The Binding Stone

CHAPTER 7

Yrlag lay along the south bank of the Grithic River, a deep, cold waterway that marked the border between the Eldeen Reaches and the Shadow Marches. In actual truth, there was little to distinguish one region from the other-low, harsh scrubland rolled across either side of the Grithic, wild and ungoverned. The only reason that Yrlag existed at all was trade. The wilds of the Eldeen, the uplands of the Shadow Marches, and even the barrens of Droaam came together along the Grithic. The river was the gateway to Crescent Bay and the sea coast. With no other cities easily accessible, traders and outlaws of every race and morality passed through the town, exchanging the goods of the wilderness hinterlands for the luxuries of the wider world.

Geth had seen a lot of tough towns in the years he had served with the Blademarks of House Deneith. He had seen more in the years between Narath and his return to the Eldeen. Almost none were as tough and dangerous as Yrlag. Dandra, Singe, and he rode across the decrepit bridge that spanned the Grithic in the company of a mixed band of mangy gnolls and smelly humans. Bandits without a doubt. Dandra stared at them. Singe kept one eye on them. Geth rode in relaxed calm. The band looked like they were returning from whatever raid had taken them into the Eldeen. They were in a good mood and on their way into Yrlag to sell their stolen plunder. There was nothing to fear from them at the moment.

When Singe wasn’t keeping watch on the bandits, he was staring at the bridge beneath them. About halfway across its span, with the din and stench of Yrlag growing in their ears and noses, he guided his horse close to the low rail at the edge of the bridge and peered over. When he straightened, he glanced at Geth.

“The footings on this bridge are massive,” he said in wonder. “They look much older than the road surface, but they’re in better condition.”

“They are older,” Geth said. “Adolan-” He grimaced. The druid’s name lay across his tongue like the collar of black stones lay around his neck. “Adolan told me once that Yrlag is built on the ruins of a hobgoblin town from the time when the Dhakaani Empire spread across the whole south of Khorvaire. Yrlag was its westernmost outpost. New bridges have been built on top of the old hobgoblin footings ever since.”

He turned away from the Aundairian and slouched down in his saddle. A week’s travel had taught both Singe and Dandra when he wanted to be left alone. If the footings of the bridge still interested Singe, he kept his curiosity to himself. Geth forced his mind into the unthinking blankness that had become more of a companion to him in the last week than either the wizard or the kalashtar.

There had been too much time to think on the journey to Yrlag. None of the trio had felt much like talking. Geth almost wished that the Bonetree hunters had caught them-simple, mindless fighting would have been good-but there had been no sign of pursuit. Every night after Singe had cast the spell that created a simple, featureless black dome to give them shelter, Geth had backtracked along their trail, setting snares to catch the next day’s food and watching the darkness. When he rose in the morning to collect his catch, he watched the empty landscape. By dark or by day, there was nothing to see. The Bonetree clan might almost have given up their hunt-but his gut told him they hadn’t.

An old central street ran through Yrlag from the great bridge down to the deep pool cut into riverbank that served as a waterfront. Geth suspected that the pool, like the bridge, had been created by the ancient hobgoblins, an enhancement to the already deep riverbed. As they came off the bridge, he scanned the makeshift booths and stalls that lined the street, pulling the bundle that contained his great gauntlet from the back of his saddle and holding it protectively. Yrlag pickpockets would steal anything they could get their hands on.

In a niche between two booths, a tall figure draped in a badly fitting cloak caught his eye. From under the hood of the cloak, a woman’s lean face stared back at him, framed by dark gold hair woven with beads and pierced through the lower lips with two small hoops.

Geth twisted around so sharply in his saddle that his horse whinnied and pranced in alarm. Singe cursed and reached out to grab the animal’s bridle, bringing it back under control. “Geth! Watch what you’re doing!”

“Singe, it’s the Bonetree hunters! I saw one of them!”

Geth spun back to stare at the niche-and saw only a ragged old cloak hanging from a knotted post and shifting in the breeze. Geth blinked and rubbed his eyes. Singe followed his gaze and raised an eyebrow.

