Vivid images of the fleet perishing on the reefs had come to Zeskuk several times during the night. Once he had been sure he was asleep and having a nightmare. Once he had been sure he was awake, but perhaps uneasy in his mind. About the other times, he could not be sure, but the images had been just as vivid, including even the cries of the drowning.
Zeskuk was a sensible minotaur, which was to say that he believed in prophetic dreams. Lying awake in the dawn he had seriously considered whether or not he had received a warning. A warning, perhaps, that he risked thousands of lives over mere curiosity about the mysteries of Suivinari Island.
Had he been sure he had received a warning, and from some source he could trust, his course would have been clear. As it was, he thought he could wait a few days, sending no more warriors ashore to die, but remaining off the island to see what happened-in the waking world and in his dreams.
Thenvor's jerk of the head might have been a nod. Lujimar s eyes said that it would be taken as such. Zeskuk went on. "We have done less well than I had hoped. We have sent stores and reinforcements to our comrades on the Green Mountain. We have made no path that we can use day after day."
"The humans did not even do that well," Thenvor said, as politely as he ever spoke.
"No, but their magic allowed us to do as well as we did, by breaking the storm and slowing the attack of the mage-monsters," Lujimar said. "They may well have done this more to save themselves than to aid us, but honor requires one to acknowledge a gift, even if unintended.
"I know the scrolls as well as you do," Thenvor said, reverting to his usual pettishness. "Perhaps I know the scrolls of war better than you. I acknowledge that we owe them something. Not killing them outright would seem to be enough."
"Are you thinking, as I have been, that Suivinari Island is too useless to anyone except the mage who calls it home for us to fight anyone over it?" Zeskuk asked. "That we should withdraw, giving that as our reason?"
"Yes," Thenvor said.
"No," Lujimar replied.
Such needle-horned contradiction was rare for Lujimar. Not only had he never questioned anyone's honor, but he had seldom publicly questioned anyone's judgment.
Perhaps he did not consider this public.
"You think we should remain?" Zeskuk asked Lujimar.
"I know that we should," Lujimar replied.
"The gods have told you?" Thenvor sneered.
"It may have been the gods, speaking to me or to others among us," Lujimar said, with the bland confidence of one who sold horn-strengthening potions in the stands of the arena. "But the message was clear."
Zeskuk wondered if Lujimar had received one of the dreams, or sendings, or prophecies. This was not the time or place to ask, however-certainly not when it would mean he and Lujimar comparing dreams in Thenvor's hearing.
"The danger to the fleet is also clear, if we are here for the next storm and no magic can stand against it," Thenvor said. "We had enough trouble on land when we went armed and by intent. Cast away, we will be doomed."
"You croak," Lujimar said, which was the strongest word Zeskuk could ever recall him uttering to another. For a moment it seemed that Thenvor would ask for Lujimar to appoint a champion for a contest of honor.
"We will remain here three more days," Zeskuk said. He would give Thenvor a cup of water if he were dying of thirst, if only to prevent challenges from his kin. He would not give his rival the satisfaction of watching an open quarrel between war chief and magic chief.
"That is not enough," Lujimar said.
"I say it will be," Zeskuk said, as firmly as the priest. "We shall not leave later, unless a way is found around the mage-monsters to cleanse the island of their creator. We shall not stay that long if we learn that the humans have knowledge that they have withheld from us."
"Ah, that witling Captain Torvik," Thenvor said.
"Not quite," Zeskuk concluded. "Captain, yes. Witling, hardly. Unless he is no true son of either his father or mother."
Two of the three Wayward Knights met with Sir Niebar, in Sir Niebar's cabin. Pirvan would have preferred a boat with no one else but them in it, and he and Hawkbrother would gladly have rowed. But even with Tarothin's healing spells fighting it, ship fever had left Sir Niebar too weak to leave Wavebiter and barely with the strength to come on deck. Even if no unwanted ears would hear, on deck unwanted eyes might see. So they stayed below.
"They will leave if they can't do better than we can," Hawkbrother insisted.
" 'They,' as in the minotaurs?" Sir Niebar asked.
"Of course."
"I would take that better coming from Sir Darin," Niebar said. "Although I must admit that you are as right as anyone could be, Sir Darin included."
"The secret may lie with Torvik," Sir Pirvan said. He crossed one leg over the other and crossed his hands on the upper knee. The others in the cabin knew this meant he was uneasy; he did not care.
He was about to use private and personal knowledge about someone to whom his only ties were old friendship, not the Oath and the Measure, to advance the cause of the knights. Also of the knights' allies, and many others, the minotaurs probably included. But his honor would have been as much engaged if only one person was to be saved, as if it were a multitude. The Measure of the Knights of the Rose distinguished between public and private obligations; Pirvan himself had not grown accustomed to doing so.
"Now, my wife has old sell-sword comrades aboard nearly every ship in the fleet," Pirvan said. "All but those who worship the kingpriest in place of the gods will speak to her. They will also speak to the old fighters and sailors of Torvik's father Jemar the Fair.
"Haimya learned that Torvik's sister Chuina has been promoted to sergeant of archers aboard Windmaster's Gift. She sent Chuina a generous purse-from our own funds-celebrating that promotion. She also sent a letter, saying how worried we were about Torvik, as friends of his mother, his father, and his stepfather. Unless Chuina is a witling-"
"Or enemy to Torvik," Hawkbrother said. "As the last of four brothers, I can assure you that kin are not always friends."
"Chuina has never had Threehand's reasons to quarrel with you," Pirvan admonished the young knight. "But I am grateful for the reminder. Another time, we should think on it."
Hawkbrother looked gratefully at his wife's father, for sparing him embarrassment over interrupting with something the older knights knew perfectly well. Pirvan's reply was a grin. Young Eskaia had chosen well, even if she'd wed in haste; he would not have unmade her choice if he could.
"Sister spying on brother?" Sir Niebar said, frowning.
"Sister taking counsel with brother," Pirvan replied. "Knowing Torvik, who is no more a witling than his sister, he would not be silent unless he held a secret that was not his to reveal.
"But everyone possessed of such a secret needs to unburden himself to someone he trusts, to see if he must truly bear that burden. I do it with Haimya. Torvik has no wife, but I judge him to be willing to speak to Chuina and to hear her as well."
"But she is even younger than-" Hawkbrother began.
"-you?" Pirvan said. "Yes. And no older than your wife, my daughter Eskaia. I hope that does not mean you doubt Eskaia's wisdom."
Hawkbrother suddenly took on the air of one staring at a loaded and cocked crossbow ready to fling a bolt into his chest. His mouth opened.
Sir Niebar laughed, and then spoke quickly, to save the young knight further embarrassment. "Sisters can be positive oracles, if the secret involves a woman. I know. I was the youngest of five, and the elder four were all girls."