Dhiammara

26 Sacrifice

“How many times do I have to tell you—she’s sleeping.” Shia was getting more than a little tired of this pestilential human and his endless questions.

“Yes—as far as I know, she’s all right, yes—I think that Wolf is with her, and no—I am not going to wake her—in fact I can’t.”

“But—”

Shia rounded on Forral with a wrathful snarl, further irritated that several of the Nightrunners who crewed the ship took this as a sign to beat a hasty retreat, leaving herself, Khanu and Forral in sole possession of the bows.

“Wretched human! Would that I had never let you know I could speak with you like this! Now listen.” She walked up to the swordsman and put her forepaws on the ship’s rail, so that her golden eyes blazed directly down into his. “For the last time, Aurian didn’t follow us because she had to rescue Chiamh. She did such a stupid thing because the Windeye is her friend. They are now somewhere on the sea in a small boat, and though I can’t talk to the Mage unless she wakes, her sleeping thoughts seem not to be unhappy, so I would guess that Wolf is all right and she probably succeeded in what she set out to do. Yes, I’m worried about her too, but no—there’s nothing more we can do to find her until daylight comes—SO GO TO SLEEP!”

Smoldering, Forral turned his back on the great cat, and looked out over the rail into the darkness. I almost wish we hadn’t found out that the bloody creature could communicate with me like this, he thought, not really caring whether Shia “overheard” the thought or not. Bad-tempered bugger! I was only asking. You can’t blame me for being worried.... Then a new thought exploded into his mind—a thought so vast, so shocking, so fraught with dangers and possibilities.

I can talk to Shia courtesy of Anvar’s Mage blood, can I do the other stuff—the proper magic?

A shiver went through the swordsman that was half-fear, half-excitement.

“Steady,” he told himself. “Don’t get too carried away. Before you go trying anything, this will take a bit of thinking through.” Perhaps he should ask Aurian—but if he could manage on his own, would it not be better to surprise her?

In truth Forral was desperate to impress the Mage, for he felt he had been of little use to her so far—a situation that not within his normal experience.—Since he had arrived in this strange body, he had been at a constant disadvantage—everyone else seemed to know what was going on, new friendships had been made between old comrades and these new folk; Parric and the Xandim being a good example. Though people tried to be kind to him, he knew that his occupancy or Anvar’s body made them very uneasy. They had known Anvar, had all been his friends and companions, could not help feeling like a stranger and an interloper, sighed. This was not turning out at all the way he had imagined it would—but maybe the magic would make all the difference. It was certainly worth a try—and in the meantime, he would make himself useful by going belowdecks to see how old Vannor was faring.

The swordsman was halfway across the deck when a new thoght struck him. He had never seen Parric since he had been aboard—in fact, he was certain that the Cavalrymaster not aboard the ship! What in the name of all the Gods become of him?

“Did you see it?” Iscalda shuddered. “Just as we were pulling out of the cavern. That hideous black shape—it was hunting down the soldiers.. ..”

“I wonder what it was,” Schiannath mused.

“Better not to know.” Iscalda pulled her cloak around her shoulders. “It looked a ghastly way to die.”

“At least Chiamh escaped that,” Schiannath said heavily.

“Poor Chiamh—he sacrificed himself to save our lives.” Iscalda leaned on the railing of Yanis’s ship, the Nighthawk, and looked back the way they had come, though there was nothing to see but dark sky and darker ocean. “Forral is talking nonsense—I saw Chiamh fall, Schiannath, I saw the soldiers hacking at him, over and over. There was no possible way the Windeye or anyone else could have survived that.”

Schiannath put his arm around her shoulders. “He was very brave,” he said quietly. “All those years our people ignored and despised him because he lacked the presence of his grandmother—yet which of them would have possessed the courage for such a deed?” He sighed. “It is a double tragedy. Chiamh should have taken a mate long ago, had he not been forced into his solitary existence by the mockery of the folk who should have respected and revered him. He had no heirs, Iscalda—his bloodline ended here, tonight, in a foreign land. The Xandim no longer have a Windeye, and never will again. It is as though, at a stroke, we have become blind and deaf to the deeper world around us.”

