Massive head lowered, eyes focused on its intended victim, a rumble like a distant storm coming from its throat, the dog-thing took a couple of steps toward its target. Seeing it advancing toward him Bit responded, though not in kind. Sitting down on the sand he raised his right front paw and began cleaning it with long, steady licks of his wet red tongue.

  It was not the reaction the dog-monster had expected. Sometimes its opponents, frequently overstimulated or otherwise artificially emboldened through the application of drugs and repetitive training, simply charged, in which case the fight was over quickly. More often, upon catching sight of the canine outrage that was bearing down on them, they backed up until they could retreat no further, laid down, and thrust their legs submissively into the air. In such instances the “fight” might last a little longer, though the outcome was always the same.

  They did not, under any circumstances, sit down and start cleaning themselves.

  Bit’s uncharacteristic response did not unsettle the dog-thing, but it did confuse him. A deeper growl issued from the broad throat. Bit continued cleaning. The monster paced back and forth in front of the black newcomer. Bit’s slurping grew louder as he started on the back of his foot. Having had enough of this and given full warning, the monster charged, halting close enough to his opponent to kick dirt and dust over the visitor’s feet. Switching from one foot to the other, Bit continued with his hygiene.

  No matter what the bigger animal tried, in gesture or in sound, it was ignored. Not only did Bit refuse to fight, his every action appeared to suggest that he was all but unaware of the other animal’s presence.

  Initially enthusiastic, the boisterous, bloodthirsty crowd had switched to hurling insults: not only at the new dog but at its owner. Madrenga hardly heard them. Let the locals call him anything they wished. His sole interest lay in extricating himself and Bit from the potentially deadly situation in which they had inadvertently found themselves.

  Realizing that only blood would sate the mob’s passion and seeing that the choice of opponent for his animal had been misconceived, the owner of the dog-monster relinquished all hope of seeing an actual contest. At least, he knew, the crowd would see some blood, even if butchery was a poor substitute for combat. Taking a step forward, he employed his mass as a bellows to ensure that the order to kill could be heard above the roar of the crowd.

  Whether it was the sound of the kill command or a shift in the posture of the dog-monster, Bit’s demeanor underwent a sudden change. Madrenga was less shocked than the rest of the mob because he had been witness to similar transformations before. But in speed and scale this far exceeded anything yet seen.

  Bit did not so much grow as escalate. His body stretched and expanded far beyond anything that could be said to resemble canine proportions. As it did so the crowd grew progressively more and more silent. Unrestrained cries calling for disembowelment and murder were subsumed in a stunned murmur that reflected first shock, then uncertainty, and finally among a few of the more perceptive spectators, a growing fear.

  Bit grew to the size of steer, then a water horse, his growth only ceasing when he had reached what could only be called near-elephantine proportions. His wagon-sized head hovered not just over the crowd but a couple of the surrounding structures as well. Had the buildings facing the waterfront not been several stories in height the upper portion of Madrenga’s transmogrified puppy would have been visible from the harbor. From the lower jaw scimitar-like teeth thrust upward like tusks while those in the upper jaw curved downward and slightly forward, giving Bit’s enormously enlarged head a crocodilian visage. Eyes the size of wagon wheels burned as if piles of brimstone had been lit behind the lenses. Wagging back and forth, the cable-like tail terminated in a sharp-pointed trident.

  Having already begun its death charge the dog-monster, by comparison now reduced considerably in stature, could not stop. Dipping his head, Bit emitted a low snarl that reminded several of the sailors in attendance of the sound a ship makes when a storm runs it aground on the rocks. There was a loud crunch as Bit proceeded to bite the attacking dog-thing cleanly in half. The audience that had been howling for blood found its wish fulfilled as those in front found themselves splattered with a gush of carmine. This was accompanied by a healthy helping of flying guts and associated gore. Fountaining blood, the rear half of the dog monster fell back on its hindquarters, its insides as cleanly exposed as if by a surgeon’s blade. The screams that followed this display did not exclusively emerge from feminine throats.

