

## The Sons of Masguard

## Volume Two

The Sons of Masguard and the Mosque Hill Fortune, Part Two

Copyright © 2013 by Vivienne Mathews

Smashwords Edition, 2013

## Dedication

For Rex Ward Steele.

## Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

End

About the Author

Chapter One

"My path has always been a simple one. Duty before desire. Practicality over sentiment. Had I ever dreamed that I would be following in my father's footsteps, asking questions that have no answers, and pondering over secrets that would change the world as I understand it, I'd have thought myself a fool. Yet, here I am, wondering how to stand against an enemy I cannot see, facing defeat at the hands of those who cannot themselves be killed. All the while haunted, in the keenest sense, by a singular fact.

The mists are alive with the spirits of the dead.

They rage.

They whisper.

They blot out the sun.

What this means for Secora, I do not know. But it has caused my ship and my crew to suffer for every inch that we travel through it.

Commander Calum.

Amelia Ling.

Our losses mount by the hour.

Soon, I know not when, McKinley the Marauder – my brother – will join them.

And duty and practicality seem poor responses to the reality of these crimes."

Captain Marshall looked up from his log, concealing a host of things he couldn't put to paper. The morning had been long with no change. Not in his brother's state. Not in the doctor's prognosis. Noon was fast approaching and McKinley, he had been warned, would not live to see it.

"You haven't slept." First Lieutenant Ryder put a gloved hand on the otter's shoulder.

He acknowledged the collie with a stoic expression. "Nor have you."

"I was on my way to the galley. Doctor Calum asked me to see if the cook could spare some ice for McKinley's..." She stopped herself. "To make him more comfortable."

"On order from his captain," Marshall said. "The food can spoil, if it must."

"Aye, sir." She paused. "Are you sure you won't let someone relieve you? Master Tobb has warned that there is a storm on the way. You could rest while I see to the preparations."

Setting his personal log aside, Marshall leaned forward in his seat and drew a deep breath. "Thank you, Lieutenant, but I haven't fallen from my feet just yet. Rested or not, I will remain where I am needed most. My place, for now, is here."

Ryder nodded, reading into the words he did not say.

For now.

But not for long.

"I understand, Captain," she said quietly, as though offering her condolences. "I'll send the cook along shortly."

Though she hesitated before taking her leave, she knew her captain had nothing more to say.

Once beyond the screened-off section of the deck, she pulled herself upright and put on a strong face. The crew was quieter than usual as they looked to her for support and assurance, which she gave through demeanor alone. They needed no more and no less than that.

Have confidence.

All was well.

This was her job as Acting Commander.

Whether she believed it herself was of no consequence.

She was deep in this bothersome thought when she ran squarely into Father Deagan Faiz. His muscular build and sturdy stride knocked her back against the wall before she could catch herself. The humble fox looked down at her in shock, having been equally lost in his own duties. A number of thoughts seemed to play behind his eyes. Thoughts he did nothing to voice. Stepping back, he lowered his head and murmured an apology she almost couldn't hear over the rage that boiled in her veins beyond her will to control it.

She was frayed as it was.

The sight of her nemesis was more than enough to push her to the edge.

Only as she was convincing herself of the need for civility did she realize that she was standing between rows of quiet cots. Blankets pulled over still forms where the bodies of the fallen were being prepped for a burial at sea. Soon, they would each be floated on separate pyres and burned in a traditional display of honor. Amelia, she had already been told, would instead be carried ashore to be laid in the earth.

She'd been terrified of the water.

"What are you doing here?" Ryder demanded, looking from her lost comrades to the hated cleric.

He did not meet her eyes. "Forgive me. I only meant to see to their care."

Her anger surged.

"Care?" The word seethed its way from her mouth, beyond her will to stop it. "From you?" Her movements harsh and abrupt, she planted her palms into his chest, forcing him back. "Not on my watch, priest. They deserve better than that. They deserve better than to be laid to rest by a blighted coward!"

She bared her teeth as she spoke, every syllable a measure of distance between dutiful soldier and gypsy mercenary. Though vaguely aware that she should pull back, keep it together, his response wiped the thought from her mind.

"You'll get no argument from me," he said.

"Of course not." She shoved him again, her lip curling into a sneer. "Because arguing is far too close to fighting for your taste, isn't that right? And you haven't an ounce of honest fight in that knightly frame! Do you?!"

Those on deck gave fox and collie a wide berth, but did nothing to hide their confusion.

And why shouldn't they be confused?

They didn't know the truth, as Ryder did.

"If it is vengeance you wish..." Faiz bowed his head. "It is yours to take. I owe you that much."

She laughed. An empty, hollow sound. "Vengeance?" Her words grew in volume as she crossed the distance between them and snarled into his face. "What does vengeance have to offer me now? Your death would bring me nothing! I know that! Don't you think I know that?! What you owe me is a reason, priest! Tell me WHY!"

He met her eyes then, for the first time.

And hesitated.

"I..."

That was all it took.

Like a flame turned conflagration by an unfortunate spark, she flew at him in a rage. Her gloved hands fueled by something beyond her much smaller physique, she landed a punch that would have flattened an ox. He made no move to stop her, which only heightened her fury. She came at him again. And again. He let her hit him until he had fallen to his knees. Until blood came from his mouth and his nose in rivers of remorse.

Until someone finally attempted to intervene.

Ryder either couldn't see the boisterous raccoon through her blindfold of emotion, or was too enraged to care. Wasn't her years-long war with memory and loneliness due another casualty by now? When her boot came up for a violent kick to Faiz's face, Gil was in its path.

The Father's response was too immediate to track with the naked eye.

In a single, blinding motion, the former Knight leapt between the lieutenant and her unintended target. His right arm blocked her leg at the shin, while his left palm pressed sharply against her sternum. Though the motion struck like lightning, it was so controlled as to be gentle. It was only a careless lack of balance that caused Ryder to fall to the deck. Stunned, she stared from her splayed hands to the growing crowd as though noting their presence for the first time.

Those loyal to the Father looked as though they meant to defend him.

He gestured for them to remain as they were. "It's alright. She only wants what belongs to her. Whether it is my life or my confession, she has every right to take it."

"Are ye certain?" Ormac asked as he moved to check on Gil.

"You don't have to do this, Father," Lumber agreed, joining his brothers at the front of the crowd.

"Yes, I do." Bowing his head once again, the fox came to his knees at Ryder's side. His ears were flat. As if to say he was her servant in every way. "I don't know that my poor excuses will ever be equal to a reason, but they are all I can give. As a Warrior who has never forgotten his past, I have tried to atone. As a priest, I have tried to do well in every corner of the kingdom while traveling a path that I hoped would place me at your feet. Though I have spent these many years searching for you, I knew all along that I could never hope to set it right. The truth is, I had hoped you might kill me for what I've done. It would be simpler. But perhaps even that is more than I deserve." He sighed and closed his eyes, remembering. "Queen Constance was at odds with the House of Von Ulric. Even then, he was powerful. As Knights of Secora, the finest members of the Warriors Guild, we were too full of confidence. We believed him to be nothing more than another petty contender for the throne, a childish brute without vision or fortitude. We were fools. If only we'd known what he really was. The lengths to which he was willing to go in order to feed his ambition. The king had died some years before, leaving Constance to raise their only heir alone. Victorie was scarcely more than a child when she became a target. By removing her from the picture, Von Ulric saw his path to the throne as virtually assured. When we received word that he was mobilizing a group of mercenaries intent on kidnapping her, we had no reason to doubt it. It was logical. Predictable. I organized the response myself. Giving no credit to the warning in the back of my mind. I was so desperate to escape the stigma attached to my species. It was a feeling. One that was only too easy to ignore. The nearer we drew to the encampment, the louder the warning came, like thunder before a storm." Shaking his head, he swallowed and braced himself. "I gave the order to fire on the tents. Smoke and flame, meant to drive them out, to take them by surprise. If it had been the Baron's men, they would have been alert. But no warning ever sounded. The tents burned. It wasn't until we heard the screams of a child... a child! Fate preserve us, only then did we realize the truth of what we'd done. We had attacked our own people. Rained fire upon a helpless clan of gypsy merchants without reason or provocation." Tears in his eyes, he turned his palms for Ryder to see the scars there. Bare flesh where fur should be. Burn marks. "Before the Baron's men fell on us from the shadows, I managed to save one. Just one. Then the Massacre began in earnest. We were unprepared. In my youthful hubris, I led the last of the Secoran Knights into a trap, one that had been set with the blood of your family and friends. By night's end, only a handful remained. Two Knights, including me, along with four from the gypsy camp. Three of whom we had rescued before the attack. The fourth was a weasel named Putris. The blighter had been collaborating with the Baron all along. We had no idea until our return, when he testified that there had been no ambush and that the Knights of Secora had acted alone. The others could say nothing to argue, for they were too lost in grief and confusion to know any better. The Knights were condemned. And rightly so."

By now, a hush had fallen over the crowd. Many shook their heads in disgust or sympathy.

Father Faiz paid them no mind.

He was only speaking to one of them.

Just one.

"I left you with a family of Scholars," he went on. "I'd hoped you would be cared for there. Find something worthwhile, the support and resources to help you move on. I tried to visit once and found I couldn't bear to look you in the eye. It was then that I abandoned the life of a Warrior and surrendered myself to the hunt for atonement. I left my every possession to you. Years later, I learned that you had run away and joined a mercenary band of your own. I lost myself in guilt, knowing that my sins would never rest until I brought peace to your pain. So I followed as best I could. It wasn't until I joined the crew of the Negvar that I knew I would find you. And now that I am here, I know that there isn't enough blood in my body to account for the blood I have spilled." His breath was heavy and shaken as he met her gaze. "If you will not have my life, take my spirit. My arm and my soul are yours from this day forth. I am so, so sorry."

For the longest time, Ryder said nothing. She shook her head, aghast. Her teeth were gritted in pain and frustration.

"That. Isn't what I was asking for, priest."

He fell back as her eyes burned through his.

"Then... what...?"

"Amelia," she said, her voice shaking with accusation. "I gave you my sword, blast you. You were right there. You were armed. You could have saved her, and you did nothing."

The shake of his head seemed to travel throughout his body as the disgraced fox labored through his words. "But... it is forbidden. Any instrument of death is... I am paying my penance..."

"Was she paying your penance, too? What right did you have to ask her to die for your crimes? She was your friend! She trusted you!" She came to her feet, gloved hands clenched at her sides as she growled down at him. "However it hurts me to admit it, what you did to my clan was a mistake. What you did to Amelia was a choice. You were the instrument of death on this one, priest." Pushing past him, she forced her breath to steady, then looked back at him with more contempt than she ever thought herself to own. "If your notion of atonement was to trade her life for my forgiveness, you're more lost than you know. Your arm has already proven its dismal worth. And if your spirit doesn't have the courage to admit as much, then I want nothing from it. Not even a blasted apology."

As the Acting Commander turned to leave, her eyes met those of Careful Steps Kal, the orphan raccoon, who had been watching the exchange with tears in her eyes and a look of utmost pity on her tiny face.

Swallowing, Ryder plastered on her mask of strength.

And looked away.

≈

The palace hall rippled with uncertainty. A low murmur hung over the heads of the court as the one carrying their final decision leaned heavy on his cane and walked to the front of the great chamber.

Clearing his throat, the hound unfolded the paper and read in a somber tone. "Your Majesty, after careful consideration regarding your movement to overturn Article Seven, the law bestowing power enough to the Scepter of the Ancients for its bearer to be named ruler of this land, this court has voted – to an overwhelming majority..." He paused, looking to her with regret. "To deny your request."

Though the court exploded in approving applause, the graceful white wolf showed no emotion from the throne.

"The Queen thanks the court for its consideration," she said simply.

Near the back of the hall, a weasel stood with a broad smile.

"On behalf of the noble Baron Von Ulric, I too would like to thank the court," Putris said, as though he alone were responsible for this outcome. "Your decision strikes a blow against those who would seek to change our ways. You have shown that ours is not a fickle kingdom and that we will not be swayed by—"

His voice died in his throat as Queen Victorie Prideaux came gracefully to her feet. She towered over them from atop the stairs, her blazing yellow eyes a consciously contained fire that seemed to be weighing the merits of maintaining control.

"This court is dismissed," she said the words slowly and with authority. None dared question as they filed through the enormous double doors at the far end of the chamber.

In the end, the regal queen was left with only one audience member. The old hound with the paper in his hand.

Mayor Drumlin put both hands atop his cane. "Perhaps it is not right of me to ask you to forgive them, Your Majesty, but I feel I must. They are just afraid. The only way for them to admit it without losing face is by casting their votes in silence."

"And what of your fears, Mayor? How did you cast your vote?"

He gave a rueful smile and looked at the floor. "I am an old hound, Your Majesty. Gone are the days when I could ever have a hope of standing against Von Ulric in earnest. I walk the streets of Secora Tor and I see her people squeezed by his influence. I go home to my wife of failing health, knowing that I cannot treat her illness because the Baron has frightened the Alchemists and the Apothecaries into closing their shops and hiding their expertise from the world. He threatens families and starves children, all without ever setting foot near those whose lives he rules. I can only imagine what he might do if his presence here became a physical one." Drawing a breath, he met her eyes with a resolute warmth. "That is why I voted to support your motion. I cannot stop these crimes on my own, but I can stand at your side. And I will do so with every bit of strength that this old body can muster."

At that, a very slight smile settled into her noble features.

"Thank you, Mayor," she said. "It is an honor to have you with me."

"If only I were enough." Drumlin smiled and shook his head. "Alas, I am but one official."

"Sometimes one is all that can be hoped for." She paused. "If I were to ask your opinion on my response to the Baron's return, would you answer truthfully? I'd like to hear what you think."

The old hound sighed, at once thoughtful and apologetic.

He knew what she was really asking.

If she opposed the Baron's efforts to take the throne, it would mean war.

If she did not...

"I think that people are going to die no matter what you do, Your Majesty," he said. "Might as well give them the option to die for a cause that warrants it. I, for one, would rather go down swinging."

She watched him leave then, a slight crease in her brow. When he was gone, she stared across the empty chamber, drumming her fingers on the arm of her throne as though counting the choices before her. And though the slight shift in her gaze would have meant little enough to anyone else, she was glad no one was present to see her look to the polearm on the wall.

≈

"Stop whining, my pet," Lady Sira scolded the albino wolverine as she pressed a boot into his chest and tugged at the arrow embedded in his shoulder. A gurgle of pain shot from his bloodied face as the projectile came loose with a sticky sound. "It pierced nothing of import. You will live."

Tossing the arrow on the deck, she grabbed a dirty rag and a bottle of bourbon from a nearby crate. She yanked the cork with her teeth and dumped the alcohol over the rag with a haphazard motion. A whiff of the liquid brought a sneer of disapproval to her mouth.

"Disgusting Secoran swill." She shook her head at the monstrous wolf standing near the prow, his back to the crew. "How do you survive on such noxious stuff?"

Baron Von Ulric took his time in turning to face her.

Silently, he watched her press the less-than-sterile rag over Grogoch's missing eye. The albino pulled away with a yelp, only to be yanked back into position by the scruff of his neck.

These Kathkans were a hardy lot, to say the least.

Sira took note of his spectatorship. "You disapprove of our doctoring methods?"

"Not at all," he replied. "I find your lack of compassion... refreshing."

"Compassion," the long-limbed coyote echoed in derision. "Compassion is good only for those too weak to fend for themselves. In the Kathkan Empire, the strong survive, the weak do not. My Grogoch is not weak." She slapped the wolverine on the back. He growled and took a snap at her hand. "See? He does not want my compassion, and I will not demean him by giving it."

"No need to explain, my Lady." Von Ulric gave an oddly threatening smile, as though concealing murderous intent with niceties. "My approval was genuine."

Sira shrugged her scarred shoulders, causing the heavy bracelets on either arm to clink jovially. "With you Secorans, sometimes it is hard to tell." She put her hands on her hips as her crew towed Grogoch to his feet. "You have now what it is that you need, yes? These necklaces, from the otters. They will take us to this magic island?"

"Mosque Hill," the Baron corrected, drawing the broken medallions from his pocket. "These necklaces take us nowhere. They are needed for something else. We will find Mosque Hill by listening to the Voice."

Sira sighed. "The spirit that talks to you? And what does it ask in return? A deal is for nothing if both sides do not gain."

"I am surprised you feel the need to ask," Von Ulric growled down at her. "You were there in Bryton, when we acted as it required."

"Yes, yes." She waved a hand, sounding bored. "The streets ran red with blood. It was glorious. But this does what for one who cannot even bathe his hands in it? I do not like these secrets, wolf. If it is telling you words you do not share..."

He halted her with a threatening step forward. "The only deal that should concern you, Kathkan, is the deal you've already struck. With me. Keep your silence, return me to Secora with the scepter in my hand, and your Empire will have an ally in place of an oppressor. That is all you need to know."

She held his gaze for the longest time. Then, seeming unperturbed, she took a swig from the bottle still in her hand and pulled a sour face.

"This stuff is repulsive. Truly." She shook her head before walking away.

The wood beneath her boots creaked in complaint as she descended the stairs into the belly of her battered ship. Chains lined the walls and patchwork floors glared up at her in accusation. Gone were the days when the Havoc shone like a polished weapon. Now, everywhere she looked, she was met with yet another reminder of its decay. Even the badger in the far corner sat like a blemish on the otherwise-empty deck, his glasses cracked as if to mirror the holes in the hull.

The prisoner eyed her from beneath bushy brows, his bruised face contorting in confusion when she seated herself beside him and lifted the bottle of bourbon in his direction.

"What is this? Poison?" Abner Frum scoffed.

Sira laughed. "It might as well be. But this is what we have, so it is what we drink."

"And what is it we're drinking to?" He shoved the bottle back at her. "I'm not exactly what you'd call a willing guest on your ship. Whatever you're celebrating, I'd rather not share in it."

She rolled her eyes. "Please. Kathkans do not celebrate. This," tipping the bottle, she poured a hefty splash of the foul liquid onto the deck. "Is tradition."

The Elder of Vernos watched the simple ritual with a growing sense of unease, recognizing its meaning all too well. "Someone has died, haven't they?" he asked.

"Your Commander Calum," she said, her voice casual.

The old badger's face fell. "Oh. That poor boy."

"No. Do not demean him so. He was not poor. He confronted his enemies with strength and died on his feet. This is honorable. Here," she placed the bottle on the floor as she stood. "In honor of the foolish one who tried to free you. It will save my crew from having to drink it."

"I didn't know you cared," Abner stared at the bottle, guilt and emptiness raging a war beneath his words.

"Cared?" She laughed again. "Of course not. But neither did I wish the rodent dead. His loyalty to Secora was ridiculous but endearing, all the same."

"He wasn't a rodent," the Elder corrected crossly. "He was a ringtail cat."

Sira shrugged as she headed for the stairs. "All I know is, he wasn't a canine and he wasn't a Kathkan. Everything else is superficial. It is enough that he can join his captain proudly on the other side."

Abner's head came up sharply. "His captain? What do you mean? Has something happened to Marshall?!"

"You Secorans." She stopped and shook her head in irritation. "You are so easily distressed. I know nothing of your student. He may live, he may not. Grogoch said only that he ended one of them. Perhaps it was the pirate."

"Dead? No, no, that can't be! They have to live!"

Waving her hand dismissively, she sighed as she ascended the stairs. "Settle and drink your swill. You do nothing for them with your howling."

"Wait! Please, no!" He dropped again to his knees, her words doing nothing to subdue his eruption of panic. "Tell me they're alright! They have to be alright!" His insistence was for naught. Lady Sira was long gone. He was alone on an empty deck, bound in chains. Every ounce as helpless as he felt, he spoke into a void that cared nothing for his statement. "You don't understand... Secora needs them..."

≈

Elbows on his knees, Marshall stared stoically at his laced fingers, waiting.

His thoughts swayed with the mist flitting back and forth outside the porthole. Spirits lurked there. Angry, brutal things that had forgotten themselves as they might have been. Was McKinley destined to join them? To wander the surface of the water until every moment of his life had been left behind? Lost in time the way that the harbinger's had been?

Slowly, Marshall lifted his head.

The harbinger...

She'd said that she could not remember.

Still, she knew that he was the son of Masguard.

Why would she say that?

Why would it matter?

Realization burning in the back of his mind, the captain came to his feet. In the next instant, he was racing from the infirmary, a determined heaviness in the fall of every step.

≈

Ryder burst through the door to her quarters. Startled, a kookaburra squawked and stumbled into a haphazard mound of stacked scrolls. They tipped and toppled, landing on his head in a grunt-producing avalanche that, under other circumstances, might have been comical.

"Get out," Ryder demanded of the queen's advisor.

Eadric parted his beak to protest – she had surrendered her room to him at the start of their journey, after all – but thought better of it when he saw the look on her face. Her teeth were bared. Fists clenched.

Contrary or not, he could think of safer battles to wage.

With a chirp of fear, the portly bird side-stepped around her until he could flit onto the deck, grateful to have made it out in one piece. Slamming the door, Ryder lashed out at the ceramic wash basin on her dresser. It shattered to the floor and she planted her fists into the wood where it had been, exasperated to realize there were tears on her gloves.

Her gloves...

Steadying her breath, she pulled at the leather until both gloves had fallen to the floor. She shook her head when she realized that it was difficult for her to turn them over, to expose her palms even to an empty room, but eventually she forced herself to turn them upright. There, on her palms, were the scars.

Mirror images of those shown to her by Father Faiz.

"Fate destroy you, priest," she whispered. "You really did save me, didn't you?"

The gentle knock at the door surprised her. She pulled her gloves back into place as Faiz entered the room, his head bowed even more deeply than usual.

She snarled.

How dare he...?

Her anger gave way to shock the moment she realized what he was carrying.

He walked slowly to her dresser, avoiding her gaze until the last possible moment when he placed a charred doll next to her hand.

"I have failed you at every turn," he said, his voice full of sadness. "Maybe I can never make up for my crimes. But I swear to you... I will never stop trying."

Holding up his warm hands as if in surrender, he looked as though he wished to say more, but could not find the words. Instead, he moved backwards toward the door until she stopped him.

"Wait. What you said, about Putris. Was it true? Did he betray us to the Baron?"

"Yes." Faiz nodded simply. Then left Ryder alone in a room that wasn't really hers. Not any longer.

When he was gone, she sat on the edge of her cot and looked to the little doll.

Perfectly still.

Pained even further to realize that her tears had stopped.

≈

Eadric was standing aimlessly in the center of the main deck when Marshall burst up the stairs past him, bound for his cabin. He emerged moments later with a carved stone in his hands.

The queen's advisor came alive with excitement. "The Key! But, where are you going? What are you doing with it?" He recoiled in horror when he looked up to see the mist pressing in on the whole of the ship, suddenly and desperately drawn to the strange relic. "Captain, please explain to me what is going on!"

Ignoring him, the captain continued his focused, militaristic march to the infirmary, where McKinley lay fighting for his final breaths. Once there, Marshall planted the Key on the counter and opened the porthole, allowing the mist to fill the room.

"Captain!" Doctor Calum objected. "Didn't you say the mist contained the spirits that attacked us? Are you truly inviting them in?!"

"Not all of them, Doctor," he said, pulling his compass from his pocket and glaring down at it as though expecting a response. "Just one."

Eadric shivered at the touch of the mist. "I don't understand. What does she mean by an invitation?"

His agitation seeming to grow with every second that passed without action from the mist, Marshall's voice was more forceful than he meant it to be. "Commander Calum asked you, Advisor, why a harbinger of the flood would ever visit me. She spoke to me as the son of Masguard, but why would that matter to her? You might guess that she knew something of the Key's arrival, but you'd be wrong. She had forgotten everything, she said as much herself. No longer could she remember the things that mattered, so she was acting on the one memory she'd been able to keep. In speaking with me, she had indeed found Masguard's son – but not the right son. All along, she'd been looking for her husband. Him." He pointed to the Marauder's pallid form. Marshall set the compass on the table beside the Key and moved to stand at his brother's side. "I am helping her find the one she loves, before it is too late."

The three of them stood in the room.

Quietly.

Expectantly.

The only break in the silence was the catch in McKinley's chest as it rose and fell in tattered time.

"Sing me... a song..." the words eeked from the Marauder's lips, more an accident of memory than a request. "Sing me to sleep..."

They held their breath as a blue light flickered from beyond the porthole. It filtered into the screened room, alighting on the other side of the cot like the song that echoed from the mist, warm and encompassing.

"...we'll be together,

One day, dear, you'll see.

And while I am sleeping,

I'll miss you, my dear.

Be good while I'm gone, love.

You've nothing to fear."

As the song concluded, a figure emerged full from the light.

"Selene...?" McKinley strained, reaching his hand in the misty otter's direction. His voice carried the note of one who knew he'd lost his mind, but no longer cared.

She stared across the cot for the longest time, from Marshall to McKinley and back again.

"Son of Masguard..." Her gaze settled on the Marauder. "Son of Masguard... I know you."

Marshall stepped away, joining the awe-struck advisor and gesturing for the doctor to remain at ease.

"I know you!" The spirit's voice grew in clarity and conviction as she spoke. Torn between angelic tears and heavenly joy, she placed an ethereal hand on the Marauder's cheek. "I remember! I had life and love! McKinley!"

He sagged against the coolness of her touch, every ounce of him fighting to hold back the veil of unconsciousness that threatened to sweep him under.

"It's over then... isn't it?" he managed. "I've... failed..."

"No, my love." She knelt at his side. "It is I who have failed. I cannot hold them back, not any longer. They are so strong now... That is why I came for you. To lead you to the doorway that only the son of Masguard can close. You can still stop them. You can still bring me peace, if only you will live." She leaned in and pressed her forehead against his. "So live, my husband. Live for our daughter, and know that I will forever wait on the other side. When your time comes, I will meet you there. But that time is not today." Her brightness intensified, like a breath drawn before attempting the impossible. "You are still my starlight and my world. Our life was beautiful. Thank you for loving me..."

She kissed him then, this remarkable spirit, wisps of blue fog flying into her from all corners of the room until she was a heavenly body unto herself. Until starlight emanated from her lips. So intense was the exploding burst of light that Marshall, Eadric, and Doc Calum were forced to cover their eyes. They did not witness the miraculous event as her form dispersed, channeling the strength of her existence into McKinley's body.

When Marshall could again open his eyes, the blue aura could only be seen in faint traces around the former brokenness of McKinley's chest.

And his once-foe, his brother, was sitting upright in his cot, all hint of physical damage pushed aside as he reached sadly after the empty air, like a child waking from a dream.

"Selene...?"

Chapter Two

"He's completely healed." Doctor Calum said, having finished her examination of McKinley. She stood alongside the captain, shaking her head in amazement. "I've never seen anything like it."

"No one has!" Eadric concurred with enthusiasm. "Like the manifestation of the spirits in the attack, it is unprecedented! Do you have any idea what that means?"

"That McKinley will live." The doctor glared at him crossly.

"No, no, not that!" He clapped his wings excitedly. "It means that I will be the first to document anything of this kind! My records will be the most sought-after works of any Scholar for centuries to come! Oh-ho, what an adventure this trip has been! A fruitful voyage indeed!"

The doctor watched him leave. "At least someone is enjoying this nonsense. No one could ever accuse that bird of being humble, could they?"

"Were it not for the word I, Eadric would scarcely know how to begin a sentence," Marshall agreed, his eyes fixed on McKinley's back. "But he has proven useful. Her Majesty knew what she was doing when she sent him."

"Just as you knew what you were doing when you brought that stone into the infirmary." Doc Calum stared in wonder at the silhouetted figure near the open porthole. "I'm still not certain what it is that I've just witnessed, but it is clear that my patient no longer needs me. I will leave the two of you alone."

When she was gone, Marshall hesitated to speak.

McKinley stood with his palms pressed to the wall, head sagging toward the floor. It wasn't so different from the way he'd stood in Father Faiz's cabin, not so long ago. With effort, he ran a hand over his face and pulled himself upright.

"She was your wife?" Marshall asked gently.

Placing his hands on his hips, McKinley cleared his throat and nodded. Even from behind, Marshall could tell he was fighting tears.

"Yeah, she... she died when Maya was very young. Maya fell ill shortly thereafter."

Marshall looked at the floorboards, the only sympathetic gesture he could muster. "Is that why you turned to piracy?"

The Marauder's shoulders shook with hollow laughter. "Don't try to paint me as a noble character, Marshall. Do you really think I could ever be the sort to make an honest living? It doesn't take a catalyst to nudge someone like me into debauchery. I was a pirate long before then, just not a notable one. Too dedicated to Selene to devote much attention to it, I suppose. When she died, you might say I was a little more open to time wasters. The painting, the one in your cabin? I had one just like it on the Negvar. In my version, the one on the beach was Selene, not mum. That's who it is in yours, you know. Your mother."

"I'd always suspected as much," Marshall smiled.

"In my own, silly way, I always thought of that painting as a sign that she was still watching over me. Never dreamed it to be real. In hindsight, maybe that's why I spent so much time on the ship." He turned around to face Marshall. "She'd come to you before?"

