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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Ehvenor

Remember that no man loses other life than that which
he lives, or lives any other life than that which he loses. 

—Marcus Aurelius

Him? Karl started. The aging, wide-bellied ketch tied at the end of the narrow dock didn't look familiar, but the man in the sailcloth tunic, directing the loading crew, did. Avair Ganness, what the hell are you doing here? And if you're here, where's the Pride?

It had to be him. While sweat-stained sailcloth tunics weren't at all rare around the docks, there couldn't be a whole lot of short, dark-skinned sailors with waist-length pigtails and thick, hairy legs who carried themselves with the rolling swagger and easy confidence of a ship's captain.

"Captain Ganness?"

Avair Ganness shouted a quick command at a seaman, then turned.

His swarthy face paled. "You? Not again." He opened his mouth to call to one of the bowmen at the foot of the dock, then pursed his lips and shrugged, beckoning to a crewman. "Quickly," he said, "finish loading and prepare to cast off."

"But we don't sail until—"

"Smartly, now. We may not have to, but I want to be able to cast off and up sails in half a score heartbeats. We may need to show Ehvenor a fast set of heels. Understood?"

"Aye, sir." The sailor shrugged and vaulted over the splintered railing, calling out to crewmen to halt the loading process and prepare for casting off.

Ganness turned back to Karl, a tragic smile spreading over his face. "What is it now, Karl Cullinane?" He spread his hands. "If you've managed to get the Ehven as angry as you did Lord Lund, I'd at least like to know why I'm going to die on this wretched dock."

Karl raised a hand. "I'm not wanted here. Pandathaway, yes. But I understand that Ehvenor isn't interested." As Chak explained it, there was no love lost between Pandathaway, the center of trade, culture, and magic of the Eren regions, and Ehvenor, dominated by the outpost of Faerie.

Ganness nodded, conceding the point. "True enough. As far as official Ehvenor goes. But not all Ehvenor is official Ehvenor."

He pointed a blunt finger shoreward. At his motion, a group of filthy, rag-clad men scurried for the shadow of a warehouse, all the while gibbering at each other in strained, high-pitched voices. "Watch your back, Karl Cullinane. Being around faerie too long does strange things to some humans; drives them crazy. I don't keep bowmen at the foot of the dock for the pleasure of it; in the past, crazies have fired boats—with themselves aboard, more often than not. Some of them would slit you open, throat to crotch, just for the fun of it." Ganness smiled. "Instead of the money."

Karl rested his hand on his swordhilt. "Perhaps you'd like the money?"

Ganness sneered. "Me?" He spat on the dock. "Of course. But while the notion of carrying your head back to Pandathaway thrills me, the idea of becoming a side attraction in the Coliseum doesn't. I don't dare set foot in Pandathaway or Lundeyll, not anymore. Not since I was fool enough to carry you from Lundeyll to Pandathaway. The wizards have long memories. I won't have any further dealings with them, for as long as I live." He laughed ruefully. "And that's a safe claim, come to think of it. Now," he said, drawing himself up straight, "what are you doing here?"

"I'd heard that a ship called the Warthog was leaving for Melawei tonight. Is this it?"

"Yes. And she's mine, such as she is."

Karl looked the ketch over, from the gashed bow all the way to the stern, where a pair of seamen worked a bilge pump, sending a constant stream of brown water over the side and into the harbor. "Not quite the Ganness' Pride, eh?"

"Not quite."

"What happened?"

"Lund wasn't pleased with my carrying you from Lundeyll; he hired himself a brace of pirate ships to hunt her down. They caught up with me just off Salket. The Pride went down; I barely escaped with my life. All thanks to you." Ganness sighed. "But you haven't answered my question."

"I think I have. I need to buy some passages to Melawei: seven people and two horses going, six and two coming back. Are you willing to carry us?"

"The same ones you were with before?" Ganness brightened. "Including Doria?"

"No, the only one you'd know is Ahira. The dwarf."

"Too bad." Ganness pursed his lips. "I may regret asking this, but are any of the others good with a sword or bow?"

"All of us. You might be able to use an extra sword or two. There's been a bit of trouble on the Cirric, I hear." That was a bald lie. Karl hadn't heard anything of the sort. But, given that slavers were raiding Melawei, it was reasonable to assume that they might pounce on a few merchantmen. And if Ganness was even considering carrying them, it was certain that the captain was afraid of just that.

"True enough." Ganness stood silently for a moment. "Are you sure that you're not wanted here? I'm not about to let you close another port to me."

Karl patted the hilt of his saber. "I'm certain. I'll swear it on this, if you'd like."

Ganness nodded. "Fine, then. I can put the horses in the hold, but the only other accommodations I've got are deck passage—unless you'd prefer to sleep with your animals?"

"No thanks."

"Very well, then. It'll be six gold for each human, five for the dwarf, two for each horse. Each passage, each way. Payable now." He held out his hand.

Karl raised an eyebrow. "On this? That's almost ten platinum. I could almost buy this ship for that."

"No, you couldn't. I wouldn't sell." He smiled. "Besides, Warthog is faster than she looks. In some ways, she's better than the Pride was."

Karl held back a laugh. The Ganness' Pride had been a lean, shapely sloop, not a floating leak. The only way this scow was better than Ganness' former ship was that it would hurt Ganness less to lose her. "Well, at least she's here."