“I saw her!” Geth insisted. “The big woman.” He dredged up the name the old hunter had called out during the fight at the Bull Hole. “Her name is Ashi.”

Singe pressed his lips together. “The hunters couldn’t have passed us, Geth. We would have seen some sign. We’re well ahead of them. Come on. We need to find a ship and you need to rest.”

The wizard released Geth’s horse and urged his own through the crowd. Geth stole one last look at the hanging cloak, then glanced at Dandra. She shrugged and turned her mount after Singe. Even after a week’s riding, it was clear that she wasn’t comfortable on a horse.

After a moment, Geth followed as well. He kept his eyes open as they rode, though, scanning the shifting crowd. Maybe Singe had been right, he thought. How could the hunters have moved quickly enough to pass them? He probably had made a mistake. Still, he couldn’t shake feeling that he had recognized Ashi.

Ahead, both Singe and Dandra reined in sharply. “Twelve moons!” Singe gasped. “I was hoping to find a fast ship, but this is Olladra’s own luck!”

Geth looked up. Docked in the nearest berth was a sleek ship easily eighty paces in length. She sat low in the water with the weight of her cargo but still looked like she could outpace anything else on Yrlag’s waterfront. Deep blue paint shot through with bright yellow trim ran around her hull in a wide band below her rails and the name painted proudly on her bow was Lightning on Water.

The ship had, however, no masts and no sails. Instead, massive wooden beams reached out from its stern to clutch a pale blue ring of enormous diameter that hung above and behind the ship’s hull. Geth stared at it, then squinted. There was a strangely translucent quality to the ring. He couldn’t tell if it was carved from wood or forged from metal-or maybe even cast from some heavy glass.

“What kind of ship is that?” he asked in amazement.

“It’s a House Lyrandar elemental galleon,” said Dandra. “I watched them docking in Sharn. Il-Yannah, I wouldn’t have expected to find one here!”

“They’ll go wherever there’s a profit to be made,” Singe said. He bit his lip. “There’s nothing faster on the water, but-”

“But-?” asked a salt-hoarse voice. “But nothing! I’ll bet you a silver ring there’s not a ship west of Sharn that’s faster than Lightning!”

Geth twisted in his saddle and glared at a slim, fair-haired man standing with a sheaf of papers in his hand beside a stack of barrels. The man gave him a sharp smile. “Nervous?” he asked. “I’ve noticed Yrlag tends to do that to be people.”

The man wore a dove-gray coat with long tails and upturned cuffs. His voice carried, like Singe’s, the accent of Aundair. His hair was long and drawn back, exposing the graceful tapering points of his ears and a bright, swirling pattern that spread up the back of his neck. The man was a half-elf-and carried a dragonmark. Geth took a second look at his coat. The man’s smile grew a little wider. “Looking for these, my shifter friend?” He held up his cuff so that bright silver buttons flashed in the sunlight. Barely visible on each one was the kraken crest of House Lyrandar.

Singe slipped down from his horse and stepped up to offer the half-elf his hand. “A common sailor doesn’t check manifests, the average clerk in my experience doesn’t dress so well, and neither generally carries a dragonmark. I’ll make a guess that you’re the captain of this fine ship.”

The half-elf took Singe’s hand in hearty grip. “Captain Vennet d’Lyrandar, friend.” Bright eyes flashed at each of them. “And in my experience, the average traveler doesn’t stand on piers gawking at ships for the fun of it.” He glanced back to Singe. “Looking for passage?”

“Yes,” said Geth. He climbed down and joined Singe. The Aundairian shot him a dark look, but Geth ignored him. Crossing his arms over his chest, he told Vennet, “We need passage to Zarash’ak.”

“My own destination! Five days to the City of Stilts.” Vennet swept his hand grandly across the length of his ship. “As I say, fastest ship west of Sharn. And loaded to the rails-but you’re lucky. My passenger cabins are full, but if you don’t mind staking out a corner of the forward hold, there’s room for the three of you.” His eyes traveled over their horses. “No room for the beasts, unfortunately, but I can recommend an honest stable master who would be happy to buy them from you.”

