Gradash stood beside Tavi at the Slive’s prow and watched with him. The lookout in the crow’s nest had spotted land several moments before, so they waited for it to come into sight from their position on the deck. Tavi finally spotted the dark, solid shadow on the horizon.

Gradash squinted forward, but it was another minute or more before the greying old Cane grunted and flicked his ears in satisfaction. “Ah.”

“Glad to be home?” Tavi asked him. “Or at least, back in the general area.”

Gradash grunted. “We are not there yet. You will see.”

Tavi arched a brow at the old Cane, but Gradash did not elaborate. It was almost an hour later before Tavi understood. The Slive drew even with the “land” the lookout had spotted-and it proved to be an unthinkably large slab of what looked like muddy ice. The fleet had to change formation to maneuver around it. The thing was the size of a mountain, fully as big as the city of Alera Imperia.

“Glacier spawn,” Gradash said, nodding toward the ice mountain. “Come winter, more ice starts forming, and there are a couple of spots that push those mountains of ice into the sea.”

“That must be a sight,” Tavi murmured.

The Cane gave him a brief, speculative glance. “Oh, aye. Not one to be seen from up close, though.” He waved a paw at the ice. “They’re dangerous. Sometimes they spread out, beneath the surface. Sail too close, and it will rip out the belly of your ship like it was made from lambskin.”

“Are they common, then?”

“In these waters,” Gradash said, flicking an ear in agreement. “Leviathans don’t care for them, so any Cane who has sailed in the northern regions for any time at all has spent some time sailing close to one to get away from a rogue or to cross a beast’s range.”

“I’ve always wondered,” Tavi said, “how your folk deal with the leviathans. I mean, crossing the first time, I’m given to understand that the storm that pushed you moved you very quickly, kept them from gathering on you, and that there were so many of you that you only lost a few ships. But you could hardly provide all those conditions on a regular basis in your home waters.”

Gradash’s battle-scarred, stumped tail swished once in mild amusement. “No great secret to it, Aleran. We chart their ranges throughout the waters near our homes. And then we respect them.”

Tavi lifted his eyebrows. “And that’s all?”

“Range is important,” Gradash said seriously. “The territory one claims and defends is important. We understand that. The leviathans understand it. So we respect their claim.”

“It must make for some complex sailing routes.”

Gradash shrugged. “Respect is elder to convenience.”

“And besides,” Tavi said drily, “if you didn’t respect them, they’d eat you.”

“Survival is also elder to convenience,” Gradash agreed.

The lookout shouted from high above again, a second cry of, “Land!”

The Cane grunted, and the pair of them returned to gazing ahead.

“There,” Gradash growled. “That is Canea.”

It was a bleak, black land-or so it seemed from Tavi’s viewpoint aboard the ship. The shoreline was an unbroken wall of dark stone that rose from the sea like the ramparts of some vast fortress. Above the bluffs of dark granite rose the shadowy forms of cloud-veiled mountains, covered to the hips in snow, and higher than any Tavi had ever seen. He let out a low whistle.

“Shuar,” growled Gradash. “Their whole bloody crowbegotten range is one frozen rock.” The grizzled Cane had learned his Aleran curses from Maximus, and used them fluently. “Makes them all bloody insane, you know. They spend both days of summer getting ready for winter, and then all bloody winter chasing things around frozen mountains so that their hunters can fall to pointless deaths in some crevasse. When they get the meat home, their females prepare it in spices that would set these ships on fire, and tell the surly bastards it’s for their own good.”

Tavi found himself grinning, though he kept himself from inadvertently showing his teeth. The gesture carried different connotations with the Canim than it did with Alerans. “You don’t care for them, then?”

Gradash scratched under his chin with the dark claws of one paw-hand. “Well. I will say this much for the snow-addled, crow-eating slives in Shuar-at least they aren’t the Maraul.”

“You don’t care for the Maraul, then?” Tavi asked.

“Mud-loving, swamp-crawling, tree-hopping fungus-eaters,” Gradash said. “Not one of them has been born that doesn’t deserve to go screaming to his death in the jaws of a mad leviathan. But I will say this for the Maraul-at least they are not Alerans.”

Tavi barked out a sharp laugh, and this time he did show Gradash his teeth. The Cane had, he thought, just made an obscure joke. Or perhaps he had paid the Alerans a backhanded compliment, by comparing them to enemies whom Gradash obviously respected, to spend such time and attention on his insults.

Likely, he had been doing both at the same time. Among the Canim, a respected enemy was as valued as a friend-perhaps more so. To the Canim way of thinking, while a friend might one day disappoint you, an enemy could be relied upon to behave as an enemy without fail. To be insulted in company with already-respected foes was no insult at all, from the Canim perspective.

Tavi scanned the tops of the bluffs as the fleet turned to follow them southward, perhaps half of a mile off the coast. “We’re being watched,” he noted.

“Always,” Gradash agreed. “The borders between ranges are always watched, as are coastlines and rivers.”

Tavi frowned, peering at the cliff tops, and wished yet again that his limited mastery of furycraft had included the ability to craft wind furies into a farseeing. “Those are… riders. I didn’t realize your people employed cavalry.”

“Taurga,” Gradash supplied. “They are unsuited to sea voyages and have not come to Alera.”

A shadow stirred on the deck, and Tavi glanced up to see Kitai lounging in the rigging on the nearest spar, apparently balanced like a cat and asleep. But a flash of green through her silver-white eyelashes told him that she was awake, and the faintest curve of her mouth betrayed her satisfaction. Already, they had learned something else of interest by continuing on.

Tavi mouthed the words, “I know. You told us so,” toward her.

Her mouth opened in a silent laugh, and her eyes closed again, perhaps into genuine sleep.

“How far is it to the port from here, elder brother?”

“At our pace? Two hours, perhaps.”

“How long will it take Varg to get an answer from the Shuarans, do you think?”

“As long as it takes,” Gradash said. He glanced back down at his tail. “It would be better if it was soon, though. We have less than a day before the next storm is upon us.”

“If they have dry ground to land upon, some of my people can probably do something about the storm,” Tavi said.

Gradash gave Tavi an oblique look. “Truly? Why did they not do so during the previous storm?”

“A windcrafter needs to be up there within the storm to affect it. The wind they use to fly would kick up a lot of spray from the ocean whenever they were near the ship,” Tavi replied. “Seawater carries a great deal of salt, which damages and inhibits their wind furies. In rough weather, it makes takeoffs dangerous and landings all but suicidal.”

Gradash let out a coughing grunt. “That is why your fliers will bear messages in calm seas, then, but you use boats when there is any swell.”

Tavi nodded. “They can land safely on the deck, or if there is a chance bit of spray, they can fall into the sea and be taken up by the crews of the ships with minimal risk. I won’t take chances with them, otherwise.”

“Your people can stop the storm?”

Tavi shrugged. “Until they’ve seen it and can judge its size and strength, I have no way of knowing. They should, at the least, be able to slow and weaken it.”