“Try telling them that,” Iscalda said bitterly. “They won’t care. Most of them don’t think beyond fornication and filling their bellies. That’s a deep enough world for them. Save for Chiamh and his ilk, we haven’t advanced much further than the herd animals from which we were created.”

“Some of us have,” Schiannath told her comfortingly. “At least we have learned to look to greater heights and wider horizons. And in Chiamh’s memory we’ll take the others with us—if we have to drag them every inch of the way.”

In the light of the small lantern that hung from the mast, he saw Iscalda’s eyes flash as she looked up at him sharply. “Will you go back and fight to be Herdlord again?” she asked in amazement. “After you led so many into slavery at the hands of the Phaerie, I would suggest we avoid our brethren at all costs. Why, they’ll tear us limb from limb if we try to return!”

“Would you rather live out the rest of your life as an exile?” Schiannath demanded. “Don’t you think we’ve seen enough of that?”

“I—” Iscalda’s reply was snatched from her mouth by a blast of chill air. A great, dark shape loomed over Schiannath and Iscalda, blocking the light from the lantern. They heard shouts, screams, and curses as the remaining crew and passengers scattered for cover. There was no time to draw a sword—the Xandim hurled themselves to the deck as the entity swooped down upon them.—Schiannath, protective as always, tried to throw himself in front of his sister—and had the breath knocked out of him as the creature came crashing down on top of him. When a bony and all too human elbow caught him in the face, he scarcely knew whether his eyes were watering from the impact, or he was weeping with relief. He eased himself out from beneath a thrashing wing and helped Linnet right herself, then pulled Iscalda to her feet.

The winged girl was incoherent with fright, and it took Iscalda some time to calm her, while Schiannath, mopping at a bleeding nose, kept back the curious Nightrunners who crowded around in curiosity—now they had been reassured that it was not a Death-Wraith who’d come hurtling down on their ship. Bit by bit, Iscalda coaxed Linnet’s story from her. When the fighting had started, the young girl had been sensible enough to stay well out of danger—she had flown up to the roof of the cavern and had stayed there, clinging to a portion of the rock. She had been paralyzed with shock and at the sight of the carnage that was taking place below her, and had been too terrified to leave her perch, even when the ships departed.

Only the Death-Wraith had finally had the power to move the winged girl—her refuge was no longer safe, not from this terrifying monstrosity who could fly as well as she. When the wraith had vanished into the tunnels to hunt down the soldiers, Linnet had seized her chance and swooped out of the entrance, heading out to sea, away from the appalling bits she had witnessed. Lost in the darkness as she was, she’d have perished for sure, had she not caught sight of the pinpoint twinkle of the Nighthawk’s lantern, far out across waves. In the dark, she had badly misjudged her landing, at luckily, Schiannath and Iscalda had broken her fall. Telling her story had calmed the winged girl considerably, she could look around with comprehension and with concern for her friends, seeking the comfort of familiar faces. The one face that she truly wanted to see, however, was missing. “Where’s Zanna?” she demanded fearfully of Iscalda. “Is she all right? She did escape, didn’t she?”

“Don’t worry,” Iscalda soothed. “She’s down below in the cabin, but—”

“I must see her.” Linnet leapt to her feet.

Forral stepped out of the crowd to block her way. “Not now, lass,” he said softly, taking her arm. Turning to the assembled Nightrunners, he said,

“That’s what I’ve come up to tell you all. I only wish there was some way I could soften the blow. Valand, Zanna and Tarnal’s little boy, has just died of his injuries.”

Cries of grief and dismay went up from the assembled Nightrunners. As one, the crowd stepped back from the words-man, as though to put a physical distance between themselves and such evil tidings. Valand had not only been a child of great confidence and charm, who had been greatly loved by everyone in the Nightrunner caverns—he had also been Yanis’s designated heir, their future leader. For many, it seemed the final blow. The Nightrunners were finished for good.

