“But for an elf, there is a special bond to the land of his birth. He is bound to the glens and the glades that nurtured him. He is bound to the winds that filled his lungs and carried his songs. And he is bound to the trees, the trees that sheltered him, the trees that grew with him and gave him strength, the trees that touch his heart no matter how great the distance between them.

  “When an elf dies, it is customary to bury him at the roots of the tree where he was born, so that, in death, he may be a part of the forest, as the forest was a part of him in life. But the Creator has saved a special blessing for an elf who dies at sea, for all the waters of this world are one. The water of the Quiet Sea runs also through the rivers of Inarr, and the waters of Istagothe fall as rain on the Mountains of Time. All are joined in the Circle of Creation.

  “We leave Simon here, in the southern reaches of the Great Sea. But when we return to the Realm we will find that he is waiting for us. We will find him in the currents of the river Essien. We will hear his voice in the raindrops splashing against the Home Trees of the Inarr. We will discover the echo of his laughter in the fountains of Essienkal. And we will know. We will know that Simon rests easily in the embrace of his Creator. We will know that the pain we feel is for our loss, not His.”

  Father Marcus stepped back and raised his arms. He inhaled deeply and sang a single sustained note. The halo surrounding Simon’s body responded to Marcus’s voice, glowing more brightly as the Bishop strengthened his tone. Marcus sang louder, and the body rose into the air. It hung above the deck, surrounded in an almost blinding aura of silver light. The Treachery drifted forward on the gentle wind, and Simon’s body fell behind them. As the High Bishop let his note trail off, the body slipped gently into the waves.

  Chentelle leaned over the stern rail, watching the shimmering light fall deeper and deeper into the blue water. None of the company moved or spoke. The only sounds were the quiet hiss of the sea against the hull and the incessant chattering of the goblin prisoners.

  “By the Creator,” Gerruth growled, “is there no way to shut those fiends’ mouths?”

  “They are frightened,” Gorin said. “They imagine that we have kept them alive only to visit some special torture upon them, some horrible vengeance for Simon’s death. I have tried to reassure them, but they will not trust the word of a coward and a traitor.”

  Father Marcus rested a hand on the goblin’s shoulder. “Keep faith, my friend. The judgment of the ignorant should be feared only when it flatters.”

  “Still,” Dacius said, “I think it is time to be rid of our guests. Captain Rone, have you prepared the longboat?”

  “Aye, Lord Gemine,” the captain growled. “It’ll take on a bit of water thanks to the goblin’s raid, but they’ll make it back to their ship.”

  Dacius nodded toward his men. Leth and Gerruth disappeared below while Thildemar herded the bound goblins into the waiting longboat. Leth and Gerruth returned with strung bows, which they kept trained on the goblins while Thildemar loosened their bonds. Then Zubec and Pardec started to crank the winches and lower the boat into the water.

  “Wait,” Dacius commanded. He nodded, and Leth and Gerruth spun sharply, aiming their arrows at Sulmar’s heart.

  “What are you doing?” Chentelle demanded. She started to move forward, but Sulmar’s strong hand reached out and pushed her back.

  “Stay behind me, mistress,” he said.

  Dacius moved forward and stood directly in front of the Tengarian. “Please bare your right arm, Sulmar.”

  So that was it. Sometime during the battle he must have seen Sulmar’s brand.

  The Tengarian remained motionless, meeting Dacius’s hard stare impassively. Chentelle pressed his arm aside, and moved around him. Sulmar started to grab for her, but froze at a nervous twitch from one of the archers.

  “Stop!” Chentelle said. “Everyone, just stop for a moment. This is all a misunderstanding. There’s no need for this.”

  “Enchantress,” Dacius said, “please stand aside. I pray that you are right, but if your liegeman does not comply with my request he will be shot.”

  “No, you can’t,” Chentelle said. This was insane. She wanted to lash out, to scream, to do something to make the human listen. But what? Any sudden move could push the whole situation irrevocably into violence.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. Then louder, “Show them.”

  Calmly, Sulmar pushed the sleeve of his tunic above his right elbow. A black shadow writhed sinuously on his forearm. The dragon seemed to be grinning, reveling in the Tengarian’s predicament.

