Dragons of a New Age

31 Against the Ogres

After bidding goodbye to the Master and the Shadow Sorcerer, who suddenly changed their minds about accompanying the group to Palanthas, Palin magically transported the adventurers and himself. Shaon led the way to the city, her footfalls light and hurried. She was spurred by the scent of sea air and the thought of being with Rig again. She kept pace with Fury, and the two of them easily left the others behind.

Blister bounced along at Palm’s side, pestering her patient companion with seemingly unending questions about all the places he’d been and what the Abyss looked and smelled like and were there very many kender there. Palin answered what he could until he was practically out of breath.

Dhamon and Feril quietly walked several yards behind; the Kagonesti was carefully carrying the spawn in the bottle, which drew curious stares and pointed fingers from passers-by, while the human bore the walnut box with the lance handle and banner inside.

“Where do we find the lance?” Dhamon asked Palin.

“It’s waiting for us here in the city. We’ll retrieve it after you’ve reported to your friends on the ship.”

Shaon reached the slip where the Anvil was anchored. Her feet slapped across the creaking boards as she closed the distance, and her hands held her skirt above her knees to keep her feet from becoming tangled in the luxurious violet fabric. “Rig!” she hollered excitedly, as she and the red wolf climbed the plank that stretched to the deck. “Rig?”

Fury sniffed the railing and threw back his head with a howl. Though half the length of the waterfront separated them from Shaon, Dhamon and the others could see her darting about the deck and hear Fury’s cries.

Dhamon whirled and thrust the walnut box into Palin’s hands. He drew his sword and rushed toward the ship. Had the creatures been here, too?

He raced down the dock and onto the ship—just as Shaon’s head disappeared below deck. “Rig?” she kept calling, her voice becoming softer the deeper she went. Dhamon added his voice, but still there was no reply.

“No one’s on board,” Palin observed, as he, Feril, and Blister approached the green carrack, bringing up the rear. The sorcerer closed his eyes, concentrating. “There hasn’t been anyone here for a few days.” Glancing over his shoulder at a knarr, a small cargo ship moored nearby, he saw an old sailor leaning on a weathered rail and caught his eyes. The sailor shook his head sadly.

Blister and Feril climbed onto the Anvil, while Palin turned back toward the old man.

“Groller’s,” Dhamon whispered, as he bent and snatched up a belaying pin and showed it to Feril. She sat the spawn jar by the mainmast, and started searching about.

“Rig!” Shaon shouted one last time as she clambered up from below. “Dhamon, he’s not here!”

Dhamon put a hand on her shoulder. “Calm down, he might be in town.” Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Fury pacing nervously, the wolf’s agitation silently undercutting his words.

“You don’t understand!” the sea barbarian insisted. “No one’s here. Not the deck hands. Not Jasper. Not Groller. Rig wouldn’t leave any ship unattended, let alone his. I know him. And there’s other things missing. My jewelry, for example.” Her eyes were wide and glistening. She glanced at the belaying pin Dhamon had found and sucked in her lower lip. “I half expected the ship to be gone, that Rig wouldn’t wait for me. I didn’t expect the ship to be here without them. Something terrible must have happened.”

“Aye, girl. Something very bad’s happened. T’were beasties.”

Palin was leading the stumbling old sailor onto the deck. “Saw ’em, I did. Nobody ’lieves me, though. Big beasties. Late at night they came.”

Shaon towered over the newcomer, and he took a step back, intimidated. He stared up at her, his rheumy blue eyes blinking over a bulbous red-veined nose.

“What are you saying?” she demanded to know.

“Beasties—I told ye.” The sailor stroked his stubble-covered chin and grinned and winked at Feril, who’d come up behind to join the sea barbarian. “Took yer men. Got lotsa men. Nobody ’lieves me, though. But I’m still here—if ye need a man.”

Shaon inhaled sharply. “You’re drunk.” His breath and clothing reeked of ale, as much as if he’d mopped up a floor of a tavern with his body.

“Aye, girl. S’why nobody ’lieves me.” He punctuated the remark with a loud burp. “But I sees’em, drunk er no. I was layin’ on the deck of The Hunter over there. Me face hangin’ over the side ’cause I’d had me a mite too much to swallow. They sailed right in, bold as ye please, an’ started haulin’ men off ships. Didn’t want me.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Shaon growled.

“Where’d they take the men?” Dhamon interjected.