Geth grunted. He gave the smiling captain his hardest bartering look. “He’d better be honest. Those animals are the price of our passage.”

Singe let out a quiet groan. Vennet’s smile didn’t even waver. “They must be very special horses, then,” he said. “Passage to Zarash’ak is one thousand gold.”

Blood rushed to Geth’s face. “One thousand-!”

“It’s a long way to Zarash’ak.”

Geth took a step forward, but Singe grabbed him sharply, spinning him around and pulling him away from Vennet. “Close your mouth before you make this worse!” he hissed.

Dandra was off her horse as well now and at their side. “That’s more than these horses are worth, isn’t it?” she whispered. Geth gave an angry nod. “Light of il-Yannah.” She looked down the length of the pier at the other ships they had passed. “None of these look like they’ll be leaving soon. And the longer we wait, the better the chance the Bonetree hunters will catch up to us!”

Singe’s lips twitched. “Leave this to me.” He turned back to Vennet. “Captain, we’re happy to pay appropriately for the speed and convenience of an elemental galleon,” he said pleasantly, “but you are asking us to travel as freight. Perhaps a reduced rate?”

“Freight doesn’t get up and move around the ship. It doesn’t eat.”

“Empty space is even less trouble than freight,” Singe commented with a smile. “But it’s a shame to see a ship sail without a full hold.”

Vennet shrugged. “Room to pick something up along the way.”

“Where?” asked Singe. “There isn’t another port bigger than a fishing village between here and Zarash’ak.” He ran a hand along the top of one of the piled barrels and said, “Five hundred.” Vennet’s eyebrows rose.

“You’d pay five hundred for deck space on any one of these tubs!” he snapped, jerking his head along the pier. “And you’d take two weeks to make the trip, eating salt pork the whole way.”

“House Lyrandar eats better?”

“Take passage on Lightning and you’ll eat at my table!” spat Vennet

“Six hundred.”

“Eight hundred.”

“Done.” Singe stuck out his hand. Vennet clasped it heartily. Geth flinched. “Singe, we can’t pay that!”

“No, we couldn’t pay a thousand. For passage from Yrlag to Zarash’ak on a Lyrandar elemental galleon, eight hundred is a bargain.” He nodded to Vennet. “Especially with dinner at the captain’s table thrown in.”

The half-elf’s eyes narrowed. “You’re shrewd, friend.”

“I did a turn as quartermaster for a Blademarks company.” As Vennet’s eyes widened again in surprise, Singe opened his vest and slid his fingers into an almost invisible pocket. They emerged with a flat case no larger than his hand. He flipped it open and extracted a folded paper. “We’ll pay you the price that our horses fetch up front and any remainder from that when we reach Zarash’ak.”

Vennet stared at the paper. Geth craned his neck to see what it was. He caught a glimpse of the crest of the Blademarks-over-lapped with the crest of the dwarven bankers of House Kundarak. A complex mark of authentication shimmered in magical colors at the bottom of the paper. Geth’s eyes went almost as wide as Vennet’s. The paper was a Deneith letter of credit, allowing the bearer to draw on the resources of the great house. Generally such things were given to Blademarks recruiters to allow them to draw pay for new recruits. By using it to buy even a portion of the cost of transport on a Lyrandar galleon, Singe would be risking the ire of the lords of Deneith.

Then again, he realized, the wizard probably had enough to explain to the lords of Deneith already.

Singe gave Vennet a level look over top of the letter. “I presume there’s a Kundarak bank in Zarash’ak.”

The captain nodded, barely glancing up from the document. “Storm at dawn, a small one, but big enough for this. You should have said you were in the employ of another House!”

“You would have charged me more.”

“True enough.” Vennet looked up again. “Do you have identification proving you’re authorized to use this?”

