Child of a Dead God

CHAPTER FOUR

Nine days had passed since their ship harbored, and to the best of Wynn's knowledge, no human had ever boarded an an'Croan vessel. Today they would finally set sail, and it left her emotions tangled as she climbed from the small skiff and up the rope ladder.

Magiere had grown more desperate by the day, and so Wynn did feel glad for her companion's relief at embarking. But for herself, time in the elven city had been far too short and had left her disheartened, as she might never see this place again. Domin Tilswith would be disappointed with her scant journal entries concerning Ghoivne Ajhajhe.

Wynn reached the ladder's top, stepped through the rail-wall's open gate, and planted her feet firmly on the smooth deck.

Leesil grunted behind her, and she turned.

He climbed with one hand, the other arm wrapped behind to support Chap on his back. Wynn grabbed Leesil's arm and helped him gain the deck. Before he made it all the way, Chap scrambled over his head. The dog nearly knocked Wynn over and flattened Leesil on the deck's edge.

"You're welcome," Leesil grumbled, clambering up.

Magiere, Brot'an, Sgaile, and Osha followed. Only then did Wynn take her first good look about the ship, instantly wishing she had quill and paper in hand.

The strange sidewall-in place of a rail-with its shallow swoop-and-peak edge had caught her eye as she climbed the ladder. But up on the deck, its most striking aspect was a complete absence of planks.

The deck's glistening wood was as smooth as the rainwater barrels she had seen in an'Croan homes-fashioned from inert wood by elven Makers born with an innate gift for thaumaturgy. Longer but narrower than any three-masted vessel she had seen, the entire hull appeared to have been melded into one solid piece, without a single crack or seam in its smooth, tawny surface.

The masts, rigging, and other fixtures were separate pieces, judging by the way weather had aged them. Wynn wondered even more how the deck remained comparatively smooth and richly colored. Halfway between center mast and forecastle was a meshed grate over a large raised opening.

"What is that?" she asked.

"The deck hatch to the cargo bay," Osha answered in Elvish.

Wynn tilted her head back to see the bulges of furled sails hanging from pale yellow masts. The fabric was almost iridescent white, as if made from sheot'a cloth, the elves' equivalent to satin. But this did not seem likely, for where would they find enough cocoons to weave so much material?

"Ah, dead deities!" Leesil moaned.

The ship was still anchored in the bay's calm water, but Leesil already wore a sickly glower.

"Finally," Magiere sighed under her breath.

Wynn knew that nine days was not an unusual length of time for cargo ships to harbor at port-and she and the others lived at the whim and charity of these elves. She could not help note how foreign, though lovely, Magiere appeared on an an'Croan ship.

Her black hair sparked wildly with red from the bright sun glinting off open water. She seemed even paler than usual, surrounded by the vessel's rich color and the wide blue sky. In black breeches and a white shirt recently tailored within the city, she had donned her studded leather hauberk and strapped on her falchion. And recently, Magiere had taken to constantly wearing gloves.

The crew stared at Magiere as well, but their expressions did not echo Wynn's appreciation. Neither Leesil nor Magiere seemed to notice these angry looks, and Wynn was reminded of one clear fact.

Magiere had to leave elven lands and never return.

Chap had learned why and passed it through Wynn. Magiere, born in a blood rite, had been made for a purpose.

Unlike an undead or just a normal human, she could enter elven land. Its natural safeguards could not stop her. Worse still, she fed upon the forest by her very presence, as her undead father had fed upon the living. Magiere had been made to breach any place that the undead had not been able to enter during the long-forgotten war. This knowledge left Wynn fearful of what might come in the future. Magiere's very presence and creation suggested that war-like in the time of the Forgotten-would come again.

A tall, thick-armed elf in a brown head scarf dropped from the aftcastle and plodded toward them. Most likely, this was the hkomas-the "able authority" or ship's captain. Brot'an met him halfway, and Wynn tried to edge close to catch their words.

A stab of nausea took her by surprise.

Why do Sgaile and Osha remain with us?

Chap's words flooded Wynn's head, spoken simultaneously in every language she knew. She had grown accustomed to snatching meaning from the tangle of tongues. Glancing behind, she found Chap eying the two elves suspiciously.

