'So that you can smell alluringly sweet, too?' Garec asked.

'I'm a woman who knows what she wants, bowman,' she joked, winking over the pipe stem.

Gilmour passed a beer to Brexan, who had been content to sit quietly and watch the interplay. She still felt a bit of an outsider, despite her relationship with Versen and Sallax.

'Tell us about your journey, Brexan,' Gilmour said. 'Garec mentioned that you were at Riverend Palace, that morning so long ago. I guess you were on the wrong side when all this started, but I'm glad you've seen the error of your ways and joined us.'

Brexan gave him a thin-lipped smile. 'You looked a bit different back then, Gilmour.'

'That I did, my dear,' the youthful Malakasian replied. 'Over the Twinmoons, I've looked like a lot of things, some a good deal worse than this fellow.'

'I thought you were dead.'

'Everyone did. I still manage to get a few surprises out of this ageing spirit.' He thumped one temple with a knuckle.

'Sallax would have wanted to know you were alive; he wanted to see you, to apologise,' she said, sadly.

'It was Nerak,' Gilmour said, 'it wasn't Sallax's doing. I would have forgiven Sallax in a heartbeat.'

'I told him that.'

'Thank you; I hope he believed you.'

'He talked often about you, once he recovered. And from what I've seen recently, he and Versen were telling the truth,' she said.

'Those two always made up nice things about me,' Gilmour teased. 'Anything off-colour they might have spilled... well, that's different!'

'About you, too, Steven.' She told them all about how she had ended up in Orindale, working for Nedra Daubert. She told of first meeting Versen, of being beaten by Lahp and transported to Strand-son, of Gabriel O'Reilly's rescue and of Versen's death in the meadow near the stream. She cried when she spoke of the big woodsman; Garec joined her. But then she was cold and economic in her description of Haden's torture. Gilmour was fascinated at how Sallax had found her, and once again he thanked Brexan for helping the big Ronan wrestle his emotional demons.

'In the end,' she said, 'it was really Brynne who helped him get the edge he needed to kill Carpello Jax, and to try to kill Jacrys Marseth.'

'How did she help?' Kellin asked.

'Knowing she was- well, lost to him, that helped Sallax find enough anger and rage to keep focused. He'd come a long way, but he was still prone to drifting a bit. His guilt was enormous, but the wraiths had twisted it into such a knot, Sallax struggled for a long time just to see through the hazy grey of everything plaguing him at once.' She took a long swallow of beer. 'After discovering that Brynne had died, so much of what had been haunting him didn't matter any longer. He wasn't able to banish it, but he did find the strength to push through it.'

'So he was back?' Garec asked. 'He was cured?'

'No,' Brexan said. 'He still referred to himself as "Sallax" sometimes, but he certainly found his skills again. I watched him kill a raging Seron with just a knife, a big bastard, stinking like shit and set on killing us both. Sallax's shoulder was damaged at the time; it was healing but still not strong enough for combat.'

'How'd he do it?' Garec asked.

'One-handed,' Brexan replied. 'It was unbelievable.'

Gilmour said, 'He was tough and single-minded; there's no question about that.'

'And then we captured Carpello Jax, the shipping magnate who assaulted Brynne all those Twinmoons ago.'

'And killed him?' Steven asked, no longer surprised that such things were considered fit topics for polite conversation over drinks.

'Essentially, yes.'

'Tell us about Carpello Jax,' Gilmour said. 'Garec mentioned shipments. Do you know what they were?'

'Something from Rona, bark or roots, leaves maybe. I don't remember very well, and Carpello wasn't articulating as clearly as he might have under other circumstances.' She closed her eyes, trying to recall the details of that morning at the Topgallant Inn. 'He did say that it came from the Forbidden Forest. You know, the one out beyond the Estrad River on the peninsula? My squad used to patrol there for Moons at a time.'

'Something magic?' Steven asked, 'Gilmour, maybe that's what you felt that day you were searching for Kantu?'

'It could be,' Gilmour said, then asked, 'Garec, how far out on the peninsula did you and Versen go?'

Garec thought for a bit. 'We never tried to get to the end; that would have been asking for trouble. We only ever went in far enough to hunt and fish. Sometimes we rode for half a day, but I don't remember ever going as far as the end. No one would try that; they'd have to be suicidal. It's probably been five generations since any significant number of Ronans were out on that point. The odd boat runs southeast from the inlet, chasing schools of fish, but too many have been burned to the waterline by the Malakasian navy. That's never been a secret to fishermen: stay out of those waters.'

Steven said, 'So, I wonder, did Prince Marek close that forest?'

'About the same time he was wrapping up his takeover and establishing his occupation force in Eldarn,' Gilmour said. 'We were always told it was because Riverend Palace was on the other side of the river, and it was some kind of retribution for King Remond and, in turn, Prince Markon establishing the seat of Eldarni government there. We figured he wanted Riverend to crumble.'

