"Just what I need. A blind person telling me how to fight."

Gork awoke and pushed its belly up off the grass. "Have you forgotten who I am?" said Afsan. "The best hunters in all of Land called me The One in my youth. Was it not I who felled the largest thunderbeast ever seen? Was it not I who dispatched the water serpent Kal-ta-goot?"

Dybo bowed and then, feeling silly doing so but doing it nonetheless, said out loud, "I am bowing." He added a moment later: "You are indeed a great hunter."

Afsan returned the bow. "There is a way for one Quintaglio to survive against a blackdeath."

"And that is?"

He shook his head. "I don’t know. I haven’t figured it out yet. But I’m confident that I can find a way."

"Confident enough to bet my life on it?"

"I’ll do the best I am able," said Afsan.

"It’s more than just my life, Afsan. You enjoy the support of the Emperor. You want for nothing under my leadership, and your dream of getting us off this world is pursued because of me. If I lose, you lose."

"I know that. But, forgive me, it seems as though your reign will soon abruptly end unless you consolidate your power, unless a stop is put to this challenge to your right to rule. We are a hunting society; no one knows better than I how strongly our people revere those with skill at the hunt." Gork rubbed gently against Afsan’s legs. "If you could survive against a blackdeath, you would by definition be the greatest hunter in all of Land. That, in and of itself, would be enough to make most people willing to accept your right — your earned right — to rule."

"I am Emperor now," said Dybo, "because my mother died young. And Rodlox is a governor, because his predecessor likewise met an unexpected death. The rest of my putative siblings are merely apprentice governors."

"True."

"But the governors they are apprenticed to are also my relatives, if one believes Rodlox. They are my mother’s brothers and sisters."

"And they are old," said Afsan simply.

"So?"

"So, respect for elders runs deep. People may grumble about their right to hold high office in light of what Rodlox has said, but I doubt anyone will seriously call for their replacement. First, to be blunt, they’ll all die of old age soon enough anyway. And most of them have governed since long before you or I were born. In those many kilodays they’ve earned the right to continue administering their provinces, earned it by deeds. If the question of rightful Emperorship is solved, I suspect the issue of who should be governing the outlying provinces will fade into the background."

"Very well," said Dybo. "But members of The Family are not the only ones to have avoided the test of the bloodpriest. You and Novato had eight children, and all of them, except poor Helbark, are still alive." Helbark had succumbed to fever shortly after his birth.

Afsan shook his head. "My children lived because of the wishes of the people, not despite them. I knew nothing about them being alive until the Dasheter returned to Capital City sixteen kilodays ago. The bloodpriests and the people chose to make a special dispensation."

"Because they thought you were The One, the great hunter foretold by Lubal."

"Indeed."

"But you are not The One. You may indeed be a great hunter, but you are not The One."

"Perhaps not."

"I know you are not."

"I have never made a claim either way."

"You know you are not."

Afsan made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I don’t play up the suggestion, but if some support the exodus because they feel that it is the great hunt foretold by Lubal, I do nothing to dissuade them. Regardless, my children were a special case, made with full public knowledge. The deceit practiced by The Family was something quite different: an attempt to control all of Land. But the circumstances were reversed. The palace advisors deceived The Family, in an attempt to wrest control from Larsk’s descendants and vest it in themselves. You now have a chance to rectify that: to put an end to the deceit, to eliminate the advisors who have corrupted the government, to establish once and for all your right to lead."

"What you suggest is radical."

"This is not the first time I’ve made a radical suggestion."

"No, no, I suppose not." Dybo leaned against one of the boulders, weary. "There is no other way?"

"The only alternative is the one you’ve already mentioned. You could abdicate. Let Rodlox take over. It would mean the end of our people, though — the death of our race."

Dybo looked thoughtful. "I try to keep the welfare of all Quintaglios in mind, of course," he said quickly, "but, um, what do you suppose would become of me if I did choose to abdicate?"

"You’d be sent into exile, I’d imagine," said Afsan. "There’s plenty of land on the southern shore of Edz’toolar where you could hunt and live and study in absolute peace." A pause. "Or so High Priest Det-Yenalb once told me."

"What?"

"Kilodays ago, when you had me held prisoner in the palace basement, Yenalb came to visit me. He offered me safe passage from the Capital, under his protection, if only I would disappear and never again speak my so-called heresies."

"I didn’t know about that. And you turned him down?"

"Yes."

"This was before…?"

"Before my eyes were put out? Yes."

"You turned down a safe way out?"

"I had no choice. The world’s survival depended on making the people understand what I’d come to know."

"Yenalb’s offer must have tempted you."

"More than you know. But one must not shirk responsibilities, Dybo, especially if one is to lead."

"If I don’t answer Rodlox’s challenge, continued infighting will distract us from the task at hand."

"Yes."

"And if I do answer the challenge, and Rodlox wins, he will cancel the exodus attempt."

"Yes."

"And our people will die."

"Yes."

"Then I must not only accept the challenge, I must win it," said Dybo. "I have no choice, do I?"

Afsan turned his blind eyes on his friend. "That’s the funny thing about being a leader, Dybo: you rarely do."

*13*

Fra’toolar

Babnol kept watching the horizon. The sun had long since risen from it and was now making its usual fast progress across the bowl of the purple sky. The waves were choppy, as always, and as gray as stone.

Toroca came near her. "Looking for our ship?"

Babnol nodded.

"It could show up anytime today, or tomorrow for that matter."

"I know."

"But you’re anxious to leave this place?"

"Since Pack Derrilo returned, it has been awfully crowded around here."

"It will be even more crowded aboard whatever ship they send for us."

"I suppose … but at least it will be a different crowd. That will help."

Toroca understood none of this, but nodded anyway. "The voyage should be quite exciting," he said.

Babnol scanned the horizon again. "I suppose. It depends — Look!" She pointed. Out where the sky met the waves there was something.

"It’s a ship," said Toroca, squinting.

"’Our ship," said Babnol. She had the far-seer with her and brought it to her eye. "It’s a big one."

"The sails look red," said Toroca.

"Yes," she said, squinting. "Four great red sails. And two hulls, connected by a joining piece, it looks like."

"May I see?" asked Toroca.

Babnol handed him the brass tube.

"I know that ship!" said Toroca. "Babnol, this is going to be a very interesting voyage indeed. We’re about to sail on a piece of history."

Var-Keenir anchored the mighty Dasheter offshore, and small landing boats were used to transfer Toroca, Babnol, and the rest of the surveyors on board.

It hadn’t been that long since Toroca had taken his pilgrimage aboard this ship. He had hoped that this voyage would go more easily than the last, but he found the ship’s rolling from side to side no less disconcerting than it had been on his trip to gaze upon the Face of God. And the stench! He knew the sources of each smell — wet wood and tree sap and salt and musty fabric — but they were no more welcoming than they’d been the last time. Likewise he was getting a headache from the constant barrage of sounds: slapping of waves, snapping of sails, groaning of wooden planks, footsteps on the deck above.