If Pierce had lungs, he might have sighed. Cyre had fallen, but war was still the essence of his existence; forged to serve as scout and skirmisher, it was an effort for him to walk in the daylight without clinging to the shadows. Slowly, he was exploring other paths of thought, other aspects of life, but it was only in battle that he felt truly alive. Even now, despite his evaluation, part of him hoped this Brelish sailor would attack him so that for a few minutes, he could feel the satisfaction that came from serving his true purpose.

  This was the paradox of freedom. Compared to humans, there was little that warforged needed. The warforged could feel physical sensations, but they did not feel physical pleasure in the same way as organic creatures. They did not eat or sleep and were immune to all but the harshest weather conditions, making shelter an option as opposed to a necessity. Few felt any need to amass possessions beyond their weapons or the tools they required to fulfill their function. For a human, freedom meant the opportunity to do whatever he wanted, but for the typical warforged, what he wanted was to perform the function he was made for.

  A memory surfaced in Pierce’s mind—a slender, cloaked warforged, its skin plated in dark blue enamel, its voice that of a human female. He had only met her for a few moments, but he’d never forgotten the encounter. She’d sought to recruit him, hinting that somewhere a group of warforged was building a new future for his kind. He’d turned her down, choosing to remain with his three friends, but ever since that night, he’d wondered what would have happened if he’d gone with her. Recently, he had been reading a history of Galifar and was amazed by what one human had accomplished. The warforged had no history to look back to, but what future lay ahead? Was there a warforged Galifar, waiting to be built?

  There was no wind, but the main sail billowed and fluttered, and Pierce turned to study it. The kraken-and-lightning emblem of House Lyrandar gleamed in the darkness. It had been charged with cold fire, and set amid the black sail as it was, it would seem to be floating in mid-air to any approaching vessels. The wind was the result of an elemental bound into the fabric—a spirit of the air that could generate a pinpoint gale just behind the sail. Studying the rippling sail, Pierce wondered about the life of the bound spirit. Was it conscious, aware of its surroundings? Most of the books Pierce had found claimed that elementals were simple creatures and that binding them was no different than domesticating horses. Pierce couldn’t help but wonder: Was the sail a prison for the spirit, or was it doing what it loved most—was the wind its one joy in life? Looking at the sail and imagining the spirit trapped within, Pierce didn’t know whether to feel pity … or envy.

  Die!” Lei cried. She spun forward, and her staff was an arc of darkwood flying toward Daine’s head. It was a blow that could shatter a skull—but only if it connected. As Lei moved forward, Daine ducked. In that instant, Lei knew her mistake, but it was too late. Her momentum carried her forward, and before she recovered her balance the tip of Daine’s sword was at her belly. She gasped and dropped to one knee as the staff slipped from her grasp. For a moment she managed to hold herself upright.

  “Why?” she whispered and then fell to the ground.

  “That’s what I’d like to know.” Daine poked her in the stomach. He’d wound a strip of thick leather around the tip of his blade, but it was still enough to make her wince. “If I kill you one more time, I think Dolurrh will run out of space.”

  Someone else might have dismissed it as a joke, but Lei had known Daine long enough to recognize the edge in his voice. “What do you care? I thought we were just playing.”

  They were on the deck of the Kraken’s Wake. It was midday, but the sun was hidden behind a blanket of dark clouds. Beyond one memorable storm, the voyage had been unremarkable, and the novelty of being out on the open sea had worn off after a few days of choppy water and nausea. When the day brought a pause in the rain and a period of relative calm, Daine had suggested that they go to the deck to practice, but it seemed that they had different ideas as to what this meant.

  “You need to thrust more and stop with the wild swings. Use your reach. This isn’t a time for games.” Daine held out his hand, but Lei remained sitting.

  “Why not? I don’t see any pirates on the horizon. What’s wrong with you?”