One hand on his hip, Ganness held out a palm. "The coin, if you please."

Karl hefted the pouch. "I don't have that much with me." But should they take passage on Ganness' ship? Maybe it would be better to wait for the next one.

No. It could be a long time before another Melawei-bound ship left. And if he turned Ganness down, the captain might be tempted to let it be known there was a wanted man around, for whose head Pandathaway would pay well. The threat was implicit in Ganness' ridiculously high price for passage.

Karl opened the pouch and counted out six gold coins. "You can have this as a deposit; I'll have the rest for you at the time we sail."

"Agreed. And I will see you then."

Karl started to turn away, but Ganness' shout stopped him.

Wait. "Aren't you forgetting something?" Ganness asked.

"What?"

The captain gestured to Karl's sword. "I think there's still a bit of swearing to be done. On your sword, if you please. If, that is, you do want passage."

Karl hesitated.

"Truly," Ganness went on, "she is a good ship. Seaworthy and fast."

"Of course." Slowly, Karl drew his sword, then balanced it on his palms. I may as well get this over with. Next thing I know, he'll be telling me she made the Kessel run in less than twelve parsecs. 

Ahrmin clung to one of ten rope ladders secured to the dock, restraining a shiver.

The Cirric was cold this late at night, but it and the darkness provided good cover for Ahrmin and his ten men. He had spent several hours considering how many of the forty men from the Scourge to take with him. Too small a group wouldn't be able to take on Cullinane and his friends; too large a group would be impossible to hide. The element of surprise was always a huge advantage, and Ahrmin believed in having every advantage available.

Ten seemed about right. Enough to overpower Cullinane's group; not too many to hide.

It would take sharp eyes to see their heads and the few inches of rope that had been tacked to the side of the dock. The dock was a thick and sturdy one, rising more than two heads' height above the smooth black water.

Near the ship, sandals slapped against wood and voices called out orders, as the crew made the final preparations for the Warthog to sail.

Clinging to the ladder next to Ahrmin's, Jheral nudged him. "Shouldn't you check that ball again?" he whispered. "Or are you afraid of losing it?" Jheral shook his head to clear the water from his eyes and his long, pointed ears.

Ahrmin rewarded him with a scowl. The damned elf was more trouble than he was worth. Jheral had been a journeyman slaver for more than twenty years, and made no secret of his strong distaste for Ahrmin's promotion to master.

Not that Guildmaster Yryn had had any choice; he couldn't place Ahrmin in authority over senior journeymen without promoting him, and this job was clearly too much for Ahrmin and a group of junior journeymen and apprentices.

Probably Jheral and the others could have taken that. But the guildmaster had gone further, taking the unusual step of expressing his confidence in Ahrmin in the Writ of Mastery, by way of trying to avoid any conflicts. Normally that would have settled the matter; Guildmaster Yryn was known for being stinting in his praise.

It hadn't settled it; in fact, Yryn's strategy had backfired, acting as fuel to the journeymen's resentment—Jheral's, in particular.

"We could have just waited for them at sea," Jheral went on, "instead of floating here like a bunch of silkies."

"Be quiet. Do you want them to hear us?" That suggestion was ridiculous; it just couldn't work. In a sea battle, it would be impossible to capture Karl Cullinane alive. Stealth was the only chance.

But Jheral's first idea did make sense. Grudgingly, Ahrmin reached over to the inflated pig bladder that was tied loosely to the ladder and reached underneath, pulling on the slim rope to haul up the fine-mesh net bag containing the device Wenthall had given him.

"Light," he whispered.

Jheral drew his knife, cupping his hands around the blade to prevent the bright glow from shining through the cracks in the dock. Thyren, the Scourge's wizard, had refused Ahrmin's request to help them catch Karl Cullinane, saying that he had signed on only to neutralize the Mel wizards during the slaving raid. But he had agreed to Glow a knife . . . in return for Ahrmin's promise of a share of the reward.

The finger floated in the yellow oil, pointing unerringly toward the city, toward Karl Cullinane.

Ahrmin waited, watching the finger.

With agonizing slowness it moved, until it came to rest parallel to the dock.

Silently, Ahrmin pushed himself away from the ladder, pulling the bladder with him, beckoning at Jheral to follow.

Like a compass needle, the finger swung. Karl Cullinane was nearing the dock; he was somewhere in the shadows of Ehvenor. Somewhere near.

"He's almost here." Ahrmin tugged on the netting to make certain that it still secured the ball, then checked the rope fastening the netting to the bladder. The knots were still tight; he let the ball sink below the surface, then beckoned to the others bobbing in the dark water. "On my signal, we move," he whispered. "Remember, we can kill the others, but I want Karl Cullinane alive. And, Jheral—put that knife away."

"For a moment." Jheral smiled. "For a moment."

At the foot of the dock, Karl held up a hand and climbed down from Carrot's saddle. "Rahff, has Pirate ever been on a boat before?"

The boy shook his head. "No." The white horse snorted and stamped her feet, pulling back against the reins as Rahff tried to lead her. He stroked at the horse's neck with his right hand as he held the reins in his left. "And she's getting a bit skittish. I'm sorry, Karl."

"Don't apologize, Rahff. You do just fine with the horses."

Rahff drew himself up straight, standing proudly.

