The Wayward Knights

Chapter 15

Pirvan had not approved of Darin's challenge to Zeskuk, but neither he nor Sir Niebar had interposed their authority as Knights of the Rose to prevent the bout. They both doubted that they had the authority in the first place, and Niebar's doubts carried particular weight with Pirvan. The tall knight had forgotten as much about the laws governing conduct between races as Pirvan had ever learned.

Also, Pirvan refused to believe that Darin had suddenly lost his wits and forgotten everything he knew about minotaurs. If Darin died tonight, Pirvan knew the younger knight would die in his right mind, with his face to the enemy, and believing that what he did served his honor, the knights' honor, and the purpose for which they had all come to Suivinari Island.

Pirvan had told himself this so often that he had begun to believe it. Now, all that remained was to be able to persuade the other humans of these simple truths, if indeed Darin had seen his last sunset.

The last of that sunset's light had faded from the sky when Pirvan and Haimya disembarked from their boat. The torches marking the boundaries of the arena were set so close and burned so brightly, however, that a beetle could hardly have crawled unseen across the arena.

The arena was a patch of hard sand beach dug, tamped, and scraped until it was as flat as an apprentice thief's purse and as hard as a pawnbroker's heart. It was sixty paces on a side, large enough not to make a minotaur feel confined, and small enough that a nimble human could not rely on evading Zeskuk's charges forever.

Of course, Darin knew more than enough about minotaur fighting arts to expect more than simple rushes. Zeskuk undoubtedly knew what Darin knew-and that a minotaur-sized human could reply with his own variations on minotaur skills. If one had only a dispassionate observer's interest in a rare matching of opponents, one could look forward to an enthralling evening.

After the stinging loss of Sirbones-a loss Pirvan had forced himself not to succumb to until the completion of the task at hand-he was more nervous about the possibility of Darin's demise than he wanted to admit. Pirvan expected to be biting his lip when he was not urging healers forward.

Inland of the arena stood a cordon of minotaurs and humans, each in several solid, well armed, and alert bands adequately separated from one another. At least a hundred sets of eyes were watching the darkness inland. The minotaurs had clearly been burning off the last bit of undergrowth as well, and both minotaurs and humans had set more torches and laid watch fires all along the cordon.

There was nothing left close to the arena for anyone short of a god to animate. Nor could anything approach the arena from inland without being seen a hundred paces away-and from the sea, the arena was guarded by half a dozen ships of each fleet, and two dozen boats rowing or sailing guard.

Had the arena been the tent of an emperor, it could hardly have been better guarded, but what most heartened Pirvan was the presence of both Lujimar and Revella Laschaar. They stood between the cordon and the arena, each with two attendants and a ceremonial stool, although both were standing and looked ready to stand for a year. Both of them wore their most formal robes, but were bareheaded and barefooted. Lujimar had an amulet hanging from his stool, while Lady Revella had leaned her staff against her own seat.

All the healing power needed for anything short of necromancy was present in those two. Also, perfect memories and acute senses of honor. Possibly Lujimar saw farther, to the future of both races, instead of merely wishing to repay a favor done some ten years ago.

Or perhaps not. Neither would let either fighter or themselves know dishonor to save their lives. As long as such watched the fight, it would be fair and the outcome as skill and the gods allowed. And as long as such existed on Krynn, the bloodthirsty Thenvors, kingpriests, and ghostriders could not have the easy victory that was all their kind ever wanted.

Pirvan and Hawkbrother had both offered to attend Darin, but he had chosen Rynthala instead, as she already could come and go freely within minotaur territory-and this arena was on territory that even most humans conceded to the horn-headed ones.

So it was Rynthala who ritually shook out each of Darin's garments as he disrobed, until he wore only a loin guard. It was Rynthala who rubbed oil into Darin's skin, partly to ready it for healing spells and partly to keep Zeskuk from getting an easy grip.

It was also Rynthala who must have rubbed oil into her husband's skin a hundred times before, in more intimate settings. Pirvan could read that easily enough in her haunted eyes.

On the opposite side of the arena, Thenvor's son Juiksum was doing the same honors for Zeskuk, although the minotaur had only to remove kilt and sandals to be garbed for the bout. He seemed to be favoring one leg a trifle, but that was an easy trick for a skilled fighter to play, and Darin would probably have an edge in speed anyway. He would still be facing an opponent who could strike with twice the force and endure three times the punishment of almost any human.