  An audible gasp passed through the company. “A mark of evil!” Gerruth hissed.

  “He’s not evil!” Chentelle said.

  “Enchantress,” Dacius said. “I have seen your liegeman’s arm many times, but I never saw that brand until Throm’s minions attacked. We all saw how bravely and how devastatingly your man fought. If he has been cursed by the Ill-creature, then he is a danger to our quest.”

  “You can’t kill him,” Chentelle cried. “He’s done nothing wrong.”

  “I have no wish to kill him, enchantress,” Dacius replied. “He may go with the goblins in the longboat.”

  “But that’s not fair!” she said. “Dacius, how can you do this?”

  For a moment, the human’s demeanor seemed to soften, but his eyes never left the Tengarian. “The safety of this quest is my sole concern, Chentelle. I must know that he presents no danger.”

  “But he doesn’t,” said Chentelle. “Sulmar, tell them.”

  “The mark is the curse of the Black Dragon,” he said emotionlessly. “I have carried it for more than a year. It poses no threat to you, to your company, or to your quest.”

  “Why did we never see the mark before?” asked Dacius.

  “The brand disappeared while I was in the Holy Land. It reappeared only after we passed through the Barrier.”

  “It must be a curse of great power,” Father Marcus said. “May I examine it?”

  “Please stay back, High Bishop,” Dacius said as the priest moved forward.

  Father Marcus smiled. “I appreciate your diligence and caution, Lord Gemine. But they are unnecessary in this case. This man is not evil.” He winked at Sulmar and pointed toward the twisting dragon. “May I?”

  The Tengarian nodded.

  Father Marcus pressed his hand over the mark and closed his eyes. He hummed softly and a quiet glow surrounded Sulmar’s forearm. As the glow intensified, the dragon mark faded into a light gray shadow. But as soon as the priest removed his hand, the curse regained its original virulence.

  “A powerful curse,” Father Marcus said. “It has insinuated itself deep into your spirit, far deeper than I can affect permanently. I suspect only the one who cast it can remove it.”

  “Not even he,” Sulmar said. “For I willingly accepted this curse.”

  “What?” Chentelle looked at Sulmar in surprise. “Why?”

  “It was the demand of the Noble Path,” he said. “For breaking my Oath of Discipline I was given the choice of a traitor’s death or exile and the burden of this curse. It was considered a proper balance for the act of murder.”

  Murder! It didn’t seem possible. Chentelle had seen the quality of Sulmar’s spirit. In battle, he could kill brutally and without mercy, but that was different. Battle wasn’t the same as murder. And treason? Sulmar’s honor was everything to him. How could he have broken his oath?

  “I don’t believe it,” Chentelle said.

  “Nevertheless, mistress, it is true.”

  “I know little of the laws of Tengar,” Dacius said, “so I will make no judgment based upon your crimes there. The High Bishop finds no evil in you, so I have only one question more. Where do your loyalties lie now?”

  “I have only one loyalty,” Sulmar answered. “It is to my mistress, the elven enchantress.”

  Dacius nodded and motioned to his men. Leth and Gerruth relaxed their bows, and the sailors started lowering the longboat.

  “Forgive me for doubting you,” Dacius said to Sulmar, “but I had to be certain.”

  “There is no cause for apology,” the Tengarian replied evenly. “You acted to protect your charge, as is your duty.”

  There seemed to be nothing else to say. They resumed winching the lifeboat and goblins down to the water.

  On the twenty-eighth day out from Norivika, the company spotted land. The jagged outline of a mountainous island rose against the southern sky. Chentelle stood near the bow, watching the shore take shape as Captain Rone guided the Treachery closer. The craggy coast was dark and forbidding in Deneob’s fading light. The shadows of the rocks seemed to bleed into the sea, turning it black and hard.

  “Drop anchor,” Rone shouted. “Zubec, furl the sails.”

  Chentelle looked at the elven sailor in surprise.

  Zubec motioned toward the eastern sky, where the first hints of light were appearing. “It’s dangerous to approach an unfamiliar coast, particularly a coast like that one. The captain will wait until evenrise before trying to find a safe channel.”

