. ." The wiry yet muscular captain shrugged and smiled simultaneously. "So I got to come in to see." She paused looking at Secca's face, and frowning.

"We had a little trouble with Lord Fehern," Secca said. "He threw burning water at my face and tried to kill me."

"He is dead," Alcaren added.

Denyst nodded slowly. "Knowing what I know of his line, I could not say I am surprised."

"We're glad you're here," Secca said. "Very glad."

"Can't say as I am. Not in some ways, leastwise. Wouldn't be here at all, hadn't seen what you did in Encora." Denyst turned to a taller and more muscular woman. "You've got her now, Elys.

I'll be going below with them."

"Aye, Captain."

"You know the way," Denyst said to Secca, gesturing toward the ladder down to the main deck.

"Be glad to sit for a bit."

Alcaren scrambled back down the ladder first, then turned, ready to offer Secca a hand, but she didn't need the aid.

"Thank you," she murmured as her feet touched the main deck, before they stepped through the open hatch into the passageway leading back to the captain's quarters.

Secca was struck once more both by how compact everything was on the Silberwelle, and yet, comparatively how spacious the captain's quarters were, nearly five yards in width and almost as deep. She wished she could just climb into the recessed double-width bunk, set as it was against the forward bulkhead, and go to sleep. Instead, she eased herself into one of the chairs set around the circular table in the middle of the compartment, a chair secured to the deck itself, as was the table itself and all the other chairs around it.

Denyst was the last to enter, and she carefully closed the doorlike wooden hatch behind her before settling herself in the remaining chair at the table. She looked at Secca for a long moment before speaking. "We brought the ships you captured for us last winter---white hulls and all, but we couldn't bring any inshore until you knew they were ours. I thought they could lead the way once we got close to Stura---if we need a decoy."

"It's a good idea. I wouldn't have considered that," Secca replied.

"What would we be traveling to Sturinn for? Something like what they did here in Narial?"

Denyst's eyes were intent as she studied Secca.

"I'd hoped we could do something like that, except to most of the isles, and not just one port."

Secca was more than shading the truth, but the less said about specifics the better. Besides, no one would believe what you plan.

Denyst nodded slowly. "It took every word and every coin the Matriarch had to get you these ships, Lady Secca."

"I'm not surprised," Secca replied. "I am surprised at the number."

Denyst raised her eyebrows. "You've but seen the Silberwelle."

"The glass showed nine others. Were we wrong?" asked Secca with a faint smile.

"Half-score is correct." Denyst shook her head. "Would that we had more. Another score at least."

"So far as we can say," Alcaren said, "there are no Sturinnese vessels south of the Hoffspitze right now. There may be some small number of ships near Stura, but the last large fleet is in the Bitter Sea."

"That is better news than I'd have hoped."

"Once we deal with Stura," Secca said slowly, "we need to get as close to Neserea as we can.

Esaria, if possible."

"Let us get you to Stura first." Denyst offered a wintry smile. "You still have the same numbers as when you came to Dumar?"

"Almost," Secca said. "Almost."

"And the Sturinnese?"

"More than half their forces destroyed," Alcaren said. "The others fled northward into Neserea and blocked the passes with sorcery."

"Mayhap you can do the impossible, lady." Denyst drew out a set of papers and laid them on the stateroom table. Here be the loading plans..."

"You are the expert, Captain," Secca said. "I will need all the players and their instruments on the Silberwelle with me. Otherwise, we accept your plans."

"After the battle off Encora, I'd thought as much, about your needing your players," Denyst said musingly. "I'd calculated as much, but we'll be taking but a few of your mounts on the Silberwelle. Instead, we'll be carrying more stores." She offered a crooked smile. "For later, should we need them." She cleared her throat and went on. "You two will have my cabin here."

"For such a longer voyage," Secca protested, "we couldn't . . . Besides, the last time you promised you wouldn't give up your cabin. . ."

"Nonsense, lady. My life and that of the Matriarch's are worth more than a few weeks' comfort.

You will need rest---that even I can see. I can see the strain of sorcery and battles." Denyst grinned. "You can't always trust a captain to be selfish all the time. Mayhap, I should be saying that you can trust me to be selfish in a way that be wiser."

Alcaren laughed.

Secca looked at her consort.

"You will not win this argument, my lady," he said.

Secca shook her head ruefully, finally admitting, "It has been a long season, and we have not even reached the middle of spring here."

"Even if the worst occurs, you have bought Ranuak time, perhaps years, but already the cost on you has been high." Denyst looked from Secca to Richina, and then to Alcaren. "I can see that it has been high for all of you."

And it will rise even higher. But Secca only nodded and offered a lopsided smile.

74.