  Daine withdrew his hand and sat down on the deck, facing her. He ran his finger down the scar on his left cheek. “Perhaps I am taking this too seriously. It’s just … we’re going to Xen’drik.”

  “Really? That explains the boat.” Daine glared at her, and she held up her hands. “Sorry.”

  “You’re just proving my point. There’s nothing funny about this. We don’t know what to expect in the weeks ahead, but we need to be ready for anything.”

  “I’m not ready?” Lei said, a little heat rising in her voice.

  “I guess … you were with me during the war. I know you can handle yourself in a fight if you have to, but you’re not like Pierce and me. Pierce was built for war. I was raised in a house of mercenaries and learned the first forms as soon as I could lift a sword.”

  “Good for you,” Lei said, “and who was it who fought a minotaur with her bare hands?”

  “That’s my point, Lei. You can fight if you want to, if you have time to prepare, but it’s when—”

  There was a flash of steel, and the point of his dagger was at her throat. She didn’t even see him draw it.

  “Life doesn’t always give you warnings. I just want to make sure you’re ready for anything.”

  Lei knocked the blade aside. “So what’s your suggestion, captain? Don’t trust anyone? Stay on edge every moment of your life?”

  “Lei—”

  “You don’t know the first thing about my childhood, Daine. You were raised by soldiers? My parents worked in an isolated warforged enclave, and by the time I was eight I’d only met a dozen humans. My first friends were steel and stone, and the games we played were games of war. Perhaps I am too trusting. Perhaps my life has been too sheltered. Deception doesn’t come naturally to the warforged—it has to be learned, so I’m not used to worrying about my friends pulling daggers on me. I assure you that when I’m facing an enemy I know how to deal with him.” She narrowed her eyes, and Daine yelped and dropped his dagger. The metal glowed red with the heat of her anger, then slowly faded back to black. Lei stood and strode over to the rail, glaring out across the water.

  Daine watched her, rubbing his hand. He could handle a sword with ease, but words—words were another matter. He’d known Lei for almost three years, but he’d never thought to ask her about her childhood. His history with his own family, the mercenaries of House Deneith, was a bitter one. After years of serving in the Blademark, he’d become disgusted with the moral ambivalence of the dragonmark houses, which typically put the pursuit of gold above all else. Daine often wondered what would have happened if the dragonmark houses had used their influence at the start of the Last War, if they’d taken sides—could they have ended it quickly, without the terrible loss of life of the past century? Had the thought even crossed the minds of any of the barons, or had they only seen the profit, as House Cannith built weapons for all nations, House Deneith fueled the fire with its mercenary armies, and every other house found its own way to profit from the conflict?

  When it came down to it, he’d let his disgust with his house cloud his judgment of Lei. He remembered his own childhood, and he’d always assumed that Lei’s naïveté was the result of pampering and luxury, far from the suffering of the war. Now he tried to imagine a child among an army of warforged, going through their drills and preparing to be sent to the field. He rubbed his scar again, stood up and walked toward her.

  “Lei.”

  Silence.

  “Lei, just listen.” Daine clenched his burned fist, hoping the pain would focus his thoughts. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I should know that you can handle yourself. After what we went through in the Mournlands, even the last few months … I know what you’re capable of.”

  She continued to watch the water. She might have been a statue—or a warforged sentry, standing watch.

  “It’s just … I feel …” He slammed a fist onto the rail in frustration. “Fine. It’s Jode.”

  Lei looked over, green eyes wide. She said nothing, but the question was obvious.

  Daine took a deep breath. “I let him go, Lei. I could have stopped him. Perhaps if I’d gone with him, things would have turned out differently, but even before that … I never pressed him, never forced him to learn to fight.” Each word was a weight on his tongue, each one heavier than the last.

  Lei’s anger melted in the face of his despair. “He was a healer,” she murmured, “a dragonmark. He wasn’t a target on the battlefield …”

  “I was his friend. I could have taught him what I know. I could have made him learn.”

  “No one could make Jode do anything he didn’t want to do.”