Fulvura stood close by, her arms crossed on her chest. She wore only a simple tunic, with leather straps on her legs and forearms. She was, as law required, unarmed, but Pirvan hoped no human was fool enough to think her an easy target for vengeance if Darin fell.

"Do not worry, good knight," Fulvura said. "When Zeskuk says that a fight is not to the death, it is as good an an oath."

"I did not doubt that, nor fear for Darin," Pirvan said stiffly, to keep Haimya from saying something less polite.

"I would think no worse of you if you did fear for Darin," Fulvura said. "Had I a fosterling like that, who could go into the arena with a good chance of leaving it emperor-well, I would not love anyone who might even by chance put him down."

"We also do not love those who-" Haimya began. She might have said something unfortunate, except for what came next.

Lightning should come before thunder, but this thunderclap came with no warning. It was loud enough to make everyone's ears ring, and if it came without warning it did come with a blast of wind as solid as a giant's fist. Between those deafened by the thunder and those blinded by flying sand, few saw what appeared in the arena, seemingly out of thin air.

Pirvan was one of those few. He saw a ship's boat, about a six-rower size, he judged. It carried four armed, masked men forward, and one aft. In between, a man and a woman were both tied to the thwarts, with both chains and ropes that twisted them into contorted positions.

The five armed men wore the black tunics and white masks of the supposedly disbanded Servants of Silence.

The bound man was Torvik. The bound woman Pirvan did not recognize, but she was tall, auburn-haired, and her ears had elven points to them.

The man in the stern of the boat stepped out onto the sand and drew his sword. It was another piece of ritual garb-a short sword with an ugly saw-toothed blade, like a smaller version of a minotaur clabbard. He raised his sword.

"Hear us, O servants of iniquity, while we speak for the virtue you know not," the masked man called. "Heed our words, and virtue may come to you. Give no heed, and death shall be the portion of these beslimed folk, while ignorance and defeat are yours."

The man halted, to be sure he had everyone's attention. Pirvan thought the halt was needless. Even the sea breeze seemed to be holding its breath. But the silence gave him a chance to study all those around the arena, and two in particular:

Revella Laschaar, who seemed less surprised than she should have-but also angry, as though she should not have been surprised at all.

Zeskuk, who had made his face so unreadable that Pirvan thought he must have taken great pains to do so-for reasons that no human might be able to guess.

Zeskuk could not quite read Lady Revella's face, but did not need to. Lujimar was closer, had a better view, and commanded magic.

What the minotaur priest's face said was a plain accusation: Lady Revella had guilty knowledge that might bring her spells down on anyone who attempted to end this farce before it brought dishonor to all here.

Or at least what Zeskuk hoped would remain a farce. That saw-edged blade and the ritual garb of the Servants of Silence were not encouraging. Nor was the ability of the abductors of Torvik and the elf-woman to appear out of nowhere a good sign. She was Dimernesti, and was she the young captain's secret?

Had he been anywhere else, with any sort of weapon in his hand, Zeskuk would have felt freer to choose what to do next. Had he been here and ten years younger, with shatangs ready, he would have held the abductors' lives in his hands.

As it was, he deemed it wise to listen for a trifle, to hear what course these gutter scourings intended to steer. The leader was one of those, wearisome in any race, who could never use two words when five would do half as well. In spite of this, and the fact that he spoke with an accent that Zeskuk did not recognize except that it was not pure Istaran, he somehow made his intentions clear, saying, "Torvik Jemarsson stands guilty of treason, uncleanliness, lack of virtue-" and a whole list of other offenses. Zeskuk could have sworn he heard "spitting on the decks," but doubted his ears.

The tirade ended with "-and for all these offenses against men and gods, his life is forfeit. But mercy is a virtue. I and my followers, defenders of virtue, may be persuaded to show mercy, if the fleets accede to these terms I set forth:

"All at Suivinari will acknowledge the leadership of these five men…"

Zeskuk recognized only two of the names, and those because they were such blatant lapdogs of the kingpriest that even minotaurs had heard of it. Andrys Puhrad, with his reputation for diplomacy toward all, was not one of the five. Nor were any of Sir Pirvan's friends. Zeskuk wondered what army these virtue-defenders had, to impose their preposterous demands. Or did they care if the demands were met, as long as making them caused trouble?

"All at Suivinari shall also swear to fight side by side until the island is cleansed. Torvik has, though it be through his uncleanliness with the Dimernesti female Mirraleen, learned of a way to victory. Once all have taken oaths to the new leaders, that way shall be revealed. Then Torvik shall be set free, to redeem his honor as a human by leading his fighters in the cleansing of Suivinari Island. Mirraleen shall be held closely, as a hostage for the continued help of the Dimernesti. She may hope for freedom once victory is gained, but only for the hardest of deaths if she seeks to escape or her folk turn against the fleet that champions virtue."

