Child of a Dead God

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Magiere rushed the rail-wall, bile rising from her stomach and burning her throat. She barely saw the elven woman strike the water; all her senses were focused upon the presence of undead. Someone behind her cried out in anguish, and Sgaile appeared beside her.

She had to jump, swim, do whatever it took to reach that other ship. She had to hunt.

Chap's howl rose above the commotion, and a volley of fire arced in the night sky from the other ship.

Magiere's rage burned hotter at the sight, and she lifted one leg over the rail-wall.

Something snagged her breeches leg and heaved. Her grounded foot slid, and her back slammed flat on the deck. She rolled over wildly, and there was Chap with his ears laid back, blocking her way to the rail-wall. Sgaile looked down at her, his expression unreadable. Someone shouted in Elvish, and he lifted his gaze up and past her.

The voice was vaguely familiar. Was it Osha?

Sgaile locked eyes with Magiere for a breath, and then he dove over the side, vanishing from sight. Magiere lunged up to follow him, to reach that ship…

Chap charged straight at her, snapping and snarling. He was one with her, alike in the hunt, yet he turned on her? Magiere snarled back at him.

The sky above ignited with fire and light.

Magiere flinched, shielding her tearing eyes as she raised them. A long metal spear with a flaming head slid down the mainsail, leaving a burning trail in its wake. It slammed point first into the deck.

A cracking impact shuddered through the deck, and Magiere lost her footing, buckling to one knee. Yellow light burned her eyes as fire scattered from the spear's head. She threw herself toward the aft, rolling away, but when she came up, her rage vanished.

Chap bolted the other way, toward the forecastle. He dodged droplets of flaming oil falling like burning rain.

Magiere tried to scream his name, but it didn't come clearly through her elongated teeth.

He arced around to the ship's shoreward side, but with the fire spreading on the deck between them, Magiere wasn't certain if he'd been burned. She took a breath and coughed as smoke filled her lungs.

What was happening? Where were Leesil and Wynn?

The hkomas shouted loudly over the din. Magiere snapped her head up at the crack of the forward elven ballista. A thrum of bowstrings sounded all around her as a flight of arrows arced toward the other vessel.

Welstiel pulled himself up the rail of the Ylladon ship, worn and drained from widening the influence of his ring. He had barely spread its reach long enough to get close to the elven vessel. When the first volley of burning ballista spears launched, his concentration had snapped, but now it did not matter.

Magiere had more to concentrate on than the presence of undeads.

Two burning lances cut along the shimmering elven sails, instantly spreading fire. The third went long, and its light snuffed in the sea. A fourth hit the hull at the waterline and fizzled out, but it remained embedded.

Welstiel faltered.

Had he gone too far? Had he put Magiere in too much danger, or could she still get clear and make it to shore?

A loud double crack rang out from the other ship.

Welstiel saw two heavy spears with long heads arcing straight toward his vessel. He dashed along the deck but only made midship before one hit-and Klatas screamed.

The ballista spear slammed through the wheel, and the helmsman vanished amid shattering wood. Welstiel skidded to halt and looked back to the prow.

The younger elven female tried to push herself up, staring dumbly about. Sailors at the ballistae abandoned their stations, running for cover. Two leaped over the seaward rail and disappeared. And then Chane raced past Welstiel toward the stern.

What was that fool doing now?

Chane was almost to the aft when another ballista spear struck. It shattered the rail two steps behind him. He stumbled and fell, sliding along the deck amid scattering wood shards. The ferals went mad, screaming as they raced wildly about.

One pair of Ylladon crewmen kept their wits and fired the shoreward ballistae again. Another blaze of fire arced toward the elven ship. Then the pair crouched and took up oil-filled glass balls on long leather cords.

Welstiel had not noticed these before. The crewmen lit rags tied to the globes and began whirling them to sling toward their enemies. Welstiel charged them, panicked over Magiere's safety.

The engagement was not playing out how he had envisioned. But he was not quick enough, and the crewmen released their whirling glass balls.

