Ethrian stumbled after him, to the head of the steps, then down a seemingly endless stair outside. There was a salt tang to the hot, still air. He began to sweat. The sunlight threatened to blind his unaccustomed eyes. He tried to question his benefactor, but could make only limited sense of the garbled answers he received.

This was K’Mar Khevi-tan, island headquarters of the worldwide Pracchia conspiracy. He had been held as leverage upon his father. His father had not performed as desired. His usefulness was at an end. He had been ordered destroyed. The old man was defying those orders.

It made no sense to Ethrian.

They descended to a shingly beach. The old man pointed toward a distant shore. It was the color of rust in the foreground, a leaden hue beyond. The strait was narrow, but the boy’s vision did not permit him a sound estimate. One mile or two?

“Sa-sa-swim,” the old man said. “Sa-safety there. Na-wami.”

Ethrian’s eyes grew round. “I can’t.” The thought terrified him. He was an indifferent swimmer at best. He’d never swum in the sea. “I’d never make it.”

The old man settled himself cross-legged, lowering himself with exaggerated care. Intense concentration captured his face. He grunted as he strained to bring his slow thoughts into speech. When he did speak, it was with a ponderous precision. “You must. It is your only hope. Here the Director will throw you to the children of Magden Norath. They are your enemies, those who abide here. The sea and Nawami are indifferent. They allow you the chance to live. You must go now. Before He discovers that I have denied His wickedness at last.”

Ethrian believed he was hearing the truth. The old-timer was so intense….

He looked at the sea. He was afraid.

The strength of the drug flowed through him. He felt he could run a thousand miles. But swim?

The old man began shaking. Ethrian thought he was dying. But no. It was the strain of making himself understood.

The beasts beneath the island broke into a suddenly redoubled roaring.

“Ga-ga-go!” the old man ordered.

Ethrian took two steps and flung himself into the chilly brine. He got a mouthful immediately. He stood chest deep while he coughed it up.

He had been chained naked. He had been in the sun only a short time now, but already he felt the fire of its kiss. He knew he would burn miserably before he reached the nether shore.

He pushed off, and paced himself.

After what seemed a long, long time he rolled onto his back to feather and rest.

He was scarcely three hundred yards off shore. He watched the old man climb the steps they had descended, take a few and rest, take a few and rest. The island was long and lean and jagged. The fortress was an ugly old thing strung out along its spine like the crumbling bones of an ancient, gigantic dragon. He turned and glared at a barren mainland that looked no nearer.