A number of further thoughts ran through Zeskuk's mind, foremost among them the utter ignorance of these people about minotaurs. The leader seemed to think that the Destined Race would either abandon Suivinari Island (and their share of glory), fight (and be defeated), or tamely submit to being led by the new council (who probably had neither knowledge of war nor any other virtue).

Zeskuk's second thought was that perhaps the leader knew minotaurs better than it at first seemed. This farce would most likely sow quarrels between human and minotaur that no contest of honor could settle.

Then victory would be impossible, or at least so costly as to be hardly worthwhile. The only one to gain from leaving Suivinari Island under its present ruler would be that ruler himself. Did the Servants of Silence know that they were unwitting servants of Wilthur? Did Lady Revella suspect as much?

Questions to be answered later. Zeskuk realized that for now it was necessary for those who knew the truth to act to end this farce. Since he was the only one such…

For a moment, the minotaur chief would gladly have stopped breathing if that would have drawn less attention. He shuffled his feet, trying to look like one testing the muscles of a weak leg rather than one testing his footing for a leap.

He snatched the towel out of Juiksum's hand, took three running strides, and leaped over the torch-line into the arena.

Wilthur's scrying glass had just given him a clear enough image to see the arena when the minotaur chief leaped over the torches. The wizard's curses would have peeled paint off the walls of his stronghold, if any of them had been painted. Only chips of rock and fine dust fell instead.

His thoughts plunged downward-to find his Creation as unwilling as ever to seek the open sea. No diversion from that quarter.

No diversion from plant or animal close to the arena, either. Human and minotaur had done their work too thoroughly for that.

Nor could he openly work magic that would make the Servants of Silence wonder if they had help beyond Lady Revella's. They were proud and foolish; they would rather die than knowingly serve him, for all that he could cleanse Krynn of those without virtue as well as any mage in history and better than nearly all.

If someone killed Zeskuk, however, and in such a way as to make it seem to come from human dishonor-

Yes. Peace always had enough enemies, and hatred enough friends, for such work.

Nor would it be necessary to hide the traces of his mind-tampering spells, this time. Those whose minds he had twisted would be dead soon enough in the fighting, or have no coherent memory of Wilthur's invasion of their thoughts.

Pirvan was as surprised as anyone at Zeskuk's running leap into the arena. He also thought the bemused, gape-mouthed faces all about him were images of his own. Then Darin moved, so quickly that Pirvan realized here was one man who was not surprised. Which did not explain what he was doing.

Darin's movements were an almost exact copy of Zeskuk's, allowing for the human's being a much better jumper than the minotaur. Darin's leap over the torches seemed to carry him halfway to the boat. Then both man and minotaur were running toward the boat, and toward each other.

Knowledge burst like sunrise in Pirvan's mind. Whatever Darin and Zeskuk might intend, they would do it while so close together that no one could strike at either from a distance, for fear of hitting the other. Spears, arrows, stones, anything shot or thrown was useless.

Anyone wishing to aid the Servants of Silence would have to do so close at hand. That meant violating the sacred precincts of the arena, and also coming within reach of a large man and a large minotaur, both trained fighters and neither friendly to unwelcome visitors.

Someone was foolish enough not to see what was plain for everyone else. Only a few paces from Pirvan, someone unslung a bow and nocked an arrow. The man had also not seen Fulvura, standing right beside him. As if reaching to scratch an itch, she thrust one massive arm downward. It caught the man on the shoulder, knocking him sprawling. Before he could rise or anyone come to his aid, Haimya darted behind Fulvura and knelt, inquiring earnestly of the fallen man if he was hurt.

She had one knee on his right arm and the other on his chest. In the crowd, no one but Pirvan and Fulvura saw that she also had a dagger drawn, with the point at his throat.

It would have been too much to hope for, that the archer was the only fool present. The next fool threw a spear-but by now others were alert.

A shielding spell slammed down into the arena, so violently that sand flew where the edge struck it. The shield extended some ten paces in all directions around the boat, the five Servants and two captives in it, and the two would-be duelists, who were now nearly close enough to shake hands.

The spear bounced off the spell-shield and hurtled back the way it had come, whirling end over end. It would have been too much to hope that it would strike down its thrower, but it did the next best thing, sinking harmlessly into the sand.

