“Oh!” Chentelle jumped into the water and grabbed the wizard around the chest. Thildemar was just behind her, and together they carried him to shore. Sulmar followed under his own power.

  They set A’stoc down as soon as they were on dry ground. The wizard had stopped breathing again. She took a deep breath and reached into him with her Gift. Life still burned in the wizard’s spirit. It seemed neither stronger nor weaker than it had been before. This time, the problem was his body. His lungs were full of water.

  As she had with Sulmar, so many nights ago, Chentelle shaped her song to repel the water. She filled the wizard with the song of air, and pulled at the water with the call of the river. A’stoc’s stomach heaved and the water shot from his lungs. Soon, he was breathing on his own, though the breaths were still very weak.

  A hand came to rest on her shoulder. “How is he?” asked Thildemar.

  “The same as before,” she said. “But he won’t drown. We need to get him to shelter.”

  The elf nodded and headed for the cave. “I will bring help.”

  Chentelle turned to Sulmar. “What happened to you?”

  “When the flood hit,” he said calmly, “I grabbed hold of A’stoc. The water pulled us in different directions and we struck some rocks. My shoulder dislocated, and I was forced to maneuver us through the tunnel with only one arm. Luckily, the wizard was unconscious, so he did not fight me.”

  She put a hand on Sulmar’s chest, careful not to disturb his shoulder. “Thank you for saving A’stoc. I know that you do not care for him.”

  The Tengarian looked into her eyes. Then he smiled. It was a thin smile, but it was there. “My people have a saying, ‘Trust your first impression, but do not marry it.’”

  She laughed. “Well, I think maybe he’s learned to respect you, too.”

  Thildemar returned, leading Leth and Gerruth. The Legionnaires picked up A’stoc, and they all headed back to the cave. Father Marcus was waiting for them at the entrance. He examined A’stoc and agreed that his condition was unchanged. Then he attended to Sulmar and Chentelle, healing their wounds. Soon, they were all huddled together in the shelter of the grotto.

  “Kelmek,” Dacius said. “Where are we?”

  “The east face of Hel’s Crown,” the villager said, “near the base.”

  “We can’t stay here,” Dacius said. “We’re too close to the goblin tunnels. How far away is the Mouth of the Sea?”

  Kelmek shrugged. “One and a half leagues, maybe two.”

  “Wait,” Chentelle said. “What about A’stoc? We have to get him back to the village.”

  The Legionnaire turned to Father Marcus. “Can he still be moved safely?”

  “Yes,” the High Bishop answered, “but we need to get him to a secure resting place. The village would be best. He might benefit from the atmosphere of refuge in the temple.”

  Dacius looked at A’stoc, then lifted his eyes to meet Chentelle’s. “I’m sorry. We have to secure the Treachery before the goblins who guard her learn we escaped from the caverns. The wizard can rest aboard the ship. Now, can you call the skethis?”

  The skethis! If Chentelle could summon the warbirds, she could take A’stoc back to the village while Dacius and the Legionnaires rescued Captain Rone and the Treachery. But there were so few of them; what if they needed her and Sulmar to help? What should she do?

  “I’ll try,” she said.

  Chentelle closed her eyes and sang into the storm. She blended her voice with the thunder and the splashing rain. She pressed outward, searching for the primal emotions that drove the warbirds’ lives. She filled her song with challenge and the lust for battle, but there was no answer.

  She shook her head. “I can’t reach them.”

  “Then we’ll have to march,” Dacius said. He walked over to the pile of supplies and pulled out two lengths of rope. He tossed them to Thildemar and pointed to A’stoc. “Field stretcher—there’s no wood in this wasteland. Make sure to brace his head.”

  As the elf went to work, Dacius inspected the rest of the supplies. He took two adartak globes and handed one to each of the priests. “The rest is useless. We’ll leave it here. The trail will be difficult enough. Okay, let’s move. If we’re lucky, the rain will cover our tracks.”

  Rain battered them the instant they left the cave. The dusty plain of the Sacred City had turned to slick mud in the downpour, and everyone suffered in the treacherous footing. Kelmek led them toward the eastern edge of the plateau. Dacius and Sulmar carried the front of A’stoc’s stretcher, while the elven Legionnaires alternated turns on the rear.