Karl suppressed a pleased chuckle. A few words of mild commendation did wonders for the boy's posture. Whatever his virtues, Zherr Furnael had clearly never been unstinting in his praise.

Karl tried to calm Pirate down, but the horse snorted and snapped at his fingers.

It was just as well that they had sold the other horses, instead of trying to bring them on board. While Carrot wasn't a problem, Pirate's skittishness could quickly have become contagious.

Chak tapped Karl's shoulder. "Let me try."

"Go ahead."

The little man reached into his sack and produced a strip of cloth. With a quick motion, he whipped it around Pirate's eyes, fastening it in place as a blindfold.

The blindfold worked; Pirate calmed instantly, as though someone had thrown a switch.

Fialt hoisted his bag to his shoulder. "You should keep the horses toward the middle; gives you a bit of room for error if the animal gets twitchy."

Tennetty threw an arm around Fialt's waist. "Hmm." She smiled. "I guess you are good for something, clumsy. Something else, that is."

Ahira raised an eyebrow; Karl shook his head. Something else? Apparently both of them had missed what had been going on between Fialt and Tennetty.

"Can't put the two of them on watch together anymore," Karl whispered. "They'll be paying too much attention to each other to keep a proper lookout. That's probably been going on for a while."

"Happens." Ahira nodded. "But don't be too critical, eh? Let he without sin cast the first stone, and all that."

"Right." Karl raised his head. "Let's go. Slowly, now."

As he led Carrot onto the dock, Aeia skipped ahead, her little feet flying across the wood. She stopped just a few yards from the Warthog, nervously eyeing the strangers on board the ship.

Ganness held out a hand. "Welcome aboard." He raised his head and called out, "You have the coin?"

"As agreed," Karl called back. "Go ahead, Aeia. Get on. We'll be there in a moment." After the slightest of pauses, she walked up the ramp and onto the deck.

Karl pulled on Carrot's reins. "Easy, girl. It'll just be another—"

A hand reached out of the water and fastened itself on Karl's ankle. Another hand stabbed a glowing knife into his calf.

Pain cut through him; he fell, landing hard on his side, his left arm caught beneath him. A shrill scream forced its way through his lips.

Swords and knives in their hands, eleven men slipped out of the water, surrounding them all in a circle of steel points and edges.

Karl reached for the hilt of his sword, but the same glowing knife stabbed through his right wrist, pinning his hand to the wood.

His fingers writhed; his nails clawed at the wood.

Another hand grasped his hair. "Don't try to move." An elf's thin face leered inches from his. "That will only make it hurt more."

"We only want Karl Cullinane," a low voice rasped. "The rest of you can go. Or die."

Karl couldn't move his head, and the reflexive twitching of his right hand sent red-hot currents of pain shooting through his arm. He could only see Carrot's rump, Fialt, Tennetty, and two swords, just at the edge of his vision, menacing them.

Fialt raised his hands. "We don't want any trouble—"

He slapped at Carrot's hindquarters, sending the horse galloping down the pier. He snatched the manriki-gusari from his belt, then leaped out of Karl's vision.

Fialt staggered back, blood fountaining from between his hands as he clutched his chest, while Carrot's pounding hooves set the dock shaking.

"Chak," Ahira shouted, "now."

Karl struggled to free his left arm as the elf's fist pounded against his face.

Blood filled Karl's eyes. Blindly flailing his arm, he managed to fasten his left hand on the elf's throat.

Karl squeezed, ignoring the pain, ignoring the clatter of steel and the splashes of bodies falling in the water. The only thing that mattered was his left hand, and his grip on the elf's throat.

Karl squeezed.

The blows grew more frantic.

Karl squeezed. The flesh of the elf's neck parted beneath his fingers, bathing his arm in blood.

The blows eased, then stopped.

"You can let go of him now," Ahira said, bending over him. "He's dead. And the rest are gone." A sudden stab of pain, and the knife was wrenched from Karl's hand. "Rahff, the healing draughts. Quickly, now."

Karl shook his head, clearing some of the blood from his eyes. "No." Pain pounded redly in his hand and calf, making each word a hideous labor. "First. Get on board. All of us. Take off. Then."

The dwarf pulled him up, helping Karl balance on his good leg. The dock was slippery with blood. Three bodies lay face down on the wood.

Tennetty knelt in a pool of Fialt's blood. Her fists drummed a rapid tattoo on his back. "You idiot," she trilled. "Never were any good against a sword. Never." She beat against his back as though trying to pound him back to life, tears streaming down her face.

Chak sheathed his sword and grasped her hands in his. "There's nothing more you can do for him," he said gently. "We have to go." He pulled her to her feet, then stopped to pick up Fialt's body and throw it over his shoulder.

Ganness ran over, two bowmen at his side. His face was ashen, his lips white. "I thought you said—"

Rahff reached over and grabbed the front of Ganness' tunic. "You heard Karl. Just shut up. We'd better get out of here; they may come back."

"But—"

Rahff raised his bloody sword. "Shut up." Karl tried to listen, tried to keep his eyes open, but the darkness reached out and claimed him.

It was a long swim back up to the light. The water rocked him, and tried to force itself into his mouth.

He gave up and let himself sink into the darkness, but a hand reached out and grasped his face, pulling him to the light.

"Karl," Ahira said, forcing more of the sickly-sweet liquid between his lips, "we're safe now. For the time being."

