"Look at them," Dariel said. "I can see why they're feared."

"The Giver never created these!" Rialus said. "They're monsters!"

"Perhaps not," Sire Neen said. "He never did have much imagination. Anyway, there they are, no matter how they came to be." He motioned toward them with his thin wrist, dismissive and casual. "Watch what they do now."

The sea wolves drew in tighter around the brig, so churning the water that it seemed the Ambergris plowed through a sea of the creatures. They jockeyed for position along the massive wall of the hull. They caressed it, bumped it, tried to slide up out of the water as if they would climb it. They slapped at it with tentacled arms that peeled away from their bodies and moved with fluid strength. They clearly wished to gain some purchase on the hull. But they could not do so. They slid off the slick white coating. Some propelled themselves out of the water, slammed the hull with the weight of their bodies. These just dropped back into the froth, frustrated.

One creature, marked from the rest by an enormous barnacled protrusion on its head, squirmed in the water just beneath them, keeping pace. It rolled to the side and for a moment seemed to study them with one enormous yellow eye. The pupil contracted, perhaps from the light of the bright sky, but even to Sire Neen it seemed the beast was focusing his attention on him, picking him out from the many gaping faces looking over the rail. The leagueman had the sudden urge to grab the prince and toss him overboard, right toward that eye and waiting mouth. It was a fantasy urge, for he had no physical strength to match Dariel's, but it came to him so strongly he tasted metal on his tongue. But the moment passed. The creature rolled away and vanished.

"There are so many of them," Dariel said. His tone had changed, gone boyish, filled with curiosity. "What do they eat?"

"Your Majesty, how should I know? They don't eat us; that's the important thing."

Rialus's voice wavered as he asked, "We are not in danger, then?"

Sire Neen patted him on the back, nudging him with just enough force to press his torso against the railing. "So long as you don't fall in, Rialus, you're in no danger whatsoever. On occasion an unwary sailor has been snatched from the deck of a clipper, but we're well above their reach here on the Ambergris. In the early years, of course, we lost many ships of all sizes. These creatures seem to hate us or hunger for us. Which is perhaps the same thing. They tore ships apart and devoured whole crews. For a time we tried to shoot our way through with ballista mounted around the deck railing. We still lost most of our ships. But that was before we mastered the skin, and this was long ago. We are quite safe now."

"This 'skin,'" Dariel said, "what makes it work? Is it just a paint of sorts?"

"A paint?" Sire Neen showed his disdain for the simplicity of that concept. "Paint is like a condiment to sea wolves. They eat it with the ship, to improve its flavor. Our skin is no paint, but-forgive me-that is all I can say about it."

"I must know what this skin is," Dariel said. "I'm sure we could put it to use, even in the Inner Sea!"

"There are no sea wolves in the Inner Sea, Your Highness, a fact that you should be glad of. As to skin itself, that's a trade secret. The league must humbly hold that information close. We are only merchants, Prince Dariel, allow us our secrets."

Sire Neen opened his eyes again, realizing that his name had been called, pulling him back from his reverie.

Dariel watched him from across the table, a look of amused curiosity on his face.

"I'm sorry," Sire Neen said, "what was it you asked?"

Dariel said, "I asked if there were any other surprises in store for me, Sire."

The leagueman held back the impulse to run his tongue over the rounded nubs of his teeth. He held the prince's gaze with a smiling visage while several others offered wry remarks. Would it surprise you, he thought, to know that I wake every morning imagining your downfall? Would it surprise you to know that I'm not going to make amends with the Lothan Aklun? Instead, I will destroy them. Would it surprise you to know that you are to be offered up as a gesture of good faith to a people who will eat your soul? As a slave, a toy, a plaything for monsters? Would it surprise you to know that once the Aklun are gone, there will be no greater power in the world than the league? Would it surprise you if I said, right now, "Prepare your knees for bending, Prince. Prepare your knees"?

Eventually, the others quieted and it fell to Sire Neen to answer. He said, "Oh, certainly. If there is one thing I can promise you with certainty, Your Highness, it is that surprises await you."

C HAPTER

Barad was picky about the company he kept. He liked honest folk, unselfish and moral and capable of empathy-mothers and fathers who loved, brothers and sisters who cared for each other. He wanted to know that he was listened to when he spoke, and he wanted to believe the words that were spoken to him. He liked people who had known some hardship but who still had the capacity to envision a better future for themselves and others. For all these reasons he tended to avoid royalty. For that matter, he had little use for the upper class in general. In striving for the greater good for many, however, one sometimes had to deal with questionable elements.

That was why Barad had agreed to allow the young Aushenian king, Grae, to attend the first meeting of the Kindred. In his early twenties, Grae was the son of Guldan, a half brother to Igguldan born of the king's second wife. He had been young enough to be spared fighting in the war that took his father and older brothers. He and his younger brother, Ganet, had lived it out in the remote north of Aushenia. He had grown to maturity during Hanish's rule, when Numrek roamed his lands at will, inflicting all sorts of degradations. That must have hurt his heartsore pride.

He had been a fierce leader during the turmoil of Hanish's overthrow. After securing his own lands, he had even marched through the Gradthic Gap and laid siege to Mein Tahalian. He would have won it, too, if Corinn had not sent Mena with Numrek troops to yank him back. Corinn was content to let him keep his throne for the sake of stability, but she would not allow anyone to redraw national boundaries without her consent. They pushed him back to Aushenia, with permission to rule within his borders as he saw fit-as long as that was in line with the various things the empire required of him.

If Grae was thankful for having lived to call himself king, it did not show on his face or in his demeanor. His haughty blue eyes had an edge of disdain in them. Barad imagined many women would find him quite attractive. He was strong jawed; his forehead was high and the hair above it strangely disheveled, windblown but in a manner that Barad suspected was in fashion. It troubled Barad that anyone with a title was aware of his objectives, but many people he trusted had vouched for the king's passionate desire to see the Akarans overthrown. And so he now sat opposite the prophet at a large, low table in the back room of a pub in the port town of Denben in northern Talay.

The resistance representatives hailed from all the provinces except Vumu, which was too distant to be a major force. They made for a strange company. Only Grae wore the finery of aristocracy. Otherwise, the men and women dressed as what they were: a merchant from Bocoum, a tribal councilman from Palik, a blacksmith from Elos, a dockworker from Nesreh, a tavern mistress from Senival, an architect from Alecia, a huntsman from Scatevith, and more. Their complexions and features varied with their races, making them a collage of much of the Known World's diversity. Barad himself looked as he always did, more like an aging laborer in coarse clothes than a dissident intent on overthrowing a powerful empire.