Pirvan saw that it was Lujimar casting the spell, if the minotaur's stance with his eyes cast down and both hands on the amulet now hanging around his neck meant anything. He also saw Lady Revella staring from the arena to Lujimar-then toward her staff.

The knight's feet were only just behind his thoughts. Pirvan dashed from the ranks of the onlookers, cut across a corner of the arena, and flung himself at Lady Revella's staff just before her hands closed on it.

He rolled with the agility of a younger man, only slightly hampered by the staff, then came up with it in one hand and a drawn dagger in the other. Lady Revella gaped at the knight and raised her hand.

Pirvan raised the dagger, thrusting the point under the rune-marked silver ring at the head of the staff. A silver ring, Tarothin had taught him, often meant that die spells within it or the whole staff could he countered with cold iron. From Lady Revella's expression, Tarothin had the right of it in this case.

"Pirvan, you cannot use my staff," she said. "You might die if I tried to use it while you held it."

Laughing in the Black Robe's face did not seem a wise idea, so Pirvan said simply, "Could you use it afterward, if so?"

"No, but do you wish it useless?"

"Until I trust you," he replied, "yes."

Revella looked as if he had struck her. He briefly considered handing the lady's staff to Lujimar, but knew that might cause her spells and the minotaur's to battle each other.

Also, seeing a minotaur given a human wizard's tools might drive some wild-headed human over the edge into attacking Pirvan. That could make a bad situation even worse. Pirvan saw that he had an advantage, and pressed it.

"Lady Revella," he said, "I do not know what you plotted, or with whom. I know even less what you intended, or how far what happened has gone beyond that. I do know that whether intending it or not, you have helped endanger peace between men and minotaurs, our work here on Suivinari Island, and the lives of most of those whom you once thanked for helping your daughter Rubina."

Lady Revella's mouth opened, without a word coming out (or at least any Pirvan could hear over the uproar). Then she knelt and put her face in her hands.

Pirvan wondered if he should applaud his own lucky guess or let the Black Robe cry on his shoulder. Haimya took the matter out of his hands by hurrying up and kneeling beside the wizard.

"Is the archer-?" he started to ask.

Haimya's reply was a bleak look, as if Pirvan himself were responsible for Revella's misery. The knight decided that five lifetimes was not enough for a man to understand how women could lock shields. He also realized that he would have no sensible answer from Revella now, and that Lujimar was too busy to answer anyone's questions about anything.

Pirvan resigned himself to letting the fight inside the shield take its course. At least he could guard Lujimar's back.

The fight was brief but bloody. Against Zeskuk and Darin, five trained human fighters of the common sort would have normally been no contest. The Servants of Silence were not mere bullies, however, and they both had their saw-edged ritual swords and long daggers against larger but unarmed and unarmored opponents. The contest might indeed have gone to the kingpriest's hirelings, except that Zeskuk and Darin were thinking alike almost from the moment the shield closed around them.

Zeskuk was briefly surprised at how swiftly he and Darin became a team, then realized he should not be. Darin was minotaur-trained, spoke the minotaur tongue, and had doubtless been watching Zeskuk and listening to talk about the chief's fighting style from the moment after he conceived the challenge.

Or had the challenge been suggested to him? Lujimar's swift creation of the shield might be only life-saving good sense. It was also a potent spell for even Lujimar to cast with no more than a few breaths' notice.

As for Zeskuk, he had to admit that he had been studying Darin's movements, on the battlefield and off it, to see how Waydol's training was reflected in a human. He had sharpened his scrutiny after the challenge. Preparing to be opponents, he and Darin had ended by all but training to fight as a team.

So Zeskuk lunged in under the prow of the boat and heaved it up and back, putting all his strength into making the heave as high and violent as he could. Darin sprang backward, ducking under a sword slash, and took his place at the stern as the boat tilted up on end.

Only in champion tales would the five Servants have fallen headlong and broken their necks or skulls, as the boat rose to the vertical. All of them did fall out; only the two captives tied to the thwarts remained in the boat.

However, all five of them landed on their feet, hardly even off-balance. Zeskuk also supposed that such as they were too thick-skulled and stiff-necked to be hurt even if they had tumbled out feet over fork.

Zeskuk and Darin were both ready for fighting opponents, however. Zeskuk let one Servant sink his edge into the minotaur's left arm. Before the man could draw the blade back, Zeskuk chopped his other hand down on the man's sword arm. It shattered; the man screamed; Zeskuk turned the screams to gasps with a punch to the stomach. As the man fell forward, he exposed the back of his neck, and Zeskuk struck again, the edge of his right hand scything down on the exposed spine.