Hawks did not fly at night. They seldom flew over the sea. It did not occur to the hawk to wonder why he was doing both of these things right now. He only knew that something precious was being taken away from him—something so much a part of him that its absence caused a tearing feeling of pain somewhere deep within him. He only knew it was getting farther away from him with each passing minute. He only knew that he must find it—or die.

Though he could not see well in the dark, he knew the direction of that precious, missing thing he sought. He could feel it ahead of him—a warm glow like the sun beating strongly on his face. This good feeling vanished if he veered off track, even by a little. As the hawk drew nearer to his goal, he could see it ahead of him in the darkness—a light that shone, not with a visible luminescence, but with a glimmer like a single bright star within his mind.

With absolute confidence, the hawk plunged down through the darkness, landing surely on the side of a rocking boat. He could see it now—the thing that had been calling him. It was strapped to the back of that tall woman who also seemed so important to him. With a self-satisfied flip of his wings, the hawk settled down next to the Harp of Winds, and prepared to sleep until morning.

The wind grew stronger with the grey dawn and the swell on the sea increased.—Flurries of sleet came hissing across the water as the Nightrunners gathered on deck. It did not take long to consign the lost ones to the deep. Firstly, the three adults who had all succumbed to their wounds since the ship had embarked were wrapped and weighted and were slid, one by one, into the sea.—Last of all came the pitifully small body of Zanna’s child.

As Valand’s corpse slid down the tilted plank toward the water, Zanna darted forward with a wail, snatching at the blanket that wrapped him, and trying to claw him back from the hungry sea. Tarnal caught her and she fought him like a fury, trying to follow her child. In the end he was forced to pick her up body and carry her back down into the cabin, where her cries could still be heard.—All of the leaders were incapacitated by grief. Zanna and Tarnal needed time to mourn the loss of their firstborn son. Vannor was prostrated by the double losses of Dulsina and his grandson, while Yanis mourned his beloved Emmie. It soon became clear to Forral that someone would have to take charge, and while he actually knew next to nothing about ships and sailing, it looked as though no one else was volunteering. He called the demoralized Nightrunners together on deck, and discovered the heartening news that practically all of them, even the old grandmothers, knew how to sail, and that many of the younger smugglers were regular sailors on the route to the Southern Lands. He had talked the matter over with Schiannath and Iscalda, and after due consideration, they had decided that despite the risks, they must head south—and as quickly as possible. Forral was adamant that Aurian would be heading that way—and so he was going south, too, supposing he had to swim every inch of the way.—The swordsman was extremely anxious to find the Mage, and was also concerned about the whereabouts of the other ship; the first vessel that had managed to flee the cavern—not to mention the flotilla of small boats that had fled the attack, scattering out in all directions on the face of the dark ocean.—Luckily, Linnet came to the rescue. After some food and a few hours’ rest, the winged girl was feeling greatly recovered, and she volunteered to fly out, hunting back and forth across a wide stretch of ocean, to see whether she could spot any of the other ships from the air, and lead them back to the principal Nightrunner vessel.

Aurian awoke with a cramp in the leg that was tucked beneath her at an impossible angle. She felt tired, cold, and bleary, and huddled closer to Chiamh in the well of the small vessel, trying to escape the chill of the strengthening wind. For a moment she had no idea where she was, until she felt the rocking of the boat and raised her head to look over the side at a grey sky and grey sea. It all came back to her, then. She muttered an oath, wishing she could go back to sleep again and blot out the memories.

Just as she was settling down again, a series of high-pitched, staccato cries exploded in her ear, and the tip of a pointed wing poked her in the eye.—Aurian shot bolt upright, waking Chiamh; one hand clasped to her watering eye.—She gasped with delight to see the hawk. “How did you get here?” she cried.

“Chiamh, look—it must have followed us! Does that not prove it must be Anvar?”

“You know that I never needed any convincing.” The Windeye studied the hawk gravely. “The trick will be to get him back into his rightful body.”