'It has,' Garec interjected.

'That's true,' Steven said, 'but could he have been using that land for something else?'

'Maybe growing whatever it is that Carpello Jax was shipping north to Pellia,' Brexan said. 'If it's trees, they've had almost a thousand Twinmoons to spread and mature out there.'

Gilmour's cherubic face was hidden behind billowy smoke. 'When did you kill this fellow, Brexan?'

'Nedra did it,' Brexan laughed, 'accidentally. But I suppose it was about a half Moon ago.'

'That was too early for him to have shipped whatever I sensed in that schooner heading north,' the old magician said. 'With him dead, do you think his shipments continued running?'

'I don't see why not,' Brexan said. 'No one knows he's dead. His employees may just think he's missing, and I overheard a pair of bakers talking about him, saying Carpello was involved with all kinds of women several of whom might even believe themselves to be his wife. So it wouldn't surprise me if he frequently disappeared on business trips so he'd be away from the capital for Moons at a time.'

'All right,' Kellin said, 'so if we assume that his shipments are some kind of magic bark or leaves or roots, and that they are bound for Pellia, who cares? What are the Malakasian people doing with that much magic?'

'But they're not really bound for Pellia. That's just a stopover,' Brexan said. 'They're loaded onto barges and shipped upriver to Prince Malagon's palace. That much we did manage to beat out of Carpello before he died.'

'A whole schooner-full?' Steven said.

'Several,' Brexan corrected, 'many, even from what Carpello said.'

Gilmour paced around the small room, holding his pipe with one hand, swinging his beer bottle with the other. No one said anything; it was clear he was thinking.

Finally, he said, 'So Prince Marek closes Rona's southeast peninsula. The climate's right, so he plants something he knows he will need one day in the distant future, though he isn't sure exactly when. Over time, and subsequent Malakasian dictators, Nerak monitors the progress of his crop, whatever it is, and as he draws ever closer to his date with destiny and the Larion spell table, his trees take over much of the landmass south and east of Riverend Palace. A few poachers slip over the river to kill a deer every now and again, but anyone caught out that far is given a tag hanging in Greentree Square. The message about their necks is easy to read: KEEP OUT. And so for nearly a thousand Twinmoons, the peninsula is essentially the prince's personal garden.'

'Keep at it, Gilmour,' Steven said.

'Generations later, Prince Malagon finds the slimiest shipper he can and hires this fellow to oversee the transport of his harvested crop from Rona to Pellia and then upriver to Welstar Palace, where it's either stockpiled, or put to some other use. The slimy merchant makes a few trips to Estrad Village, to get a sense of the lie of the land, shipping demands, deep water anchorage off the inlet, and on one of these trips he brutally assaults a young girl at Greentree Tavern-'

'For which crime he is eventually beaten up and killed and left to drift on the outgoing tide,' Brexan added as a quiet interruption.

'And we thank you for that.' Gilmour raised his bottle to her. 'So what is it, and why did Prince Marek Nerak Nerak plant so much of it? Why did Prince Malagon plant so much of it? Why did Prince Malagon Nerak Nerak harvest and ship so much of it? And, assuming what I encountered on that schooner was one of Carpello's shipments, how can something that powerful be in use here in Eldarn without me or Steven or even Kantu feeling it?' harvest and ship so much of it? And, assuming what I encountered on that schooner was one of Carpello's shipments, how can something that powerful be in use here in Eldarn without me or Steven or even Kantu feeling it?'

'Those are the key unanswered questions.' Garec reached for another beer, then asked, 'Anyone else?'

A chorus of 'please' and 'just one more' broke Gilmour's concentration for a moment; when everyone had quietened again, the old magician was staring at Steven.

'I've never been inside Welstar Palace,' he said finally. 'I have no idea what Nerak might have been doing there, what preparations he was making for the advent of his dark master's reign. I should have gone. A thousand Twinmoons later, and I realise now that I should have gone up there and taken a look for myself.'

'Gilmour,' Steven started, 'you can't blame yourself for-'

'I've been there,' Brexan broke in. 'I was stationed there for a while before I came to Rona. But I can't tell you much about the palace; no one gets anywhere near it.'

'How about the army?' Gilmour asked. 'I understand it's massive.'

'Rutters, yes! The whole of the river valley on either bank is the army encampment. When I was there last, I'd wager there were nearly two hundred thousand soldiers on the grounds and in the hills above the river. The tents are a veritable city, and the barges running up and down the Welstar River are a wonder to watch. The river is the palace's own supply highway; a regiment of soldiers is assigned to oversee the depot along the road into Pellia and to work the docks on either bank.'

'Great dry-humping lords, why?' Garec asked.