More than a dog, Chap was an eternal Fay, born into the body of a majay-hi-a colloquial term, loosely meaning "hound of the Fay." The breed had descended from the long-forgotten times when wolves were inhabited by Fay during the war of the Forgotten History. This made Chap doubly unique, and only Wynn could hear him in her head.

This was not supposed to happen.

Two seasons past, she had meddled with a mantic ritual to help Magiere track an undead. The attempt had gone horribly wrong, and over the passing moons Chap had tried more than once to cleanse her. But the taint remained and kept manifesting in new ways.

"I do not know," she whispered to Chap. "Sgaile said the hkomas would be uncomfortable having humans aboard without an escort."

No-the an'Croan council of clan elders requested this ship. Sgaile's continued presence is something else… and too sudden. Something more has happened since the ship's arrival-and your babbling our plans to Brot'an.

"Oh, drop that already!" Wynn whispered, but her feelings were mixed.

She too wondered why Sgaile chose to continue his guardianship into this voyage, but part of her was glad. A respected member of his caste, when Sgaile spoke, people listened. Osha's presence was another matter, and left Wynn unsettled in ways she did not understand. Their travels and ordeals in an'Croan lands had brought out the best and worst in him. In the end, she counted him as a friend. But when they said farewell on the river's shore at Crijheaiche, she had never expected to see him again.

Osha caught Wynn watching him and raised thick eyebrows, making his horselike face appear even longer. Wynn turned away, but Chap continued studying the young elf.

He is profoundly relieved… concerning something to do with Sgaile.

"You see that in his mind?" she whispered, surprised.

Within his line of sight, Chap could pick out surfacing memories from a sentient being's conscious thoughts, but she was not aware he could sense emotions.

No, it is plain on his face… and the way he follows Sgaile about, waiting to fulfill any command in an instant. Osha could not long hide a secret, unless he pulled that cowl over his entire head.

"Stop being so pompous!" Wynn said too loudly.

Slightly raised voices pulled her attention back to Brot'an and the ship's hkomas, and she tried to decipher their rapid Elvish. From what she could follow, the captain's inhospitable manner with Brot'an came from the vague instructions concerning the destination of his "passengers." Wynn had expected this. Moments later, a troubled Brot'an walked past Wynn straight toward Magiere, and Wynn hurried to follow.

"Did he refuse?" Magiere asked.

Brot'an shook his head. "The hkomas will take you south, but the elders did not choose the best ship for you."

Magiere's pale brow wrinkled as she crossed her arms.

"Why?" Leesil asked, already gripping the deck's rail-wall, as if growing more unsteady on his feet by the moment.

"This vessel serves coastal an'Croan communities," Brot'an answered. "From here, it sails east around the point before it turns south down the coast."

"How long?" Magiere asked.

"Five or six days at a run… but this is a main cargo vessel. It will stop at every harbor, especially those of other rivers reaching the coast, where the barge clans bring goods from the inlands."

Leesil's eyes widened as Magiere's mouth fell open. Wynn braced herself for the coming storm.

"What?" Magiere growled. "We were promised a ship to take us anywhere we asked to go!"

Osha fidgeted slightly in alarm, glancing about the ship. Several of the crew glared in Magiere's direction. They might not understand her words, but her rising tone was clear.

"Magiere…," Sgaile warned softly.

"You led us onto that barge, and all the way to the coast," she snarled, "promising to get us out of here. But we've been trapped in this city, waiting. Now our ship's stopping at every town along the way? You-you're-"

Magiere turned away toward the rail-wall beside Leesil.

"We need to go south-now." Her voice weakened to a whisper as she closed her eyes. "Please… now."

Leesil slid his hand across her back, glancing at Sgaile.

Wynn shared Leesil's concern over whatever had whispered to Magiere in her dream and showed her the six-towered castle coated in ice. But in their travels, they had uncovered no other clues regarding the whereabouts of the artifact. Wynn felt they should do everything possible to help Magiere, and not continue questioning the lead they had.

"This is the only ship," Sgaile said, his voice tight, "unless you wish to linger here even longer. The elders arranged passage once-they would not do so again. It is either this vessel, or we travel back across the Broken Range on foot… by whatever way you found to reach us. And then head south. What is your choice?"

Magiere slowly turned her head toward him.

Wynn lost sight of her companion's pale face, but she saw Sgaile's large eyes narrow. He crossed his own arms. Magiere turned away again, staring out over the bay, and Wynn knew Magiere's answer.

