Yomm clambered to his feet, still muttering. "Fine, I can do that." The asura grumbled and turned, slogging down the slope toward his shop in the Trader's Forum. "'Fix it, Yomm, fix it.' Hmph. What does he think I am?"

Benedict grinned. Cobiah rolled his eyes and hurried across the wide wooden bridge.

On the far side of the bridge was a ma.s.sive plaza, larger than the main trade terraces in the city square. It was far less ornamented as well, covered with scuff marks where the Lionguard prepared for duty. Racks of weapons stood beneath shady awnings topped with gold flags, their edges blunted for use in training exercises. Cobiah was pa.s.sing the archery range when Gamina stepped out of the shadows, her snub nose and impish smile far more suited to meadows than murder.

"Benedict said you were tracking the saboteurs?" Cobiah asked, trying not to look too surprised by her sudden appearance. He was good at stealth-or had been in his youth. She was better.

"Keep your voice down, Commodore," she warned him. "I doubt they've gone far."

When Captain Tarb had retired, the pixielike blonde had left the old asura's service and joined the Lionguard. Bronn, now the captain of the guard, praised her to the skies. He even kept trying to give her command of one of the major traveler's Havens, but Gamina always refused. She rarely accepted honors and often chose to work in the background.

Cobiah had discovered the reason she preferred a low profile when Gamina approached him with an offer from the Order of Whispers, a legendary underground agency of spies, infiltrators, and scouts. If he gave her access to the Captain's Council-not to vote, just to watch and stay informed-she and her fellows would keep him apprised of activity happening in the underbelly of the city. He'd agreed. Since then, Gamina had proven to be even more valuable, rooting out thieves, smuggling rings, and other dangers in the newly established city. Without the order's aid, Lion's Arch might have fallen to any number of petty tyrants willing to trade the city's future for their own gain.

"They headed out toward the tugboat dock," she said quietly, pointing with the blade of her dagger. "I haven't seen a boat leave. Unless they swam, they'll be down there."

"You can't swim out that far. They're still here, probably waiting until the area's clear before they try to make for the s.h.i.+ps offsh.o.r.e." He glanced at Benedict. "Can you wield a sword, Ben?"

"Yes, sir." Benedict grinned. Cobiah gestured to the training weapons, and Benedict picked one up and strapped it to his waist. "Might not be very sharp, sir, but it'll do."

Gamina murmured, "That charr s.h.i.+p dropped a bellyful of oil when she went up in flames. It's spread across the harbor, and most of it's alight. The Krytans can't row out right now, or they'll be seen; the city's bombard guns would make short work of them." She gestured lightly toward the gun emplacements on the cliffs. "Keep to the shadows and stay quiet." Cobiah and Benedict followed her into the shadows of the tugboat docks as Gamina continued. "The order got word that the Krytans might try something like this, but we had no timetable. We thought Prince Edair would wait at least a week before he tried to torch the docks." She glanced back at Cobiah. "You must have really gotten on his bad side."

He scowled and didn't answer.

They moved from building to building, peering through windows and checking doors for any sign of forced entry. Gamina's slippered feet pa.s.sed silently over the cobblestones, leaving Cobiah and Benedict to scurry behind like hounds in the wake of an alley cat. Once again, Cobiah blessed his childhood on the streets; if he hadn't learned thiefcraft, it would have been incredibly difficult to keep up. "It's not surprising that Edair's overreacting," Gamina murmured. "Even his father was afraid of you. Didn't you wonder why Baede never tried to take Lion's Arch?"

"I a.s.sumed he didn't care for the climate," Cobiah joked.

"No dice." She chuckled. "He didn't have the guts to take on the finest navy in the world-or their commander." Gamina glanced back at him. "Taking this city by force requires an attacker to be ruthless. You'd have to destroy the navy and slaughter the populace before they'd kneel to a ruler who's not born and bred in the waves."

"Which ruins the point of taking the city in the first place," Benedict surmised. "Isn't that right?"