'Versen asked that same question,' Brexan said. 'He was convinced Prince Malagon had gone insane he said there was no need in Eldarn for an army that size, and unless Malagon planned to march through Praga and the Eastlands to kill everyone they encountered, there would be no reason to amass such a huge fighting force. Versen said any army that size, encamped for so long, would be riddled with disease. Ailments, afflictions and infections would spread like wildfire, and they'd lose more soldiers to sickness than they ever would to an enemy.'

'Two hundred thousand.' Steven whistled low. 'Why?'

'Could they be slaves?' Garec asked. 'Once the Fold is open and that thing, that essence of all things evil is released into Eldarn, could they be slaves, or maybe a source of energy? Maybe it needs souls, warm bodies, blood, who knows?'

'That may be,' Gilmour said. 'Apart from knowing it exists in there, we never knew anything about what it would do when it arrived.'

'Blood, souls and warm flesh,' Kellin repeated. 'Rutting whores!'

'But that still doesn't answer the question of the shipments,' Brexan reminded them. 'Unless the trees do something to fortify the soldiers.'

'Maybe they eat the trees,' Garec said.

'We won't know until we get there,' Gilmour said finally, definitively.

They spent a quiet moment looking at one another, wondering how many more of their own they would lose. Sallax and Versen had been brought back to life, if only for a moment, by a woman who refused to allow either of them to fade away entirely. Who would be the next to fall?

Garec said, 'Well, the Twinmoon is upon us. If we can get to Pellia and stop Mark before he reaches Welstar Palace, we might be able to use the table to stop the shipments, neutralise the effects of whatever Malagon has already managed to transport and perhaps even to eradicate or disband that army.'

'You think they'll go home quietly?' Brexan asked. 'Malagon's Home Guard are humourless individuals who take their role very seriously. It will take more than just us asking sweetly for them to pack up and head for home.'

Garec said, 'True; we'll probably have to fight them, and the Seron, but by that time we'll have the table.'

They drank in silence. There was nothing left to discuss: they would find Mark Jenkins or they would die.

Eldarn's twin moons, burnt-yellow and silvery-blue, drifted towards one another in the northern sky and as if in deference, the Ravenian Sea rushed through the Narrows to flood the archipelago that sprawled from Pellia to the wind-ravaged Gorskan coast. With the tide rising in Pellia, ships overladen with Malakasian lumber, textiles, quarried stone and sometimes even livestock set sails and tacked into a queue to pass through the naval blockade. Outbound ships were inspected at their mooring buoys, then given scarcely a passing glance as they made their way across the blockade and into deep waters. Prince Malagon's naval officers saved their scrutiny for incoming vessels. Ships were expected to heave to and submit to agents of the Harbourmaster, the Malakasian Customs Admiral and the prince's navy. Terrorists, while rare, were either transported to the wharf and hanged for a Twinmoon, or lashed to a quarry-stone and cast over the side to join the pile of decomposing freedom fighters on the muddy harbour bottom.

A gold-and-green-striped banner was run up when terrorists or Eastland partisans had been discovered hiding below decks, or stowed away inside a foreign merchant ship. The little flag was known informally as Stripes. Stripes. At night, when it couldn't be seen, a lilting melody, At night, when it couldn't be seen, a lilting melody, Stripes' invocation, Stripes' invocation, was piped across the water and a second watchlight was set a lantern was hung from the bowsprit. was piped across the water and a second watchlight was set a lantern was hung from the bowsprit. Stripes Stripes was more than just military intelligence; it was also an invitation to an aven of distracting entertainment. Guilty merchant officers were arrested and shipped off to a Pellia prison, their vessels seized for bounty or, if old and battered and considered next to worthless, set alight, navy crews were allowed if not encouraged to watch the conflagration, and to provide a chorus of hoots and jeers as the guilty men and women, often beaten and bloody by now, were transferred to a Pellia-bound naval vessel. Malakasian navy officers, not normally a generous sort, would dole out beer or rum while their crew enjoyed the spectacle from afar. was more than just military intelligence; it was also an invitation to an aven of distracting entertainment. Guilty merchant officers were arrested and shipped off to a Pellia prison, their vessels seized for bounty or, if old and battered and considered next to worthless, set alight, navy crews were allowed if not encouraged to watch the conflagration, and to provide a chorus of hoots and jeers as the guilty men and women, often beaten and bloody by now, were transferred to a Pellia-bound naval vessel. Malakasian navy officers, not normally a generous sort, would dole out beer or rum while their crew enjoyed the spectacle from afar.

On this night, with the twin moons precariously close to one another in the heavens and the southern waters rushing north, three Falkan frigates were escorted towards the narrow mouth of the only deep-water passage through the Northern Archipelago. Somewhere in the midst of all the atolls, islands, spits and sandbars that made up the archipelago they would encounter the convoy of textile, lumber and livestock boats sailing from Pellia Harbour. Assuming the helmsman on each of the lead vessels knew the twisty route well enough, northbound and southbound ships would pass safely, though close enough to hail one another without shouting. Should one of the captains make a mistake, running inside a key marker or placing too far across the channel on a difficult tack, the entire group of ships would be in danger of running aground.