"Their belongings have arrived," a crew member called out to Brot'an.

Another skiff pulled in beside the ship, and two elves in the small vessel hoisted up baggage. Wynn hurried to help Osha as he began hauling in their belongings, which had increased during their visit in Ghoivne Ajhajhe.

Magiere's comment about being trapped was not precisely correct. They had used their time in the city to prepare for the coming journey. Magiere was not certain about their path, but she knew their destination lay in a mountain canyon so high up it was locked in snow and ice all year.

"Ah, here are your new coats," Osha said in Elvish, and tapped Leesil's shoulder as he pointed down to the skiff.

"In Belaskian," Wynn chided without thinking. "You need the practice."

Osha gave her a sheepish smile and repeated in broken speech that Leesil and Magiere could understand.

Wynn had not spoken much to Osha since his arrival. It seemed they easily fell back into a pattern in which she insisted he speak an appropriate language that her companions could understand.

One elf in the skiff below climbed halfway up to hand off their new coats. Magiere had specifically requested these garments.

Made of sheepskin with the woolly side inward, they were also lined with a thick layer of rough-spun cotton fabric. The outer hide had been deeply oiled against bad weather, something Brot'an added to their specifications. The new garments would maximize body heat retention in a cold climate.

Meanwhile, Wynn and Leesil had arranged for smoked meats and dried fruits, water flasks, tea, and other goods. They had little to trade, but Sgaile handled the negotiations, ushering them out of any shop to await him. Wynn had an uneasy feeling that most of the items had been donated, since an anmaglahk had requested them.

The hkomas's harsh voice called out for sails to be set. Wynn watched the crew scramble into the rigging to ready the ship. And it struck her that they were truly leaving. She sighed and returned to her companions. Magiere appeared calmer, but Leesil swallowed hard, looking more uncomfortable.

Wynn heard Brot'an talking in low tones to Sgaile as the master anmaglahk prepared to descend to the waiting skiff. Then Brot'an handed something to Sgaile. Both his words and gift, if that was what it was, passed too quickly for Wynn to catch.

Sgaile glared at Brot'an with his fists closed tightly on the hidden object.

Osha tensed up, his expression aghast. Sgaile seemed about to argue or question, but Brot'an raised a finger and his lips moved in one brief phrase.

"Chein'as?" Osha whispered too loudly.

"Tosajij!" Sgaile hissed at him.

The younger elf cringed in embarrassment. His wide amber eyes flicked toward Leesil, who wavered as he tried to lift baggage from the deck.

Wynn wondered at the word Osha spoke, and why Sgaile ordered him into silence.

Chein'as-the… "burning" ones?

Brot'an started to descend, and Wynn's thoughts rushed to all he had done for her and her companions. She knew how much she irritated him at times, but he had been their protector and adviser-at a cost Wynn could not even estimate.

"Brot'an…," she called, and then lost her nerve.

Brot'an halted, then stepped back up on deck. He came closer, until he towered over Wynn, and grasped her gently by the shoulders.

"Farewell, little one," he said, and lowered his head to whisper, "and do not stop asking questions."

Wynn nodded with a sting in her eyes.

Brot'an turned away, pausing once before Magiere. A shadow of sadness crossed her pale face. She, too, had depended on his wisdom in this strange land. But Leesil…

He remained crouched over the baggage and did not rise. Too much had happened between Leesil and the master anmaglahk for him to ever trust the man. Brot'an climbed over the ship's side and vanished from sight.

Sgaile turned hard eyes on Osha and pulled him away toward the ship's aft.

Wynn desperately wanted to follow and listen, though she knew such action would not be considered appropriate. She was about to go help Magiere and Leesil with the baggage when she noticed that Chap was gone. She spun about, searching the deck.

He stood poised upon a crate near the rail-wall, gazing toward the shore. Wynn came up behind him and stroked his back. She knew what he had been doing all the early mornings and evenings when he had disappeared into the forest.

Out beyond the city, Chap had spent his last days with Lily, the white majay-hi.

He had said his good-bye to her the day they had arrived in Ghoivne Ajhajhe, but the unexpected delay had weakened his resolve. Lily's entire pack had gone home, but she stayed behind to be with Chap. The white majay-hi feared the populated city, and so he slipped out into the forest whenever possible.

"I am sorry you have to leave her," Wynn said.

She would not come.

"I know."