“Sailed right out agin.” The old sailor swayed, and Feril stepped in to help prop him up. “Took ’em out to sea, the beasties did. Sailed ’round the point over there. Probably ate ’em. Beasties eat men, you know. They each had three heads and lotsa arms. Their feet were as big as anchors. An’ their hair was seaweed. Their eyes glowed like fire, like they came from the Abyss.”

Shaon shuddered. “I don’t believe you.” But part of her had to. The sea barbarian had seen some strange things recently—an empty village, spawn, buildings that suddenly appeared. Monsters—they were not entirely out of the realm of possibility.

“I can find out if his story is true.” Feril sat on the edge of the deck, near a section of rail with deep scratches in it. Claw marks, perhaps, the Kagonesti thought, as she reached into her bag and pulled out a lump of clay. She worked it with her fingers as she hummed, rocking back and forth. Within moments, it resembled a small boat.

She stared over the side of the ship, the still water reflecting her tattooed face. She drew her lips into a straight line and hummed louder. The magic was difficult today, the spell seemed to tease her from afar. Still, she persisted, her mind groping for the connection to the energy.

Finally, Feril’s mind located the energy and found the strength to draw out the enchantment. The water below her shimmered and rippled, and a mirror-image of the Anvil appeared. Groller was on the deck—surrounded by a foursome of ugly ogres. They quickly subdued him, then went below and kidnapped the others. The whole scene played out on the water as all of the companions watched.

“Thems what I saw,” the old man said blusteringly, waving his hand at the water. “’Cept they were big as life, the beasties were, not pictures on the water. Mean looking, too, they were, and with eight eyes each and lotsa teeth.”

Shaon gripped the rail as the water calmed and Feril returned the clay to her pouch. “They might be unharmed,” the Kagonesti offered. “They’re tough, Rig and Groller, and Jasper seems resourceful. The boats seem too small to be sea vessels. Therefore, the ogres would’ve had to land somewhere nearby. They couldn’t last long out on open water.”

“Why would these ogres be kidnapping sailors?” Blister wondered.

“Ogres keep slaves,” Palin answered. “Sailors are strong and would make good laborers. But the ogres won’t have them for long. We’ll get them back.” If they’re alive, he added to himself. He pointed to the belaying pin Dhamon still held. “Perhaps I can try some of my magic to track them down.”

The sorcerer handed the walnut box to Shaon. “Guard this with your life, as the lives of many others might depend on it,” he said. Then he took the belaying pin, held it in the palm of his right hand, and concentrated his gaze, as the others watched.

The words Palin spoke were distinct, though they were of a tongue unknown to the others on deck. As they fell from his lips, the belaying pin quavered and took on a different shape, looking like a doll-sized replicate of Groller. Beads of sweat dotted the sorcerer’s brow. His hands glistened with moisture. The words continued to spill from his lips, faster now. Then they abruptly stopped and the image of Groller became the belaying pin once again, though it had two imprints, or scars, where the doll’s eyes had been.

Palin inhaled deeply, shook his head, and hefted the pin.

“This will act as a magnet and lead us to your friend. He knelt and called to Fury. The wolf dutifully trotted over and sat patiently while Palin tugged the sash free from around his waist and looped it several times around the wolf’s neck. He stuck the belaying pin beneath the makeshift collar.

“Fury! Find them!” Palin commanded. The sorcerer watched the wolf’s gold eyes sparkle with an unusual light. Then Fury barked loudly, and took off loping down the plank. Palin rushed after him, leaving the old sailor staring mutely at him and the others while weaving precariously on the Anvil’s deck.

“Now where’s he runnin’ off to?” the old man wondered aloud. “Didn’t like me company?”

“Feril, come on!” Dhamon called.

The Kagonesti leapt to her feet. Shaon started down the plank too, but Feril caught her arm. “Someone has to stay here,” she reminded, “in case Rig and the others escape and come back. Besides, you have to guard the box.” Shaon agreed, and Feril raced after Dhamon.

“Rig wouldn’t want anything to happen to this ship,” Blister added. “Someone might steal it if nobody’s here.” The kender grimaced as her fingers closed about Shaon’s hand, and she led the sea barbarian back onto the deck. “I’ll stay here with you.”

“What about me?” the old drunk belched.

“Go home,” Shaon snapped.

He shrugged and awkwardly lumbered down the plank, muttering about yellow beasties with tentacle tails and lovely rude women who didn’t appreciate his obvious charms.

The sea barbarian fidgeted with her lace collar of her gown. It suddenly seemed tight and scratchy, uncomfortable, and her eyes had become irritated, filled with water. She’d so wanted Rig to see her like this, beautiful.