The boat’s rocking motion had been increasing, even over the last few moments, and now, as it slid down into a trough, a double spray of water fountained over the bows, drenching Wolf and Grince. Wolf, still half-asleep, jumped up with a sharp yip of panic. He shook a silver shower from his thick grey coat and looked over the side of the boat at the miles of heaving ocean. “It’s a lot bigger than our lake at home, isn’t it?” he said in uncertain tones.

“I don’t suppose there’s anything to eat on this damned boat?” The thief came in so fast on the tail of her son’s complaint that Aurian had to smile at his ruse to distract the wolf—Grince might not have been capable of mental speech, but the growing fear was plainly manifest in the rolling of Wolf’s eyes. Then she realized that not only did they have no food on the boat—they had no water, either. And she didn’t like the look of the weather of all. There was no way a small craft like this could weather a heavy sea.

Chiamh caught her eye—and Mage and Windeye entered into an unspoken compact not to panic the two youngsters. “I’m sure we’ll find somethi—” Aurian was beginning, when Grince interrupted her. “I’m sure I remember Emmie saying that all the small boats carried water bottles for emergencies.”

Aurian realized that Grince had also made himself part of the silent agreement—not to panic Wolf. In her mind, Aurian fervently thanked the Gods.—Aloud, she said, “Well done, Grince. Why don’t you and Wolf see if you can find it?”

“All right. But then I think I ought to be trying to row.” Grince frowned at the heaving sea. “It’s getting too rough to keep drifting now—Emmie told me that when the waves get bigger, you have to keep the boat pointing into them, or you get swamped.”

Aurian nodded, looking at the thief with new respect. The lad certainly had his wits about him. Under her breath, she whispered, “Chiamh—keep Wolf occupied if you can. I’m going to try to contact Shia.”

The Windeye nodded. “When you’ve done that, I’ll ride the winds, and see how far we are from the other boats—or anywhere else, for that matter.”

Closing her eyes to focus her concentration, Aurian sent her thoughts spiraling out from the central point of the boat, far and wide across the ocean in search of her friend the cat. Initially, her searching mind met only with emptiness. Then suddenly Aurian felt another consciousness pounce upon her thoughts.

“Aurian? Is that you? Are you all right? Well, it’s about time you stopped lazing around—this wretched human of yours has been pestering the life out of me. You were asleep so long I thought you planned to hibernate!”

“Shia—it’s good to hear you! We’re in a small boat.. ..”

“Yes, you told me last night. Who is with you?”

“Wolf is here, Grince and that dog of his—and guess what? Chiamh is with me, and he’s absolutely fine. Not a scratch on him!”

“Well! That is good news!” Even though Shia was using her mental tones, the Mage was sure she could detect the undercurrent of a happy purr. “Just wait until Iscalda finds out,” the cat went on. “She had poor Chiamh dead for sure.—According to that human of yours, she saw a bunch of soldiers poke him full of holes. I don’t think I’ll mention anything until you get here. Let it be a surprise for them—after all the deaths, they need some good tidings to cheer them. Zanna lost her cub this morning.”

“Oh, Shia—no. Poor Zanna. What dreadful news!” Involuntarily, Aurian glanced in the direction of Wolf. “Shia, we have no food on board and very little water, and the boat is too small to weather a sea like this for any length of time. Do you think the Nightrunners will be able to find us?”

“As luck would have it, I do.” Shia sounded very smug. “Linnet is searching, Aurian. When she finds you, she’ll lead us to you, or you to us. All you have to do is wait.”

Aurian could have collapsed with relief. “That’s the best news I’ve had in a long time, Shia. I’ll see you soon, then.”

“I can’t wait. Then you can talk to your dratted human yourself.”

The Mage told the others the good news that rescue was imminent, then took a sip from Grince’s water bottle and settled back to wait. “While we’re waiting, do you still want to go out there and look for the ship?” she asked Chiamh.

“You do not have to so Windeye—and you, Little One, do not have to wait. I will take you.”

The boat heaved upward on a gigantic swell as a sleek grey back broke the surface of the water nearby. “Ithalasa!” Aurian cried. “It is you! But how did you know?”