All around Wynn, the crew bustled with activity as they prepared to leave harbor. All except for one young woman. Wynn caught the girl watching her and Chap. Dressed in too large boots, with a heavy braid hanging forward over one shoulder, she turned quickly away and up the forecastle out of sight.

As the sails caught the wind, the ship turned slowly toward the open sea, and Wynn thought she felt a strange, rhythmic thrum through the deck beneath her feet. Chap whined softly, his gaze still on the coastline, and Wynn felt overwhelmed by loss.

There were so many reasons that they had to leave, but they left so much behind.

Hkuan'duv stood on his vessel's deck and watched the ship carrying the humans as it sailed out of harbor. He waited until darkness came.

Of all the orders Most Aged Father had ever given, this one troubled Hkuan'duv the most. Sgailsheilleache and Osha, two of Hkuan'duv's own caste, were on the vessel he would track, and they knew nothing of his presence. Such a thing had never happened in his memory.

As he stared toward the open sea beyond the harbor, a slender hand gripped the rail-wall beside him, and a soft voice spoke.

"Your thoughts run in circles tonight."

Danvarfij-Fated Music-looked him directly in the eyes. Her nose was too long and her cheekbones were a touch wide, but her skin was clean and creamy, like tea stirred with goat's milk. She had been his last student, studying under him for five years, and there was always a quiet honesty in her eyes.

When her skill with a bow clearly exceeded his, it was the final sign that their time together as teacher and student was over. He had spoken for her before Most Aged Father, and she had been given a word-wood in recognition. When she left on her first solo purpose, Hkuan'duv chose to take no more students.

He did not respond to her comment. She knew him too well.

"Have you seen our quarters?" he asked.

"Yes, two small rooms below," she answered. "A'harhk'nis and Kurhkage can share one, you and I the other."

He nodded, turning from the rail-wall to find the other two members of his team sitting on the cargo hold's grate.

A'harhk'nis-Most Changeable-was unusually silent, even for a member of their caste. He was a skilled tracker, with wild eyes and unruly hair. Though he carried anmaglahk stilettos, his preferred weapons were more brutal. In his belt at the small of his back he carried a pair of bone knives as large as sickles, their curved blades as wide as a human's sword. He preferred his clothing loose and wore oversized breeches. Even with his cloak corners tied about his waist, it billowed around him.

Hkuan'duv turned his eyes upon the last of his chosen.

Kurhkage-Sandpiper-was unremarkable but for his missing left eye and his stature. Lack of depth perception did not appear to affect him, and he came from the same clan as Brot'an'duive, sharing his oversized build. He had spent years in the human region south of the eastern coast, known as the Ylladon States. Kurhkage was calculating and tactical, but his experiences among those loosely allied city-states of marauders had left him bitter.

Ylladon ships sometimes grew daring and raided the lower reaches of the an'Croan coastline. Shortly after Kurhkage completed his tutelage, he headed south with two others on his first purpose. As the trio stopped over in the most southern an'Croan coastal community, the village was raided. Kurhkage lost his eye in that fight, but not one Ylladon marauder escaped.

Hkuan'duv was certain of his choices. Only Danvarfij troubled him a little. She was the most well-rounded in skills and training, but during their years together, he had grown… content in her company.

After they parted, a year passed before Hkuan'duv felt at peace. He had no wish to go through such an adjustment again.

Kurhkage stalked over. He refused to wear an eye patch, and his left eye socket had healed into rough lumps of flesh.

"The hkomas asks when we will leave," he said. "He seems anxious over the growing distance between our ship and theirs."

Hkuan'duv nodded. He sympathized with the hkomas, who now followed the "requests" of the Anmaglahk.

"Soon," he answered. "I wish to give our quarry some distance."

Earlier, the crew had prepared the ship. With little to do but wait, several of them cast curious glances at Hkuan'duv and his companions. Another twinge of discomfort passed through him.

All an'Croan revered the Anmaglahk, who served to protect them. The ships of seafaring clans sometimes carried one or more into human territories, but the Anmaglahk were only along for the ride. A team of four, led by a Greimasg'ah who made decisions and gave orders to the crew's hkomas, was unprecedented.

Hkuan'duv looked out into the dark harbor. It was time, and he glanced at Danvarfij, her loose hair wafting softly around her long angular face.

"I will give the word," she said, knowing his mind as quickly as he did.

