Inika’s eyes were troubled, but Dralie’s expression was serene as she swept past, the hem of her sparkly gown scraping the deck.

“I would ask the gods to bless you, Tolandruth of Juramona, but I perceive they already have,” she said. “Farewell."

Tol bowed. To Inika, still lingering, he said, “If you have trouble, lady, you may apply to Lord Tremond. He’s Marshal of the Coastal Hundred, and my comrade in arms. He will do right by you.”

Somewhat reassured, Inika departed.

The vast deck of the elevener was empty now, save for Darpo, Wandervere, Tol, and the Dom-shu sisters. Tol charged the new admiral of the fleet with freeing the slave rowers and dividing Xanka’s treasure among them. The sixty-odd ships held close to a thousand slaves, but there was booty enough for all of them.

Darpo went down the gangplank. On the quay, he mustered the waiting spearmen and led them back aboard. Soon Tol could hear the sound of chisels cutting chains belowdeck on Thunderer.

Wandervere had watched these events with a bemused expression. “You have a marked habit for making things happen,” he said wryly. “I shall miss your company, my lord.”

“No need to miss me yet. You’re taking me upriver to Daltigoth.”

Quarrel’s draft would permit it to ascend the Thorn River and ply the canal to the capital, but Wandervere raised a salient point. They no longer had any rowers.

Tol shrugged. “Hire some. There are enough strong, willing, and idle arms in this town to man your oars.”

Wandervere left to make ready for the journey, and Tol was alone with Kiya and Miya.

Their frustration was palpable in the extended silence. “Speak, before you burst!” he finally said.

“How could you leave us behind?” Miya erupted. “There we were, sleeping in that stifling hole of a cabin while you nearly got yourself drowned!”

In a quieter tone, but no less angry, Kiya agreed. “It wasn’t right, husband. Our place is by your side, wherever you go.”

“No longer.”

His calm words brought forth strong objections from both women. Tol let them vent their feelings, then related his concern about an assassin with magical powers.

“Pah! You do not fear magic,” said Miya. “The gods protect you from sorcery. We know it!”

He frowned and told her to lower her voice. “It’s not myself I fear for,” he added. “I lost two old friends on the trail here. I won’t lose any more-especially not you two.”

At that, Miya did something Tol had never seen her do: she began to cry. Seeing her brown eyes fill with tears, he was moved, but Kiya, regarding him sourly, snorted.

“We are your given wives,” Kiya said, folding her strong arms. “That we do not act as wives has been best for all of us. We’re also hostages to the good behavior of our tribe. We’ve long known that. Our lawful place is with you. We have given up much to live with our bargain.” That was true enough, he knew. Kiya continued. “We faced the beast XimXim with you. For nigh on sixteen years and countless battles, Miya and I have never left your side for more than a few marks, and we’ll not leave you now.”

Her declaration made Tol realize anew how much he valued his sisterly forester companions? With his parents and sisters gone the gods knew where, Kiya and Miya were his family. That realization only hardened his resolve not to be the cause of their deaths.

Sternly he said, “This is not a debate! We’ve always granted each other the liberty to speak and do as each of us wills, but not this time! Though we are good…” He groped for an appropriate word. “…comrades, the time has come for you to obey me. You will both remain in Thorngoth, even if I have to ask Tremond to hold you in the fortress!”

The volume of this forceful declaration temporarily quieted the quay around them. He regarded them with a ferocious scowl as the usual noises slowly resumed.

Miya said, “No, we’ll follow you.”

Only his discipline as a soldier kept Tol from stomping a foot in frustration. “You will not!” he repeated. “Get this through your thick forester skulls! I forbid you to accompany me to Daltigoth! Once I’ve settled this business of the assassin, I’ll send for you, but not before!”

The air fairly crackled with tension. Miya looked miserably at her sister, tears still trailing down her cheeks. Kiya glared at Tol. He glared hack.

At last the blonde warrior woman unfolded her arms and said, “Come, Sister.” She brushed past Tol and started down the gangplank. When Miya didn’t move, Kiya repeated her words sharply.

“But-!” Miya began.

Kiya whirled and stalked away. Tol turned a shoulder to Miya’s accusing, unhappy eyes, and the younger Dom-shu finally followed her sister to the quay.

The unaccustomed harshness left a bitter taste in Tol’s mouth. Far more bitter would it be if he were the agent of their deaths.

Quarrel was to sail at sunset that very day. A single cask of treasure was transferred from Xanka’s store to the galleot. Life in the imperial capital was expensive. To make an appearance required gold and plenty of it. Tremond provided two horses, armor, and provisions for the journey. He offered a contingent of troops, but Tol declined. Quarrel was a small craft, and such a heavy load would slow her greatly.

The lowering sun was painting the broad, sea-bound sky in shades of scarlet when Tol sprinted up the gangplank to the galleot’s foredeck. Wandervere, newly scrubbed and wearing fine raiment, greeted him.

“We’ve two rowers per oar, plus reliefs,” the half-elf reported, “and I had to turn away a dozen others who wanted to sign on.”

He bawled commands to his crew, and they cast off. Sailors poled the galleot away from the quay. The pointed prow caught the current.

The order was given to run out oars. Ten long sweeps protruded from each side of the boat. They hung, poised in the air, until Wandervere cried, “Drop oars! Make twenty beats!”

The oarmaster set the rhythm as ordered, and Quarrel pulled smoothly away from shore. Brown water curled back from the galleot’s ram. Fishing boats and other small craft scurried out of the way.

Lanterns at the bow and stern were lit. The sun was setting upriver. Thorngoth, lying low on the muddy banks of the river, seemed all brass and fire, painted by the dying light of day. Tol had said farewell to Darpo at the citadel, but hadn’t seen Kiya or Miya since they’d stormed off Thunderer. He imagined they were sulking somewhere.

Although small compared to Thunderer, among the river craft Quarrel seemed a giant. The sight of the long, rakish galleot sweeping past was enough to send lesser boats scurrying for the banks, their boatmen gaping in astonishment. Tol had borrowed an imperial banner from Tremond. The oversized flag, meant to wave from the battlements of the citadel, hung halfway down Quarrel’s mast and flopped in the slight breeze.

The country above Thorngoth was quite different from other parts of the empire. Tol’s homeland-the hills and plains around Juramona-was wild and largely unsettled. The north country, up to the borders of Hylo, was famed for its timber and cattle. The belt between Caergoth and the capital was covered by rich farmland and walled towns, and Tol had passed through the forests of Ropunt and the Great Green.

The Thorn River delta was low and damp, riddled with tributaries large and small which splintered off the main channel, seeking the sea. Quarrel kept to the deepest part of the river. As daylight waned and the stars winked into sight overhead, the river country came to life. Clouds of water birds whirled into the air, screeching. A mighty chorus of frogs sang in the shadows, their bass voices harmonizing with the high-pitched whirring of cicadas in the trees. The darker it got, the noisier the river grew.