Gamina nodded. "Baede respected that and tried to deal with you, hoping Lion's Arch would return to Kryta in time. Edair doesn't care. He's not that patient. Remember that, Cobiah, and remember that pride is Edair's weakness."

"Remember?" Cobiah peered out past the edge of one of the buildings on the wharf, ensuring that the way ahead was clear. "Gamina, I'm not exactly planning to have tea with the pox-faced prince of Kryta."

"You might not be planning it, but I can a.s.sure you, he is." Suddenly Gamina dropped to a crouch and scooted behind a pile of cargo. "Look-over there." She pointed toward the other side of the wharf. Cobiah and Benedict scrambled to either side of her and peered down through cracks between the cargo crates for several minutes, looking quizzical. Growing impatient, Gamina pushed Cobiah forward, indicating the slope that led beneath the pier. "You go that way and get their attention. I'll come up behind them."

Moving silently, she glided around the far corner of the cargo pile and vanished into the night. Cobiah and Benedict shared a glance. "Uh . . . do you see a . . . 'them'?" Cobiah asked. Benedict shrugged and shook his head. Cobiah sighed. "Me neither."

Awkwardly, Benedict drew the longsword he had gathered from the training ground, holding the weapon as if it were a club. Cobiah frowned in concern, but there was very little he could do about it. Hopefully, Benedict was better in action than he looked standing still. Cobiah drew his cutla.s.s and gestured for the youth to follow him down the slope. "You can't use a sword at all, can you?" Cobiah asked. Benedict shook his head sheepishly, and Cobiah sighed. "All right. Stay close."

As they approached, Cobiah slowly began to make out four men beneath the pier, all huddled around a rowboat hidden beneath the shadow of the farthest dock. They'd been talking in low tones, voices barely audible over the hush and swell of the ocean waves, but Cobiah saw one of them gesture quickly, pulling his fist close to his face in warning. The others instantly fell silent.

In the light of the oil fires scattered over the water of the harbor, Cobiah saw that two of the men were holding daggers. A third pulled a thick-handled mallet from his belt. Looking inquisitively at the fourth, he tapped the heavy work hammer in his hand the way a tree cutter might swing his axe. The fourth moved around the rowboat, peering in Cobiah's direction. Cobiah reached back and gripped Benedict's hand, making sure the boy wasn't moving. Both groups stood in silence for a moment, and then the fourth bandit scowled. He'd seen them.

Raising his voice in the tongue of magic, the fourth bandit pulled a strange-looking dagger from his belt. The blade was twisted like an animal's horn, and the hilt was embellished with blue stone. The man cast a quick spell, and a clawlike burst of fire shot forward from his weapon. The talons raked Cobiah's flesh, searing his skin-and more important, showing exactly where he was standing.

"Get them!" the saboteur elementalist demanded. "Don't let them flee."

"Flee?" Cobiah said, challenging them. "Hadn't even crossed my mind." He charged directly into the group, hoping to scatter them. One on one, Benedict might have a better chance against the Krytans . . . and it would give Gamina an opportunity to do whatever she was planning. The elementalist skittered aside, and the two dagger-wielding thieves darted in opposite directions, planning to flank Cobiah and Benedict. The scruffy-looking man with the mallet blocked Cobiah's cutla.s.s with the hilt of his weapon, a surprised "oomph" of effort escaping him. Cobiah smiled as his sharpened cutla.s.s bit deep into the wood. Surprised at his opponent's skill, the ruffian scowled.

The warrior spun the hammer, and where Cobiah's blade was stuck in the wood, the metal of the cutla.s.s shrieked, bent, and then shattered. "The old geezer's all yours, boys." The scruffy thief said mockingly, "A little bit of a breather, and he might have another solid hit left for you."

The two dagger-wielding thugs approached Cobiah, one to either side. Benedict pressed forward, his back against Cobiah's back, and Cobiah could feel the youth shaking. As is, they were no match for these saboteurs. "Give me your sword!" Cobiah ordered, reaching back to take it from his young friend. Benedict paused only a second before obeying.