"Tell the hkomas to fall off if he sees a hint of sails ahead. We must not be seen."

Danvarfij headed for the helm at the ship's rear.

Soon, the iridescent sails fell open and filled with the breeze, and the deck began to softly thrum beneath Hkuan'duv's feet. The ship slipped quietly out of harbor and to the east, never far from the coastline.

Danvarfij finally returned. "Your mind still runs in circles."

Hkuan'duv frowned. So far, he had told his companions little about their purpose. He breathed a troubled sigh as he gestured toward the hatch.

"Get the others and come," he said. "I will tell you all I can."

By the voyage's second dusk, Leesil lay in a bunk below deck, unable to get up.

So far, he'd kept down only small sips of water. Having been through this once before, he knew enough not to eat. Dizziness and nausea rolled in his head and stomach with the ship's relentless teetering. The light of the one dangling lantern shifted upon the cabin walls. He closed his eyes and quickly opened them again. Darkness only made him feel worse.

The cabin was small but well designed. Its walls were smooth, with no sign of individual planks, and pairs of ledges for bunks were shaped on both of the room's sides. High-set porthole openings in the outer wall were sealed with brass-framed glass hatches.

The cabin's short oval door cracked inward, and Magiere ducked her head in. "How are you feeling?"

"I'd rather ride fifty leagues on a half-mad horse," he groaned.

She came in, carrying a bowl of water and a rag for his head.

Magiere's caretaking was the one and only part of this sea voyage preferable to the last. Leesil had to admit that he enjoyed her attention. She sat beside him and dipped the rag without removing her gloves. Her hand was shaking just slightly.

He reached out to touch it. "Are you all right?"

During their time within the elven forest, Magiere had suffered from trembling and anxiety whenever she entered one of the tree dwellings. They hadn't known why, until she'd lost all control in Nein'a's prison clearing. And in that fight with their anmaglahk escort, her bare hands had touched and marked a birch tree.

Since boarding, Magiere had shown signs of the same manifestations she'd suffered in the elven forest, although they were far from its shore.

"It's not as bad," she answered. "Probably just this nagging instinct to keep going… to reach wherever we're headed."

Magiere had finally removed her hauberk and wore only her loose white shirt and breeches, with her hair bound back to keep it from her eyes in the wind.

"Something odd happened a little while ago," she said. "Sgaile politely related that the captain thinks it best that we stay on this end of the ship while below deck."

"A suggestion or a threat?" Leesil asked.

"One's as good as the other with these people."

He laid his head back as Magiere applied the damp rag to his forehead and looked up at the smooth seamless ceiling. Such a warning only made him want to go nosing about, but his stomach rolled on another list of the ship.

"Where is everyone else?" he asked, seeking any distraction.

"On deck. Sgaile is just staring out to sea. Osha borrowed some kind of game from a sailor and is teaching Wynn to play. Chap's watching them without much interest, but I'm betting he understands the strategy better than Osha."

Leesil tried to smile. "This is the first time we've been alone since boarding."

Magiere didn't seem to hear him. She gazed at the cabin wall-or perhaps through it to somewhere far away.

"We'll round the corner of the continent soon," he said.

She blinked. "What? Oh, I was thinking about… home. The new tables… the hearth, even that old burned sword hanging above it. We barely had time to settle in after the rebuild."

Leesil rolled toward her on his side. "Yes, home. A nice thought."

"If we ever reach it, if we are able to stay, if we don't learn any more of ourselves that we don't want to know."

The warm image of home faded from Leesil's mind. Why did she keep bringing up the reason his mother had created and trained him-to use him as a tool against some unknown adversary the elves believed would return?

"We make our own fate," he snapped. "No one changes that."

Magiere dropped her eyes suddenly, and Leesil regretted his angry tone. He should be grateful she shared her worries with him so openly. But he stood by his words.

They did make their own fate. No matter what name a pack of ghosts placed upon him, the only person he would "champion" was Magiere.

She still gripped his fingers in one gloved hand, and he reached out with his other hand to trace the line of her jaw. Her face was so perfect to him. He sat up to kiss her, and his stomach lurched.

"Stop that," she said, and flattened her other hand on his chest. "You're sick."

"Not that sick," he answered.

"Oh, really? You're as green as Wynn's lentil stew, and your breath… is terrible."

He stared at her. "How flattering."