Karl opened his eyes. He was lying on a narrow bunk, sunlight streaming through the oversized porthole and splashing onto his chest. The ship was canted, sailing close to the wind.

"Where?" He struggled to get the words out. "Where are we?"

"Ganness' cabin." The dwarf smiled. "Ganness started to object when we brought you down here, but he took one look at Rahff and changed his mind. That's one loyal apprentice, Karl. Good kid."

Karl nodded. He brought his right hand up, in front of his face.

The wound from the knife was just a pinkish scar on the back of his hand, mirrored on his palm. As he stared at the scar, it continued to fade. Soon it would be gone. It would be just as if nothing at all had—

No. "Fialt."

The dwarf shook his head. "Nothing we could do for him. Healing draughts can't help a dead man. But Chak brought the body on board." He bit his lip. "I . . . I thought you'd want to say the words over him, before we bury him in the Cirric. Tennetty says that's the way they do it on Salket."

Karl raised himself on an elbow. "I'd better go see to every—"

The dwarf planted a hand on Karl's chest and pushed him back. "Everybody else is fine. I've put Rahff and Chak on watch; the horses are safe in the hold." A crooked smile played across Ahira's lips. "Although I'd better bring Aeia in. She's been crying. Thinks you're dead. Rahff and Chak have been telling her you're unkillable, but I don't think she believes them."

"I sure as hell don't. How many of the bounty hunters did we kill?"

Ahira shrugged. "Three for certain; another four wounded and pushed into the water. The rest dove and disappeared."

"And Ganness. How is he taking all of this?"

With a weak smile, Ahira picked up his battleaxe from where it lay on the floor. "I talked to him for a while, and he stopped squawking." He lowered the axe and sighed. "But he got away, dammit."

"He? Who?"

"You didn't notice who was leading that group?"

Karl snorted. "I was sort of busy. What's the mystery?"

"The leader looked to be about eighteen. Dark hair, dark eyes, slim nose. Good with a sword; it took him half a second to spear Fialt through the chest and return to the on-guard position. Had one hell of a familiar-looking and very cruel smile. And that voice . . ." The dwarf shuddered. "Didn't he sound like someone we know?"

Karl tried to remember the voice. No, he had been in too much pain to pay attention. But that description—except for the age, that sounded just like— "Ohlmin? But he's dead." I cut his head off, and held it in my hands. There were times that violence bothered Karl, but killing that bastard had been a distinct pleasure.

Ahira nodded. "But maybe he has either a son or a younger brother who isn't."

Karl elbowed the dwarf aside as he pushed himself to his feet. His legs were wobbly, but they would support him. "How would you feel about fixing that?"

"At our first opportunity. In the meantime . . ."

"We bury our dead."

Karl stood at the rail, Rahff and Aeia next to him.

In front of him, Fialt's body lay shrouded on a plank; the plank was supported at one end by the starboard rail, supported at the other by Tennetty, Chak, and Ahira.

Karl laid his hand on the rail. "I never knew Fialt as well as I would have liked to," he said. "Guess it's because I never took enough time. But he wasn't an easy man to get to know. Quiet, most of the time. A private person, our Fialt was.

"I never really understood why he came along. He didn't seem to have the . . . fire in him that Ahira, Tennetty, and I do. And it wasn't a matter of practicing his profession, as it is for Chak. Or of learning through doing, as it is for Rahff.

"But that doesn't tell us much about him. What do we really know about this quiet man? We know that he was awkward with a sword, and none too good with his hands. Although he was learning, and no one ever tried harder. We know that he was a Salke, and a sailor, and a farmer, and a slave. And, finally, a free man. But that was about all.

"About all . . ." Karl gripped the rail, his knuckles whitening.

"There were only two times that I had even a peek through the wall he put up between himself and the rest of the world. It seems to me that Fialt wouldn't mind my talking about those two times. And I hope he'll forgive me being frank.

"The first was during a lesson. He had done something well, for once—damned if I can remember what, right now—and I'd said something like, 'We'll make a warrior of you, if you keep this up.'

"He turned to me and shook his head. 'Just a man who can protect himself, his friends, and his own. That's all I ask. That's all I ask. . . . '

"The other time was last night. Fialt must have known that he wasn't good enough to take on a swordsman by himself; he should have waited for a signal from Ahira.

"But he didn't wait. It didn't make sense, dammit." Karl gripped the body's stiff, cold shoulder. "You should have waited, Fialt, you should have. . . ." Karl's eyes misted over; his voice started to crack. He took a deep breath and forced his body back under control.

"I . . . guess that tells us something important about our friend. Both virtue and flaw. I will miss that virtue, that flaw, and Fialt, whose body we now surrender to the Cirric." He patted the shoulder and stepped back.

Their faces grim, Tennetty, Chak, and Ahira raised their end of the plank. The body slipped from the plank and splashed into the blue water below, falling behind as it sank.

Chak drew his falchion and raised it to his forehead in salute. Ahira unstrapped his battleaxe, mirroring Chak.

Tennetty stared at the ripples, her eyes red, her face blank.

Karl drew his own sword and balanced it on his palms. "I promise you this, Fialt: You will be avenged." He slipped the sword back in its scabbard.

"Maybe I'm wrong, but I like to think you'd want it just that way."