Singe flipped the flat case around and passed it to Vennet. There were stiff papers clipped to the inside of it. Geth watch the captain study the writing on them-and saw his eyes widen slightly once again. He handed the letter and the case back to Singe. “That’s in order, then.” He gave the wizard a glance of curiosity. “Etan Bayard. There’s a family named Bayard with large vineyard estates near Fairhaven-”

“No relation,” said Singe briskly as he returned letter to case and tucked both away securely. “Call me Singe.”

He gestured to Geth and Dandra, introducing them as well. If Vennet was surprised by either the shifter or the exotic kalashtar, he gave no indication of it. “You’d best see to selling those horses,” he told them. “We’re almost loaded. The Grithic is a tidal river-we’ll sail for the ocean as soon as the tide is full. There’s a woman named Kirla who runs a stable on Madder Street. Mention my name and she won’t cheat you too badly.”

Singe kept aside a portion of coin from the sale of the horses and they made hasty visits to several shops for supplies, gear, and clean clothes to supplement what little they had ridden away with from Bull Hollow. They made it back to Lightning on Water with only a little time to spare. Vennet was pacing the deck and looking annoyed.

“Took your time, didn’t you?” he said, looking at the small packs that each of them now carried.

Geth growled and tossed a heavy pouch filled with trade strips at him. Vennet’s smile returned quickly enough as he weighed it in his hand, then gestured to a hatch near the bow of the ship. “Stow your gear. You can join the other passengers on deck or stay below when we take speed-it’s your choice.” His smile rose a little. “Welcome aboard.”

He turned away, calling orders out to the ship’s crew. The gangplank that Geth, Singe, and Dandra had just climbed was pulled up; massive ropes were loosened from the pier and drawn aboard. The ship lurched, caught by the river’s current, as the three made their way forward. Geth stumbled and growled.

Singe raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“No,” Geth spat, steadying himself.

“It’s occurred to me,” commented the wizard, “that I don’t think I’ve ever seen a shifter on a ship before.”

“I only need to get used to it.” Geth staggered slightly, arms out and legs flexing to maintain his balance. Over the rail, Yrlag began to slip away as Lightning moved out into the river, escorted by smaller boats. “What did Vennet mean by ‘taking speed?’”

“You’ve never been on an elemental galleon before?” asked Singe.

“I hadn’t even seen one before today!”

Singe pressed his lips together as if he was trying to keep from smirking. “You’ll enjoy this.”

Geth snarled at him.

Stairs so steep they were almost a ladder led down into the forward hold. As Vennet had suggested, the ship was almost entirely full-there would be just enough open room, Geth guessed, to spread out the bedrolls they had purchased. He rolled his eyes, though, at the piles of slowly creaking crates and barrels that surrounded them. When Singe led the way back up onto the deck, Geth scrambled up hard on his heels.

It was easy enough to spot the other passengers: they were the only ones standing talking as the crew hustled around the deck. There were half a dozen of them, most merchants by their dress and manner. One man, however, stood out from the others-quite literally. An older half-orc, he was taller than Singe and easily as broad as Geth, with coarse features, stunted tusks, and a grayish cast to his skin. He was also the best dressed of any of the passengers, wearing a fine coat of red silk drawn over a charcoal-gray tunic, and he carried himself with strength and confidence in spite of his age. He was the first to notice their approach and broke off from talking with a thin, hunched man who reminded Geth of a quill pen to greet them.

“Friends!” he called in a booming voice. “Join us! This is Pandon-” He gestured to the hunched man, then spread his arms wide. “-and I’m Natrac.”

“Singe, Geth, and Dandra,” replied Singe smoothly. “A pleasure.”

Natrac reached out to shake hands with all of them, his massive palm making even Geth’s hand look small. A ring with a gaudy red stone too large to be real glittered on one finger. “The pleasure is mine. It’s good to see new passengers come on deck for the start of Lightning’s run.” He slapped Pandon on the back. “I had to drag Pandon here out of his cabin.”

The watery smile on Pandon’s face made it clear that he wished he was still there. Geth looked out at the banks of the Grithic. They were moving past them at a fast pace already, though he wasn’t quite certain how. Yrlag was already a smudge of smoke against the sky upstream. “This seems like a good start,” the shifter commented.