"Rest!" She shoved him back down on the bunk. "I'll stay with you."

Leesil's stomach clenched as his back hit the bed, but he still frowned, feeling petulant.

"We're sharing quarters with Wynn and Chap… and this could be our last moment alone for a while."

Magiere rolled her dark brown eyes with a huff, as if to respond, but then she spun about and tensed, staring toward the door.

"What-?" Leesil began.

Magiere lunged up, snatching her falchion as she flung open the cabin door.

Somewhere above, Leesil heard Wynn shouting.

In the scant lantern light, Wynn sat cross-legged upon the deck facing Osha and tried to focus on Dreug'an, an elven draught game borrowed from the hkomas's steward. Osha was determined to teach her to play, but Wynn's thoughts kept wandering.

The ship's strange thrum vibrated under her buttocks, making it impossible to pay attention. And Chap's disgruntled huffs every time she made a move did not help either.

"Do you want to play for me?" she asked.

Chap licked his nose at her, but no reply entered her thoughts.

Sgaile still leaned on the port side, staring out into the darkness. Off the starboard, the tree-lined coast slipped by at a rapid pace.

Wynn sighed and stood up. "I need to stretch my legs."

Even on her feet, she was little taller than Osha on his knees. He started to rise, and she waved him back down.

"No, stay. I will not go far."

Osha frowned, caught between having to watch over her and yet not wanting to impose.

"I will return shortly," she assured him and strolled off toward the aft.

The hkomas had stayed in the aftcastle for much of the voyage so far, and the crew kept busy all over the ship. Wynn had avoided snooping about, knowing her presence was unwelcome. As night came, the hkomas retired and much of the crew went off duty, leaving the deck fairly deserted. Wynn wanted to peek about.

The absence of planks in the deck still astonished her. A crewman sat on a barrel, just as solidly one piece, though it showed far more sign of wear than the deck. He was weaving smooth pieces of cord into a stout rope. As Wynn passed, he spun atop the barrel to face away, and she knew better than to try chatting with him.

She crept idly toward the stern, and the rhythmic thrum beneath her feet seemed to grow. Reaching the aftcastle ladder, she saw its steps worn by years of use-unlike the deck-and she climbed halfway to peer over the top.

Three large lanterns lit up the aftcastle. A male elf loosely gripped the large wheel of the helm. He was stout and solid-or at least wide compared to others of his kind. Many of the crew cropped their hair short, but his sandy locks hung to his shoulders with the bangs cut just above the eyes.

The pilot's large eyes narrowed upon Wynn, and then he returned to silently gazing ahead. Since he had not openly rebuked her, Wynn crept up onto the aftcastle, purposefully ignoring him in turn.

The rhythmic thrum lessened, and she wondered where it came from and if the height of the aftcastle dulled it. She kept to the rail-wall, as far from the pilot as possible. Before she reached the ship's stern, she began to make out its wake under the dangling aft lanterns. Even a fast vessel under a heavy wind would not swirl the water so.

Foam-laced ripples trailed away behind the ship into the dark, and Wynn glanced suspiciously upward. The sails were still billowing but not full, so the wind was not that strong. And yet the vessel's speed was enough to leave a visible wake. Wynn leaned over the aftcastle's rear, peering downward, and sucked in a loud breath. She grabbed the rail-wall and froze.

Water boiled out from beneath the elven ship. Under the sea's roiling surface, she saw twin rudders set wide apart, unlike on human ships-and something moved in the dark water between the twin blades.

A massive ribbon rippled below the ship's wake.

Wynn raised her eyes, tracing it out more than two skiffs' lengths behind the stern. It wormed like the tail of something massive swimming below the hull.

"Osha!" Wynn screamed, and backed up. "Get Sgaile!"

She turned as Chap leaped onto the aftcastle's deck with a snarl. He cast a threatening glance at the pilot before he spotted her. Osha appeared immediately behind Chap.

"What?" he asked in alarm. "Are you injured?"

"A sea beast!" Wynn shouted. "It is pacing us under the ship!"

She had barely drawn a second breath when Sgaile hurried up the aftcastle's steps. Just as Osha reached Wynn, the hkomas, his steward, and two crew members emerged from the stairwells below the aftcastle.

And then Magiere came running along the deck from the forward stairs with Leesil close behind.