  Chentelle paced along beside the wizard, bracing her steps with the Staff. It pulsed warmly in her hand but with much less force than after the battle with Throm. The wood remained dry despite the storm. Any rain falling on the Staff was instantly absorbed into the Thunderwood. She shuddered once more, remembering the holocaust A’stoc had barely managed to control.

  They trudged slowly through the desolate plain. Luckily, the eastern mountains were closer to Hel’s Crown than the northern range. Though their pace was slow, they were able to reach the concealment of the ridge before the storm broke. As the rain softened, Kelmek led them through a well-marked pass and down toward the Mouth of the Sea. The water stretched out in the distance, blending seamlessly with the gray clouds on the horizon.

  This trail was wider and less rocky than the winding path from the village, but they still found the going difficult. Stress and fatigue dragged at their limbs, and water weighed down their clothes. Dacius and Sulmar suffered the worst, but the human lord drove them on relentlessly. Only when they reached the heavy forest of the foothills did he signal for a halt.

  “How far?” he asked Kelmek.

  “Half a league,” the villager said, “maybe less. The trail meets up with Kolos’ Burn and follows it to the bay.”

  Dacius took them a short way off the trail to a tiny clearing. “Stay here. Get what rest you can, but keep a watch. The goblins could be right behind us. Kelmek, you’re with me.”

  The two humans disappeared into the jungle.

  Chentelle knelt beside A’stoc. The wizard was pale and feverish. Sweat ran down his face, and he was shivering violently. “Father Marcus, he needs your help.”

  The High Bishop placed a hand on A’stoc’s forehead. He chanted softly and the wizard stopped shaking. Color returned to his cheeks, and his temperature returned to normal. The old priest slunk to the ground with his back against a tree. “Call me if the fever returns,” he said an instant before his eyes closed in sleep.

  “Father Marcus?” Chentelle said. “Are you all right?”

  Brother Gorin rested a claw on her shoulder. “He will be fine after he rests. The wizard had no strength to put into the healing, so Father Marcus used his own.”

  Chentelle nodded. They could all use sleep. Even Sulmar looked haggard. A quick look confirmed that Leth was standing guard alertly. She lay down and rested her head on A’stoc’s chest. If his fever returned, the shivering would wake her.

  She jumped awake at the touch of a hand. Sulmar held a hand to her lips, cautioning her not to cry out. She looked around. Dacius and Kelmek were back, but there was no sense of alarm about the camp. “How long?” she whispered.

  “An hour,” he answered, speaking softly but in a normal voice. “Lord Gemine has just returned.”

  Dacius motioned for them all to listen. “The Treachery is here, but so are three goblin warships. One of them is moored at the pier; the other two are anchored near the mouth of the bay. The guards around the dock are not especially alert, but there are lots of them.” He looked up. Deneob was just starting to drop toward the west. “We’ll have about an hour of darkness after the Winter Sun sets. That’s when we’ll make our move.”

  “Did you see any sign of the crew?” Father Marcus asked.

  The Legionnaire shook his head. “No.”

  Chentelle suddenly had a horrible thought. “What if they were taken to Hel’s Crown?”

  Dacius’ fist clenched and he let out a hard breath. “Then we leave them. The quest has to come first. But I don’t think they were taken away. Throm was aboard one of those ships. The demon took them at the lagoon; it had no reason to drag them to the mountain.”

  “Assuming they are still alive,” said Gerruth.

  “Yes,” Dacius said, “I am.”

  They worked their way back to the trail and followed it eastward. The ground sloped steadily downward, and they soon came to a narrow stream. Kelmek led them along the water’s edge for several minutes. Then he led them across a series of stepping stones to the opposite bank. A tiny footpath took them to a sheltered clearing that had become partially overgrown. A naked goblin lay unconscious in the center of the clearing, bound and gagged with thick vines. A uniform and weapons were piled beside it.

  “The Stone City people used to use this place for picnics,” Kelmek said. “But the goblins seem to avoid it.”

  “We wait here until dark,” Dacius said. “Then, we’ll enter the stream and swim to the Treachery. The guards at the pier are only watching for an approach by land.” He looked at Brother Gorin and motioned to the goblin uniform. “We need to find out if Rone and the others are here. Will you do it?”

