“Fine then,” Aefric said. “Then you can spare a ship to gather up the refugees and cargo and sail them up the Searun to Water’s End.”

  “Begging your pardon, your grace,” Captain Coral said, “but these ships are too big for the Searun River. They’d have to go all the way south and come up the Haven to Behal. Faster to put in at Ajenmoor and have a smaller ship or two take the refugees and cargo to Water’s End, if that’s your will.”

  “It is, and that’s fine,” Aefric said.

  “See three of those refugees are derekek,” Captain Coral said. “We’ve a few among our crew, and most of us speak some Dray-keki,” — a common mispronunciation of Dreykeke — “they’re free to join up, if they want. Always use a good hand.”

  “Ask them,” Aefric said, “but make clear that it’s just an option. Those three are used to working the rivers, and they’re free to continue doing so.”

  “I’ll ask,” said one of the other captains, who then hustled off to do so.

  “What about the hulk?” Captain Coral said, gesturing to the slaver ship. “Still holds water, but won’t be easy, cheap or fast to get it back in sailing shape.”

  “Your grace,” Ser Micham said, “if I may.”

  “Go ahead,” Aefric said.

  “Father has spoken before about wanting to use a ship in the harbor as a jail. But it didn’t seem a good use of resources.” He nodded to the slaver ship. “That would be perfect for what he has in mind.”

  “Sounds fine to me,” Aefric said, then turned to the captain. “Bring it back to Ajenmoor, then. Waste not, want not.”

  “Aye, your grace. Shall we do that with the Swift Wave as well?”

  “I’ll want Karbin to search it first. He knows what to look for. Otherwise, whatever you’d usually do with a captured ship is fine.”

  “Happy to have him along,” Captain Coral said, giving Karbin a smile that was downright saucy.

  “All right,” Aefric said. “Then the prisoners are yours as well, to bring back to Ajenmoor for trial. I’ll write a letter to accompany the refugees and cargo to Water’s End, and dispatch a pair of soldiers to come along deliver it. Otherwise I think we’re done here.”

  Captain Coral nodded agreement, and went over some of the details with Sers Yrsa and Beornric, while Aefric found a decently flat rock and wrote out a letter for his seneschal at Water’s End, including a list of the refugees and a detailed cargo manifest.

  Not a letter most nobles could write. But most nobles hadn’t enchanted their own quill pen to write in steady lines without the need for ink, sand or a blotter.

  He sealed it in wax with both his ducal seal — the image of a lake with a sword sticking out of it, hilt first — and his personal seal — the image of a staff with two bolts of lightning coming from it, upwards to the left and right.

  Once this was done, the two soldiers Ser Yrsa had chosen stepped up to receive it. Aefric noted that both had sustained injuries during the skirmish with the smugglers.

  They’d been healed, but he could see the bloodstains on their tabards. One at the shoulder, one at the hip.

  Aefric was almost ready to hand over the letter, but then a thought occurred to him.

  “Ser Micham,” he said, and that knight stepped forward. “I’ll entrust the letter and this mission to you, and these two worthies will serve as your escort.”

  “Your grace,” Ser Micham said, trying to hide his frown. Either at being used as a messenger, or at having two soldiers come along as escort.

  “You know Ajenmoor,” Aefric said, reassuringly. “And you know ships. You know what we need and who to talk to, to get both the refugees and the cargo to Water’s End as swiftly and securely as possible. Which makes you the best person for the job.”

  “Thank you, your grace,” Ser Micham said, a little more easily.

  “And,” Aefric said, softly, “if this affords you a moment or two to greet your father, so much the better.”

  “Thank you, your grace,” Ser Micham said, smiling now.

  Aefric watched the knight take charge of getting the refugees and cargo loaded, commandeering the longboats from the slaver ship, in the process.

  “That was kind of you, your grace,” Ser Beornric said softly. “He hasn’t seen his father since before you arrived at Behal this past spring.”

