“Look, man.” Carfax struggled for calm, finding his hand reaching for his sword-hilt. Nothing on earth was more frustrating than dealing with the Free Fishers of Harrington Inlet. They owed allegiance to no mortal ruler, and their independence was legendary. “A bargain was made. My understanding is that it was for passage for my men and their mounts … and for the lady. Will you keep it or no?”

A crowd was gathering on the quai, which was to the good. They wanted witnesses who could testify that a group of armed men, likely Pelmaran, had departed on the Ilona’s Gull, escorting a woman garbed in a cloak of white silk wrought by Ellylon, the gold-embroidered crowns and ruby Souma glinting in the sunlight.

What they didn’t want was witnesses who crowded close enough to note that the supposed Pelmarans spoke the common tongue with a Staccian accent, the horses they rode were found nowhere else on earth, and beneath the shadow of her exquisite hood, the Ellyl noblewoman sported blond beard-stubble.

“I might …” the captain drawled, winking at his mates. “For a price. A damage tax, y’see.”

“Fine,” Carfax snapped. If he’d had the luxury of time, he’d have showed the Free Fisherman what it meant to bargain with a disciple of mighty Vorax, whose appetite was matched only by his shrewdness. But somewhere behind them—hours, at best—a host of Haomane’s Allies pursued them. “Name your price.”

The Free Fisher captain pursed his wind-chapped lips. “I might do it for a pair of those fine steeds you ride, goodman.”

“Two horses?” Carfax raised his hand, cutting off a protest from his comrades.

“Two.” The captain nodded. “Aye, two will do it. Reckon they’ll fetch a good price in Port Calibus.” He grinned, revealing strong white teeth. “They do like to cut a fine figure astride, those Vedasian knights.”

“Done.”

The bargain struck, the planks were laid, and Carfax’s company began boarding the Ilona’s Gull. The horses of Darkhaven permitted themselves to be led down the ramps with wary dignity, eyes rolling as they descended into the ship’s hold. Turin in his Ellyl cloak was hustled aboard, surrounded by an escort. Carfax breathed a sigh of relief as he disappeared.

“Lieutenant.” One of his men, young Mantuas, tugged at his elbow. “Lieutenant,” he hissed in Staccian, “we can’t part with any of the horses! ’Twill leave a trail pointing straight to Darkhaven!”

“Peace, lad,” Carfax muttered out of the side of his mouth. “At least speak in common, if you must. Hey!” he added, shouting at the pressing crowd, affecting a Pelmaran accent rather well, he thought. “You and you, get back! This is important business, and none of yours!”