  Brother Gorin hesitated, glancing at Father Marcus. Then he nodded. He pulled off his robe and slipped into the goblin clothing. He strapped on the sword belt and gripped the short halberd awkwardly. “I never imagined that I would be wearing such a uniform again. You understand, Lord Gemine, that I cannot use these weapons in combat. I am still bound by my oath to the Holy Order.”

  “I understand,” Dacius said. “I don’t want you to fight. Just scout the buildings. And abort the mission if it looks as if you are going to be discovered. We don’t need you to be captured as well. Are you ready?”

  Gorin nodded. “I will return within the hour if I am able.”

  As the goblin left the clearing, Dacius turned back to address the company. “We will need a raft to transport the wizard. There is plenty of deadwood in the forest, and we can use the ropes to bind it together. It won’t be much, but it should hold until we reach the Treachery.”

  “I can make the raft,” Chentelle said. “I can woodshape.”

  “Good,” Dacius said. “The rest of you start gathering wood, but be careful. Travel in pairs and make sure you range away from the harbor.”

  Chentelle set the Thunderwood Staff by her side and considered the craft she needed. As the others returned with wood, she set the pieces carefully into the pattern she envisioned. She worked with the shapes of wood, fitting them into the proper configuration. Some pieces she had to discard as unsuitable, but the raft still took shape quickly. Soon, the basic shape was complete.

  Chentelle called upon the elven Lore of rillandef, deadwood shaping. She hummed softly, using the tune to concentrate her will. She picked up two pieces of wood and ran her fingers over them. Wherever she touched, the wood became soft and malleable. This was natural deadwood; no one had killed it. It had lived its time and expired, so there was no pain in it. Otherwise she could not have worked with it. She pressed the pieces together like wet clay and then reached for the next. She was aware of nothing but the wood and the raft. Her hands moved quickly and surely, following the plan she kept clear in her mind. And the wood shaped itself to her need.

  It took her only moments to finish the outline. Once that was complete, she started to meld the internal structure into the frame. She touched and smoothed and molded until the driftwood and fallen branches became a solid mass. Then, she sculpted that mass. She gave it a back-sloped rim to keep A’stoc secure and a straight keel to drive smoothly through the water. She fashioned the prow into a delicate curve, reminiscent of a rolling wave, and brushed a similar swoop into the pattern of the wood grain. Finally, she added two circular braces to hold the Thunderwood Staff.

  “Impressive,” Thildemar said. “You have a rare talent, enchantress. I have never seen so young a wood master.”

  “But I’m not a master,” Chentelle protested. “The Gift helps me. I can feel the wood—almost as if it tells me how to shape. Still, I’m only a novice. You can see how flawed the raft is.”

  Thildemar bowed gracefully. “I beg to disagree, Lady Chentelle. It is as elegant and charming as its shaper.”

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling at both the compliment and the exaggerated manners. “I’m just glad I could do something to help.”

  Whatever reply Thildemar might have made was cut off by Brother Gorin’s arrival. The priest was breathing heavily, as if he had run all the way from the Stone City. “I saw them,” he managed to say between gasps. “They are alive.”

  “Where?” Dacius asked.

  Gorin paused, regaining his breath. “The city is all ruins, but a dozen buildings near the pier have been repaired. Two have been made into barracks, but most are warehouses. Captain Rone and his men are in one of the warehouses.”

  “How many guards?”

  “It is hard to say,” the priest answered. “At least two inside the building. Others come and go. The outer door was not guarded, but it is impossible to enter without being seen by the sentries posted in the clearing.”

  Dacius turned to the company. “Recommendations?”

  “We will need a diversion,” Thildemar said. “I can take out one of the sentries and lead the pursuit away from the clearing. But the alarm will alert the guards at the pier.”

  “So we take the ship first,” Gerruth said. “Then we use your diversion to rescue the crew and fight our way back to the ship.”

  “There are a score of goblins in each barracks,” Brother Gorin said, “plus the marines still aboard the moored warship. You cannot fight through them all. But I can distract them without raising a general alarm.” He turned to Thildemar and pulled at his goblin uniform. “I am better suited for this task than you.”

