"A messenger has arrived from the west," the Archpriest continued. "He brings news that a western Grolim, a Hierarch, has landed on the barren west coast of Finda and now moves across Dalasia toward Kell."

Zandramas felt a faint surge of satisfaction. "Welcome to Mallorea, Agachak," she almost purred. "I’ve been waiting for you."

It was foggy that morning along the southern tip of the Isle of Verkat, but Gart was a fisherman and he knew the ways of these waters. He pushed out at first light, steering more by the smell of the land behind him and the feel of the prevailing current man by anything else. From time to time he would stop rowing, pull in his net, and empty the struggling, silver-sided fish into the large box beneath his feet. Then he would cast out his net again and resume his rowing while the fish he had caught thumped and flapped beneath him.

It was a good morning for fishing. Gart did not mind the fog. There were other boats out, he knew, but the fog created the illusion that he had the ocean to himself, and Gart liked that. It was a slight change in the pull of the current on his boat that warned him. He hastily shipped his oars, leaning forward, and began to clang the bell mounted in the bow of his boat to warn the approaching ship that he was here. And then he saw it. It was like no other ship Gart had ever seen before. It was long and it was big and it was lean. Its high bowsprit was ornately carved. Dozens of oars propelled it hissing through the water. There could be no mistaking the purpose for which that ship had been built. Gart shivered as the ominous vessel slid past.

Near the stern of the ship, a huge red-bearded man in chain mail stood leaning over the rail. "Any luck?" he called to Gart.

"Fair," Gart replied cautiously. He did not wish to encourage a ship with that big a crew to drop anchor and begin hauling in his fish.

"Are we off the southern coast of the Isle of Verkat yet?'' the led-bearded giant asked.

Gait sniffed at the air and caught the faint scent of the land. "You’re almost past it now," he told them. "The coast takes a bend to the northeast about here.''

A man dressed in gleaming armor joined the big red-bearded .fellow at the rail. The armored man held his helmet under one arm, and his black hair was curly. "Thy knowledge of these waters doth seem profound, friend," he said in an archaic form of address Gart had seldom heard before, "and thy willingness to share thy knowledge with others doth bespeak a seemly courtesy. Canst thou perchance advise us of the shortest course to Mallorea?"

"That would depend on exactly where you wanted to go in Mallorea," Gart replied.