"Wait," the vengeance taker commanded, and raced away, leaving Ususi bleeding on the deck.

Alone. Just as she preferred. She looked straight up through the invisible glass of night and saw that the clouds had pulled back. The tiny sparks of a million stars twinkled, calling her. Their still, calm majesty stole down upon her, overwhelming her. Ususi wondered if she could will herself forward and upward, into final, beautiful oblivion. The sound of the waves breaking along the side of the ship, with their timeless certitude and obstinacy, urged her on.

And why not? She had so many questions she knew would never be answered. What was she accomplishing in the day-to-day existence she endured-what greater good was being served? Her dream of rediscovering ancient Imaskaran sites seemed childish, and its appeal faded as she turned over that desire in her graying thoughts. She mentally reached back toward her youth, trying to find the spark of excitement that usually accompanied thoughts of her search, and failed to find any.

Was that dream just a convenient fiction she told herself? Was she actually laboring through each day to "get by, get through?"

If she survived this night, all that lay ahead of her was day after plodding day of more of the same, a hollow husk of what her hopes had promised.

The magnificence of the sparkling stars called to her more insistently.

Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. It was a blunt, harsh, banal life she lived. Now was her chance to end the strife, the uncertainty, the little defeats and pains that so plagued and disillusioned her. And she was suddenly so cold.

"Drink this," a voice urged. Liquid poured into her mouth. Ususi coughed, turned her head, and spit it up. She wasn't going to give in to salvation that easily. The liquid tasted like tangerine, light, clean, and fresh. It was a pleasant taste, but she fought the urge to enjoy it. She wanted the lonely stars back.

A strong hand held her chin, and another infusion of liquid trickled down her throat. This time, when she tried to spit it up, a hand massaged her neck and she involuntarily swallowed the potion.

The call of oblivion faded slightly. Strength grew in her arms, legs, and core. The cool splendor of the night transformed into a cloudy, rainy evening on the rough planking of a sea-tossed ship.

Where were the tiny points of light that offered her their cosmic embrace?

Sorrow clutched her, and tears began streaming down the wizard's cheeks.

"Don't cry," said the vengeance taker, misunderstanding her tears.

"You'll be all right."

She nodded. Her raveled will began to reassemble as the mortality of her grievous wound receded. Her emotional transcendence had been a physical response to death's nearness-her body had foreseen finality, and attempted to ready her for the end. So she supposed…

Life had been poured rudely back into her, but her memory of death's acceptance lurked. The knowledge that she did not fear death stood in the shadows of her consciousness, like a lover she would miss, but whom she was certain to meet again one day. Until then, though… Ususi grabbed one of her rescuer's hands, squeezed, and said, "Thank you, Iahn. You've saved me." She wondered if her words were true.

Warian couldn't sleep. His mind kept returning to Uncle Zel revealing himself as a stowaway. His uncle's words buzzed and rattled around his brain, enhancing his anxiety the longer he considered them.

His uncle's terrific snores weren't helping. Only Warian knew Zel rode Stormsailer, so of course, his uncle stayed hidden in his cabin. The snores had been light and breathy at first, soundless enough that Warian could almost ignore them. Before long, the snores began to thunder. On more than one occasion, Warian rose from his bed to glare down at his uncle who lay on his back, mouth ajar. When he pushed Zel onto his side, the snoring eased. But the relief was temporary. A short time later, a snorting cough woke Warian from a drowse. Zel had rolled back to his preferred position. It was no wonder the man had never taken a wife. Eventually, Warian constructed a tent of three pillows across his head. With two standing on edge on either side of his head, and one lying across the pair, the down stuffing helped deaden the noise of Zel's obstructed breathing. By the time he found himself staring up into the underside of a pillow, sleep's promise had wholly deserted him. What if Shaddon was contaminated with the same strange presence Zel noticed plaguing Xaemar? Warian couldn't laugh off the possibility-he'd noted something strange at the family meeting, that was sure. And the change in his own arm must be somehow connected. What if Shaddon was the actual source of the contamination?