  “Agreed,” Thildemar said. “But be careful. Remember what happened in the village.”

  “I am not likely to forget,” Gorin said. “Do not worry. My tools this time will not be peace and reason.”

  “I don’t like it,” Dacius said, “but it’s our best chance. We’ll split into two teams. Thildemar, you and I will free the prisoners, moving on Gorin’s distraction. Everyone else heads for the ship. Leth, you’re in charge. You’ll move as soon as Deneob drops behind the mountains. The Treachery has first priority. If possible, try to hamper or disable the warships, especially the two blocking the harbor, but secure the whaler first.”

  The elves nodded. He turned to the goblin. “Gorin, give them thirty minutes, then start your distraction. Thildemar and I will slip into the warehouse during the confusion. As soon as we’re in, break off and head toward the Treachery. Don’t wait; we’ll make our own way back. That’s all. There’s still some time before dark. Rest if you’re able.”

  “Excuse me, Lord Gemine?” Kelmek lifted a hand tentatively in the air.

  “Yes,” Dacius said gently.

  “You don’t seem to need me anymore,” the villager said. “And I really should get back to the village. Grandfather will be worried.”

  “Of course,” Dacius said. “But are you certain you want to travel on your own? There are probably goblin patrols about. If you stay with us we can drop you back at the lagoon before we leave the island.”

  “Thank you,” Kelmek said, “but I know these paths. I can stay away from any patrols. Besides, if the goblin warships chase you, you won’t be able to stop. I think I better head back on my own.”

  “As you will.” Dacius stepped forward and clasped the man’s arm. “We thank you for your help. Without your courage and guidance we could not have succeeded.”

  “Yes,” Father Marcus said, placing a hand on the villager’s shoulder. “Our gratitude is poor thanks for your service to the Creation, but it is all we have, and we offer it freely. Please tell your grandfather that I wish I had been able to see him again. There is much we could have shared with each other.”

  “I will tell him,” Kelmek said. “But it is the village that owes you a debt. Thanks to you, our ancestors have the peace they deserve.”

  The villager disengaged himself from the two humans and walked over to Chentelle. “Enchantress, I hope your friend recovers. He has done a great service to all of my people. I will make sure his story is remembered. I—I have been honored to help you in your quest.”

  “Thank you,” Chentelle said. “We have been honored to have your help. You’re a good man.”

  Kelmek smiled broadly and bowed. Then, without another word, he vanished into the jungle.

  Dacius, Thildemar, and Gorin headed toward the warehouse on foot, not bothering to rest.

  Chentelle felt A’stoc’s brow. The fever had not returned, and the wizard seemed to be resting peacefully. She felt a momentary pang of envy. She needed sleep, too. But unlike the Legionnaires, she couldn’t overcome her anxiety and relax. She sat in silence, watching the shadows lengthen.

  When Deneob’s rim slid behind the mountains, Leth spurred them into action. The Legionnaires stripped off boots and armor, and everything was loaded into the raft with A’stoc. They settled the raft into the stream and waded in behind it. The water greeted them coolly.

  “Grab hold of the raft,” Leth said. “We’ll let the current pull us out past the extension of the pier, then come back to the Treachery from behind. No splashing. Gerruth and I will guide the raft; everyone else just ride along quietly.”

  They waited until the last hints of red faded from the horizon; then Leth nodded and they let the current take them. The stream wound gently through the rain forest, then widened and emptied into a natural harbor. On their left, the trees yielded to the ruins of a small town. A fire burned in the center of the rubble, casting flickering shadows on the few buildings that still stood. A stone pier stretched into the bay. The silhouette of the Treachery was plainly visible at its end, as was the much larger outline of the goblin warship.

  They drifted into the middle of the inlet, past the extension of the wharf. The grim shadows of two more warships loomed in front of them, blocking the mouth of the bay. Leth and Gerruth guided them in a slow curve back to the stern of the Treachery. The ship shielded them from both the shore and the warship moored on the other side of the pier. Guttural voices floated down from above. There were at least two sentries aboard the Treachery and one or two at the far end of the dock. Leth motioned to Gerruth, and they paddled silently toward the ship’s anchor chain.