  Panicking, the crowd rushed as one for the exit. As this consisted solely of the single door and passageway that led back through the dining area and out to the waterfront, there was a good deal of trampling and breaking of bones. Driven now by terror instead of anticipation, a few of the more athletic and enterprising onlookers managed to scramble over the high wooden wall that enclosed the arena and fighting pit. This did not include the erstwhile owner of the dead dog-thing, who found himself unceremoniously and seriously trodden underfoot by those whom only moments earlier had been eager to place bets on his behalf. The remainder of the dog-fighting crowd cleared the area with remarkable alacrity.

  Would they summon the local equivalent of Hamuldar’s night-watch? Madrenga doubted the authorities in a free-wheeling seaport city like Charrush would care one way or another if an animal-baiting “sport” like dog-fighting took place within their jurisdiction. The presence of the present colossal iteration of Bit, however, might occasion somewhat more interest. It was therefore imperative that it be removed. But how? Having no comprehension of what had been happening to him or his animals, the bewildered youth similarly had no understanding of how to modify or otherwise affect it.

  Worry often inspires actions that in less stressful circumstances and beneath the clear lens of logic might give rise to laughter rather than thoughtful contemplation.

  “Bit, get down here!” Thrusting the index finger of his right hand at the ground, Madrenga repeated the command. It was good that he failed to think it through or he might not even have tried it. “Now!

  From the height to which he had ascended, his dog gazed down at the determined figure standing almost directly below its greatly enlarged jaws. Then the immense fanged head dipped low, lower, the mouth yawned wide—and Bit proceeded to lick his master affectionately. Since the animal’s tongue was now longer than Madrenga was tall, this resulted in him quickly being drenched in dog spit from head to toe.

  “Stop that, stop it … yes, I love you too … but stop it! And get down here!”

  It is a never-ending source of astonishment to those familiar with the workings of words just how much power even simple ones, when properly proffered and enunciated, can have. Before Madrenga’s eyes his dog proceeded to shrink at the same speed with which it had reacted to the dog-monster’s attack. Shrink until Bit was, if not again the puppy the youth had known so well in Harup-taw-shet, at least no bigger than he had been before the dog fight had commenced. Which was still, Madrenga reflected as he took his friend’s head in his arms and let him nuzzle hands and face, an impressive four-legged dragon-toothed proposition.

  Wait, he thought abruptly. Bit had reacted to the dog-monster’s attack. The assault, the charge, was what had motivated his pet’s sudden and unprecedented growth. Thinking back, it struck him that every time he and his animals had increased in strength and stature it had been in response to a direct threat of some kind. Fording the dangerously cold and swift river, responding to Langan of Jithros’s assault in Hamuldar, dealing with the undead in the compound of Kakran-mul—each time he and his companions had faced attack, their bodies had responded with enhanced size and power.

  That he and his pets were journeying under the protection of some kind of spell had been obvious from the first simple enhancing transformation. But who had placed the protective enchantment upon them? If Chief Counselor Natoum, why had he not so informed Madrenga before sending him on his way? Surely Natoum or anyone else leveling such thaumaturgy would know that its manifestations would be likely to unsettle the recipient: even more so if the one benefiting was but a youth of the streets uneducated in such wizardly ways.

  But if not Natoum, then whom? he asked himself. An unmet sorcerer of the royal court, mayhap, engaged by Natoum for just such a purpose? An unknown onlooker protecting interests and assets of their own? Would the Queen order up such a spell without informing her Chief Counselor? The who was as much a mystery to Madrenga as the what.

  Don’t agonize, he told himself firmly. Don’t exasperate yourself over that which you cannot understand. Perhaps all will be explained upon the successful delivery of the scroll to Daria. Desiring that explanation would motivate him even more to carry out his mission. Perhaps that was part of the reason for keeping from him the details of the sorcery and the sorcerer who had affected him. He would receive no explanation without the successful completion of his mission.