"But, sir, what am I supposed to fight with?"

"Give me a minute. I'll get you a dagger." Cobiah shrugged off his coat and began to twirl it in one hand, slapping the ground in circles as he warded off the attacker on his left side. Before the two saboteurs could formulate another plan, Cobiah swung his sword viciously at one of the dagger men. The thug ducked, lunging in beneath the reach of Cobiah's weapon. The dagger cut through the fabric of Cobiah's coat with a vicious swipe, but the old captain was too quick for the steel to touch his flesh. He tugged the coat aside, nearly pulling the dagger out of his opponent's hand, and swung again. This time, he felt his sword sc.r.a.pe against the man's leg. A good blow but hardly crippling.

The bandit elementalist changed his footing and chanted another spell. This time, heaviness pressed in the air around Cobiah, weighing on his shoulders with a damp, cold pressure. Recognizing the spell from his time with Verahd long ago, Cobiah reached back and thrust Benedict aside, jumping forward himself as a spike of ice coalesced above them both. It drove into the ground where the two men had been standing, showering the area around them in chunks of frozen snow.

Using the distraction as an opportunity to attack, one of the other brigands thrust in with his dagger, but this time, Cobiah swirled his coat around it, fouling the blade. Letting the coat fall over the dagger, Cobiah grabbed his a.s.sailant's wrist through the fabric. He jerked forward and drove his other fist-still wrapped around the hilt of his borrowed sword-into the man's face. Cobiah struck once, twice, then a third time, following up with a knee into the thug's extended arm. There was a sharp crack, and the man fell with a howl, clutching a broken wrist. Cobiah scooped up the a.s.sailant's dagger and tossed it to Benedict. "Better?"

The youth smiled. "Yes, sir! Thank you, sir." He gripped the lighter weapon more a.s.suredly than he had the sword. Clearly, the messenger's childhood had not been so different from Cobiah's own.

Near the rowboat, the brigand with the mallet had been planning an attack of his own. He swung the hammer over his head to gain speed, and as his companion fell, the scruffy-looking warrior slammed it down. The earth and sand beneath the pier rumbled from the mighty force of the blow. An explosion of earth and rocks burst up in all directions, showering Cobiah and the rest with blinding sand.

Emboldened by the dagger and farther from the epicenter of the explosion, Benedict yelled a reedy battle cry and dove past Cobiah. Ignoring the others, he drove his shoulder into the belly of the caster. The man had nearly finished another spell, the tide nearby swirling upward into a geyser-but Benedict's tackle knocked them both backward over the rowboat. The geyser popped like a bubble, drenching the rowboat, combatants and all, in salt water as Benedict and the caster fell into the rising tide. Benedict managed to stab the other man, scoring a solid hit to his shoulder with the knife; the blade snagged and tore out of Benedict's hand as the bandit screamed. The dagger fell into the tide as Benedict grappled with his enemy, rolling and kicking in the water beneath the pier.

First an earthquake, then a downpour. Scratching at his eyes, Cobiah stumbled as he tried to regain his balance on the still-s.h.i.+fting sand. He could hear the other bandit cursing a few feet away. Reaching out for the dark form at the edge of his vision, Cobiah managed to grab the other man's head, tangling his fingers into the thug's hair. The man struck out with his knife. A white-hot flame ignited in a line along Cobiah's rib cage. He ignored the pain long enough to jerk the thug's head forward, cracking a fist into the man's nose. The thug yelped, his body going suddenly limp, and fell forward into the sand.

Benedict twisted in the sand, fighting hand-to-hand with the bandit spellcaster. Thinking quickly, Benedict kicked the other man's dagger free, leaving both to fight purely with their hands. The elementalist quickly pulled out an off-hand focus as he clutched Benedict's arms, his fingers sinking deep into the youth's flesh. Benedict countered with knee-kicks to the body, and the two rolled in the shallow water. The elementalist shouted another spell. With a flash of light, his hands burst into flames. The spell was weaker than if he'd been using his dagger, and splas.h.i.+ng water absorbed the worst of it. Benedict's flesh seared, blisters rising on his biceps where the elementalist squeezed.