  Chentelle nodded. It made sense. Though Ellistar was technically the nighttime star, now, its light was still stronger than Deneob’s. She looked into the sky. High in the darkness, the dim sparkle of Coldaria was visible. The Legends said that, like Infinitera, it was a world that circled the twin suns. But it traveled far from their warmth, in a great arc that took a century to complete. Somehow, the jagged shore in front of them seemed as if it could have been lifted from that distant star.

  “The Dread Island, eh, enchantress.” Captain Rone slipped into place beside her. “Kennaru, the goblins call it. And it’s no wonder; just look at those rocks. I’ll wager there are more just like them, hiding beneath the wave, just waiting to tear into the Treachery’s hull.”

  Chentelle shuddered at the thought. “I’m sure you will guide us through safely, captain.”

  “Eh? Of course I will,” Rone replied. “Did I ever tell you how I guided the Otan Stin through the Crashing Rocks and into the heart of the Goblin Sea. Now, there was a test. And we did it at night, too. We had to; there were pirates laying in wait on the other side. Ah, but she was a fine ship, and she had a fine crew, a fine crew…”

  The captain’s voice faded into nothing. He and Chentelle stood by the rail, sharing the silence and watching the sky grow brighter. One by one, the other members of the company came to join them, as word of their arrival spread through the ship. Soon, everyone was present except A’stoc.

  Chentelle sighed. The wizard had not left his cabin since the day of the battle. They left food outside his door every day. Sometimes the food would be gone when they returned; sometimes it would be untouched. A’stoc refused company and only growled through the door when asked a question. With Chentelle, he wouldn’t even do that. He maintained an icy silence whenever she tried to talk about what had happened. Finally, she had given up trying.

  Once Ellistar was full in the sky, Captain Rone ordered the Treachery under way. With Zubec at the bow sounding the depth, he guided them cautiously toward the Dread Island. The cliffs looked even more formidable in the light. Sheer rock rose hundreds of cubits above the waterline, and dozens of tiny islets formed a barrier between Kennaru and the open sea.

  They worked their way slowly eastward, rounding the edge of the island and following the cliffs south. Leagues passed, marked only by the drone of Zubec’s soundings and the grim sameness of the unapproachable coast. Chentelle watched the rocks and tried not to fidget. They were so close! It would feel so good to be on solid ground again. But what if the whole island was like this? Where would they land?

  “Look to starboard!” Pardec shouted from the rigging. “There’s a break in the rocks.”

  He was right. A narrow draw in the cliffs opened onto a small lagoon. An atoll partially ringed the lagoon, shielding it from the chopping waves of the Great Sea. As they drew nearer, a thin stretch of beach became visible. Beyond the sand, dense foliage filled a valley that climbed steeply westward into the heights. A waterfall splashed against the rocks north of the beach, marking the endpoint of a mountain stream that flowed from the west.

  Captain Rone turned to the High Bishop. “What say you, Your Eminence? The passage is navigable, but we may find better farther on. Do we stop here or sail on?”

  Father Marcus stroked his chin thoughtfully. He glanced at the sky and nodded. “Take us in, captain.”

  Rone smiled broadly and shouted orders to his crew. He maneuvered the Treachery smoothly through the rocks and into the shelter of the lagoon. He let the wind carry them close to the shore, then had Paun use his sagecraft to face the goblinship back toward the open sea.

  “So,” the captain said, turning once more to Father Marcus, “what now?”

  Propelled by Paun’s craft, the longboat slid swiftly away from the beach. Chentelle’s eyes followed the shipsage back to the Treachery, but she hardly noticed. She was on land! It felt so wonderful to be away from that awful ship, to be separated from the pain of the wood. Her Gift sang outward, almost of its own volition. After so many weeks of keeping herself shielded, she was finally free.

  And everything was so alive here. The forest was thick with vines and undergrowth whose like she had never seen. A hundred flowers filled the air with perfumes that were both half-familiar and tantalizingly exotic. Strange birds called to each other from the branches of unfamiliar trees, and colorful insects danced in the air. Even the waves that tickled her ankles seemed to promise a thousand joyous tales of darting fish and scurrying crabs.

