She found a crowd of the Avowed of the Crimson Guard awaiting her at the waterfront. The sight sent a flush of gratitude and affection through her. At first she’d feared she’d been too selfish in her choice of those would accompany the expedition: personnel from her old command predominated. No doubt, however, the other Avowed understood her preference for the men and women she had commanded for decades and knew so well. And here they all were, assembled to see them off.

She embraced many as she passed and saluted old soldiers of the Second Investiture like Ambrose and Trench. She shook hands with a glum Tarkhan, formally handing over command of Fortress Haven.

‘Good hunting,’ he told her. ‘Come back with Cal.’

‘I shall.’ Leaning close, she murmured, ‘Any sign?’

He gave a minute jerk of his head. ‘None.’

Damn the man! He ought to be here. This was inexcusable, and, if anything, it strengthened her faith in the difficult decision she had made. Negligence. Pure negligence.

She caught Gwynn’s eye as she shook hands and answered salutes of farewell. ‘We are all aboard?’

‘Aye.’

‘Very good.’ She motioned him up the gangway of their hired merchantman, Mael’s Greetings, then faced the crowded dock and gave one last long salute. ‘Farewell, brothers and sisters. We will return with the Fourth – then we will all be reunited once again. And at full strength!’

A raucous cheer answered her. She raised her hand in salute once more, and climbed the gangway.

The ship’s master met her on deck. ‘Cast off, Master Ghelath.’

The pot-bellied Falari bowed. ‘Aye, aye.’ He stomped off, pointing and shouting. The crew, mostly Falari and Seven Cities outcasts, all sprang into motion. Bare feet slapped the decking.

Bars stood nearby, leaning against the side, and she reached out to grab his wrist. ‘About time, yes Bars?’

The big man returned the clasp. He was smiling, but his mouth remained grim and hard. ‘Yes, Shimmer. About time.’

Others of her new command lingered at the side as well: Cole, Amatt, Lean, Sept, Keel, Reed, Turgal. She answered their greetings then climbed up to the raised stern deck to watch the receding forested shore. She wondered whether he’d just now arrived – moments too late. Would she see his tall lean form on the dock?

‘We are headed east round the Cape of the Stone Army?’ someone asked behind her and she turned to the pilot, an old man hunched over the arm of the side-mounted tiller.

The eastern cape of the Sea of Chimes took its name from the curious formations of octagonal stone pillars that crowded the coast and extended out to sea. The forest of towers marching up out of the waves resembled to some an immense army cursed into eternal petrification. ‘Yes, eastward.’

‘Then on. To Assail lands, hey?’

‘Yes.’