The Leviathan rolled to regard her with one deep, wise little eye. “Indeed it is I—and fortunate to have reached you in time. I have swum hard and fast to reach this place. As for how I know: when you took to the sea last night, I felt the power of the Artifacts from afar. Ever since you left this world I have been watching; waiting: always knowing that you would eventually return.”

“But what are you doing here in northern waters?”

Ithalasa sighed mightily, showering the Mage and her companions with a misty veil of droplets from his blowhole. “Alas, Little One, when last I helped you, my people were displeased, just as I had feared. I have been exiled here—no, do not distress yourself needlessly, Mage. It was my decision, and it was for the best. And see—I have not been alone all this time. My mate came with me, as did my pod, my family of the seas.”

Other sleek shapes breached the surface around the boat. “I will not ask them to speak with you,” Ithalasa went on. “Let my crimes—though I do not believe them to be crimes—continue to be on my own head.”

Grince gave a squeak of fright and pulled the oars quickly back on board as the Leviathan set its head against the stern of the boat and began to push the craft effortlessly through the choppy water.

“It’s all right,” Aurian told him with a smile. “This is a friend.”

“A friend? You can call this bloody monster a friend?” Grince shook his head.

“I will say one thing, Lady. Life with you is never dull.”

Though she had not encountered the Mage, Linnet had found several other small craft: rowing boats, skiffs, and fishing cobles that had been pressed into service as escape vessels for the terrified Nightrunners. The larger boats, which were lucky enough to have sails, she led back to the Nighthawk by way of the lesser craft, which were being tossed around by the heaving sea. The little boats could then be towed back to safety by the larger, sturdier craft.—Soon the lost vessels had begun to arrive, and the wet, frozen, sick, and dispirited smugglers were being taken aboard the larger ship, and the decks became crowded with folk in various stages of discomfort and desperation.—Forral and the Xandim tried their best to find food and blankets to make folk comfortable, but were at their wits’ end to find ways of helping the cold, the hurt, and the heartsick refugees.

“This is hopeless,” the swordsman grumbled. “There just isn’t enough room. We need to rig up shelters of some kind, and we need a healer. And what in the name of perdition do those so-called Nightrunner leaders think they’re playing at? They aren’t the only ones with griefs to bear. They should be out here helping these poor folk, not skulking around in comfort belowdecks.”

Down in the cabin, Vannor scarcely heard the sounds of distress that filtered down from the decks above. He was sitting beside Zanna, who had mercifully cried herself to sleep at last, and holding her hand. He was far away from this place; lost in memories of Dulsina and wondering, with bitterness, how he had been such a blundering oaf as to miss so many good years with her.

“Dad? Dad?” Martek’s voice intruded into Vannor’s reverie. The boy, with Emmie’s white dog by his side, was standing beside Tarnal who sat slumped over the cabin’s narrow table, his head in his hands. The boy was tugging at his father’s sleeve, but Tarnal, sunk deep in exhaustion and grief, made no response.—Sympathy for the child prodded Vannor out of his introspection. Poor Martek—he had lost his brother today, and no one had any time for him. He held out his hand to the child. “What’s wrong, Martek? Come and tell your granddad. Are you hungry?”

The boy shook his head. “Granddad—when is Valand coming back?”

For an instant Vannor turned cold all over. He scooped the child up and sat him in his lap. “Valand had to go away,” he explained gently. “He died, Martek. He can’t come back.”

“But where? Why? Can’t I go too?”

A shiver went through Vannor and he hugged the boy tighter, with a fervent prayer that the Gods would not make Martek’s wish come true. “Valand had to go far away, lad, so he could look after Granny Dulsina. They went together.”

“And they can’t come back? Not ever?” Martek quavered. “That’s not fair, Granddad. I miss Valand! Why did they have to go away?”

“We all have to go at some time,” Vannor explained. “Sooner or later, we all make that journey—but not before it’s our turn. You were lucky, Martek. You got to stay here with your mother and your dad and me. I know you’ll miss your brother, but you’ll see him again one day, lad—I’m sure you will.”

“But when?”

“I don’t know.”

“Will Valand miss me?”

“Of course he will. Both of you will have to be very brave. Do you think you can?”

