how she'd spun her web of manipulation to prolong his realization of the traitor as long as possible.

He wanted everything to be over, that's all. He wanted to be through with today. When he was given the order, he climbed into the rowboat with Denver and Lyra, waiting for their captain and first mate. Finally, they settled into their spots with everyone else.

Above them now, Britter gave them a firm salute and unhooked the boat, letting them go.

They met with the water silently, the glass ocean rippling out from their weight. Archer picked up his oars and helped move the boat across the quiet water, the small diameter cutting through the stillness and leaving behind soft waves in its wake.

The Kingsland glinted before them, the shining lights bouncing off the motionless water. The reflection was so clear in the black water that it was hard for Archer to tell where the lights really stopped and morphed into a mirror.

It was no coincidence that Kerian had been placed in the middle of the boat, with Silta and Bardarian on either side of him. Kerian was the one that couldn't be shot, and the closer they were to him, the less likely they were to be aimed at. Archer, Lyra and Denver took the ends, where they could be shot easier.

Loyalty. Wasn't that the word?

They approached slowly and calmly; the King expected them. He might not know it would be tonight, but he was ready. There would be someone waiting for them.

The imposing gates became larger and larger, the Avourienne disappearing behind them into the water and sky. Archer saw every scratch in the metal bars and every contour in the rock spires, even big up close. The boat lurched to a stop as Bardarian cut his oars in. He nodded to Silta.

She turned sideways, steadying herself on the sides of the boat as she slid into the water. She bit down on her knife as she lowered herself in with both hands, not a wave or noise to indicate her entry. For the first time since she'd become the first mate of the Avourienne, she looked at Archer. Expressionless to some, perhaps, but to him, there was the slightest prick of excitement to her gaze.

"Halleveire monere," she whispered through the metal, disappearing into the dark water.

Once she was gone, Lyra followed her quickly, leaving only the four of them aboard their small vessel. They rowed up to those gates, right up until the metal clanged against the front of their rowboat.

"Quite the warm welcome," Denver quipped quietly.

Archer watched Bardarian roll his shoulders in anticipation. "He's a man that likes to make you wait," he said back.

Kerian, who was gagged, muttered something in agreement.

From the inside shadows, a tall figure materialized from the darkness aboard a boat only slightly larger than theirs. He stood on the bow as four men rowed him to the closed gate.