The wolf led Palin, Feril, and Dhamon beyond the city, east toward the foothills of the mountains. For hours they walked, until the day melted away and Palin’s chest began to heave from the exertion. The sorcerer was accustomed to walking up and down seemingly endless stairs in the Tower of Wayreth. But he was far from the young man who journeyed for an extended time across the country with his cousin, Steel Brightblade, and who then fought against Chaos in the Abyss. This journey was long and taxing, and his pride prevented him from staying behind or asking the others to slow their pace. He tried to ignore the tightening feelings in his chest, to concentrate on magical theories, the threat of the dragon overlords, and to think about Usha.

Feril and Dhamon seemed tireless. The Kagonesti had shortened the long skirt, and expeditiously created a ragged green dress that hung just above her knees. She apologized to Palin for ruining the gown but he shook his head and said he understood. Peril’s pace was quicker without the long folds about her legs.

Sunset found them many miles from Palanthas’s outer guard posts, sitting on the damp ground and relaxing against the massive trunk of a dead tree. Palin closed his eyes. The muscles in his legs ached, his feet throbbed, and he imagined he had blisters upon blisters on his soles. Despite his soreness and the roughness of the bark against his back, sleep quickly claimed him.

Dhamon sat next to Feril, looking sadly into her eyes. “Ogres can be awful. I’ve been in their camps before, and I know they don’t treat prisoners well. They’re malicious. Our friends might not be whole—or alive.”

“Let’s hope for the best,” she whispered. “With Palin and me, there’s magic on our side. Things might work out. They have to work out—I couldn’t bring myself to deliver any bad news to Shaon.”

The Kagonesti snuggled closer and rested her head on Dhamon’s shoulder. A gracefully pointed ear edged out between her curls and tickled his cheek. He sighed and laid his head back against the tree, quietly slipping his arm around her shoulders. I might not have much faith in magic, Feril, he mused, but I have faith in you. The two fell asleep quickly, their soft snores mingling with Palin’s.

Shortly after midnight, the wolf slipped away.

Feril followed Fury’s tracks in the morning, only slightly perturbed that the wolf hadn’t waited for them. His tracks were plain enough in the patches of mud and stretches of sandy soil. Even Palin and Dhamon could read them without much trouble.

The next nightfall found them reunited with Fury and hiding behind a low hill while spying through a gap in the rocks. The sky was cloudless, and the stars glimmered down on a disheartening scene several yards distant—a pen full of captured people.

The people milled about, their sullen faces lit by a campfire that burned nearby. An ogre with dark yellow skin and stringy green hair sat in front of the flames, turning a charred deer leg over and over and mumbling to himself.

“There must be fifty or sixty in the pen,” Feril whispered. There were so many that few had enough room to sit or lay down. She saw some sleeping on their feet, leaning against the rail. “I think I see Groller. But I only see the one ogre in front of the fire. We could easily take care of him.”

“There’s bound to be more than one,” Palin quietly returned. “They’re brutal and strong but they never travel alone.” He craned his neck above the rise, risking being spotted. “Over there. I count eight figures against the far hill I’m not sure they’re ogres, they look less bulky. They might be humans. There’s a tent nearby, and there’s probably more inside it. Getting your friends out isn’t going to be easy.” The sorcerer drew back and looked thoughtfully at his traveling companions.

“I want everybody freed,” Dhamon whispered, “not just our friends. I’ll go around to the other side, see if I can slip into the tent and deal with any ogres there.”

“I think I can sneak into the camp and make sure Rig, Groller, and Jasper are in the pen,” Feril whispered.

“Be careful,” Dhamon cautioned.

She nodded and offered him a slight smile, then she slipped away.

“I’ll try to hold the ogres outside at bay,” Palin said.

“You don’t have a weapon,” Dhamon warned.

“I don’t need one,” Palin replied. He mentally rehearsed a series of enchantments, trying to select which one would be the most appropriate.

Fury followed Dhamon’s retreating form, but the Kagonesti continued to stalk forward. A dozen different scents assailed her. The stench of the captives, their sweat and fear, the rankness of the ogres who apparently went months without bathing. There was a dung pile nearby, and as she darted behind it, the ogre at the campfire looked up and sniffed. He grunted, then he eyed his blackened deer meat and fell to devouring it. Feril edged forward.

She passed by a mound of discarded antelope and deer carcasses. The wind shifted, and she nearly gagged on the scent of rotting flesh that still clung to the animals’ bones. She also picked up the strong odor of mead. The ogres were drinking, at least some of them. Perhaps they’d imbibed enough to dull their senses and make our job easier, she thought.