“Be brave like Dad?”

A small sound over at the table made Vannor look up. Tarnal was sitting up straight, and wiping his face on his sleeve. “Braver than me, I hope,” he said softly, holding out his arms to the boy.

“Nobody’s as brave as you.” Martek scrambled up onto his father’s lap. Tarnal hugged his son close and looked across at Vannor. “Thank you,” he whispered.—The white dog, finding itself ignored, began to whine. Somehow, the desolate sound made Vannor’s skin crawl uneasily. “Martek,” he said. “Why is Snowsilver in here? She’ll wake your mother.”

The boy looked down at the dog. “Oh,” he said. “I forgot. Uncle Yanis said I could have her. Can I keep her, Dad? Is it all right?”

What? Yanis giving away his wife’s beloved dog? Vannor’s feeling of unease intensified. “Martek,” he said carefully. “What did Uncle Yanis say, exactly?—And where did this happen?”

The boy frowned with the effort to remember. “He was sitting in the cargo hold. He was crying. He said would I look after Snowsilver, because he couldn’t anymore. He said he was gong to find Aunt Emmie... .”

“Seven bloody demons!” Tarnal tipped the astonished boy off his lap and ran for the door, Vannor a step ahead of him.

Once they reached the hatch, Vannor had the sense to let Tarnal go first, with the lantern. With only one hand, he wasn’t much good at climbing. Craning his neck, he peered down past the descending smuggler, into the darkness of the hold. The lantern light gleamed on a dark, wet slick that covered the floor.—Tarnal reached the bottom, jumping to one side off the bottom rung, to miss the shining area. He turned away, his mouth twisted in sickness and grief.—After a moment, he took a deep breath. “Don’t come down, Vannor. It’s too late.”

Tarnal looked up at his wife’s father, and Vannor saw an expression of grim resolution settle on his face. “It looks as though I’m the leader of the Nightrunners now—so I suppose I had better start leading.” With no further hesitation, he took hold of the ladder and began to climb out.

“Fare well, Ithalasa. I hope I’ll see you again one day.”

“Fare well, Windeye. When the time is right, we will meet again. In the meantime, take heart. Remember—all those, with the powers of magic can live long enough for many possibilities to resolve themselves. Who knows? One day you may get your wish.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, time will tell. May fortune attend you, my friend.”

I wonder what that was all about? Aurian mused, as Chiamh turned away to climb up the rope ladder to the ship.

“Curb that Magefolk curiosity, Little One—that was no affair of yours.”

Ithalasa chuckled. “Not yet, at any rate,” he added cryptically.

Aurian sighed. “I wish I could spend more time with you. We always seem to be saying goodbye,” she complained.

“Ah—but what joy in our reunions! I thank you for telling me of your plan to return the Caldron to Death, should you win it.

You give me hope. It may well be that when my people realize that you have done this responsible and selfless thing with the Artifact, they will see that I was right to trust you, and my exile will end.”

“I hope so. I wasn’t very responsible with the Staff of Earth,” Aurian replied truthfully. “And I made an awful mess of the business with the Sword.” On the voyage, she had confessed her mistakes to the Leviathan.

“That may be. But you acknowledged your errors, and did not compound them. And rest assured, even now you are making atonement. Do not let this setback cause you to falter at the last hurdle. Your instincts are good, Daughter. Only trust them, and all will be well.”

The Leviathan touched her mind gently in farewell, and swam away. His parting words echoed in the Mage’s mind long after he had vanished.

When Aurian climbed up on the Nighthawk’s deck she found Tarnal helping to settle his people. Before she even had time to utter a word of condolence, he had taken her by the arm and steered her out of earshot of the others.

“Please, Mage—can you help Zanna? I know how much she respects you, and I thought...” He broke off, his face contorting with distress. “She just sits there. Sometimes she cries, but she won’t say a word. It’s not that she isn’t brave, but Dulsina dying and then Valand, and Yanis, just this morning ...—When she was a young girl, you know, she wanted to marry him—before she met me. It’s just too many dreadful shocks all at once....”