"Yes," said Marshall.

McKinley nodded as if to himself. "I'm jealous of the time you had with her."

Though Marshall would never admit it, he too felt a twinge of jealousy. For all that McKinley had endured, he at least had been given the chance to know comfort and companionship. Marshall's life had only ever been a lonely one.

"If I could have given those to you, I would have," he said instead.

"You did, in your own way." The Marauder forced himself into a more jovial place. "This is weird, isn't it? Us communicating? Can't say I'm entirely comfortable with it."

"Would it make you more comfortable to know there will be time for such discussions later?" Marshall likewise returned to his dutiful self. "For now, we can turn our attention to the larger picture."

"Which is?"

"Finding Mosque Hill." Striding to the nearby table, the captain picked up his compass, gave it a shine, and returned it to his pocket. "And laying your wife to rest."

"Well, wouldn't you know? A mission I can finally get behind." McKinley arched his brow and put on his hat. "Hey, Marshall?"

"Yes?"

"Did you know that she could heal me? If you brought her here?"

"No," replied Marshall. "I just... thought... she might bring you comfort."

McKinley stared at him for far too long.

Then his face burst into an enormous, cheeky grin. He stretched his arms out as if for a hug, crying, "You big softie!"

Startled, Marshall took a step back.

Then he pulled himself upright, frowned, and pivoted on his heel to march from the room at an uncomfortable speed.

≈

Following a brief, celebratory swarming of McKinley on the main deck, the Marauder brushed off his miraculous recovery and followed Marshall to his cabin. Advisor Eadric and Father Faiz were there waiting.

"It is time to settle this mystery into a combatable form, once and for all," Marshall said, seating himself. "After we've dropped the children at Port Sundry, the Albatross will continue its course, hopefully without delay. Our primary concern is still obtaining the scepter before the Baron can use it to steal the throne. If we must do so by traveling through the mist, then it is imperative that we know what lies within it."

"And maybe what it means?" suggested McKinley. "I, for one, am not exactly clear on the connection. Or their purpose, for that matter."

"I think they made it abundantly obvious that their purpose is to kill." The advisor shuddered in his seat.

"Not good enough," argued the Marauder. "Take it from someone who knows – being evil has never been a compelling reason for being evil."

Marshall nodded. "Agreed. They must have a distinct purpose, elsewise McKinley's wife would not have acted as she did. Something brought her here, and that something was very separate from their agenda. She mentioned an attempt to hold them back, as if they were enemies, but in what? I want an explanation. Father? Do you have something to add?"

Father Faiz seemed caught up in his own world.

"Perhaps," he said, after a moment. "The Scepter of the Ancients, do you know what it is for?"

"Yes, yes." Eadric waved an irritable wing. "We covered it in-depth. It is a crossroads of power, used to hold back the flood of... of..." His irritation gave way to embarrassment when he found he couldn't finish the sentence.

"Vagueness?" McKinley supplied with a roll of his eyes.

Eadric glared in his direction.

"And the burial of your crew members at sea?" Faiz continued. "That is a common practice, yes?"

"It has been for thousands of years," answered Marshall. "But I do not see the connection."

The father hesitated. "It is little more than a guess. But consider it. Thousands of years' worth of soldiers and scoundrels. Prisoners, hostages, and explorers. We know that there are those who find peace in the sea, and those who don't. Amelia was an example of that. If you had to form a tally of what lies below us, how many do you suppose died happy in the knowledge that they would be laid to rest in the waters they loved? And how many would have loathed such a burial? How many do you think would do anything to escape the brine and return home one last time?"

The Marauder groaned. "Oh, I don't think I like where this is going."

"Your flood, Captain. It will come from the sea," Faiz said. "But it won't be her waters."

Marshall leaned on his desk. "It will be her dead."

The father nodded. "I believe we have only seen the tip of the spear. As they grow in strength, the Baron may find himself at the head of an army without equal. It is possible they only support him because he has promised to use the scepter to bring them home."

"If that is the case, and the Baron succeeds where we fail, then Secora is in for more than a change of leadership," said Marshall.

The four were quiet a long moment, each of them looking as though they'd eaten something that didn't agree with them.

"This is preposterous," Eadric said at last, throwing up his wings. "My information is concrete, but this? Are you truly giving credence to the guesses of a fox?"

Now it was McKinley's turn to glare. "Watch where you point your bigotry, bird. I would take his guesses over your information any day of the week. You saw the creepy-sea-wraith things with your own blasted eyes."

Faiz help up a hand, pleading for patience from the befuddled bird. "More to the point, Advisor, you saw what they used to attack us. Some had swords and maces, yes. But most used candlesticks and letter openers, wrenches and trowels. It makes little sense, unless you consider them as possessions. Perhaps they were items each spirit once owned that are now capable of tying them to reality."

"Particular possessions. So, for all that we dismissed the string of thefts throughout the kingdom, they had an overarching purpose. Something like that takes time and planning," McKinley looked to Marshall.

"Not to mention, direction," Marshall agreed. "Theirs has been a concerted effort for who knows how long. They latched onto the Baron's desires as an opportunity."

The Marauder winced. "Let's hope nothing else has the same idea. And something tells me they won't be keen on holding to their alliances once they're out and about. Almost makes you feel sorry for the muscle-bound brute."

"I don't buy it," Eadric argued impudently. "It does nothing to explain the Marauder's wife."

McKinley's eyes hardened on him then, and the Advisor made a strangled sound.

"I only mean..." Eadric stammered. "That is... I just wondered what it was that tied her here. She wasn't carrying any such possession, was she?"

Marshall shrugged. "It is a fair question. The spirits seem confined to the mist, and the mist itself seems bound to the Key. Though why it should lend strength to her and none to the others, I cannot imagine."

McKinley interrupted their ponderings with a slight laugh of realization. "It was the song."

Marshall looked to him for an explanation.

"When was the first time you saw her?" the Marauder asked, as though already knowing the answer.

Marshall thought, then answered, "It was shortly before the destruction of the lighthouse."

Nodding, McKinley said, "The night before, I tried to sing that same lullaby to our daughter, but I couldn't remember the words. I saw something in the alleys of Secora Tor, something I dismissed as a figment of imagination. It was her. She was drawn here by the song. That was her tie, her possession."

"So, then, we understand their intentions and what it is that allows them to interact with us," Marshall stood, fingertips still pressed against the desktop. "The only question remaining is how to keep them away long enough to allow us to reach our goal."

"Can't help you there," said the Marauder. "I wasn't exactly present for the portion of the party that drove them off."

"Father, you knew that Eadric's symbol was a suitable counter to them. Will painting the same marking along our bow hold them at bay?" Marshall turned to the cleric, who held up his hands in uncertainty.

"I knew only that he could help," answered Faiz. "Whether or not the symbol will work in that manner, I could not say."

"It's better than nothing," the captain decided. "Advisor, if you would be so kind as to assist those on deck in scribing the mark on deck and hull alike?"

Eadric parted his beak to respond, but what they heard what not the advisor's voice at all.

"Sounds loik roight good fun, that. But Oi'm afraid it'll jus' have te wait, Cap'ns."

They turned to see Master Tobb standing in the doorway.

"Why's that, Tobb?" asked McKinley.

The pudgy beaver grimaced. "That storm what Oi mentioned?" He jabbed a finger over his shoulder, to where a mountain of dark clouds was rising up from beyond the mist. "It's here."

≈

Von Ulric paced the belly of the Havoc, his stride unaltered by the rolling of the deck. Chains shifted around his shadow as he moved, making him look like the head of a contemptuous centipede pacing through dark hollows. Only when he felt the ship coming about did he pause. His head swung toward the porthole, slowly, like the turning of a canon. He snarled at the direction of the shifting clouds.

Bursting onto the deck with a roar that poured over the ship, the Baron's thunderous voice drowned out the thunder itself. "Why are we turning back?"

From her place near the wheel, Lady Sira turned from issuing orders to glare him down. "We aren't turning back, wolf! We are letting the weather shift us as it will! As you can see, it wills us downwind! Now get below decks before you soak your pretty pelt!"

"We don't have time to shift with the weather, Kathkan!" The Baron moved to tower over her. "We have to hold our course!"

"We are too light to hold our course! And we cannot lie ahull – the ships will capsize! You are many things, Secoran, but you are no sailor! Leave such things to those with experience!"

"The Albatross will have weathered the storm without losing ground!"

She whirled about, spitting into his face. "This isn't the Albatross! We cannot reach your treasure if we are dead!"

"You promised a ship to rival the Albatross! You assured me that this splinter could handle whatever came!" The Baron extended his claws as he yelled down at her.

"And you promised an ally worthy of the Empire!" she shouted, drawing her mace. "But you prove to be only a canine with great strength and a wide mouth! These are accidents of nature! Nothing more! What do you make of yourself that you presume to tell me how to run my ship?!" Into the air, she leapt, bringing the mace down as she concluded, "Show me what you would do with your strength!"

"I would do this." The Baron grinned a malicious smile with hungry fangs and stepped back as if in slow motion. He spread his hands before himself as though issuing an invitation.

Half a dozen weapons shot from the mist in response, halting the fall of her mace and knocking her back across the deck. When she stood, she was surrounded by the same spirits that had attacked the Albatross.

Her crew did not move to help her.

"You are brash, Kathkan," the Baron called to her. "Brave and unrestrained. Do not forget that I could end you with a single, small motion of my teeth. You need me because I have vision beyond my strength. That this is your ship is of no consequence, when I am present. As you can see, I have allies aplenty outside of the Empire. If you wish them to be yours, you will not test me."

Unperturbed, the scarred coyote came to her feet. "Perhaps this is true, wolf. But it changes nothing. The Havoc cannot stand as she is. We travel downwind, or we drown. It is as simple as that."

The Baron looked around the deck to see her sentiment reflected on the faces of every sailor. A hideous rumble burst from his massive chest.

"The Havoc is fast." Sira pushed through the spirits as though brushing off a swarm of mosquitoes. "We will make up the time on the other side. For now, you will put away your bluster and save the crowing for someone more easily intimidated."

With that, she returned to issuing orders.

Grudgingly, the Baron went below to ride out the angry storm in a fury of his own.

≈

The gale was ruthless. Between the forceful winds, the shouted attempts at communication, and the battering of water from above and below, the Albatross drowned in a deafening onslaught of nature versus organization. Had they not been such skilled sailors, it would have been easy to become disoriented – and such a thing was deadly.

Storm sails set, bow in the wind, they hove to. So strong was the pull on the rudder that the wheel lashings broke time and again, and helm required constant management for the ship to maintain a steady position.

"Ensign!" Marshall stumbled along the rail, gripping it as firmly as the rain would allow. "Check the lines! I'll not have anyone swept off-deck! Master Tobb! What is the state of the mizzen? Will our repairs hold?"

The old beaver caught himself against a crate as he attempted to turn. "Oi sure 'ope so, Cap'n!" He tried to look up at the mast through the rain. "Not a lot o' toim fers it te cure, loik it shoulda had! Oi can vouch fer the repairs 'emselves, but that rope on th'other hand, well! If she 'olds, the mast be solid! If she breaks, we're good as drowned!"

Marshall winced against the storm. "Comforting, Master Tobb! Thank you!"

They toppled into one another as the ship tilted and snapped starboard with the wind.

The captain growled.

Those wheel lashings would be the death of them all.

Forcing his way rearward, he found Lieutenant Ryder heaving against a line, towing an unlucky crewmember back from the waters. Marshall reached for the rope.

"I need you on the helm, Lieutenant! Trimble can't control the wheel on her own in this pull!"

"Sir!" she replied, gesturing to the rope in her hands. "This is Trimble!"

Marshall looked down in surprise and helped the marten back on board. She collapsed to the deck, coughing to expel the salt water from her lungs. "Then who's on the helm?"

Ryder pointed through the tempest, to where the Marauder's agile outline was just visible in the chaos. He strained against the storm, his physicality proving an unlikely match for this monster of nature that crashed and streaked its fury across the sky, as though rebuking him for his ability to hold the rudder straight on his own.

They helped Trimble to her feet and thumped her on the back to clear the water from her airways.

"To the wheel, lieutenants!" Marshall ordered. "Give the blasted pirate a hand!"

"Not to get sentimental, sir!" Trimble choked on a grin. "But the blighter's looking a little less like a pirate every day!"

Ryder shook her head, trying not to share in the marten's infectious smile. She almost felt herself failing in that endeavor before a splintering noise penetrated mist and rain alike to call a halt to the humor.

Crack!

The mizzen was giving way.

"Blast!" Marshall's curse lost itself in the storm. If the mast toppled into the sea, bound by sails and stays, the burgeoning waves would tow the whole of the ship into the surf. Tobb was right. They would be drowned. The captain didn't lose a second. "Ensign! Rope!"

The young fennec grabbed at the nearest coil and tossed it to the captain as he ran past.

"Captain!" Ryder chased after him. "You can't go aloft in this! You'll never make it!"

"I ordered you to the helm, Lieutenant!" Marshall called over his shoulder, moving as quickly as the pitching ship would allow.

Duty warred with obedience behind her fearful eyes until she whispered at last, "Aye, sir."

Marshall didn't hear her as he began his ascent.

Hand over hand, he climbed into the gaping maw of dark clouds and heavy winds. Here and there, he was forced to wrap his leg about the mast in order to keep from falling. When at last he reached the top, he could see that Tobb had again been right. Though the repairs should have been stable, the rope itself had been stretched and strained by the blaring force of back and forth gusts. Not long now. Marshall freed the coil of rope from his shoulder. Just then, a harsh wave shifted the ship, knocking the rope from his grip. Holding himself by only one hand, the captain lunged after the coil, snatching through the open air just as it fell beyond his reach. He was stunned when a second hand shot out beneath it.

"Tsk, tsk," McKinley chided, holding the rope up to him with a grin. "That was clumsy! Lucky for you, I'm not about to let fingers of butter stand between me and Mosque Hill! Move aside, let an old pro show you how it's done!"

"McKinley?!" Marshall shouted. "Doesn't anyone on this ship have the blasted wheel?!"

"Well, don't act so happy to see me!" McKinley rolled his eyes as he pulled himself up alongside his brother and gestured below. "Ryder and Faiz are fighting over it as we speak! If their strength can't hold this wagon steady, the tension between them certainly will! Now, can we get to fixing this mast? Before we, um... die?"

Working swiftly, they lashed the mast until the repairs were secured and a round of cheers rose up from below, prompting a victorious "Booya!" from McKinley, who leaned into the storm and thumped the rescued mizzen with his tail.

"You really are such a hero," McKinley called to Marshall. "It disgusts me!"

The captain shook his head. "Like it or not, so are you!"

"Oh-ho, no! I'm just crazy! Or desperate! Maybe both!"

Another, sudden shift in the mast left them both clutching at the surrounding stays.

"Perhaps we should settle it once we're back on deck!" suggested Marshall.

"Naaahhh." McKinley waved sarcastically as he began edging his way down the mast. "I think we should stay up here for a spell! Get some fresh air while we chat! I'm quite certain that's the healthy option!"

Following after him, Marshall couldn't help himself.

He laughed.

Chapter Three

In the aftermath of the storm, the children were both rattled and excited. Eager to ease their nerves and heighten their enthusiasm, McKinley had gathered them all in the captain's cabin and regaled them with the handsomely embellished tale of what had occurred on deck while they weathered the storm safely below.

"Tell us another story!" A young hare hopped from his rescued father's lap and over to McKinley's feet. "Tell us a story about gryphons!"

"Or dragons!" echoed another youngster.

"Dragons and gryphons, you say?" mused the Marauder. "Well, I do happen to know a story involving both. A dragon named Jax and a gryphon named Mack. Or maybe it was the other way 'round? I mean, I guess I could tell you the tale, but only if you really, really wanted to hear it."

"Yes!" they all chorused in unison. "We do! We do!"

"Sigh, very well," the pirate said dramatically. "If you insist. Ready? Here goes.

"Jax and Mack live on the back

Of a star that fell in the sea.

They barely eat and they seldom sleep,

So they use all their free time to read.

They have mountains of books and if you ever look,

You may just not see where they end.

But they've read them all, the big and the small,

That's how Jax, Mack, and I became friends.

There's a book that I've read that they haven't, they said.

It's a book that I got from my dad.

Jax wanted to read, and Mack he agreed.

And when I told them they could they went mad!

They jumped on the bed, and it's often said,

Though I admit, I've done it myself.

That it's bad for the springs, and other such things,

So we had to read somewhere else.

I climbed on the back of Jax or of Mack,

Though I'm still not quite sure who was who.

Then, up and away, on the end of the day,

Straight from my window, we flew!

We followed the wind, 'til we came back again.

In awe, I turned 'round to look.

I saw their tails making green magic trails,

I saw I'd forgotten the book!

I said, "It's alright!" and told them "Don't cry!"

But still, they started to weep.

It was a book they'd not read. "Don't worry!" I said.

"There's a library just down the street!"

"A library?" they asked, slightly aghast,

Apparently, no one had told them.

Imagine the surprise, the glee in their eyes,

When I brought them there, and I showed them.

There were mountains of books, and they took a look,

There were so many they'd never seen!

So we sat and we read until I bowed my head,

And they flew me back home to my dreams.

Now Jax and Mack don't live on the back

Of a star that fell in the sea.

They've made room for themselves on the library's shelves.

That's the story of Jax, Mack, and me."

McKinley bowed to a round of applause, only to find that the little ones were anything but sated.

"Tell us again about the sea monster!"

"Did it have slimy scales?"

"Indeed it did," McKinley answered somberly. "But to be honest, I was more concerned with the teeth."

"What about the glowing eyes?"

"Glowing eyes?" Marshall stood in the open doorway, hand on the knob.

"Yes!" one of the children piped up. "From the sea monster. All storms are caused by sea monsters, right? Mr. McKinley said so!"

Marshall raised an eyebrow in his brother's direction and the Marauder tactfully gestured for his compliance. The children were entranced. Only a sourpuss would dare to spoil their fun.

"Oh, that's right, the sea monsters." Marshall scratched his chin. "The ones who eat little children who usurp their captain's quarters and dawdle with pirates."

A unanimous gasp of fear prompted C.S. to stand from the back of the cabin. "Alright, you lot. Let's go play outside. Now that the storm has passed, I'll bet the Kota brothers will let us ride around on their mops again. Won't that be fun?" She glared at the captain as she ushered the kids through the door past him.

McKinley shook his head in mock disapproval, clearly amused. "Just when I was starting to rethink the whole 'killing you in your sleep' thing."

"We can't have that." Marshall stooped to collect the many things that had been scattered to the floor during the tempest. "Our mutual disrespect is our bond. Familial bonds are important, I'm told."

McKinley's mouth fell open. "Fate in a bloody basket, did Marshall just make a joke?" He clapped his hands impudently. "He did, didn't he? I'd laugh, but I'm pretty sure I'm in shock!"

"Keep it up." Marshall sat at his disheveled desk and opened the log book. "I'll have the crew calling you 'Mad Dog' again by sundown."

"Promises, promises," McKinley muttered drolly, seating himself opposite the captain and plunking his feet atop the desk. "What is it with you and that log, anyway? Do you find it remedial?"

"I find it important." Marshall's head did not lift from his scribing as he spoke. "If something happens to me, the one who takes my place will need to know where we stand and where we've been."

The Marauder waved a hand. "If anything happens to you, I'll be taking your place. And I don't want to know where you've been."

"Considering joining the service, are you?"

McKinley screwed up his face. "What an atrocious thought. No, the plan was to convert your adamantly large band of do-gooders to piracy."

Marshall grunted as though the idea didn't warrant an actual response.

"Don't think I can do it? You underestimate my charm." The Marauder put his hands behind his head. "And I do so love a challenge. Den spire, spera."

At that, the captain arched an eyebrow, looked up, and translated, "While I breathe, I hope? I wouldn't have expected someone like you to be familiar with the old language. Where did you learn it?"

McKinley shrugged. "Not much else for someone like me to do on a slave ship."

Marshall stopped writing altogether. "You were a Kathkan prisoner?"

The Marauder scoffed. "Come on. Don't tell me you didn't see that coming. Doesn't it fit the stereotypical bad boy background all too well?"

"It isn't that." The captain eyed him dubiously. "You just seem to be lacking the obvious signs of a Kathkan affiliation."

"You mean the scarring? Well, that's because I wasn't the slave. Mum was. Tough old broad made certain no one laid on a hand on me. Even managed to see to it that I was educated, for my part." McKinley paused when he realized that Marshall was listening in rapt silence. "You don't know anything about her, do you? Your mother?"

Folding his hands, the captain leaned back in his chair. "I knew only that the two of you had been killed when your ship was attacked and burned to dust, mid-sea. Though I was lucky enough to be rescued, Masguard used it as an excuse to conceal my identity. He imagined I would be safe only if his enemies assumed I was dead."

"Our attackers weren't exactly thorough, were they? Amateurs. Mom likewise managed to get the two of us overboard before the vessel went down. She was a strong swimmer, as we otters often are. Got us to shore only to be captured by slavers. Wonderful existence, that."

Marshall shook his head. "And there was no one to come for you. Masguard truly believed the two of you were dead. He would have torn down the gates of Oblivion in order to bring you home if he'd known otherwise."

"I don't blame him, not anymore." McKinley discarded the idea. "The whethers and whys all stopped mattering the day I took control of that slave ship and made it my own. Having his fortune to fall back on would have been nice, though. Speaking of which... You still owe me half. Don't think that I've forgotten." He wagged a finger.

"No doubt, your mother is shaking her head from beyond the grave to know that your priorities remain unchanged."

A bark of laughter burst from McKinley's mouth. "You really are a glass half empty sort of guy, aren't you? What in the world makes you think she's dead?"

Having been reaching again for his quill, Marshall stopped. "She's still alive?"

McKinley's smile widened. "If you can behave yourself long enough to obtain a pardon for your infinitely superior sibling, maybe I'll let you meet her."

"Using your own mother as a bargaining chip?" the captain wondered in a disparaging tone. "You truly have no shame, do you, pirate?"

"Corsair!" the Kota brothers corrected from the doorway in unison.

Marshall sighed.

Didn't anyone on this ship ever knock anymore?

McKinley joked over his shoulder, "I'll have you know, you interrupting tars, that the good captain and I were in the middle of a very important conversation in which I was about to remind him that he should never blame me for dreaming. Like I said –"

"Yes, yes – dun spire, and all of that." Marshall stood, waving off the statement with an impatient hand. "But this voyage is far from over. There is more than ample time for the breathing portion of that statement to fall very, very short. Did the three of you have something to report?"

"Oh, aye, Cap'n!"

"Only that we've raised the port!"

"Sundry, that is!"

Issuing a sharp nod, Marshall strode from the room, clearly grateful for the chance to put an end to this awkward heart-to-heart.

McKinley watched him go, a half-smile on his face.

"I'm growing on him," he said to the three raccoons. "I can tell."

≈

"Do we have to go?" Careful Steps Kal stared up at the priory in equal parts awe and disdain. She thought of Maya in her grand children's hospital and wondered whether the sick, young otter had felt this way when she was first admitted to her new home. It seemed so daunting.

"Yes, you do," confirmed McKinley, who stood alongside Lieutenant Ryder in the cobbled street. Just beyond, they could see the cloistered gardens bustling with activity. One of the workers there, a plump, elderly mole seemed to notice their arrival and made her way to them as McKinley spoke. "The Albatross is no place for such a tiny thing. Besides, look around you! This place is idyllic! It's enchanted! And the Father swears by this place. There's even a pond out back that you can skate on in the winter."

She grimaced as he tapped her on the nose in what was meant to be a reassuring gesture. "It isn't winter yet. Stop talking to me like I'm some ordinary kid."

The Marauder sighed and crouched down next to her. "Oh, you're a smart one, aren't you? Well, just in case no one's ever told you, it's actually more than okay for you to be an ordinary kid. Maybe you should give yourself the chance to find out what it's like."

C.S. looked down at the bracelet on her wrist, then to the crowd of orphans at her back. "I guess someone needs to watch over this lot."

"Well, now, there's the spirit!" He smiled.

Just then, the plump mole arrived.

"Oh, there you are!" she exclaimed with a delightful smile. "You just missed Father Faiz! He warned us that you were an adorable group but my-oh-me just look at you! You must be starving! Who wants to come along to the kitchens for some cinnamon rolls and cider, hmm?"

The children perked up at that.

Even C.S. cracked a smile.

"Thank you for taking them in, ma'am," Ryder said to her quietly. "They had nowhere else to go."

The mole patted her warmly on the hand. "Port Sundry has seen its share of refugees. It is our honor to be a safe place for those who need it. Are you sure you won't stay to get them settled in?"

"I wish we could, but we're on a tight schedule," said Ryder.

"I understand. Please know that you are welcome to visit any time at all. I'm sure the children would love to see you again." She paused, giving McKinley a good once-over. "You look terribly familiar, have you been through here before?"

The Marauder tried to keep a straight face as he looked over her shoulder to the Wanted poster on the wall – the one bearing his likeness.

"Not that I can recall," he said innocently, folding his arms.

"Very odd," frowned the mole. "I'm usually so good with faces. Oh well, best get these youngsters squared away before story time. I'm sure it will come to me after you're long gone!"

C.S. coughed to cover a giggle as the friendly mole ushered the orphans along to the priory. Maybe this place wouldn't be so bad after all.

Discreetly, the little raccoon pulled McKinley aside, removed one of the many bracelets of dingy yarn from her wrist and pressed it into his hand.

"Give this to Maya for me, will you?" she whispered. "I want her to know that I'll be thinking about her."

With a smile and a nod so small that no one but her could notice it, McKinley closed his fingers around the raccoon's gift and wrapped it around the hilt of his sword.

"You'll catch him, won't you?" C.S. then said aloud to McKinley and Ryder both. "The Baron?"

The Marauder gave her a confident wink. "Do sea monsters cause storms?"

Laughing despite herself, Careful Steps Kal bounded along the walkway after the kindly mole, for the first time acting like the child she had always been, when no one was looking.

"I think my son and I will stay for a spell, too." A hare – the only adult to be rescued from the destroyed village of Bryton – came alongside them, his boy in his arms.

Ryder smiled approvingly at the barkeep, noting that his wounds were healing, his color returning. "The captain is putting in a good word with the local tavern as we speak. It should be enough to get you a job, help you start over."

"Thank you all so much," he said. "For everything."

Arms folded, McKinley leaned against the wall and watched them leave. By happy accident, he stood so near to the Wanted poster that it might have been his shadow. Ryder shook her head.

"You know," she said. "Sundry isn't exactly a safe place for you to be poking around. Remind me again why you insisted on coming?"

"Because I'm a pirate, dear lady," he replied, pushing off the wall and turning down the street. "If I'm not living my life in a contrary nature, I'm hardly doing my job."

She moved to follow him. "Right, I'm sure it had nothing at all to do with the fact that you enjoyed playing the good guy for a change. Admit it, you wanted to see this through."

"I will admit to no such thing." He sniffed.

Ryder laughed behind closed lips.

She eyed the townsfolk as they traveled toward the dock. With midday fast approaching, Sundry had begun to bustle with activity. More and more people filled the streets, every one of them as likely as the next to recognize McKinley as a fugitive with a rather impressive price on his head. It didn't take long. A few double-takes, some stares and pointed fingers, and their attention was solidly stolen. Ryder put a protective hand on the Marauder's arm, urging him to walk faster. But, too late.

They were already being followed.

Ryder glanced back to see two brawny ferrets in uniform rushing after them.

Pushing McKinley into an alley, she ducked swiftly behind, hoping to lose them in the crowd. They pulled up short when they found their way blocked by a middle-aged fennec. A silver badge glinted faintly from the lapel of his black suit.

"So the reports were accurate," the inspector said. "McKinley the Marauder has found his way back to Port Sundry once again. You made quite the impression when last you were here."

McKinley laughed as though at a bad joke. "I get that a lot."

Together, he and Ryder took a step back, only to be boxed in by a slew of newly-arrived officials. Ryder held up a hand to bar McKinley from their attentions. "Leave us to our business, Inspector. McKinley is here under my supervision."

"Forgive me, my dear. You are?" The fennec removed his hat.

Ryder narrowed her eyes, agitated by his politeness. "First Lieutenant Ròs Eibhlin Ryder, Acting Commander of the Secoran flagship Albatross."

McKinley squinted.

He seemed to be sounding out the name and title in his head.

"That's rather a mouthful, isn't it?" he said to her at last.

The inspector smiled. He seemed calm but confident in a way that almost reminded her of Captain Marshall. "Miss Ryder, if I'm not too much mistaken, impersonating an officer in the queen's navy is a crime. One punishable by an exceedingly long stay in any one of our kingdom's fine prisons. I would advise you to drop the ruse."

Brows risen, Ryder's hand fell to her side. "Excuse me? The ruse?"

McKinley pursed his lips. "Oh dear. You really shouldn't say such things, Inspector,"

The fiery collie curled her lip. "Did he just accuse me of impersonating?"

"I believe he did." McKinley nodded

Her voice rose. "Someone like me could never be an officer, so I must be pretending, is that it?"