  “It’s not just Jode,” Daine said. “In my dreams—Jholeg, Krazhal, Jani, even thrice-damned Saerath. All dead.”

  “All soldiers,” Lei reminded him. “Now you’re going to take responsibility for everyone who died in the war?”

  Daine looked away. “People die in war. That’s unavoidable, but could I have done more? I can’t even remember what happened at Keldan Ridge. Did I lead them into disaster? Am I doing it again? I could have made you and Pierce stay in Sharn.”

  “Oh, and Sharn is the safest place in Khorvaire? If it’s Sharn without you or Xen’drik with you, I’ll feel safer in Xen’drik.” She put her hand on his shoulder, and ran her finger along the tense muscles of his neck. “You can’t take responsibility for everything, Daine. We’re in this together.”

  Now it was Daine who said nothing.

  “Come,” Lei said, taking his arm and pulling him away from the rail. “Let’s go another round. Let me show you what I can really do. I think a few bruises are just what you need to clear your head.”

  Daine nodded, but the faces of the dead were still fresh in his mind.

  “Better,” Daine said.

  “Bold talk for someone lying on the ground,” Lei said, the point of her staff pressed against his chest.

  “This is practice. If I don’t let you get away with something occasionally, you’ll never learn the technique.”

  “Oh, so you let me trip you?” Lei lowered the staff and offered her hand, pulling Daine to his feet. Despite her slender frame, she was surprisingly strong.

  “Believe what you will,” Daine said with a smile. “Now you’re still leaving yourself open—”

  He was interrupted by the ringing of the deck bell. What now? he thought. Moments later, crewmen were scrambling across the deck.

  “Look at the main sail,” Lei said. “The wind just turned, and only the captain could order that. I think we’re coming to a halt.”

  “Why? I don’t see any land.” Daine studied the horizon. “Wait. What’s that?”

  There was a patch of purple weed floating off the starboard bow—a mass of seaweed some twenty feet across.

  “It seems like it would be easy enough to steer around,” Lei said, “unless … it’s some sort of marker.”

  “We’ll see,” Daine said. “Perhaps you’ll have a chance to put our practice to work.”

  Lei’s assumption was correct. A moment later, the magical wind that filled the main sail died completely, and the vessel stood at rest on the water. Crewman lowered the anchor and threw something else over the side … a package of some sort? Daine wondered if this was some sort of sacrifice to the Devourer, the sinister god who embodied the destructive power of nature. Few people admitted to worshipping any of the Dark Six—the malevolent deities of the Sovereign Host—but he’d known many soldiers to say an occasional prayer to the Mockery when the odds were against them.

  The captain came down from the wheelhouse, walking toward the knot of crewman. Daine caught up with him.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing for you to be concerned about,” Helais d’Lyrandar said. “Routine procedure before entering Shargon’s Teeth, though perhaps it would be a good time for you to visit the mess.”

  “Why’s that?” Daine wasn’t the most sensitive man, but even he could see that the captain was nervous. “I don’t know anything about routine procedures, so perhaps you could enlighten me.”

  The captain scowled. “I don’t have time to talk to passengers right now. Stay out of the way!” He made his way to the knot of sailors standing by the anchor.

  “He’s in a friendly mood,” Lei said.

  “Stay ready,” Daine said. He walked slowly along the railing toward the knot of sailors, then a hand gripped the rail right in front of him.

  It was covered in leathery green scales, still wet from the sea, each finger tipped with a sharp claw. A moment later a second hand appeared, and a horror pulled its way up to the edge. It was a hideous blend of man and armored fish, with two gleaming yellow eyes set above a wide mouth filled with needle-like teeth. A leather harness was wrapped around its torso, and a short barbed trident was slung over its back. Swearing, Daine drew back to strike—and suddenly found himself falling to the deck. Lei had tripped him with her staff. Before he could react, there was a hue and cry; the captain and the sailors had spotted the creature.