  “That’s part of the reason,” Aefric said, just as softly. “But it also occurred to me that since I have yet to visit Ajenmoor, their mayor might’ve taken it as an insult, if I commandeered a couple of ships with only soldiers carrying my words.”

  “A fair thought.”

  “Well,” Aefric said with a half-smile, “it seems to me that someone’s been encouraging me to act more like a duke.”

  While Ser Beornric laughed, Aefric turned to Ser Yrsa.

  “General? Shall we get back to the Dragonscar?”

  Alas, getting back to exploring the Dragonscar was not so easy as that. Aefric, himself, was ready. Hungry still, but eager to see more of this chasm while he still had a few hours of afternoon sun.

  True, the chasm had been absorbing the summer heat, and the sun would be in the sky to their backs, but it did form a lovely tunnel for the whipping sea wind, keeping things relatively cool.

  Ser Beornric and the knights of his personal guard — short of Ser Micham — also looked ready to get back to the reason they were out here.

  Ser Yrsa, as well, seemed just as ready. And yet, it was she who pointed out that they couldn’t leave yet.

  “I’m sorry, your grace,” she said with some chagrin. “But it would not be wise to depart until sailors from the Ajenmoor ships have taken charge of the prisoners. And with Ser Micham taking up the launches with refugees and cargo, that may be some time.”

  Aefric sighed. Turned to Ser Beornric. “You said something of food?”

  “At once, your grace,” Ser Beornric signaled to one of the soldiers, who fetched some jerked deer and an apple.

  Aefric had just taken his first, crisp bite of the sweet, red fruit, when he heard an argument behind him. And one of the voices was Ser Micham’s.

  He was still turning when Ser Yrsa said, “Please, your grace. Let me.”

  Aefric didn’t want to. He wanted to go back and handle the argument himself. But he had the distinct impression that Ser Yrsa was making a point, so he bit down on his frustration and the apple at the same time.

  “Elbar’s Blood,” she shouted, striding toward the problem. “What is it now?”

  Aefric barely tasted his apple, even though he finished it faster than he expected. He was trying to hear what was going on behind him. And Ser Beornric must’ve known it, because he started talking.

  “Not sure I believe a dragon caused the Dragonscar,” he said. “But I have heard tell that the bones of one of the great wyrms still lie at the other end. Hope we see them.”

  Curiosity warred in Aefric. He still wanted to listen in on the argument — sounded like it was between Ser Yrsa and one of the captains now — but he was more than a little curious about the dragon bones.

  Aefric had been involved in exactly one fight against a dragon. Triskarathrax, it was called. Big as a decent-sized keep was Triskarathrax, with scales so black they shimmered all colors during the battle.

  Aefric had gone into that fight along with more than a dozen others. All heroes in their own right. All fighting to save the small town of Merin’s Stand, which was being punished for refusing to the pay the tribute demanded by the dragon.

  Aefric wouldn’t say he won that fight. But he did survive it. And so did the dragon. Though Triskarathrax never came back to Merin’s Stand. Not that Aefric had ever heard.

  “They say,” Ser Beornric continued, “that the skeleton’s still intact. That some’ve tried to pull bones and teeth from the remains, but couldn’t do it.”

  “Your grace,” Ser Yrsa called, and Aefric turned that way at once.

  There she stood by the water, with Ser Micham and the two soldiers, facing down one of the captains. Aefric didn’t remember the man’s name.

  Refugees had been loaded into the launches once more. All except for the two borogs.

  Aefric growled and threw aside his apple core. He had the distinct feeling he knew what the problem was.

  He forced a deep breath, and strolled casually over to the argument. His head held high. As though he didn’t have a care in the world.

  When he reached the standoff, he made a show of sighing.

  Both the captain and Ser Yrsa started talking at once.

  “Silence,” Aefric snapped, and both the captain and the general not only stopped talking, they each fell back a step.

  “I believe my orders were clear enough,” Aefric said. “So would someone mind telling me why two of the refugees have not been loaded onto boats?”

  “Well,” the captain said, “they’re borogs, your grace.”