The Marauder cupped his hand and goaded in her direction, "It's probably the earrings."

Ryder shook her head. "Of all the condescending rubbish..."

McKinley smiled. "You should probably do something about that."

"Care to show some gypsy stripes with me, pirate?"

"After you!"

At that, the two turned simultaneously on the men at their backs. Though they kept their weapons sheathed, pirate and soldier made quick work of the inspector's posse.

"Better luck next time, chaps!" McKinley said with a grin as he and Ryder leapt over the groaning men, bound for their escape.

"I wouldn't!" The inspector's voice brought them to a halt.

Only then did they look around.

At the end of the alley and all along the rooftops, a string of bowmen readied their arrows. They'd been surrounded.

"McKinley the Marauder is the most notorious pirate captain ever to sail the Secoran seas. You didn't think that I would come unprepared, did you?" the inspector said. "There is no need for further violence, but they will shoot if they have to. You can give them a reason, or you can do the smart thing by coming along quietly. The choice is yours."

Sighing, Ryder and McKinley put their hands in the air and allowed themselves to be disarmed.

"Oh well," McKinley said. "Not exactly my first arrest, anyway."

Ryder grimaced. "Mine, either."

The Marauder shot her a look.

Nudging her in surprise, he laughed.

Chapter Four

"Ryder should have returned by now." Trimble stood in Marshall's cabin, the concern on her face more than plain.

"She should have beaten me here," agreed Marshall. "The tavern is farther from the docks than the priory."

"You don't think that McKinley did something to her, do you?" she asked. "If he were still intent on making his escape..."

"I don't believe that is the case, Lieutenant," Marshall raised a hand.

There was a gentle knock at the door. It opened slowly, tentatively.

At least somebody still knew how to be polite.

Father Faiz tipped his head in deference as he entered. "Captain? I'm afraid I have some bad news."

Trimble sighed. "Oh boy. Here we go."

≈

"I do apologize, Captain, but quite frankly, you have no authority here." The inspector sat behind his desk, unmoving. "I am happy to offer restitution on behalf of your lieutenant. It was a regrettable error in judgment. The earrings led me to believe her a gypsy rather than an officer. And finding her in the company of a pirate was less than suitable. As to the matter of McKinley, he has a vast number of warrants against him. You cannot waive those, much as I may respect you for trying."

Marshall stood before his desk, equally stoic. "I understand that you are simply doing your job, Inspector. But I can assure you that my mission is too important to be hindered by local politics. When my business with the Marauder is concluded, I will personally escort him back to your facility. For now, I require his assistance."

"I'm sorry, Captain." The fennec leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. There was a hard edge to his voice. "My position remains unchanged."

Marshall drew a deep and calming breath.

"Very well, Inspector."

Pivoting curtly on his heel, the captain turned to leave. Ryder, Trimble, and Father Faiz followed in his wake.

"What now, sir?" Ryder asked.

Marshall's answer was terse. "Now we break the law. Did you get a good look at the layout of the holding area, Lieutenant?"

Ryder smiled. "Of course, sir."

≈

"Psst!"

McKinley's head came up sharply. Hat still tilted over his eyes, he turned sleepily about in his cell, searching for the source of the noise.

"Up here, you daft pirate!"

Coming to his feet, the Marauder righted his hat and moved toward the barred window, careful not to make it seem as though he were looking through it. Ryder waited on the other side.

"Color me shocked," he whispered. "I thought for sure I'd seen the last of you and your uniformed cohorts. Am I so hard to live without?"

"Don't flatter yourself." Trimble's murmur came through the bars. "We still need someone to take the first hits when we meet up with the Baron, don't we?"

"Charming." McKinley offered a fake smile that no one could see. "What's the plan, then?"

"Do you still have that dagger?" Ryder's voice was barely audible.

McKinley waved a hand as though the question shouldn't have needed an answer. "I have several. You want I should use it to dispatch the guard? I'm not sure if I can reach him from here."

"No, McKinley," Ryder said, exasperated. "I do not want you to dispatch the bloody guard. Just let him see it."

McKinley turned to the window in disbelief.

"If I let him see it, he'll take it away!"

Ryder gestured frantically for him to resume his nonchalance before the guard took notice.

"Which means he'll have to enter the cell." Ryder lifted a bow and arrow into his view.

"Oh my, you're going to raise a weapon against one of your own?" The Marauder's face burst into an approving smile. "This is just too delicious!"

"Just shut up and get on with it!" she seethed.

Chuckling beneath his breath, he unsheathed one of the minor weapons and began to fumble with it in a clumsy manner.

"Oops!" he proclaimed loudly as it fell from his hand and clattered to the floor.

Immediately, the burly ferret was at his door. "Why you sneaky pirate, you! Managed to slip a weapon past me, did ya? I don't think I much care for that!"

Folding his hands, McKinley fell to his knees and pleaded in an exaggerated accent, "Beggin' yer pardon, sir. Oi diddun mean te offend yer delicate pride none! Certainly not by concealin' no deadly weapon, no sir!"

"None of that!" the guard sneered. "Over by the window! And don't move, or I'll cut you down!"

With a comical gasp of fear, McKinley held up his hands and complied with the ferret's order.

"That's more like it, you! Stay put!"

Eye on the pirate, the guard opened the cell and stepped inside. He stooped to pick the blade off the ground and was frozen in place when an arrow shot through the window, narrowly missing his hand. The shaft drove into the ground with such force that it quivered between his knuckles.

"That's far enough," said Ryder from beyond the bars. "Don't move and don't speak. Any call for help will be your death, do you understand?"

The ferret groaned as McKinley shoved him to the floor. Fishing in the guard's pocket for the keys, the Marauder tossed them into the hall outside his cell.

Then he hog-tied the ferret with a torn sheet.

"Is that really necessary?" Trimble asked.

"Nope," said McKinley. "But you hurt my feelings with your comment about using me as a shield. I had to take it out on someone."

"Down the hall to your right," Ryder interrupted. "There's a utility room with a window. You can bypass the inspector and his men entirely. Marshall and Father Faiz are waiting for you just outside."

"My dear, I would love to oblige," McKinley smiled, mimicking the politeness of the inspector. "But that fennec has my sword."

"We'll buy you a new sword!" Ryder growled, exasperated.

"But then it wouldn't be my sword." He slipped quietly through the door, locked it behind him, and leaned into the bars. "Don't worry, I do this dangerous sort of thing all the time. I'm a pirate, remember?"

Ryder gritted her teeth. "I wish I could forget!"

"Best get the captain." Trimble shook her head before ducking around the corner of the building, Ryder on her heels.

McKinley crept along the shadows in the hall, silent and invisible. Halting before the open door to the main room, he held his breath and listened for movement. Blast. The room was as full as it could be.

"Hey, Phil?" Another ferret's foot appeared in the doorway. "You okay back there?"

McKinley was on him in an instant. Dagger pressing into the guard's windpipe, the Marauder smiled. "Phil's a bit detained at the moment."

The inspector and his posse flew to their feet, weapons drawn.

"For shame, Inspector!" Dragging the ferret along the wall, McKinley shook the dagger as a reminder. "You're putting Phil's friend at risk with your bloodlust, you know! Have a heart, man. This can get very messy very quickly, or you can give the good pirate his sword and we can all go on our merry ways. The choice is yours."

The inspector inched along opposite the Marauder until his back was to the main door. "I don't like having my words handed back to me, Mad Dog. Messy or not, you aren't leaving this room alive. Not on my watch."

Just as the fennec was opening his mouth to issue an attack order, the door behind him came crashing in.

A fine rapier emerged from the doorway and nudged the inspector between the shoulder blades.

"As it turns out, McKinley isn't so keen on the 'Mad Dog' appellation," Marshall said calmly. "I'm not sure why. It seems perfectly fitting, if you ask me."

The fennec could not conceal his surprise. "Captain? You are making a very grave mistake!"

"Yes, I'm quite certain that I am." Marshall stepped forward, allowing Trimble and Ryder to file into the room behind him, weapons levied at the posse. "But I'm afraid I have little choice in the matter. The Marauder is needed on my ship."

"Did you hear that?" McKinley smiled at Phil's friend. "He needs me."

The inspector motioned for his followers to lower their weapons. "Don't think that your friendship with the queen can spare you from prosecution, Captain. This pirate is responsible for more discord in this kingdom than any other fugitive. What you are doing is tantamount to treason."

"That word seems rather popular these days," Marshall replied, ushering the constables along toward the hall. "I find that disturbing. Now, if you would be so kind as to accompany us to the holding cells, this will be over momentarily. Thank you."

McKinley grinned as he shoved his hostage down the hall. "You're watching history in the making, Phil's friend! The day the Secoran prodigy became a bloody pirate!"

"Shut up, McKinley," glared Trimble.

"Not a chance, Lieutenant!" The Marauder whooped, seeming downright giddy as he dug around the evidence chest for his weapon. "Don't forget, Inspector. It's Marshall, with two ells!"

No one noticed him thumbing the little bit of yarn around the hilt.

"We should have left him," sighed Trimble.

"Yes," Ryder said. "Yes, we should have."

≈

McKinley spent the remainder of the evening flitting about the rigging, gloating to the topmen and calling to the deck for suggestions as to what Marshall's criminal name should be. Over time, it became more and more difficult to entice the crew of the Albatross to play along and he was left whistling to himself as he swung back and forth among the masts.

It was late when he at last descended near the captain's cabin, his tune still interspersed with giggling. He fell quiet when he heard voices seeping through the doorway.

Lips still pursed for a song, he leaned in.

"Did you mean it, sir?" The voice was Ryder's. "When you said to the inspector that you would turn them in when this is over?"

"Of course."

"Won't that be difficult for you, sir?"

"Why should it be difficult?" His response was far too fast.

Hers seemed to take forever. "Captain... he's your brother."

"He's also a fugitive, Lieutenant. And we have a duty to uphold." His voice grew thin, as though he had turned away. "We are servants of Secoran law, a law which McKinley and his crew have chosen to defy. They are pirates. It is that simple."

Several long moments passed.

Stepping back from the door, McKinley took a slow breath and allowed his mouth to fall from its tune-ready position.

He didn't feel like whistling anymore.

Long after the Marauder had walked away, Marshall turned back to his lieutenant with a torn expression.

"The thing is... they aren't just pirates," he said. "And it isn't just that simple, is it?"

Ryder's smile was sympathetic. "No, sir. It isn't."

≈

Downwind and many miles off course, the Kathkan warships worked to reestablish their heading. The task, which should have been a simple one, was made difficult by the fact that their directions had been shady enough from the outset, granted only by misty word of mouth. So, unless and until the Baron managed to reestablish contact with his guiding spirit, they were as good as stalled.

The Havoc floated aimlessly well into the night.

"Have you considered asking direction of the old one in chains?" Lady Sira sat atop a barrel, picking at her teeth with a dagger. "The badger seems to know more than he should concerning many things."

The Baron stared to the sea beyond the bow, saying nothing, as though refusing to justify her suggestion with a response.

"You still see the loss of our way as my failing." She read astutely into his silence. "This does not concern me. Perhaps if you had chosen your informants more carefully, we would now have the map and you would not need to rely on this... spirit... to show you the way."

Still, he did not speak.

The coyote groaned. Tossing the dagger into the deck, she came to her feet and shook her head to the sky. "Kathkan fortitude, spare me from the petulance of these Secorans! If the strongest among them sees fit to pout in silence like a child..."

"Not pouting, Kathkan," rumbled the Baron. "Waiting."

"Waiting, waiting," she mocked. "For what do you wait?"

A slow smile parted the wolf's jaws.

He pointed into the mist.

"That."

She followed his arm to a shadow in the darkness. As they approached, she could see a small fishing vessel anchored there, in the middle of nowhere. Directly in their path.

"Bring us alongside them," the Baron ordered.

"We are stopping now for fishermen?" Sira laughed. "Truly?"

Von Ulric growled. "Are these waters known for their abundance of fish?"

"How should I know this? My people deal in prey of a different sort."

"Do not think this encounter coincidental. Come alongside them. Let us see what they have to say."

With a roll of her eyes and a shrug of her scarred shoulders, Lady Sira gave the order, bringing the Havoc near enough to view the fishermen from the prow.

Only to see that these two were not fishermen at all.

They were hunters.

"You pursue the son of Masguard?" the larger mongoose called up at them, his tattooed face blank of expression.

"Perhaps we do, perhaps we do not," Sira returned. "What is it to the two of you?"

"We wish to join you," the smaller one said, her voice as practical as that of any Kathkan.

Sira looked at them sidelong. "Why?"

The hunters exchanged stony looks, then turned to eye the Baron, as though knowing what they were about to say would meet with his approval.

"Because the Voice wills it."

≈

Days passed. Tensions strained. Every movement in the fog was met with discomfort by the crew, even though the symbols painted on the deck and along the prow proved effective at warding off the mistwalkers. Currents churned and provisions waned, but nothing had a more notable impact on the disposition of the crew than McKinley's silence. Far from being his chipper, sarcastic self, the otter pirate had become withdrawn and moody, often watching for the moon through the fog as though preparing to accuse it of some crime.

The Marauder was breaking with the form of the previous week when he approached Marshall at the prow.

"Are you sure we're even headed in the right direction?"

"Yes, I'm sure." The captain was looking down at the compass in his hand.

"Really?" McKinley raised a dubious brow. "Because I haven't seen hide nor hair of this map your crew keeps talking about. You haven't checked it once, have you?"

"He saw it clearly enough when we got it," Ryder said, coming alongside them. "Once is more than enough."

McKinley glared at her. "Is that supposed to be a joke? 'Cause I'm not laughing."

"They don't call him a prodigy for nothing, McKinley," she replied. "Eidetic memory. He doesn't need to check the map because the map is as fresh in his mind as if he'd just seen it."

McKinley threw up his hands. "Eidetic... ugh, he has an eidetic memory? Really? Well yeah, of course he does. Why in blazes wouldn't he?"

With that, the Marauder stomped below decks, earning a look of confusion from Ryder and Marshall alike.

"Is it just me? Or did Sundry make him touchy?" Ryder shook her head.

Marshall moved to follow, leaving his lieutenant alone at the prow.

She watched him leave, a frown on her face.

"Was it something I said?"

Marshall caught up with McKinley on the middle gun deck. "Is there a problem that I should know about?"

"A problem?" McKinley barked out a humorless laugh. "Not at all. Everything's just peachy, dear Captain. No need to trouble yourself with the concerns of some pirate, after all."

Befuddled and irritated, Marshall closed his eyes and sighed. "I don't know what bone you've been gnawing away at. But either lay it bare or lay it to rest. I have a ship to run."

"One of the many ways in which you and I differ," the Marauder seethed. "Run along, then, brother. Let me sulk in silence."

Tightening his jaw in frustration, Marshall had half a mind to do precisely that, but McKinley stopped him with a furious nod.

"I get it. I do." The Marauder began to pace the deck. "It took me a while, not being the prodigy that you are. But at least I understand it now. See, funny as it may have been at the time, something about that whole jailbreak thing didn't make sense. Why in all the Fate's designs would the grand and noble Marshall ever risk hopping on the wrong side of law's ugly fence just to have some pirate along for a dangerous ride? Family ties aside, I get the impression that his moral compass is a little more encompassing than that. So why. Would he stick out his neck. For me?"

"Get to the point, Marauder." Marshall's eyes hardened.

McKinley stepped back. He was angry. More than that, he seemed genuinely hurt. "For the same reason that you spared my life that night on deck. That blasted medallion. You weren't springing me, not really. Your only interest was in that bloody little bit of gold. The one that left you wondering whether you might need me along with it. Admit it. Had it not been for Masguard's precious gift, not only would you have been over the moon with the prospect of leaving me to rot in Sundry's cells, when it came to killing me that night, you wouldn't have hesitated. Would you?"

Lifting his chin, Marshall let his gaze fall to the place on McKinley's chest, where the pendant had been, prior to the attack. He could lie. He could tell the Marauder whatever he wanted to hear, if only to keep the peace.

But what would that serve?

Instead, Marshall said nothing.

"And that's the other real difference between us," McKinley nodded grimly. "At least I hesitated."

Speechless, the captain stared after his brother's retreating back, wondering whether he should follow. Something told him it was better if he didn't.

≈

"Captain?"

Father Faiz found McKinley in the hold. With very little light seeping in from the hatch, the pirate's somber form could just be seen in the shadows. He was seated on a crate with his clasped hands pressed to his mouth.

"Captain," the humble fox repeated. "Are you alright?"

The Marauder's eyes were closed. "No, I'm not alright. Because I didn't listen to you when you warned me what this journey would cost. When we lost the Negvar, I thought that would be the end of it, but it wasn't. You were never talking about the ship. You were talking about Amelia. Weren't you? And I didn't listen."

Sadness crossed the father's face. And guilt.

"If you had asked her whether or not she'd be willing to trade her life for your daughter's..." Faiz moved to sit beside his captain. "She would have said yes."

McKinley's head sunk. "I know. But with every day that passes, her sacrifice only becomes more and more pointless, doesn't it? You were right. I should have stayed with her. My poor Maya. She must be so alone, so afraid. A good father would be there at her side. Not me." He shook his head bitterly. "The dashing Marauder hides in the belly of his enemy's ship, a world away, sulking over a family sleight and chasing a fool's hope. I should have stayed. You were right."

"No," said the cleric. "I wasn't."

McKinley's head came up slowly.

"When this began, there were so many ways in which it could fail. The world was our opposition, but no longer. Even I never would have imagined that we would be here and accepted by Marshall and his crew, having made allies of those with the greatest chance to end us. You call him your enemy, but you're wrong. He brought you back from the brink of death and broke the law in order to keep you on course for your destination. Things have changed, Captain. Enough for any fool to know that there is hope yet."

A half smile came to the Marauder's face.

It went away with a whisper. "Just... tell me she's alright, Father."

"She's alive." The fox placed a comforting hand on McKinley's shoulder, one that caused the otter captain to dissolve into tears. "She's alive. And there is still time."

Chapter Five

Eadric folded his wings, glaring crossly at the three raccoons and their expectant faces. "Are you mad? I absolutely will not swab the deck in such a frivolous manner!"

"Well, ye ain't swabbin' the deck at all, as ye stand," frowned Gil.

Ormac sounded likewise disappointed. "Aye. Moight as well be floatin', fer all the good yer doin' on the boards."

"What they're saying," Lumber interjected. "Is that, even if you aren't willing to have a little fun with it, you can't be afraid to really get in there with the mop, you know? Grit and grime have a way of lingering in the crevices if you don't give it all you've got."

Some distance aside, Trimble and Ryder shared baffled glances.

"I've never, in all my life, met a sailor who actually enjoyed cleaning," Trimble said.

"I know," Ryder laughed. "It's downright fascinating."

"Do you think maybe there's something... you know... wrong with them?"

The Acting Commander nodded. "Oh, undoubtedly. But that doesn't mean I have any interest in sparing the good advisor from their antics."

Their amusement came to an abrupt halt when a rumble rose up from the sea.

The ship lurched.

"What's happening?" Trimble asked, catching herself on the rail.

"What's that shadow?" squawked the panicked advisor as he crawled along the deck.

Ryder steadied herself to stare up at the foliage-covered volcano looming over them in the mist. "Unless my eyes deceive me, Eadric... That shadow is the legendary island of Mosque Hill."

"Fate alive," Eadric said, eyes wide with awe. "Your captain. He really found it!"

"Mosque Hill Fortune, here we come!" cried Lumber.

"What're ya waitin' fer?" Ormac slapped Gil on the back. "Get yer bushy tail below an' let the Cap'n know we've arrived!"

"Roight!" Gil leapt happily to his feet, then paused. "Wait... which Cap'n be I rushin' off te tell?"

≈

Following a brief trip around the island at the behest of their captain, the Albatross dropped anchor in a sheltered cove. Even with the protection of the mist, they wanted an additional barrier from incoming eyes, should the Baron arrive.

"There's no doubt about it, sir." Ryder looked out at the shifting current. "The island is moving."

Marshall leaned on the rail. "A free-floating landmass. It's no wonder Mosque Hill has a reputation for elusiveness."

"Even more of a wonder that any map was helpful in finding it, sir." Ryder looked to him in confusion.

"We weren't following the map, Lieutenant." He drew his father's compass from his pocket. "We were following this."

"Well, doesn't that just beat all?" McKinley sneered, coming alongside them. "Might have been helpful for you to pass that information along, don't you think? In case something unfortunate befell you?"

"Strange time for you to be issuing threats." Ryder put an unconscious hand on her sword.

McKinley waved a hand. "Who's threatening? I'm just pointing out your captain's lack of foresight. Luckily, I didn't come so unprepared. Father?"

Faiz took that as a cue to come to his side and stare the island down, as though sizing up an enemy.

"Nothing, Captain." He shook his grizzled head at last. "I can tell nothing of this place."

"So much for foresight." Ryder bared her teeth.

Marshall cleared his throat, demanding silence. "Father, if you would be so kind as to stand watch on the ridge? The mist is thick, but if anyone will be able to see through it..."

"Of course, Captain. Anything that I can do to help." The humble fox dipped his head before turning to comply.

"Are the parties assembled, Lieutenant?" Marshall said to Ryder.

"Aye, sir. We're ready to depart whenever you – "

Marshall held up a hand, interrupting, "You won't be coming, Lieutenant."

"Sir?" The discomfort of her confusion could only be rivaled by McKinley's clear enjoyment of it. "My place is at your side."

"Not this time." Marshall turned to face her. "Regardless of what happens on this island, the Albatross must return to Secora Tor. The queen must be made aware of the Baron's intentions and the true nature of these mists. For that, the crew will need a captain." In an uncharacteristic gesture, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Whatever happens, you stay alive and lead our people well. Get them home. Do you understand?"

Though the thought of continuing on without the captain left her momentarily bereft, Ryder was quick to tighten her jaw.

"But who's going to keep McKinley in line for you, sir?" she said with a smile.

McKinley threw up his hands, clearly insulted. "Hey!"

Marshall smiled in return. "Leave him to me."

≈

Marshall paused before opening the safe. As the key clicked within the lock, he shot a glance over his shoulder, half expecting the door to his cabin to come flying open as it had before his meeting with the Commodore. But the mists did not come. Not this time.

Unfurling the map on his desk, he gave it a scrutinizing once-over and sighed.

"I thought your feisty lieutenant said you didn't need to look at it again," scowled McKinley from the doorway.

Marshall regarded him without looking up, purposefully ignoring the bite in his voice. "And unfortunately she was right. A part of me was hoping I'd missed something."

"Um... whyyy?" McKinley stepped suspiciously forward. "What are you saying?"

Marshall frowned. "I'm saying that this map remains, as it ever was, incomplete."

"Whoa, wait!" McKinley began the statement with a yell, but brought his voice under control. "You mean to tell me that the bally Fortune might not even be here?!"

"This island is mobile, McKinley. Do you think such a thing is common? No, this is most certainly Mosque Hill. The Fortune and the Scepter are here, somewhere. The map narrows the location to a cave or a tunnel, of some sort. But the entry point is missing. Odd that Masguard would intentionally leave so vital a piece of the puzzle missing."

McKinley said nothing. He stared down at the map with a curious expression.

"What?" Marshall asked.

"Eh?" The Marauder looked up. "Oh, nothing. You're right. That's odd indeed. Odder still that you're preparing to lead us on a hunt for a needle in a haystack, regardless of our rather rubbish chances."

"Does that mean you're afraid to follow?" Marshall said as he rolled the map.

McKinley snatched the parchment from his brother's hand and strode out of the cabin ahead of him. "Who said anything about following?"

≈

"Show me a mystery, spare me a breath,

I'll cover the mouth as you roam,

Into the belly of glory or death.

May your travels again bring you home."

Ryder whispered the rhyme where none could hear, watching the rafts as they disappeared into the mist, bound for the nearby shore. Her gaze was sharp with a mixture of emotions, none of them pleasant.

Stay alive and lead our people well...

Her captain's words struck her with a cruel edge. She was no leader, no hero. As her interactions with Faiz and C.S. had forced her to realize, she was still coming to terms with her role in life, still struggling to hold aside the anger she had carried for so long. Despite her training and her commitment, she wasn't ready to forge ahead without her captain.

Moreover, something about this island sent a current of discomfort through her hackles. It was an intuition of danger. One that compounded her concern for Marshall's safety tenfold. But it was so vague that she scarcely dared to acknowledge it, let alone give it a name or responsive action.

She pressed her gloved hands into the rail.

She didn't know how best to proceed.

And there was only one person who could help her decide.

Tightening her mouth in resolution, she searched for the cleric fox in the trees and found him ascending the nearby ridge as ordered by her captain.

"Ensign." She waved Wexler to her side. "Prime the weapons and keep an eye on the horizon. I won't be long."

"Aye, sir." He saluted. "But where are you going?"

"To face my demons."

≈

The jungle around her seethed with silence. There was no life here. No insects or lesser creatures to bring movement to the ominous complacence of thick vines and dense underbrush. Keeping a wary eye on the trees, Ryder climbed the slope quickly and with no complaint from honed muscles. The incline was steeper than it had appeared. A hint of irritation pricked at her when she realized that Father Faiz had completed his ascent in half the time. To add insult to injury, she was fairly certain he knew that she was trailing him.

"You could have paced yourself, priest," she muttered as she hiked. "Out of courtesy, if nothing else."

When she spied him through the foliage, she paused. He seemed so different from the savage, nightmare-inducing warrior of memory. He was calm and still. Warm.

From his seated position, Father Faiz glanced back only slightly, without turning to look at her. "Lieutenant. You should remain on the ship. If the Albatross is forced from the shore, you can't afford to be left behind."

"The Albatross is the reason I am here." She came to stand over his shoulder. "Did you mean it, when you said you could sense nothing from this place?"

His ears perked partially forward. "Of course."

"And what happened to my family – the Massacre – it happened because you ignored a warning? A feeling that things weren't what they seemed?"

Standing, he turned fully toward her. "Yes. What's wrong, Lieutenant? Do you know something?"

She shook her head. "It isn't a knowing. Just a feeling. One that I'm afraid to trust."

"But even more afraid to ignore, if you are willing to come to me over it."

She looked at him, realizing for the first time that her gaze fell without anger or contempt. "My captain is heading into something that he cannot handle alone." She gestured to the jungle at her back. "Whatever is in there... If it finds him, it won't let him leave this place."

He smiled, gently. "Perhaps. But you are ignoring one thing. Your captain isn't alone. Whatever your reservations about those who travel with him, as long as they are together, they are more than a match for whatever awaits them."

Ryder drew a deep breath, shocked to find that his words came as a comfort.

"And what about us?" she asked.

"The crew of the Albatross?" He turned to the horizon, where a shadow was fast approaching through the fog. Just one, at first. Then another. And another. "I'm afraid you have monsters of your own to fight."

She followed his gaze to the water. "Blast. Get moving, priest! Throw in a prayer or two while you run!"

≈

"You're strangely quiet, Marauder." Trimble hacked at the thick underbrush in their path, more than a little irritated that McKinley was doing nothing to help.

"Am I?" the pirate captain answered. "Guess I'm just enjoying this whole stumbling-about-in-the-jungle thing too much to comment on it."

"You have a better idea?" Trimble shared an angry look with Bowers. "If so, I'm sure we'd all love to hear whatever plan you've cooked up."

McKinley put an innocent hand on his chest. "Me? Of course not. I'm nothing but a pirate. We don't have plans. Or ideas, for that matter – just the thoughtless urge to pick up a sword and cause problems in a disorganized fashion."

"I'd prefer to see you pick up a sword and help us with this foliage instead," said Trimble.

"I'd prefer it if he didn't do any sword picking at all," Bowers argued.

"See?" McKinley smiled. "Bowers has the right idea. Never trust a pirate." His smile fell away as he glared at Marshall's back. "Leastwise, never pretend to trust one. Bad form, and all of that."

Marshall sighed down at the map in his hands. "Now is scarcely the time for petty debates."

McKinley scoffed. "Did you hear that? The brave captain sees trust as a petty issue. How delightfully indecent. It's a shame you loathe pirates as much as you do, dear brother, you'd have made a smashingly good one."

Bowers whirled about. "You know, I've had just about enough—!"

"Lieutenant!" Marshall took a step toward him. "That is just about enough from everyone. Keep your heads about your duty and nothing else. McKinley! A word." When they were safely beyond earshot, he turned to his brother with a frown. "Whatever your issues with me, I would appreciate it if you could handle a few moments with my crew without stirring up trouble. One would think that after all they've done for you –"

"Done for me?!" McKinley interrupted furiously. "You're kidding, right? One little jailbreak – which I could easily have perpetrated on my own, thank you very much – and suddenly I'm at the beck and call of those who'd just as soon leave me to drown? Just who do you think you are, Captain?" He gave Marshall an inciting shove. "Care to spin me another tale about your oh-so-gracious contributions to my otherwise vapid life? Do go on. I'm all ears."

