“By Mar, man!” Wesley said fiercely but quietly to Royce. “What is it with you? I should let you hang just for the amount of trouble you’ve caused.” He took a breath. The crowd pressed in. Lightning flashed overhead while thunder boomed. “What do you mean when you say you’re not sure?” Wesley asked. He was speaking quickly, wiping the rain from his face.

“The murderer must pay for his crime, Burandu,” Zulron declared in Tenkin. “His soullessness has killed our beloved Fan Irlanu. The law demands justice!”

“Where is Joqdan?” Burandu asked.

“Paying his last respects to his dead would-be wife. If he was here, he would agree.”

“He lies! Zulron is to blame.” Hadrian spoke in Tenkin, which drew surprised looks from everyone.

“What are they saying?” Wesley asked Hadrian.

“The oberdaza is pushing for our deaths and Burandu is buying it.”

“Bring them all!” Burandu shouted.

The warriors of the village descended. Hadrian considered for a moment whether he should draw his swords, but decided against it. He shot a look at Royce to indicate he should not resist.

They were driven to the village center, where Dilladrum was shouting, “Let go of me! What are you doing?” When he saw Wesley, he asked, “What did you do? I told you not to offend them!”

“We didn’t offend them,” Hadrian explained. “We killed their beloved seer.”

“What!” Dilladrum looked as if he was about to faint.

“Actually, it is a misunderstanding, but I am not sure we will get the chance to explain,” Wesley put in.

“At least Thranic will die with us,” Royce said loud enough for the sentinel to hear.

“A martyr’s death is a fair price to rid the world of you and your kind.”

Lightning flashed again, revealing the pallid faces of the crew in its stark light.

Grady was shoved to the ground, and he moved his hand toward his sword.

“Grady, don’t!” Hadrian said.

“That is right,” Wesley shouted. “No one draw weapons. They will slaughter us.”

“They will anyway,” Derning replied.

Poe and Hadrian pulled Grady back to his feet. All around them the ring of warriors formed a wall, behind which churned a crowd of shouting faces and raised fists. The rain-drenched mob pushed and cried, its words lost in a roar of hatred. Lightning flashed once more, and a single voice rang out, “You knew!”

Instantly the crowd fell silent and parted. Only the sound of rain disturbed the stillness as Fan Irlanu entered the circle. Joqdan, at her side, carried a deadly-looking spear, his eyes grim and focused on Zulron.

“Burandu, it is not the stranger’s fault. It was Zulron who asked that I do the reading. He knew this one had elven blood. But I am still alive!”

“But—no … How could you …” Zulron stammered.

“He is not an Old One,” Fan Irlanu said. “He is a kaz! There is humanity in him—footholds, Zulron, footholds!”