Outside the door, the dragon snorted in frustration. Marcus forced himself to concentrate, to forget the dragon. He brought the image of the boat to mind, so that it was like a wet painting on a canvas, and he began to scrub it with water, so that the colors streamed and ran together and dribbled off the canvas in muddy droplets. He scrubbed and scrubbed until the image of the boat vanished. Looking at the painting, he saw the river and he saw the black net of tree branches catching the stars in the sky. But no boat. No Marcus. No Evelina.

He sighed deeply. He could tell by the contented warmth of pleasure that the magic had worked. The weakness and the sick feeling would come later; hopefully much later, after they’d managed to sneak through the cavern.

Marcus picked up the oars and, wincing at the pain in his hands, began to row.

Evelina opened her mouth.

Marcus shook his head, reminding her she must be silent.

“Are we invisible now?” she whispered.

Marcus nodded.

Evelina glanced around at the boat, which was plainly visible, and at herself, and at him.

“Good job,” she whispered solemnly. “I can’t see a thing.”

Marcus smiled, thinking she was joking to relieve the tension. He continued to row and the boat rounded the bend of the river.

“There it is!” Evelina cried in a smothered voice that she remembered just in time to keep soft. She pointed.

Marcus glanced over his shoulder. The river flowed into a black maw. Chill, dank air washed over them. Evelina shivered and cast him a pleading glance that said, quite plainly, “It’s not too late to turn around and go back!”

He knew those words because he was hearing them inside his head. He kept on rowing. The black maw came nearer and nearer, spewing out the river, sucking them in.

The rock cliff loomed above them, blotting out the stars. He listened, but heard only the soft gurgle of the river water, roiling around the base of the stone walls. Grald might be in there, crouched in the darkness, waiting. Or perhaps a cadre of monks, their hands tipped with fire, deadly bolts ready.

Whatever eyes were watching would not be able to see him. He reminded himself of that and continued to row. The maw came closer. He was rowing as quietly as he could, but the oars made plashing noises as they entered the water, and there was nothing he could do to muffle them. The river’s flow was not very strong here, and he hoped that one mighty pull would give the boat momentum enough to coast through the cavern, so that he would not have to put the oars into the water once they were inside.

The entrance was coming up fast upon them. He had forgotten it was so low. Evelina took one frightened look, then hunched down and threw the blanket over her head.