"Alright!" Marshall yelled. Marshall rarely yelled. "Enough! You want me to admit that I doubt your intentions? You're right, I do. You want me to admit that I've kept you at my side because I'm uncertain what Masguard had in store for us when he prompted this mission? Indeed, I have. But, you'll be surprised to learn, this isn't about you, McKinley. It's about the future of Secora. And it's about your daughter, in case you've forgotten!"

"How dare you?" McKinley shoved him yet again, harder this time. "Forgotten? Everything I've ever done has been for her, you condescending slug! I would never expect you to understand that!"

"Then perhaps you should act like it!" Marshall shoved him back. "This childish behavior of moping about has pushed my patience to its limits!"

"Childish, you say? How's this for childish?" With that, McKinley slammed his fist into Marshall's jaw, splaying him against the tree at his back. "What's the matter, Captain? Did you not see that one coming? Maybe you're not as intuitive as Abner thought."

"What did you say?" Marshall's face had turned to stone. Suddenly, he was beyond the confines of simple anger. "Did you say Abner? As in, Abner Frum? The Elder of Vernos?"

McKinley adopted a falsely stupid expression. "Unless you know another codgerly badger with a name so atrocious as Abner, then I'd say, yes, the two are one and the same. Honestly, I thought you were supposed to be bright."

Marshall began to pace circles around the Marauder. "You... and the Elder? So, when he called for me... When I went to his house...? The letter and the Key. Everything. It was you. This whole time, I thought I was chasing a clue from my father... and it was you?!"

"Oh, please." The pirate captain rolled his eyes. "So I brought Abner the Key and you believed what you wanted to believe regarding its origins. What's the real issue here, Captain? That you bent yourself to the potential of daddy's whisper? Or that you're still being led about the Secoran seas by some good-for-nothing pirate?"

With a growl of rage, Marshall threw himself at the Marauder. Leaving behind cries of surprise from the crew, the two of them tumbled through the underbrush, down the embankment.

And over the cliff that neither of them knew was there.

≈

Ryder wasn't hearing it.

"Lieutenant, please!" Faiz chased after her, desperate to sway her with reason alone. "It's too late for a blind assault. Regardless of your prowess in wielding it, one sword will make no difference, not now."

Below them, in a violent eruption of carronade fire, the crew of the Albatross had already been surrounded and subdued by superior numbers.

"That doesn't matter." Ryder pulled her arm from his grip. "If they are to be taken, it will not be alone. I have a duty to my crew. You of all people should understand that."

Again, he pulled her back into the shadows. "I understand your loyalties. But I also cannot let you walk into your death."

At that, her fist collided harshly with his cheek. "Just try and stop me," she sneered. It didn't occur to her that she'd only been able to hit him because he'd allowed it.

Just as she reached the tree line, she heard a frightening rumble from behind.

In the blink of an eye, she found herself yanked back into the concealing density of the forest and pressed into the ground, where she was immobilized by firm hands. Ears erect, assurance in his frame, the much larger fox glared down at her with an insistence that would not be swayed.

So there was the warrior from memory...

Straining against muscle and sinew, she seethed up at him, "Get off of me!"

"No," he said simply as he held her in place with little effort. "You are the ranking officer. They will kill you on sight and you know it. Have you given no thought to what it would do to your crew to watch you fall? What purpose would that serve?"

"It serves honor, priest!" Unflinching, eyes full of rage, she challenged him. "You remember that word? It meant something to you once, if I'm not mistaken! The Warriors Guild was for the proud and the noble, not for those who would cower in the shadows when the world needed them most! If you would serve your purpose again, then help me!"

"Not like this!" All of the softness had vanished from his voice. He was urgent, frustrated. "Do you think your captain would have you charge in without forethought? As long as we are free and undetected, we have a chance of saving them. You're not a follower, Rós. Stop acting like one!"

Her breath still ragged with anger, she eyed him for a long moment before speaking.

"Fine. Then what would you suggest we do?"

Chapter Six

Head over tail, the captains plummeted through open air until they struck the river with a sudden and painful splash. McKinley gasped at the all-encompassing rush of water that gripped his lungs with freezing fingers and frigid claws until his breath fled altogether. Then, another hand shot from the icy depths. This one warm and real.

Marshall dragged the Marauder to the shore, where each of them lay coughing and sputtering in the dirt until McKinley could pull himself to his feet. Leaves and mud clumping in his fur like an unsavory disease, he glared at their surroundings.

"Spectacular!" Marshall shoved himself off the ground. "Now look where your antics have landed us!"

"As I recall, you are the one who landed us here, Maggot! Jolly good job, that! Want to give it another go? Maybe you can tumble us back to Secora and we can forget this whole saving the world nonsense! Not like it's important or anything!"

"Exactly what is it that you're trying to prove, Marauder?" Marshall shouted. "What is the point of these ridiculous displays of frustration?"

"That's just it." McKinley pointed. "It's all ridiculous to you, isn't it? Things must be so brilliantly simple in that noble brain of yours! Right and wrong, emotion and self, there's never any pesky connecting of the separate halves, is there? No blurring of the lines or possible touches of gray in your nice little world of black and white! I'm the bad guy! You're the good guy! Let's just leave it at that!"

"Obviously, we can't!" Marshall shook his head, baffled. "Is this about the jailbreak?"

"Yes!" McKinley yelled back, pain on his face. "And it's about my daughter! And it's about my wife! And it's about the blasted need to have a worthwhile connection with someone, somewhere! It's about losing hope and how that bloody well has an effect on any normal person!" He turned away and seated himself on a fallen log. "But you wouldn't know anything about that either, would you? You've never fallen apart. And you've certainly never needed anyone to help you pick up the pieces. The fact of the matter is, for the first time in my life, I'm confronted with the fact that I desperately need someone else to have my back. I thought maybe that person was you. What a fool I feel for realizing I was wrong."

Marshall stared at his back for the longest time, seeming at a loss for words. Eventually, he came to sit beside McKinley on the log and joined him in staring at nothing.

"Do you truly believe that you're the only one who needs to know that he isn't alone? Whatever you may think of a noble child's illustrious life, I didn't choose a solitary path. It was foisted on me, just as your servitude with your mother was foisted on you. The money made for an educated life, yes, but not an easy one. I'd have traded it in an instant if it meant I could have the family that you were lucky enough to know. So yes, I turned myself over to my duty. And maybe I do try to see the world as a simpler place than it really is." He smiled. "But now that I find myself in the company of a pirate and – strange as it sounds – grateful for the acquaintance... Well, the world doesn't seem so clear cut as I once thought."

"So, when you swore to leave the Fortune to me..."

"I meant it," Marshall said, sincerely.

"And you're not going to turn me over to the Inspector?"

Marshall shrugged. "I don't think Ryder would allow me to give the Inspector the satisfaction. She seems to be holding a grudge."

"Huh," said McKinley, hoisting a rolled parchment in his hand. "So I made a scene and stole the map for no reason? Egg. On my face."

Marshall looked from his empty pocket to the map in surprise. Then laughed.

"Pirates," he said.

McKinley tossed the parchment back into his hands. "In my defense, I showed remarkable restraint right up until the part where I thought you were aiming for a double-cross. Piratey instinct took over."

Marshall frowned. "What did you hope to accomplish? We've already used the map to narrow down the tunnel's location. It has nothing more to offer."

"Yeah, about that..." McKinley knelt to the ground. There, he went to work starting a very small fire. "I may have neglected to mention that there's more to this little paper than you realize. I've no doubt that, as a naval captain, you have experience aplenty with maps. But treasure maps? Well, those are a bit more up my alley." He held out a hand for the map. Marshall hesitated only a moment before giving it to him. He cringed when the Marauder brought the map within an inch of the flame. "We law-breaking types don't want just any scalawag making their way to our hard-earned caches of acquired goods. So, a little lime, a steady hand, and some patience, and we can keep the important bits of any map hidden until we need them." Carefully, he moved the map back and forth over the fire until an image began to appear – scorch marks that looked intentionally drawn by the flame. Lines emerged, becoming trails, smudges turned to notations, and finally, the trick rewarded them with a destination. McKinley turned to his brother with a smile. "Looks like daddy had a little pirate in him after all."

"Remarkable," said Marshall.

"I'm good for something sometimes." McKinley elbowed him. "Admit it, you're thrilled to see the jailbreak paying off."

"I'd be more thrilled to see a way to return to our crew." Marshall eyed the impossible cliff face.

"Yeah, that's not happening," McKinley said. "Even if we could climb our way back up, we're too far downstream to catch up with them before dark. Better to continue after the Fortune and return to the Albatross when we're done. Time is still of the essence, if I'm not mistaken."

"Agreed," Marshall said, though he clearly wasn't pleased.

As they brushed themselves off and started along the river, the naval captain paused, falling silent.

That sound. Was it the clash of weapons?

When he realized his brother wasn't following, McKinley turned. "What is it?"

"Nothing." Marshall shook his head and looked over his shoulder. "I just... thought I heard something. Let's go."

≈

"Captain!" Trimble pressed through the underbrush with Bowers and the rest of the party hot on her heels. "Captain, where are you?!"

"Over there!" Bowers pointed to a path of broken bushes and flattened leaves.

Squirrel and marten pulled up short when they reached the cliff.

"Do you see them?!" Trimble shouted, leaning over the edge as far as she dared and scanning the river for all she was worth.

Bowers shook his head. "That's quite a fall. Do you think they made it?"

"I won't think anything else, Lieutenant," she said. "Get back to the ship and get us some rope!"

He turned to comply, only to find himself face to face with a great white wolverine.

Grogoch smiled a horrid, toothy smile before bowling the squirrel to the ground and whirling on the rest of the party. Trimble leapt forward to stop him, sword drawn. She cried out when the weapon was smashed from her hand by the harsh blow of a mace, followed by a swift kick to the stomach.

"Well, well, my pet." Lady Sira stepped over the fallen Trimble to press a boot into Bowers' throat. "What do we have here? A handful of strays, away from their ship? Speak, rodent. Where is your captain?"

"We don't know," coughed Bowers.

"We're just a scouting party," Trimble joined in. "The captain wasn't with us."

"Lies, lies," the long limbed coyote chided. "Boring lies. This path of crushed greenery, does it mean your Secoran leader took a tumble? Or perhaps the pirate? One of them is dead, no? It would be nice to know which of them I can look forward to fighting."

Shooting a warning look to the squirrel, Trimble glared the Kathkan down.

"You aren't getting anything from us," she said.

"More brave Secorans," snarled the wolverine. "Not so brave when I finish with you!"

Sira waved a hand. "Down, Grogoch. Now is not the time. We will take them back to the ships and let the wolf do with them as he wills. It is enough to know that he was on the right path. Come. We do not want them to miss the show."

"Show?" Trimble said, concern on her face. "What are you talking about?"

Lady Sira crouched near her head, placing a claw beneath the marten's chin and smiling coyly. "You do not wish for me to spoil the surprise, little soldier. You will see."

Trimble could only struggle as she was dragged away.

≈

Father Faiz moved like a shadow. He was so swift and silent that Ryder had difficulty tracking him through the underbrush. What glimpses she did catch between ducking and desperately trying to follow were of a deadly warrior bent on the hunt. Coming to an abrupt halt, he crouched beneath a tree and grabbed her by the shoulder, towing her to the ground before she could shoot past him and into the open.

Not two feet from their faces, an army of boots shuffled back and forth, responding to orders shouted from beyond the ships.

"The wolf says we must burn it down," a gruff, accented voice said, punctuating the sentence by spitting on the ground.

"This is a shame," came the reply. "The Empire would not cringe to own a ship of a hundred guns. It would have made rather a nice trophy, do you not think?"

"Make trophies of Secoran pelts, my friend. For now, we set a blaze!"

Faiz clamped a strong hand on Ryder's back before she could follow through on a forward lunge. When the boots finally moved on their way, she knocked away his arm.

"We can't let them burn the Albatross!"

"What are we here to save?" he countered. "Your ship or your crew?"

Ryder wilted, knowing that he was right. They weren't ready to move on the Baron's men. Any attempt to interfere with the ship's destruction would only get them caught.

She crawled forward under cover of the foliage and watched through sad eyes as her ship was pillaged, doused with ale, and set afire.

"They will rebuild it," Faiz said.

Forcing strength into her frame, she moved back alongside the cleric fox – once her greatest enemy, now her only ally. "It won't be the same."

He shook his grizzled head. "Nothing ever is, Rós. You'll adjust, in the end."

"Don't get existential on me, priest," she frowned. "This isn't over yet."

≈

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" McKinley squinted up at the too-mobile sun.

Captain Marshall looked back with what appeared to be a bit of disdain.

McKinley held up his hands in remittance. "Okay, okay, I believe you. It's just hard to maintain a solid direction when the ground beneath your feet is literally shifting. It doesn't help that all of these bloody trees look the same."

"You don't spend much time ashore, do you?" Marshall said.

The Marauder winced. "No, I guess I don't. You wouldn't be up for a bit of a question and answer exchange, would you? To start, is it normal for rocks aground to be covered in barnacles?"

Marshall stopped and came to examine the earth around his brother.

"Or does that mean what I think it means?" McKinley went on.

"This island doesn't just move," Marshall confirmed, disbelief in his voice. "It submerges."

"Blast you, island, I'm not that eager to return to the sea." McKinley scowled accusingly at his surroundings. "Are we in any danger?"

"Impossible to say." Marshall stood. "Many of these trees are decades old, or more. I would guess that the submergence is anomalous, maybe a result of torrential storms or bizarre undertows."

"In my experience, sunken landmasses don't come back from the deep," McKinley replied. "What makes Mosque Hill any different? How is it able to resurface?"

Marshall shook his head, eyeing his surroundings warily. "I don't know."

"Well, that isn't at all disconcerting," McKinley said as they continued on their way. "What exactly does the map say we're looking for, anyway?" They pulled up short as they rounded the corner to see a great stone gate with closed doors, framed on either side by gnarled oak trees. The trees themselves were carved root to tip with a series of images. McKinley's mouth fell open. "Never mind. The question sort of answers itself, doesn't it?"

They each walked around the impressive structure, examining every crack and crevice. Certainly, there was a way in. But it wasn't an obvious one. They were still deep in their analysis when they heard a noise from behind. Someone was approaching.

"The crew?" Marshall looked for movement in the brush. "They found us?"

"Oiy! Trimble! Over here!" McKinley waded into the foliage, only to stumble backwards and come bolting past Marshall with all the grace of an avalanche. Panicked words spilled from him in a single breath, "Oh, dear! It's not the crew! It's not the crew!"

"The Baron?" Marshall's eyes hardened.

"The Baron!"

"He's here?!"

"Now is not the time for oblivious repetitions, egghead!" McKinley groaned. "We're a hair's breadth from being sorely outnumbered! So get to deciphering this thing before the competition for your blasted scepter gets real! With teeth! What do those eyes see?!"

Almost without effort, Marshall's gaze fell to a familiar image carved into the trunk of the left tree.

"The medallions," he said. "They're a guide! Do you see an image resembling yours on the other tree?!"

With the sounds of an enemy mob drawing nearer and nearer, McKinley poured over the tree, inch by agonizing inch, until he found what he was looking for. "Got it!"

"On three!" instructed Marshall. "One, two, three!"

Together, they pressed hard on the symbols and were rewarded by a rumble of dust and a harsh scraping sound as the stone doors between the trees cracked apart. Despite the dire circumstances, McKinley and Marshall both leaned into the doorway of the pitch-black tunnel with reluctance.

"Right. Into the dark and scary cave, then?" The Marauder winced. "After you."

Just then, the Baron and his men broke into the clearing.

Upon seeing them, the massive wolf's mouth parted in a hideous snarl.

"They're alive?" He whirled on the nearby wolverine. "They're both alive?!"

"And planning to keep it that way." Marshall turned, pulling at McKinley's sleeve and diving between the doors just as they slammed to a close.

McKinley collapsed against the inside of the cave. "You've got a lot to learn about trash-talking your opponent."

"Feel free to issue a lesson at a later date." Marshall felt in the darkness for a wall. "It's only a matter of time before they figure out how to follow."

"And something tells me they'll come a little more prepared." McKinley stumbled on something he couldn't see. "A torch would have been nice, don't you think?"

"Indeed." Marshall found his brother's arm in the darkness and pulled him toward the wall, trying not to consider what the Baron's arrival meant for his crew.

"Don't fret, dear brother," McKinley said, as though reading Marshall's thoughts. "Take it from someone who knows a thing or two about tangling with the queen's navy. The Albatross is a tough ship. I'm sure they're alright."

"Whether they are or not will be of little consequence if we do not reach the scepter."

"And the Fortune," McKinley interrupted.

Marshall sighed. "Yes, yes, and the Fortune."

McKinley was unprepared when Marshall came to a full stop. The pirate captain slammed into his brother's back and fell to the ground with an "Oomph!"

"What in Fate's name are you doing?" McKinley seethed from the ground, one hand on his stomach.

"Quiet," Marshall urged, holding up a hand that McKinley couldn't see. "Do you hear that?"

McKinley strained, listening for something other than the scrambling shouts of bloodthirsty calls from beyond the door. Slowly, the malignant sounds parted to allow a different noise to reach his ears.

The gentle, dulcet tones of far-off voices.

"Is that... singing?" he asked. "Not exactly a typical bad guy thing. Tell me that means there's a friendly body in this awful place?"

Marshall helped McKinley right himself, then set off down the tunnel once more. "We have little else to follow. Whatever it is, it can't be much worse than what lies behind us, can it?"

"Don't say that." The Marauder winced. "You'll jinx it. Our luck is bad enough as it is."

"Less superstitious whining, more focus on the path ahead."

"Nice one," McKinley said. "Your trash talk is improving by the moment."

"Perhaps you bring out the worst in me."

"That was sarcasm, Marshall."

Marshall shrugged. "The supposition stands."

≈

"You said you'd taken care of one of them!" Brutally, the Baron flung Grogoch across the clearing. He slammed into the gate with incredible force, his great white limbs splaying in uncomfortable directions. The doors held firm. "You would dare lie to me?!"

Lady Sira stopped his terrifying advance by blocking his path with her mace. "Grogoch does not lie. If my pet says that one of them fell, then one of them fell. Obviously, the fortunate Secoran got back up again."

A triumphant laugh accompanied the clinking of chains as Abner Frum clapped his merry hands. "I knew they wouldn't let me down!"

"The old one celebrates the little things," Sira smiled. "This amuses me."

With effort, the mountainous wolf forced his breathing to slow. He pointed a clawed finger into the wolverine's chest. "Another time, Kathkan. For now, we must turn our attention to this gateway and its secrets." He snapped his fingers. The two hunters came to the front of the group. "The Voice sent you for a reason. It is time to prove your worth."

"The Voice does not reveal all." The larger one shook his tattooed head. "If you have Fate's favor, then you will find a way inside. If not, then here is where we will remain."

Again, Sira laughed. "Such adorable tripe. I think the two are saying you already have a way to open this gate." She gestured to the markings along either tree trunk and lifted a meaningful brow.

"I have Fate's favor," he agreed.

She put her hands on her hips. "If I'm not mistaken, you have two."

≈

Marshall and McKinley were quiet in the tunnel, each of them focusing on the difficult task of placing one foot in front of the other without stumbling. They had just noticed the distant glow of light when the wall fell away. They plummeted through the chasm, slamming against the jagged wall at painful intervals until the slope evened out and they rolled to a grudging stop among the rocks.

Despite the fire in his head, Marshall struggled to pull himself upright, ignoring the blood that ran profusely from one arm; ignoring the ribs that ached as though newly broken. Pain shot through every muscle with every movement.

"McKinley?" He coughed, choking on the word as he noticed McKinley's motionless form some distance away. Gathering himself off the ground, he half-crawled to his brother's side and checked for a pulse. "McKinley!"

Waking upon the instant, the Marauder shot bolt upright, knocking Marshall to the ground with an accidental swipe of his arm. The two shared simultaneous groans of pain.

"Are you alright?" Marshall winced, pressing his hand against the deepest part of the gash on his arm.

McKinley took quick inventory of his wounds. Aside from a cut on his brow and a surging pain in his hip, his injuries seemed relatively minor. "I'll survive. Though I'd prefer to avoid any drastic falls from here on out, if it's all the same to you." He issued a worried gesture at Marshall's wound. "How about you?"

Marshall shook his head. "I've had worse."

McKinley grimaced in return. "My condolences. Were I the one bearing a wound such as that, it would rank fairly high on my list of weathered afflictions." Tearing a scrap of fabric from his cloak, he cinched it around Marshall's arm, distressed when he realized it was doing little to stop the flow of blood.

"One can only hope that the Baron and his men meet with the same misfortune." Now that he had light enough to do so, Marshall looked back up the precipice from which they'd fallen. They were lucky to be alive.

McKinley listened to the sound from nearby. "On the plus side, it seems our unexpected sidetrack has carried us closer to our musical destination."

He bent to help Marshall to his feet and found the naval captain leaning more heavily on his arm than he might have expected.

"This is nice, isn't it?" McKinley tried to lighten the mood. "Lights, music, a filthy, wet cave. What more could a sailor want?"

"A medical kit, perhaps?" Marshall gritted his teeth as he stumbled, jarring his ribs.

In the growing light, McKinley could see the unhealthy pallor of the captain's face.

"You don't look so hot," frowned the Marauder.

"You're no picture yourself." Marshall gestured to the blood dripping into McKinley's eyes.

"I'm serious, Maggot. You're losing blood. Way too much of it, way too fast."

Marshall nodded, trying not to look somber. "I know. But we can't stop now. I can hold out."

"No, Marshall, you can't," McKinley said firmly, lowering his brother to the ground beneath a low-hanging arch. "Forging ahead like a good soldier is only going to make you bleed out that much faster. The music is just ahead. You wait here. Keep pressure on that blasted wound while I fetch help from whomever... or whatever is on the other end of this cavern."

"We have no reason to believe that anything on this island has our best interests at heart, McKinley."

"Probably not." The Marauder smiled, gave a lighthearted shrug, and drew his cutlass. "But I can be so very persuasive when the situation calls for it. Pirate, remember?"

Marshall gritted his teeth, looking for all the world as though he would have liked to object, if only he'd had the strength. At last, he nodded. "Just be careful."

The pirate tossed his weapon lightly between his hands. "Where's the fun in that?"

Deftly along the slippery, narrow path, the Marauder dashed until the cave opened up to a massive, water-filled grotto. The light they'd seen from afar poured in through the smallest of crevices in the cavern ceiling, seeming amplified as it skittered across the water's surface, enshrouding the island in the center of the pool with an ominous, glowing net.

McKinley paused.

The rock was topped by the singing forms of five beings he could not identify.

This was his final chance to rethink drawing their attention.

"Hello?!" he called out. "We need help over here!"

Abruptly, the singing stopped. The five beings turned in his direction, slowly, like dusty machinery trying to remember its original workings. Eventually, they managed to raise their heads into the light.

Their enormous reptile heads.

Stepping back on the path and tightening his grip on his cutlass, McKinley winced.

"Oh drat."

Chapter Seven

He had never seen anything like them.

Huge and hideous, covered head to tail in green and purple scales, the five creatures had eyes of iridescent blue and arms that dragged uselessly along the ground, their crooked claws scoring the stone in vicious swaths. They hissed in unison, a horrid sound that left McKinley cold to the core.

He backed away, chuckling nervously. "I don't suppose we can just pretend I never came here, can we? See, I mistook you lovely ladies for some other... far less ominous... gang of she-snakes. So let's just call this a flub, yeah? You can put those enormous teeth away, I'll take my leave all nice and quiet like, and your choral exercises can continue unhindered. Sound like a plan?"

"It intrudesssss...." They spoke as one, uncoiling and untangling their tails one from the other to spill into the water like a heap of kaleidoscopic gems.

"No, no," McKinley insisted, backing farther from the advancing creatures. "No, it doesn't. It means to do quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. What you're seeing is a grown otter desperately trying to run away like a little tyke. I can understand the confusion, though. You're probably more accustomed to... screaming... and whatnot."

He jumped as a slither came from behind.

"It comessss unbidden to the placccce of the Ancientsss." Their sibilant tongues darted forth, tasting the air as they surrounded him, blocking his path. "It ssssseeeeks the Fortune. But isssss it worthy?"

"It isn't interested in being judged. By you, or anyone," McKinley countered, fear giving way to hostility. "I am here seeking help for my brother. Anything else is none of your concern."

"You are wrong," they seethed. "We are the keepersss of the sssecret of Mosssque Hill. You proccceed at our will."

"Without your say-so, I can't pass?" He folded his arms. "What would your will require of me, then?"

"Blood for blood. Bring your brother to usss and hisss blood will pave your way to the Fortune."

"Not happening."

They snapped their jaws at him. "That isss not acceptable!"

"Apparently, this is your first encounter with a pirate." McKinley's gaze hardened on them as his muscles settled into a dangerously calm tension. "See, I'll have the Fortune with or without your consent, you overweening asps. And if it is blood you seek, I assure you, I am more than capable of giving it to you."

They stared him down with unfeeling eyes, oddly-placed fins quivering as if to distract their prey. They paid no attention to his foot as he tucked it beneath a loose rock.

"It issss the way of the Ancientssss," they said. "It sssshall be hisss blood... or yoursss."

"Yeah, I thought as much," McKinley said coldly.

It all happened in one fluid motion. A sharp kick of his leg, and the rock flew forth, destined for the nearest adder's left eye as the Marauder ducked against the wall. The creature dodged, as he knew it would, and wound its neck for an attack. It struck and McKinley launched himself away from the wall, over the creature's head. He drove his cutlass down as he flew, landing with the she-snake's severed head at his feet.

"Well, there you have it," he said, pointing to the sticky liquid pouring over the rocks. "You only have yourselves to blame."

"What hasss it done?!" The remaining four screeched in beastly rage – a horrible onslaught of sound, like that of a thousand raptors scraping their talons over metal. McKinley was forced to drop his weapon and press his palms to his ears in an attempt to muffle the awful noise. "The sssecret risesss! Sssuffer the island! SSSUFFER THE GUARDIAN OF MOSSSQUE HILL!"

Ears ringing, McKinley dodged this way and that. Their massive jaws snapped eagerly at his every limb as he fought for retreat. He reached for his weapon only to have it knocked from his sight and buried in coils of hideous green. Agile movements propelled him to the archway only to see him towed nearer to the water, his cloak shredded by the razor touch of their claws. He was considering the pond itself as a means of escape when a cry came from the tunnel.

"McKinley!"

Four mouths turned in the direction of this newcomer – an otter whose side was drenched in the blood they demanded, whose heavy breath and shaking limbs marked him an easy target as he leaned against the wall for support.

McKinley groaned. "Dash it all, Marshall, I told you to stay PUT!"

Marshall drew his fine rapier as one of the beasts headed for him. "Yes, clearly you have everything under control!"

Far from the simple meal she might have expected, the unfortunate she-snake met her end on the lightning tip of the weakened captain's blade, but not before slamming him back into the wall, soliciting a grunt of pain and a renewed flow of blood as Marshall's tourniquet fell to the ground.

The diversion gave McKinley the opening he needed to dive for his cutlass. From the corner of his eye, he saw another of the three remaining adders break away, bent on finishing what her sister had begun. He leapt, plunging his sword deep into the side of the nearest snake and using the hilt as a hoist. Turning over in the air, his hands shot one after the other, throwing dagger after dagger until the sinuous creature fell writhing to the rocks, pocked by projectiles that protruded from its sides like a series of unnatural spines. As he descended, the Marauder wrenched his cutlass free with a flourish that sent the snake sulking back toward the water with a wail of agony. Then he stood, turning to face the single remaining serpent with a malicious glare.

Despite her superior size and strength, the creature balked.

She slithered away from him, her hesitation turning to outright panic as a shifting occurred in the rocks below.

McKinley stepped back in confusion as the ground beneath his feet began to rumble with a pulse, deep and heavy, as though the earth itself were responding from miles beneath its hidden crust. The waters rippled, forming waved that surged suddenly over the rocks and knocked the Marauder off balance. A horrid push from the pond sent him sailing from the grotto alongside his brother. The two caught themselves on the archway and looked back in horror as the stones at the center of the pond crumbled and something rose from the waters beneath the two panicked snakes.

The waters receded, becoming teeth, becoming a colossal, mutilated head that threw the lesser snakes back in its jaws with a sickening thwap!

It rose to fill the grotto.

Entirely.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding!" McKinley cried out, his eyes wide with shock.

Oblivious to the otter's disbelief, the great reptile shivered with pleasure, savoring the sensation of nourishment after a long and lasting sleep. Head fins extending to brush the walls of the grotto, it shook the water from its striped skull and tasted the air with a forked tongue. From deep within its massive throat came a hollow sound, a breath as void of purpose as the death rattle of a creature far more mortal than this.

Intruders.

That is why the mystical singing had stopped. Why the keepers of its invisible cell had fallen, releasing their chains and waking it from a slumber that it thought to have no end. It turned, fixing its primal gaze on these two miniscule creatures who had dared to enter his unwanted lair.

Intruders!

"Fate in a barmy basket, Marshall!" McKinley shook his brother, who was limp from loss of blood. "What now?! That thing is very big! It's very scary! And I'm plumb out of tricks, here! Gimme some guidance!"

