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“And it’s a ship” he added, “not a boat.”

Cursing vilely, Parric put the knife away. He was beaten and he knew it. It had been pure misfortune that he had become separated from the others in the fighting and ended up on the wrong ship, and now there was absolutely nothing that he could do—except make his way back to Nexis, and deal with that bastard Pendral, the cause of all this trouble, once and for all. It wouldn’t make much of a difference to Aurian, perhaps, but it would improve the lot of the Nexians at least, and it would make him feel a whole lot better.

27

The Mountain of the Blind

Two days later, the Nighthawk, with its cluster of smaller boats in tow, approached the Xandim coast. A ragged cheer went up when the dark outline appeared on the horizon, as the thirty-eight Nightrunner survivors looked forward to an end, at last, to their frightful journey. The last days had not been pleasant for anyone. Though the cargo hold had been scrubbed clean following Yanis’s sea burial and the refugees could be sheltered from the elements, the space below-decks had not been designed for human habitation.—The quarters were cold, damp, cramped, and noisome; food had been scarce and water strictly rationed. Aurian had found her healing skills in demand over and over again, and it was only thanks to her that no further lives were lost.—Compared to the horrors they had left behind them, the Nightrunners felt they had little to fear in the Southern Lands. Following Yanis’s initial journey to the southern settlements some ten years ago, to pick up the Mage and her companions, the Xandim and the smugglers had formed a successful trading partnership that had ripened, though time, into ties of friendship. Tarnal knew that, though his people arrived as mendicants, they had valuable skills to offer the Horsefolk, including that of building the swift and sturdy Nightrunner ships in which the Xandim took a tremendous interest.

For Aurian and her friends, however, it was a very different matter. They had been responsible, some ten years ago, for tempting over a hundred Xandim from their homes, and leading them into slavery in a foreign land. The welcome that they might expect this time might be a great deal warmer than they would like.—The Mage and her companions had discussed the matter with Zanna and Tarnal, and had decided to hide belowdecks when the ship docked and sneak away after nightfall, with Aurian using the Old Magic of D’arvan’s talisman to give the Xandim the power of flight.

To Aurian’s surprise, Vannor had insisted on coming too. She had expected that he would have wanted to stay with his daughter and his grandson, but he had insisted that he could be more use to the Mage, and besides, he wanted to escape the painful memories of Dulsina. After talking it over with Forral, Aurian had agreed. To be on the safe side, no one would know of this plan save the Nightrunner leaders, and the rest of the Wyvernesse community had been sworn to secrecy regarding the presence of the additional passengers.—Chiamh had suggested making their way up to his old home on the upper slopes of the Wyndveil. They should be safe enough there, for the Xandim did not venture into the Vale of Death with its ancient tombs. The Windeye wanted particularly to consult with Basileus, the Moldan of the Wyndveil, who was better equipped than anyone to give the companions a clear picture of what had been happening here in these Southern Kingdoms.

As the ship entered the harbor Aurian craned her neck to see out of the small cabin porthole. The Xandim settlement had changed since she was last there.—The low stone houses had proliferated around the edge of the cove and had a more permanent aspect, and the inlet had been dredged to form a harbor. Long stone piers had been built out on either point to increase the shelter afforded by the bay. A group of Horsefolk crowded the quays, looking slightly puzzled at this unscheduled visit, but waving a welcome to the ship nonetheless.

Izmir, the chief of the settlement, stepped forth as the Nighthawk tied up, and Tarnal leapt ashore and spoke to him softly and urgently for several minutes. Aurian saw the Xandim’s expression change from smiling welcome to dismay and sorrow, and guessed that the new smuggler leader had told him of Yanis’s death. When he saw the pitiful condition of the refugees, the Xandim leader welcomed them without delay or ceremony into the great communal meeting lodge of the settlement. The Nightrunners went gratefully, shown the way by members of the Xandim community.

Chiamh looked through the porthole and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like an oath. “Look at that,” he said. “The Xandim never welcomed me anywhere in my whole life, and I don’t suppose they’ll ever start now.”

Zanna was the last to leave the ship—almost. Aurian and Forral, Linnet, and the three Xandim made their sad farewells, and the Mage passed on the thanks of the cats and Wolf. Then she noticed that Grince was lurking in the shadows, in the corner of the cabin.

“I’m going with you,” the thief said firmly. Aurian glared at him. “I thought we had already been through this.”

“But you’ll need me,” Grince insisted.

“In the name of all the Gods, why would I need you?” Aurian snapped at him, thoroughly exasperated.

To her surprise, Grince’s brash front vanished. “Lady, please. In my whole life, no one has ever needed me—except Warrior. I don’t belong here with these people—not that I’m not very grateful to you,” he added, with a nervous glance at Zanna. “Lady Aurian, you saved me, back in Nexis. I owe you now. Give me a chance to pay you back, please. I was the best thief in the city—my skills will do me no good here, they’ll just get me into trouble. They might be useful to you, though.”

“Take him,” Chiamh said suddenly. “I don’t know why, exactly, but I have a feeling . . .” He shivered. “Aurian, let him come with us. You won’t regret it.”

Aurian looked quizzically at the Xandim seer, then flung up her hands in defeat. “All right, Grince. You can come—but you can’t take that dog with you, I’m afraid. It just wouldn’t be practical.”

“That’s all right,” Zanna said. “Martek will look after Frost until Grince returns.” She stepped forward to hug them all. “Please,” she said, “take care, all of you—and come back to us when it’s all over.”

“We will,” Aurian said. But though no one would mention the possibility aloud, she knew they were all thinking the same thing—that this could be the last time they ever met.

That night, Izmir and his Council of Elders entertained the Nightrunners with a lavish feast, and for the first time in days, Zanna let herself relax a little—until the chieftain himself actually brought up the subject of the Mage. He had been asking Tarnal if the Nightrunners ever had any contact with the Phaerie.

Tarnal shook his head. “No—thank all the Gods. At least we remained hidden from them. They view Mortals as no more than animals.”

“Then you will understand the position of the Xandim,” Izmir said grimly. “How we rue the day that our folk were tempted across the seas by wicked traitors among their own kind. Not to mention, of course, the northern Magefolk who were fomenters of the whole sad business.” He looked sharply at the Nightrunner leaders. “And they never did return?”

The swiftness of the question took Zanna completely by surprise. She inhaled sharply—and choked on a mouthful of food. Instantly the room dissolved into confusion as she was thumped on the back, given a cup of water, and handed a cloth to mop her streaming eyes. By the time she had recovered, Tarnal had gathered his wits. “It sounds very unlikely that someone could still be lost in time and then return,” he said smoothly.

“But they were your friends?” Izmir pressed.