Natrac blinked in surprise, but Singe leaned forward and murmured to him. The half-orc’s eyes went wide and he gaped, “He’s never even seen an elemental galleon before?” He looked down at Geth in disbelief. “Balinor’s stewpot, this isn’t fast! Our captain isn’t drawing on more than a whisper of his mark’s power yet.”

He nodded toward the stern of the ship. Standing on the aft deck before the massive bluish ring, framed by the great beams that supported it, Vennet gripped the handles of a big, ornate wheel and continued to shout out orders. The breeze caught at the twin tails of his hair and his jacket, tugging with playful familiarity at both.

There seemed to be mist streaming off the ring like the condensation of warm breath blown around an icicle in winter. As Geth stared, Singe slapped him on the back. “That ring’s an air elemental-just like the earth elemental Adolan summoned out of the Bull Hole, but bound to the ship. Vennet is controlling it through his dragonmark. It will blow us all the way to Zarash’ak!”

Geth glanced back to the passing banks. “How fast will we go?” he asked.

Natrac’s grin broadened. “Wait and see! It will be a while yet before the river opens up and Vennet can take speed. There aren’t many rivers capable of running an elemental galleon at all. Even on the Grithic we need to be closer to the open ocean.”

“It sounds like you’ve made this trip before,” Dandra said.

“Twice a year at least,” said Natrac. “From Zarash’ak to Yrlag and back.”

The kalashtar looked alarmed. “That must cost you a lot.”

“Hardly anything, really. It’s the price of business.”

“And what business is that?” asked Singe.

“Opportunity, my friend,” Natrac answered. He swept his arms wide again, gesturing to the land around them. “There are always young-and not so young-men and women in these parts who want to leave the backcountry to seek their fortunes in the wider world, but don’t have the means to do so. They agree to enter my service for a time and in return, I provide them with transportation and a livelihood in Zarash’ak.”

“Young people from the wilds looking for adventure,” Singe said. He leaned back against the ship’s rail and gave Geth a blunt stare. “That sounds familiar. Do most of them adjust or do they just end up causing trouble?”

Geth fought back the growl that grew in his throat. Dandra was glancing between him and Singe. Even quiet Pandon noticed something was up. Natrac, however, carried on. “Some do cause trouble,” he confessed. “Most adjust well enough, though-eventually.” He rapped the ship’s rail. “That’s the value of taking passage on an elemental galleon. I used to book passage on ordinary ships, but you can imagine the effect of keeping ten or so strapping, half-wild savages on board a ship for two weeks or more. I saved on transportation, but the cost of damages was ruinous. On Vennet’s ship, the trip takes less than half the time and I simply increase the period of my clients’ service to cover the cost.” He clapped his hands. “Happiness all around.”

Singe nodded. “Aren’t you worried about offending House Deneith?” he asked nonchalantly. “I’ve heard that the Blademarks Guild sometimes recruits in the Eldeen Reaches.”

Natrac chuckled. “They never come this far and I’d be nothing to them even if they did. To be safe though, I never hire my people out as mercenaries. Porters in Zarash’ak, guides in the Marches, gladiators in Sharn if they have a knack for it-but mercenaries? No.” He tapped a finger against the side of his nose and winked at Singe. “Not that I’ve ever turned anyone away if they’re a tough fighter. There’s always more that want to go than I can take in a trip. Just before we boarded, one of my clients broke another’s jaw so she could take his place on the ship! If you need to hire a porter with a strong fist while you’re in Zarash’ak, ask me.”

“I’ll do that,” said Singe with a smile. His eyes scanned the deck. “Where are these fine porters anyway?”

“As much as I like to see other passengers come on deck to enjoy the view, my clients stay below deck in the aft hold except when necessary.” He folded his hands across his stomach. “Part of my arrangement with Vennet. My clients can be a little … rough around the edges.”

“That’s often the way with backcountry types, isn’t it?” agreed Singe. He turned around to look out over the river, deliberately putting his back to Geth. The shifter’s hands curled into fists. Dandra frowned, however, and put a hand on his arm.

