Abruptly, Reisz prodded his mount forward and left Myrmeen to ride alone for a time.

Night had fallen before Myrmeen had a chance for a quiet moment alone with Krystin. Despite Shandower's warnings that they all should remain together, Myrmeen took Krystin to the shore, where they waded into the gulfs cool, refreshing waters after removing their leathers and boots. Both women were expert swimmers, and before long they were tussling in the waters, holding each other's heads below the surface and racing each other back to shore. Afterward, they lay on the beach, the cool white sand clinging to their bare bodies in the strong moonlight. They stared up at the pinpricks of light visible beyond the layer of drifting clouds that sometimes stepped in front of the waiting moon.

"Your arm," Myrmeen said. "It's bleeding again."

Krystin tensed visibly. "The healer said it might from time to time-nothing to worry about."

Myrmeen picked up a sheer dressing gown she had taken from her bags and returned to the waters. She wetted the gown and wrung it out as if it were a worthless rag rather than an expensive import. When she returned, Myrmeen took Krystin's arm and dabbed at the gash, cleaning out any sand that may have lodged in the wound.

Krystin was surprised by the softness of her mother's hands. From what she had gathered about the woman's past, she had expected Myrmeen's skin to be hard and worn by her trials, as toughened and leathery as her demeanor had been after their first day together. What she had seen tonight had made her question the validity of that appearance.

Both women could sense that the walls separating them were finally beginning to fall. They shared an excitement that was laced with trepidation as they stood together on the brink of a new and terrifying journey.

Myrmeen talked about her childhood in Calimport, her father's death, her involvement with the Harpers, her service as a ranger, and her marriage to Dak. Krystin rolled over and stared into the older woman's eyes. For a moment she thought she could become lost in the deep blue recesses of Myrmeen's eyes, or sail away forever on the sails of the bright golden ships that made anchor there.

The older woman held nothing back. She answered Krystin's every question, no matter how personal or intimate. At last Krystin relaxed and admitted that much of her imposing demeanor was nothing more than a facade, particularly in the area of romance.

"Then you've never-" Myrmeen began.

"No," Krystin replied sharply. "But you've done it a lot, haven't you?"

"If you want the truth, then I don't know how many men I've thrown myself into bed with over the last ten years, since my second husband was killed. But I can tell you this: I know exactly how many of them I've made love with."

"It's the same thing."

"It isn't. That's my point."

"How many?"

She thought of Reisz. "Only one."

Krystin closed her eyes and began to shiver. "Do you think Ord is too old for me? Too experienced, maybe? I think he wants more than I'm ready to give. Do you think?"

"What do you think?" Myrmeen asked softly.

"Yes," Krystin replied. "I don't think I'm ready."

Myrmeen stroked the child's hair, which was much like her own. If you were a little older, we could be sisters, Myrmeen thought. She had barely mentioned the sister she had lost and her mother's tale of the Night Parade when she was a child, and she purposely avoided mentioning the night her daughter had been taken during the great storm.

"Let's go back," Myrmeen said. "You're shaking."

They dressed and returned to camp, where Shandower handed Krystin her emerald locket. The girl fastened the clasp behind her head as Myrmeen lifted her hair out of the way. Reisz came back with Ord ten minutes later, and the young man did not seem pleased. He smiled weakly to Krystin, announced that he was tired, and curled up on the other side of the small fire they had built.

"Have you seen anything?" Myrmeen asked. "Any hint that we are being shadowed?"

"Nothing," Shandower said.

"I wish Lucius were with us," Krystin said.

"We all wish that," Myrmeen said quickly, realizing she missed him deeply. He had been more than their protector; he had become a trusted friend. "Burke and Varina, too."

"I'll take first watch," Reisz said. "The rest of you, try to get some sleep."

"We should change first," Myrmeen urged as she took Krystin's hand and glanced at one of her travel bags. "My leathers became damp, yours too. Neither of us will be worth anything if we get sick sleeping in wet clothes."

Krystin agreed. They found a pair of dressing gowns and retreated behind a boulder, where they changed clothes, then returned to the fire and placed their leathers as close to the flames as they could. Myrmeen lay down first, her back turned to Krystin, who decided to sleep beside her. Neither had bothered to lace the backs of their gowns, and, in the fire's flickering yellow light Krystin was able to see a network of scars upon her mother's bare back. She said nothing about it and tried to fall asleep, but was still awake half an hour later, thinking of the wounds her mother had endured.

Krystin shifted and felt the hard, cold weight of the emerald locket slap against the top of her breasts. The chain around her throat felt like a garrote.

Why did you do it, she chided herself. You should have let the bastard kill you. You should have warned Myrmeen.

Knowing that she would not be able to sleep as long as she wore the locket, Krystin removed the cold metal amulet and placed it in her pouch. She curled up behind Myrmeen, looked at the scars on the woman's back, and remembered her words: They can be marks of courage. I have several myself, each with its own story to tell.

While Myrmeen slept, Krystin gently traced each of the dozen scars she counted on Myrmeen's back and tried to imagine where the woman had received each one. There were battles with the Black Robes, the Zhentarim, she was certain. Others had come from the raking talons of ores and hobgoblins. A fall from a great height, bucked from an evil dragon, accounted for another scar, and the fiery bolts of a clan of wizards, yet another. At least one, she was certain, had come from the hand of an over-enthusiastic lover.

When she could no longer bear to stay awake, Krystin put an arm over Myrmeen, pressed her face into the woman's neck, and allowed sleep to come for her.

That night, the nightmares left them in peace.

By Myrmeen's estimate, they had traveled six miles along the shores of the Calim River before Shandower signaled for the group to halt. They had been driven into the mountainous regions high above the river, making casual detours to the beach an impossibility. For the last two hours they carefully had made their way along one of the many tiers of rock chiseled from a cliff above the Shining Sea. The trail had been known only to Shandower. Before long, the path dipped treacherously and they were forced to lead their mounts. Their boots and the frightened animals' hooves slid too often for the comfort of anyone but Shandower, who had grinned as they had made their way down to a midlevel rise. The cliffs edge sagged, then rose again.

They were stopped before a bare section of sienna rock. The rich blue sky played host to soft white mushroom clouds that might have been kingdoms for fairy folk, or so Krystin had imagined them, to help relieve the boredom of the journey. Far below, white foam licked at the rocks that composed the sea's pleasant shoreline.

There's nothing here, Myrmeen thought, then realized, that's exactly the point. Shandower would not hide an object that could cripple an entire race of beings where people were likely to stumble' upon it every day.