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Framed

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Ehvenor

Remember that no man loses other life than that which
he lives, or lives any other life than that which he loses. 

—Marcus Aurelius

Him? Karl started. The aging, wide-bellied ketch tied at the end of the narrow dock didn't look familiar, but the man in the sailcloth tunic, directing the loading crew, did. Avair Ganness, what the hell are you doing here? And if you're here, where's the Pride?

It had to be him. While sweat-stained sailcloth tunics weren't at all rare around the docks, there couldn't be a whole lot of short, dark-skinned sailors with waist-length pigtails and thick, hairy legs who carried themselves with the rolling swagger and easy confidence of a ship's captain.

"Captain Ganness?"

Avair Ganness shouted a quick command at a seaman, then turned.

His swarthy face paled. "You? Not again." He opened his mouth to call to one of the bowmen at the foot of the dock, then pursed his lips and shrugged, beckoning to a crewman. "Quickly," he said, "finish loading and prepare to cast off."

"But we don't sail until—"

"Smartly, now. We may not have to, but I want to be able to cast off and up sails in half a score heartbeats. We may need to show Ehvenor a fast set of heels. Understood?"

"Aye, sir." The sailor shrugged and vaulted over the splintered railing, calling out to crewmen to halt the loading process and prepare for casting off.

Ganness turned back to Karl, a tragic smile spreading over his face. "What is it now, Karl Cullinane?" He spread his hands. "If you've managed to get the Ehven as angry as you did Lord Lund, I'd at least like to know why I'm going to die on this wretched dock."

Karl raised a hand. "I'm not wanted here. Pandathaway, yes. But I understand that Ehvenor isn't interested." As Chak explained it, there was no love lost between Pandathaway, the center of trade, culture, and magic of the Eren regions, and Ehvenor, dominated by the outpost of Faerie.

Ganness nodded, conceding the point. "True enough. As far as official Ehvenor goes. But not all Ehvenor is official Ehvenor."

He pointed a blunt finger shoreward. At his motion, a group of filthy, rag-clad men scurried for the shadow of a warehouse, all the while gibbering at each other in strained, high-pitched voices. "Watch your back, Karl Cullinane. Being around faerie too long does strange things to some humans; drives them crazy. I don't keep bowmen at the foot of the dock for the pleasure of it; in the past, crazies have fired boats—with themselves aboard, more often than not. Some of them would slit you open, throat to crotch, just for the fun of it." Ganness smiled. "Instead of the money."

Karl rested his hand on his swordhilt. "Perhaps you'd like the money?"

Ganness sneered. "Me?" He spat on the dock. "Of course. But while the notion of carrying your head back to Pandathaway thrills me, the idea of becoming a side attraction in the Coliseum doesn't. I don't dare set foot in Pandathaway or Lundeyll, not anymore. Not since I was fool enough to carry you from Lundeyll to Pandathaway. The wizards have long memories. I won't have any further dealings with them, for as long as I live." He laughed ruefully. "And that's a safe claim, come to think of it. Now," he said, drawing himself up straight, "what are you doing here?"

"I'd heard that a ship called the Warthog was leaving for Melawei tonight. Is this it?"

"Yes. And she's mine, such as she is."

Karl looked the ketch over, from the gashed bow all the way to the stern, where a pair of seamen worked a bilge pump, sending a constant stream of brown water over the side and into the harbor. "Not quite the Ganness' Pride, eh?"

"Not quite."

"What happened?"

"Lund wasn't pleased with my carrying you from Lundeyll; he hired himself a brace of pirate ships to hunt her down. They caught up with me just off Salket. The Pride went down; I barely escaped with my life. All thanks to you." Ganness sighed. "But you haven't answered my question."

"I think I have. I need to buy some passages to Melawei: seven people and two horses going, six and two coming back. Are you willing to carry us?"

"The same ones you were with before?" Ganness brightened. "Including Doria?"

"No, the only one you'd know is Ahira. The dwarf."

"Too bad." Ganness pursed his lips. "I may regret asking this, but are any of the others good with a sword or bow?"

"All of us. You might be able to use an extra sword or two. There's been a bit of trouble on the Cirric, I hear." That was a bald lie. Karl hadn't heard anything of the sort. But, given that slavers were raiding Melawei, it was reasonable to assume that they might pounce on a few merchantmen. And if Ganness was even considering carrying them, it was certain that the captain was afraid of just that.

"True enough." Ganness stood silently for a moment. "Are you sure that you're not wanted here? I'm not about to let you close another port to me."

Karl patted the hilt of his saber. "I'm certain. I'll swear it on this, if you'd like."

Ganness nodded. "Fine, then. I can put the horses in the hold, but the only other accommodations I've got are deck passage—unless you'd prefer to sleep with your animals?"

"No thanks."

"Very well, then. It'll be six gold for each human, five for the dwarf, two for each horse. Each passage, each way. Payable now." He held out his hand.

Karl raised an eyebrow. "On this? That's almost ten platinum. I could almost buy this ship for that."

"No, you couldn't. I wouldn't sell." He smiled. "Besides, Warthog is faster than she looks. In some ways, she's better than the Pride was."

Karl held back a laugh. The Ganness' Pride had been a lean, shapely sloop, not a floating leak. The only way this scow was better than Ganness' former ship was that it would hurt Ganness less to lose her. "Well, at least she's here."

