Rhal shaded his eyes, peering landward. The weather had remained clear through the day but-a wind was blowing up out of the west, piling up the waves and lashing the foam from their white crests. "I see breakers against the rocks all up and down there. Most of it's cliff and ledge. You'll just have to coast along until you see a likely landing place."

"Is the boat ready?" asked Seregil.

Rhal nodded, his gaze still on the distant coastline.

"Water, food, all that you asked for. I saw to it myself. We can cast you off as soon as you've packed in your gear."

"We'd best get at it then," Micum said.

"It's been a while since either of us has sailed. I don't want to try this sea without some daylight ahead of us."

When the final pack and cask had been lashed into the Lady's starboard longboat, Seregil and Micum took leave of Rhal.

"Good luck to you," the captain said solemnly, clasping hands with them. "Whatever it is the two of you are up to over there, give those Plenimaran bastards merry hell for me."

"Nothing will make me any happier," Micum assured him.

"Lay off the coast as long as you can," said Seregil. "If we're not back in four or five days, or if you get run off yourself, head north and put in at the first friendly port you find."

Rhal gripped Seregil's hand a moment longer.

"By the Old Sailor, when this whole thing is over, I'd like to hear the tale of it. You look out for yourselves, and find that boy of yours."

"We will," Seregil promised, climbing into the boat. Crouching down beside Micum, he wrapped his hands around one of the ropes securing the boat's small mast.

"Hold tight!" Rhal called as his men set to work lowering it over the side. "Wait until we're well away before you put up your sail. Good luck, friends!"

The little boat swung precariously from the halyards as it was lowered down the side of the pitching ship.

Waves slapped at it as they neared the water, then rolled in over the side. Clinging on as best they could Seregil and Micum waited until they'd cleared the Lady, then unfurled the triangular sail.

The little boat yawed sharply, catching another wave over the side. Micum took the tiller and turned her into the wind while

Seregil hauled on the spar rope. As soon as they got her headed properly into the waves, he looped the spar rope over a cleat and set about bailing the craft out.

"You're the Guide," Micum said, shrugging out of his sodden cloak and settling himself more comfortably at the tiller. "What do we do now?"

Seregil gazed toward the distant shore. "Like Rhal said, get in close and coast along until we spot a landing place."

"There's a lot of coast there, Seregil. We could end up miles from wherever this temple of yours is."

Seregil went back to his bailing. "If I am the Guide of Nysander's prophecy, maybe I'll know the right place when I see it."

The words sounded weak and half-convinced even to him, but he didn't know what else to say. This certainly didn't seem like the proper moment to confess that except for a few fragmentary dreams and the bleeding scar on his chest, he was painfully unaware of any feelings of divine guidance.

As Rhal had observed, much of the coastline was ledge or cliff. The boom of the surf echoed back at them across the water and they could see the spume thrown up by the breakers. Great blocks of reddish granite shot through with bands of black basalt lay in tumbled disorder between the water and the trees above.

As far as the eye could see the land looked desolate and uninhabited. Dark forest blanketed the hills.

Higher up, the stark, stony peak of the mountain rose forbiddingly against the evening sky. The setting sun behind them cast a thick golden light over the scene, enhancing briefly the color of water, sky, and stone. Great flocks of sea ducks and geese floated on the swells just beyond the pull of the breakers. Overhead, gulls uttered their whistling calls as they circled and dove.

"I never thought I'd be setting foot on

Plenimaran soil," Micum remarked, steering them closer in. "I've got to admit, it's nice-looking country."

The sun sank lower. Kneeling in the bow, Seregil squinted intently at the harsh shoreline.

"I think we may be spending the night out here," Micum said, steering them past a rocky point.

"You may be—Wait!"

The forest was thick here, but he caught the distinct yellow flicker of firelight in the shadow of a cove. "Do you see that?"

"Could be a campfire. What do you say?"

"Let's have a look."

Steering into the cove, they discovered a tiny, sheltered beach at its head. Above the tide line, a large fire crackled invitingly, illuminating the thick tangle of evergreens that edged the shingle.

"It looks more like a signal fire," whispered Micum, tacking just off shore. "Could be fishermen or pirates."

"Only one way to find out. You stay with the boat."

Slipping over the side into the hip-deep water, Seregil drew his sword and waded ashore.

The beach lay at the head of a deep cleft in the surrounding ledge, making an oblique approach impossible, and the slanting evening light lit it like a stage. The shingle was made up of small, wave-polished stones that crunched and rattled under his boots as he continued up toward the fire.

Might just as well tie a bell around my neck, he thought uneasily, picturing archers tracking him from the ledges and swordsmen in the thickets.

But the cove was peaceful. Standing still, he listened carefully. Over the sigh of the wind, he heard the mournful music of doves and white throats in the woods, the clacking croak of a heron stalking the shallows somewhere nearby. No one was disturbing them.

Encouraged but wary, he crunched up the shingle to the fire. There was no sign of habitation, no packs or refuse. As he came nearer, he realized with a nasty start that the flames were giving off no heat. It was an illusion.

A branch snapped in the forest and he crouched, bracing for ambush. A tall, spare figure stepped from the trees.

"Here you are at last, dear boy," a familiar voice greeted him in Skalan.

"Nysander?" Still wary, Seregil remained where he was as the wizard pushed back his hood. Dressed for traveling, Nysander wore an old surcoat and loose breeches, and his faded cloak was held at the throat with the worn bronze brooch he always used.

As he came forward into the light, Seregil let out a startled gasp. Even in the ruddy light of sunset, Nysander looked ghostly. His face was the color of bone and more deeply lined than ever. Worse yet, he looked shrunken in on himself, diminished, like the gnarled caricature of an old man carved in fresh ivory. Only his bright eyes and the familiar warmth in his voice seemed to have come back to him intact.

The surprise of their unexpected meeting left Seregil wary of illusion, however. Quelling the impulse to embrace his old friend, Seregil kept his distance and asked, "How did you find us?"

Nysander made a sour face. "That blood charm you left with Magyana, of course. It took some managing and magic, but here I am."

Sheathing his sword, Seregil gave the old man a joyous hug. "I knew you'd do it, but by the Light, you look awful!"

"As do you, dear boy," Nysander chuckled.

Micum hauled the boat in and ran up the shingle to join them.

"You mean to say you were here waiting for us?" he cried, looking Nysander over in wonder. "How did you know? And why didn't you send us a message by magic?"

"All in good time," the old wizard sighed, sinking down on a driftwood log and waving the illusory fire out of existence. "I must admit, I am equally relieved to see you. I feared I might have missed you after all."

"Do you know anything about Alec?" Seregil asked hopefully, sitting down beside him.