Aware that Benedict was in trouble, Cobiah pushed himself away from the two whimpering, injured bandits fallen in the sand at his feet. Intending to throw himself forward to join the fight, Cobiah raised his sword and lunged forward-but where he expected to fly to the boy's aid, his body suddenly refused to obey. A second wave of force from the scruffy-looking bandit's hammer knocked him back again, and Cobiah found himself stumbling, pushed aside as easily as a wave knocks away a bit of foam. He could hear his own opponent laughing, feet crunching in wet sand as the Krytan strode closer.

The man with the hammer was a problem. Worse, his blow had shaken Cobiah's body, exacerbating the dagger wound. Cobiah put a hand to his side and drew it away covered in blood. It burned from immersion in salt water and gritty sand, and Cobiah's breath came in short gasps. He was bleeding heavily, and being soaked in water only made the situation worse. Cobiah forced himself to stand. Benedict was screaming, the elementalist's fire flickering with ghostly flame up and down the youth's arms. "I'm coming," Cobiah managed to say-but he wasn't entirely sure that was true.

"I didn't recognize you at first, you know," the scruffy bandit taunted. "I wouldn't have expected to meet the famous Commodore Marriner under a rough-side pier." The man spun his heavy wooden mallet in his hands, giving Cobiah a snaggletoothed grin. "You're nothing like the king's advisers described. They told us to be careful about you. Said that if the master of the city got involved, we'd be done for." His laugh of disdain echoed with Benedict's cries for help. "But here you are. Nothing more than a weak old man stumbling in the tide. Your 'legend' is nothing but a waste of breath." The man with the hammer paused and eyed Cobiah up and down, taking in the bloodstained s.h.i.+rt, his faltering steps, and the sword hanging heavily in the commodore's hand. "Prince Edair paid us a chest of gold to turn that fleet to ash. I bet he'll give us ten times more if we bring back your head, Commodore." The warrior hefted his weapon again, the heavy mallet moving ponderously in his burly grip.

Cobiah tried to raise his sword for another attack, but it was as if iron bands circled his chest, squeezing all the breath out of him. Where was Gamina? He glanced about but saw nothing in the shadows, nothing in the movement of the waves beyond the pier. As the bandit strode closer, Cobiah's thoughts flitted to Isaye. Macha. His mother, who should have loved him-but treated him like trash. Once more, he'd trusted someone-and they'd repaid him with treachery.

Urgency spurred Cobiah forward. He had to get to Benedict before the saboteur elementalist burned the youth to death. Desperate, Cobiah chopped at the mallet-wielding brigand. The wound made his sword arm as slow as winter mola.s.ses, and the bandit dodged easily. Cobiah tried again, but the Krytan batted his weapon aside like a feather. "Just die, Commodore," the man said, grinning. "You're no hero. You're no great leader. You're nothing."

The words were like a slap in the face. Nothing, he could hear his mother say, over and over again. You're worth nothing. Rage swelled in Cobiah's heart. His vision blurred, turning red, and he ignored the pain to swing his sword with a far younger man's anger. Taken by surprise, the brigand stumbled backward, his hand loosening on the heavy mallet. Cobiah's second swing knocked it free, and the mallet tumbled to the ground. "Out of my way!" Cobiah roared. His heart was pounding. Blood flowed between the fingers of the hand pressed to his rib cage. Clenching his other hand around the hilt of the sword, Cobiah shoved past the scruffy-looking bandit and ran toward Benedict.

Raising his sword, Cobiah stabbed down at the elementalist and felt his weapon strike flesh. As the brigand screamed, Benedict raised his feet and kicked the other man in the chest, pus.h.i.+ng him farther onto the weapon until, at last, the fire died, and the man's body went limp. Cobiah sagged, forced to let go of his sword as Benedict rolled out from under the dead man. "Are you all right?" Cobiah managed to ask. Benedict nodded gratefully, shoving the body off him and into the ocean waves.