Under a midday sky that was mostly blue, save for scattered puffy clouds, the Silberwelle sliced through the low swells of the Southern Ocean's dark blue water. With the wind in her face, Secca stood at the railing just aft of the bow of the Silberwelle, her riding jacket fastened against the chill damp air. Beside her was Alcaren.

"You slept till late morning," he said. "How do you feel?"

"I am still tired, but not so tired as before. What of you?"

He shrugged. "I was so tired my body did not even protest that I was aboard a ship." He laughed.

"You're still tired," she said. "I can see it in your eyes."

"Another few nights of rest, and I will be much better. A good bed helps?"

"That was kind of Denyst."

"Both kind and practical. That is the way she is." Alcaren turned and looked steadily at Secca.

"Whatever you're-or we're-going to do, my lady, you cannot maintain the wards until just before you try to sing it."

"Without the wards, we may not live to sing," Secca said. "You know that"

Alcaren waited, but Secca did not say more. Finally, he said, "Ships can only sail so fast. If there are no ships within two hundred deks of us, then none can reach us for a day or more."

"Sorcery can strike from any distance. Did we not prove that?"

"You did. But what need is there for Richina to be ready to defend us against other ships?"

"You would have her carry the wards?"

"For a few days."

Secca looked ahead, out across the dark waters to the west.

"We only need a few days to rest up enough for sorcery to defend us," he pointed out. "Then I could spellsing the fire spell against any ship. If that worries you, I will sing the ward spells with Richina. But you must have rest without the drain of the ward spells. Do you not recall the storm spell you used against the Sturinnese fleet?"

Much as she disliked Alcaren' s words, Secca knew he was right.

"We have some time," she finally said. Do you have as much as you need?

"The more rest you have before you must do great sorcery, the stronger will be your spells. Also, Richina cannot do the water-storm spells, and there may be yet another fleet that will come to test us when we reach the isles of Sturinn." Alearen smiled wryly. "I cannot believe that those of Sturinn will not have some defenses.

"Nor I," Secca agreed.

"So you will let Richina-or the two of us carry the ward spells?"

Secca glanced away from Alcaren's piercing gray-blue eyes, instead turning to watch the swells before the Silberwelle.

"My lady?" Alcaren asked softly.

"You are right. Yet it worries me. She is still so young." Secca sighed.

"Will the Sturinnese let her live if we fail?"

"No. We both know that." Why does it have to be this way? Why does it always come back to who can do what to whom? Secca shook her head.

Alcaren waited, and Secca could feel his eyes on her. At last, she replied, "Tomorrow or the next day, or perhaps the day after. She will need rest, as well."

Alcaren nodded.

You risk so much. Yet you risk more by doing nothing. Secca tried to push the thoughts from her mind. You can do nothing at this moment. Nothing.

Alcaren put his arm around her, silently, so lightly that she almost did not notice it at first, and they remained at the railing, looking westward, toward Stura.

75.

South of Worlan, Neserea Two Sea-Priests stand before the Maitre's camp table, erect, their uniforms spotless, waiting, their heads almost touching the overhead fabric of the traveling tent. Outside the tent, the day is gray and chill.

The Maitre shifts his weight on the padded stool and looks up. "Where is she?"

"We do not know, Maitre," offers the shorter man. "As we have told you, when we try to scry her image, we see but our own. By scrying the ships, we can see that she is upon a Ranuan vessel, but it is on the open ocean. Its heading appears to be westward. That would follow if she intends to travel to Neserea by sea."

"The ship is too far from land to say where she is?"

"Yes, Maitre."

"How many vessels?"

"Ten, Maitre." This time the taller Sturinnese sorcerer replies. "Six are vessels she captured from us with sorcery last winter. We think. They have white hulls and our lines."

"So she has embarked her entire force upon Ranuan vessels, and they head westward?" The Maitre frowns. "What of the fleet of Nordwei?"

"It nears the Ostisles," replies the taller man. "The home defense fleet is prepared to give chase."

"Is there any sign that they work together?"

"None, Maitre. It is possible, but there are no signs."

"And the Assistant Sorceress Of Defalk?"

"She, too, is now warded. We do not know how long her wards have been there. We had not used the glass to find her in . . . some time. The wards, they are not like those we use."

"There is much the bitch sorceresses do that .is not as it should be," the Maitre replies. "You may go. Keep watching, and let me know if you see such and when you can determine with certainty the destination of the Shadow Sorceress." The dark-haired and sharp-featured Maitre gestures for the two to leave.

Once they have departed, his eyes fall to the maps spread across the camp table. "Wards that are not wards, or more than wards. Ships from all across Liedwahr, and the support of the Matriarch.

Between the Sorceress Protector and that bitch Ashtaar, we are spread too thin." He shakes his head. "The shadowsinger . . . that one is too malicious---and too clever by half. Tearing her tongue out would be too kind. Far too kind."

The panels of the tent flutter ever so slightly in the light and chill wind.