The Kagonesti hurried toward the pen, crossing an open area. Her heart raced as she saw the eight figures Palin had spotted. They were most definitely not ogres. There were two Dark Knights and six manlike creatures who were quite tall.

Their thick hair hung in twisted locks and was decorated with feathers. Their long-limbed, muscular bodies were treaked with blue paint.

She also saw a group of ogres, a little more than a dozen, leaning against an embankment and chewing on haunches of animal flesh. Palin couldn’t have counted them. They were behind the tent Dhamon was heading toward. He’d see them, of course, but there were simply too many to handle. She hoped he wouldn’t try anything foolhardy. She reached the pen, rolled under a low rail, and quickly lost herself in the crowd.

“Feril!” The hushed voice was Jasper’s. His stubby hands tugged at her dress. “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you,” she replied. “Is Rig alive?”

The dwarf nodded toward the center of the pen. Groller stood next to Rig, who towered above most of the people. The big mariner grabbed her shoulders and positioned his body to help hide her from the ogre who’d just finished his meal and was sauntering toward the pen. The other prisoners pressed in closer, curious about the newcomer.

“No!” Rig spat. “Keep back. The ogre will figure out something’s wrong.” The big mariner’s fierce look and Groller’s stance forced half of the other prisoners away. “Where’s Shaon?”

“On the ship,” Feril quickly explained. “Someone had to stay behind and look after the Anvil. But Dhamon’s here. So is Palin Majere.”

“Who?”

A boom rocked the campsite, a thunderous noise that jarred everyone and brought gasps to the lips of most prisoners. The odor of charred flesh filled the air to such an extent that it made Feril’s eyes water.

“That would be Palin’s doing,” she whispered. “He’s a sorcerer. Come on, we’re all getting out of here.” She rushed toward the railing and hesitated when she spotted a gaping hole in the center of the campsite—where the eight figures had been. A curl of smoke drifted upward. The lone ogre that had been approaching the pen also stared at the crater. The slack-jawed ogre was taken by surprise when the prisoners broke through the railing and quickly trampled over him.

The dozen ogres left alive were running toward her and the escaping mob. A Dark Knight was still alive, too, and was barking orders—a few of which Feril could make out. “Don’t kill them! Grab them!” he yelled.

Fury was racing toward the lead ogre, snapping and growling. The wolf pushed off against the ground and flew upward, striking the ogre’s chest and throwing him on his back.

Through a gap in the ugly yellow bodies, Feril saw Dhamon. He was surrounded by ogres.

“Toward the rocks!” Feril directed the fleeing prisoners. She gestured wildly at the gray-haired sorcerer who was standing ahead on a flat, tablelike stone. His hands were a flutter of movement, his fingers a blur as he weaved a pattern of pale yellow light in the air. “Hurry!” she cried in encouragement. Then she whirled on her heels to face the charging ogres. Rig was right next to her.

“They stashed our weapons in the tent!” he growled. “We’ll be cut down without them!” With that, he dashed toward the charging ogres, barely managing to evade them and slip inside the tent.

Feril reached into her pouch and ran her fingers across an assortment of objects. She selected a polished pebble and held it out as she started to sing. A trio of ogres headed her way, and she quickened her song. The remainder of the ogres had peeled off to pursue the prisoners.

“Come on, Feril,” she heard Jasper urge behind her. But she ignored him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Groller dashing forward. He’d grabbed a piece of the railing to use as a club. He met the charge of the largest ogre, and slammed the makeshift club into its ugly yellow stomach. The ogre doubled over, and Groller swung again, this time hitting the brute on the back of the head and knocking him to the earth.

Feril’s song was heard above the pounding of feet. It was an old elvish tune about the woods and the land. The breeze stopped as the song crescendoed, and then the last note died away. She hurled the pebble at the two ogres still running her way. As the rock spun toward them, it glowed and enlarged—first to the size of a man’s fist, then bigger still. It struck the smaller of the two in the chest. Caught by surprise, he lost his footing and fell backward. Groller was on him in a heartbeat, driving the club into his skull.

The third ogre sprung on the Kagonesti. His filthy claws closed about her waist and dug in as he forced her to the ground. The nails cut through her dress and raked her sides. Then all of a sudden he stiffened, his grip relaxed and he fell forward with a groan, his great weight pinning her. The foulness of his breath made her gasp. Blood trickled from his mouth and onto her cheek. She rolled out from underneath him to see Jasper standing there, his stubby fingers bloody, and a grim look on his face. A wooden stake protruded from the ogre’s back.