Welstiel watched their small flames rise and then fall through the night air. The deck shuddered hard beneath his feet as another elven quarrel struck the hull somewhere below the rail. He ducked in against the rail as a rain of arrows fell around him, and he never saw the oil globes strike.

Running and shouting and screaming surrounded him as everything fell into chaos.

Sabel rushed by toward the bow, almost scrambling on all fours, and Welstiel snatched her by the arm.

"Get the others," he commanded. "Go below for our gear. Hurry!"

The terror did not leave her eyes, but she scrambled for the aft hatch.

They had to abandon ship, and Welstiel hoped Magiere would do the same.

Salt water closed over Sgaile's head, and icy cold spread through his muscles. He kicked for the surface, still doubting his actions.

He had sworn guardianship to Leshil and his companions. His first duty was to protect them, and the ship was on fire. But when he saw the elven woman vanish into the sea, his heart seemed to stop.

He was Anmaglahk, sworn to protect his people. He could not let her die.

Sgaile broke the sea's rolling surface and gasped for air, but in his mind, he kept seeing Magiere's face up on the deck.

Eyes black, lost in vicious madness-the same monster that had attacked his caste in Cuirin'nen'a's glade. Even though he had sworn guardianship, his first instinct had been to kill her. Then he saw Wynn and Leshil on the deck's far side, dodging falling pieces of the burning sails.

Osha ran for them, shouting. "Go! I will protect them!"

And Sgaile had jumped.

The sea swells made it hard to search. Everything was beyond his control but the woman who had been dropped to her death. He only hoped she had stayed calm enough to flatten herself and float until he could find her.

Wynn gasped for air and coughed amid the growing smoke. Terrifying sights and sounds drove away reason, and all she could see was the horror of the burning ship.

A living ship.

Some of the crew tried to douse the fire with buckets of seawater, but spattered oil and falling sails kept feeding the flames.

And then Sgaile jumped overboard.

Wynn looked frantically about. Magiere knelt on the deck's far side beyond the cargo grate, but she couldn't see Chap anywhere. Elven crew ran about amid the flames, and a sizzling crackle sounded from up in the rigging.

And Leesil's shout carried to Wynn over the noise. "Magiere! Get out of there!"

He bolted toward Magiere, and Wynn saw the burning foremast crack midway up. It began to topple.

"Leesil, stop!" she screamed out.

He leaped the cargo gate. Rigging and shredded sails tore away under the falling mast as it slammed down on the deck's center-and Leesil vanished from sight.

"Leesil!" Wynn cried out.

Two sudden impacts, like shattering glass, struck somewhere on the deck, and a wall of flame erupted around the fallen mast. Droplets of ignited oil splashed up like fiery fountains and scattered everywhere.

Wynn twisted away, swatting at burning oil spots on her cloak. In one flailing spin, she saw Osha.

He ran along the shoreside rail-wall, the glint of a stiletto in his hand. Before Wynn knew what was happening, he ducked and drove his shoulder into her chest. His arm coiled around her as the breath was crushed from her lungs.

Wynn gasped for air as her feet left the deck. Over Osha's back, she saw a long pillar of fire rolling from the deck's center toward the rail-wall- toward her.

The whole ship swirled away as she slammed down hard, sliding across the deck beneath Osha. She felt him roll, curling himself around her, until they slid to a stop.

And that rolling column of fire-the fallen foremast-crashed against the rail-wall where she and Osha had been an instant before.

Osha lurched up on his knees and slashed down at her with his stiletto. She barely flinched before the blade split the side of her cloak's collar. He ripped it off of her, nearly flipping her over on her face, and grabbed her by the arm. As he pulled her up, they both looked frantically about.

The crew had abandoned any attempt to control the flames. A visceral scream, like a great cat in anger, broke over the fire's crackle. Before it had even faded, Osha shouted.

"Leshil!"

Wynn saw Leesil half-crouched on the cargo grate's far side, surrounded by fire. Magiere clawed at the flames, trying to reach him. Her eyes were black disks as tears ran down her snarling face. The grate burned too wildly around Leesil, as did the forecastle and deck between him and the aft. Even the far rail-wall was ablaze. He ducked low, shielding his face and eyes as he twisted about.