  Chentelle laughed and splashed up to the beach. She felt weightless, as if her feet reached the ground only through some accident of circumstance. She felt a similar happiness in Sulmar and the Legionnaires, though their discipline would not let them express it. She felt a twinge of sadness for Captain Rone and his crew, who remained aboard the Treachery waiting for their return. She hoped that they felt at least some of the joy that filled her.

  Of course, even among the company on land there were those who were untouched by relief. A’stoc, unshaven and unkempt, had emerged from his cabin and joined the company as they loaded the longboat. Wrapped in his pain, he stood silently in the exact spot where he had stepped from the longboat, as oblivious to the beauty of this place as he was to the water tugging at his robes.

  “Friends.” Father Marcus’ voice was tinged with concern. “I need to speak with you.”

  Sparked from their private thoughts, the company gathered around the High Bishop. Even A’stoc shuffled up to shore.

  “I am concerned,” Marcus said. “There is no doubt that this is the correct island. The Atablicryon should be emanating spiritual light like a mighty beacon, but I cannot sense it.”

  “Hel’s bile,” A’stoc spat. “Do you mean to say that we have not the slightest idea where to search for the Sphere? Are we to tromp aimlessly over this entire godforsaken island until one of us accidentally trips over an icon of true Earthpower?”

  “That’s enough, wizard,” Dacius snapped. “As I understand it, your presence is necessary only to activate the Sphere once we have found the Fallen Star. If you wish to wait aboard the ship while we conduct the search, I will happily summon the longboat.”

  A’stoc glared at the human lord. Though slightly taller, the lean wizard seemed dwarfed by the Legionnaire’s solid bulk and wild red beard. “I think I will remain, Legionnaire. You will undoubtedly need my protection should the goblins come upon you in force.”

  “My people will not come here,” Gorin said. “They fear this place more than death.”

  “Your people,” A’stoc sneered, “are craven and weak-willed. They will be easily driven here if the Ill-creature who commands them so desires.”

  “Peace,” Father Marcus said, holding up a hand to curtail Gorin’s reply. “The long confinement and the stress of our journey have taken their toll on all of us. Wizard A’stoc, you in particular have faced heavy trials in these weeks. But take heart, friends, we have made Kennaru. The Creator guides our steps, and He will provide for our success. We need only recognize His blessings when they arrive. Lord Gemine, please organize a reconnaissance of the valley. I will meditate on our course while I await your report.”

  Dacius glanced up at the sun. “We’ll travel in pairs: Leth and Gerruth, Drup with Thildemar; Alve, you’re with me. We have maybe four hours of Ellistar’s light left, but she’ll fall quickly behind those mountains. Turn back as soon as her bottom edge disappears.”

  The Legionnaires secured their equipment and disappeared into the jungle moments later. Father Marcus and Gorin wandered off to perform their ritual of meditation, and A’stoc was slumped against a nearby tree with his eyes closed. Chentelle turned to Sulmar, but the Tengarian was deep into his ‘watchful and alert’ posture. She sighed. The joy of this night was fast disappearing, but all was not lost. The water of the lagoon was clear and inviting, and it had been weeks since she had a proper bath. Smiling, she stripped off her gown and dropped it on the sand next to her boots. Six long steps and a graceful dive carried her into the waves.

  The water was clear and pure. It wrapped around her like a cool sheet, sending a tingle of excitement through her nipples and her toes. She felt cleaner almost immediately. It was wonderful. A school of tiny blue fish darted to and fro just beneath her. She swam downward and reached for them with her Gift. They flitted around her, dancing in and out of her hair and skittering across her skin. It tickled and she had to laugh, losing what was left of her breath. She let go of the fish and followed the bubbles to the surface.

  Even the air felt cleaner in her lungs. She took several deep breaths and then headed back toward the bottom. The fish had moved on, so she explored for a while on her own. It would have been nice to have company, but she knew that Sulmar would never allow himself to relax and swim with her in unknown territory. Maybe A’stoc? She had a sudden image of the wizard trying to scowl while tiny blue fish tickled his ears, and lost her air to laughter again. Still, it was worth a try. He could certainly use a good dose of clean water.