One hand on his hip, Ganness held out a palm. "The coin, if you please."

Karl hefted the pouch. "I don't have that much with me." But should they take passage on Ganness' ship? Maybe it would be better to wait for the next one.

No. It could be a long time before another Melawei-bound ship left. And if he turned Ganness down, the captain might be tempted to let it be known there was a wanted man around, for whose head Pandathaway would pay well. The threat was implicit in Ganness' ridiculously high price for passage.

Karl opened the pouch and counted out six gold coins. "You can have this as a deposit; I'll have the rest for you at the time we sail."

"Agreed. And I will see you then."

Karl started to turn away, but Ganness' shout stopped him.

Wait. "Aren't you forgetting something?" Ganness asked.

"What?"

The captain gestured to Karl's sword. "I think there's still a bit of swearing to be done. On your sword, if you please. If, that is, you do want passage."

Karl hesitated.

"Truly," Ganness went on, "she is a good ship. Seaworthy and fast."

"Of course." Slowly, Karl drew his sword, then balanced it on his palms. I may as well get this over with. Next thing I know, he'll be telling me she made the Kessel run in less than twelve parsecs. 

Ahrmin clung to one of ten rope ladders secured to the dock, restraining a shiver.

The Cirric was cold this late at night, but it and the darkness provided good cover for Ahrmin and his ten men. He had spent several hours considering how many of the forty men from the Scourge to take with him. Too small a group wouldn't be able to take on Cullinane and his friends; too large a group would be impossible to hide. The element of surprise was always a huge advantage, and Ahrmin believed in having every advantage available.

Ten seemed about right. Enough to overpower Cullinane's group; not too many to hide.

It would take sharp eyes to see their heads and the few inches of rope that had been tacked to the side of the dock. The dock was a thick and sturdy one, rising more than two heads' height above the smooth black water.

Near the ship, sandals slapped against wood and voices called out orders, as the crew made the final preparations for the Warthog to sail.

Clinging to the ladder next to Ahrmin's, Jheral nudged him. "Shouldn't you check that ball again?" he whispered. "Or are you afraid of losing it?" Jheral shook his head to clear the water from his eyes and his long, pointed ears.

Ahrmin rewarded him with a scowl. The damned elf was more trouble than he was worth. Jheral had been a journeyman slaver for more than twenty years, and made no secret of his strong distaste for Ahrmin's promotion to master.

Not that Guildmaster Yryn had had any choice; he couldn't place Ahrmin in authority over senior journeymen without promoting him, and this job was clearly too much for Ahrmin and a group of junior journeymen and apprentices.

Probably Jheral and the others could have taken that. But the guildmaster had gone further, taking the unusual step of expressing his confidence in Ahrmin in the Writ of Mastery, by way of trying to avoid any conflicts. Normally that would have settled the matter; Guildmaster Yryn was known for being stinting in his praise.

It hadn't settled it; in fact, Yryn's strategy had backfired, acting as fuel to the journeymen's resentment—Jheral's, in particular.

"We could have just waited for them at sea," Jheral went on, "instead of floating here like a bunch of silkies."

"Be quiet. Do you want them to hear us?" That suggestion was ridiculous; it just couldn't work. In a sea battle, it would be impossible to capture Karl Cullinane alive. Stealth was the only chance.

But Jheral's first idea did make sense. Grudgingly, Ahrmin reached over to the inflated pig bladder that was tied loosely to the ladder and reached underneath, pulling on the slim rope to haul up the fine-mesh net bag containing the device Wenthall had given him.

"Light," he whispered.

Jheral drew his knife, cupping his hands around the blade to prevent the bright glow from shining through the cracks in the dock. Thyren, the Scourge's wizard, had refused Ahrmin's request to help them catch Karl Cullinane, saying that he had signed on only to neutralize the Mel wizards during the slaving raid. But he had agreed to Glow a knife . . . in return for Ahrmin's promise of a share of the reward.

The finger floated in the yellow oil, pointing unerringly toward the city, toward Karl Cullinane.

Ahrmin waited, watching the finger.

With agonizing slowness it moved, until it came to rest parallel to the dock.

Silently, Ahrmin pushed himself away from the ladder, pulling the bladder with him, beckoning at Jheral to follow.

Like a compass needle, the finger swung. Karl Cullinane was nearing the dock; he was somewhere in the shadows of Ehvenor. Somewhere near.

"He's almost here." Ahrmin tugged on the netting to make certain that it still secured the ball, then checked the rope fastening the netting to the bladder. The knots were still tight; he let the ball sink below the surface, then beckoned to the others bobbing in the dark water. "On my signal, we move," he whispered. "Remember, we can kill the others, but I want Karl Cullinane alive. And, Jheral—put that knife away."

"For a moment." Jheral smiled. "For a moment."

At the foot of the dock, Karl held up a hand and climbed down from Carrot's saddle. "Rahff, has Pirate ever been on a boat before?"

The boy shook his head. "No." The white horse snorted and stamped her feet, pulling back against the reins as Rahff tried to lead her. He stroked at the horse's neck with his right hand as he held the reins in his left. "And she's getting a bit skittish. I'm sorry, Karl."

"Don't apologize, Rahff. You do just fine with the horses."

Rahff drew himself up straight, standing proudly.

