A hooded figure stood on the footpath above the rocks, a jagged silhouette against a colorless sky. The ferry chugged by, its stern paddles beating the water into froth. One of Luka’s crew hailed the stranger. He received no answer. Aralt turned when Scanlin joined them.

“Bold, isn’t he? Come awa’ now, m’lad…”

“Right. Going,” Lian replied, stepping into the shadows. He seemed to gather the rising mist about him like a cloak.

“Send—”

“—Telta. Aye, syr Tremayne.”

“And stay—”

“—out of sight.”

You’re doing it again. He warned Lian, unable to halt his tumbling thoughts.

You’re shouting in my head.

I’m going to be shouting in your ear in a minute, impudent boy!

“What are they doing?” he said, more to himself than anyone else. His eyes twitched as he scanned the shore. “Why aren’t they mounting an attack?”

“If there’s but the one, he must ken he’s outnumbered,” Scanlin said. “This time we see him.”

“Only because he wishes it,” Tycho told them in a hushed voice. “He’s waiting.”

Aralt spun around. “For what? You?”

Tycho stroked the ravenjay now perched on his shoulder. Beady eyes were trained on Aralt. “Possibly. They know I’m here. More likely, though, the blood calls to the blood.”

“Kolarin and Tevin? You had better hope your potion was sufficient.”

“Believe me, syr Tremayne, I do.”

“The way Lian tells it, you’re the envy of surgeons everywhere.”

“And you’re the envy of every warrior,” Tycho replied with equal sarcasm. “I suspect neither of us warrants such praise. Given our circumstances, though, I’m inclined to hope at least the latter is true. If not, I’ll endeavor to preserve the survivors.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?”

Tycho rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek. Laughter showed in his grey-blue eyes. Even the ravenjay chattered in amusement. “It has been said, yes.”

“The Shadow Assassin didn’t show up until your pet did.”

“He didn’t allow himself to be seen—nor did Pzak—until now. The two are unrelated. I have no doubt he followed us.”

“On foot?” Impossible! For all the riverboat lacked modern innovations, she had been, until late, dependable, and making good time.

Tycho shook his head. “He’ll have ridden until its mount’s heart burst. That may be why he’s revealed himself at last. We will soon be out of range. Not that it will stop him from tracking us, even into places where he cannot possibly pass as one untouched by his affliction. You must understand, logic does not drive the j’thirrin. They are tools and are used as such. When one is broken, another is forged.”

“And I’m supposed to just take your word for that?”

“It is all I have to give you. You are welcome to ask Lian. He has some small experience in these matters.”

Did he, now. Another thing to file away in his weary mind for later. “You said before that it wasn’t the ones we could see that we needed to be most concerned about. If that’s true and he isn’t alone, we’re too exposed this way. Go up to the hurricane deck with Telta. You want to prove your loyalty to Lian Kynsei? This is a good time to start.”

“Unarmed, syr Tremayne?”

“I assume that fancy sword isn’t just a piece of jewelry?”

“I’ll try not to disappoint you.”

“We’ll nae have a fix on this one for long,” Scanlin said once they were alone. “Not unless he wants us to. We’re near on the gloamin’.”

“And at the moment they don’t want us to see them, they could be anywhere. Wind and rain, Grey. We’re too few to do this properly.” He hated to admit it, but even Deyr would have been a welcome sight just then. He half expected Russ Munro to appear out of nowhere like some dark revenant out of legend. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, then rubbed his sore arm. The burning sensation had faded into a dull ache.

Scanlin was watching him. “You ought to have that seen to, Wolf.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. Come on.” He led the way to the wheelhouse. Luka and the first mate greeted them grimly, concentrating on navigating the unwieldy paddleboat through the narrowing gorge. The leadsman continued to call out diminishing depths. Luka had uncorked a bottle of brownroot ale. Half of it was already gone.

“Help yourself,” Luka told him with a gap-toothed grin. “A bottle’s the only place I’m going to find courage tonight. I’m too old for this, syr Tremayne. My sailing days and fighting days are long over.”

“You’re doing fine, skipper. It can’t be far now.” If the Alwynns were in residence at Kinara’s Landing, the place would be teeming with guards. He ducked his head out of the wheelhouse. “Telta, anything?”

“I lost sight of him, sir. And the river’s becoming so narrow. This is a bad place to make a stand. An army could come over these ridges and ambush us before we had a chance to say our prayers.”