Sgaile headed straight for Osha, grunting to the hkomas in quick Elvish that Wynn did not catch. Osha looked over the rail-wall and then turned around. He shook his head, glancing at Wynn in worried confusion.

"Can you not see it?" she insisted. "Look down… there… in the water!"

The pilot lashed the wheel, then stepped back and leaned over the aft. He straightened, and a glower spread over his face as he looked to his hkomas.

"Weakblood… makes for addled wits," he said in Elvish.

Weakblood-lhagshuil-was their scornful word for humans. Wynn curled one hand into a small fist.

"Maybe you should cut your hair higher… and further out of your eyes!" She shoved the pilot aside and pushed in at the stern next to Osha and pointed downward. "Osha, look there. You cannot possibly miss it!"

Osha sheathed his blade with a sigh.

"It is all right," Sgaile said in Elvish, with little patience in his voice. "She mistook the ship's root-tail."

"Tail?" Wynn said.

She spun to find him speaking to the hkomas, but the captain stood his ground, gazing expectantly at Sgaile. Magiere and Leesil reached the aftcastle deck, and Magiere came straight to Wynn, falchion in her grip.

"What happened?" Magiere demanded. "Did somebody try to hurt you?"

"Magiere… please," Sgaile pleaded, and gestured with an open hand toward her sword.

"I am all right," Wynn said, but she glared at Sgaile. "What tail?"

"It is part of the ship's function," Sgaile said. "What you call… propulsion. This is how we move so quickly, despite mild winds."

Chap hooked forepaws over the stern's rail-wall, peering down, and Wynn looked again.

The long and shadowed shape snaked behind the ship in the dark water, but as much as it seemed to swim behind the vessel, it drew no closer. Wynn flushed with embarrassment and cast a dark look at Chap.

"Why did you not tell me?" she whispered.

I did not know. I never saw an elven ship as a pup, nor in the memories of those in the enclave where I was born.

"Ah, seven hells," Leesil grumbled, still pallid and clammy-looking. "Wynn, we thought you were in trouble-instead of poking about again!"

Magiere sheathed her sword and stepped closer, but when she looked down, the same shock Wynn had experienced passed across her pale features. "Leesil, come look at this."

"I don't think so!" he growled, gripping the aftcastle's front rail-wall.

Wynn shook her head. "My apologies. Our ships do not have such propulsion mechanisms."

Osha nodded beside her. "No… human ship not alive."

Wynn looked up at his long face, uncertain if she had understood his broken Belaskian correctly.

"What are you saying?" Magiere hissed.

Wynn spun around beside Osha.

Magiere backed away from the stern. Her shoulder brushed the helm-wheel, and she lurched away from it. She cast her wide-eyed gaze about with each hesitant step, as if she were weaponless and surrounded by some unseen threat.

But Wynn was caught up by Osha's words. "How could the ship be alive?" she asked.

"In… grow in…," Osha fumbled in frustration and slipped into Elvish. "Thovaret'nach."

"Enough!" Sgaile snapped at him.

Their dialect was older than the Elvish Wynn spoke, and she often struggled to comprehend it, particularly names, titles, and other rare noun-declinations from archaic root words.

"Born…," she muttered to herself. "A birth…"

The Birth-Water Deep, Chap supplied.

"Alive…," Magiere whispered. "This damned thing is alive!"

"Let's just get below," Leesil urged.

"No," she snarled. "I'm not going down into the belly of this… ship."

Leesil half-stumbled as he grabbed for Magiere's arm and pulled her toward the steps.

"Yes, it is best you all retire," Sgaile said, though he watched Magiere with guarded puzzlement. "And remain away from the stern… as you were told."

He cast a meaningful glance at Wynn.

"Chap, come on," Wynn said, heading after her companions. "Osha… I am sorry for the trouble."

A few of the crew stood about, grumbling as Wynn headed down the steps. The hkomas hissed something sharp at Sgaile, but Wynn's thoughts were elsewhere. She was worried about Magiere's reaction.

If this ship were alive-like the trees of an elven forest-and Magiere touched it with her bare skin…

Muted musical tones broke into Wynn's thoughts as her feet hit the main deck. Chap raced by, heading after Magiere and Leesil, but Wynn paused, peering at one aft stairway hatch left open.