"Commodore!" Benedict scrambled in the waves for his lost dagger. The seared flesh of his arms was blistered and raw, but he raised a hand to point over Cobiah's shoulder. Wide-eyed, he yelled, "Watch out!"

Cobiah looked, knowing what he'd see. He'd been forced to leave the last bandit behind in order to get to Benedict before the messenger was burned to death. It'd been a conscious choice, and he was prepared for the consequences. Behind him, the brigand with the mallet swung his weapon in a wide swath. Cobiah heard the whisper and crackle of magical force around the weapon's head. He had only time enough to spin around, placing himself between the injured Benedict and the brigand's strike as the ma.s.sive bludgeon swept forward.

But the hammer never landed.

Behind the brigand, Gamina's blades flashed like lightning strikes. First one and then the other plunged deep into the thug's back. The bandit warrior staggered, hammer tilting forward and falling out of his hands as he collapsed to his knees. Gamina twisted her blades and jerked them out with a disdainful snarl. He fell lifeless to the ground.

"Sorry I'm late." Gamina smiled into Cobiah's slack-jawed stare. "There were two more up on the dock, and they slowed me down."

"No problem. Looks like . . . you were . . . just in time," Cobiah managed to say. Waves rolled up around his boots, splas.h.i.+ng gently against the silver buckles and dark soles. Something struck him, some memory he couldn't quite place. Cobiah's knees gave out, and he fell, sitting in the tide. He felt Benedict's hand on his shoulder, saw the worried look on Gamina's features, but before Cobiah could ask what troubled them, everything went dark.

"You've got to stop acting like this, Cobiah. Gallivanting about after saboteurs half your age, risking your life in sc.r.a.ps with bandits out at the dock. You're not as young as you used to be."

Cobiah grimaced. "A charr's scolding me about being too eager to rush into combat. What's the world coming to? Look, it's been three weeks since that fight. I'm fine."

Sykox grumped, folding his arms over the lighthouse rail and enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun. "You know I appreciate a good fight as much as anyone, but you've always been the one who leapt before you looked. In the Iron Legion, we don't leap until we've built three sets of siege engines and a tank to go in ahead of us. If Isaye were here, you know she'd say-"

"Yeah, well, Isaye's not here." Cobiah shot him a dirty look. "So can we stop bringing her up already?" Below them, the streets of the city were splayed out like a thick rug, with citizens traveling here and there, huddled in their cloaks as though afraid that simply being in the open would put them in danger. Although Edair's s.h.i.+ps were still far from the city docks, the Krytan prince's bullying presence could be felt throughout Lion's Arch.

Sykox sighed. "A pity, that. She's the only one who can talk sense into you when you get like this." Understandingly, the charr changed the subject. "So, what's Edair up to now?"

The old friends stood on the balcony of the tall lighthouse at Lion's Gate, looking out over the bay and into the Sea of Sorrows. From here, they could see the Krytan fleet surrounding the mouth of the harbor, gold-and-green flags waving atop both high-masted s.h.i.+ps of the line and swift scout vessels. All of the s.h.i.+ps bristled with armaments. Cannons glistened on the decks and through portholes in rows of ten, twenty, and even thirty, metal gleaming amid the oak hulls of ma.s.sive s.h.i.+ps.

Cobiah raised his s.e.xtant again, peering through the scope toward Prince Edair's ma.s.sive armada. "Not much. They ran off two trade vessels early this morning that were trying to sneak through the barricade. Since then, it's been quiet." Two s.h.i.+ps in particular drew Cobiah's eye. One was the sleek Nomad II. The other, sailing beside her, was the burliest galleon in the group-probably the largest s.h.i.+p in the world and easily the fattest and slowest glutton of a boat Cobiah'd ever seen. He could read her name in gold letters on the s.h.i.+p's stern: Balthazar's Trident. From the crown that ornamented her prow and the long pennants of green silk flowing from all three of her masts, Cobiah guessed the chubby warthog bore a member of the royal family of Kryta.