Marshall struggled to hold open his eyes as his head lolled forward.

"Come on, you blighted prodigy! Now would be a good time to wax prodigious!"

"Need... knowledge..." the naval captain rasped in a weak voice.

"Yes, Maggot." McKinley nodded, dragging him back towards the adjoining cavern. "Knowledge is precisely what I need! A little more lucidity with the answers wouldn't hurt, either!"

"No..." Marshall gasped. "Knowledge... Eadric's symbol..."

McKinley groaned in frustration as the great creature advanced. "NOT HELPFUL, MARSHALL! I don't have that blasted symbol!"

No sooner had the words escaped his mouth than a reflection glinted across the creature's face. The colossal thing shrieked and fell back as though stung. It remembered all too well the symbol bourn by those who had lured it here, condemning it to an eternity of guardianship over a burrow it had not carved on its own. Maybe that power remained here, even after all this time. Maybe not. But it would not be contained again. It seethed and retreated, sinking into a labyrinth of underwater tunnels, where it would bide its time.

And rise again when the symbol was gone.

Stunned, McKinley looked back in the stillness of the grotto to see two hunters standing over his shoulder, golden symbols in their hands and tattoos on their faces.

"YOU?" The Marauder's words shot out like a demand, causing the two familiar mongooses to look down at him with equal amounts of confusion and recognition.

"You?" they replied.

Marshall looked between the Marauder and the newcomers with failing sight, his eyes settling on the one thing that seemed to really matter in this exchange.

"Well, would you look at that...?" He gestured to the leather pack slung over one of the mongoose's shoulders. "A medical kit."

Then, Marshall passed out.

≈

"It's been too long," said Ryder.

Father Faiz pulled his gaze from the mist that seemed to be waiting just beyond the island's shore. Even after the desolation of the Albatross and the symbol emblazoned on its bow, something was keeping the spirits at bay.

"We can't move yet," he said.

"How much longer do we wait?" The Lieutenant shifted in the waters beneath the Havoc, acutely aware of how impatient she sounded. In the shadow of the three remaining ships, she had held her tongue for hours, watching helplessly as the last of the Albatross had fallen to ashes beneath the bay, aching when she realized how distressed her captain would be over the loss of his painting. Though Trimble, Bowers, and the others in the shore party had been returned as prisoners hours before, there had been no sign of Captain Marshall or the Marauder. Between the waiting, the wondering, and the oppressiveness of inactivity, her soldier's verve had grown edgy.

"I understand your impatience, but your crew is safe, for now." Faiz changed his hands on the hull, pulling himself up to stretch his legs, which were tight from treading water. "We must wait until the Baron's men are less alert, or until darkness falls, whichever comes first."

"You know I don't like this." She glared, her mouth dipping below the water for an instant, proving the weariness she would have denied, were she asked.

He crooked an arm about her waist and pulled her up to grip the notch in the hull, where his hand had been.

"I know," he said.

Her glare softened somewhat when she realized his arm lingered around her a moment longer than it needed to, supporting her.

"And I still hate you," she insisted, though something in her voice seemed almost lighthearted.

A rare smile crossed the warrior priest's features. "I know."

They fell silent as a Kathkan guard passed overhead, humming drunkenly to himself. Another approached, and Ryder and Faiz strained to hear the henchmen's exchange.

"Has there been no further word from the Lady?"

"None. Things stand. We watch the prisoners and wait for her return."

"That she trusts this Baron is cause for concern."

"Do not fret so. She trusts nothing, you know that. The Empire has much to gain from this alliance. As does the Havoc."

"Perhaps. But I do not wish to linger long on this island, no matter the rewards. The old one, when they towed him ashore, he seemed more afraid of what waits beyond the trees than he did of the wolf himself. This does not bode well."

"You whelp. Where is your Kathkan fearlessness? The Fortune and the scepter will be found. The Lady will return. Doubt in such matters is for Secoran fools, not for servants of the Empire, no matter how much unpleasant grog they imbibe."

"You dismiss, but I am telling you, that badger, he knows more than he will say. If he leads them into a trap, it could be the ruin of us all."

The two continued their derisive back and forth as they moved away from the railing, putting an end to the eavesdropping.

"I still don't understand why they brought the Elder here from Vernos," Ryder said. "If what the captain says of him is true, then Mr. Frum is little more than a grumpy librarian. What could they possibly want from him?"

Faiz shook his head, refusing to speak, though he knew the answer all too well.

They wanted what they always wanted.

Blood.

≈

"I remember the both of you." McKinley pointed accusingly. "You sold me the Key. Two simple fishermen who just happened to stumble across an Ancient artifact, huh?"

"It was partially true." The smaller of the two crouched near Marshall's side, pulling the leather pouch from her shoulder.

"And if you're here now, that means you came with the Baron." McKinley's eyes narrowed and he tightened his grip on his cutlass.

"It was the only way to join you here." She put a hand on his arm, coaxing him to relax. "We do not have time for arguments. Your friend—"

"My brother," McKinley corrected. "He's my brother."

She nodded, looking to her mate. "I see. That brings new meaning to the Voice's desires." She turned her attention again to Marshall's wound. "Your brother is in need of much care. I will mend him as best I can, but our time here is limited. We must reach the Epicenter as quickly as possible."

"Tell me you know what you're doing."

She smiled at him. "We come from a healing family. You have my word that I am experienced."

"Good. Is it too much to hope that he can fill me in on things while you mend, then?" McKinley gestured to the larger mongoose.

"Of course," she nodded. "You must have many questions. I am Hamara. This is Va'pour. He will explain."

Va'pour did not take his eyes from the water as he spoke. "Long ago, our tribe held an alliance with the peoples of Mosque Hill. We were sworn to protect their legacy, the treasure you refer to as 'The Fortune.' We are bound to the will of those who are now gone. This is why the Key chose us. It was meant for the son of Masguard, and we were shown that path through our meeting with you. We did not know that you also were his son. Your father's endeavor aligned with the wishes of the Ancients. The Baron's does not. He plunders this holy place for his own purposes. That is why we followed."

"You could have just hopped a ride with me. Or with Marshall, for that matter. Why come with the Baron?"

"We did not know we would be needed until the Elder was taken." Hamara looked up from her work. "By then, it was too late to join either of you."

"And the creature? The one that just tried to kill us?" McKinley asked.

"It was brought here in ages past," answered Va'pour. "Subdued by the powers of those who created this place. Now that the keepers are dead, that power is well and truly gone. The Guardian will roam as it wishes."

"That's bad, right?" said McKinley.

"Quite. Yes." Va'pour said. "The creature is a destructive force. Hungry and territorial. It will hunt without discrimination, and it cannot itself be killed. We can keep it at bay, but only for a time. It is bound to realize that we do not have the same power as those who came before."

"Lovely," groaned the Marauder. "Wait. Where is the Baron? There's no way he let the two of you travel down here without him."

"We led him down another path." Hamara smiled.

A bark of a laugh shot from McKinley's mouth. "I can only hope it leaves them as scarred as ours left us. Does that mean you know how to get around in this Fate-forsaken place?"

"Indeed," said Va'pour.

"At last, a bit of good news," McKinley said. The relief on his face only increased when a groan signaled Marshall's awakening. "It's about time, Maggot. You missed all the fun."

With ginger movements, the captain sat upright. "Something tells me that a pirate's definition of fun would not appeal." He reached to lift the flap on Hamara's leather pouch. "Though I'm rather astonished to be remotely lucid, even now. What is in this kit of yours?"

She swatted his hand away. "Tribe secrets, son of Masguard. They are not for you to know."

"We must be moving on," Va'pour interrupted. "The creature will return. And there is some distance to travel before we reach the Epicenter."

"The what?" Marshall asked.

"Come on." McKinley put his brother's arm over his shoulders and pulled him to his feet. "It's a funny story, actually, with a lot of drivel and a very interesting nugget that I hope you'll not kill me for. I'll explain on the way."

≈

Whatever the mongoose had given to Marshall began working almost immediately. The bleeding stopped and his color returned. By no stretch of the imagination could he say that he felt well, but he was able to stand on his own, at least. He might have found it comforting to believe he could wield a sword if the need arose. For now, it was enough that he could press on without passing out.

They had been wandering for hours now with no light and no sign of progress. Marshall strained his senses as he followed the tattooed hunters, trying to see where to place his foot.

"So they sold you the Key?" he said.

"You aren't still cross with me over that, are you?" McKinley said. "We were enemies back then, if you'll recall. Can't blame me for having no qualms with a mild bit of trickery, where you were concerned."

"After-the-fact irritations don't do either of us any good," Marshall said simply before changing the subject. "This tunnel system must span the whole of the island."

"Very nearly, yes," Hamara answered. He could feel her glancing back at him as she spoke. "These caves spiral from the perimeter to the middle of the island. That is why our journey is so long. It is the only path to the Epicenter."

The captain shook his head, not so much at her description as the fact that she seemed able to see perfectly. "Remarkable."

"No, what's remarkable is that my poor, shredded cloak hasn't melted onto my back yet," McKinley bit back. "Between the heat and the moisture, I'm a few yards short of becoming a walking fungus."

"It isn't much farther now," assured Va'pour. "We are nearly there."

They rounded a corner and the tunnel opened up, becoming a bridge. Light reflected up at them from the waters below. Try as they might to ignore the strange, upstream ripple that passed ominously beneath them, all four of them knew what it meant.

The Guardian was stalking them.

McKinley placed a hand on his brother's arm as they crossed.

"I'm quite alright," Marshall said. "You don't need to support me."

"I'm not," McKinley replied, seeming insulted. "I'm prepping to push you in, should that thing come to the surface."

Marshall rolled his eyes. "Very kind. Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

Safe on the other side, McKinley dropped his arm and pushed ahead of the captain. Marshall turned away, welcoming the gloom.

"There," Hamara pointed.

This time, the mongoose's voice was more than a disembodied sound in the darkness. A gentle daylight seeped through the corridor, illuminating her features. The light grew, even in the constricted earth, until the walls didn't seem so oppressive, and the road ahead was one they could see as well as sense. Their eyes were still adjusting when they stepped into the main chamber.

It was vast. Sprawling before them and above them like the belly of some impossible giant, meant for dreams and childhood tales. Walls swept away from the floor with purpose, carved here and there with intricate alcoves, from which giant statues glowered, seeming angry that the silence of so many decades had now been disturbed. Cougars and jackals, ferrets and falcons, each of them seeming more wild and ancient than the last, were placed protectively around the room, facing a half-wall that formed a ring in the center of the cavern. The floor inside the ring seemed brittle, like aged parchment, torn here and there with cracks that offered a glimpse of the darkness beneath. And there, at the wall's edge, sat a face with which they were all familiar. The face of sun and moon, a representation of all the old gods together as one. The face of the Key.

Oblivious to their disbelief, it stared up at the rust-colored sky that could be seen through the hole in the cavern's ceiling, hundreds of feet overhead. The coming twilight cast ominous red shadows over the faces of each, angry statue. A sudden gust surged throughout the chamber, filling the air around them with a sound not unlike the haunted whispers in the mist.

Much as he wanted to believe it was only the wind, McKinley couldn't be sure.

He shivered, glancing to his brother, who seemed stoic and unaffected as ever. "This is what you called the Epicenter? We're inside the volcano, aren't we?"

Hamara nodded as Marshall moved to examine the nearest statue, "Indeed."

McKinley stared up at the distant vent. "Call me crazy, but wouldn't it have been much easier to come through there?"

"Easier, perhaps," Va'pour responded. "But your trip would have been short lived."

The Marauder leapt lightly onto the wall. "How so?"

Without turning away from the base of the jackal statue, Marshall stooped to the ground and tossed a rock over one shoulder. It shot past McKinley and tore through the brittle floor beyond the half wall. A distant splash marked the rock's eventual landing.

McKinley winced, stepping carefully down off of the wall. "I see. Fooled by the phony flooring, we would have fallen into the scary pit and the Guardian would have woken up long enough to turn us into memories and mammal paste. Let no one ever say the Ancients skimped on matters of security."

"What the members of the Scholars Guild wouldn't give to be standing here." Marshall shook his head in awe.

McKinley came to stand in front of the replica of the Key. "Maybe Eadric can flit in and scoop up a souvenir before we leave. For now, I'd guess our interest should be on this thing. Show me some magic, you hideous face, you."

"Perhaps you should show some respect." A booming voice echoed from the dark places of the room, where small movements stirred in eerie shadows. The glint of steel and bared teeth moved to surround them as an army filed into the cavernous space. A hulking figure stepped slowly, deliberately from behind the base of Marshall's jackal statue. He paused with his back to them, appearing as one of the sculptures overhead, a hideous silhouette in the fading light. "This island is for greater purposes than the greed of pirates."

"Baron Von Ulric," McKinley seethed. "I thought I recognized the smell of muscle and hate."

A long-limbed coyote moved to circle the Marauder with a chuckle. "I like this one. He has a bold mouth."

"All due respect, Kathkan, the feeling isn't mutual," he replied. "Must be the accent. Brings up a few too many childhood memories."

"You spent time among us?" She nodded in approval. "This is good. You will be less apt to struggle when things become more... interesting. You two," she turned to the hunters. "You are switching sides, I take it?"

Hamara and Va'pour shared a look.

"No, Lady." Va'pour seized McKinley in a surprisingly strong grip.

Marshall's hand darted for his sword as Hamara moved to cover him as well, but the movement left him dizzy. He staggered against the wall. Hamara caught him by the arm, both supporting and containing him. As she disarmed him, she leaned near enough to whisper, "They will be distracted once the Fortune is revealed. It may be your only chance." Then she stepped back, raising her dagger to his throat. "My apologies, Captain. I only meant to keep you from falling into darkness."

Understanding lit Marshall's eyes.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, and made a show of knocking her hand away. The effort seemed to drain him and he fell, breathing heavily.

The Baron gave a malicious laugh. "My, my, Captain. You look like you've seen better days." He held a massive hand to the darkness behind him. "Maybe this will lift your spirits."

The army behind him parted to reveal an old badger, battered, bruised, and chained.

"Abner!" Marshall lurched forward, concern on his face.

"It's alright, my boy." Abner held up a shackled hand. "I'm alright."

"Abner, you old coot!" McKinley elbowed Va'pour in the ribs and broke away with a grin. "How've you been?"

"How do you think I've been, you scum-sucking pirate? You know as well as I do how bright and lovely life on a Kathkan ship can be. Apart from the torture and the horrid company, I've been just peachy. How've you been?"

"Oh," McKinley shrugged nonchalantly. "I can't complain. Lost my ship and got arrested, but as it turns out, the stuffed-shirt jerk here isn't such a stuffed-shirt jerk after all. Well, no, that's not true. He is a jerk, but in an oddly likeable sort of way. Did you know the two of us were brothers?"

"Yes, McKinley!" Abner gave an exasperated groan. "Yes, I knew!"

The Marauder chuckled. "You funny old codger, you." The humor dropped immediately from his face. "That would have been nice to know. Maybe before my attempt to... you know... kill him and whatnot?"

The army surrounding them seemed confused, uncertain whether or not they should bother to intervene.

"A very successful attempt it must have been," Abner sneered. "Seeing him alive and well, I can tell what sort of an impact my silence had."

McKinley cocked his head. "What are you saying exactly?"

"I think he's saying you lack a certain follow-through," Marshall offered.

"You're so helpful," bit the Marauder.

"I do try," Marshall said.

"Alright, this is enough," Lady Sira nudged Elder and Marauder apart with her maces. "The drama, it presses on my nerves."

"Hey, do you mind?" McKinley pushed her mace aside. "We're talking here!"

In a flash, the Baron crossed the chamber. His hand shot out, encircling McKinley's throat as he lifted the otter and slammed him into the wall with a single, brutal motion of his arm. The impact resounded across the rocks, stirring dust and soliciting a breathless gurgle from the pirate in his hand. Effortless, the gray gargoyle held his prey aloft as his men surrounded Marshall, who had jumped to aid his brother.

The Baron growled, his breath coming in broken puffs of heat inches from McKinley's face. He might as well have been a dragon. For the first time in his life, unable to breathe, unable to move, unable even to have the impact of a blade of grass on stone as he clawed at the hands around his throat, the Marauder felt truly helpless.

"Where is your flash and your presentation now, pirate? Where is your comedy? Your quips and retorts? Please, do offer your gloating where I can hear it." Von Ulric's teeth glistened as he spoke in a too calm, sophisticated tone. "Your lighthearted disguise reeks with pretention. The stink offends me. End it now."

With that, he dropped McKinley to the ground. The Marauder crumpled in a heap, gasping and coughing in desperate gulps, his bluster gone. He looked across to Marshall to find his brother's face creased with alarm.

The room had become oppressive.

A tomb in waiting.

At a gesture from the Baron, a wolverine moved to tow the pirate to his feet and McKinley found himself face to face with the great beast who had bowled him over on the Albatross.

Amelia's killer.

"Hello again, otter!" he said. "Grogoch remembers the taste of your blood! You die this time, I think!"

"Not yet, my pet," said Lady Sira. "The wolf, he has other plans for them today."

"Whatever his plans," Marshall said. "We'll not abide by them. You might as well kill us now."

"Whoa, whoa!" McKinley looked down at Grogoch's huge hands. "I might be willing to abide! Abiding doesn't sound so bad! Nix on the killing, guys, I have things to live for."

"Indeed you do, Marauder. Indeed you do," Von Ulric said. "A daughter, if I'm not mistaken. Very young. Very ill. That's why you came to Mosque Hill. That's why you need the Fortune."

"How could you possibly know that?" said the Marauder.

"Even disappointed, the Voice reveals many things. The location of this chamber, for example. Would you like to hear it, young pirate? The Voice?"

"Um. Nope," said McKinley. "I don't think I would."

The Baron smiled, phony pity on his face. "Even if it means the salvation of your failing child?"

McKinley's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"Magic, Marauder," said the Baron. "It's what you came all this way to find, isn't it?"

"Magic?" Even in the wolverine's grip, McKinley looked hopeful. "I was right? The Fortune can save her?"

"It can." Von Ulric gestured for his release. "If I allow it."

McKinley looked to Marshall. The Baron's offer couldn't have been clearer. Turn on his brother. Save his daughter.

It was a choice that was no choice at all.

Marshall shook his head, remembering how it had felt the moment before Calum kicked him down the stairs of the Albatross.

Knowing that this time would be no different.

McKinley dropped his eyes to the floor and sagged in resignation. Then he looked to the Baron, pure resentment on his face.

"Where do I sign?"

Chapter Eight

"Don't look now, priest, but I think the tide's coming in." Ryder searched for the moon through the mist and frowned when she realized it was nowhere to be seen.

"It isn't the tide," Faiz said in dismay. "The island. It's sinking."

"How is that even possible?" Ryder gritted her teeth, realizing he was right. "It doesn't matter. If the island is sinking, then we can't afford to wait any longer. The Captain said that their route was through a cave or a tunnel. If it floods, they're done for."

"Which means we need your crew, and we need them now," Faiz said. "I understand."

"The gun deck is buttoned down. We'll have to find our way in from up top," Ryder said, grateful that the Havoc was a small ship with a small crew. "If that's a patrol up there, they don't seem to be taking any particular route. If I go now, while they're aft, I might have a chance."

"You'll have a better chance if I create a distraction," Faiz dropped into the water.

Ryder opened her mouth to stop him but realized again that he was right.

"Be careful, priest," she said. "I don't want to have to rescue you, too."

He looked back as he swam toward the shore. "I'll be careful, Rós. You have my word."

"The word of a priest or a warrior?"

He turned from her then, his eyes darkening as he replied, "Both."

≈

"So, what happens now?" McKinley moved to stand beside the Baron at the base of the Key statue. "Do you want me to... you know... kill him as a show of loyalty or something?" He gestured to Marshall, who glared at him. The Marauder shrugged and retorted by way of an apology, "Well, I have to ask, don't I?"

The Baron seemed dismissive of him as he lifted the medallions to the light and pieced them together. "Your offer is as empty as this place is hollow. You would never kill the good captain. You lack the conviction."

"It is true, Secoran," added Sira. "What you are really asking for is a weapon. I don't think we are going to give you one."

"Can't blame a guy for trying," McKinley said, shooting a gaze to his brother. Marshall was watching their movements very carefully.

With the medallions pieced together, Von Ulric pressed them into an indentation in the stone; one that fitted around them like a perfect molding. There was a scraping sound as the medallion slid inward.

Then silence.

"Hmm," McKinley grunted. "Anticlimactic."

"Something is meant to happen?" asked Lady Sira.

Unmoving, the Baron drew a thin breath and stared at the medallion in the stone.

"Perhaps you lack conviction as well," Marshall said, goading.

Von Ulric turned his head over one shoulder, pulling his lips away from his teeth as he glared in the captain's direction.

"He is not wrong," Va'pour said. "The Fortune can only be revealed to those with purpose. And only if their request is written in blood."

Removing the medallion from its place in the statue, the Baron examined the odd bit of jewelry, for the first time noticing the interconnecting grooves that formed channels across its surface.

"The blood of those with purpose," he said. Without warning, he grabbed McKinley by the arm and drew his claws across the Marauder's open palm. Stunned, McKinley tried to pull away, but was no match for the Baron's strength. The wolf held him fast with meaty hands, squeezing the wound and forcing blood to ooze and drip onto the medallion's surface.

Von Ulric then made a similar wound in his own palm and moved to return the medallion to its place in the molding.

"Well, hang on," McKinley said. "Marshall's got purpose, too! Why not use his blood?"

"I think not," said Von Ulric as their blood dripped through the channels and into the inner workings of the Key statue. "I don't believe we want him participating in what's about to come."

As the medallion clicked into place, the only sound in the chamber was that of steady breathing and expectation. McKinley was just about to make another snide comment about the silence when the rumbling began. Slow at the start, it grew until the room was a cacophony.

Until the volcano that wasn't a volcano at all erupted with movement.

Storms of earth poured like rivers from the walls, clouding the vision and leaving many crouching on the floor in fear, certain that the volcano was coming down around them. Shhrikt-kthunk went the statues around the chamber. McKinley, Marshall, and the Kathkan company watched in wide-eyed disbelief as the stone beasts broke away from their pedestals, one by one. Only the Baron himself did not shudder or stare. The jackal was the first to step forward, lifting its great stone feet with leaden movements. Thunder accompanied its every footfall as it moved toward the half wall at the center of the chamber, followed by each of the other stone creatures. When they were situated at opposing points around the wall, the statues of Mosque Hill stopped, turning their faces to the sky and opening their great stone jaws. Their gaping maws contained mirrors which caught the incoming twilight and reflected the rays one to the other in a magnificent display. The light coalesced in the air above them into a solid, final beam that focused and came to rest on the Key statue.

The god-faced stone held firm for a moment. Then it split at the center, coming apart with an unnatural grating sound to reveal a single item held within.

Hamara and Va'pour dropped instantly to their knees in a show of respect.

As the dust cleared, McKinley coughed and came forward, a look of confusion on his face.

"What... what is this?" he asked.

"This," said the Baron with an awful smile. "Is the legendary Mosque Hill Fortune."

"No, no, no." Forcefully, McKinley shook his head, pointing in accusation and disappointment to the thing inside the statue as he raged. "The Mosque Hill Fortune is supposed to be the greatest treasure the world has ever known. It's supposed to be magic! But that! Is a bloody SPEAR HEAD!"

Marshall inched his way nearer to the statue.

His brother wasn't wrong.

Despite the rumor and mystery echoed throughout every script within the Archives, what rested there for all to see was a simple tool fashioned from something very like flint. An unassuming bit of sharpened rock, and nothing more.

The Baron lifted the ancient thing from its place and gestured for the Elder to be brought forth. "Nothing is as simple as it seems."

"So, what then?" McKinley said, still sounding exasperated. "It's a tool? We use it to... open something? Or... something?"

"A tool? Yes, of sorts. But perhaps you should ask Mr. Frum for the details," Von Ulric smiled. "It is clear he recognizes it for what it is."

The Elder was grim and sober, holding the Baron's gaze as though he did indeed know what was coming.

Marshall frowned at the look on his face. "Abner?"

The old badger took off his glasses and gave his former student a comforting look. "Never you mind, my boy. Everything's going to be alright."

Marshall shook his head.

Then the Baron threw Abner against the pedestal and drove the spear head through his heart.

McKinley stepped back in horror.

"ABNER!" Marshall screamed and launched himself weakly at the great wolf. The Baron halted him with an outstretched arm, throwing him effortlessly back across the chamber. Slamming into the wall, Marshall fell to the ground gasping in grief and physical pain. He reached a hand across the floor to his dying mentor.

Abner slid slowly to the ground as well, the light draining from his eyes.

"Remember," the Elder gasped. "Remember what Calum told you."

And then he was gone.

McKinley looked up at the Baron in disgust. "Why would you do that? Why him?!"

"You think I chose him to spite you? I am many things, Marauder, but petty isn't one of them. I chose him because the Voice demanded it."

"Ancient blood," Hamara explained as she and her mate stood from the floor. "Only one of his ancestry can reach through the history in their blood to connect with the past."

"And only the past can show the way to the greatest treasure ever known." The hulking Baron stepped back as a light even more intense than that surrounding the statue began to emanate from the wound in the Elder's motionless chest. The light, like breath, seeped from the spaces between his teeth. It floated above him, converging on the pedestal, where it molded itself into a shape not unlike that of Abner himself. Von Ulric stared up at the translucent being with relish as he concluded, "Infinite knowledge."

"Fate stands before you. The wisdom of the world lies at your feet." The shade of Abner uttered the words with the voice of a thousand creatures, all speaking as one. The primitive calls of jackals and eagles echoed behind every phrase. The rumbling breath of lions filled the spaces between his words. "One question for your blood. Choose your turn of destiny. Choose your words."

Marshall's head came up. Calum's warning loud in his thoughts.

You must choose your words carefully.

For the longest time, no sound was made. Everyone present had been baffled and awed into silence as their minds worked to wrap around what they were witnessing.

McKinley was the first to break the quiet. "What in Fate's name is this?"

"FOOL!" The Baron reeled on him then, a snarl on his face as he struck the Marauder to the floor.

"I am the Fortune," the spirit answered. "I am the light. I am the knowing and the understanding of all that is past. Every life that has been lived and every life to come. I see all. For I am one with Fate. Your destiny is known to me. Your way to change it is through me."

Realization struck McKinley with a force the Baron could never hope to match. One question for his blood. He could have asked anything.

He could have asked the reason for his daughter's illness.

He could have asked the cure.

One chance. And because he had opened his mouth without thought, that chance had been squandered.

The Baron seethed atop him for a moment more, but McKinley was too caught up in his distress to care or notice. Breathing heavily, the great wolf forced himself to calm, then turned to the shade with anticipation.

"The Scepter of the Ancients," he addressed the light over Abner's corpse. "Where will I find it?"

For a moment, the shade was silent. Then it did something it had not done in answering the Marauder's question. It looked Von Ulric in the eye, seeming pleased as it said, "You... will never find it."

A slow smile spread over Marshall's face, Calum's warning becoming reason for outright laughter as he realized the Baron had drowned himself with his phrasing.

He had chosen the wrong words.

Von Ulric's head tipped to one side, a flash of rage igniting his face. In a flurry of roaring motion, he reached for the nearest creature and threw the wide-eyed henchman over the half wall with a howl of uncontained wrath. Like the stone thrown by Marshall, the doomed creature crashed through the brittle floor and plummeted into darkness.

There was a distant splash.

It was followed by a low, rumbling noise that sounded horribly like a death rattle.

Then a shout.

And silence.

Marshall came slowly to his feet, peering through the hole in the floor.

He caught his brother's gaze.

What are you thinking, Marshall? The Marauder followed his eyes, confused.

In their fear, the guards holding the naval captain had backed away and now ignored him entirely. Marshall stepped even nearer to the wall. Von Ulric had not twitched over the sound of his henchmen's death, too lost in fury to take in the threat from below.

The Baron had no idea the serpent was there.

Dash it all, Maggot! McKinley took a small step forward. What are you thinking?!

Marshall looked at him and nodded, as though understanding his thoughts, or giving him permission to do something he might not have considered.

"Oh, blast," McKinley sighed beneath his breath. "Not that."

Without further warning, Marshall broke into a run, crashing through the mob and throwing himself into a blind leap over the half wall.

"I hope you know what you're doing." McKinley whipped a dagger from his sleeve, closed his eyes, and flung the blade at the back of his brother's head.

Whether or not Marshall caught it before crashing through the floor was anybody's guess.

≈

Faiz swam in the shadows of the ships, gliding just beneath the surface with measured movements. The smallest vessel on the far side of the inlet was empty, he knew. He climbed onto its deck and slipped into the hold unnoticed. Once there, he stood in the quiet with the light pouring in at his back. The cracks in the closed hatch cast his shadow on the murky bowels of the boat.