She leapt to her feet, surveying the scene. Groller was swinging his club in a wide circle, keeping a quartet of ogres at a distance. Another four were closing on the escaping prisoners. As she watched, bright shards of light flew from Palin’s fingertips and struck the creatures, buying time for the prisoners to race to the safety of the rocks. The ogres pitched forward, almost in unison, grabbing their glowing stomachs and howling in agony.

The largest of the lot, the one she guessed to be the leader, writhed and cursed as Fury continued to grapple with him. But the wolf seemed in little danger.

She cast her gaze back to the tent and started off in that direction, the pounding footfalls of Jasper behind her. Dhamon, his shirt crimson with blood, had his back to the tent and was swinging his sword in a high arc over his head. Five ogres pressed toward him, cursing and growling. He pulled the blade hard to his right, just as one of the ogres darted in. Then he lunged forward. The sword connected with the creature’s neck and cut through the tough muscle and bone. Blood spurted in the air, and the decapitated brute fell to his knees before pitching forward.

The remaining ogres hesitated, and Dhamon used the moment to his advantage. He pressed forward, jabbing his sword like a spear, and pushing it through the belly of one of the brutes. The blade sank all the way in and protruded from the ogre’s back as Dhamon brought his leg up to shove the beast away and free his sword. The ogre toppled over, nearly in the path of the mariner, who was emerging from the tent.

Two ogres remained focused on Dhamon, but the third turned its attention to Rig. It glowered at the mariner and charged the big man, growling and dripping foul-smelling saliva. Rig was ready. A dagger was gripped in his left hand, and his rapier was balanced in his right. “I’m not a sleeping target now,” the mariner taunted. “You won’t find me such an easy mark.”

The ogre barreled in, and Rig slashed at him. His blade slid into the creature’s throat, but it kept coming, its long arms reaching out for him, and its claws raking his chest. Simultaneously, the mariner plunged his blade into the beast’s side, withdrew it, and thrust again. The ogre fell, taking the mariner down with him. Rig cursed and pushed the dying creature off him before lumbering to his feet.

Dhamon’s eyes were blazing and locked onto the larger of the two creatures still hounding him. He feinted to his right, dropped to his knees, and slashed his sword forward and up, cleaving an appendage off of the large ogre. The beast howled and pulled the bloody stump against its chest as its fellow ogres surged forward, angry and spitting. Dhamon’s sword slashed again into the smaller ogre’s leg, cutting through the dirty yellow flesh and exposing bone. But the ogre ignored its wound and lunged forward, slamming its shaggy shoulder into Dhamon’s chest and knocking him back into the tent. The old canvas billowed around them, sagged and groaned, spilling human and ogre to the ground.

A Dark Knight crawled out of the sagging tent’s collapsed entry. “Incompetent beasts!” he shouted. The larger ogre with the severed hand took a few steps back, apprehensively watching the man.

“Kill them!” commanded the Knight, gesturing toward the three companions who were fast approaching.

“Run or die!” Rig shouted, rushing forward.

Confused, the beast froze for a moment. But when Jasper snarled and stepped forward with a makeshift club, the ogre turned and stumbled off into the darkness, still moaning and holding its bloody stump. When the three turned their attention to the Dark Knight, they found he had disappeared.

Rig and Feril ran to the collapsed tent, furiously pulling at the canvas. A bloody yellow claw reached up to strike a blow, but Rig managed to grab the ogre’s arm. As the mariner struggled with it, he felt the thing shudder. Its muscles bunched, then relaxed. Rig released the arm and stepped back as Dhamon crawled out of the canvas.

Feril was at his side in an instant, helping him up. “So much blood,” she said in an awed voice.

“It’s not mine.” He sheathed his sword and tore the silk shirt from his back. Feril breathed a sigh of relief to realize that he wasn’t badly injured.

“Thanks for the rescue,” Rig said.

Dhamon nodded an acknowledgment, then his eyes widened as he took in all of the carnage. Groller had taken out four ogres singlehandedly with his club, and now was plodding toward another group that was struggling to their feet—the ogres Palin had momentarily downed with his magical shards of light. Fury stood on the chest of the largest ogre, blood dripping from his fangs. He cast his head to the sky and emitted a howl.

