The Tenkin howled orders. Torches went out and the rest melted back into the jungle. The leader remained as they quickly broke camp. Then, with a motion for them to follow, he ran back into the trees, his torch lighting the way. He led them at a brisk pace that had everyone panting for breath—and Bulard near collapse. Dilladrum shouted forward for a rest or at least a slower pace. The only response was laughter.

“Our new friends aren’t terribly considerate of an old man.” Bulard panted in between wheezing inhales.

“That’s enough!” Wesley shouted, and raised a hand for them to stop. The crew of the Emerald Storm needed little persuasion to take a break. The Tenkin and his torch continued forward, disappearing into the trees. “If he wants to keep jogging on without us, let him!”

“He’s not,” Royce commented. “He’s hiding in the trees up ahead with his torch out. There are also several on either side of us, and more than a few to our rear.”

Wesley looked around, then said, “I don’t see anything at all.”

Royce smiled. “What good is it having an elf in your crew if you can’t make use of him?”

Wesley raised an eyebrow, looked back out into the trees, then gave up altogether. He pulled the cork from his water bag, took a swig, and passed it around. Turning his attention to the historian, who sat in the dirt doubled over, he asked, “How you doing, Mr. Bulard?”

Bulard’s red face came up. He was sweating badly, his thin hair matted to his head. He said nothing, his mouth preoccupied with the effort of sucking in air, but he managed to offer a smile and a reassuring nod.

“Good,” Wesley said, “let’s proceed, but we will set the pace. Let’s not have them exhausting us.”

“Aye,” Derning agreed, wiping his mouth after his turn at the water. “It would be just the thing for them to run us in circles until we collapse, then fall on us and slit our throats before we can catch our breaths.”

“Maybe that’s what happened to the others we spotted. Perhaps it was these blokes,” Grady speculated.

“We’re going somewhere,” Royce replied. “I can smell the sea.”

Hadrian had not noticed it until that moment, but he could taste the salt in the air. What he had assumed was wind in the trees he now realized was the voice of the ocean.

“Let’s continue, shall we, gentlemen?” Wesley said, moving them out. As they started, the Tenkin’s torch appeared once more and moved on ahead. Wesley refused to chase it, keeping them at a comfortable pace. The torch returned, and after a few more attempts to coax them, gave up. Instead, the man carrying it matched their stride.