He could not set the vessel ablaze. Neither could he use its meager weaponry to fire on the other two ships. Such action would only alert the Havoc's crew to his presence and might entice them to tighten security around their prisoners. No, any distraction he created would have to be above and beyond anything a mere person could achieve. Something to keep the Kathkans' attention facing outward, away from Ryder's rescue.

Something to shock them into inaction.

It took multiple swift kicks to split one of the support beams before him. He broke it away from the floor with strong arms. Carrying the beam to the center of the hold, he hoisted it aloft and brought it down on the floor with a boom that reverberated through the keel of the ship. Again, it came down, pounding against the wood and pulsing through the waters into the deep.

Boom, boom, boom.

Slow and steady, purposeful.

Boom, boom, boom.

He struck a rhythm into the ship.

And he waited.

≈

Marshall spun as he fell through the darkness.

The henchman's final shout made it clear that he'd been alive when he reached the water below. The captain forced his aching body into a dive to lessen the water's impact. He held the knife with its blade forward. It would be a shame to survive the fall only to stab himself with his brother's dagger when he struck bottom.

It was too dark to see the water rushing up to meet him, but he could sense it nonetheless. He drew a final gasp before he was enveloped in the cold, the currents snatching at his breath and dragging on his wounds like a hungry beast prodding at the weaknesses of its prey. Quick to gain his bearings, Marshall pushed his way to the surface, where he sputtered painfully. From overhead came the enraged voice of the Baron calling for pursuit. No doubt they were already searching out the path to follow. He didn't have long.

Vision swirling, he took several long and steady breaths.

Focus.

He closed his eyes, suppressing the sting and the beckoning of unconsciousness.

Focus!

When again he opened his eyes, determination had overcome physical weakness and his sight had adjusted enough to allow him to take inventory of his surroundings. It was dark and dank like much of the tunnel system. Stalagmites sprouted from the water all around him in ridiculous numbers. Had they been clumped together in a single mass of rock, they could easily have filled half of the grotto. But they were placed here and there, some of them reaching high enough to scrape the ceiling above.

Marshall was lucky not to have been impaled.

The waters trembled around him, still rippling with the force of his impact. There was other movement there as well. In the farthest corner of the cavern, the water darkened in a manner that seemed far too composed. Experience told him the pool deepened there. Instinct told him more.

He felt the foreign quiver in the current even before hearing the serpentine rasp of the creature as it surfaced. The great monster stared at him from across the cavern with an angry, lidless stare, its beastly tongue flickering from beneath the surface of the water – a monster all its own.

Marshall tightened his grip on McKinley's dagger.

"Okay, Maggot," he said. "Time to prove you inherited a spot of the family's insanity."

≈

"IMBECILE!" The Baron struck at McKinley again and again until the Marauder fell and did not rise. "Grogoch! Take the hunters into the tunnels and find him. Bleed him as much as you like, but do not kill him. I need the cursed queen's man alive enough to speak."

"For what purpose?" countered Lady Sira, stopping her men before they could obey. "Your plan falls apart, Secoran. I warned you against relying on superstition for success."

"My success is not yet stolen," Von Ulric said. "The scepter is here and if anyone can find it, it will be that despicable captain."

The coyote sighed and gestured for Grogoch to do as the Baron commanded.

"I suppose it is well that you do not relent easily, wolf," she said.

McKinley was unsteady in his attempts to pull himself to his feet, and was far from prepared when the Baron grabbed him roughly by the scruff of the neck.

"You, Marauder," he growled. "Almost had me convinced that you'd turned to the smarter side of our shared endeavor. But you very nearly killed your own brother with your stunt. Have you other blades on your person?"

"You know, I might," McKinley said. "It's so hard to keep track."

"Such bravado, even now? My, but you have gall," said the Baron. "Very well. If I cannot ring it from you here, I shall take it from your wretched weakling of a child when we return."

"You think you can move a pirate with threats? I may be a disloyal rat, but I'm not about to turn on my family. Not for you. Not for anyone. Besides, didn't you claim to be above the pettiness of things like retribution?" the Marauder seethed.

Von Ulric smiled, turning a palm up as if to say the discrepancy was no one's fault but McKinley's. "What is a life lived without exceptions?"

"Quiet, the both of you," Lady Sira said with a frown, eyeing their surroundings with a sudden discomfort. "Something is amiss with this island. The ground has tilted."

Though the Marauder's feet were still held off the ground, he noted the odd angle at which he dangled from the Baron's grip.

She was right.

"What does this mean?" she said.

Von Ulric bared his teeth. "It means we are running out of time."

≈

Ryder jumped when she felt a touch on the leg she'd wrapped about the anchor's chain.

"Go now." Faiz reached up to grip the chain just below her hands, pulling himself up so his face was level with hers.

She stared at him for a moment. "What happened to our distraction?"

"It's coming," he assured. "You have to trust me."

Ryder sighed.

Trust him?

Hadn't she already stretched her willingness to its limits?

"Please, Rós," he said, his gaze at once calm and beseeching.

With a glance to the bow above her, she shook her head. Now was hardly the time for hesitance.

"Alright," she relented. "Might as well get it over with."

Hand over hand, she climbed with Faiz just behind her on the chain. She paused only a moment beneath the rail.

That's when she heard the gentle splash on the far side of the inlet, as of something breaking the surface of the water from below.

Then another.

And another.

At a nudge from Faiz, she crested the prow and dropped quietly to the deck, stunned to realize that the whole of the Havoc's crew had gathered along the opposite rail and seemed to be staring at something near the farthest ship. She crouched behind a crate, her curiosity piqued as she watched her enemies' mouths fall open one by one in shock. Hazarding a glance over the top of the crate, she too fell frozen when a great tentacle shot from the sea beneath the much smaller boat. It wrapped around the single mast with a violent tug, wrenching the ship backward in the water as more tentacles rose up to encircle the vessel.

It was a giant squid.

And it was crushing the far ship to splinters.

"Rós," Faiz put a hand on her shoulder. "We have to go."

She stared back at him, mouth agape. "That was your distraction? Fate alive, you don't do anything half way, do you, priest?"

Smiling, he gestured to the stairs.

Ryder wasted no more time.

They broke cover as Sira's men scrambled in fear, arguing over whether to fight, flee, or sit in silence hoping the terrifying sea creature's rage would be sated by the destruction of an unmanned vessel. They were down the stairs and traversing the subsequent ladder with the hatch closed overhead when Ryder was halted by the weight of a weapon pressing into the small of her back.

"Freeze or be skewered, ye vermin!"

Glancing over her shoulder, she growled in irritation when Gil held aloft the "weapon" – the handle of a mop – then fell back in his cell, giggling obnoxiously.

"Pranks? Now? Truly?" She arched an angry brow at the three raccoons.

Gil tossed the mop through the bars and slapped the floor beside himself. "Bad toim 'er no, ye shoulda seen yer face!"

"Priceless!" Lumber agreed.

"Shut it, you!" Ryder grabbed a handful of grain from a nearby sack and threw it at them. "You're going to bring the guards down here if you keep it up. What did you think you were going to accomplish with that thing, anyway?"

"We was just tryin' te open th'hatch when the two o' ye showed up," Gil said. "Weren't enough te escape. We was jus' hopin' fer the chance te yell obscenities at the crew. What's all o' that ruckus up there's about?"

"You don't want to know." Ryder shook her head.

"Lieutenant!" Trimble leapt to the bars, a smile on her face. "It's incredibly good to see you, sir."

"Good to see you too, Trimble. What of the captain?"

"He and McKinley," she hesitated. "They fell, sir. We don't know what happened after that. We were ambushed by the Baron and his lackeys before we could pursue."

Ryder's composure did not break, but for a slight crease in her brow.

"They're alive," Faiz said from over her shoulder.

"I certainly hope so," Trimble shook her head, taking his statement as wishful thinking and nothing more.

Ryder's small showing of concern was swept away by it.

"How fares the ship?" asked Trimble.

"It's gone, Lieutenant," Ryder said.

Trimble's breath caught. "I see, sir."

"We can't worry about that now, Lieutenant," Ryder said by way of comfort. "We're getting you out of here. Keys?"

Trimble frowned. "The Kathkan coyote has them. She's back on the island, as far as I know."

"Picking the locks it is, then," said Ryder, looking about the hold for something that might suit her purpose.

From a cell in the corner, Tobb moved forward and offered his flute through the bars, "Will this 'elp?"

Sharing a look of confusion with Trimble and Faiz alike, Ryder said to the musician, "Thank you, Master Tobb. But what, precisely, am I meant to do with that?"

"By, it's a flute, milady! Yer meant te play it!" He smiled widely. "But seein' as how that moight not be smart jus' now, ye can take it apart an' use the pins te pick the locks instead."

One of Gil's boots immediately struck the gruff beaver upside the head.

"You blockhead!" The raccoon cried, indignant. "Why diddun ye use it before?"

"Oi don't know nuthin' about pickin' no locks, do Oi?" The musician fell back, rubbing the side of his face with a frown.

The raccoons looked one to the other in disbelief.

"Tobb," chided Lumber. "We were right here!"

"We's the masters o' the Thieves Guild, ye dolt!" Ormac said.

"Ye coulda given it te us at any toim!" Gil groaned through the bars.

The old musician sneered. "Well Oi diddun think about that none!"

"Guys!" Ryder stepped between their cells. "Focus, please."

"Roight, then," Tobb set about dismantling the instrument. In a few short moments, he held out a palm of metal pins. "Here ye go."

"Metal's pretty thin on most of those," Lumber said.

"Aye," Gil agreed. "Ain't gonna get no use out o' any one o' them."

"Put 'em together," offered Ormac. "Two er three in a stack moight have jus' enough force te open one lock, at most. Then th' metal'll be too bent fer anything else."

"One cell?" Ryder frowned in frustration. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Faiz jerking his head in the direction of the island's volcano. She followed his gaze to the wall, realizing that, in the belly of a ship with no portholes, he wasn't using his eyes for whatever he saw.

"Priest?" she took a step toward him. "What is it?"

His eyes met hers.

"Abner Frum," he said. "They've killed him."

She inhaled sharply. Though she didn't know the Elder personally, she knew how much the old badger meant to her captain.

And she knew what it meant to lose one's only family.

It was more of a loss than she ever wanted her captain to have to experience.

She pulled herself upright, eyes hardening. "One cell to open. Which is it going to be?"

"Pick me!" Gil's arm shot through the bars.

"Me!" Ormac crowded in front of him eagerly. "Oi'll give 'em what for, I will!"

"You morons," Lumber slapped them each on the backs of their heads. "You're both in the same cell!"

Much to their surprise, Father Faiz moved to stand beside the cell containing only Trimble and – Ryder noticed for the first time – Eadric.

"One soldier?" she placed a gloved hand on the bars. "You want us to take the ship with only one fighter? Are you mad?"

"If we've only one cell to choose, it must be this one," he said.

"No disrespect intended, Father," Trimble winced. "But I'm not as valuable as all that."

"Not you," he said, seeming apologetic.

All eyes fell to Eadric.

"Oh, no, no, no!" The kookaburra shook his head furiously. "The battle with the mistwalkers was more than enough for me. I want no part in your fights any further!"

"Please." Faiz lifted his hands, speaking to Ryder alone. "I could never explain. All I can tell you is that now, with the Elder's death, Eadric has become the most important person here. We won't be taking this ship. And if things continue on their current course, we'll not be leaving here at all. That feeling you spoke of, on the ridge? He is the answer. Whatever happens to us here, he at least must be freed."

Ryder held his eyes for a long time, searching. At last, she wordlessly came to stand beside him, where she forced the pins into the lock and turned it until the mechanism clicked open.

"That's it," she said, tugging at the pins to show they were bound within the lock.

Trimble forced a smile as she pushed open the cell door. "It's something, at least."

Eadric nudged around her, forcing the door open even wider.

And into the forgotten mop.

It tumbled into a precariously stacked collection of empty barrels.

The resulting crash! resounded throughout the ship and the deck above came alive with cries and the thunder of tramping feet.

"Blast!" Ryder ripped her sword from its scabbard. She'd just moved to the base of the ladder, intent on defending the hatch, when she turned back with a glare of indecisiveness.

Trimble moved to close the cell door behind her, to lock Eadric behind the protection of the bars. Ryder stopped her by slamming her gloved hand against the door.

She pointed her sword at Eadric and stepped aside. "When they come through that hatch, you make a run for it, do you understand? I will hold them as long as I can." The hatch flew open and she ordered, "Go!"

The bird hopped forward, terror on his face. "B-but, I..."

Ryder growled. Grabbing him by the wing, she hurled him from the cell. "GO!"

With a squawk of helpless horror, the clumsy creature spread his puny wings and shot over the heads of the onrushing guards, disappearing through the hatch and beyond their reach.

Trimble was unprepared when Ryder shoved her back into the cell.

Where she would be safe.

"Sir!" The marten launched herself at the door, wrenching at the bars as if to open it, though it would not budge.

"Not to worry, Lieutenant." Ryder planted her feet, her defensive stance belying the false bravado in her voice. "I've got this."

Chapter Nine

Marshall's wounded arm screamed its complaints as he lunged to avoid the massive creature's bite. From stalagmite to stalagmite, he leapt, shards of rock splintering around him as the swing of the reptile's head broke through them with ease. The waters beneath became a torrent of thrashing rapids. Foam clung to the walls. All around him were scales and salt water and blinding movements. Chaos.

The creature's head whipped to the side, its neck finally striking a column too thick to be shattered with a single blow. The force of the impact sent a shudder through cavern and reptile alike. It pulled back, stunned. Recovering, it wove its head in a serpentine gesture, seeking its prey. When its lidless eyes fixed on Marshall, the captain had fallen against the far wall in exhaustion. Head fins shivering, the beast opened its mouth – a gaping and hungry cavern all its own.

Bloodied and soaked, Marshall steadied himself, but did not move from the creature's line of sight.

It lowered its head.

Then it charged.

Marshall stood his ground, waiting for the moment just before the creature struck. At the last second, he threw himself to the side, plunging McKinley's blade deep into the tissue behind the reptile's head and held tight to the hilt. A howl of fury and pain flew from its throat as its forward momentum carried it through the wall and into a separate grotto. Stone shot out in infinite directions as it thrashed, desperate to loose this miniscule thing that had attached itself beyond reach of the reptile's gnashing teeth. Rearing back, it threw its long neck forward and down. Marshall flipped forward, forced to release his hold on the dagger, lest he break his arms. He grimaced as he was sent flying over the monster's striped skull.

His flight was halted mid-air when he struck against a wooden pole and fell to the ground. "Ungh!" he grunted with the impact.

When the shock passed and the air returned to his lungs, he stared between his splayed fingers to realize he wasn't resting on the ground at all, but on the wooden slats of a ship's deck. Pushing himself back on his knees, he stared up at the aged masts in wonder.

A... ship?

A ship!

The creature's horrid hiss brought him back to the reality of his situation.

Though temporarily trapped by the too-small crevice in the wall, the stone was no match for the monster's ageless strength. There was a pounding noise. Then a crack in the constraining wall. And a giant claw burst through the stone. Followed by another. Rock shards flew at Marshall and his newfound ship like a cannon volley as the creature exploded into the chamber, landing on thick forelegs with a heave and roar of primeval ferocity. Water surged in at its back and Marshall felt the ship lurch forward. The brittle vessel creaked its age, groaning from the sudden onset of motion. Shockingly, it did not sink, but rather settled into a slow drift.

Toward the reptile's eager grin.

Marshall darted for the wheel. Muscles straining against bandages and broken bones, he pulled through the pain, emitting a wordless cry of triumph when the ship finally began to right itself. He turned into the current, pointing the old, jagged bowsprit toward the creature's face as though brandishing a weapon. Seething with rage, the beast tried to fall back but, caught between the two caverns, it had no room to maneuver. It threw itself intentionally against the wall, widening the opening and allowing it to backtrack. Once in the main chamber, it placed a fore claw on either side of the opening and lowered its head, waiting.

"Blast!" Marshall shouted as the foremast slammed into the overhanging wall, halting the ship's progress.

The creature was more than hunger and instinct.

It had forethought.

The captain fell flat on his back as the ship was ripped forward once again. Between the rails of the broken prow, he could see the reptilian beast's spear-like teeth clamped around the bowsprit. It was pulling the ship. Hands covering his head, Marshall crouched in preparation of the debris from cracking masts and rails torn askew. He was shocked when the ship was tilted just enough to be yanked intact into the opposing chamber with a sideways jerk of the creature's head. The ship slid through the water until it struck a stone column, tossing Marshall off deck and into the roiling waves. Clutching at the hull, he pulled himself above the water and sputtered for breath, his strength all but drained.

Slowly, as though sensing its prey's inability to retreat, the monster turned and skimmed through the waters to stare down at Marshall with a satisfied gleam in its lidless eyes.

Just then, a wordless shout came from somewhere across the cavern.

Marshall smiled.

A broken off growl shot from the monster's mouth as it reeled in the direction of this new sound. On the far end of the grotto, where a small tunnel connected just above the water, the Baron's henchmen huddled in utter horror behind the albino wolverine, whose fur stood on end, making him seem larger than normal, but still so very small in comparison to the thing before him.

He shouted again as the creature advanced.

Marshall forced himself up, moving through the water as quickly as the currents would allow until he reached a mass of debris solid enough to run upon. Adrenaline throbbing through aching veins, he pulled himself atop the stone and darted alongside the creature as it charged. He searched for McKinley's dagger amid the scales behind the creature's striped head. Bracing himself, Marshall watched the albino turn with a terrified snarl and throw his massive cudgel. In its attempt to avoid the weapon's path, the creature darted closer to the debris field, and the captain jumped. He latched unnoticed onto the anchored dagger's handle just as the club whizzed by with such force that it tore through the thin skin of the beast's head fin. It howled, a tremble running through its body as it rose up, for the first time bringing itself entirely from the water.

Aghast, Marshall looked back along the span of its hard-muscled back. Nose to thrashing tail, the reptile was easily five times the length of the Albatross and every inch as thick. It was horrifying and unnatural.

"Retreat!" Grogoch shoved his compatriots aside as he rushed for the supposed safety of the tunnel.

A shiver of pleasure crossed the creature's spine as it watched them scurry in so helpless a manner. Echoing a series of hollow breaths that sounded eerily like laughter, the reptile coiled itself, then sprung forward into the tunnel, where it fell with zeal upon the fleeing Kathkans.

≈

"Anytime you want to step in, priest!" Ryder shouted as she darted between enemies, her breath alternating between exasperation and fury.

Trimble had long since given up on trying to pry open her door, leaving Ryder to fight alone but for a few fortunate blows the marten managed to execute through the bars of her cell.

"Dash it all, Father!" Trimble cried to the fox who seemed frozen in the middle of the deck. "Don't just stand there! HELP HER!"

Ryder snarled at his inaction, but did not chide further, channeling all of her energy into holding back the flow of enemies. An uppercut to the henchman on her left, a knee to the one before, she brought her sword in an upward arc. Cutting and turning and slicing, she fought like any tried and true soldier, with the gypsy verve of one whose time in the Mercenary Guilds had been anything but wasted.

And still, Faiz stood.

Something raged just behind his troubled eyes, something that reminded her of that day on the Albatross, when Amelia had fallen.

She was forced back as more and more men poured through the hatch. A second crew. The nearby ship had been alerted.

"Jailbreak!" one of the Kathkans cried. "Kill them all!"

Faiz was knocked to the ground by the sheer volume of enemies flooding the deck. The movement clouded his vision, becoming a ballet of shadows and sound that held no meaning.

Until he saw Ryder fall.

Time seemed to slow.

He could hear his pulse sounding in his ears as the lieutenant collie's head lolled to one side and her breath seemed to fail. He saw the rise and fall of her chest slow. A pool of blood formed beneath her and he realized that he was reaching for her gloved hand through the chaos of pounding boots and the frantic opening of cells.

She did not reach back.

Tightening his grip on the rosary in his hand, he came to all fours and hung his head, feeling crushed beneath the weight of his own criminality. She was right. She'd been right all along. All of these years making one righteous blunder after another. So many offenses for which there was no atonement. Every one of them had been a result of choice. Tears of guilt constricted his grizzled throat as he heard the crew of the Albatross scuttling back in their cells, shying away from the weapons that were now being brandished in preparation of a slaughter. Those unshed tears fell back in his mind, pooling into something bigger, something far more meaningful.

The Baron's men lifted their blades, preparing to strike.

"Stop."

The sound that came from Faiz's throat was so guttural, so commanding that all movement in the hold immediately ceased. In the stillness, the fox pushed himself from the floor, muscled arms stretching out in wide, deliberate movements to grasp the weapons of those who had fallen beneath Ryder's blade. Chest heaving with deep, purposeful breaths, he stood, his back to the Baron's men, an enormous axe in either hand.

Startled and uncertain, the enemy turned as one, many of them levying their weapons at this new threat, though several still looked ready to skewer their prisoners, as ordered.

They too diverted their attention when Sir Deagan Faiz looked back at them over a battle-tensed shoulder, eyes dark and cold as a bottomless sea that dared the fearless to enter its depths and be lost.

"I said..." He turned to face them fully, lowering his head in what was once a signature motion of humility. But now, ears rigid, gaze fixed on those before him, the gesture shattered all appearance of compassion.

His rosary fell to the ground with a definitive thud.

"Stop."

≈

Lady Sira put a palm to the ground, frowning at the tremors from below while those in the room crowded around the half wall, trying to see through the darkness below.

Sound poured from the tunnels in a whirlwind of shouts and fumbling screams, roars and a grating as of steel on coarse stone.

Von Ulric pulled his black flamberge from its scabbard and moved to stand before the tunnel taken by Grogoch and his followers. He lifted his head, testing the air.

"Whatever is coming," Sira said. "It is big."

"So am I," Von Ulric snarled. "I am not leaving until I get what I came for."

Nearer and nearer the tremors sounded, echoing down the tunnel like a coming storm.

Sira was bowled over as Grogoch flew from the tunnel opening, his final remaining party member hot on his heels, sheer terror in his eyes. Behind them, the tunnel crumbled, collapsing in on itself as it lost all stability. Seconds later, the rubble exploded.

A mammoth reptilian head emerged.

Lady Sira dragged the albino to his feet and bolted from the creature's path. A neck as thick as the tunnel itself shot forward in a downward arc, clamping tooth-filled jaws around the last party member and chomping him into oblivion.

The creature's momentum propelled it clear of the tunnel's remains. Von Ulric fell into a crouch, using his cloak to shield his face from raining debris as the gargantuan beast flew over his head. Massive fore claws dug into the ground as it landed and turned into a sideways slide. With a final whip of its tail, it scraped to a stop and rose up, surveying the scores of scrambling morsels at its feet. It emitted another halting breath.

Intruders.

The Baron watched with a snarl as someone rose up from behind the creature's head. Hand still clamped around the handle of his brother's dagger, Captain Marshall gave Von Ulric a smile.

One of unrepentant triumph.

"Booya!" cried the Marauder with a peal of laughter as his brother leapt from the monster's neck and into the commotion.

A guttural cry of abject fury followed the brothers to the center of the fray, where they ducked and parried into the shadows.

"What is this?!" Lady Sira shouted at his shoulder. "First, they bring gryphons from the sky and now they conjure up a monster such as that?! You choose strong enemies, wolf!"

"It is they who have made an enemy of me!" he snarled back. "Find them!"

Despite the furor within the cavern, the Kathkan's attention was drawn to the sky overhead by a sudden, skittish flapping.

Eadric.

A snarl came to her lips.

"Not while my ship is under threat, Secoran!" Leaping onto a fallen stone, she lifted her voice above the din. "The Havoc has been taken! All Kathkan warriors return to the shore! Protect my ship!"

"NO!" Von Ulric leapt to stop them. "I will not be vanquished here!"

"Then fight the beast on your own! It is for nothing if you have no vessel to carry you home!" she called as she ushered her people from the chamber and into the escape tunnels.

The Baron stared over the crowd of fleeing henchmen, his blood boiling, his horrid mind mulling over his choices. He stood just long enough to catch the notice of the great creature, which tore across the chamber after him with a hungry hiss. Pulling his lips away from his fangs, the wolf turned, splaying his claws and holding his sword ready. He leapt just as the beast dove in for the kill. Up came his flamberge, tearing through the flesh of the monster's jaw in a deep swipe. At the crest of his leap, the Baron drove down with his claws and closed his mouth around the beast's nearest fin, wrenching it away from the monster's head with the strength of his neck. The creature howled in pain and reeled its head in a spray of blood.

Von Ulric came down to ground alongside the dismembered fin, the monster's blood pouring from his mouth in disgusting streams as he glanced back at those who had already fled. Then, with a howl of rage, the Baron sheathed his sword and turned to follow, knowing that even this great and horrid creature would not dare to pursue them now.

On the far side of the chamber, Hamara and Va'pour rushed to catch up with the sons of Masguard.

"You had me worried, Maggot!" The Marauder grabbed Marshall by the jacket and pulled him from the path of a falling rock.

"No more than you, with your sudden shift to the bad side," Marshall retorted as he leveled a fleeing muskrat with his fist.

"Oh, come on, you know bloody well that was just a ruse. I told the Baron to shove it as soon as you did your little death drop! Nice return on my dagger, by the way. What would you have pulled from the darkness if I'd given you a sword?"

As if on cue, Marshall pulled up short as he was confronted by the hilt of his own, fine rapier, handed back to him by Hamara.

"You do not have much time," she said, pointing to the Key statue, where the shade of Abner still hovered atop the tilting pedestal.

"What are you talking about?" Marshall shook his head.

"And why is the Fortune still there?" McKinley frowned. "It only offered one answer for our blood, didn't it?"

"Yes," said Va'pour, returning McKinley's cutlass as well. "But you and your brother share blood. One question remains. You must ask it quickly! Before the beast can destroy the chamber!"

McKinley's breath caught in his throat.

It wasn't over yet.

"What are you waiting for?" The Marauder gave Marshall a shove toward the Fortune. "Go! Just be careful how you word that blasted question! You saw what happened to the Baron!"

"Yes, I saw. Not to worry." Marshall turned to stride purposefully across the floor. "I'll be very direct in asking the whereabouts of the scepter."

"Whoa!" The Marauder stopped dead in his tracks and grabbed Marshall roughly by the shoulder. "No, you will not! You are going to ask how to save my daughter!"

The two fell to the ground, knocked apart by a group of fleeing Kathkans and falling rock.

"I can't do that, McKinley!" Marshall shouted over their cries of retreat.

"Yes you can! You swore to me, you loathsome queen's man!" McKinley desperately tried to force his way through the crowd, his eyes at once pleading and threatening. "She's my little girl, Marshall!"

Marshall continued, increasing the distance between himself and his brother as he called, "The scepter is the only way to ensure Secora's safety! You don't even know that your daughter is still alive! And you're asking me to risk the lives of everyone in the kingdom on the possibility that she might be saved?"

McKinley broke through the mob and covered the gap between them in an instant, grabbing his brother by the coat and screaming, "YES! That's exactly what I'm asking! I promised her magic, Marshall! And it's here! Please don't take it away from her! PLEASE!"

A jolt of unfamiliar emotion shot through Marshall's chest as he stared into his brother's face. The pirate captain was on the verge of tears, desperate and terrified. Not over any monster, or the fear that they might be crushed in the heart of the falling chamber. But with the dread of a fate that was far, far worse than any physical threat.

There was a crash and a breathy hiss from the great beast as it smashed clumsily into one of the towering statues along the edge of the wall. It teetered precariously a moment before toppling through the brittle floor with an unnatural groan.

The stream of light overhead was broken. Even the reptilian beast seemed to pause in the carnage to stare up at the display as the beams fell in on themselves and exploded in a blinding burst of fading light. A shockwave snapped outward, striking each of the statues in turn. They cracked and crumbled in sudden avalanches to the ground.

"Now!" Hamara shouted urgently. "You must ask now, before it is too late!"

Marshall tore his eyes from McKinley and looked to the flickering shade on the pedestal.

Where is the scepter?

Again, he met his brother's gaze. This was no time for sentimentality. Too much was at stake.

Where is the scepter?

Curses.

With a snarl of self-loathing, Marshall tore from McKinley's grip and leapt within earshot of the Fortune, shouting, "How can McKinley's daughter be cured of her illness?"

The light of the shade wavered with each statue that disintegrated.

Finally, after an agonizing moment, it managed, "The outsider from a healing family..."

Before it could finish, the final statue plummeted into the darkness below the chamber and the voice faded into silence.

McKinley looked to the two hunters. Outsiders. From a healing family. One of them could save Maya.

He turned to Marshall with grateful tears in his eyes.

Marshall tightened his jaw and gave his brother a brief nod.

He had chosen his words carefully.

He only hoped that Abner would have been proud.

≈

Ryder awoke with her head throbbing. Fumbling weakly, she placed a gloved hand against her shoulder, where the stitches in her old wound had torn open, coating her uniform in blood. It was never going to heal properly if she kept this up. Pushing thoughts of a rebuking Doc Calum aside, she realized that she had not been captured. She had not been gagged or bound. She had not even been moved from the place where she'd fallen.