It seemed a reasonable guess. Shaddon was a Datharathi, and that meant finding opportunities for business and advancement whenever possible.

And his arm-would he, too, fall under the influence of the contamination? Would he find that his wishes were being suborned by a will not his own? And most disturbingly-would he even know it? His relatives gave no sign of being aware that their personalities were under assault. Either they didn't know, didn't care, or didn't remember. Or Zel was wrong. Either way, Warian cared. Maybe he was stupid for not immediately taking the drastic step that would safeguard him from potential influence. Maybe he should chop off the arm and be done with it. The trauma he'd experienced upon first losing his natural arm came and sat on his chest. Or, the influence that potentially controlled him tugged on those memories-what was free will? Bugger. Warian turned onto his side, but his movement upset the balance of his pillow dolmen, and two pillows toppled to the floor.

"Damn it all!" Warian sat up and looked to the porthole. Orange and pink hues highlighted the dark line of the horizon below. Dawn wasn't far off. Warian rose from his bed and stood directly before the porthole. At least the view he had so admired last night had returned.

Sometime toward morning, the ship had broken through the storm and ominous cloud cover. Now the sky-ship pressed ahead, just below fantastic masses of white and gray. Looking out the window, Warian felt like a minnow swimming in an unbounded ocean among leviathans of mist. A fluke thrash of any of these mythical swimmers could smash Stormsailer and send the debris flittering down into the sea. Another sawing snore pierced through Warian's imagery. He reminded himself once again that Zel, as an apparent ally, probably shouldn't be choked awake.

The skyship reached Adama's Tooth right after dawn. Warian watched from the upper deck as the flying craft made its approach. Zel remained in the cabin. With luck, no one would find the stowaway until after Warian and Sevaera disembarked. But Zel had other plans-he began preparing a disguise. Warian left him to his task. Adama's Tooth was a nearly vertical natural monolith with deeply cleft, striated sides.

Warian knew it rose at least two thousand feet above the meandering coastline of the Golden Water. Many stories circulated about Adama's Tooth-according to some accounts, the spire was not natural at all, but artificially raised by the effort of a great wizard, long dead, though Warian couldn't recall the supposed wizard's name. The less civilized Durpari tribes of the region called the spire Dragon Lodge.

In fact, it had been a sacred site of worship for many locals before the Datharathis had bought the rights to open a mine in the tower's side. Those same locals had launched a number of raids against the mine over the years. The first few times, the mining equipment, brought in at great expense, had been destroyed. Datharathi Minerals learned its lesson, and radically increased security. One of their first efforts was to cut off road traffic. Most access into and out of Adama's Tooth was changed to airship traffic. Gates and other security measures were installed along the slender, steep road that spiraled up the outer skin of Adama's Tooth. Stormsailer made for the skydock set deep in one of the shadowy vertical canyons near the summit of the spire. The floating ship slid gracefully between the bulwarks of stone on either side, and halted in midair. A stone pier jutted from one side of the inner cleft, resembling half of an arched bridge. An overhang blocked direct morning sun. The dimness was brightened by brilliant magical torches set along the pier and along a carved platform. As soon as a crewman tied the skyship with stays and guy ropes, Sevaera appeared at Warian's side. His aunt touched his shoulder and said, "We're expected. Don't dawdle, Nephew." "But I need my bag…" Warian trailed off when he saw a uniformed porter wheeling Aunt Sevaera's luggage, with Warian's own traveling bag atop the pile, after his aunt. Trust her to be efficient. His aunt and the porter moved down the gangway and confidently onto the pier. Warian followed, more cautiously. He looked down as he traveled along the gangway. Vertigo clawed his spine as his eyes traced the vertical side of the tooth all the way down to the rocky ground far below. Once they reached the sturdy stone ledge, they quickly moved into the main tunnel, heading toward the heart of Datharathi Minerals's enterprise in Adama's Tooth. The porter paused, allowing Warian to precede him.