“Don’t,” she urged him.

Geth shrugged her off and stalked over to the far side of the deck.

Beyond the Grithic’s northern bank-now a long bowshot away, even from Lightning on Water’s position in the center of the river-the land rose into the rolling, barren hills they had descended only that morning. Beyond the hills lay the great forests of the Eldeen. Fourteen years ago, he hadn’t been able to put those forests behind him quickly enough.

Seven years later, he’d promised himself he’d never leave them again. How many of Natrac’s clients below deck, Geth wondered, were wishing for some last glimpse of their own homeland? How many would eventually find their way back to Yrlag?

He stared at the hills as the river gradually widened and the smell of the land faded away, replaced by the growing salt-tang of the sea. The harsh croaking of gulls echoed across the water. It reminded Geth of Breek’s familiar squawk-lost along with Adolan. He closed his eyes, shutting out the last sight of the distant Eldeen.

A sudden shout from Vennet drew his attention back to the ship. “All hands, prepare to take speed!”

Geth raised his head as, around the ship, the crew called back to the captain. A murmur of anticipation rose from the other passengers.

It was drowned out by another cry. “All clear, captain!”

“Taking speed!” Vennet cried out. “Taking speed!”

From where he stood, Geth saw the captain take a firm grip on the wheel. The half-elf’s eyes narrowed in concentration.

A low, haunting whistle seemed to pass through the air. Geth’s eyes darted up, following the sound to the great blue ring mounted behind the ship. Its translucent surface was quivering, like a pot of water coming to a boil. The wisps of mist it had given off before grew denser and became streams thick as smoke. The whistle screeched higher and louder, making Geth’s ears twitch unbearably. The hair on his arms and on the back of his neck rose. The growl that he had suppressed before broke out of his throat and his lips pulled back from his teeth. The whistle faded away. The ship seemed to hold its breath.

In the next moment, the blue of the ring vanished like snow thrown on a fire, puffing away into a hoop of roiling mists as a howling gale blasted out behind the ship. Lightning on Water gave a tremendous leap and surged forward in a powerful burst of speed. Caught off-guard, Geth lurched and staggered. The wind of their passage took his breath away. He clenched his teeth and blinked against it as his fingers dug into the wood of the rail. The ship seemed to rise up underneath him. A few of the crew were snickering and pointing at him. He didn’t care-he just held on.

“Geth!” called Dandra. “Geth!”

A hand tapped his shoulder. Geth glanced back at the kalashtar. Singe stood behind her.

“Relax!” she said. “It’s not that bad.”

“What is this?” Geth gasped. “What’s going on?”

The ship shuddered and rose again. The roar of water rushing against the hull shifted in pitch. Geth’s hands clamped around the rail even harder. Singe peered over the ship’s side, then pointed down. Geth leaned over cautiously to follow his gesture.

Lightning on Water was moving so fast that her hull had lifted almost entirely clear of the water. Previously hidden below the waterline, a long wooden fin arced gracefully down from the ship’s side to slice through the water like a paddle held sideways.

“There’s another on the other side,” said Singe. “As I understand it, because they’re thinner than the hull, the ship can go even faster.”

“That’s good,” gulped Geth. “Because we need to go faster.” He looked at Dandra. “Now I know,” he said, “how you feel on a horse.” He forced his hands open and slid down to sit on the deck with his back against the rail and the racing water out of sight.

The first two days of the voyage were among the most physically miserable of Geth’s life. Most of his time-day and night-was spent on deck. Even with the rushing wind of their passage, the fresh air was far more comforting than the disturbing creaks and eternal shifting below. It also alleviated the worst of his seasickness. Water and plain bread were the only things that could pass his lips without sending him rushing to hang over the ship’s rail.

Some time on the third day, it seemed as if his body made a bargain with the sea. The shifter found that he was actually hungry and cautious sampling showed that a little food would stay settled in his stomach. The sea wind felt good on his face and in his hair and there was thrill to the rise and fall of the ship as it surged over the waves. The crew had grown used to his presence on deck; they seemed genuinely pleased when they discovered that he had started to enjoy the journey.