Wynn rushed for Magiere, looking for any way to get to Leesil. Then her feet left the deck again.

Osha swung her back with his arm around her waist.

"Put me down!" Wynn shouted. "Leesil cannot see. He needs help!"

"Bith-na!" Osha shouted in her face, then shoved her into the corner between the aftcastle and rail-wall.

"No" to what? Wynn struggled against him. What did he mean?

Another bright red-yellow light grew in the air. Gasping, she saw the burning mainsail sagging toward the deck.

"Magiere, look up! Get back!" Wynn called, choking on her words.

Cargo hold. Now!

Chap's voice erupted in Wynn's head.

She saw him racing along the far rail-wall from the forecastle… running on top of the rail. His shimmering fur glinted with red and yellow firelight.

Wynn writhed in Osha's grip. "Come on! Below… we meet Chap below!"

Osha released her, shaking his head, and she grabbed his wrist, pulling him. She stopped at the hatch stairwell and shouted as loudly as she could.

"Magiere, come on! Chap says to go to the cargo hold!"

But Magiere either did not hear her or would not leave. The burning mainsail writhed in the wind, like a living thing of fire that coiled down to snatch her in its grip.

Magiere cried out like an animal, reaching through the flames for Leesil. Her gloved hand began to smoke, and she snatched it back. She let hunger fill her and shut her eyes against the fire's brightness. She tried stepping into it.

Heat instantly seared her face and hands, and she leaped back.

Wynn shouted over the roar-something about a cargo hold-but Magiere couldn't take her eyes from Leesil's blurred shape amid the blaze.

Another flickering blur raced toward him from the ship's far end. It loped along the burning rail-wall, and then brightened by firelight into a silvery canine form.

Chap leaped high through the flames.

His forepaws struck Leesil's shoulder. Both toppled upon the burning cargo grate, and it shattered beneath their sudden weight.

Firelight surged around Magiere as she screamed.

Leesil was gone. And Chap with him.

More light descended from above her.

She saw the first whipping corner of the burning sail coil around the mid mast. She threw herself backward, rolling away as the descending inferno swallowed the midship.

Wynn had shouted something about the cargo hold.

Magiere turned on all fours, knocking aside a deckhand as she lunged toward the hatchway. A blur of gray-green cloak disappeared down the stairs, and she rushed in behind it, nearly falling over the first step.

Osha turned with wide eyes, and Wynn stood below the last step.

"Chap said we must get to the cargo hold!" she shouted.

Magiere understood now.

"No!" she growled back. "You… get off the ship! I'll… get to Leesil and Chap."

Wynn opened her mouth to argue.

"Take her!" Magiere shouted into Osha's face.

She shoved him against the stairwell wall, grabbed Wynn by her shift's shoulder, and nearly threw her at the young elf. Without waiting to see if they obeyed, Magiere ran down through the ship's passages. At the bottom, she followed the only narrow corridor that headed toward midship. There was a door at the end.

Magiere didn't even slow. She hit it with her shoulder at full speed, and the door crashed open, dangling in pieces from its hinges.

"Leesil!"

Water sloshed knee-deep around her legs as she slogged in. The hold was filling with seawater through a hole torn in the hull's far side. And then she heard splashing that didn't come from her own steps.

Leesil broke the water's surface, rising up, and Chap half-waded and half-paddled toward him.

Magiere struggled forward, her boots already heavy with water. She was breathing too fast and couldn't say anything as she pawed frantically at Leesil, searching for injuries.

Runnels of water left soot-smudged streaks on his face, but his expression melted in equal relief at the sight of her. His was still holding on to his one winged blade, and he grabbed her wrist with his other hand.

"I'm all right," he said and then looked down. "Your hands!"

Her gloves were charred and blackened. She hadn't even noticed the sting in her hands.

Fire around the grateless cargo hatch above filled the hold with flickering light, and seams of flame began spreading along the ceiling.

"We have to get out of here," she said.

"We won't survive onshore without our gear," Leesil argued, and headed for the shattered door.