Dhamon slipped past the mariner and Feril and he rushed toward Groller. Jasper followed. Groller charged one of the four remaining ogres, abandoning his club and leaping on the brute’s back. The pair rolled over and over, dust flying, and the commotion drew the attention of the other three. Leaderless, they were confused. Outnumbered, they were frightened.

Dhamon waved his sword in the air. “Surrender!” he called to the few still standing. “If you value your lives, yield now!”

A cracking noise echoed through the campsite. Groller had snapped the neck of his foe and now was rising to his feet.

“We give,” one of the ogres said. “No kill us. We give.”

Jasper stepped forward. “Why’d you kidnap us?” The angry dwarf shook his small fist at them.

The ogres stared dumbly at their ruined campsite, their fallen comrades. “For the Dark Knights,” the spokesman said finally. “The dragon wanted people.”

Dhamon strode up to the ogre, flashing his sword. The light from the still-blazing campfire caught the blade and made it gleam threateningly. “The Blue?”

The ogre looked to its brethren and then up at the sky. “Don’t know.”

That was answer enough for Dhamon. “Where’s Skie?”

“Don’t know. Don’t want to know. Somewhere in the desert, but don’t know where. Muglor know. But Muglor dead.” The ogre glanced toward Fury, who was pawing over the large, dead ogre. “That Muglor.”

Dhamon sighed. “Why’d Skie want these particular men?”

The ogres looked at each other and shook their heads dumbly.

“Then for what?” Dhamon persisted. “You don’t kidnap people for no reason.”

“Don’t know,” one ogre stammered. “Muglor said the Blue wants more spawn things.”

“Spawn?”

“Don’t know!” shouted the original spokesman.

Jasper tugged on Dhamon’s sword belt. “You got any idea what spawn is?”

“We’ll tell you later,” Feril said. She and Rig had come up behind them.

“Get out of here!” Dhamon screamed at the ogres. “Before I change my mind and decide to finish off each and every one of you anyway.”

The ogres turned and ran, too frightened to look back.

Meanwhile, Palin had climbed down from the large, flat rock. His face was flushed, his breathing labored. The few spells he’d cast were potent and took quite a bit of energy out of him. “Let’s get out of here,” the sorcerer said softly. He turned and headed toward the men who waited among the rocks. Dhamon was the only one who lingered, praying briefly over the bodies of those who had died.

They traveled only a few miles, just far enough to put some distance between them and the camp. There were nearly six dozen freed prisoners. Only half of the men were sailors who had been taken from ships in the Palanthas harbor. The rest were farmers, traveling merchants, and visitors to the city—all who had been attacked before they reached the city gates.

They were ravenously hungry, and Feril, who had been healed by a spell from Jasper, had all she could do to scrounge up enough food to take the edge off their hunger. Dhamon occupied himself talking to Palin about the dragons and spawn, and what their next step ought to be in combating the menace.

The sorcerer rubbed his chin. A short, though uneven, beard had sprouted from his face, making him look almost distinguished. “We’ll assemble the lance and talk with Goldmoon before we decide on a course of action. I trust her counsel, but I suspect the decision will be to go after the Blue that’s nearby.”

Across their makeshift camp, Rig was rubbing the Kagonesti’s shoulders. “I thought I was done for,” the mariner admitted. “It’s funny. I can remember only one other time in my life when I really feared for myself...”

Feril turned her head and glanced up, her eyes encouraging him to continue.

“Shaon and I once sailed on a ship called the Sanguine Lady in the Blood Sea. There’d been a mutiny. It was supposed to be bloodless, and I was designated the new first mate. I had a lot of respect for the captain, and I thought the others did, too. We agreed to set him ashore with a few coins and enough food to last him until another ship came by. I myself went in the longboat with the captain and a handful of others.

After we landed, I watched as the others fell on him, cutting and beating him until long after he was dead. I couldn’t do anything—not unless I wanted to die with him. We rowed back to the boat in silence, I never told Shaon what really happened. And the next time the Lady made port, I grabbed Shaon and we disappeared. We kept low for a while, and I’m sure she was curious why. But she knew better than to press me. Eventually we found our way to New Ports.”

“You must really care about her,” Feril said. “It’s obvious she cares for you.”

The mariner’s hands lingered on Feril’s shoulders. “We’re good friends,” he said.

Dhamon was looking for the Kagonesti and spotted her across the camp. Rig was hovering closely, touching Feril. Dhamon felt a surge of jealousy. He’d thought Feril had been showing interest in him. She’d only been teasing, he decided. Dhamon balled his hands into fists, but didn’t budge from Palin’s side, where their discussion continued.