"Report to me, instead of staring at me like a simpleton," he ordered me tersely, and so I did.

It was hard to watch the trail and his face at the same time, but the second time he snorted, I glanced over at him to find wry amusement on his face. I finished my report and he shook his head.

"Luck. Same luck your father had. Your kitchen diplomacy may be enough to turn the situation around, if that is all there is to it. The little gossip I heard agreed. Well. Kelvar was a good duke before this, and it sounds like all that happened was a young bride going to his head." He sighed suddenly. "Still, it's bad, with Verity there to rebuke a man for not minding his towers, and Verity himself with a raid on a Buckkeep Town. Damn! There's so much we don't know. How did the Raiders get past our towers without being spotted? How did they know that Verity was away from Buckkeep at Neatbay? Or did they know? Was it luck for them? And what does that strange ultimatum mean? Is it a threat, or a mockery?" For a moment we rode silently.

"I wish I knew what action Shrewd was taking. When he sent me the messenger, he had not yet decided. We may get to Forge to find that all's been settled already. And I wish I knew exactly what message he Skilled to Verity. They say that in the old days, when more men trained in the Skill, a man could tell what his leader was thinking about just by being silent and listening for a while. But that may be no more than a legend. Not many are taught the Skill, anymore. I think it was King Bounty who decided that. Keep the Skill more secret, more of an elite tool, and it becomes more valuable. That was the logic then. I never much understood it. What if they said that of good bowmen, or navigators? Still, I suppose the aura of mystery might give a leader more status with his men… or for a man like Shrewd, now, he'd enjoy having his underlings wondering if he can actually pick up what they were thinking without their uttering a word. Yes, that would appeal to Shrewd, that would."

At first I thought Chade was very worried, or even angry. I had never heard him ramble so on a topic. But when his horse shied over a squirrel crossing his path, Chade was very nearly unseated. I reached out and caught at his reins. "Are you all right? What's the matter?"

He shook his head slowly. "Nothing. When we get to the boat, I'll be all right. We just have to keep going. It's not much farther now." His pale skin had become gray, and with every step his horse took, he swayed in his saddle.

"Let's rest a bit," I suggested.

"Tides won't wait. And rest wouldn't help me, not the rest I'd get while I was worrying about our boat going on the rocks. No. We just have to keep going." And he added, "Trust me, boy. I know what I can do, and I'm not so foolish as to attempt more than that."

And so we went on. There was very little else we could do. But I rode beside his horse's head, where I could take his reins if I needed to. The sound of the ocean grew louder, and the trail much steeper. Soon I was leading the way whether I would or no.

We broke clear of brush completely on a bluff overlooking a sandy beach. "Thank Eda, they're here," Chade muttered behind me, and then I saw the shallow draft boat that was all but grounded near the point. A man on watch hallooed and waved his cap in the air. I lifted my arm in return greeting.

We made our way down, sliding more than riding, and then Chade immediately boarded. That left me with the horses. Neither was anxious to enter the waves, let alone heave themselves over the low rail and up onto deck. I tried to quest toward them, to let them know what I wanted. For the first time in my life I found I was simply too tired. I could not find the focus I needed. So three deckhands, much cursing, and two duckings for me were required to finally get them loaded. Every bit of leather and every buckle on their harness had been doused with salt water. How was I going to explain that to Burrich? That was the thought that was uppermost on my mind as I settled myself in the bow and watched the rowers in the dory bend their backs to the oars and tow us out to deeper water.

TIME AND TIDE WAIT for no man. There's an ageless adage. Sailors and fishermen mean it simply to say that a boat's schedule is determined by the ocean, not man's convenience. But sometimes I lie here, after the tea has calmed the worst of the pain, and wonder about it. Tides wait for no man, and that I know is true. But time? Did the times I was born into await my birth to be? Did the events rumble into place like the great wooden gears of the clock of Sayntanns, meshing with my conception and pushing my life along? I make no claim to greatness. And yet, had I not been born, had not my parents fallen before a surge of lust, so much would be different. So much. Better? I think not. And then I blink and try to focus my eyes, and wonder if these thoughts come from me or from the drug in my blood. It would be nice to hold counsel with Chade, one last time.

The sun had moved 'round to late afternoon when someone nudged me awake. "Your master wants you," was all he said, and I roused with a start. Gulls wheeling overhead, fresh sea air, and the dignified waddle of the boat recalled me to where I was. I scrambled to my feet, ashamed to have fallen asleep without even wondering if Chade was comfortable. I hurried aft to the ship's house.

There I found Chade had taken over the tiny galley table. He was poring over a map spread out on it, but a large tureen of fish chowder was what got my attention. He motioned me to it without taking his attention from the map, and I was glad to fall to. There were ship's biscuits to go with it, and a sour red wine. I had not realized how hungry I was until the food was before me. I was scraping my dish with a bit of biscuit when Chade asked me, "Better?"

"Much," I said. "How about you?"

"Better," he said, and looked at me with his familiar hawk's glance. To my relief, he seemed totally recovered. He pushed my dishes to one side and slid the map before me. "By evening," he said, "we'll be here. It'll be a nastier landing than the loading was. If we're lucky, we'll get wind when we need it. If not, we'll miss the best of the tide, and the current will be stronger. We may end up swimming the horses to shore while we ride in the dory. I hope not, but be prepared for it, just in case. Once we land—"

"You smell of carris seed." I said it, not believing my own words. But I had caught the unmistakable sweet taint of the seed and oil on his breath. I'd had carris-seed cakes, at Springfest, when everyone does, and I knew the giddy energy that even a sprinkling of the seed on a cake's top could bring. Everyone celebrated Spring's Edge that way. Once a year, what could it hurt? But I knew, too, that Burrich had warned me never to buy a horse that smelled of carris seed at all. And warned me further that if anyone were ever caught putting carris seed oil on any of our horses' grain, he'd kill him. With his bare hands.

"Do I? Fancy that. Now, I suggest that if you have to swim the horses, you put your shirt and cloak into an oilskin bag and give it to me in the dory. That way you'll have at least that much dry to put on when we reach the beach. From the beach, our road will—"

"Burrich says that once you've given it to an animal, it's never the same. It does things to horses. He says you can use it to win one race, or run down one stag, but after that, the beast will never be what it was. He says dishonest horse traders use it to make an animal show well at a sale; it gives them spirit and brightens their eyes, but that soon passes. Burrich says that it takes away all their sense of when they're tired, so they go on, past the time when they should have dropped from exhaustion. Burrich told me that sometimes when the carris oil wears out, the horse just drops in its tracks." The words spilled out of me, cold water over stones.