“I’m not worried about an army,” he told her, motioning to Scanlin to boost him to the top of the pilothouse. “I’m worried about the shadows.”

Beneath his feet, the paddleboat rocked, picking up speed, swept through the gorge by increasing rapids. They passed under a suspension bridge. For a moment, he thought he saw someone on the opposite side of the river from which they had seen the Soulless. Below him on the hurricane deck, he could hear Telta talking to Scanlin in hushed tones. It proved difficult not to eavesdrop.

“Commander, do you believe what Lian said on the Weeping Wall? That lonn Tirehl could actually see him? Can he see us, too?”

“’Tis not a thing to think upon.”

“The troops are worried. We buried half of our company in the vaults under the chapel there. If he can see us now—”

“Don’t let them get into your belly, lass.”

“What if it isn’t him, but what’s inside him? What will Lian do?”

“I reckon he’ll follow his conscience. No different than ye or me.”

“But the things he does…. It doesn’t seem right, not for one of the Kynseis. It’s not my place to say, but shouldn’t someone caution him? What if he does more than he’s already done? The manti…” When she fell silent, Aralt wondered if she had suddenly remembered that he was still within earshot.

“Let’s pray they dinnae get the opportunity to provoke him. Keep the faith. Tevin’s on the mend.”

“He is now, but before, when I was sitting with him, he opened his eyes, but he didn’t seem to know me, like he couldn’t see me. Like…it wasn’t his eyes.”

“What are ye sayin’, lass?”

“What if the j’thirrin aren’t the ones watching us? What if it’s our own people?”

Her words stirred the burning pot deep in his gut. Kolarin and Tevin. Blood and ashes. He hit the upper deck at a run, yelling for Scanlin to find Lian as he descended to the cargo deck. He sidestepped crew members and the overflow of cargo, ducking into the corner of the hold that had been set aside as a sickbay. A rank-smelling oil lamp revealed both patients still on their cots—Tevin sleeping soundly, but Kolarin restless, wagging his head. Sirram sat by his cousin’s side, mopping his brow with a wet rag. Lian was nowhere to be seen.

“Syr Tremayne? Is something wrong?” Sirram asked.

“How long has Kol been like this?”

“Not long. First, it was Tevin with a fierce bad fever, now Kolarin.”

“Get the Shirahnyn down here,” he told the youth, gripping the doorframe as the boat jolted.

The motion of the vessel was enough to shake Kolarin awake; he struggled to sit up, eyes bloodshot, voice husky with sleep. “Commander? Am I on watch? I…where the jig are we?”

“Steady on. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Kolarin combed through his dark hair with clumsy fingers. His words came in breathless sentences. “Rain. No. Esri loose on the terrace. I thought to warn you. The shadows were alive. Sweet…where’s Sirram?”

“Gone for our resident physician. Rest easy, now. You took a fever on the descent, you and Tevin both. We had to carry you onto the ferry. It’s been touch and go since then. Don’t try and get up yet. I’ll let you know if I need your sword.”

“Aye… I think I can…then again…Tevin?”

“Resting. As should you. The Shirahnyn, did he treat you well? Do you even remember him coming in? Lian…vouched for him.”

Kolarin nodded. “That part I remember. Whatever he gave us tasted like sourgrass soup, but my heart’s not in my throat anymore. Still…short of…breath…”

“I sent for him,” he said, distracted by every creak in the rickety hull. The sooner they were off the old barge, and she was hauled into dry dock for refitting, the better. By every Sea Lord above and below, if Luka got them safely to harbor, he would personally finance a fleet of ferryboats.

Kolarin pushed away the blanket when the hull groaned. “Are we…in danger? Where’s my sword?”

“Will you sit down, man? Take some water.”

“I’d rather have wine,” Kolarin mumbled, but he drained the offered cup.

“When we reach Kinara’s Landing, I’ll see to it. You and Scanlin and I will split a bottle of the best vintage Veryl of Alwynn can find in his cellars. For now, just rest. That’s an order.”

“Aye, sir. Wolf? The kavsa…be it well with him?”

Tycho’s arrival saved him from answering. “Do what you can for them. We may have to move quickly.”

His First Sword met him in the untidy galley. “We’re on the final approach tae the canal.”

“Is that what that was? I was afraid for a minute we’d hit a snag. Luka and his crew have been none too happy to be taking this route. Lian?”

Scanlin shook his head. “No one’s seen him.”

“Put young mac Kenna to work, then. This boat’s too small for anyone to hide for long. Open every crate and barrel if you must but find him.”