C HAPTER

A young league apprentice, Noval, sat waiting for Sire Neen among the plush chairs reserved for leaguemen in their council chambers. Several other officials and naval officers stood or sat nearby. With the exception of a few of Neen's assistants, all of them had newly arrived from the sailless clipper.

"It all went as planned?" Sire Neen asked as he stepped into the room.

"You saw the bodies," Noval said. He motioned toward a porthole with a lazy finger. "Up and down the archipelago it's the same thing."

Noval had not yet joined the higher ranks of the league and earned the title sire, but after this he likely would. Noval grinned, leaning back against his chair's cushions as if he might fall blissfully asleep. You'll need to learn to hide emotion like that, Sire Neen thought. He did not really begrudge him his happiness, though. In truth, he could barely contain his own enthusiasm.

"Every Lothan Aklun is a corpse now," said a captain, presumably the one who had piloted the clipper. "A feast for the crabs and sea worms."

Noval nodded and concluded, "Yes, it all went as planned. You, Uncle, are a genius."

Sire Neen pressed his lips together. As much as he wanted a share of the young man's satisfaction, he could not accept it all without a measure of doubt. "Nothing ever goes entirely as planned," he said. "Tell me it all and I'll judge."

Noval proceeded to describe what had transpired on the barrier isles over the last few days. Listening to the report, Sire Neen had to inhale deep breaths. His heart raced as if he were joyously running. Perhaps in the years to come it would be this feeling he relived during mist trances. Certainly, triumph was a sweeter pleasure than anything else he had yet experienced. The Lothan Aklun food for sea worms? Absolutely amazing. Could he truly believe it?

The Lothan Aklun had seemed invulnerable, proud, greedy. They were aloof in a manner most marked by their… well, by their simple denial of aloofness. He had met their agents on several occasions. Each time they dressed in loose wraps of white cloth that hung on their leanly muscled frames, always bare of foot. They were slight men and women, healthy looking and tanned. Sire Neen had always felt a knot in his abdomen when meeting them. His head tingled in a manner that made him want to flee. Why, it was hard to say.

They smiled and nodded and conducted their business with courteous efficiency. They never invited leaguemen beyond the docks at which they traded their goods, but nothing in their outward appearance indicated threat. They did not even seem to have guards watching over them. This fact alone made Neen's skin crawl as if with a thousand spiders. Who other than people so secure in their power-with unseen weapons ready to unleash-would act as if they gave no thought to it? That the Lothan Aklun had such an effect on him while outwardly feigning harmlessness had planted in him the first seed of personal animus toward them. This seed had found ready watering in the years since.

And now they were dead. Not so invulnerable after all, it seemed. Now everything that had been theirs belonged to the league. Sire Neen did not know exactly what that meant, but he longed to find out.

"You saw the clipper?" Noval asked. "The captain here has made a quick study of it. He can't explain it in the slightest, but I believe he's rather taken with the vessel. You should see him at the helm."

The captain did not deny it. "There is power in that ship like I've never felt before. It's inside the vessel itself, Sire. Truly amazing."

Inside the vessel itself, Sire Neen repeated to himself. So it's true. They had long known that the Lothan Aklun stole the life force from chosen quota children with a soul-catching device and then transferred the force into other bodies. But they had heard only rumors that the Lothan also managed to harness the life force to power inanimate objects like their ships. Now they had proof. And if this rumor was true, perhaps the others were as well, but these things could be explored in time. They had other business to see to.

"And have you made contact with the Auldek?" Sire Neen asked.

"Yeesss." Noval dragged the word out. "We have. I can't say that we've communicated all that effectively with them, though. They were somewhat agitated by our arrival. I'll leave it up to you to explain things to them fully. In any event, we've arranged for you to meet their clan leadership tomorrow. We should have the Numrek with us from the start. We mentioned them to the Auldek, but they didn't grasp what we were telling them. Are the Numrek well?"

"The brutes." Sire Neen blew a dismissive burst of air through his lips. "Who knows? I mean, yes, yes, I'm sure they're well. They've been bound in their cabins the entire voyage. They're alive and will likely be overjoyed to set foot on dry land again." He considered taking a seat, but his body tingled with too much energy to sit still. Instead, he paced, amazed at the situation he found himself in. It was all too perfect. He had been too modest in his aspirations; by the end of this he would be chief elder in his later years. The league would own everything that passed across the Gray Slopes, both what went out and what came in. He himself would be a deity while still in the prime of life.

This thought did, in fact, cause him to sit down. "So tomorrow I will broker a new trade agreement with the Auldek. Are they like the Numrek?"

Noval raised his shoulders. Dropped them. "Yes and no. I really can't tell you much about them. They are quite like the Numrek and also not that much like them at all. You should just see for yourself."

A bit casual in his mastery of details, Sire Neen thought. Youth. "Are they rich?"

Smiling, Noval said, "Rich enough. Rich and strange, which together bodes well for us."

"What more do we know about what becomes of the quota?"

"About what they do with them? Nothing. I saw Known Worlders in among the Lothan Aklun. We interrogated the few we captured. Peculiar creatures; they fought like trapped wildcats, though they were body servants, not warriors. Strangely loyal to their masters, they seemed. Quite a few of them died along with the Lothan Aklun, for no reason but blind loyalty. And the ones I saw among the Auldek…" He began to illustrate something, his fingers dancing before his face, but he dropped the effort. "Really, Uncle, you should see them for yourself. Don't let me spoil the amusement."

Sire Neen found all this too vague. He was about to say as much, but a commotion at the far door announced new arrivals. Several Ishtat guards jostled their way into the room, all of them focused on a single figure at their center: Prince Dariel. But not Prince Dariel as he had been a few moments ago on deck. The small interval of time between then and now had worked a transformation on him. His lips were swollen and raw. His nose puffy and leaking blood, which smeared across his face. Eyes teary with shock and pain and emotion. And anger. There was plenty of anger, too. He wrenched his body and head about, fighting the Ishtat. But they held him firmly. His hands were bound behind his back. One guard grasped him by a fistful of hair and steadied him. The most ignominious feature was a bit that had been shoved inside the royal mouth and fastened by straps that pressed against his cheeks and wrapped around the back of his head. He could breathe but not talk.

Sire Neen had forgotten the pleasure of running his tongue over his rounded teeth. Seeing Dariel reminded him of it and he indulged. "Oh, that looks most uncomfortable, Prince," he said, grimacing in a show of commiseration. "It looks as though you put up a fight. Commendable, I guess, but futile." He gestured with his fingers. The guards dragged the prince closer. "Look here, Noval, this is Prince Dariel Akaran."