She glanced back to the open cells, wondering why her crew had not moved to escape. Why they stood in the back of their compartments, seemingly in shock. Grunting in painful effort, Ryder stood and opened her mouth to ask what had happened, only to stumble to the floor once again as she tripped on the answer.

Bodies.

Everywhere.

She gasped. The floor around her was thick with limp forms. Forcing her way through the mass of fallen henchmen, she moved to the upper deck, where she found more of the same. Scores of Kathkans, dead.

"Impossible," she whispered beneath her breath as she tried to take it all in.

On the main deck, a blanket of arrows sprouted like rigid fur from every wooden surface, making it clear that the opposing ship had moved in, pummeling the Havoc with volley after volley of the only weapon they dared use against their Lady's ship. Turning her gaze to the open ocean, she could see that ship had since moved off, likely confused as to how to confront whatever force had torn through here without damaging the Havoc itself. Ryder stepped carefully between the projectiles, finding it difficult to place her feet without slipping on blood-coated wood as she made her way toward the one in the center of the deck.

The one responsible for this unbelievable carnage, who stood panting, doused from head to toe in blood and sweat.

Father Faiz.

Gingerly, Ryder reached a gloved hand toward his shoulder. "Priest?"

The fox snarled and whipped his head at her touch like a feral creature, but did not turn to face her directly, seeming to sense even through his savagery that she posed no threat.

She moved slowly around in front of him and met his gaze. His eyes were hard on her at first. Then she lifted a gloved hand and placed it gently on his cheek.

"Deagan?" she said.

His trembling fingers still held tight to the battle axes in either hand, but realization seemed to take him all the same. Behind his eyes of steel welled such a flurry of anguish that Ryder had to gird herself against an empathetic impulse to weep for him.

"You... you still live?" he whispered, seeming at once monolithic and distant, fragile and small.

She could only nod in response.

The knight turned his face to the ground and closed his eyes. As the axes fell from his hands, he reached to her for support.

She caught him, allowing him to clutch at her the way a child clutches a blanket during a lightning storm.

≈

Eadric flitted between falling rocks, squawking in unabashed terror when a great reptile rose up beneath him, snapping its jaws and hissing with a primeval hatred.

"What in Fate's name is going on?!" he cried as he dove down alongside the captains.

"The long and short of it?" McKinley said humorlessly. "Marshall is my new hero and we're about to die a horrible death."

"Eadric?" Marshall took a few steps back, his eyes fixed on the oncoming creature. "What are you doing here?"

The advisor looked confused and frightened as the hunters came alongside him, prodding tactlessly at the pinions of his wing, where the Scholars' symbol was.

"I don't know! The fox! He said I had to escape! Something about the Elder and Fate and, and I don't know what else! He's insane! This is all completely insane!"

"You'll get no argument here!" said McKinley. "Though, if we do manage to survive, you have my pirate's word that I'll be marooning Faiz's grizzled hide in the most odious of locations for sending you to help us!"

"Your rage is misplaced," Hamara disagreed. "This bird is precisely what we need."

The flighty newcomer parted his beak in disbelief.

"You're kidding, aren't you?"

≈

The ancient creature roiled in confusion. One moment, it was free. In complete control both of itself and the mortal world at its feet. Then, a flash of light, a glimpse of that familiar symbol, and it was falling back.

Not again.

It struggled against invisible bindings, remembering centuries of loneliness and solitude, thrashing this way and that as if to buck this impossible power from his thoughts. But the creature was older now, stronger than it had been when first it was imprisoned here. With a surge of concentration from its primitive mind, it tore a hole in the invisible net of power that threatened to close around it. Breaking free, it dove for its only means of escape – the hole at the chamber's center.

It was by its own choice that it fell.

A shriek of pain ripped through its body as it landed, skewered throughout the length of its body by the razor-like stalagmites. It trembled and shrank, tearing flesh and tendons as it wrenched itself free. Its breath came ragged from its hollow throat.

Above, there were cries of seeming victory.

Rage boiled beneath its pain at the sound.

It contemplated return. A second attempt to crush these intruders; to feast on their mortal lives the way this prison had feasted on its mind.

Then a draft passed over its wounds and it trembled once again.

Escape.

Hissing in a hunger of a different sort, it clawed its way into the secondary cavern, finding the cracks in the stone that smelled of salt and freedom. With a moan of gathered strength, it slammed the full force of its gigantic body into the wall which crumbled and fell away to reveal the open sea. The current rushed in around it in a joyous whoosh, filling the grotto. And into the ocean it moved.

Escape.

From beneath the scaled armor of its skin, a dull ache crept along its nerves. Muscles opened as the slow remembrance of motion coursed through expanding limbs. It roared. An eternity of hunger had left the creature raw and vulnerable. Even as it swam – mouth agape as if to taste the liberation it had long forgotten – it knew that this could never be forgiven. It would never forget their scent. It would find rest. It would heal. Then perhaps one day, long from now, it would return with strength enough to destroy what remained of Mosque Hill.

For now, it danced, coiled and cloaked in the cool of the brine.

Weaving its way beneath the legs of a creature far greater than it could ever be.

Chapter Ten

Lieutenant Ryder leaned on the rail, eyeing the growing tide with concern as the crew worked to clear the deck. Not only had the waterline reached the trees, its rise was increasing at an exponential rate. It wouldn't be long before the whole of the island was submerged.

"How is he, Doctor?"

The elderly ringtail stood from her crouched position over Father Faiz and wiped her hands.

"Physically, he's fine. Not a scratch on him," she said, then shook her head and lowered her voice. "But he still isn't speaking. I think the fight was as traumatic for him as it was for those of us watching. Be grateful you were unconscious."

Ryder looked back at the silent priest.

He was sitting forward on a crate, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the deck. He wore no expression.

"I'm not one for that kind of gratitude, Doctor," Ryder said.

"Lieutenant?" Trimble approached from behind. "The ship is mostly in order. It's a sturdy float, for its size. We should be able to make the return trip in a fraction of the time. Barring any complications, that is."

"There's the rub." The doctor sighed and walked away.

"Thank you, Trimble, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. This vessel isn't budging until we've given the captain every chance to return."

"If I may ask, sirs?" Ensign Wexler joined them. "Why aren't we going in after them?"

Ryder looked down at him and swallowed. "Because our captain gave us an order. And because we trust him to make the right call, however difficult it may be for us to understand it."

Wexler was nodding in reluctant agreement when Ryder noticed a twitch in Faiz's ears. Though the warrior priest did not move otherwise, he seemed to be listening to something deep within the trees, something that even her keen hearing could not yet detect. She walked along the rail, following his attentiveness through the growing darkness until she saw movement in the underbrush of the nearest hill.

"Is it the captain?" Trimble asked, hopeful.

Ryder squinted at the distant shadows, muscles tensing as recognition struck. "No, Lieutenant. It isn't. Gun crews to the cannons! All hands take arms and bring this ship around now!"

≈

"Did we kill it?" McKinley stared into the darkness below, trying to make out a form in the deep.

Hamara shook her tattooed head. "It cannot die. The children of the World Serpent are cursed with eternal life."

"Children?" the Marauder winced. "That was a child? Here's hoping we never have to meet its mommy! Can we get out of here now?"

"No, we can't," Marshall replied.

"Look, I know you were hoping for your scepter or whatever. But, if you hadn't noticed, this place is coming down around our furry ears. And if you'll take a second to use them, you'll hear the distinct sound of rushing current coming at us from below. These caverns are flooding, and fast. We don't exactly have the luxury of time."

"I mean," Marshall corrected. "That we can't get out of here at all. The collapse of the statues sealed all of the escape tunnels."

McKinley frowned. "Oh. That's bad."

"Indeed." The naval captain leapt onto the half wall, seemingly searching for something in the water below. "But there may be another way."

"Oh?" McKinley arched an eyebrow. "Do tell."

Marshall simply smiled as he caught sight of his target and pointed.

"Is that..." Hamara followed Va'pour to the wall's edge and stared. "Is that a ship?"

"Yes, my tattooed friend, I believe it is." McKinley looked up at Marshall with a newfound respect. "I should have known you had another trick hidden away in that egg shaped head of yours."

Their planning was interrupted by the awkward flapping of Eadric, who hovered over the motionless body of Elder Abner.

"Leave him be, Advisor," Marshall scowled.

"My apologies, Captain, but if this is indeed the Fortune of Mosque Hill, I will do no such thing!" The kookaburra wrapped both feet around the spearhead and pulled for all he was worth. "This is an Ancient artifact! It belongs in the Archives, to be studied and defended by the Order! There is no telling the historical value of an item such as this! I'll be drowned if I'm going to leave it behind to be washed away by the sea or buried in obscurity!"

He fell back with a grunt as the artifact dislodged.

Marshall stepped forward, a pained expression on his face.

There was a residue of light emanating from the Elder's wound. It carried a flurry of near-silent whispers that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. They grew and receded.

And the edges of Abner's wound receded with them.

Then, with a sputter, the old badger bolted upright, brushing the last of light and voice away with frantic arms as he cried in confusion, "Dash it all, Mad Dog, if you come through my window one more time, I swear--!"

Those in the chamber gasped in shock and relief as Abner crossed his eyes and fell away from the pedestal.

Unconscious, but alive.

≈

Lady Sira tore through the underbrush, dodging cannon blasts and urging her people onward, a snarl fixed on her face. To be fired upon by her own ship? Intolerable.

Through the rising waters they charged, climbing the edges of the Havoc with angry claws and falling upon the Secoran thieves like proper examples of the Empire. As the fight raged, Sira forced her way to the wardroom of the lower deck, where she kicked in the door and strode to a cabinet along the far wall. From it, she drew a medium sized chest, which she laid on the table at the center of the room. She could hear the harsh footsteps of approaching soldiers, those who had made the ill-fated choice to follow her below decks.

"Steal my ship?" She growled as she removed her head scarf and tied it over her mouth and nose. "I think not!"

Just as the two uniformed Secorans stepped into the wardroom, she brought her mace down atop the chest, shattering it and forcing the two compounds within to combine in a horrid explosion of noxious vapor. A cloud rose up and expanded to fill the room. Before the soldiers could react, Sira ducked through the aft window, sealing it behind her and listening to those within wretch and gasp and fall to the floor. She climbed the hull and darted along the rail as the vapor spilled throughout the lower deck. By the time the cloud had crept its way up the stairs, she was already at the fore of the ship, hoisting the anchor as she fought to keep any attackers at bay. By the time a familiar collie recognized the poison for what it was and ordered the Secoran crew to evacuate, Sira was already in the water with a towline, making for the opposite end of the bay.

She whistled to the great white wolverine as she found solid ground beneath her feet.

Seeming disappointed to be leaving the slaughter behind, he made his way to her side.

"Grogoch!" she ordered, tossing him the line. "Pull!"

And pull he did.

Arm over arm, through the water, the Havoc was towed.

Within moments, the emptied ship was on the distant end of the inlet, where Lady Sira, Von Ulric, and the majority of the Kathkan crew had already collected.

The Secorans, for their part, had been stranded across the bay, many of them still reeling from the effects of a toxin they had inhaled before they could escape.

Von Ulric looked down at her with interest.

Lady Sira returned his gaze over the scarf on her scarred face. "A lesson to any who tries to take what is mine. I leave nothing to chance."

"I can see that," he said. "Leave them to drown, then. And let us tell their kinsmen of their folly as we wrench their families' lands into proper hands."

"You still think to steal your kingdom's throne? Even without the scepter?"

"Secora Tor," he explained. "Is my Havoc."

She looked up at her ship, then back to the massive wolf. "At last," she nodded, slowly. "Something about you that I can understand."

"I, too, leave nothing to chance, Kathkan. Despite our loss here, the seeds of doubt have been sown among the noble ranks of Secora's citizenry. The stage will be set, and their armies weakened. If ever your Empire had a chance at a glorious victory, it is now."

"War, then," she said, staring across the bay to the doomed crewmen. "So be it."

Helplessly, Ryder watched their enemies retreat along the waning shore, towing the ship – their only hope of escape – around the corner and out of sight.

"What now, sir?" Trimble made no attempt to conceal her fear as she looked back over the weakened crew and the sinking island.

"Now, Lieutenant," said Ryder. "We climb with the waterline and hope for a miracle along the way. Everybody move out!"

≈

"This is a terrible idea!" Eadric screamed as he flew low over the roar of rushing water.

"You act as if we have a choice in the matter!" McKinley shouldered Abner's limp body and bolted to the half wall where he stood alongside his brother, searching for a secure hold in the stone, feet braced against the rubble. "The rest of us don't have your winged advantage! So buzz along, little fly, and make sure our respective crews are ready to save our miserable pelts when things go horribly awry!"

"Stop yelling at me!"

McKinley rolled his eyes.

"Perhaps you should go easier on the Advisor," Marshall said as he gripped the half wall with his good arm. "If not for him, Abner would still be dead."

The Marauder grunted as the water rushed up around him, the sudden tow pulling the very heavy Abner from his shoulder.

"Yeah," he shouted, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he lunged through the water to regain his hold on the badger's unresponsive form. "Thanks for that, Eadric!"

"It is coming!" Hamara cried, putting an end to the snarky exchange.

The ship tore through the brittle floor, bowsprit first. The surge knocked Marshall back in the water.

"Marshall!" McKinley shouted after him, then ducked when his brother was whipped past him on a return wave. He watched, open-mouthed as that wave threw Marshall onto the ship's deck. The boat righted itself and the naval captain stood to his feet.

Marshall looked down at the deck, surprised to find himself atop it.

"That was remarkably simple," he frowned to himself.

"Easy for you to say!" McKinley said as he, Hamara, and Va'pour twisted and turned in the choppy waters.

As they searched for a way to board without being crushed against the stone debris, Marshall cast about for a line only to realize that much of the ship's standing rigging had long since rotted away. A flurry of movement brought his eyes to the water, where McKinley was gesturing wildly, yelling something he could not hear over the roar of the water. He followed McKinley's pointed finger to the other side of the chamber, where two fallen statues had toppled into one another, forming a wedge that angled away from the ship.

He needed no further instruction.

Marshall vaulted toward the wheel. Grunting, he swung the ship broadside. It rose slightly along the stone, keel scraping as it came to a stop. With the waters rising ever faster, Marshall knew the pause would not be long lived. Protective will forcing him to action, he launched himself over the bow without a second thought. One hand caught the rail as the other reached toward his brother in the swirling current. Pain shot violently through his wounded arm and he hissed through gritted teeth, but held fast to the rail.

Reeling back in the water, McKinley whipped his tail and leapt to catch his brother's hand just as the ship began to pitch away from the wall. Once on board, he shoved Marshall back to safety and pulled the hunters to the deck on his own.

Faster and faster, the water came, Marshall struggling to keep the ship centered beneath the volcano's vent while McKinley stowed Abner below the deck.

"Hang onto something!" Marshall ordered as the funnel closed in.

McKinley grabbed the rail around the cockpit. It snapped away in his hands.

"Like what?" he called back. "My false sense of security?"

In response, Marshall could only grimace.

They crouched as the ship shot vertically from the vent. Eyes were closed. Teeth were gritted and breath was held as their feet came off the deck. Though they hung suspended in the air for only a fraction of a second, it seemed an eternity before the ship came crashing back to the surface of the water. It pitched with the rising tide and plummeted over the volcano's crest. Trees rushed toward them and past them. Careening to and fro, they flew down the mountainside on the overflow, battered back and forth by rock and fallen timber. Screams of elation and fear shot from the deck, only to be immediately swept away by the driving wind. There was a final crunch beneath them before the vessel shot from a minor cliff and fell the last few yards to the open ocean below.

The suddenness with which they stopped caused all aboard to fall scattered to the deck. They lay silent on their respective backs for the longest time, staring up at the misty stars, before bursting one after the other into laughter. The sound of giddy relief filled the night.

McKinley stood and looked back along their impossible path, still holding a bit of the broken rail in his hand. "Someone please explain to me how in the world we managed to survive that?!"

Marshall picked himself, only to collapse against the raised rear deck in exhaustion. His arm was bleeding again, and as the final ounce of adrenaline left him, he found his strength leaving with it. He'd given everything he had.

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the wall. "Fate's way of issuing a consolation prize, perhaps? We haven't time for pondering. We need to locate the crew."

"You won't be doing anything, you poor, mangled creature," McKinley said. "The rest of us will search below for a way to make this rotting log something akin to seaworthy while you stay as you are. Eadric's already working on locating the crew, remember? You can remind me later to teach you the value of celebrating the smaller victories."

"This wasn't a victory, McKinley," Marshall said quietly. "Not even a small one. As reality would have it, we did scarcely more than slow the Baron's intentions. We've done nothing to avert the threat of war, and nothing to prevent the mists from overtaking Secora."

McKinley hardly seemed to be listening, having become suddenly fascinated with the bit of rail in his hand. "The scepter would have aided us in that?"

"It may have, yes."

"And what did you say it looked like, again?" He began prying the splintered wood apart.

"Does it really matter now?" Marshall frowned.

"I suppose not." McKinley held up what remained of the rail. Only it wasn't a rail at all. It was a wooden implement of a very different sort, carved roundabout with symbols and animalistic forms. "Unless, of course, it looked something like this."

≈

Ryder's face was grim as she led her people up the side of the volcano. Trimble had been alert enough to spy an approaching sandbar through the trees. Maybe it would halt the descent of the island. Maybe not. At the very least, reaching it alive might buy them some time.

She was still consoling herself with this thought when the ground beneath her boot gave way with a squishing sound. Catching herself on a tree, she looked down the hillside to realize that much of the landscape had been dampened.

"What is it, ma'am?" Trimble asked.

"The ground, it shouldn't be wet here," she replied. "We're well above the waterline."

The marten shrugged. "Surging waves, perhaps? They could reach this high, couldn't they?"

"But then, where are they? No, this hillside was tilted under the water not long ago. It must have been." She moved from the trees to stare down at the receding tide in the moonlight. "The island is rising again."

Realization crossed the marten's face. "The sandbar."

"We're on a collision course," Ryder said soberly.

"Heads up, sirs!" Ensign Wexler pointed to the sky.

They looked up to see Eadric descending through the mist.

"At last!" He squawked and stumbled into the crowd. "I went back to the bay, but you weren't there anymore."

"The bay wasn't there anymore," Ryder corrected.

"All the same, your captain is waiting for you."

"Where?" asked Trimble.

"There," Eadric pointed to the waters below.

They squinted through the darkness to a form adrift on the sea.

"Is that...?"

"Yes, it is, Lieutenant," Ryder smiled. "A bloody miracle."

≈

"Get everyone onboard! Move! Move!" McKinley shouted authoritatively as they pulled the remaining members of the crew to the deck of the rickety ship. Beneath them, the waters were swiftly turning shallow as formerly-submerged rocks rose up to meet them. "No time for grateful greetings, my friends! We've got to get this board moving before we're carried back up on the shore!"

"And we've got to put some distance between us and the ground!" Ryder said as she leapt over the rail. "Mosque Hill is about to crash into a sandbar on the other side."

"Blast!" McKinley groaned. "This has got to be the most temperamental island I've ever had the misfortune to stand upon!"

Marshall stared into the depths below the ship. "It isn't an island, McKinley. And it isn't going to crash. Get those sails open, now!"

Though ragged and torn, the patchwork sails unfurled and towed the ship forward through choppy waters. It reeled, pushed sideways in the sea as a great, stone-like outcropping rose suddenly from the port side.

"On the wheel!" The captain directed Trimble as he dragged himself along the rail toward the fore of the ship, where he could spot their obstacles as they appeared. "Another one coming up on starboard!"

Hard, she pulled against the wheel, whipping the ship to the side just as the second outcropping exploded from the ocean. The prow slid along the outcropping with a crack and a grind, producing a tremor from beneath the water.

There was no avoiding the third assault.

The ship bumped upward, struck along the keel by a rising surface. Into the air they flew, water pouring from the exposed hull. An unexpected jolt sent them careening forward. The bow tipped, creaking and moaning with every motion as it flew down along the bewildering boulder and into the ocean with a definitive splash.

A bob and a swaying of masts, and the ship was still once again.

The crew looked back in astonishment as the island shot further and further into the air overhead, beyond the shore, beyond the strange outcroppings in the sea. It made a strange silhouette in the moonlight, one stretch of land teetering this way and that as it mounted atop another. Only then did it rise high enough for them to see the truth.

The outcroppings were not boulders.

They were legs.

A colossal sound echoed over the night like the controlled beating of an earthquake as one leg stepped fully onto the sandbar, followed by another, drawing the unearthly creature into the sky. The island was but a small portion on the highest point of the armored being's body.

"Fate alive," McKinley gasped. "Mosque Hill is on the back of a kraken."

They watched in awed silence as the beast clambered in slow time over the sandbar and into the sea beyond, where it followed the ocean to deeper waters and disappeared below the surface entirely, taking the island with it.

"And so, Mosque Hill is lost once again," said Eadric.

"At least we managed to escape with her secrets," McKinley tightened his grip on the scepter.

"Not all of them, I think," said Marshall as Ryder moved to support his weight. "Not by a long shot."

Chapter Eleven

"You're lucky to be alive." The doctor's chiding broke loud and clear through the door of Marshall's cabin even before Ryder entered. "Another fraction of an inch and that artery in your arm would have been completely severed. Not even the hunters could have saved you then, I'd wager. To say nothing of the strain you've put on the wounds you already had."

"I did no more than was required, Doctor." Marshall sighed.

"Well, keep it up and you'll be finding yourself in another line of work." She shook her finger in his face.

His stoic expression softened. "I'm alright, Doctor. The wound will heal."

"Yes, but will my sanity?" She snapped her satchel closed and moved to the door.

Ryder stepped aside to allow her to pass.

"You sent for me, sir?" the lieutenant said.

"I did." Marshall came to his feet. It was clear that enough of his strength had returned to allow him to stand with confidence. "I wished to commend you for your actions in my absence. You rescued the crew under rather impossible circumstances, I am told."

"I lost the Albatross in the process," she argued. "And in all fairness, Father Faiz is the one responsible for freeing the crew. Without him, we all would have fallen on the Havoc. A ship I also lost."

"Yes, well, Kathkan vessels have a way of biting the hands that take them." He gave a slight smile of understanding. "I heard about Faiz as well. How is he?"

"He's quiet." Her eyes fell to the floor.

Marshall studied her. "You aren't to blame for his choices, Lieutenant."

"With all due respect, sir..." Slowly, she brought her gaze to meet his. "Yes, I am."

They stood in silence for a moment more before Marshall turned to the desk at his back, pointing to a bolted footlocker. "I also asked you here to test your lock picking skills."

"Did someone say lock picking?" McKinley pushed his way clumsily into the room. Slamming the door at his back with a curious expression, he leaned against it as if to hold it closed. "I'm pretty handy at such piratey things, you know."

Almost instantly, the door began pounding against him, angry cries breaking through the cracks from the other side. The Marauder held fast, an innocent look on his face, until the rusted hinges finally caved and he was thrown to the floor with the door atop his back.

"McKinley, you rotter!" Abner shouted down at him.

Marshall looked from otter to badger and back again without emotion.

"Is there a problem, old friend?" he asked stoically.

"Yes, there is!" The Elder stomped into the room, shaking an angry finger in McKinley's direction. "And the problem is right there! The dirty pirate has taken it upon himself to throw the hunters into the hold!"

"McKinley..." Marshall shook his head.

"What?" McKinley pushed the door from his back and flipped upright with acrobatic ease, brushing dust from his cloak. "I only put them there for safe keeping!"

"I'll go see to their release, sir." Ryder sighed as she pulled Abner from the room.

"Do be careful with them, Lieutenant! I need them in one piece!" the Marauder shouted shamelessly after them. "Can't blame me. Va'pour was asking for it, I could see it in his eyes. Good to see you're feeling better, though. We've got a great deal left to do. What with a kingdom that needs saving, a little girl that needs healing, and a sordid criminal history that needs clearing."

"Whoever said that we would be doing anything to clear your crimes?" Marshall raised a brow.

McKinley laughed. "Whoever said it was my crimes that needed clearing?"

Marshall narrowed his eyes. "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Never."

"Those lock picking skills you mentioned?" Marshall sighed, tapping the lid of the footlocker.

"Right, right." McKinley scarcely passed his hand over the lock before it fell away.

Marshall wouldn't give him the satisfaction of complimenting his display of skill.

"What's in there, anyway?" McKinley asked.

Marshall put his hands on either side of the lid and pried it open. Smiling, he lifted a dusty old tome into view. "It's the ship's log."

"You're kidding." The Marauder rubbed his hand over his face. "You're obsessed. Obsessed, I say."

"You aren't the least bit curious as to how this ship came to rest so far inland? Underground?"

"Nope." McKinley turned for the door. "If the owner of this ship was even half as uptight as you are, I don't care who they were or why they did whatever they did."

Staring down at the open logbook, Marshall stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder. "You should."

"Why's that?" McKinley glared around at the rotting wood, regretting the question even as it left his mouth.

"Because." There was a sad kind of awe in Marshall's voice as he sat on the desk and joined McKinley in staring around the cabin. "This ship belonged to our father."

≈

"Heart and crux of Holy Fate, pass over my soul and make me clean..." Father Faiz sat alone in his makeshift room, a corner of the deck with dusty sheets strung up between him and the rest of the world. He'd apparently found a candle in the sparse supplies below. It burned quietly on the floor before him like the light at the end of a tunnel.

Ryder had to touch him on the shoulder to get his attention.

"You left this in the hold of the Havoc." She held his rosary in the palm of her gloved hand. "I thought you might want it back."

He said nothing, keeping his eyes fixed on the flame.

Frowning, she let her hand fall to her side.

"You were right about Eadric," she tried again. "Elder Frum is alive because of him. And if the stories are to be believed, he helped the captains defeat an ancient beast inside Mosque Hill."

When still he did not speak, she sighed. Resting the rosary on the floor beside him, she turned to leave and was stopped by his too-quiet voice.

"It was never about the safety of the captains," he said.

She moved back into the makeshift room. "What do you mean?"

He closed his eyes, seeming to loathe the words that came from his mouth. "Had any of the other cages been unlocked, you would have had any number of soldiers to fight alongside you on that ship. You might not have fallen, not where I could see."

She took a moment in following his reasoning. "And you never would have picked up a weapon."

Though the movement seemed difficult for him, he nodded. "Now, another battle comes for us all. And I've redefined my role in it. I'm a destroyer. Just like before."

"You can say that again," she whispered to herself, not thinking.

He winced visibly. "I broke my oath, Rós. A promise that I made in penance for my crimes. I betrayed the regret that I feel for what I did to your clan. I belittled Amelia's death by proving that I could have stopped it. There is no coming back from this. However unlikely my salvation may have been before..." His head sunk lower. "The beads on that rosary are symbols of peace. Something I no longer feel. Something I no longer deserve. Maybe I never did."

"Oh, I see." There was an edge of irritation in Ryder's voice as she looked down at him. "You're saying that you feel ashamed for having saved the crew? For saving me?"

"No, Rós. My actions are nothing more than a reflection. I am ashamed of what I am."

The rosary clicked angrily as she threw it on the floor near the candle. The flame flickered with the draft of motion, casting broken highlights over her face as she leaned toward him, saying, "It's something worth thinking about that maybe, just maybe, what you are is value enough to this world. Maybe the only betrayal you should concern yourself with is the one you've been perpetrating for years by hiding yourself away in shame. Call me faithless, but if there is indeed a battle coming, then I want you at my side because you're my greatest chance at surviving it. There isn't a soul on this ship who doesn't feel the same. Maybe that's what Fate had planned all along. You want peace. I understand that. But to tuck yourself away in some dark corner because you think it's something you have to earn rather than create? That, I don't understand. And I don't care to. This isn't devotion or humility. It's cowardice. If you're so reined in by someone else's notion of right and wrong that you rob yourself of the chance to truly do some good in this world, then you're every bit as lost as I once accused you of being. So step up and be who you were meant to be, Deagan. Or don't. It's your choice. But if it's all the same to you, I'm going to stop hating you now. Because I finally realize something about that night that you – in all your knowing and all your searching for answers – still don't seem to understand. And that is that I've carried it long enough." As she turned to leave, she looked back over her shoulder, the righteousness of her anger seeming colored by pity. "Besides. You're doing enough hating for the both of us, aren't you? Goodnight, Deagan."

He watched her retreat into the darkness, listening to her feet fall in time with the beating of his heart as he reached to pull his rosary from a pool of candlewax tears.

Long moments passed and he too began to cry, exhaling gratitude in every shattered breath.

Against all odds, here on this decomposing ship.

In the dark and in the spaces between heated words.

He'd found his salvation at last.

≈

"Something told me I might find you up here." Marshall pulled himself onto the main yard, where his brother sat with his back against the mast, a flag draped over one knee. "What is this?"

McKinley looked down at it as though having forgotten it was there. "It's an explorer's banner. Secoran colors and all. Found it below decks. Since the hoist seems to be missing, I thought I'd come up here and attach it manually. Got caught up in the view."

Seating himself carefully on the yard next to McKinley, Marshall took in the horizon. The mist had been pulling back since they'd left Mosque Hill. He suspected it had something to do with the presence of the scepter, but it would have been impossible to say for sure.