  While the crowd of spectators had long since fled save for the dead or injured who had been trampled in the rush to escape, they had left something behind. Transformed or not, ensorcelled or not, Madrenga was still true to his roots. Therefore he could not possibly leave without scooping up and pocketing some of the betting pot that had been left behind. His purse now overflowing to the point where if he did not remain constantly aware of its presence and correspondingly careful he risked listing to port while he walked, he and Bit left behind the now blood and gore-splattered arena.

  In choosing to depart by way of the nearest fence in order to avoid the attention of any soldiers who might have gathered outside the entrance to the dining establishment, he hesitated briefly. Could Bit manage the jump? Leaping and grabbing hold of the top of the wooden barrier Madrenga did not have time to call out to his dog because Bit leaped up beside him without having to be urged. Like a cat, the dog balanced effortlessly atop the narrow platform as he smiled at his master.

  “I suppose I shouldn’t have wondered.” A straining Madrenga pulled his legs up and over and dropped down on the other side. He was pleased to see that a large crowd had gathered in front of the building. All eyes were trained on the entrance, thus allowing him and Bit to slip away along the waterfront walk without being noticed.

  No one in the crowd retreated from his presence. Once he was sure they were not being followed he began to ask questions of his fellow strollers. Their replies were uniform in their discouragement. Where he sought to travel, no ship was going. With each negative reply he grew increasingly disheartened.

  He had posed his query many times when a hand reached out to clamp down on his shoulder.

  Drawing his sword and whirling about in the same motion, the youth took a defensive step backward. Bit growled softly while Madrenga held the blade out in front of him. Somehow he was not surprised that the hitherto unadorned steel was now inscribed with elaborate whorls and symbols, none of which he could recognize at a casual glance.

  With the appearance of the sword and Bit’s concurrent growl, the clutching hand had slid off his shoulder. Having retreated a similar distance, its owner now starfished both palms to show that he held no weapon of his own. Nor, insofar as Madrenga could tell, was animosity writ on the stranger’s face.

  It was a worn face, but the expression was kindly enough. A short beard flecked with white hid some of the flesh that appeared no less tanned than the skin of Madrenga’s scabbard. The eyes were deep-set and orange. They were not reddened from too much sun or pink from a trace of albinism, but a bright, fruity orange. Never before had Madrenga seen eyes of such color. Furthermore, the man’s ears lay flat against his skull, as if in constant fear of a punishing wind. Whether his hair matched his beard the youth could not tell, since his head was covered with a combination scarf and tri-corner cap of unknown material. Shirt and pants were fashioned of material as basic and tough as their appearance was simple. Their owner looked to be about forty.

  “Back off there, boyo.” The man’s voice was thick and gummy, as if he was trying to chew and speak at the same time. But his mouth was empty of anything but words. “I mean you no harm.” He nodded in Bit’s direction. “I only wanted to compliment you on your dog. Tell me: was that infernal transformation real, or only an accomplished mystic’s mindfuck?”

  Madrenga considered. “The blood and guts were real enough. Does that answer your question?”

  “In a roundabout fashion, I suppose. But then I’m not one to question an explanation of the impossible even if it comes to me in a roundabout manner, much as Miss Polly Peg of the Jounce House likes to do her own work. Where did you ever find such a—malleable creature?”

  “I found him abandoned in the street. He’s been with me ever since.” Without realizing it the youth had resumed walking, the stranger by his side.

  “Ah, piss then,” the man murmured, clearly disappointed. “No way for me to acquire such a pet.” Displaying more than uncommon bravery he reached out, laid a hand on Bit’s massive head, and began stroking it gently. The dog raised no objection.

  “He likes you,” Madrenga observed. “That means he trusts you, too. A pity you don’t own a ship.”

  “You’ll find no one on the Charrush-na-tarad coast who agrees more with you on that, boyo. I’d near kill to have my own vessel. Though standing on a decent one as first mate is not a bad way to live, nor to see the world.”

  Heedless of the crush of the crowd around and behind them, Madrenga stopped right there. “You’re a mate on a ship? A first mate?”

  The man chuckled and extended a hand. “Kapator Quilpit, at your service. Why so surprised? Do I look like a clerk, then, or perhaps a money-changer?”

