"I've had a good teacher," she said quietly, nodding.

Bernard gave her a small smile. "All right. Find your points of reference, and let's turn a bit more to the east."

Amara took a deep breath and returned his smile with one she hoped did not look as nervous as she felt. Then she lined up a tree behind her with one in front of her in the direction they wanted to move, and led the way.

They were able to maintain a surprisingly good pace over the next hour. Amara broke into a relaxed lope whenever the ground was smooth enough to warrant it. Though Gaius's face grew lined with discomfort, and though he still favored his leg, he was able to keep up. Bernard followed along several yards behind them, frowning down at the ground and only occasionally looking around him.

After that, though, their pace began to suffer, and more because of Bernard than the First Lord. The woodsman's jaw had locked into a stubborn clench, and he shambled along with heavy feet, like a man bearing an increasingly heavy burden. Gaius noticed Bernard's discomfort and frowned at Amara.

She grimaced, just as worried as the First Lord, but she knew what Bernard would say if she suggested they rest. Amara shook her head in a negative, and kept going at the best pace she thought they could sustain.

By the time the light began to slant steeply through the forest and darken into shafts of sunset amber, Bernard was barely managing to keep himself moving forward. Amara began looking for someplace out of sight where they could rest, and found it in a broad ditch where a stream had evidently shifted its bed. Gaius slipped down into it with a grunt of discomfort, but Bernard was shaking with fatigue when he tried to climb down and nearly toppled headfirst into the ditch.

Amara managed to steady him, and he promptly sat down on the ground, leaned his back against the side of the ditch, and dropped his head forward in exhausted sleep.

"How far did we come, do you think?" Gaius asked quietly. The First Lord was vigorously rubbing his bad leg.

Amara saw it jerking and twitching in a cramp, and winced in sympathy. "Since he began covering our trail? Perhaps eight or nine miles. It's excellent time, considering."

Gaius grimaced. "Nothing like a nice walk to make one appreciate flying, eh?"

"True enough, sire." She moved to him and withdrew her flask from her pack. She offered it to the First Lord, and Gaius accepted it with a nod of thanks and drank thirstily.

"Not precisely my question, though," Gaius said. "How far have we come, in total? I've been a tad distracted myself."

Amara settled down on the ground beside him, the better to keep their murmured words as quiet as possible. "Let me think. It has been nine days since we set forth, of which we have been on the move for a little more than seven." She mused over the terrain they had passed, adding the figures in her head. "Somewhere between one hundred thirty and one hundred forty miles, sire, or so I should judge.

Gaius blew out a breath. "I confess, I thought we would make much better time."

"We're past some of the more difficult terrain," she said. "From here, the hills should become considerably gentler until we reach the swamps." She scratched her nose, and waved away a buzzing midge. "Call it another six or seven days to the swamps. Then our pace will slow dramatically."

Gaius nodded. "The last thirty or forty miles will be the hardest."

Amara glanced down at his foot. "Yes." Gaius caught the direction of her gaze, and arched an eyebrow. Amara felt her face flush. "Meaning no criticism, sire."

"I doubt you could give me more than I've already given myself," Gaius said, his tone light. His eyes, though, darkened a few shades, and his hands tightened into fists. "Hiding from a few squads of searchers. Running until the Count has half killed himself with effort. If we were close enough to Kalare, by the great furies, I'd…" He cut himself off, and shook his head sharply. "But that's not yet, is it?"

"No, sire," Amara said quietly. "Not yet. But we'll get you through."

Gaius was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was weary. "Yes. I expect you will."

Amara frowned at him. "Sire?"

He shook his head. "It isn't that time yet, either."

Something in his tone alarmed her, and she felt her frown deepen. "I don't understand."

"That's as it must be for the present," he said, and leaned his head back against the wall of the ravine. "Rest for a bit. We should try to rouse Count Calderon before long. Cover more ground before nightfall."

"Are you sure you're ready for that, sire?"

"I'd better be, Countess," murmured the First Lord, and closed his eyes. "I'd better be."

Chapter 23

Tavi spent an eternity in misery, longing for death to bring sweet release from the unrelenting torment. The others gathered at the side of his bunk on the ship, keeping a deathwatch over him.

"I don't see what all the drama is about," Demos said, his quiet voice filled with habitual disinterest. "He's seasick. It will pass."

Tavi groaned, rolled onto his side, and convulsed. There was little but tepid water in his belly, but he tried to get most of it into the bucket anyway. Kitai held him steady until the heaves passed, and regarded Demos, Tavi, and the bucket with more or less equal distaste.

Demos frowned at the bucket and Tavi. "Though I worry about the water stores, the way he's going through them." He leaned down to address Tavi directly. "I don't suppose it would be possible for you to get this back down again. It would conserve our-"

Tavi threw up again.

Demos sighed, shook his head, and said, "It will pass. Eventually."

"What if it doesn't?" Tavi heard his mother demand.

"I wouldn't worry," Demos said. "It's hardly ever fatal." The captain nodded politely to them and departed the low-beamed cabin.

"Lady Isana?" Kitai asked. Tavi thought that her own voice sounded strained. "Is there nothing your watercraft can do?"

"Not without interfering with the Slives witchmen," Araris said quietly.

"I do not understand," Kitai said.

"They're watercrafters, Kitai," Ehren said, from the bunk above Tavi's. Tavi heard paper rustle as the young Cursor flipped a page in his book. "They're necessary to any deepwater ship, to prevent a leviathan from sensing us."

"Leviathan," Kitai said. "Like the thing that came to feed on offal and Canim at the Elinarch?"

"That one was only forty or fifty feet long," Ehren said. "A baby, as they go. An adult leviathan, even a fairly small one, would smash this ship to driftwood."

"Why would it do such a thing?" Kitai asked.

"They're territorial," the Cursor replied. "They'll attack any vessel that sails into the waters they claim."

"And these witchmen prevent that?"

"They prevent the leviathans from noticing the ship," Ehren said. "Of course, if a good storm kicks up, sometimes the leviathans find the ship anyway." After a meditative pause, he added, "Sailing is sort of dangerous."

Kitai growled. "Then could we not put in to shore, where the water is too shallow to permit these beasts to approach, and allow the lady to attempt a healing?"

"No," Tavi managed to growl. "No time… to waste on… pampering my stoma-" He broke off before he could finish the word and heaved again.

Kitai supported him until he was finished, then pressed a flask of water to his lips. Tavi drank, though it seemed pointless. The water would barely have time to get into his belly before he'd be losing it again. His stomach muscles burned with constant fatigue and throbbed with pain.

Tavi looked up to find his mother looking down on him, her expression gentle and concerned. "Perhaps you shouldn't talk of such things here," she said.