The only thing he couldn’t get used to was the sensation of being below deck while the ship was moving. He’d never been afraid of tight spaces before, but onboard Lightning on Water, it was disquieting. Fortunately, the weather was warm in spite of the wind. If he’d survived two nights on deck while puking his guts over the side of the ship, he told himself, he could survive a couple more.

As the sun set over water and darkness fell, he found himself alone in the bow of the ship. The crew had gone to their hammocks and blankets. The other passengers, Singe and Dandra among them, had made a habit of remaining in the captain’s cabin after dinner. It seemed that sharing Vennet’s table wasn’t exactly the exclusive invitation Singe might have thought it was. Geth stared out at the broad horizon-at the moons and stars above and the shining Ring of Siberys in the south-and finally allowed himself to mourn Adolan. The druid’s loss was an empty ache inside him. Geth reached up and brushed his fingers over the collar of black stones, feeling the deep grooves of the ancient symbols that had been carved into them.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Vennet’s voice came from right behind him, so close that it made the shifter jump. He twisted around, his teeth bared out of instinct. Vennet raised a hand. “Easy,” he said. “Sorry to startle you. If you’d prefer to be left alone …”

Geth hesitated, then relaxed. He’d been alone with his thoughts long enough, and he’d seen little of Vennet through the voyage. By day the captain manned the wheel, controlling both the ship and the elemental. A junior officer, also a bearer of the Mark of Storm that gave House Lyrandar its distinctive powers, took over by night. Geth patted the rail beside himself. “Stay,” he said. “Plenty of room.”

“I’d thank you for such a gracious invitation, but she is my ship.” Vennet leaned against the rail, his back to the sea. In one hand he held a bottle. He offered it to Geth.

The shifter accepted it and took a cautious swig. The liquor inside was strong and harsh. He passed the bottle back to Vennet. “I would have expected something a little better of the captain,” he wheezed.

“It’s crew rations,” the half-elf admitted. “But it’s how you can tell a working windwright from a pampered drizzle-whistler in House Lyrandar.” He raised the bottle to the starry sky. “We sailors develop a fondness for the rot.” Vennet took a drink, then ran his gaze over Geth. “You’re looking better than you have been.”

Geth grunted. “It would be hard not to.”

Vennet chuckled and put the bottle back in Geth’s hand. “We missed you at the table tonight. I thought maybe you’d come now that you’d found your sea legs.”

The shifter made a sour expression as he took another pull at the bottle. “I like it better on deck,” he said. “Why? Have I missed anything?”

“Not much,” confessed Vennet with a shrug. “The run from Yrlag to Zarash’ak is generally pretty much the same every time, although this voyage isn’t going particularly well for Natrac. Some of his ‘clients’ have been getting out of hand, and he’s finally realized that Singe works for House Deneith.” He grinned. “He’s been groveling like a goblin all night. Singe is drinking it up.”

“I’m sure he is,” Geth growled.

He drank again, then returned the bottle. Vennet looked at him over its end as he drank as well. When he lowered the bottle, he commented, “There’s no love lost between you two, is there?” “We served together,” Geth said curtly.

“Ah.” Vennet turned around to look out across the sea. “Where?”

The way he asked the question made Geth glance at him with new respect. When conversations turned to the Last War, he’d found over the years, people generally asked about his experiences in one of two ways. If they’d managed to stay out of the fighting, their questions tended to be curious and polite.

If they’d seen fighting themselves, on the other hand, their questions were blunt, tempered less by curiosity and more by a need to share their own experiences. While he’d avoided discussing the War through his years in Bull Hollow, Geth found himself opening up to Vennet. “All over,” he said. “That’s how it was with a Blademarks company.”

“Was?” Vennet raised an eyebrow.

“Singe stayed in the Blademarks. I left.”