Edair.

"The s.h.i.+ps won't take action until he's ready. Edair's not the kind to let someone else claim his glory." Cobiah snapped the s.e.xtant back into his hand, closing the delicate instrument before pus.h.i.+ng it into his pocket. The activity stretched the skin across his ribs, and he flinched instinctively. The wound on his side had been slow to heal, leaving a long mark across his ribs where the brigand's knife had sliced him open. He still bandaged the area, applying a healer's salve to numb the ongoing pain. Sykox was right: when he'd been a young man, such things barely slowed Cobiah down. Lately, things were different. It felt like everything in the world had sped up-while he was standing still.

The blockade had been in place nearly a month, and the city was suffering. Krytan Seraph gathered on the roads to the north, threatening land routes; though they'd been unable to fully block the roads as yet, incoming trade had stagnated. Warehouses along the docks tightened their guard in fear of rioting over food supplies. The Lionguard were working long s.h.i.+fts, going house to house where necessary to keep the peace. The fire had destroyed more than 80 percent of the s.h.i.+ps at harbor that night, along with all of their wares and stores.

The fire had also cut off the city's hope for a reb.u.t.tal against the blockade. The s.h.i.+ps that survived were a motley a.s.sortment of frigates and carracks-none outfitted for war. If the Krytans hadn't torched the docks, Lion's Arch might have been able to punch through the blockade. Now there was little hope of defeating the Krytan armada, and the citizens of Lion's Arch were rapidly losing morale.

With little choice and plenty of reason to fear, every wagon and cart in the city had been commandeered. They'd loaded each wagon with women and children, and then, under a flag of truce, the caravan was sent along the northern road toward the s.h.i.+verpeaks. With luck, they'd reach the mountain pa.s.ses before the first icy rains of the season made the road too treacherous to travel. The Seraph agreed to give them an escort. If they made it that far, the caravan could reach the norn waycamp known as Hoelbrak before winter. From there, the refugees could travel via active asura gate to Divinity's Reach, the Black Citadel, or Rata Sum-anywhere safer than here.

Cobiah looked out at the sea again, the bright light of the setting sun glinting like a river of silver. Without the s.e.xtant's clear view, the armada gathered on the horizon looked like ravens cl.u.s.tered on a tree branch, waiting for the city to die so they could pick its bones clean.

"C'mon, Sykox. Let's take the lay of the land." The old charr nodded, matching his stiff, slightly limping stride to the commodore's. Down below the lighthouse, they entered the city streets. While the city had yet to be physically harmed by the Krytan blockade-other than the docks at the landing, of course-it had clearly wounded its spirit. Desperation hung like a gray shroud over Lion's Arch.

Forsaking his typical cheery greetings, Cobiah nodded briefly to those he pa.s.sed as his mind spun through every possibility. Could they bribe the Krytan captains? Pay Prince Edair a high price to keep the land? Would he even consider ransoming Lion's Arch's freedom like that, or was he dedicated to the idea of ruling the city? Nodobe had already given good reason not to request the intervention of one of the charr legions, but what about the norn? Were there enough mercenaries in Hoelbrak to take on the Seraph?

Every option seemed worse than the last.

"A word, Commodore." Sidubo Nodobe's smooth voice was impossible to mistake.

Sighing, Cobiah slowed his pace. He muttered an old saying: "Think too hard on Grenth, and he'll come riding on your coattails."

"What's that?" The Elonian fell into step with them, his forehead creasing with confusion. Cobiah waved the comment away, and Nodobe went on. "I hate to interrupt your concentration, but I have bad news."

"Worse than the harbor fire?"

Nodobe paused to consider, and Cobiah immediately regretted the question. "Perhaps not that bad," Nodobe said at last. "But not particularly auspicious."

Cobiah pinched the bridge of his nose. "What is it?"

"Yomm's missing."

"Missing?" Sykox tilted his head and snorted disdainfully. "Hiding, more likely."