  “No, it’s just that … I wouldn’t know what a sailor looks like.” Madrenga indicated their surroundings; the bustling crowd, the harbor crowded with ships coming, going, loading, being rehabilitated. “Before today I didn’t even know what the sea looked like. Except from drawings and paintings, of course.”

  “And having now set eyes upon it, what do you think of the mother of all worries and wonders?”

  “She’s—big,” the youth told him.

  “You’ve no idea. A wondrous wench is she, the sea. Much of my life have I spent in her company; enough to think I know her moods as well as anyone. She’s beautiful, capricious, flirtatious, deadly, and will as soon drown as seduce you if you misjudge her mood. Sometimes I love her dearly and sometimes I hate her runny guts.” He winked at Madrenga. “In other words, it’s a typical marriage. But by the looks of you, despite your size you’re too young to know much about such things.”

  “Where marriage is concerned, I readily confess my ignorance,” the younger man said. “I have only the vaguest notions of the details and from all that I have observed from a distance would prefer to retain my unawareness for as long as possible. Your ship: what kind is she?”

  “A fine vessel, the Thranskirr. Not as big as many nor as some, but her bottom is as solid as that of any girl at Boryn’s Pleasure Place and she can roll as smoothly. I’ve seen her pop out of a swale that would swallow many a larger ship and challenge waves higher than her bowsprit. When she strains in storm her timbers laugh where those of other ships groan, and her rigging sings in the wind. I wouldn’t trade my position on her for a captaincy on any boat plying the Shadows.” His tone shifted slightly. “Make me the owner of another decent craft, though, and that’s another kettle o’ codlings entirely.”

  While the mate’s affection for his ship was unrestrained, it did not answer Madrenga’s question.

  “I meant, is she a passenger vessel or cargo, the private transport of some rich nobleman or lord, or one seconded to a city or territory’s defense? It is as to her purpose that I inquire.”

  “Ah, I see now. Clarification comes in like the tide. She is engaged in the movement of cargo, boyo. Whatever needs be transported, the Thranskirr can ship, usually by weight.”

  “Would that include me?”

  Quilpit eyed the much younger man evenly. “Did you not understand what I said, boyo? She’s a cargo vessel. Wherever you seek to go, there are cleaner and more pleasant options available for a paying passenger.”

  “Except that according to every one of whom I have made inquiry, right now no one is going where I need to go: across the sea of Shadows.”

  The mate nodded sympathetically. “What makes you think the Thranskirr’s course will be any different?”

  “I don’t know that it will be. I do know that I can’t sit here and wait forever for a ship’s factotum to stand up and announce passage to where I want to go. I’ll take a chance that yours, which you compliment so highly, is at least sailing closer to my destination.”

  “Where might that be, boy?” The mate paused. “If you feel free to tell me, that is.”

  Madrenga didn’t hesitate. “If I’m going to ship with you I can hardly forebear from telling you where I need to go. I have to get to Daria.”

  It wasn’t a sudden gust of wind that lifted the mate’s eyebrows. “Daria! I know of the place though I’ve never been that far inland myself. Get me too far away from the sea and both my skin and my soul start to shrivel from lack of salt air and moisture.” He turned thoughtful. “Fastest way would be to find passage to Yordd. From there would be the shortest, though not necessarily the easiest, way inland to the country you seek. But it doesn’t matter. Though I have not yet been told our future course I would wager a bag of elephant nuts it does not include sailing across the Shadows. Even if it did, the Thranskirr does not take passengers. There are no facilities aboard to provide for the comfort of guests.”

  “I’d happily eat and sleep with the crew,” Madrenga countered. “If you knew the circumstances in which I grew up you would not worry about my ‘comfort’.”

  Quilpit shook his head dolefully. “You are a stubborn youth, boyo. You remind me of myself, except that I am so much better looking.” When Madrenga nodded easy agreement, the mate smiled. “Smart, too. I wonder—the Thranskirr can always use an extra strong back. Lack of brains and common sense aside, that’s a position you could fill. Have you any experience on the water?”