Redrick Shen, the raider-turned-merchant-seaman, had been through the Northeast Channel before, but like most first-timers, he had spent much of the journey watching from beside the rail as the lethal rocks and unexpected sandbars passed within a few paces of the ship's hull. He might have glanced at a chart once, Twinmoons ago, but it had not been his responsibility to navigate the harrowing passage so he hadn't committed the sequence of geographical signposts to memory.

Now he watched as the twin moons sought one another in the northern sky. They were an awesome sight, the massive glowing orbs sitting low on the horizon, one smoky-yellow and the other glinty-silver, destined to kiss before dawn.

Around him, the officers and crew, ignoring the Twinmoon, backed away. No one wanted to be in Redrick's field of view when the demon sailor finally shifted his gaze from the heavens.

'Captain Blackford,' he said finally, 'are you familiar enough with the charts to see us through this Northeast Channel?'

'I'm sorry, sir, but I am not.' The captain winced, looking as if he expected his insides to boil out of his orifices, or his flesh to ripen into pus-filled sores at any moment.

There was a thin covering of ice on the main deck and coating the lines. It would melt after sunrise, but right now the Bellan Bellan glowed moonlit-silver, the colour of cold. Redrick's tunic was torn and his chest was bare, yet he wasn't troubled by the icy temperature indeed, he appeared to be positively enjoying it. He sniffed and caught the aroma of something dank a swamp, or a stretch of water that has stood too long in the sun. It was certainly not the smell of anything common to winter on the Ravenian Sea. glowed moonlit-silver, the colour of cold. Redrick's tunic was torn and his chest was bare, yet he wasn't troubled by the icy temperature indeed, he appeared to be positively enjoying it. He sniffed and caught the aroma of something dank a swamp, or a stretch of water that has stood too long in the sun. It was certainly not the smell of anything common to winter on the Ravenian Sea.

Eventually the demon sailor blinked and asked, 'What was I saying?'

'Uh, you were asking about the passage, sir.'

'Yes, very good,' Redrick looked distracted again. 'Check to see if any of these fellows knows how to see us through and if they do claim to know the way, assure them that I will hold them personally accountable for every scrape and scratch we get while running north. If none of them feels up to that challenge, hail the Souzett Souzett and have their captain guide us through.' and have their captain guide us through.'

'Right away, sir,' he said, trying not to let the pleasure of such a relatively simple assignment show in his voice.

Redrick stopped him again. 'Did you feel anything odd today, Blackford?'

'Odd? I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not sure what you mean by odd.'

'Today, when I finally managed to kill Steven bloody Taylor and that band of milksops he hangs about with. Did you sense something curious about that?'

'I don't- I can't-'

'Never mind, Blackford, never mind,' he broke in impatiently, staring north again. He pointed beyond the topsails. 'Those moons up there are actually worlds and worlds apart.'

'Yes, sir.' The hairs on Captain Blackford's forearms stood up; this sudden contemplative mood made him nervous.

'But from this far away, they look like they're about to butt heads. It's funny what a little distance can do to one's perspective, isn't it?'

'It is, sir.' Blackford ventured a bit further. 'Plenty of things appear different when examined from far away.'

Redrick's more common look of vacuous disengagement returned as he whispered, 'Yes, they do.'

'I'll make arrangements for the passage, sir,' Blackford said, sweating inside his cloak.

Redrick snapped his attention back to the frigate. 'Let me know when we enter the passage. I enjoyed that run last time.'

As Blackford backed away, he heard Redrick murmur, 'There was something odd about those spells... almost as if ...' Redrick turned and strode into the aft companionway, leaving the moons to their rendezvous in private, still mumbling to himself, '-would look different up close-'

In the Viennese swamp, something large moved quickly past Mark. It didn't stop to consider him, as foreign as he was to this environment, but sloshed briefly in the pool at the dark end of the Gloriette, scurried through the bushes on the opposite side of the bridge and then splashed again in the water off to Mark's left. It was like spilled mercury, quick and insidious.

The entire swamp seemed to gasp when the shadow passed through. There had been evil in here before the coral snake with its ruined head, the poisonous serpents, the tadpoles moving in that ungainly crawl to feed on Redrick Shen but those things were the kind of evil one expected from a haunted swamp. This newcomer, already gone, was worse, for this would have been evil anywhere; there was no force of goodness strong enough to mitigate it. And Mark suddenly understood from where Nerak had summoned his almor hunters and his acid clouds.

'What was that?' he said, confident whatever it had been was gone already, the chill in its wake weakening.

That? Just a bit of insurance for me.