"Possible, but I don't think so. One of the merchants in the plaza saw light on the asura gate platform, just before dawn. It was active this morning." Nodobe lifted his hands in an elegant gesture. "We've checked. It's not working now. Whatever-or whoever-turned it on managed to turn it off again before the Lionguard reached the platform."

Cobiah blew out a long breath of air. "That weaselly little traitor. I guess he did find a way to resurrect the . . . dis...o...b..bulated . . . fidgit-casters. Or whatever the h.e.l.l was keeping those things closed." Shaking his head, Cobiah met Nodobe's eyes grimly. "Check his shop. There's a chance he's hiding under his desk, but it's likely we won't see him again unless the city's recovered. At the least, you can take a tally of whatever stores he's got left at the mercantile."

"Aye, aye, Commodore." Nodobe gave him a dignified bow and strode off toward the plaza.

Sykox grumbled, "This just keeps getting worse. If we don't catch a break soon, we're sunk." Cobiah didn't respond. There was no need to restate the obvious, and the charr's tail was already thras.h.i.+ng like an angry serpent.

The two continued their trek through the city, from the empty shopping areas, past the blackened dock, toward the fort on the far side of the gangplank. There, several young men and women of the city were training ferociously with weapons. Although they'd likely be little match for the Seraph (if it came to that), it gave them something constructive to do, and Cobiah approved of their initiative. He could make out Captain Hedda and her husband, Bronn, in the middle of the pack, schooling four eager young sailors with training swords.

Too young, he thought as he watched them, far too young to be at war. Although he'd been the same age when he boarded the Indomitable, surely he'd never been so fresh-faced and naive. "Commodore!" One of the boys waved toward him. Long brown hair, an eager smile, and loping, slightly bowed legs. Cobiah couldn't make him out. Surely it wasn't . . .

"Sethus?"

"Who, sir?" the young man asked cheerily as he trotted out of the glare. "It's me, sir. Benedict. Remember?" The young man smiled and reached to shake his hand.

"Benedict." Relief washed over Cobiah. Sethus had died more than thirty years ago. How could he have made such a ridiculous mistake? "What are you doing out here?" he asked.

"After our little adventure, sir, I figured it was time for me to learn how to use a sword." Benedict reddened, rubbing his forehead with a nervous hand. "If I'd been trained-if I'd known how to fight, sir, that fight might have gone better. I could have protected you."

Benedict? Protected him? Cobiah chuckled and patted the youth on his shoulder. "You did fine, young man." Still, although the words hadn't been meant badly, they stung a bit: another reminder of Cobiah's age. "Are you healing up all right?"

"Completely, sir. Just a few scars to help me remember the tale." Benedict showed Cobiah his upper biceps, where a few thin white trails marked the otherwise tan and muscular arms. He'd healed rapidly, another perk of being young. That was a blessing, Cobiah thought, considering that the outcome of their fight against the saboteurs could have been far worse.

"He's doing very well." Bronn followed the youth, carrying his ma.s.sive greatsword in one hand. The norn didn't appear to have aged a day since Cobiah had first met him aboard the Salma's Grace, though now he and Hedda had children of their own. Three sons: Geir, Tryggvi, and Kaive, all of whom were among the pack of young people learning weapons on the field-but who clearly had the advantage, even against charr and humans their own age. Bronn saw Cobiah's gaze and said proudly, "Warbands fight as a team, so charr learn group tactics from a young age. Humans prefer to negotiate, so they instinctively concentrate on defense. Norn are taught from birth to be heroes." Bronn smiled through his lush beard. "So we fight as heroes!" He laughed with good-natured pride, rich and hearty. It had been a while since Cobiah had heard the sound, and he smiled in grat.i.tude.

Cobiah tousled Benedict's hair. "You're a brave lad. Get back to your training. Apparently, you're representing our entire race out there." He winked at Bronn. "Pay attention to Hedda's lessons. She's a h.e.l.l of a fighter, and you'd do well to remember what she teaches you."

