“Greetings,” he called. “What ship are you?”

The mate-so marked by the gray tassel on his black cap-pointed to a blue-hulled roundship rolling in the surf behind him. “The Blue Gull. Captain Torwalder is her master. Who be you?”

“Soldiers, out of work. We seek passage to Thorngoth.” This was the port at the mouth of Greenthorn River, across the gulf.

The mate pushed the cap back on his sunburned head. “Imperial territory? Why would you want to go there?”

“It’s a big port,” said Tol, shrugging. “A good place to get lost.”

“Cost ya.”

Miya couldn’t resist. “How much?”

The mate spat on the sand. “Fifty gold for the five o’ you and the horses.”

“Fifty!” Miya exploded. “For fifty gold pieces we could buy our own ship and hire a better crew than you!”

The mate countered with a cheerfully obscene suggestion, and Miya plunged into the negotiations with enthusiasm. They at last agreed on a price of sixteen gold for their passage and the conveyance of the horses. The mate was red-faced and grumbling by the time the deal was struck, as were most who tried to out-bargain Miya.

A freshening wind stirred the waves, making the trip out to the Blue Gull rather hair-raising. The longboats rose and fell like hatchets, cleaving the sea with great foaming splashes. Tethered behind the boats, the horses swam against the tide, eyes rolling with anxiety.

Drawing alongside Blue Gull’s flaking hull, the Ergothians had to call upon all their agility to make the leap from the heaving longboats and grab the rope ladder hanging down the ship’s side. Former sailor Darpo managed handily enough, but as soon as Tol jumped for the ladder the longboat dropped out from under him, and he was thrown back among the rowers. Only his pride was hurt, and he eventually made it aboard.

The Blue Gull was a tubby vessel, only slightly longer from stem to stern than it was broad in the beam. The roundship rode in the water like a great boot, high at the stern and low at the bow. It had a single flush deck, with timber hoardings built over each end-sterncastle and forecastle. Darpo noted the ship’s rig, although well worn, was in good repair and the crew seemed to know their vessel well.

Captain Torwalder proved to be a young man, with a neatly trimmed, pointed blond beard and very heavy eyebrows. In a resonant voice, he ordered a boom rigged out to lift the horses on board. One by the one the animals were hoisted from the waves. Most rolled their eyes in alarm at the unfamiliar form of transportation. Miya’s Pitch neighed shrilly and kicked his slender legs, and even Shadow balked at first.

The horses were soon safe in the hold, but the ship could not yet weigh anchor. Blue Gull was empty save for Tol and his party; the smugglers needed to take on more cargo.

They lingered offshore the rest of the day but no more goods arrived, and Tol pressed the captain to depart. When the tide turned before sundown, Torwalder finally agreed. His men fell to the capstan, winching the anchor up from the shallow water.

The great buff-colored sail unfurled and Blue Gull wallowed out to sea. Once clear of the surf, the ungainly vessel came into its own and rode the sea with dignity, if not speed.

“Slow passage,” Darpo remarked. He scanned a sky painted scarlet by the sunset. “Fair weather, though. If the wind holds, we should make Thorngoth in two days.”

“Barring pirates, storms, or the whims of the Blue Phoenix,” Frez muttered. He was not a good sailor and clutched the windward rail, his face the color of chalk.

The Dom-shu sisters, on the other hand, were delighted with their first taste of the sea. They went from port rail to starboard, talking excitedly about everything they saw. Kiya was enchanted by the ship and its working, while Miya raved about the sea. When a section of water roiled just off the starboard bow, she cornered a busy sailor and demanded to know what caused the disturbance.

“Dolphins,” said the fellow dismissively.

He’d seen such sights thousands of times, but Miya crowed gleefully. She hung over the railing, watching the capering creatures.

As dusk closed in, Torwalder hung a hooded lantern on the binnacle for the steersman to see by. Kiya asked why the lantern was so small.

Torwalder rested his hands on the buckle of his sword belt. “Light carries far over the ocean at night,” he replied. “It don’t pay to be seen too well too far.”

“Pirates?”

The captain let the word hang in the air, answering by not answering.

They ate bread, and shellfish soup served from a common iron pot below deck. Whether it was the rocking motion of the ship, the hearty fare, or the busy time they’d had with various bandit groups, the entire party was ready for sleep soon after supper. As the ’tween decks was stuffy and smelled strongly of tar and fish oil, they opted to sleep on deck.

They spread their bedrolls on the sterncastle, out of the way of the working sailors, and settled down. Since none of them had passed a full night in sleep since leaving the camp at Tarsis, Tol decided not to bother posting a watch. Torwalder’s men seemed to have things well in hand.

Tol unbuckled his sword belt and lay down between Miya and Kiya. Number Six, Mundur’s wonderful blade, curved neatly up against him. By starlight he noticed a single glyph engraved unobtrusively on the sword’s brass pommel. He couldn’t read Dwarvish, but knew the symbols for numbers; the glyph was the numeral six.

Overhead, the rigging seemed to rake the starry sky, creaking and groaning with every roll of the beamy hull. Only two days to Thorngoth, Tol thought, as slumber settled over him like a thick quilt. The journey upriver to Daltigoth would seem a pleasure jaunt after what they’d been through already.

He dreamed once more of Felryn. This time he kept his nerve and did not accost the shade or let it disturb his rest, and the shadow of the slain priest of Mishas stood by Blue Gull’s steersman all through the night.

Bare feet thumped loudly on the plank deck. Kiya rolled over and awakened Tol.

“Something’s happening,” she whispered, and sat up. He followed suit, sheathed saber in his hand.

Torwalder’s crew was scrambling up the rigging while the master of the Blue Gull bellowed orders. Normally the roundship had a single thick mast, stepped in the belly of the ship. This morning a light pole mast had been erected on the forecastle, and a triangular sail billowed out from it. Men aloft on the main yard were lashing spars in place. Soon winglike trysails blossomed from the spars. All this new canvas sent Blue Gull galloping hard through the waves, an inelegant pace that threw up huge gouts of water from the blunt bow.

Tol went to the rail and called to Torwalder in the ship’s waist. “Captain! What’s wrong?” The young seafarer pointed astern. Beyond Blue Gull’s foaming wake were four vessels, two galleys and two lesser, oared ships known as galleots. All four had gray-green hulls, making them hard to distinguish from the sea or the dull, predawn western horizon behind them. The Tarsan Navy was still held impotently in the bay before their fallen city. Legitimate traders did not sail in galleys. These could only be pirates.

Miya, Frez, and Darpo had awakened and were staring aft as well. Quickly, the entire party buckled on their weapons.

Tol hurried down the ladder and approached Torwalder.

The captain waved him away, but Tol would not be put off.

“When did we pick them up?” he asked.

“When the stars set. Been on our stern ever since, keeping the same station.”

A line pulled free and the port trysail flapped uselessly in the wind. Torwalder bawled curses at the foolish sailor whose knots had failed, and the fellow scrambled to make them fast again. Tol returned to his comrades and shared the captain’s news.