Meanwhile, Darin had taken two steps backward, stood on one foot like a stork, then wheeled and slammed the other foot into the chest of one opponent. Sword-steel ripped Darin's leg, but the foot was the size of a minotaur's hoof and nearly as hard. Zeskuk heard ribs shatter and saw the man fly backward into a comrade, knocking him down. Zeskuk had to take only two steps and fend off only one sword slash before he could kick the man in the head. The man's head nearly parted company with his neck.

This left Zeskuk and Darin with only one opponent apiece. Darin picked up a fallen sword and tossed one to Zeskuk, to further improve the odds. Zeskuk grinned, having somehow expected the knight to finish the bout barehanded, out of some notion put in his head by the Oath or the Measure or Sir Pirvan.

Instead, Darin proved that he knew the minotaur principle of not wasting honorable fighting on a dishonorable opponent. He feinted, let the leader unbalance himself with a wild lunge, then struck together with sword and fist. The leader described a bloody arc in the air and toppled, one arm all but severed.

By the time Darin had knelt, ripped off the leader's mask, and begun binding the captive's ruined arm with it, Zeskuk had finished his opponent. The man tried to run, but Zeskuk still had one good arm and a loose oar from the boat. He also had most of the skill that had won him prizes at throwing the shatang.

The oar was not as well balanced as a shatang, but it did its work. Zeskuk heard the man's teeth slam together as the oar hit him in the back of the head. The oar struck so hard that the man skidded into the churned sand at the base of the shield, with his head facedown and half buried in the sand.

In that position he doubtless could not breathe. Zeskuk doubted that the man would breathe again anyway. The minotaur turned back to Darin and saw the human finish binding the leader's arm and sit down beside him.

"He'll do for a prisoner," Darin panted, "if we can find healing for him."

"There are healers aplenty outside the shield, if they can make up their minds to take it down," Zeskuk said. He would not name Lujimar to Darin, for all that he doubted minotaur priest and human warrior had that many secrets from each other.

"Then let them," Darin said. "I would not care to sit for long tonight, and you need both arms."

"True, but we did swear challenge, and we are still in the arena," the minotaur reminded the knight. "Should we not fulfill our oaths?"

"Of course," Darin said. He limped over to Zeskuk, knotted both fists into a single weapon, and tapped the minotaur at the base of his left horn.

The token blow alone made Zeskuk's head spin. He replied by punching Darin in the small of the back with his good hand.

"I declare that Zeskuk meant no dishonor in anything he planned," Darin said.

"I declare that Darin proved courage in all he did within the arena," Zeskuk replied.

Then both of them had to sit down again, so as not to fall senseless. They were trying not to do so anyway when the shield went down, letting cool sea air and a wall of sound from voices, human and minotaur, burst over them.

For moments after the shield-spell ended, Lujimar swayed, seemingly about to fall even more helpless than those he had saved.

Pirvan resolved to protect the minotaur priest, by standing over him with a drawn sword if necessary, and to the Abyss with scandal. Lujimar might have made any number of enemies tonight. If one of them reached him with steel, all the good done so far might yet be undone.

But Lujimar steadied himself, and walked into the arena, past where humans and minotaurs were busily relighting blown-out torches. The crowd that had rushed toward the fighters and the fallen Servants gave way before the minotaur's presence, and the size of the fists he held up before him also eased his passage.

Lady Revella was now standing again, turning red eyes toward the arena. "I wonder if Lujimar has a place for me in his household," she said softly. "As a kitchen slave, if no more. I hardly deserve better."

"That is for the gods to judge, and perhaps men if they know what you have done," Pirvan said. "Can you tell me a little of it, so that I may seem as if I knew what was happening?"

"Gladly-no, not gladly," Revella answered. "Never gladly. This has cost too much blood. But I will tell you. Someplace quieter, though, and after you tell me how you knew Rubina was my daughter."

"You were prepared to go against the kingpriest to befriend those who saved Rubina," Pirvan said. "I would do many things to repay those who helped a friend or distant kin. But something like that-something against Oath and Measure-only for Haimya or my children."

"I thank you," Haimya said, in a tone half tart and half tender. "But look closely at Revella, and see if she does not remind you of Rubina."

"Tarothin also saw the blood tie," Revella said. "But he chose to respect a fellow wizard's secret."

"At the wrong time, I fear," Pirvan said. "I judge that Rubina favored her father more than you?"

