Mena did as requested. Part of her wanted to stay with the old chieftain, wanted to let the others move away so that she could sit with him in solitude for a time. Here was a man who knew her brother and had sparred with her father when he was a young man. She wanted to comfort him, like a grown daughter might an ailing father. And, perhaps, she wanted to let him comfort her as well. Surely, tales of the past would help her make sense of the present. Wasn't that the way it was supposed to be? Couldn't she talk him through his melancholy and find within his long span of life greater meaning that would be a balm to them both? She believed so, but that was not the tenor of the moment. Instead, she bade him farewell for the time being and followed the younger men out to inspect the new fleet.

It was a sad tour. The Halaly tried hard to demonstrate their resolve, but the toll of the months of suffering and food shortages was palpable in every pause in the conversation, written in the haggard lines of women's faces and in the hunger contained within the ovals of children's eyes. The skimmer ships were interesting, but they looked like vessels meant for youthful recreation, not for battling a monster. Mena went to her tent aware that there was still much to be prepared physically and much to be repaired in the tribe's morale.

C HAPTER

On the eve of his departure for the Other Lands, once all the preparations that could be made had been made, Dariel carved out a few afternoon hours to spend with his nephew, Aaden. He buried any appearance of worry about the coming trip under a string of fanciful tales. He was going to sail the Gray Slopes around the curve of the world and right into the great maelstrom through which the Giver had escaped! Yes, that's exactly what he would do. He was going to track the wandering god down and talk his ear off until he changed his mind and came back. And if he could find Elenet along the way, he would give the young man a piece of his mind. Stealing from a god like that? Mucking about with the Giver's tongue? The cheek of it! To do all this, he would have to be slipperier than a snake, smoother of tongue than a floating merchant, more cunning than a Sea Isle brigand.

"Oh, wait," Dariel said, a sly grin growing with his realization. "I am a Sea Isle brigand! That's lucky. Elenet doesn't have a chance!"

Together, uncle and nephew ran through the hallways and up and down the stairs that fed out onto the main courtyard of the upper palace. They sparred with light wooden swords, alternately laughing and threatening. At times like this, Dariel's mind was as nimble and fanciful as a child's. There was nothing linear about their play, no thematic cohesion to it. One minute they were shipmates aboard the Ballan, the next they were Edifus and Tinhadin unifying the Known World, and just as quickly they were two laryx fighting for leadership of their pack, or an architect conferring with his worker on a great project. They were, for a few hours, two boys dashing through a palace full of servants who jumped out of their way. Some tutted and scowled. Most of them smiled, for the sight of them was a rare and welcome lightness in a court that Corinn tended with a solemn air.

For his part, Aaden listened to his uncle with an expression that at times said he was humoring the old fellow and at others betrayed rapt interest. He was just a boy, Dariel knew. Though his life had shown him no hardship, he already had a tendency toward seriousness. Corinn's work. There was no doubt that she loved her son deeply, but she had begun molding him some time ago. She would likely do so with greater and greater pressure as he turned toward adolescence. Dariel did not envy the boy.

Dariel tried to lead Aaden down into the subterranean world he had explored as a boy, but the palace walls and passageways defied his memory. He was sure that there was a route from his old nursery into these hidden realms, but he could not find it. He peeked behind wardrobes and reached under wall hangings. He kicked at corners and even got on his hands and knees as if close study of the walls' intersection with the floor would provide some clue. But he found nothing. Before long Aaden grew bored, not to mention skeptical. Another of his uncle's jokes, no doubt, just not an amusing one.

"When I get back we'll have a proper search," Dariel said. The two of them sat munching cheese from a plate on the floor of Aaden's room. "I swear there's a passage to be found here. Your mother knows about it. She had the Numrek use it in the last war."

"So what are you really going to do on this voyage?" Aaden asked, returning to a line of questioning Dariel had fended off earlier. "Does it have to do with the quota?"

Drawing back, Dariel asked, "What do you know of that?"

Aaden held his gaze a moment. "I know enough. Mother said that since I am older than the quota children now, I am old enough to know about them. If they're brave enough to go into the unknown, I should be capable of at least knowing about it."

"Corinn told you that?"

"Yes, but don't tell her I told you," Aaden said. "Sometimes she acts as if I'm too young to know certain things. And at other times you're not supposed to know things that I know. Does that make sense?"

Rising and stepping away from the boy, Dariel picked up his wooden sword and fenced the air with it. The motion was just an excuse for a few moments to think. Of course Corinn had told him some things. She knew as well as he that royal children should not be raised in ignorance of the unpleasant workings of the nation, as he and his siblings had largely been. But he also knew that Corinn considered this aspect of her son's education to be her province. He needed to be careful what he revealed.

"Yes, my trip does have something to do with that," he said. "I mean, it has to do with the Lothan Aklun and our dealings with them. I should not talk about it, though. Ask your mother if you wish to know more."

"Are you so afraid of her? You can't even stand still."

Dariel stopped his nervous sparring dance. "Corinn is my sister," he said. "Why should I be afraid of my sister? Don't be silly, and don't try to trick me. She's my sister, but she's your mother. If she wishes you to know affairs of state, it's up to her to tell you about them."

Aaden pierced a grape with the cheese knife. He lifted it and studied it as if he had not even heard his uncle. "It's just not right. I don't see any way that it's right. Children should not-"

"Wait, Aaden-"

"Be sent off into slavery. Mother told me she knows it's not right, and yet she allows it. Children, Dariel, younger than me. They get taken from their parents! I know you understand what that means. You were sent alone into the world when just a boy, right?"

Dariel lowered himself to his knees, setting the wooden sword to one side. "Yes, I was."

"And it was bad, yes, to be alone like that? On your own, with the whole world around you."

Dariel remembered the aching fear he had felt when alone in that dilapidated hut at the edge of the abandoned village in the Senivalian mountains. A chill, black night, the world like a mouth about to clamp shut and devour him whole. He only said, "Yes, that was not easy."

"So will you stop it? Go and see what it's about, but if it's bad, promise me you'll stop it. Even if mother gets mad at you for it. I would do it myself, but I'm not old enough yet. Promise me you'll do what's right, and when I'm king I'll remember it." Aaden, still holding the grape on the tip of the knife, slanted his gaze up toward his uncle and waited for an answer.

The response he gave still rang in his ears the next morning, as he made his way through a dock thronging with workers and guards and animals, sailors and Ishtat Inspectorate officers. He had heard of the Rayfin, the league clipper that would transport him on the first leg of his journey, but he had seen it only from a distance. On reaching it, he stood a moment, gazing at it, unmoving among the commotion around him.