“I wanted to end it for her,” she murmured softly.

“That will have helped,” I assured her.

“Where will you go?” Laio’s voice shook. I reached for her little hand; giving it a comforting squeeze, not caring if this was inappropriate.

“I’ll be fine, once I’m out of the Islands, I’ll go back to my old master.” I managed a rather bleak smile.

Laio pointed at the harbor where several large galleys were swinging at anchor, more heading in down the channel between the islands. “That crimson pennant, that is the mark of Sazac Joa. If I speak to the captain, he’ll give you passage. I will make sure that all your belongings are loaded aboard.” Laio lifted her chin to quell a trembling lip.

“That’s very good of you.”

“Not really,” admitted Laio with a shadow of her old manner. “Shek Kul told me to make sure you left nothing behind that might taint the domain.”

That made sense. Laio rose to her feet and brushed sand from her dress. “I’ll send Sezarre down with some food,” she promised over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” I called as I steeled myself to check the pulse in Kaeska’s neck again. Her skin was clammy to the touch but the faint beat of her life still pushed against my fingers. I sighed and sat down again to wait out this grim vigil.

Kaeska took three long days and nights to die.

The coast east of the settlement,

Kel Ar’Ayen,

34th of Aft-Spring,

Year Two of the Colony

“How’s the river bed, captain?” Temar looked up from making painstaking notations in his journal as the weather-beaten seaman stood before him, wide stance secure on the deck as the ship rode the gentle swell.

“Sound enough, the anchor will hold. The old Eagle will nest safe enough here for a while.” The thick-set sailor patted the mast with affectionate satisfaction, a smile creasing his leathery face and softening the scowl molded from his bushy brows by a lifetime squinting in the sun and wind. “I’ve set Meig to keep an eye on the tide and the run of the river.”

“Good.” Temar got up from his seat beside the lateen rigged aft-mast and stretched his cramped shoulders, half inclined to shed his stout hide jerkin in the strengthening sunshine. He looked around the broad estuary, thickly forested hills dropping sharply to an open beach of shingle and scrub, winding away inland on the banks of a wide, brownish river that offered tempting access to the mysteries of the hidden interior. The fitful breeze brought an alluring fragrance from the burgeoning woodlands. Temar took a deep breath of the scent of spring. “They would surely have put in here to take on supplies, wouldn’t they, Master Grethist?”

The captain nodded. “They had fair copies of the Sieur’s charts, just the same as us, the ones he made when he was exploring the coastline with the Seafarer and they’re good for another six days’ sailing beyond here. This place is marked clear enough as a good anchorage with game and fresh water to be had.”

Temar moved and leaned over the rail of the stern, sighing. “So where are they? Could they have come to grief? I suppose things will have changed, sandbars and the like, those charts must be what, eighteen or nineteen years old by now.”

“I know Master Halowis.” The mariner folded his arms as he too gazed at the shoreline. “He knows to take care sailing in strange waters. In any case, if they’d come to grief, we’d have seen sign of it. We found the wreck of the Windchime and she was lost on the crossing last year, wasn’t she? That was still plain enough, even after a whole winter of high seas tearing it up—her cargo was scattered all along the strand.”

“I suppose a storm could have hit them,” mused Temar. “They did set out barely halfway through For-Spring, but no one was prepared to wait until the Equinox, given the weather seemed set fair.”

“It would have to be some storm for all three ships to founder without at least one making it to land and no survivors washed ashore.” Grethist shook his head stubbornly. “We’d have seen sign of weather that severe as well, uprooted trees and the like.”

Temar shrugged. “So what do you suppose befell them? Sickness, disease, falling prey to beasts when they put ashore? We’re talking about eighty-some men, Dastennin help them!”

“I’ll get the longboat launched.” The captain set his square, gray-bearded jaw. “If they made landfall here, there’ll be fire-pits and such, some sign, and we should be able to get some idea of when they landed, how many they were. That should give us something to work on. Maybe they’ve headed up this river, it looks as if it should be navigable a fair way inland. Wasn’t that something they were supposed to be doing?”

“You’re probably right.” Temar nodded, the tension in the back of his mind easing at this eminently reasonable suggestion. “Still, we don’t know what’s prowling these forests, do we? Make sure the rowers take weapons with them, swords for those that have them and the ship’s axes for those that don’t. Let’s not take any chances.”

He stood with Grethist and watched as the crew lowered the shallow ship’s boat down to the glassy surface of the estuary, oars hitting the water with a crack that echoed back from the distant hills.

“Can I speak with you for a moment, Temar?”

“Demoiselle.” Temar turned and bowed to Guinalle with precisely calculated courtesy.

She ignored the faint provocation in his greeting but swept him an ironic curtsey more suited to a silken robe than the practical gray woollen dress she was wearing. “There’s something wrong,” she stated abruptly. “I can feel something peculiar, just hovering beyond my comprehension, a threat of some kind.”

“Quietly, please.” Temar looked around to see if anyone had overheard this unnerving pronouncement, relieved to see the remaining sailors absorbed in watching the longboat make its slow way inshore. “What exactly are you telling me?”

“I don’t exactly know,” admitted Guinalle, her frustration plain to see as she tucked her hands inelegantly through her braided leather girdle. “I can’t put my finger on it but something’s wrong. Avila and I have been reaching out to see if we can find anyone to contact; the expedition may have been lost, but I can’t believe no one survived.”

“But you can’t find anyone?” interrupted Temar.

“It’s not that, exactly.” Guinalle frowned. “It’s more as if I’m trying to look through a fog. Avila says it’s like trying to shout when you’re wearing a veil.”

“You were saying yourself that working Artifice from a ship was causing some odd effects,” Temar reminded her, a suspicion of satisfaction in his voice. “Perhaps things work differently on this side of the ocean. There was that business when the far-seeing to the mines went all wrong, wasn’t there?”

“That was seldom-used Artifice in barely trained hands,” insisted Guinalle. “I am arguably one of the best practitioners anywhere in the Empire and this is a skill I mastered long ago. This is different, Temar, you have to believe me. There’s a danger out there and everyone needs to be alert for a sign of it. Avila feels it too, just a little but enough to convince me it’s real.”

Temar raised a hand to silence her, frowning. “All right, I take your word for it. What do you want me to do? You say we’re in peril, but you can’t tell me how or why. Look around you, these men are tense enough; they had friends, brothers aboard the ships we’re searching for. They’re already worried enough about getting so far along the coast and still failing to find them.” He realized his words were sounding harder than he intended and tried to soften his tone. “Please understand me; it’s not that I don’t believe you, I do, honestly. It’s just that I’m simply not prepared to make a potentially bad situation worse by giving out some vague warning of danger when I can’t answer the first question that anyone puts to me about it. When you have something definite to tell me, something I can explain to the crew, I will act. Until then, please keep this quiet; we have enough problems to handle without adding unfounded fears.”