Geth didn’t offer anything more and Vennet didn’t ask. “I can understand moving around,” the captain said. He looked back at the water again. “I earned my commission doing transport work along the coast of the Bitter Sea, from Aundair across the Karrnathi coast to the Lhazaar Principalities. Sometimes a run down Scions Sound to Cyre or Thrane. That was a touchy trip.”

The shifter gave him a smile. “I manned a ballista on the Cyran side of the Brey River for five months, shooting at any ship trying to make that run.”

“Did you ever hit anything?”

“Did you ever get hit?”

Vennet laughed and they swapped the bottle again. “Where else?” he asked.

Geth dug into his memories, trying to remember the best of his time with the Frostbrand. “All over northern Cyre. Up into Karrnath. A little bit on the Talenta Plains. Wherever our commander drew a contract.” He looked at Vennet. “Transport work sounds more peaceful.”

The captain shook his head. “I saw trouble enough. It’s hard to catch a Lyrandar ship if the captain doesn’t want to be caught, but there are always pirates and hostile ships willing to give it a try. Lyrandar doesn’t float warships, though. We leave the hard fighting to those on land-and they’re welcome to it.” Vennet rubbed his thumbs across the bottle. “There was one assignment. Transport accompanying an Aundairian raid on a Karrnathi logging town. After the Eldeen Reaches broke away, Aundair came up short on quality timber for shipbuilding, but Karrnath’s forests were still thick.” His voice dropped. “The town should have held out against the raid, but somehow the Aundairian soldiers broke through. I didn’t get any further from my ship than the docks, but it was like they turned into monsters when they got into that town. What they did …”

Geth’s mouth went dry. A queasy nausea returned to his stomach. “You’re talking about Narath.”

Vennet looked at him with haunted eyes. “You’ve heard of it.” He gave a bitter chuckle. “Of course you have. Who hasn’t?”

“Aye,” said Geth. He drew a rough breath. “I wouldn’t mention that story to Singe.”

“Because it was Aundairians who did it?” Vennet grimaced. “I know how he feels. Believe me, I don’t talk about it often either. For a long time, it was like a stain on my soul.” He took another long drink from the bottle, then offered it to Geth again.

This time the shifter shook his head. Vennet nodded and shoved a cork back into the bottle’s neck. “Enough for tonight,” he agreed. He clapped a hand across Geth’s shoulder. “Maybe when we reach Zarash’ak, though? There’s a tavern I know-”

The sound of running feet on the deck saved Geth from having to decline the half-elf’s offer. Both men turned at the same time as one of Vennet’s crew slid to a stop in front of them. “Captain! Trouble in the aft hold!”

Vennet’s eyes flashed angrily. “Natrac’s gang again?” The crewman nodded and Vennet cursed, then looked to Geth. “I wouldn’t normally ask a passenger to step into a fight, but some of Natrac’s clients are brutes. A veteran of the Blademarks would be a good person to have at my back.”

The prospect of a good fight stirred Geth’s spirit. “I’m with you,” he said.

“Good man.” Vennet stuffed the bottle into a pocket and strode toward the stern of the ship, sparing a hard glare for the crewman. “Natrac’s in my cabin. Tell him to get his backside aft!”

The crewman saluted and dashed off.

Lightning on Water’s crew were gathered around the top of the ladder-like steps leading down to the aft hold-they leaped back at Vennet’s approach. The sounds of a roaring brawl thundered up from below. One of the crew called out to Vennet. “They’ve been arguing for a while, captain, but the fighting only just broke out.”

The sudden splintering of wood punctuated her report. “Kol Korran’s wager, if they damage my ship, I’ll take the price out of Natrac’s gray hide!” spat Vennet. He pointed at two burly sailors who stood by with thick wooden pins. “You and you. After us.”

He thundered down the steps into the hold with sure-footed ease. Geth sprang after him, ready for anything.

At least he thought he was ready for anything. At the bottom of the stairs, he froze and bared his teeth. A snarl tore itself out of his throat.

The dim, magical light that lit the hold shone on a dozen bodies, most struggling, a few stretched out senseless on the floor. In the center of the chaos-fighting in a whirlwind of fists, feet, knees, and elbows-was Ashi!