The men fell silent.

Apollo broke it.

“I do not have good feelings, Frey,” he said quietly.

Frey didn’t either.

The Finnie had survived the swell that had caught them late last night, but barely. They’d almost capsized and took on so much water, the men had been bailing it from belowdecks all day.

He’d have his dragons, Apollo’s tactical skills, Tor’s significant talents with a horse and a blade and Lahn’s sheer brute strength, not to mention the combined women’s magic.

But he would not have the elves. They did not leave the realm of Lunwyn.

And they faced an unknown enemy that, if myth proved true, was unstoppable.

“Let’s get past this first obstacle,” he muttered. “We enter pirate waters.”

“Fantastic,” Apollo replied.

“The flag of the Drakkar holds some power, even here, and especially with the beasts above us. We’ll sail past Mar-el and make Airen.”

“At least there’s that,” Apollo said.

Yes.

At least there was that.

Frey tipped his head back to study the bulk of the beasts that flew above, blotting out the moon, the strong flapping of their wings having been the constant accompaniment of their journey.

And at least they had them.

“We were not beaten before, we will not be beaten this time,” Frey declared.

“I hope you’re right, Frey,” Apollo returned. “I very much hope you’re right.”

The Finnie sailed through the waves.

The dragons flapped overhead.

And as they did, Frey hoped he was right as well.

42

The Vision

Marian

Lesser Thicket Forest

WODELL

As with the times before, it took no effort to talk her Go’En, G’Ry, into allowing Marian to “visit her sick mother.”

Marian’s mother was indeed sick.

In the head.

And she was thus in a way Marian never wished to see her again.

She did not even know if the woman was still alive.

Though, she hoped she was not.

Ry didn’t need to know any of that, and even if she shared it, he probably wouldn’t listen.

Her Go’En was a Go’Nis, a Keeper of the Records. He was elderly. Stooped. Quite bald. Spotted all over with age. And he spent his days bent over tomes, carefully recording news about Triton so that it was beautifully calligraphied (and later would be sent to a Go’Nis who drew in illustrations or ornamentation around chapters and subheadings).

He was thoughtful and quiet and preferred solitude.

He expected his Go’Ella to draw his baths, clean his clothes, tidy his cell, cook and bring him food, remove the tray after, and sometimes sit and listen when he told stories of the history of Triton or spoke the latest news he was recording.

She liked doing this. It was perfect before finding her pallet of an eve. After Ry did this, she went right to sleep.