  “Now, I realize, captain, that we have only just met,” Aefric said. “And I realize further that you may have heard any number of things about me. But I must ask you…”

  Aefric leaned a little closer, and snapped his next words out sharply.

  “Do you think I’m blind or stupid?”

  The man’s mouth started moving, but no words came out.

  “Certainly you cannot believe that I didn’t know they were borogs when I gave that order. Or did you simply overlook the fact that I was the one addressing them in their own language?”

  Poorly, in Aefric’s opinion, but the point stood.

  “Begging your grace’s pardon,” Captain Coral said, pushing her junior captain back a step and taking his place in the discussion. “We didn’t think you meant them to be counted as refugees. Because they’re borogs. And what you do with borogs is kill ’em. Figured your soldiers would handle that while we handled our part.”

  Behind her, her junior captain nodded rapidly.

  “A poor assumption,” Aefric said. “And now you know better. Shall I consider this matter resolved?”

  “Wish I could say so, your grace,” Captain Coral said. “But if we take borogs into Ajenmoor, they won’t leave alive.”

  Aefric was about to say something very nasty about that, but Ser Micham spoke up.

  “Begging pardon, your grace.”

  Aefric gritted his teeth, but nodded.

  “During the Godswalk Wars, Father put a bounty on the heads of any and all borogs. No questions asked. That bounty’s likely still in place.”

  “It is,” Captain Coral confirmed.

  “Why didn’t you mention it before?”

  “I should have, your grace,” Ser Micham said with a bow of his head. “But as I was acting on your orders, I felt confident that I could keep them safe. Maybe use it as an opportunity to mention to Father that you wouldn’t approve of that bounty still being in effect.”

  “Typical knight thinking,” Captain Coral said with a grimace.

  Ser Micham’s head snapped up. His eyes blazed and he visibly checked his hand from reaching for his sword.

  “Don’t mean offense,” Captain Coral said in tones that suggested to Aefric that she didn’t actually care if Ser Micham felt offended. “But your grace’s orders won’t stop panic on the docks at the sight of them horn-noses. And they won’t stop the dock patrol — or any nearby as has a bow or crossbow — from taking a shot at getting that bounty.”

  Ser Yrsa leaned in closer to Aefric.

  “I hate to say it, but they’re right,” she said softly. “Some would shoot for public safety. Others hoping for a pouch of coins. But they’ll shoot. And if the borogs don’t go down right away, they’ll fight back. It’ll get ugly.”

  Aefric sighed.

  “Captain Coral, apologize to Ser Micham for the offense you’ve given him.”

  “Your grace,” she started but before she could finish her objection, Aefric spoke over her.

  “His thinking may have been in error. But if that is cause for insult, I should insult you and your captains for thinking I’d treat those borogs as anything less than refugees. Which is what they are.”

  Aefric let those words hang for a moment. “But further insults will accomplish nothing. You were in the wrong. Apologize.”

  She frowned, but nodded.

  “Ser Micham,” she said, “I wronged you more than you deserved. I apologize.”

  Not a great apology, but at the moment it would do.

  Ser Micham gave Captain Coral a stiff nod that suggested he didn’t consider the matter settled. Well, that was fine. As long as he didn’t interfere with everyone doing their job today.

  “Now,” Aefric said. “As I have no wish to see those borogs murdered for no crime greater than being borogs, they will accompany us into the Dragonscar. I trust that resolves this issue?”

  “Completely, your grace,” Captain Coral said, and from the way she was looking at Aefric, he suspected she was questioning the wisdom of having pissed off the new duke.

  “Ser Micham,” Aefric said, and waited until he had the knight’s full attention to continue. “Please give your father my regards. And inform him that I wish him to rescind all bounties set upon members of any race.”

  “Does your grace,” Ser Micham said, his expression pained, “include the sea devils in that list?”

  Aefric checked his initial response. He wanted to say yes, out of spite. But the truth was, even before the Godswalk Wars, he’d never heard of those strange fish-lizard humanoids known widely as “sea devils” so much as speaking with the land-borne peoples.

  They raided. They made war. They stole young men and women for breeding purposes. And Aefric had never heard of them doing anything else.

  Even their wars didn’t seem to be for land or resources, but merely ways of murdering many at once.

  This behavior had led to most scholars arguing that the sea devils weren’t people at all, the way most used the term. That they didn’t have art or culture or values. That they were monsters, pure and simple.

  Aefric didn’t want to believe that. But he’d never seen evidence to the contrary.

  And if he asked a port city like Ajenmoor to rescind a bounty on sea devils, they’d consider him a fool. He’d make enemies he didn’t need.

  “No,” he said with a sigh. “I’d like to think we’ll know peace with the sea devils one day, but I’ll need to see some kind of proof before I’m willing to go that far.”

  Ser Micham, Captain Coral, and the other captain all heaved relieved sighs at the same moment.

  Had all three been holding their breath? Really?

  Well, maybe that was a good thing. Let them wonder about Aefric’s priorities.

  “I’ll leave you to it then,” Aefric said, and walked over to the borogs.

  “Me hear,” the big borog said. “Us … run with chief.” He pointed at Aefric. “Keep chief … safe.”

  Well. At least it sounded as though somebody approved of what he was doing.

  The biggest problem with jerked deer, Aefric decided, was that it stayed with you all day. He’d eaten only two decent-sized pieces as part of his late lunch, back by the shore.

  And yet, here it was. Hours later. And he could still taste the salty tang of it on his tongue. Still burped it, too.

  And frankly, this batch was too gamey.

  The afternoon’s ride hadn’t been nearly as interesting or eventful as the lengthy midday pause had been.

  True, there was some beauty to the Dragonscar. A simple, stark beauty, but beauty nonetheless.

  So far it was all rock. Shades of brown and red, mostly, but some were pale enough to qualify for an interpretation of beige.

  The chasm walls were jagged here and there — though those jagged edges had been worn by time and winds until they were more rounded than edgy — and in some places the ground had been unstable enough that they’d had to walk the horses past cracks and fissures.

  No signs of life down here, though. Nothing growing, that Aefric had seen so far. Even some moss would’ve been a pleasant change.

  No, the most interesting thing they’d seen so far had been caves. Lots of them. Most of them shallow, but a few here and there looked to go back a ways. Even down.

  Those caves that had potential to be more than shallow indentations got marked on the map that the scouts were putting together.

  There would be no spelunking. Not on this venture.

  Oh, Aefric wanted to go into those caves. He hadn’t gone exploring an unknown cavern since … had to be three years or more since he’d found that cave system down southeast a ways.

  But that was not the purpose of this venture. He was here to see the Dragonscar. To make sure there were no threats to his duchy coming from the Dragonscar.

  He hadn’t brought enough food, or the right equipment, to start exploring every cave they found.

  More was the pity.

  And now, the sun was setting, and they’d made camp for the night. The fire was going, and the soldiers who’d been designated as cooks were making a savory stew of roast chicken and root vegetables.

  Aefric sat on his blanket, sharing a cup of beer with his knights while the two borogs sat nearby.

  The borogs hadn’t done anything to attract attention to themselves. Not since Aefric’s party left the sailors behind. Aefric and his knights had been riding their horses at a walk — Ser Beornric to his right, Ser Yrsa to his left, and the other five fanned out around him — and the borogs had kept pace easily, flanking the knights with room to spare.

  They’d been quiet, and Aefric had the impression they’d been watchful.

  As the hours passed, the knights came to accept the presence of the borogs. Even now, as they sat talking about the battle that was likely happening back at the shore between the ships from Ajenmoor and the Swift Wave.

  The borogs sat silently. Watching. Not accepting any beer. And not sitting on the blankets.

  “You’re welcome to sit closer,” Aefric said. “We’ll make room.”

  “No,” the bigger borog said. He pointed to Aefric. “Chief.” He pointed to the knights. “Glukrar.” Aefric frowned, then realized he did know that word. It meant blooded warriors. “Me and me … new clan.”