RAMUS HAD NEVER thought of Nomi Hyden as a real Voyager. To him voyaging was a way of life, not a means to an end, and the wealth Nomi had gathered during and after her two voyages to Ventgoria had bought off whatever spirit she'd had to begin with. She was rich in coin but poor in heart, and that had always been a barrier between them. Ramus had little but knew much, and he strove to know more.

It had been over a year since he returned from his last voyage, bringing back maps, charts, plant samples, three books and a collection of myths from the Widow in the mountains. The mountains had no name, and neither did the woman, but she claimed to be adept at magichala—rich in the knowledge of the plants, animals and seasons of her land—and he was beginning to believe her claim. He had made three voyages into her mountains, and each time she showed him more.

He craved to go farther. He had voyaged across the north of Noreela: the Cantrassan coast, the Pengulfin Woods, two sea journeys out to some of the unnamed islands of The Spine. And though his real vision took him elsewhere—past the mountains, past the Pavissia Steppes and into the uncharted areas to the south—he had no money to hire Serians to guard his way, and the Guild of Voyagers would not aid him. Most of them thought he was a minor Voyager given to mad dreams.

But he wanted to be the best.

And because he was filled with thwarted desires, Nomi angered him. Her money could take her anywhere, yet she had only ever been to Ventgoria: the first time, he still believed, with a true sense of discovery; the second, simply to establish a continuing exportation of finest Ventgorian fruits, which now flavored the wine that had made her name. She lived well on the proceeds.

Yet now, this. He was intrigued. He would not be able to sleep again that night, so he made himself some red root tea, took out some books—his own treasures—and began to read.

IT WAS A mile down to the river. Ramus gave himself plenty of time.

He always enjoyed watching the city come awake. As the sun peered around the shoulders of the mountains to the east it seemed to cast life upon Long Marrakash, sending away the night things—and there were some, though most people did their best to ignore them—and giving the city back to the day. There was always a sense of enthusiasm about daybreak. Most people attributed this to the potential in the time to come, though some claimed it was thanks for the days gone by. A few, if questioned in one of the Wine Rooms after a few cups of root wine, would claim that it was gratitude for surviving the night.