"My orders were to capture as many of you as I could. Anyone who refused to surrender, I was to kill. I didn't question why. Now be quiet."

Kovrim shrugged but nodded. As he walked along, helping Velati keep a steady pace, he considered why someone would have issued such orders to the men escorting them. It didn't seem likely that they would have known the Crescents would be there-unless they are in league with the pirates, he realized. Perhaps they are working for the same people. But who?

Then the priest's eyes narrowed. Lavant, he thought. To get me and Vambran out of the way. Why else would I have been ordered to serve as quartermaster at my age?

The thought that the Grand Trabbar would go to such lengths to eliminate threats made Kovrim's blood run cold. He knew that the high priest had influence, and the evidence he had found suggested that Lavant was putting together an army. But the notion that he would sink an entire ship and destroy a whole company of mercenaries just so he could get two men out of the way was astonishing.

If Lavant ordered our deaths, Kovrim thought, then it's only a matter of time before these men, or those they answer to, realize who I am and try to finish the job.

As the priest considered that, he began to go over other options in his mind. Even without his holy coin, he still had magic at his disposal that could aid him in his escape. But Velati did not, and there was nothing Kovrim could do to assist him that way. No, Kovrim decided, I'll stay with him until there's no other choice. But did I save him only to let him die later?

With such a realization fresh in his mind, Kovrim's thoughts turned once again to his nephew. He wanted to hold out hope that Vambran had somehow escaped, that he had been resourceful enough to evade the pirates and reach the shore, but he feared the worst. The attacks on Lady's Favor and the number of troops scouring the beach were so powerful, had been so well coordinated, that it hardly seemed possible that any Crescent had managed to escape.

Kovrim prayed he was wrong.

As Vambran moved stealthily through the trees, nearing the edge of the forest, he could hear the sounds of a large gathering of troops, just beyond sight. He picked his steps carefully, trying to avoid snapping twigs or rustling leaves, but he knew he was no woodsman, and every time he scuffed his feet, the lieutenant held his breath, waiting for sentries to come charging through the underbrush toward him. They did not. Finally, when he reached a point where he could begin to see beyond the ground cover that marked the boundary of the forest proper, he crouched down behind the trunk of one of the last sizeable shadowtops and just listened for a few moments.

The typical sounds of an army wafted through the screen of plant life toward him, of some men shouting orders and others laughing. He could hear the sounds of horses whinnying, and those of wagons creaking. The one sound he did not hear, thankfully, was that of prisoners being tortured. He hoped it was not because they had taken no prisoners.

It was growing toward dusk. The seven remaining Crescents had spent the better part of the day evading the enemy forces, and though the army had been thorough, its command had seemed reluctant to drive too deeply into the interior of the forest. Only after his foes had given up and returned to open ground had Vambran crept back to the edge of the woods to scout. The other Crescents had orders to remain well away from the border. If he didn't get back to them by nightfall, they were to march through to the other side and get back to Arrabar as best as they could.

He decided that he had to get closer, see what he could determine of the fate of the Crescents who had not escaped into the woods. He considered trying to sneak into the perimeter of the gathering, but he dismissed that idea again. There would be sentries. If the mercenary officers of that army were worth their salt, they would know that the few who had escaped might at least try to rescue their companions, and the soldiers would be ready. Vambran did not like the idea of getting caught by himself in the open, where a handful of spellcasters could easily overwhelm him. There had to be other options.

An idea came to him. Only a few days before setting out upon Lady's Favor, Vambran had become aware of a new arcane trick he could perform. The concept seemed to come on him without warning or thought, as a flash of inspiration. He understood what he would need to do to conjure the magic, and it would happen.

He began to rummage around in a small pouch on his belt, producing a tiny vial with a wax-coated stopper. The container held a bit of black, sticky substance. He squatted down and stirred his finger through the dead leaves and other debris at the base of the tree, looking carefully. When he overturned a small stone, a small brown spider scurried out from its disturbed hiding place, and Vambran snatched it up.

Vambran still found the intuitive nature of his arcane power unsettling, but he ignored the sensation and did what came naturally. Eyeing the spider for a moment, he steeled himself and tossed it in his mouth, and followed that by unstoppering the vial and dripping a bit onto his tongue. Ignoring the foul taste of the tarry substance and the wriggling of the spider, the lieutenant swallowed both at once then uttered a phrase that had popped into his head only a few tendays ago.

He waited a moment. Then, when he was certain the magic had taken effect, Vambran turned and began to climb the tree behind which he had been hiding. It was remarkably easy, as he found he could scamper along the surface of the trunk as a spider might, traveling straight up to the top almost as quickly as he could walk the forest floor. When he reached the first branches high in the tree, he stopped and peered out from behind the trunk toward where he believed the mercenary army to be.

Vambran had chosen a good tree, for it was one of the last really tall ones that bordered the woods, and from that vantage point, he could see beyond its sheltering leaves to well beyond the limits of the forest. The army was arrayed below him, groups of soldiers milling about, as though waiting for the order to move out. By Vambran's judgment, there appeared to be perhaps one hundred foot soldiers and half that many cavalry. It was not an overly large force, but certainly sizeable enough to overwhelm the company of Crescents he had commanded, even at full strength.

In a small depression in the land surrounded by armed guards, numerous members of the Crescents sat. They were huddled together, perhaps talking, but it was clear that they were prisoners, for their captors watched them carefully, bowmen with their weapons held casually but ready, and others with swords or axes also watching.

Vambran was both relieved and angry. He wished once again that he had his spyglass with him, so he might get a closer look and determine who was there, but it would be difficult to see faces very clearly in the fading light of day. He could, however, count the figures gathered on the ground, and it appeared that there were approximately two dozen Crescents altogether. That number made him smile, for it meant that others who had not managed to join him on the beach had survived the sinking of Lady's Favor. Even if they were prisoners, at least they were alive.

For the moment, anyway, Vambran thought. The pirates certainly weren't interested in taking prisoners. If these soldiers answer to the same masters as the corsairs did, then they must have orders to slay the Crescents, too. But then, why hadn't they?

Vambran considered that bit of information, wondering if his previous assessment had been faulty. Perhaps the mercenary army was not operating under the same guidance as the pirates. Perhaps the Crescents had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. No, that seemed almost as illogical. Something was going on, but he could not yet piece it together.