The moon rose as Chap paced the deck amid the sounds of wind and wave, but his thoughts drifted. He had forsaken so much to protect Leesil and Magiere, yet now felt uncertain of the correct path-again.

How had the Chein'as known of Magiere? What did they want from her in exchange for their gifts of a dagger and what Wynn called a thorhk? Something beyond vengeance, most certainly. And in the great scheme of things, what was the purpose for the artifact which Magiere sought?

She and Leesil only wished to finish this last task and go home. With all Chap's mortal heart, he wished this might be. But amid worry for them, something more nagged him tonight as he paced near the ship's rail-wall. He felt a strong sense of something out there, coming closer-like a hole in the world he could not pinpoint.

Chap hopped upon a storage chest near the rail-wall and stared ahead into the dark.

Several elven crew members watched him curiously. They found it unnatural for a majay-hi to willingly leave its homeland. The young woman with the thick braid and oversized boots studied him like a mystery to be unlocked. But the crew's discomfort did not matter, and he watched only the sea.

"Chap, where are you?" Wynn called out.

He glanced back as she emerged from the hatch below the forecastle, dressed only in her white shift, boots, and Chane's old cloak. Chap sighed, concerned for her as well.

His kin, the Fay, might still want Wynn dead. Not only for her ability to hear and perceive their presence, but also because she knew they were up to more than just sending Chap as a guardian to Magiere. And why did Wynn keep wearing that old cloak instead of her new coat?

Her preoccupation with Chane worried him-no, it was outright disturbing. He looked out across the rolling water rushing around the ship's prow and tensed, looking for… something.

"There you are." She scurried to his side. "It is getting late."

Being treated as her charge-instead of the other way around-was annoying, but it still warmed him at times. Normally, Wynn did not come on deck without Osha or Sgaile. He was surprised to find her alone and knew he should take her back downstairs. But that hollow in the world that he could not quite find began to make him ache. To make him want to… hunt?

Chap inched to the storage chest's far end, but his sharp eyes saw nothing upon the ocean ahead.

"What is wrong?" Wynn asked.

Chap hesitated. Something is out there.

Wynn put a hand on his head and slid it down his neck. "I do not see anything."

You are only human.

"Only?" she answered indignantly.

A wink of light rose ahead in the dark.

Chap reared up with his forepaws perched on the rail-wall.

"Vessel ahead!" someone shouted from up in the rigging.

Chap already saw it. The distant wink came again, catching upon sails, and the hackles on his neck stiffened.

Chane sat upon an old canvas tarp spread over the stained floor. He had propped open the hatch, but the hold still reeked of blood. All was quiet above on deck.

Welstiel stepped in, glaring at him.

Chane climbed to his feet, half-hoping Welstiel would make some self-righteous demand for an explanation. He was sick of this existence and spoiling for confrontation.

Welstiel turned his eyes on each monk, one by one.

The ferals were markedly better off than when Welstiel had left-more aware and curious about their surroundings. The one Sabel had called "Jakeb" was especially improved. His face had nearly healed of her scratches, and he studied Welstiel calmly. Sethe was also less agitated.

Yet all the monks were smeared or splattered with blood.

But Welstiel said nothing.

He crossed to a bare space below the open hatch, dropped to the floor, and immediately pulled out the brass dish to scry for Magiere. Perhaps he was relieved that Chane had taken care of feeding the ferals. Or he was just lost in his own obsession yet again.

Either way, Chane did not care.

A loud call from above vibrated through the hold's ceiling. Welstiel looked up, having barely nicked his stubbed finger, and only one drop of black fluid had fallen onto the plate.

"What is it?" Chane asked.

"Something about a ship…," Welstiel began, but his gaze dropped to the brass plate.

Welstiel spun up to his feet and rushed back out of the hold. As his pounding footfalls filled the outer passage, Chane glanced down at the brass plate.

The one droplet of Welstiel's black fluids bulged at the center of its domed back, and the droplet had not moved at all.

Chane bolted after Welstiel.

Magiere's ship was nearly on top of theirs.

Welstiel burst onto deck and looked up to see the loose sail secured. Chane came out behind him, searching about in confusion.

"Where is it?" Chane rasped. "Do you see the other ship?"

Welstiel spun toward the ship's aft.

Both the captain and Klatas stood beyond the helm, exchanging quick, sharp words. He looked past them, senses widening, and caught sight of distant sails shimmering in the moonlight. Chane had followed, and Welstiel grabbed him roughly by his shirt.

"We must drive Magiere to ground!"

Chane scowled, but his gaze fixed into the distance behind their vessel.

"How?" he hissed.

"We sink her ship."

"No!" Chane spit back, swatting off Welstiel's grip. "Wynn is on board!"

"We must get them back on land," Welstiel insisted. "It is the only way we can follow them now. They will have time to abandon ship… including your little sage!"

He strode for the stern before Chane could argue.

Klatas saw him coming and shouted, "Go down in hold!"

The captain began calling to his men, and the tall, helmed man's voice was tinged with fear. He walked past Klatas toward the bow. Welstiel ignored the helmsman's order and followed the captain from a short distance with Chane close behind.

Ylladon sailors rushed about at the captain's orders. Two raced aft and uncovered the stern ballista. One by one, all the deck lamps were doused. Darkness enveloped the ship as Klatas suddenly threw his weight into turning the wheel.

Welstiel grabbed the rail as the vessel listed sharply, turning from the shore for the open sea. Men in the rigging worked madly to raise more sails.

"He's running," Chane said, watching the captain clinging to a rigging line at the ship's side.

"Obviously!" Welstiel returned, and then thought of what the captain had locked in his quarters. "We will change his mind!"

He ignored the captain standing midship and headed back to the helm.

"Get below!" Klatas yelled, still clinging to the wheel.

"You cannot outrun that ship," Welstiel said in a low voice.

The helmsman spit at his feet, eyes on the ship's arcing course. "What you know of it?"

"I know it is elven," Welstiel answered, inching closer. "And I saw what your captain has locked in his quarters. That ship will never stop coming for you-and the two women you have taken. It is faster than your vessel, and your only chance is to turn and fight."

Klatas shook his head but did not respond. It was clear the captain feared pursuit, as did the helmsman. Klatas spit out a stream of words that Welstiel could not follow, but he spun about at the sound of running footsteps.

The captain closed on him, his heavy shortsword in hand. Chane drew his longsword at the sight.

"Tell him that he must turn and fight!" Welstiel shouted at the helmsman.

Another sailor grabbed the wheel as Klatas let go, still speaking loudly to his superior. The captain slowed, listening, then eyed Welstiel as he barked a short phrase.

"If is battle vessel, we not can fight," Klatas said to Welstiel. "Their ship keep going fast… even crippled and sails down. Something under waves can break our hull, sink us."