Magiere almost grabbed him from behind, ready to throw him over her shoulder and flee-but she knew he was right. He led the way with Chap right behind as they all trudged through the water in the outer passage.

They hurried to their quarters, grabbing what they could-weapons first. Leesil found their coats, and then hesitated for breath. He took up his new winged blades, but Magiere's dagger was still missing. Sgaile had not brought it back yet.

"Forget it!" Magiere snapped, and jerked him toward the door.

They slogged back for the stairs, and then an elf they'd never seen before came through the passage's other end. He was dressed in a plain canvas tunic and breeches, and his feet were bare. He carried a large barkless root almost too heavy to hoist, smooth and round and dully pointed.

Magiere froze. The root's long tail trailing behind the man moved on its own-like the ship's tail that Wynn had spotted so many days past.

The elf stopped at the sight of Magiere, and then crouched to set down the strange squirming bulk. He glared up sternly at Magiere and then Leesil, and spoke quickly in Elvish. It sounded like a question.

Magiere could only shake her head and point toward the hatch stairs.

"We have to get off," she said. "So should you."

She had no idea if he understood.

He lowered his head, muttering in Elvish, and reached around his back to fling something toward her. The long white-metal dagger fell in the shallow water near Magiere's boot.

She reached down and picked it up. Its hilt was now thick and wrapped tightly with leather. By the time she looked up, the elf was gone, then she spotted the tail of his wooden burden whip as it slid up the hatchway stairs.

"Put it away and let's move!" Leesil growled.

Magiere shoved the blade in the back of her belt. They emerged to find the deck engulfed in flames feeding upon remnants of sails, rigging, and crumpled masts. Magiere looked about for the tall, barefooted elf.

He stood at the seaward rail-wall just below the aftcastle, the only place on that side not blocked by fire. Magiere saw no sign of the moving root he'd been carrying.

"Come on!" she shouted. "Get to a skiff!"

He never even turned around. The tall, barefoot elf just stood there. Beneath the crackle of fire and splitting wood, Magiere heard a low rolling hum, like a song without words. He slowly lifted his head, as if watching something moving in the open water.

The deck creaked beneath Magiere's feet.

Chap barked sharply as he scrambled toward the shoreward rail-wall.

Magiere had no choice but to follow him.

Sgaile's arms grew heavy in the cold water, and despair began to mount.

Where was the woman?

He swam back along the Ylladon ship's course, but through one swell after another he found nothing. And both ships had drifted onward behind him. Then he saw something swirling upon the surface.

It was too light to be kelp or debris. Then it sank again, gone from sight.

Sgaile thrashed forward. When he reached the spot where it had gone down, he dove under.

Beneath the surface, the water was so dark that all he could do was hold his breath and grasp about. His hand struck something rough and thin-a rope. He grabbed hold, winding it around his hand and wrist, and kicked for the surface.

Sgaile's head broke through. Before he even sucked in a breath, he pulled. Twice he sank under, reaching down, hand over hand along the rope. Until his grip closed on soft, cold fingers. He grabbed hold and kicked back up to the surface.

She came up, gasped for air over and over, panic-stricken.

"Float," he managed to say. "Relax yourself."

He kept an arm under the middle of her back as they both rolled over the crest of another swell. The woman tried to turn her head, blinking water from her eyes so she could see him.

"Sister," she choked. "My sister… is on the ship."

Sgaile grew even colder.

Another of his people was on that human vessel? Still holding her atop the waves, he looked back. The elven ship-the Pairvanean-was burning in the night.

By now, the hkomas would have ordered the crew into the skiffs. The Ylladon vessel had been damaged as well, and listed deeply to one side. It was so far away, how could he do anything to save this woman's sister?

A thundering crack rolled across the night swells.

The Ylladon ship rocked, and its stern shifted suddenly toward the open sea.

"No…," Sgaile moaned.

Another thundering impact filled the night. The marauder ship's prow dipped sharply into the sea and did not come up again. It was sinking.