"It is good to see the moon again." The captain sighed up at the near-perfect globe.

McKinley's face fell.

The third full moon was nearly upon them.

"Not really," he said.

He came to his feet and turned toward the mast, fixing the flag to its top with securely knotted rope. "There. That should help us avoid a spot of friendly fire when we return, don't you think?"

Marshall half-laughed as his brother rolled the flag about the mast, so it wouldn't be visible until they unfurled it. "I wouldn't count on it. If the Baron has his way, the waters around Secora Tor will be anything but friendly by the time we arrive."

"What happened to using the scepter to avert all of that?"

The naval captain glanced at the wooden stick tucked into McKinley's belt. "There is still the small dilemma of uncovering precisely how it works."

"Eadric had nothing to offer where that's concerned?"

Marshall shook his head. "Nary a word."

"Shocker. I'll bet the hunters know a thing or two about it, though," McKinley said, looking again to the moon overhead. "Sneaky buggers seem to have the metaphoric world up their sleeves. I need to speak with them anyway." He sat down again and the two watched the water drift by below. "I never thanked you, did I? For doing what you did with the Fortune? I know how much your duty means to you and you pushed that aside in favor of saving my daughter."

"I made you a promise," Marshall said simply.

"Under the circumstances, most people would have broken that promise. You didn't. I don't think I could ever fully explain what that means to me. The truth is, if you hadn't given up your question for her..." He drew a deep breath. "Well, I don't know if I would have bothered leaving that island."

Marshall frowned. Had McKinley never left, the ship's railing never would have been broken. Had the railing never been broken, the scepter wouldn't have been found.

Fate was a funny thing.

"That would have been a shame."

McKinley shot him a glance, but said no more.

"There is yet another matter to contend with," the naval captain went on. "Unless the queen's amendment has been met with approval, and I doubt that it has, current Secoran law dictates that the bearer of the scepter is to be named ruler of the kingdom."

McKinley looked down at the scepter in shock. "You know, I'd forgotten that bit."

"In my search, I was acting as an agent of the House of Prideaux. Had I been the one to find it, returning with the scepter in hand would have assisted in solidifying the queen's support. You, however, were not commissioned for that task."

The Marauder stared back at him. "You're saying that, as of this moment, I am the supreme ruler of the entire kingdom. Me? King?"

Twisting his mouth in discomfort, Marshall nodded. "Officially, you'd have to go through a coronation first. But, yes."

"Huh. Piracy to politics."

"You'll be pleased to find that the two aren't all that different," Marshall said.

McKinley gave a hearty laugh at that, clapping his brother on the back before he could think better of it. A burst of pressure shot through the wounds beneath Marshall's sleeve of bandages and he grunted in pain.

"Sorry," McKinley winced.

Marshall waved away his concern. "I've been meaning to ask. If the scepter was here on our father's ship, then he truly was the last one to hold the Key. Yet, I thought the note and family insignia were your doing."

McKinley scoffed, saying, "Some eidetic memory you have. I never said those things were falsified. All I did was bring the Key to Abner. Everything that followed was on him."

"He refused to tell me who was responsible for delivering it to him," Marshall said. "Why would he keep it a secret, when he clearly knew the truth about us? And how did he know to warn me about the Fortune?"

"I haven't the foggiest. But it sounds like the two of you have a lot to talk about when all of this is said and done. It should perk your spirits enough to know that note and notice really were from dear old dad."

Marshall was quiet a long moment. "It would serve them far better to know why he never returned. All of this might have been avoided if only he'd brought the scepter to Constance Prideaux years ago."

McKinley frowned. "Was there no further explanation in the logbook?"

"I couldn't say." Marshall clasped his hands self-consciously and cleared his throat. "I haven't read it yet."

McKinley stared at him, stone faced. "Who are you and what have you done with Captain Marshall?"

"It's terrible, I know."

Laughing, the Marauder leaned forward to place his forearms on his knees and dangled unsecured over the deck. "Nah," he said. "Terrible would be rushing to close up the mystery that has been the driving force of your life for two decades. Take comfort in the fact that you can act like a normal person with hesitance over curiosity and give it a few days. Give it a few years, if you like. It'll keep."

"Surprisingly sound advice from a pirate," Marshall said.

"Well, I have to come across as kind and insightful now." McKinley sniffed haughtily, giving his best impersonation of Eadric. "What with being supreme ruler and all."

Marshall shook his head. "There goes the kingdom."

≈

McKinley tossed the scepter back and forth between his hands as he made his way through the ship. He was surprised to find Hamara and Va'pour waiting alone in the wardroom, as though they'd been expecting him.

"I trust you are not planning to lock us up this time?" Va'pour said, folding his arms with a scowl.

"That depends on whether or not this bucket of disintegrating planks holds together." McKinley shrugged, dropping the scepter on the table and planting his palms on either side of it. "If it comes down to taking my chances that you'll fall through the deck and drown or treating the both of you like unwilling guests, I'm more than happy to err on the side of caution, no matter how ill-mannered the act."

"We are not your prisoners," Hamara said angrily.

McKinley's gaze hardened on her. "My dear, I would never suggest anything of the sort. But unless and until my daughter is cured, the three of us are going to be barmy-buddy-boon companions, savvy? Thick as thieves, the lot of us. So I need to know here and now whether or not the two of you are on the level."

"You don't trust us?" said Va'pour.

"I don't trust the mists," the Marauder said. "I don't trust Mosque Hill. And I don't trust that any of this is as simple as bringing you to her bedside and hoping for the best."

The tattooed hunters shared a look.

"What is wrong with her?" Hamara asked. "Your daughter?"

Steeling himself, McKinley swallowed. "The doctors don't know. She's been ill for years. Too tired to walk. Some days, she's too breathless to even speak."

"Before you left. Was she coughing?" she prodded further.

"Yes." He nodded.

"I have seen such sickness before," she said. "If what you say is true, then she is at death's door already. There is little to nothing that our medicine can do to help her."

"Not good enough." McKinley slammed his palm on the table. "The Fortune may not have had the time to explain in detail, but clearly the two of you are the answer. Don't hold back on me."

Va'pour seemed hesitant as he said, "There may be a way. But believe me when I say that you will not like what will be required in exchange for this task."

McKinley smiled humorlessly, as if to say they underestimated just how far he was willing to go to save his little girl.

"I'm all ears," he said.

≈

Late into the night, Von Ulric stood on the deck of the Havoc with a bit of stone resting against his feet. Patient. Expectant.

Perhaps sensing the depth of his quiet fury, nothing had dared show itself in the mists. They swirled and collected about the ship like a growing crowd as the vessel made its way to the heart of the Kathkan Empire, where he would stand before the emperor and demand his armies. The emperor would bow to his will. As would the mists.

It was only a matter of time.

He was more than prepared when the spirit shot from the darkness and wrapped its misty hands about his wide neck.

"Yooooou faaailed meeee!"

Undaunted, the Baron held fast.

Then he clamped a beastly claw around the spirit's wrist.

Screaming in horrible, hollow tones, the wispy thing fell back, its hand sizzling and evaporating until only a translucent stub remained.

Von Ulric opened his palm to reveal a familiar metallic symbol.

"Do you like it?" he asked, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. "It was dropped in the tunnels of Mosque Hill by one of the hunters. Hunters that – I'd presumed – were sent by you. They did say it was the Voice that guided them to my location, after all. Trouble is, they seemed to bear no interest in helping me. Quite the opposite, in fact. So you might understand my hesitance to trust you further."

"You would blame me for your error in judgment?" it said. "I sent no one to you."

"Of this, I am well aware," the Baron growled. "Because you aren't the Voice. Are you, spirit?"

Back and forth, the wispy thing wavered. "Never did I call myself by any name. You made your assumptions. You stood to supply those in the mist with their freedom. In this way, our goals could be shared. That was all that mattered."

"Their freedom?" Von Ulric noted the distinction. "You are not one of them. What are you, then?"

"What I am, few now remember. Born in a time before your Ancients. Of a power greater than your Fortune. Of those in this misty exile, I alone am strong enough to retain all that I was. I alone need no anchor to your world. Yet my name would mean nothing to you. Call me a harbinger, for that is how you shall know me."

"If you'd come to see me dead, you wouldn't bother explaining yourself in so civil a tongue. There must be something you still want. Dare I assume it has something to do with this?" Von Ulric said, tapping the stone carving with the side of his foot. "Quite pleased with myself for having the wherewithal to remove it from Captain Marshall's ship before burning it to the ground. The Key. It will make a handsome souvenir, if nothing else."

"Used properly, the Gate and the Key are one and the same," it said. "The mists give substance, and the mists are tied to the stone. Though you did not obtain the direct means to their release, the scepter still was revealed. Its magic may yet be used to bring about my return. The path, as ever, remains one to be paved in blood. You bring war on your people. The mistwalkers will wage it at your side. And each life that is taken will be passed through the stone to bring another of these soldiers from the deep."

"For every Secoran that falls, one of yours shall rise." The Baron nodded his understanding, something of a smile playing around his horrid teeth. "My enemy's weapon shall be their doom. Fight with me, then. Ensure my path and I shall ensure yours."

"So is a bargain struck," the harbinger said as it fell away into the mists. "So will a new season dawn..."

≈

Frustrated, McKinley sat with his forehead on the table.

"Look, I haven't the slightest idea what the two of you are on about," he said. "I don't have any inherent knowledge about this blasted stick. That's why I came to you."

"You must try," Hamara insisted.

"As an instrument of Fate, the scepter would not have come to you were you not meant to wield it," said Va'pour.

"Has it not occurred to you," McKinley sat up. "That my finding it was not an act of Fate, but an accident?"

"Accident, chance, Fate. Are these things not the same?" Hamara pushed the scepter toward him across the table. "You don't have to believe it is so. Just try."

With a sigh, the Marauder took the scepter in his hands and stared again at the markings that covered its surface. It was more than a simple stick. From end to tip, the relic was striped with interlocking rings. The design was such that, every way the rings were turned, they formed images of every type. No combination seemed wrong.

Neither did any of them seem right.

"Consider it a puzzle," Hamara said. "A message that changes to suit the whims of whoever holds it. There is no single arrangement that will automatically trigger the scepter's power. Every person's Fate is different. Every destiny takes an altered road. You must find the combination that is meant for you and you alone."

"You say that as if I should just understand what that combination is," McKinley frowned at her. "There must be a million ways to arrange this thing."

"But only one that will strike a chord in you," she said. "Remember that the scepter connects this world to the one beyond. Something ties you there, else the relic would not have found its way into your hands. You must touch on this connection. Only then will the markings seem familiar, like the words of a song you know by heart. No mental or physical effort is required. Simply hear the melody and let the words fall into place."

McKinley looked down at the scepter with an ambiguous frown. He knew of only one thing that might connect him to the other side. His wife, Selene; whose love had transcended death to bring him back to life. But she was gone now. All that remained of her was a memory and a song, one that he couldn't help but hum to himself as he stared at the scepter in a new light, twisting its rings this way and that.

He thought of her face and turned the top rings until lines met up to form the image of an otter.

I love you.

He thought of her smile and twisted the third and fourth into beams of sunlight.

My sunshine...

He thought of their beautiful daughter and made a star of the following two.

My starlight...

Then he smiled as he remembered the life they had shared and twisted the final rings until a perfect circle appeared.

My world.

There was a click and an odd stirring in the air around the scepter as the rings locked into place.

The hunters looked on in rapt silence.

McKinley realized he was holding his breath.

When nothing happened, he looked to the two in confusion.

"That's it?" he said.

"It is enough," Hamara smiled. "More will be given as more is required. Believe me, it will serve."

With an arch of his brow, the Marauder stood to take his leave.

"Do not forget your debt," warned Va'pour. "When the time comes, you must deliver on your part, or the consequences will be dire."

"And what happens if I change my mind?" McKinley said.

"It will be our duty to ensure that you do not," the larger hunter's gaze hardened, his meaning clear. "One cannot be permitted to tamper with the magic of the Ancients if they are unwilling to pay the price."

He tightened his grip on the scepter in recognition of the threat, but no anger showed on his face.

"As I told someone else, not too long ago, there is no price that I will not pay." McKinley made his way to the door without looking back. "But, if you and this scepter do not make good on your end? Suffice it to say, the magic of the Ancients will seem poor indeed compared to the strength of this father's wrath."

Chapter Twelve

"Alright, everyone! Gather 'round, gather 'round!" Work across the ship came to a halt as McKinley heaved a barrel to the center of the deck and leapt atop it. "As it so happens, the dear Kota brothers found this liquid-filled barrel below. Maybe it's water, maybe it's the finest ale in the kingdom. Whatever it is, doubtless, it's well aged. Tempted though I was to keep the lovely thing to myself, my crew and I know what it is like to lose a ship. The Albatross was more than just a fine vessel, she was your home. Your stability and your steadfast protector. When all else around you went pear shaped with a vengeance, she alone gave you a refuge from the madness. You relied on her in ways you probably didn't even recognize." He grew quiet and Marshall had the distinct impression that he was no longer talking solely about any ship, Albatross or otherwise. "Though you owe it to her not to fall apart over her loss, we know as well as anyone that you can't help but feel her absence. So it is with the utmost hope that this barrel contains something other than tar that I humbly suggest we crack open this cask." Leaping down, he hoisted the only cup they'd managed to scrounge from the rubble and tossed it to Marshall. "Because I think she deserves a toast. Don't you?"

Marshall rolled the cup over in his hands, smiled, and nodded.

He moved to stand alongside his brother and a cheer rose up as McKinley stove in the top of the barrel, dipped the cup into the drink and gave it a sniff.

"Well, it isn't poison." He winked. "At least, I don't think it is."

Marshall didn't bother to test the mug for himself before raising it high and saying in a strong and somber voice, "To the Albatross."

All aboard lifted their weapons with a responding cry of, "Hear, hear!"

As Marshall passed the cup around, he looked to the Marauder.

"Something you said just now rubbed me the wrong way, however," he said.

"Oh?" McKinley arched an eyebrow.

"You referred to 'your crew,' as though they were separate, as though a distinction existed between the sailors that I see on this... rather interesting deck. But as I look at you, I can't help but think that even pirates and soldiers can share in a common endeavor, when a line is drawn where both can see. I am reminded that nobility has nothing to do with blood, rank, or affiliation. It is about decency of action. It is about knowing the full weight of your choices. Everyone here has proven their worth on that front." He glanced to McKinley. "Some of you, more than once. You, Ensign Wexler." He pointed to the young fennec. "Despite your age, you stood your ground like a seasoned warrior when gryphons and slavers left their blood on our deck. And Master Tobb, you brought the Albatross back from the dead at the behest of a queen's man, when you could just as easily have left us to make our repairs at our own, slow pace. Fugitive or no, you were all unjustly imprisoned, side by side. Lieutenant Ryder stood with Father Faiz to fight back the villains who held you and, against impossible numbers, they succeeded. While in pursuit of my duty, I myself found the most unexpected of allies in my greatest rival – a brigand who would hold the line against beasts and brutes to defend me when I could not defend myself. We are more than we were when we began. So look at us, as we stand. Two crews come together, having done the unprecedented, having found our equals in our opposites. Friends in foes. I am a simple military man. But I am proud to be standing here among you. Pirates and soldiers, bound for war on a ship that scarcely sails, sharing in the responsibility of citizenship." His eyes darkened. "We don't know the full truth of what lies ahead. We do know that the Baron can be bested. We know that the mists can be fought. But in the end, it isn't about facing any of it without fear or holding the certainty of success. It is about knowing what must be done and choosing to carry on. Not out of allegiance to an institution, but from a selfless devotion to what we know to be right. As of this moment, our separate histories couldn't matter less. The Baron's world is one that would be devoid of compassion for all. And we will not live there. We will storm the Bannered Shore. We will bathe in the embers of our fallen ships, if we must. But we will not allow our lives, or the lives of our neighbors, our families, our fellow citizens, to be crushed by tyrannical ambition."

McKinley stared around the crowd, to the faces that had once been so easy to dismiss and despise, shocked to find that each one was difficult to distinguish from the next. All of them focusing their full, rapt attention on their captain.

"This gathering may be the last of its kind for many here," Marshall went on. "If that is to be the case, then you deserve – you all deserve – to know that the Albatross was indeed a painful loss. But it was a small price to pay for the chance to face what is to come with you at my side." Then he turned to McKinley. "Somewhere in our insane pursuit, our crews became one. You are my officer, as much as you are theirs. To your honor, Captain."

In a precise, military gesture, Marshall's hand shot to his forehead. Within seconds, all those on deck were saluting right along with him.

McKinley could only stand in shocked silence, the devil's deal of the previous night looming large in his thoughts.

How could he admit that he neither wanted nor warranted their respect?

"Alright, alright," the Marauder swallowed at last. "That's enough of that. Honestly, one draught of ale and you all get addle brained. Clear your heads and get to your duties, you light weight scalawags! We have many a mile to sail yet!"

"Indeed we do," Marshall agreed. "Advisor Eadric?"

Tentatively, the kookaburra flit to a nearby railing, "Yes, Captain?"

"It is of the utmost importance that the queen be warned well ahead of any attack. Do you believe you can make it to Port Sundry from here? I realize it will be a rather strenuous flight, but –"

"It isn't if I take him, sir," a familiar voice interrupted from behind.

Marshall froze.

Had it not been the clear looks of elated surprise from those before him, the naval captain might have assumed the words to have been imagined.

He turned slowly to the misty figure at his back. "Gray?"

"Hello, Captain." The affable ringtail smiled.

Ryder pushed to the front of the crowd. "Commander, is it really you?"

"I'm as shocked as you are, Lieutenant," Calum said. "Might you please put your arm around my dear aunt? She looks as though she might take a tumble."

Immediately, Ryder moved to do as he asked, noting that the doctor did indeed seem rather pale at the sight of her beloved nephew's return from beyond the grave.

"But, really, after all that's happened, none of us can say that my appearance is beyond the realm of the expected," said Calum. "You found the scepter. You deciphered its puzzle. The boundaries between your world and that of the dearly departed are at your disposal."

"You're here because of what I did with the scepter last night?" McKinley asked.

"In short, yes," Calum said. "Though I think I may be at least partly to blame for that. Had I been less reluctant to leave my crew behind, I imagine I'd not be within the scepter's reach. Time and location are confusing things on this side of the fence. Those like me, we need an anchor to bridge the gap, a compass to offer us direction. The scepter creates an indiscriminate doorway that allows us to interact with your waking world. Because you hold it, well, the door is ajar in your favor, so to speak."

"So there are more? Like you?" Marshall said.

"Yes," nodded Calum. "Those who allied themselves with the Baron have lost themselves completely. They know only anger. The wish to return to their homes and the frustration of being stymied in that desire. But some of us are close enough to our death, or to what we left behind, that we still remember, still care about what happens here, to you. We are only here because we haven't quite reached the end of the road. We want peace. That barrier that Eadric mentioned? That wasn't entirely metaphorical. In order to cross over, to remain here in any form, it must be broken down. Had the Baron succeeded in finding and using the scepter, Eadric's flood would have become real indeed. Your world would have been overrun by the dead. Those like me would have been trapped here among them, never able to rest."

McKinley looked down at the scepter still tucked into his belt. "You're welcome then, I suppose."

"And very grateful indeed." Calum grinned. "But it isn't as simple as keeping the relic from the wrong hands. The door may be yours, but that doesn't mean they can't open a window."

"Then warning the queen is more important than ever," Marshall said. "Secora needs time to prepare."

"Which brings us back to my offer with Eadric," Calum smiled. "In the same way that I was carried to the Albatross in Bryton, I can carry him back home, to Secora Tor. And to every other allied force capable of mounting a defense. Our queen will not be caught unawares. Nor will she not stand alone."

"Even now, you remain a soldier without equal, Commander," Marshall tipped his head in Calum's direction, at once admiring and regretful.

"I had a fine teacher, sir," he returned. "Well, Advisor, we'd best be on our way. I have plans to torment you relentlessly while I have you. So, as you can imagine, I'm eager to get started on our journey."

The kookaburra groaned, earning a laugh from Ryder and McKinley.

"It's a shame we'll never get the chance to know one another, Commander," McKinley pulled his hat from his head. "I get the distinct impression that I would have liked you."

Calum bowed to him with a smile of appreciation. As he came up, he turned to Marshall and snapped a salute. They each held the gesture for several long moments. When at last he allowed his hand to fall to his side, the captain bowed his head in a slight nod that seemed to say all he could not.

"Farewell again, Elder," the commander said, spying the old badger through the crowd. "I'm glad to see you free of your chains."

"And you, my boy," Abner nodded. "And you."

Taking in his crew with a final, fond look, the commander moved as if to leave.

"Gray," Marshall halted him. "What happens when this is over? Will the war continue to be thrown against Secoran shores in future generations?"

"The scepter is a symbol, sir. And the thing about symbols is that they only have power because you believe they do. If the Baron succeeds in taking the throne, he will wipe all record of the relic from the Archives in order to keep potential rivals from challenging him. If he fails, one hopes that the people will rally behind Queen Prideaux and the laws driving the scepter's legacy will be changed, so stripping it of its meaning. One way or another, at the end of this war, the Scepter of the Ancients, the Fortune, all of it will fall from belief. It will fade from history and be lost. Its power will drain. And neither side will ever again be able to use it to cross the boundaries between here and there. Maybe that is as it should be. The world has enough living scalawags. It doesn't need the dead ones too."

With that, the shade of Commander Calum leapt to the side railing and bowed dramatically to the crew. Then, with a wink and a wave of his arm that snatched Eadric from the rail beside him, he was gone.

All was quiet across the deck as Lieutenant Ryder walked to the empty space where he had been. Low and soft, she began to sing a sailor's anthem. It wasn't long before everyone aboard joined in, some of them with tears in their eyes:

"Across the sea, a world away,

There lies a Bannered Shore.

A symbol of the home I love,

Enduring and adored.

Memories and years have passed,

They seem so vast, and still,

I can't forget the Bannered Shore.

I know I never will.

The miles between are mountains,

But I've still strength to climb.

So bear me up and bring me home,

If only in your mind.

And while she stands, the Bannered Shore,

Let her candle burn.

For though the miles draw breath between,

This wanderer shall return.

Though ages pass and years roll by

To find me still alone.

Upon the sea, a world away,

Longing to be home,

No war shall ever strike me down,

No storm shall have a prayer.

But I will find the Bannered Shore

And lay my spirit there.

For I've the strength to cross the miles,

If only for today.

So bear me up and bring me home,

Carry on my way.

And while she stands, the Bannered Shore,

Secora, light her flame.

For I shall live a thousand years,

If only in her name.

The miles between are memories,

And I've no wings to fly.

Yet I can see the Bannered Shore,

If only in my mind."

Chapter Thirteen

Back and forth at the base of the stairs, Queen Victorie Prideaux paced in graceful but threatening steps. A few elected officials gathered in the great hall before her, bickering.

"Can we not simply wait to see what Von Ulric will do?"

"You know bloody well what Von Ulric will do," Mayor Drumlin scowled at the sniveling ferret.

"Nothing is certain," another said. "To send the people into a terror without certainty is madness."

"No, representative." The noble queen came to a halt at last. "To lie sleeping with our tails across our noses as war brings itself to our shores. That would be madness. What happened in Bryton will not happen here. I will not allow my people to be caught undefended."

"Do you not think that your beloved prodigy will succeed in finding the Scepter of the Ancients?" the representative countered.

"Marshall will find the scepter," she said. "And he will return it regardless of what may stand in his way. Of this, I am certain. I am also certain that my cousin will not allow such a defeat to go unanswered. We knew that he was forming ties with the Kathkan Empire long before he began in his current endeavor. It would be foolish to assume that he will simply slink into the shadows when he has spent years cultivating so powerful an arsenal. He means to attack. We owe it to the people to be ready for him, when he comes."

"And what if Captain Marshall failed?" he said. "If the Baron returns with the scepter, we cannot defy the law of the land. Would we greet our future king with our swords drawn?"

"I would," Drumlin said.

The queen's yellow eyes narrowed in the ferret's direction. "As I said. I have faith in the son of Masguard."

"Sons, Your Majesty," a voice interrupted from the far side of the crowd. "There are two of them now."

They looked back to see the wispy form of Commander Calum, Advisor Eadric at his shoulder. Gasps and shouts of terror drove the gathering apart.

Alone, the placid white wolf did not shy from him.

"Commander?" she said. "You look rather... different... from when last we met."

He looked down at his translucent self. "The voyage did not go as planned for me. Or for many others, I regret to say. The Baron has carved quite a road to Mosque Hill and back. He will be here soon. And not just with an army of Kathkan warriors. But an army made of those like me. One that you cannot fight without help."

"What sort of trickery is this?" The ferret stared in wide-eyed fear.

"This is no trick, you fool." Eadric hopped forward, channeling no small amount of authority from those with whom he'd been traveling. "What he says is true. I saw that ruffian and his misty soldiers firsthand. The sons of Masguard are returning with your salvation but if you do nothing, there won't be a Secora left for them to save by the time they arrive."

"Again, you said 'sons,'" Drumlin raised a hand. "Captain Marshall is not alone?"

"No," Calum smiled. "He has McKinley the Marauder at his side."

There was a moment of silence.

Then a burst of hearty amusement came from the base of the throne.

"An interesting twist of Fate, indeed," laughed the queen. "I might have imagined that such talent, even in so dark a place, could not have come from nowhere."

"A pirate?!" sneered the ferret. "Preposterous!"

"Perhaps so, representative," said Calum. "But that pirate is on his way here to fight a battle that you seem too timid to wage on your own behalf."

"He is right." Drumlin tapped his cane on the floor. "Will we cower here in fear when our outlaws would stand and fight? Not I. This old hound still has some dignity yet, you know."

"Then it is decided." Queen Prideaux brought herself to her full, regal height. "Councilmen, your objections have been aired. But I shall gather our armies and stand on the Bannered Shore with my weapon in hand. Spread the word to our people, Advisor. Call on our allies. Let any who would oppose the Baron's murderous assault on our kingdom stand alongside me. I will defend them even as I defend my throne."

Casting her elegant cloak aside, the white wolf strode to the top of the stairs and pulled her brutal polearm from its place on the wall.

"Your Majesty." Drumlin stepped forward, concern on his face. "You cannot mean to throw yourself into the battle?"

"In that, you are wrong, my friend." She turned, a steel in her fierce eyes to match that of her weapon. "My cousin has chosen me as his target. He believes that compassion makes me weak. I intend to show him otherwise."

≈

Darkness closed on the Bannered Shore, carrying the mist of an angry ocean as a legion of thousands amassed, heavy on the embankment. A hard rain had come in the night. It pressed on the faces of farmers, merchants, and battle-hardened soldiers alike. People who were hungry, ill, and strained to the point of breaking by the Baron's horrific influence. They might have hidden in their homes when their queen issued her call. Instead, they rallied here, in the rain.

Brave Secoran souls to the end.

At the heart of the front line, Victorie Prideaux stared with them across the bounding main, armor glistening like teeth in a closed mouth, waiting. Even in the brutal weather, her face held a stony calm. Long hours had passed since they had gathered here, anxiously awaiting reinforcement from the outlying towns. Still, the rain fell. And there was no sign of help on the misty horizon.

Then, a movement in the fog.

Unconsciously, the queen lowered her head and gazed at the approaching shadows with a piercing, yellow focus.

"The Baron and his Kathkan ships?" Eadric said fearfully as he came to rest on her shoulder, careful to avoid the imposing spines of armor that swept away from her red leather spaulders. "There are so many."

"Your Majesty." Mayor Drumlin approached through the ranks. "Word has come up from the fleet. Von Ulric has boarded a raft and is requesting passage. He wishes an audience."

She tipped her snowy muzzle. "Let them through. While we convene, you will use the delay to have the second and fourth contingents break and reform along the enemy's flank. It will spread our Armada thin, I am aware. But as it stands, any allied ships to arrive will be cut off. We cannot allow them to be crushed the moment they engage."

"Forgive me for not sharing your optimism, Your Majesty." The old hound bowed his head. "But can we be certain that anyone will come at all?"

"Marshall will come." She tightened her fingers on the massive polearm. "Sundry as well. If only we buy them time enough to do so."

Eadric spoke up, warning in his voice. "It could be a ploy."

"Indeed it could," she agreed. "Regardless of whether it is truly the Baron come to parlay or an assassin under guise, the meeting will give us what we are most in need of. Time." Pooled rain dripped like saliva from the crevices of her armor as she stepped forward, tail swishing. "Guns on the vessels and arrows on the raft. Let them through."

She stared across the enemy fleet, betraying not an emotion as she counted their numbers and wondered at their crimes. A nation of slavers. Cutthroats and warlords known throughout the kingdom for their brutality and nothing greater. The most vicious and uncompromising individuals the world had to offer. All come to her doorstep.

The Baron had been long in his planning.

Slowly through the water, the raft advanced. As it moved, those stretched along the beach began to pound a rhythm on their shields. It was meant to sound a threat, a show of resolve. