Pran’s ravaged visage of dried and withered flesh, bared nostrils and yellowed teeth turned slightly to follow Silverfox’s retreat. ‘Agreed,’ he breathed. Tolb knew the ancient man Pran had once been well enough to feel the clenching dread of that admission. He knew the Summoner was as precious to his friend as his own child. Indeed, were they not all their own children?

And what would a parent not do to secure the future of their own?

Indeed, what not?

Chapter VI

CHAPTER VI

REUTH KEPT A wary eye out when Tulan ordered the Lady’s Luck in to land a party to search for water and provisions. This northern coast had proved singularly unpromising; long stretches of black gravel beaches, hillsides of low brush and bare smooth stone highlands. But provisions and water were low, and so Tulan dropped anchor in a bay and lowered a launch carrying a landing party under Storval.

That was four days ago. Four days since the party was last seen walking inland to be lost behind the lazy curve of a coastal rise. Short trees – large bushes, really – provided the main greenery of this coast. That and lichens and moss. Far inland, on the clearest of days, a distant range of gleaming mountain tops could just be seen. From his research Reuth alone knew their names: the Salt range, east and west. Or, on some charts: the Blood Mountains. Their destination.

Why then did he dread the sight of them?

On the morning of the fifth day – the last day Tulan said he would wait for them – the crewman atop the mast called out a sighting. Reuth ran to the side. Two figures came shambling into sight. Limping, running, helping each other along. They heaved the launch out and struggled over its side as it rose and fell in the surge.

‘Only two,’ Reuth breathed and Tulan shot him an angry glare. Reuth realized, belatedly, that everyone had seen this but that only he had been foolish enough to say it aloud. It was as Tulan said: too long in the dusty halls bent over manuscripts and not enough time spent among sailors. Well, after this voyage, he would have spent more than enough time at sea.

That is, should they ever get home.

The two managed to ready the oars and steady the nose of the launch to point it out to the bay. Reuth glanced away to scan the beaches of rolled gravel for signs of pursuit, but saw none. Where were the attackers? Surely these two couldn’t have outrun them. Yet no followers betrayed themselves amid the ash-hued naked rock.

Then movement on the nearest hilltop caught his attention. Figures came walking out into the open to stand atop the domed rock. Tall and slim, wearing tanned hide jerkins and trousers. They carried long spears, or javelins. Long brownish hair blew unbound in the winds.

Crewmen spotted them and shouted, pointing.