The hkoeda had released his shavalean-the "swimmers." They would not stop pounding and ramming at the Ylladon vessel until either it sank beyond reach in the depths or they became too damaged or worn themselves.

Sgaile looked away as the woman tried to lift her head to see.

"Do not," he said.

He pulled a stiletto to sever the rope, then grasped the back of her tunic and towed her as he swam. Another crack sounded in the distance from the hull of the Ylladon ship.

All Sgaile could do now was try to reach the shore.

Chane watched helplessly as oil globes struck the elven ship and flames erupted across its deck.

"Wynn," he whispered.

He lunged across the ship, searching to slaughter whoever had flung those globes.

"Stop!" Welstiel shouted.

Chane turned, sword in hand.

Sabel came behind Welstiel, along with the other ferals, all laden with canvas and ropes and packs.

"You said they would have time to escape!" Chane rasped, and his throat turned raw.

Welstiel's lips curled angrily. He opened his mouth to spit a response, but Chane never heard it. The sound of wood smashing filled his ears.

The Ylladon ship lurched sharply, and seawater sprayed over the rail, driving debris across the deck. Welstiel clutched the mast, glancing about as half the ferals were thrown from their feet.

"Take the packs and gear from her," Welstiel said, pointing to Sabel. "Tie the canvas to your back."

Chane glared at him and did not move.

"We have to swim," Welstiel snapped, "as far north as possible before going ashore. We cannot risk Magiere or the dog sensing us."

"Swim?"

"We will be too visible if we take a skiff," Welstiel answered. He turned to Sabel and the others. "Leave no one here alive, and then follow us."

Another thundering crack sent the ship spinning sideways, and the bow dipped sharply.

Chane grabbed the rail to keep from sliding. The ferals snatched at anything they could hold on to. For once they showed little eagerness for feast or slaughter. And Chane's own hate faltered under his instinct to survive.

"We all go now!" he hissed. "Any crew left would never let themselves be caught by the elves. We are hardly in danger of them revealing you!"

He pulled himself up the slanting deck and took Sabel's bundled canvas. He tried to wrap it tightly about his own pack, to protect the precious texts from the monastery, before tying the bulk across his shoulders.

Welstiel never answered him, just threw his own pack full of arcane objects over his shoulder. Without hesitation, he shouted, "Come!" to his monks and vaulted the ship's rail.

Another loud crack exploded into the hull. Chane clutched the rail, waiting for the ship to settle, and then jumped overboard.

In a brief glimpse of the burning elven ship, his thoughts filled with the image of Wynn's oval, olive-toned face. Then he sank beneath the cold, dark water.

"Sgaile!" Leesil shouted from the skiff's front, one hand gripping its upturned prow.

He searched the ocean swells with Osha crouched beside him.

Magiere and Chap sat in the back with Wynn, now wrapped in her coat, as two elven sailors pulled on the oars. At least two other skiffs headed for shore, but not this one. Leesil had turned their small vessel southward, parallel to the coast and back along the marauder vessel's course.

"He's got to be out here," Leesil said tightly. "He's too much of a pain in the ass to end up dead."

"Yes," Osha answered. "We find him."

But the young elf looked no more certain of his claim than Leesil. And Sgaile was indeed a pain in the ass.

Leesil was sick of the way the man looked at him, as if he was supposed to do something that Sgaile wouldn't actually say. All the man's superstitious nonsense about ancestors and his people's old ways did little more than complicate Leesil's life-or hint at a life he wanted no part of. Now that self-righteous, long-boned, sour-faced throat-cutter-that idiot-had thrown himself overboard to save someone he didn't even know.

But… Leesil couldn't let him die out here.

Chap barked, and Leesil's grip tightened on the prow as the skiff crested another swell.

"There!" Wynn cried.

She pointed beyond where Chap clung to the skiff's edge with one fore-paw. Out in the water, Leesil caught a flash of white.

"Sgaile!" he shouted again, and looked down to Osha. "Tell the crewmen to turn us that way!"

Before Osha finished rattling off instructions to the elves, that light spot in the water rose again.

Sgaile swam on his side as he towed the elven woman floating on her back. He looked exhausted and pale, with his wet hair flattened around his head and face.

"Here!" Leesil cried out. "Osha, get us alongside of him."

Sgaile paused, lifting his head. When he spotted the skiff, he redoubled his efforts.

Osha pressed in beside Leesil, speaking Elvish to the two oarsmen.

"We'll take the woman back here," Magiere called out, and pulled Wynn and Chap from the side. "You take Sgaile up front."

The elven crewmen turned the skiff sharply as it rolled down a swell, and then shipped their oars. Sgaile closed with two final strokes and reached for the skiff.

Magiere leaned over the side, but the woman hardly moved, unable to help herself. One elven crewman knelt to assist, and they pulled her over the edge.

Leesil grabbed Sgaile's arm as Osha took hold of his belt, and they dragged him in. He collapsed on the skiff's bottom, soaked and shivering.

"Blankets, coats!" Leesil shouted. "Get me something to cover him!"

Osha stripped off his cloak and threw it over Sgaile as Magiere dug among their belongings. She tossed Leesil his coat then spread her own over the woman. Wynn started to remove her coat.

"No," Magiere said. "All you've got is your shift under that."

The crewmen took up the oars and began rowing hard for the shore.

Leesil struggled to pull off Sgaile's soaked tunic and wrap him in the coat. He spread Osha's cloak over the top as Sgaile leaned back into the prow's cubby, still shaking uncontrollably. Sgaile snapped a long string of Elvish through chattering teeth.

Osha stared back at him, stunned motionless. Leesil couldn't follow Sgaile's words, but he understood the tone.

"It is not Osha's fault!" Wynn cried out. "And he was protecting us!"

"Yes," Osha added sharply. "We find you… jeoin."

"Don't blame him!" Leesil snapped at Sgaile. "You're the fool who jumped overboard in the middle of an assault. And he wasn't the only one who chose to come searching for your waterlogged carcass."

Sgaile struggled to sit up. His gaze slipped from the rowing crewmen to Magiere. He seemed to look her over, or look for something in her face; then he settled back, exhausted.

Leesil plopped down beside Osha, shaking his head. For an instant, he entertained the notion of tossing Sgaile back overboard.

The notion passed.

Wynn huddled with Magiere and Chap in the skiff's rear. The thundering cracks behind them had ceased as the other ship sank below the surface. But the elven vessel drifted slowly, still burning alive.

She pressed her hands over her face, trying not to cry.

When she dropped them down, the others were repeatedly glancing behind the skiff with somber eyes. She heard the hissing crackle of water meeting fire but could not look.

The elven woman lying at her feet coughed and sputtered but looked as if she would survive. She curled on her side, closed her eyes, and began to sob softly. Her tears were lost in the seawater clinging to her long triangular face.

No one spoke the rest of the way to shore.

When the crewmen shipped the oars and jumped into the surf, Wynn spotted three other skiffs on the beach. Torches had been lit and planted nearby. Leesil and Osha jumped out as well. Other elven crew came out, and they all pulled together until the skiff came to rest upon the gravelly shore.

Chap hopped out, and Wynn climbed after him.

She saw familiar faces among those present, though she knew none of the crew's names. She was relieved to see that the hkomas had survived. His left arm and one side of his face were seared, but he appeared not to notice. Two of the crew hurried in to help the rescued woman from the skiff.

One bowed his head slightly as Sgaile staggered out and Osha helped him to a dry spot on the beach.

Wynn tried to count those who had survived. Just beyond the hkomas stood the girl with the thick braid and oversized boots, whom Wynn had learned was his steward.

"Sgailsheilleache…," the hkomas said and faltered.

He gave no thanks for Sgaile's actions, nor did he commend him for his courage. Anmaglahk did not expect thanks-that much Wynn had learned from her time in Sgaile's company.

Out in the distance, lingering flames from the elven ship flickered upon the water. And then they were gone. Wynn felt the mood around her change as relief sank into mourning.

"May your ancestors take you and watch over you," the hkomas whispered, looking out over the surf and into the empty darkness.

Feeling helpless, Wynn mouthed this same Elvish epitaph for the living ship.

The hkomas's face darkened as he turned upon Magiere.

"Who were they?" he demanded. "Even Ylladon do not charge us in a reckless assault… just to kill our Pairvanean at such cost to themselves."

Magiere could not follow his Elvish, but she stood her ground, returning his glare. Sgaile climbed to his feet, wobbling as he stepped between them.

"She knows nothing more than we do," he said.

"I saw her on deck!" the hkomas growled back. "She sensed something coming… as did the majay-hi."

"Such debate will not help us now," Sgaile countered. "Were you able to send a distress call?"

The hkomas's suspicious gaze stayed on Magiere. "Yes. I reached a sister vessel of my clan. She is a scant two days out of Ghoivne Ajhajhe… a long distance north."

Sgaile nodded with little relief. "She will send word at the next harbor and locate a closer ship. Our people will come."

At this, the young steward fidgeted behind her hkomas and glanced northward.

Osha stepped in, turning to the hkomas. "We must hide the skiffs and get our people off this beach… and see to our wounded. Anything else should wait until morning."

Everyone fell silent at this calm but solid counsel, and finally the hkomas nodded. Both Magiere and Leesil silently watched this exchange, and Wynn felt sudden shame in forgetting to translate for them.

"I will tell you later," she said. "Osha wants to get the boats off the beach and find shelter further inland."

Leesil scanned the waters. "He's right. Especially if any of the other crew survived… and made it to shore."

The skill of swimming came back to Chane. As a boy, his father had taught him-if "teaching" was the right word for being tossed into a cold lake, with rope around his waist to keep him from drowning.

He swam a northward course behind Welstiel several lengths ahead. Hopefully far enough not to be seen when they came ashore-and not to be sensed by Magiere or Chap. His cloak and gear made the process difficult, but neither the cold nor the lack of air concerned him. At first he held his breath, as in his living days. When he finally gasped reflexively, opening his mouth, water surged into his lungs. He choked in panic, but it was only an unpleasant sensation, no longer harmful to a dead man.

Finally, the sea floor rose into sight.

Chane followed Welstiel's lead, clawing along the bottom until there was not enough depth to bother staying submerged. They broke the surface amid the surf, and Chane's soaked cloak became a massive weight. He was halfway up the rocky beach before he stopped, bent over, and vomited salt water from his dead lungs. As he finished stripping off his pack and cloak, the ferals emerged from the water.

One by one, pale faces rose from the dark surf as they shambled from the sea to the shore. Sabel had gone over the side just before Chane, but she was last to emerge, just behind Jakeb.

Chane shook his head and hands, trying to clear some of the seawater, and he turned his gaze south.

"Are we far enough?" he asked. "Will she sense us?"

Welstiel stared off along the shore. "Yes, we are safe from detection… if Magiere survived."

He sounded less than certain, which brought Chane pleasure at first. If Magiere were dead, Welstiel would suffer, perhaps never finding his coveted treasure. Anything that wounded Welstiel was now sweet to Chane, but he quickly lost the taste of it.

If Magiere had not survived, what chance could Wynn have?

"Check now!" Chane hissed. "Get out that damned dish of yours!"

Welstiel turned with a sharp glance. "My exact intention."

He crouched, opening his waterlogged pack, and drew out the domed brass plate, shaking it several times to scatter clinging droplets of water. With his back turned, he drew his dagger. Chane could not see anything as Welstiel chanted softly.

Welstiel lifted his head, facing south and away for Chane.

"She lives… and she is a short distance away."

These words only made Chane burn silently.

"But that says nothing," Welstiel added, "concerning your little sage."

Chane could not go see for himself-not without being detected and hunted. Not without Welstiel's protection, or rather that of his ring of nothing. And the situation could grow even worse if the ferals came after him or were discovered. He wanted those creatures nowhere near Wynn-if she lived.

Dawn was half a night off, but they would travel no farther. The mortals would sleep, and tomorrow at dusk, Welstiel would verify which direction Magiere had taken.

"I will find us a camp," Chane hissed and stalked off into the trees.