"Are you all right?" Malark asked.

"I'm fine," Szass Tam said.

"Maybe you should rest."

"No. Perhaps I'll want to by and by, but for now, I'm more than strong enough to do what needs doing. Which is raise a storm at sea to slow the council's flight. Our fine new ships, zombie sea serpents, and what have you won't do us any good if we can't catch our quarry."

He turned, scrutinized the sorcerers who waited to assist him, and called forth those with power over the weather.

Whenever Thessaloni Canos looked around the deck of Samas Kul's floating seraglio, she had to suppress a sneer. She hated the lewd gilded carvings, the companionways broad and easy to negotiate as any staircase on land, and every other detail where the shipwrights had forsaken spare, efficient utility in favor of luxury and opulent display.

But the ridiculous vessel seemed to have become a flagship of sorts. Samas had entertained his fellow zulkirs onboard shortly after setting sail, and that had put them in the habit of gathering here to confer. Thessaloni simply had to make the best of it.

With her trident dangling in her hand, she waited for the magelords to arrive, prowling the decks and trying to look past the ship's annoying toys and fripperies and determine how her captain ought to handle her in a fight. How nimbly could the ship maneuver, and how many archers could stand and shoot from the forecastle?

Meanwhile, Aoth Fezim, who'd carried her to the ship on the back of his griffon, descended to the galley, procured two hams, and watched with his luminous blue eyes as his steed snapped them down. Sailors watched, too, curious but keeping their distance as if they feared the beast might eat them next. Cold drizzle spattered down from a charcoal-colored sky, and the sea was choppy. The wind moaned out of the west.

The archwizards all appeared within a few heartbeats of one another. Samas crept on deck looking pale, shaky, and unshaven, as if he'd had a difficult night and had only just risen from his berth. Lauzoril and Lallara simply popped out of nowhere, and Nevron arrived riding a creature resembling a gigantic two-headed canary. When he dismounted, the thing turned into yellow vapor, which flowed into a brass ring on his left hand like steam retreating back into a kettle.

Aoth approached the zulkirs, came to attention, and saluted. Thessaloni climbed down from the bow and did the same. "Masters," she said.

Lallara looked Samas up and down, smirked, and said, "Aren't you treating us to another lavish breakfast this morning? More pork loin with green pepper sauce, perhaps? I do hope that enormous belly isn't queasy."

The transmuter scowled at her. "I hope you know how much I despise you."

"I do. It lifts my spirits whenever I think of it."

"We didn't come here for bickering and japes." Lauzoril turned to Thessaloni. "What's our situation?"

"I'll let Captain Fezim tell you," Thessaloni replied. "He and his men are the ones who've been aloft this morning, scouting."

The short, burly legionnaire cleared his throat. "We lost three ships, either because the storm sank them or because it blew them so far away that we can't locate them."

Nevron shrugged. A smell of smoke and burning clung to him. Thessaloni had first met him aboard a ship under her command, and she recalled how the odor had alarmed her until she realized where it originated. "Three isn't so bad," the conjuror said.

"I agree," Thessaloni said, "but you haven't heard everything yet."

"The storm damaged a number of ships," said Aoth, "and the crews are making repairs. I'm no mariner, but I'll try to give you the details if you want them.

"The bad weather scattered the fleet as well. It will take some time for it to gather back together. But the really bad news is that the necromancers are chasing us. Somehow, they put their own fleet in the water. They've also got undead sea creatures swimming among their vessels, and skin kites and such flying above them."

"Damn Szass Tam!" Nevron snarled. "Can we make it to the Alaor before he catches up with us?"

"No," Thessaloni said. "The storm blew us east of the islands. The necromancers would intercept us en route."

"I thought we brought the priesthood of Umberlee along with us," Lallara said. "Someone remind me, what use are they, if they can't bend the wind and the tides to our advantage?"

"You Masters obviously comprehend mystical matters far better than I," Thessaloni said, "but as I understand it, Szass Tam's spellcasters are still wrestling with ours for control of the weather, and at the moment, the enemy is having more success than we are."

Lauzoril cocked his head. "Could Szass Tam catch us if we headed farther east and south?"

Thessaloni felt a stab of annoyance at the obvious tenor of his thought and did her best to mask her feelings. "Possibly not, Your Omnipotence. Not soon, anyway."

"But then what?" Lallara asked. "Do we beg for sanctuary in Mulhorand? Do you imagine they love us there, and will give us estates to rule? I think I can guarantee you a chillier reception. We have to reach the Alaor and the colony cities and confirm our mastery of them if we're to have any sort of lives at all."

Thessaloni had never liked Lallara. Why would anyone feel fondness for a woman who went out of her way to be waspish and obnoxious? But she liked her now.

Samas articulated the logical corollary to Lallara's observation. "If that's still our objective, then we need to fight. Can we win?"

"Yes," Thessaloni said.

Lauzoril gave her a skeptical frown. "You seem very sure of yourself."

"I am." It was an exaggeration, but she'd long ago learned that few things were more useless than a captain who dithered and hedged. "Masters, with all respect, over the years I've built you the best navy in eastern Faerыn. Perhaps you've forgotten, because, the Bitch Goddess knows, for the past decade the fleet has had little to do. You've been fighting a land war, and our only tasks have been to intercept smugglers trying to convey supplies and mercenaries to Szass Tam, and to discourage raiders hoping to take advantage of the weakness of a Thay divided against itself."

She smiled. "But by the Bitch's fork, it's a sea war now, and your sailors are eager to prove their mettle. We don't care what fearsome powers Szass Tam possesses, or how many orcs, zombies, and whatnots are riding on his black ships. They're landlubbers, and we're anything but. Give me leave to direct the battle as I see fit, and I promise you victory."

The zulkirs exchanged glances, and then Samas smiled. "That makes me feel a little better."

When she sensed that the sun was gone, Tammith arose from the hold to find the griffon riders trying to saddle their mounts. The beasts were skittish, fractious, and liable to screech and even snap. They were creatures of mountain and hill, and according to Brightwing's grumbling as translated by Aoth, they didn't like the crowding, the rolling deck, the expanses of water to every side, or any other aspect of the sea voyage.

But Brightwing possessed enhanced intelligence and a psychic link with her master, and Bareris had used his music to forge a comparable bond with Winddancer. No doubt for those reasons, the two officers had succeeded in preparing their steeds for battle in advance of the soldiers under their command. Now they stood in the bow gazing west, where the sky was still red with the last traces of sunset. Looking like the champion he'd been in life, Mirror hovered behind them.

Tammith judged that it would be easier to float over the mass of irritable griffons and their riders than to squirm her way through them, so she dissolved into mist. The transformation dulled her senses, but not so much as to rob her of her orientation, particularly with the forbidding pressure of the sea defining the perimeter of the deck as plainly as a set of walls. She flowed over the heads of beasts and legionnaires and congealed into flesh and bone at Bareris's side. He smiled and kissed her, and she resisted the impulse to extend her fangs, nibble his lips, and draw blood to suck.