Blurred deep notes rose out of it from somewhere below the aftcastle. They did not come from an instrument, though reedy in quality. The sound was more like a baritone voice uttering a wordless refrain. The song's cadence rolled in time to the thrum beneath Wynn's feet-or perhaps it was the song which led the rhythm.

Welstiel felt dusk approach, but his overall sense of passing time had grown hazy. He had lost count of the days and nights. He sat in the upper floor's passage throughout each day with his mind fixed upon the guttural sounds rising within the cells on the left side.

He had taken a great gamble in creating minions without carefully selecting candidates from a large population-and gambled that he might willfully dominate any who rose onto the Feral Path.

His success in both endeavors was a good sign.

He no longer needed the misguidance of the patron of his dreams.

Welcome imaginings filled his thoughts. Once he possessed the orb, something in its ancient nature would relieve him of the need to feed on the living. He could retire to Belaski's remote peninsula and never be soiled again by blood. With Bela and the shipyards of Gueshk just to the south, he would order fine clothes and possessions and spend his time in arcane study. All that remained was to relocate Magiere and drive her onward. Sooner or later, she would lead him to where the orb was hidden.

Welstiel gazed along the three iron-barred doors. His new servants stirred within, restless with aching hunger, but they no longer clawed at the doors or tore at each other. Soon they would be ready for the journey. He looked down at his pack resting between the stool and passage wall.

He had scried for Magiere's location several times since coming to this place. Her position had remained roughly the same, except for once when it had shifted a long distance, north by northeast. By his estimation, she was still within the Elven Territories. But tonight, so close to completion of his tasks here…

Sliding from the stool and kneeling, he removed the brass dish from his pack and placed it facedown on the passage floor, domed back upward. Murmuring a low chant, he drew his dagger and sliced a shallow cut in what remained of his left hand's little finger.

Magiere was still unaware of the true purpose of the bone amulet she wore around her neck. That ivory-colored piece set in a tin backing was the missing bone of Welstiel's own little finger. He was not scrying for her as much as for the piece of himself that she carried. He watched his black fluids drip once, twice, three times from the stump of his finger to collect in a tiny bulge at the center of the plate's back. A moment's focus of will would close the slight wound, but he lost that focus before he could finish.

The dark bulge of his fluids quivered upon the brass plate's dome.

It leaned, as if the plate tilted, and ran in a line away from the center, stopping short of the plate's edge.

Welstiel had learned over many years to judge Magiere's position by the length and angle the droplet traveled. She was on the move again, and traveling east too quickly to be on foot. It seemed she might now head beyond the bounds of the Elven Territories. But how? He knew of nothing in that direction and distance but the far ocean on the continent's eastern side.

Welstiel stiffened-Magiere might be traveling by sea.

He could not imagine how. To his own knowledge, no human ship had ever rounded the continent's northeast end into elven waters. He had hoped to hold out a few more nights here to drive his new creations into deeper hunger, until they were mad to feed. That time was lost. An entire range of mountains stood between him and the eastern coastline.

He had preparations to make-and he must feed his ferals one last morsel.

Welstiel cleaned the plate and dagger and tucked both away, but when he stood, he braced a hand against the wall. Lack of rest wore upon him since he had renewed his use of potions to stave off dormancy. He turned his attention upon the cell doors to the right, those of the living.

He'd been too focused on starving the others into a frenzy and driving them further over the edge. How many monks still lived? He would need more life to carry with him for the journey.

When he descended into the entry room, Chane was nowhere in sight. Welstiel wondered where his unstable companion had slept all day. Or was Chane already awake, skulking about?

Welstiel headed into the back passage, stopping to glance around the archway frame into the workroom.

"Chane?" he called out, but no answer came.

Since the first night in the monastery, when Welstiel had to cow Chane into obedience, the young undead had changed. He grew more sulking, more guarded and resentful. Sooner or later, this behavior would reach a peak.

Welstiel believed a moment would come when Chane's assistance might be more trouble than it was worth. But for now…

He had no time to go looking for the young undead, so he kept to the near wall, watching all around as he headed for a large chest. With one backward glance, he flipped it open and rummaged for two more empty bottles with tight stoppers before he returned to the upper passage. He paused long enough at his pack to retrieve the box that held his brass feeding cup and then turned to the first door on the right and pulled the wood shard from its handle.

In the cell, three monks huddled together upon the narrow bed. Welstiel stepped inside, jamming the door shut behind him.

He needed more life to carry on his journey.