The man released the oars, letting them dangle in the oarlocks while he looped a length of cord around the bench on which they sat and tied one end to each of their ankles.

“You shouldn’t think with your eyes, girl.” In the distance behind him she could see the stony strip of hills called the Finger and its occupied forts jutting from the water, silhouetted against the reddened evening sky, surrounded by ships bearing the autarch’s Flaming Eye of Nushash—an all too vivid reminder of what it was to face Sulepis’ own burning stare. “But it’s a bit late to learn now.”

Vash did not want to go on another voyage. He had barely recovered from the last. What good was it to reach a venerable age and be one of the most powerful men in the world if you still could not stay choose to stay on dry land?

He swallowed his irritation, since it would do no good, and steadied himself against the rocking of the anchored ship before stepping out of the passage into the autarch’s great cabin, a hall of wooden beams a hundred paces long that ran half the length of the ship and most of its width, and was hung with fine carpets to keep in the warmth even during the coldest sea storm. At its center, seated upon a smaller version of the Falcon Throne (tethered to the deck to protect the Golden One’s dignity during times of unsettled seas) was the man who could make Pinimmon Vash do such uncomfortable things.

“Ah, Vash, there you are.” The autarch extended a lazy hand, gold glinting on his fingertips. Other than jewelry, Sulepis wore nothing but a linen kilt and a massive belt of woven gold. “You are just in time. That fat Favored whose name I never remember…” He waited so long that it was plain he wished the name supplied.

“Bazilis, Golden One?” Outside, on the cliffs above them, one of the great crocodile-cannons boomed and the ship’s timbers creaked. Vash tried not to flinch.

“Yes, Bazilis. He is bringing me my gift from Ludis. The god-on-earth is a happy god today, old man.” But Sulepis did not look happy: in fact, he appeared even more feverish and intent than usual, the muscles in his jaw twitching like those of a hound anticipating a meal. “We have waited and worked a long time for this.”

“Yes, Golden One, we have. A very long time.”

The autarch frowned. “Have you, too? Have you really, Vash? And have you gone without sleep for weeks on end to read the ancient texts? Have you wrestled with…things that live in darkness? Have you wagered your godhead against your success, knowing that simply hearing of the torments that await you if you fail would kill an ordinary man? Have you truly worked and waited as I have, Vash?”

“N–no, no, of course not, my astonishing master! I did not mean ‘we’ in that way, not truly…” He could feel sweat budding on his old skin. “I meant that the rest of us, your servants, have waited anxiously for your success, but that success, that…mastery…will of course be all yours.” He cursed himself for a fool. An entire year serving this poisonous youth and he still had not learned to ponder every word before it left his mouth! “Please, Golden One, I meant nothing disrespectful…!”