  “Don’t hurt him!” the captain cried, and for a moment Daine thought Helais was talking about him. Then the creature pulled itself over the rail and onto the deck, and Daine realized that its presence was expected.

  “Well, you were right,” Lei said, prodding him with her staff. “I did get to put our practice to work.”

  The visitor’s name was Thaask, and it seemed that the captain had met him before.

  “He’s a sahuagin,” Lei said, as they watched the captain talk to the creature.

  “I thought sahuagin lived on a diet of fresh sailors.” Daine had heard tales of the fish-folk before, but he’d never seen one—and in all the stories he’d heard, these sea devils were a force to be feared.

  “Sure, and ogres eat babies,” Lei said, “but not the ogres in Malleon’s Gate. It’s dangerous to make assumptions.”

  “What do you think this is about?” Daine said, watching the creature. The conversation with the captain seemed cordial enough, but something about the creature set him on edge.

  “Helais said that we were about to enter Shargon’s Teeth. From what I’ve heard, that’s dangerous water—full of hidden reefs and … well, sahuagin. My guess is that the captain is paying for protection. Or a guide.”

  Lei’s instincts were correct. A moment later, the captain handed a leather purse to the fish-man and gave a slight bow. Thaask echoed this with a slight nod of his angular head. The captain turned and spoke to the crew, and the sailors scattered across the decks, raising the sails and pulling up the anchor.

  “If we’re entering the Straits, we’re almost to Stormreach,” Lei said. “It won’t be long now.”

  “It can’t be soon enough for me … now what?”

  Thaask was coming toward them. He had a strange, lopsided gait; it was clear that he preferred swimming to walking. He spoke, but the sound was a croaking gargle; Daine couldn’t make out the words. Daine still had his sword in his hand, but Lei stepped in front of him.

  “What did you say?” Lei said. “I couldn’t understand.”

  Thaask spoke again, slower and more clearly. “I give you greetings, daughter of air. Many storms have passed since last we met.”

  Daine shot a sharp glance at Lei, but she seemed to be just as surprised as he was. “Since last we … I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

  The sahuagin made a rasping sound that could just as easily have been a laugh or a cry of outrage. Eventually it spoke again. “I forget the way that age takes you creatures of earth and air. You would not wear the face in my memory if you were the one I met before, so you must be the daughter.”

  “What are you talking about?” Lei said, her voice beginning to rise. Daine put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Aleisa. This name is known to you?”

  “That’s my mother!” Surprise diffused the growing anger, and Lei loosened her grip on her staff.

  “It is she whom I took you to be. As a guardian of these waters, I never forget my charges, and you and she are one and the same.”

  “You met my mother? Sailing to Xen’drik?”

  “Yes. Perhaps thirty of your years ago. An interesting one, she was, strong currents flowing, not like the man who was with her; he was ice in the deepest water, cold and still.”

  “My father …” Lei said. She glanced at Daine. “I told you that they’d been to Xen’drik.” She turned her attention back to Thaask. “What can you tell me about them? Why were they traveling?”

  “The cold one did not speak to me, but Aleisa and I talked often. She was curious about the secrets hidden in the deep waters, the ruins of those who went before. As we spoke, she told me of her own questing.”

  Daine found the whole conversation hard to swallow. Here they were in the middle of the Thunder Sea, speaking with a walking fish that just happened to have met Lei’s parents. “Lei. This is some sort of trick …”

  “No,” Lei said, holding up her hand. “Thaask, please. What was she looking for? It would mean a great deal to me.”

  “Mean a great deal, hssh? When one has a thing of value, it is customary to offer a trade.”

  “I knew it,” Daine growled. “He’s just trying to catch you in his net and reel you in, Lei.” He took Lei’s arm, but she pulled away and stood her ground.

  “This is my choice. What is it you want?”

  “Your mother gave me a gift—a stone of music, which would play when held. It was taken from me long ago by a tooth of the Devourer. I would have such a thing again.”

 

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