Durgel's hand froze, then the sailor slowly released the knife and took his hand way. "I don't want no more trouble," Durgel said. "Don't want it at all." "Good," Allis said. Borran Kiosk stared at the quartermaster, who had yet to draw a full breath. "Don't ever treat me or the woman with me with such disrespect again," the mohrg said. "I… won't," Vonnis gasped. The fear the quartermaster exuded was almost enough to make Borran Kiosk drunk with it. Killing the priests had been good, but they'd been schooled to control their emotions. The victims in the tavern had passed too quickly, and the men of the watch had been too far away. Everything the quartermaster felt radiated into the mohrg without filter. "What's the meaning of this?" Borran Kiosk looked up from the frightened quartermaster to the old man standing on the upper deck. He wore dark robes and had a fierce gray beard that still held smudged traces of red. The sun and harsh elements of the sea had browned and wrinkled his face. Shaggy hair wafted in the breeze. "We have paid for passage," Allis said. Durgel helped Vonnis to his feet. The quartermaster continued to gasp and hack as he struggled to get his wind back. "What does that have to do with your treatment of Vonnis?" the old man asked. Borran Kiosk felt the old man's magic. Tendrils of the unseen force pried and lifted at the spell of illusion the mohrg had woven over his own fleshless features. "He was rude," Allis said. "He did not lay hands upon you," the old man said. Borran Kiosk felt the unseen tendrils wither and die as his own spell rendered them useless. "I would have killed him for that," the mohrg said. "I punished him for his rudeness." "Punishment such as that is better left to his captain," the old man said. "You come close to rudeness yourself," Borran Kiosk warned. The old man's lips closed tight and his dark eyes glittered. "Have a care how you carry yourself, good sir," the man said. "I'm Hildemon, ship's mage aboard Mistress Talia, and I'll brook no threat from any man." "You've got the gold I've paid for passage," Borran Kiosk said. "If you want a little extra gold for my rashness in dealing with your man, so be it. Name your price." After all, whatever gold he paid would be reclaimed when he overtook the ship. "They wanted onto the ship early," Durgel said. "An' ever'body knows ain't nothin' to do aboard. It's gonna be hours before we haul anchor and set sail, even with all the crew working." Hildemon's face wrinkled and he asked, "Why would you want to come aboard so early?" "I've done everything in port that I care to," Borran Kiosk said. "I stayed up all night, and I wanted to see this ship, perhaps even place a few investments of my own after I see what cargo you're carrying." That would be excuse enough for him to learn the run of the ship. The old mage was silent for a time. Borran Kiosk knew that Mistress Talia was a ship down on her luck. Remnants of the Taker's War still existed throughout the Sea of Fallen Stars, and the waters were rife with pirates. Mistress Talia had battled a ship on her last journey, and the scars of that fight still showed on her deck and sections of missing railing. The gold Allis had paid for passage had been welcomed with no questions asked. "Quartermaster Vonnis!" the old ship's mage called out. "Aye?" Vonnis croaked through his bruised throat. "We've got a cabin for these people?"

"Hold, you foul beast!"

Druz Talimsir glanced quickly to her left, thinking that the voice had come out of thin air. She brought her sword up, ready to defend herself.

An elf dressed in hide armor, with a helm of deer horns and falcon feathers, seemed to step out of the tree beside her. His black hair was knotted through the deer horns and ran down his back, leaving his smooth, unblemished face in full view. A dark green cloak hung from his shoulders. Like all elves, he didn't show any indication of age. His dark emerald eyes flashed with angry fire.

His presence filled the marsh.

"Beware this thing," Haarn said, still dangling upside down. "A skeleton called it up from the earth."

The shambler turned. Though it had no eyes, it seemed to sense the elf in some manner. The elf was smaller than Haarn, smaller even than Druz, and more slender. Still, when he started toward the shambler, Druz moved to follow him into battle. The elf threw up a hand without glancing in her direction.

"You can't face that thing by yourself," Druz protested.

"Stay," the elf said. He closed on the shambler, stepping gracefully through the uneven terrain masked by the water.

The shambler loosened its squeeze on Haarn and pulled its feet out of the ground. It turned, and as if toying with the new arrival, the shambler dangled its captured prize in front of the elf.

The elf spoke, but Druz couldn't understand the language, though she got the impression it was an old tongue.

As the elf's words died away, he raised his right arm. A blazing blade formed entirely of twisting red and yellow flames nearly four feet long sprouted from his hand. The flames danced and shivered, and Druz expected the elf to yank his hand back in pain. Instead, the elf lashed out with the fire sword.

The move caught the shambler unprepared and the flame blade cut through the shambler's vinelike arm. Haarn dropped from the shambler's grip like a fresh-harvested fruit.

For the first time, Druz saw the shambler hesitate before attacking. She thought the thing might have recognized something even more fearsome than itself.

The elf stood there with his blazing sword and the wind blowing through his hair. He spoke again as the shambler attacked with its other arm. Moving only enough to avoid the whipping lengths of the vinelike appendages, the elf lashed out with the flame sword again. Smoke puffed from the amputated end of the shambler's arm as the first half of it dropped, sizzling, into the mud.

Nearby, working in spite of the pain that still racked him, Haarn stripped the dead length of the shambler's arm from him. He tried to get to his feet, but his legs kept going out from under him.

Stepping back, opening his arms wide, the elf shouted to the heavens, his face upturned. Dark clouds formed above the shambler. Sparks flitted like fireflies inside the clouds. The shambler started forward then, Like an avalanche of mud. Before it had taken three steps, the swirling dark clouds above it unleashed a column of white-hot flames that descended on the shambler.

Holding her empty hand up to shield her face from the heat, Druz peered through her fingers. Almost between heartbeats, the shambler dried out, hardened, then flaked to pieces. When the column of fire died away, a pile of gray ash-all that remained of the shambler-spread out over the water.

Druz sucked in a breath, only then aware that she'd been holding it. Wicked and acrid, the stench of the dying creature filled her nose.

"The skeleton," Haarn said.

"What skeleton?" the elf asked.

"I was trailing a skeleton."

Haarn pushed himself up from the ground with some difficulty, but Druz was still amazed at the druid's resilience.

"Who is the woman?" the elf asked.

Seizing his scimitar from the muddy ground, Haarn glanced at Druz, then quickly looked away. He looked self-conscious.

"She's…" he said. "She's a… friend."

Despite the tension of the moment and the unexplained appearance of the elf, Druz almost smiled in disbelief. She couldn't understand Haarn's deference to the strange elf. Since she'd known him she'd never seen him defer to anyone, but with the elf he acted like a student facing a harsh taskmaster.

"She shouldn't be here," the elf said. "She has the stink of city upon her."