"Yes, Commodore. I will." Grinning, Benedict hurried back into formation, practicing his slashes and thrusts as Hedda called out each move.

"He's none the worse for wear." Bronn chuckled, shoving Cobiah with his shoulder. The norn's blue eyes lost their twinkle as he asked more quietly, "Can you say the same, old friend?"

Before Cobiah could answer the question, he noticed two burly charr marching across the Gangplank Bridge toward the training plaza. Sykox, whose eyes were keener, recognized them first, and all four ears p.r.i.c.ked forward in glee. "Fa.s.sur! Aysom!" With a wave, the engineer bounded forward to clasp their wrists in greeting. "You old blackguards. How did you get here? The Pride was at sea!"

Bronn greeted his old companions with a bellow of goodwill, thumping their backs even as Cobiah gave them a somewhat more restrained greeting. Though the cunning old charr's fur had gone from black to darkly tarnished silver with age, Captain Fa.s.sur's grin was just as sharp as ever. Sykox and Aysom burst into challenging, friendly roars, each determined to outdo the other in the ferocity of his greeting. At last, Fa.s.sur raised a hand to ask his friends for silence. "I bet you're wondering how we managed to sneak the Pride through the blockade." Fa.s.sur snickered and brushed his claws through the fur on one arm, so pleased with himself that he might as well have been about to spit up a canary.

"Indeed! How in the realms of torment and travail did you do that?" Cobiah brought his attention back to the topic of their feat. Aysom cracked his knuckles as he answered the question, his face studiously bland. "A good pilot gave us some tricks to slip through against the tide. It was touch and go 'cause we didn't want the Krytans to hear our engine, but we managed to push through while they were eating dinner. I guess they thought it'd be impossible for a boat to enter the harbor when the tide was flowing out." He shook his golden mane, his unusually deep voice resonating with maturity and respect.

"It is impossible,"-Cobiah slapped his leg in amus.e.m.e.nt-"For everyone but the Pride! Well done on sneaking past. Engine or no engine, if the Krytans'd seen you-or if you'd hit the shale or high ruins below the waterline-you'd be driftwood by now. And you did it in the dark to boot? Your new pilot must know these waters darn well. Or be darn lucky." Cobiah ran his fingers through his hair, shrugging it back as he admired the sheer difficulty of such a task. "Is he charr or human? No matter. Whoever he is, I owe him a bottle of Black Citadel whiskey. Bring him 'round my manor, and I'll-"

"It's not like that, Cobiah." Fa.s.sur gave a sober toss of his iron-tipped horns. He measured the commodore cautiously, and then, as if he'd come to some silent resolution, he added, "It was Isaye. Isaye gave us the information we needed to come through." Beside him, the younger Aysom stiffened, looking much like he was tensing for an inevitable if undesirable fight.

Cobiah's blood went cold. Sykox was the one who spoke first. "Did she come with you? Is she-"

"No." Fa.s.sur shrugged, his eyes s.h.i.+fting right to left. "She contacted us out at sea, beyond the barricade. She knew our old hiding places, guessed where we'd be holed up, and came to talk to us. Without her, we'd still be out there. She told us when the Krytan patrols were moving, where the tides were turning, where to avoid the hidden reefs."

"And you trusted her?" Cobiah retorted.

"Coby." Bronn admonished him in a booming tone. "Such rudeness is beneath you. Let them tell Isaye's tale and judge her actions by them alone." His beard wagged with disapproval as he thumped Cobiah's shoulder again, this time hard enough to leave a bruise. "My dainty love, Hedda, told me of your discourtesy to the lady Isaye when the Nomad visited our city. There's an old norn saying: 'A cleaved head no longer plots.'" Bronn paused meaningfully. The others stared at him in confusion. Tilting his head, the norn blinked and rethought his words. "Nope, no, wait, it's the other one, sorry." He cleared his throat, trying again. "'Be not the first to speak angry words, or you shall be the first to feast on them.'" Bronn nodded, conviction returning along with his volume. "That's the one.

"Now let us hear what the charr have to say."