Karl suppressed a pleased chuckle. A few words of mild commendation did wonders for the boy's posture. Whatever his virtues, Zherr Furnael had clearly never been unstinting in his praise.

Karl tried to calm Pirate down, but the horse snorted and snapped at his fingers.

It was just as well that they had sold the other horses, instead of trying to bring them on board. While Carrot wasn't a problem, Pirate's skittishness could quickly have become contagious.

Chak tapped Karl's shoulder. "Let me try."

"Go ahead."

The little man reached into his sack and produced a strip of cloth. With a quick motion, he whipped it around Pirate's eyes, fastening it in place as a blindfold.

The blindfold worked; Pirate calmed instantly, as though someone had thrown a switch.

Fialt hoisted his bag to his shoulder. "You should keep the horses toward the middle; gives you a bit of room for error if the animal gets twitchy."

Tennetty threw an arm around Fialt's waist. "Hmm." She smiled. "I guess you are good for something, clumsy. Something else, that is."

Ahira raised an eyebrow; Karl shook his head. Something else? Apparently both of them had missed what had been going on between Fialt and Tennetty.

"Can't put the two of them on watch together anymore," Karl whispered. "They'll be paying too much attention to each other to keep a proper lookout. That's probably been going on for a while."

"Happens." Ahira nodded. "But don't be too critical, eh? Let he without sin cast the first stone, and all that."

"Right." Karl raised his head. "Let's go. Slowly, now."

As he led Carrot onto the dock, Aeia skipped ahead, her little feet flying across the wood. She stopped just a few yards from the Warthog, nervously eyeing the strangers on board the ship.

Ganness held out a hand. "Welcome aboard." He raised his head and called out, "You have the coin?"

"As agreed," Karl called back. "Go ahead, Aeia. Get on. We'll be there in a moment." After the slightest of pauses, she walked up the ramp and onto the deck.

Karl pulled on Carrot's reins. "Easy, girl. It'll just be another—"

A hand reached out of the water and fastened itself on Karl's ankle. Another hand stabbed a glowing knife into his calf.

Pain cut through him; he fell, landing hard on his side, his left arm caught beneath him. A shrill scream forced its way through his lips.

Swords and knives in their hands, eleven men slipped out of the water, surrounding them all in a circle of steel points and edges.

Karl reached for the hilt of his sword, but the same glowing knife stabbed through his right wrist, pinning his hand to the wood.

His fingers writhed; his nails clawed at the wood.

Another hand grasped his hair. "Don't try to move." An elf's thin face leered inches from his. "That will only make it hurt more."

"We only want Karl Cullinane," a low voice rasped. "The rest of you can go. Or die."

Karl couldn't move his head, and the reflexive twitching of his right hand sent red-hot currents of pain shooting through his arm. He could only see Carrot's rump, Fialt, Tennetty, and two swords, just at the edge of his vision, menacing them.

Fialt raised his hands. "We don't want any trouble—"

He slapped at Carrot's hindquarters, sending the horse galloping down the pier. He snatched the manriki-gusari from his belt, then leaped out of Karl's vision.

Fialt staggered back, blood fountaining from between his hands as he clutched his chest, while Carrot's pounding hooves set the dock shaking.

"Chak," Ahira shouted, "now."

Karl struggled to free his left arm as the elf's fist pounded against his face.

Blood filled Karl's eyes. Blindly flailing his arm, he managed to fasten his left hand on the elf's throat.

Karl squeezed, ignoring the pain, ignoring the clatter of steel and the splashes of bodies falling in the water. The only thing that mattered was his left hand, and his grip on the elf's throat.

Karl squeezed.

The blows grew more frantic.

Karl squeezed. The flesh of the elf's neck parted beneath his fingers, bathing his arm in blood.

The blows eased, then stopped.

"You can let go of him now," Ahira said, bending over him. "He's dead. And the rest are gone." A sudden stab of pain, and the knife was wrenched from Karl's hand. "Rahff, the healing draughts. Quickly, now."

Karl shook his head, clearing some of the blood from his eyes. "No." Pain pounded redly in his hand and calf, making each word a hideous labor. "First. Get on board. All of us. Take off. Then."

The dwarf pulled him up, helping Karl balance on his good leg. The dock was slippery with blood. Three bodies lay face down on the wood.

Tennetty knelt in a pool of Fialt's blood. Her fists drummed a rapid tattoo on his back. "You idiot," she trilled. "Never were any good against a sword. Never." She beat against his back as though trying to pound him back to life, tears streaming down her face.

Chak sheathed his sword and grasped her hands in his. "There's nothing more you can do for him," he said gently. "We have to go." He pulled her to her feet, then stopped to pick up Fialt's body and throw it over his shoulder.

Ganness ran over, two bowmen at his side. His face was ashen, his lips white. "I thought you said—"

Rahff reached over and grabbed the front of Ganness' tunic. "You heard Karl. Just shut up. We'd better get out of here; they may come back."

"But—"

Rahff raised his bloody sword. "Shut up." Karl tried to listen, tried to keep his eyes open, but the darkness reached out and claimed him.

It was a long swim back up to the light. The water rocked him, and tried to force itself into his mouth.

He gave up and let himself sink into the darkness, but a hand reached out and grasped his face, pulling him to the light.

"Karl," Ahira said, forcing more of the sickly-sweet liquid between his lips, "we're safe now. For the time being."

