“No!” Reyn was shocked at the vehemence of his response. The thought of becoming separated from Arcannen now, when he was so close to finding out secrets that would change his life, was unthinkable. He steadied himself. “I think it would be better if I stayed with you.”

“Then stay with me you shall.” Arcannen rose, clapping the boy on his back and giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Now rest yourself. We have much to do in the days ahead. I have more to tell you, but it can wait. You know the gist of things, and that’s what matters. Lariana! Come sit with our young friend and keep him company. Let me have the helm back for a time. I feel rested enough to manage.”

The girl waited until her mentor reached her, then stepped away as he whispered something and came back to sit once more with Reyn.

“What did he say to you?” the boy asked.

She grinned. “He said I should think about considering a future with you. He apparently thinks you and I would make a good match.”

Reyn blushed. “We haven’t known each other that long.”

“Well, I don’t know that there’s a timetable on these things. It seems to me you just have to let them happen. Look at me.”

He did, and she leaned in to kiss him on the lips. He kissed her back without thinking about it, wanting it to last longer than it did.

There was mischief in her eyes as she backed away. “See what I mean?”

Arcannen stood at the airship’s controls, awash in a welcome sense of satisfaction. Manipulating the boy had proved far easier than he could have imagined. The boy had no inkling who had attacked him back in Portlow; he still believed it was the Druids. He did not suspect the sorcerer, whom he now trusted and was convinced intended to help him.

Well, in a way, Arcannen did intend to help him, but only in order to help himself.

He could not yet be certain how useful Reyn would be, but the possibilities were intriguing. The potential was there; the wishsong magic was incredibly powerful. He needed to find a way to unleash it, though. The boy was frightened and reluctant to make use of it in the way Arcannen needed. He was hampered by his own insecurities and lack of confidence. Arcannen would have to change all that. He would have to reveal just enough to persuade the boy to do what was needed without hesitating or thinking too long about it. But manipulation was his specialty, and he would find a way.

He glanced down at the boy and Lariana. Perhaps the girl would do it for him. She had already enchanted Reyn; the boy could not take his eyes off her. His sorcerer’s instincts had not failed him; she had been the right choice after all. She was the perfect combination of approachable and unattainable. She was exotic, but at the same time she could draw you in. More important, though, she was willing to do whatever was necessary to further her own interests. His promise to teach her magic was a lure she could not resist. She wanted to better herself, and she knew that she needed help doing that.

She would be given her chance. If he still liked her well enough at the end of things, he would keep her on to serve him in whatever way he deemed best.

And if not, she would be left behind.

That was how life worked.

They flew on through the remainder of the day, continuing eastward toward the coast, speeding over increasingly rugged and barren terrain as farmland and inhabited country was left behind. There were no longer any towns or small settlements this far out. There was nothing much to sustain life this far into the badlands, and aside from small rodents and insects no evidence of life. Even the birds avoided this part of the Southland. Sparse grasses and scrub dotted the rocky countryside, but these were brownish and sunburned. Nothing green was in evidence; no water sparkled in the sun. It would be like this until they reached the coastal villages, which were still several hours farther on.

Arcannen’s passengers were sleeping, slumped against each other, the girl’s arm about the boy’s shoulders. It was a touching sight, but he did not respond emotionally. How they felt about each other was how he had told the girl they must, and she was working hard to make it happen. The boy would let her manipulate him; he wanted her badly enough that he could not help himself. He might question her motives—although Arcannen doubted it—but he would respond nevertheless. She would gain his confidence and help shape his thinking. In the end, it would be enough to place him firmly in Arcannen’s experienced hands.

He thought momentarily of the Druids, and especially of Paxon Leah and his sister. It was Paxon, back in Portlow, who had attempted to intercept the boy. He had known he would run across the Highlander sooner or later; there was a connection between them that made it inevitable. Perhaps it would be a while before it happened again, especially if Paxon had tried to save the female Druid by smashing his way into the cylinder that imprisoned her. He felt a momentary pang of regret that he hadn’t been able to stay around and watch it happen. It would have eased his unhappiness about driving Leofur farther away and losing Chrysallin Leah’s services.

By nightfall, their destination appeared ahead, misted and darkening, the last of the daylight fleeing west at their backs. Overhead, the moon and stars were visible in a clear, cloudless sky. He could smell the ocean—the vast waters of the Tiderace—wafting on the evening air, strong and familiar. He could just begin to hear the booming crash of the waves against the rocks.

The boy and Lariana were awake, peering ahead through the gathering haze. “Look ahead!” he shouted over the rush of the wind. “See the buildings?”

In truth, the buildings were toppled and crumbling, their walls blackened and their roofs mostly collapsed. Ruins awaited them, the devastation left by the men and women of the Red Slash.

“What is it?” Reyn called back.

Arcannen smiled and made a sweeping gesture. “Arbrox! Your new home!”

When they had landed and climbed from the Sprint, Reyn said to Arcannen, “This is our new home?”

Lariana, too, usually stoic and unruffled, was looking around doubtfully. “What is this place?”

Arcannen gave them a moment. They were standing at the perimeter of what had once been the fortress of the raider village. The walls were broken and collapsed from the attack of the Red Slash six weeks earlier. Charred and blackened stone marked the remains of the fires that had been set to burn out the inhabitants who were still in hiding after the Federation soldiers had killed the rest. Bodies picked down to bones by carrion birds and four-legged scavengers littered the landscape both inside and outside the shattered walls, dull pieces of white in the fading daylight.

“This way,” he ordered without explanation, moving toward a breach in the crumbling stone.

Inside, the collapsed buildings echoed with their footsteps in the deep silence as they picked their way through bones and debris. Nothing moved in the ruins, not even the birds that had fed on the dead after the carnage was complete. Arcannen remembered it all as if it were yesterday. He had never spoken of what happened here—not to anyone. Not until now. But today he would talk of it. These people had been his family—or the closest he had known in the five years of exile he had suffered after his flight from Wayford. They had taken him in, sheltered and fed him, made him one of them, and never asked a thing in return. Old Croy, who mended his shoes and clothing and told stories of his past. Melinhone, who cooked for him every day and kept him warm at night. The boy Phinn and the girl Derinda, brother and sister, who played in the yard of the home next door to his own, still children when they died.

The list went on and on, and every face on it was etched into his memory. All had died in the attack, and there had been no effort to spare them. It was understandable that the authorities would come after the raiders who had risked their lives from the moment they had chosen to prey on Federation shipping, but to make no distinction between those who were guilty and those who were innocent—those who were instigators and those who were no more than bystanders—was unforgivable. It was an affront to Arcannen and a blatant disregard of the laws of civility, and he could not abide it.