"Yes, but one who seeks can find the resemblance."

There was no place to be truly private, not without going dangerously far from light and protection, and Pirvan could not go far even were it safe. Until Sir Niebar and Tarothin landed, he was as close to a leader as there could be on this shore.

He listened intently as Lady Revella explained how she had helped certain men who wished to test a spell allowing them to travel inland undetected. It might not work, and if so they were lost. If they succeeded, it was a step toward victory.

But she had not spoken to these men directly. She had dealt with them through an intermediary, who, it appeared, had also taken Lujimar into his confidence. The intermediary also knew or guessed that the men's plans went far beyond what they wished him to admit to Lady Revella.

"So he told Lujimar, but not you, and you were surprised but Lujimar was not?" Pirvan asked.

"That seems as good a way to put it as any," Revella said.

Pirvan muttered curses. "I should like to speak to this-person. It will be useful for all to know that the kingpriest's Servants of Silence are not only thriving again, but taking into their confidence minotaur spies and trying to corrupt high wizards."

"The name is not my secret to-"

This time Pirvan's curses were not muttered. "There has been too much thinking of others' secrets, and not enough thinking that our honor also lies in keeping them safe!" he snapped. He pointed at the boat, where Lujimar was now untying Torvik and Mirraleen-snapping the ropes with his bare hands, and twisting the chains off the oarlocks.

"If Torvik had said just a trifle more, would he and Mirraleen have suffered tonight's ordeal?" Pirvan continued. "Would Zeskuk and Darin have put themselves at risk in the arena? Would I have had to threaten to break a wizard's staff, which makes a man look foolish if he can't and dead if he can?"

Torvik and Mirraleen were now staggering to their feet, each holding on to one of Lujimar's arms. Even from a distance, Mirraleen showed a ghastly array of cuts and bruises. Torvik's pain seemed more within, judging from his face, and he clutched Mirraleen's hand as if by so doing he could take her wounds on himself.

Revella looked ready to weep again, and Pirvan wondered if he had dealt too harshly with her. He would still learn the spy's name, even if he had to ask Sir Niebar to devote the secret matters office entirely to that purpose. When one finds the vital spot in a hitherto mysterious opponent, one does not humbly petition for the right to drive in the knife.

But there was Sir Niebar coming up the beach, surrounded by guards, and with Tarothin dropping away from the rear of the procession to join Lujimar in healing the two fighters and keeping the prisoner alive. Pirvan sent some of his own guards to guard the healers' backs. There had to be many in the crowd ready to use steel on the Servants, for vengeance or to silence them.

Then came a long, weary time of reporting to Sir Niebar just what had happened, dividing the report into what Pirvan had seen and what he suspected. Sir Niebar was full of praise and also of questions, and asked some of them of Haimya and even of Fulvura.

By the time Sir Niebar was done, Torvik was on a litter, bound on the shoulders of Red Elf's folk to a boat and his own cabin. The dead Servants had been removed with the rest of the offal and the prisoners healed and bound. Rynthala had taken command of Darin's care, and Zeskuk was deep in a conversation with Lujimar that Pirvan would have given ten years off his life to overhear, if he'd thought there was any hope at all.

Mirraleen, however, seemed to have utterly vanished.

Wilthur the Brown raged.

Certain highly-placed servants of the kingpriest did the same. There was no silence anywhere near them, that night off Suivinari.

Out to sea, five Dimernesti crouched low on a rock, waiting for a sixth to swim into view. They knew that she was alive; they could wish that they knew when she was coming.

Deep within the waters, Zeboim's thoughts moved like the currents. The goddess was everywhere, except when she was nowhere, or (as very rarely) in her turtle form.

Habbakuk listened to those thoughts of Zeboim's, but found nothing in them to disturb him. Lady Revella might have heard Zeboim, too, except that she was too deeply asleep.

Far to the south, Horimpsot Elderdrake scrambled up the wall of Tirabot Manor and almost fell into Shumeen's arms.

"You must bathe before we bring your news to the young lord," she said. "You look as if you had crawled all the way, most of it through a midden pit."

"I ran most of the way," the other kender said. "But I suppose I didn't watch where I was going. My uncle-the one on the Rootslicer side-no, there were two, but it was one of them-he always said hurrying too much ends up making you slower in the end."

"I thank your uncles for saying it," Shumeen snapped. "I would thank them more if they had been able to make you listen. Now get out of those clothes before I slice them off you with a dagger, and if I take some of your hide with them it will be no more than you deserve!"