Gradash’s ears flipped back and forward in acknowledgment. “Then I would suggest that they begin their work. It may be of use to your people as well as mine.”

Tavi mused over that statement for a moment, and came to the conclusion that Gradash was speaking of negotiations. The Shuar would hold a much stronger bargaining position for making demands of the Narashan Canim and the Alerans if the storm was breathing down their necks.

“That might not be a bad idea,” Tavi agreed.

“This is a terrible idea,” Antillar Maximus growled. “I’d even go so far as to call it insane-even by your standards, Calderon.”

Tavi finished lacing up his armor, squinting a little in the dimness. The sun had not yet set, but for the first time in several weeks, the mass of the land to the west meant an actual twilight rather than the sudden darkness of a nautical sunset, and the shadows were thick inside his cabin.

He leaned down to peer out one of the small, round windows. The enormous, dark granite walls of the fjord rose above the ships on either side, and what looked a great deal like the old Romanic stone-throwing engines he and Magnus had experimented with back in the ruins of Appia lined the top cliffs on either side at regular intervals. The approach to the port of Molvar was a deadly gauntlet should their hosts decide to take umbrage with any visitors.

Only the Slive and the Trueblood had been permitted to enter the fjord itself. The rest of the fleet still waited in the open sea beyond the fjord-vulnerable to the weather threatened by the darkening skies.

“The Shuarans haven’t left us with many options, Max. They won’t even discuss landing rights until they’ve spoken to the leaders of both contingents of the fleet, alone. We’ve got too many ships out there that aren’t going to make it if we don’t find a safe harbor.”

Max muttered the cabin’s sole furylamp to life and folded his arms, frowning. “You’re walking into a city full of Canim by yourself. Just because it’s necessary doesn’t make it any less insane. Tavi…”

Tavi buckled his belt and began fastening the heavy steel bracers to his forearms. He gave his friend a lopsided smile. “Max. I’ll be all right.”

“You don’t know that.”

“The Canim are good about one thing-they don’t make any bones about it when they want to kill you. They’re quite direct. If they wanted me dead, they’d have started dropping rocks on the ship by now.”

Max grimaced. “You shouldn’t have sent the Knights Aeris out. We’ll wish we had them if those stone throwers start up on us.”

“Speaking of which,” Tavi said. “Has your brother reported back yet?”

“No. And the wind is rising. We’re going to lose men to the sea when they come back if they don’t have solid ground to land on.”

“All the more reason for me to go now,” Tavi said quietly. “At least we know that they’re slowing the storm. Crassus wouldn’t keep them up there if they weren’t doing any good.”

“No,” Max admitted. “He wouldn’t.”

“How long can they stay aloft?”

“Been there since noon,” Max said. “Another three or four hours at most.”

“Then I’d better hurry.”

“Tavi,” Max said, slowly. “What happens if they come back and we haven’t worked something out with the Shuarans?”

Tavi took a deep breath. “Tell them to land onshore within sight of the fleet. Take some earthcrafters, create a way to the top, and get them back aboard.”

“You want them to land on a hostile shore, while we craft a dock and an assault stairway in what is obviously intended to be an impregnable defense.” Max shook his head. “The Shuaran Canim might call that an act of war.”

“We’ll be as polite about it as we can, but if they do, they do. I’m not letting our people drown over protocol.” He finished buckling on both bracers and rose to slip the baldric to his gladius over one shoulder. Then, after a moment’s consideration, he picked up the strap to Kitai’s gladius and hung its baldric the opposite way, so that the additional weapon lay against his other hip.

Max looked pointedly at the second weapon and arched an eyebrow.

“One for the Shuarans,” Tavi said. “And one for Varg.”

Tavi and Max were the only ones to climb into the longboat.

“Are you sure about this, Aleran?” asked Kitai, her eyes worried.

Tavi looked across the short distance to the Trueblood, where a larger longboat was being lowered to the water. He could recognize Varg’s enormous figure in the prow. “As sure as I can be,” he said. “Making a good first impression might do more to head off trouble than anything else we could do.” He met Kitai’s gaze. “Besides, chala, the ships are going to be back at sea. If it comes to a fight, having more men with the longboat wouldn’t change anything.”

“It’s simpler if I’m working alone, Kitai,” Max assured her. “That way if there’s trouble, I don’t have to play gentle. If the Shuarans start treating us the way Sarl did, I can just level everything that isn’t His Royal Highness.”

“His Royal Highness appreciates that,” Tavi said. “Where’s Magnus?”

“Still furious that you would not allow Maximus to take your place,” Kitai said.

Tavi shook his head. “Even if he crafted himself into my twin, Varg would have known the second he got close enough to smell him.”

“I know. Magnus knows. He is angry because it is true.” Kitai leaned over the side of the longboat and kissed Tavi hard on the mouth, her fingers tight in his hair for a moment. Then she broke it off abruptly, met his eyes, and said, “Survive.”

He winked at her. “I’ll be fine.”

“Of course he will,” Maximus said. “If there’s a lick of trouble, Tavi will set something on fire-it’s easy to set something on fire, believe me-and I’ll see the smoke, knock down all the buildings between him and the dock, come get him, and we’ll leave. Nothing simpler.”

Kitai gave Maximus a steady look. Then she shook her head, and said, “And the truly incredible part is… you actually believe it.”

“Ambassador,” Max said, “in the course of my life, I have more than once been too ignorant to know that something was impossible before I did it anyway. I see no reason to jeopardize that success.”

“It certainly explains your study habits at the Academy,” Tavi noted. “We’re ready, Captain.”

Demos, who had been directing the affairs of the ship from nearby, called out an order to the crew, and the sailors of the Slive lowered the boat to the chill waters of the fjord.

Tavi flung his scarlet cloak about his shoulders and hooked it to the clasps on his armor, while Max sat down at the rear of the boat. The big Antillan thrust one hand into the water for a moment, murmured something, and a second later the longboat surged silently forward, propelled by a burbling current that pressed against its stern.

Tavi rose to stand in the prow, and the wind threw his cloak back as the longboat glided silently for the shore.

“First impressions, eh?” Max muttered.

“Right,” Tavi said. “When they get close enough to get a look at you, try to look like someone who isn’t impressed.”

“Got it,” said Max.

The longboat altered course to run parallel to the boat coming from Varg’s vessel. Varg’s boat was crewed by seven warrior-caste Canim, six of them pulling oars while a seventh held the longboat’s tiller. Varg, like Tavi, stood in the prow of his boat. He wore no cloak, but the fading light of day managed, somehow, to glitter upon the bloodred gem hanging from a gold ring in one ear, here and there upon his black-and-crimson armor, and upon the hilt of the curved sword hanging at his side.

“Carrying a lot of bloodstone on him,” Max noted.

“I get the impression that Varg hasn’t made a lot of friends among the ritualists,” Tavi said. “If I were he, I’d carry a lot of bloodstone, too.”