“All right, Tarnal.” Aurian laid a comforting hand on the young man’s arm. She could tell that his concern over Zanna was one burden too many. “Don’t worry—Zanna’s a strong woman. I’ll go and talk to her.”

The cabin was in darkness, its one porthote shrouded to blot out the day. With her Mage’s vision, Aurian could see Zanna, sitting upright on the bunk, her hands clasped around her knees, staring into nowhere. The Mage said nothing.—She simply pulled up a chair and waited.

“How do you bear it?” Zanna burst out at last. “Aurian, you must understand what it’s like. You lost Forral, then Anvar. In a way, you lost your son to Miathan’s curse. What makes you keep on going?”

“When I was a young girl,” Aurian said softly, “Forral gave me the best advice of my life. When the problem seems too big, just do the first thing first.—Take that one initial step along the road, and you’ll find the rest of the steps will fall into place.”

“But I can’t see that first step. The road is dark in front of me, now.”

The Mage extended her hand, and a sphere of amber Mage-light blossomed softly above her palm, sending the shadows fleeing away from the grieving woman. “Out there on deck,” she said quietly, “your people are huddled in the wind and sleet. Some are hurt, and many are grieving just like you.. . .”

“Don’t ask me to comfort them! I have nothing to give!”

“You have your cabin, Zanna. You could let others grieve in comfort for a while, and get the wounded into warmth and shelter. You could help.”

“And drown my sorrows in good deeds?” Zanna’s voice was thick with bitterness.

“Is that all the advice you have to offer me?”

Aurian shrugged. “You asked. But let me tell you this from experience—there’s no such thing as drowning your sorrows in good deeds, good wine, or anything else. It’s just easier to Jive with them if you keep busy, instead of sitting on your backside in the dark and feeding them with every ‘if only’ you can think of. It’s a mistake I’ve made more than once, and lived to regret it, believe me. And remember—Vannor and Tarnal and especially little Martek need you right now, just as much as you need them. You can help each other—not just your own loved ones, but the whole Nightrunner family. Your first step is the hardest one, Zanna—but it’s right through that door.”

Zanna looked at the Mage, and then at the door. “All right,” she said after a moment. “I think I can go that far.”

“Where the bloody blazes are we?” Parric roared at the ship’s captain. “This can’t be the Xandim shore—we couldn’t have reached it yet. You damned idiot!—You’ve been going the wrong way!”

Jeskin tore his arm free from Parric’s angry grasp, and spat over the side. “I never said anything about going south,” he pointed out truculently. “These folk have had quite enough trouble without me dragging them off on a three or four day voyage to foreign parts. That’s Easthaven over there, mate—and that’s where I’m headed. A lot of the folk here have family and friends in the village—I’ve a niece there myself—and they’ll take us in. We’ll blend in fine, become crafters and fishers—and who’s to say we was ever Nightrunners? Not the Easthaven folk, that’s for sure. They got no truck with anything that ever came out of Nexis—and it looks to me like they got more sense than some folk I could mention.” He spat again, and glared defiantly at the thunderstruck and fuming Cavalrymaster. “If you want to go south, mate, you’ll find somebody else to take you—and I wish you luck.”

Suddenly a knife appeared in Fame’s hand and levelled itself at Jeskin’s ample belly. “Turn this bloody boat around—now!” he barked.

Jeskin looked down at the knife, his expression unaltered. “No,” he said calmly. “And if you stick that thing in me, there’ll be plenty of others here to take us in—after they’ve hanged you, of course, and thrown your body in the sea.” Turning his head he spat a third time, within an inch of Parric’s boots.

“And it’s a ship” he added, “not a boat.”

Cursing vilely, Parric put the knife away. He was beaten and he knew it. It had been pure misfortune that he had become separated from the others in the fighting and ended up on the wrong ship, and now there was absolutely nothing that he could do—except make his way back to Nexis, and deal with that bastard Pendral, the cause of all this trouble, once and for all. It wouldn’t make much of a difference to Aurian, perhaps, but it would improve the lot of the Nexians at least, and it would make him feel a whole lot better.