Karl opened his eyes. He was lying on a narrow bunk, sunlight streaming through the oversized porthole and splashing onto his chest. The ship was canted, sailing close to the wind.

"Where?" He struggled to get the words out. "Where are we?"

"Ganness' cabin." The dwarf smiled. "Ganness started to object when we brought you down here, but he took one look at Rahff and changed his mind. That's one loyal apprentice, Karl. Good kid."

Karl nodded. He brought his right hand up, in front of his face.

The wound from the knife was just a pinkish scar on the back of his hand, mirrored on his palm. As he stared at the scar, it continued to fade. Soon it would be gone. It would be just as if nothing at all had—

No. "Fialt."

The dwarf shook his head. "Nothing we could do for him. Healing draughts can't help a dead man. But Chak brought the body on board." He bit his lip. "I . . . I thought you'd want to say the words over him, before we bury him in the Cirric. Tennetty says that's the way they do it on Salket."

Karl raised himself on an elbow. "I'd better go see to every—"

The dwarf planted a hand on Karl's chest and pushed him back. "Everybody else is fine. I've put Rahff and Chak on watch; the horses are safe in the hold." A crooked smile played across Ahira's lips. "Although I'd better bring Aeia in. She's been crying. Thinks you're dead. Rahff and Chak have been telling her you're unkillable, but I don't think she believes them."

"I sure as hell don't. How many of the bounty hunters did we kill?"

Ahira shrugged. "Three for certain; another four wounded and pushed into the water. The rest dove and disappeared."

"And Ganness. How is he taking all of this?"

With a weak smile, Ahira picked up his battleaxe from where it lay on the floor. "I talked to him for a while, and he stopped squawking." He lowered the axe and sighed. "But he got away, dammit."

"He? Who?"

"You didn't notice who was leading that group?"

Karl snorted. "I was sort of busy. What's the mystery?"

"The leader looked to be about eighteen. Dark hair, dark eyes, slim nose. Good with a sword; it took him half a second to spear Fialt through the chest and return to the on-guard position. Had one hell of a familiar-looking and very cruel smile. And that voice . . ." The dwarf shuddered. "Didn't he sound like someone we know?"

Karl tried to remember the voice. No, he had been in too much pain to pay attention. But that description—except for the age, that sounded just like— "Ohlmin? But he's dead." I cut his head off, and held it in my hands. There were times that violence bothered Karl, but killing that bastard had been a distinct pleasure.

Ahira nodded. "But maybe he has either a son or a younger brother who isn't."

Karl elbowed the dwarf aside as he pushed himself to his feet. His legs were wobbly, but they would support him. "How would you feel about fixing that?"

"At our first opportunity. In the meantime . . ."

"We bury our dead."

Karl stood at the rail, Rahff and Aeia next to him.

In front of him, Fialt's body lay shrouded on a plank; the plank was supported at one end by the starboard rail, supported at the other by Tennetty, Chak, and Ahira.

Karl laid his hand on the rail. "I never knew Fialt as well as I would have liked to," he said. "Guess it's because I never took enough time. But he wasn't an easy man to get to know. Quiet, most of the time. A private person, our Fialt was.

"I never really understood why he came along. He didn't seem to have the . . . fire in him that Ahira, Tennetty, and I do. And it wasn't a matter of practicing his profession, as it is for Chak. Or of learning through doing, as it is for Rahff.

"But that doesn't tell us much about him. What do we really know about this quiet man? We know that he was awkward with a sword, and none too good with his hands. Although he was learning, and no one ever tried harder. We know that he was a Salke, and a sailor, and a farmer, and a slave. And, finally, a free man. But that was about all.

"About all . . ." Karl gripped the rail, his knuckles whitening.

"There were only two times that I had even a peek through the wall he put up between himself and the rest of the world. It seems to me that Fialt wouldn't mind my talking about those two times. And I hope he'll forgive me being frank.

"The first was during a lesson. He had done something well, for once—damned if I can remember what, right now—and I'd said something like, 'We'll make a warrior of you, if you keep this up.'

"He turned to me and shook his head. 'Just a man who can protect himself, his friends, and his own. That's all I ask. That's all I ask. . . . '

"The other time was last night. Fialt must have known that he wasn't good enough to take on a swordsman by himself; he should have waited for a signal from Ahira.

"But he didn't wait. It didn't make sense, dammit." Karl gripped the body's stiff, cold shoulder. "You should have waited, Fialt, you should have. . . ." Karl's eyes misted over; his voice started to crack. He took a deep breath and forced his body back under control.

"I . . . guess that tells us something important about our friend. Both virtue and flaw. I will miss that virtue, that flaw, and Fialt, whose body we now surrender to the Cirric." He patted the shoulder and stepped back.

Their faces grim, Tennetty, Chak, and Ahira raised their end of the plank. The body slipped from the plank and splashed into the blue water below, falling behind as it sank.

Chak drew his falchion and raised it to his forehead in salute. Ahira unstrapped his battleaxe, mirroring Chak.

Tennetty stared at the ripples, her eyes red, her face blank.

Karl drew his own sword and balanced it on his palms. "I promise you this, Fialt: You will be avenged." He slipped the sword back in its scabbard.

"Maybe I'm wrong, but I like to think you'd want it just that way."

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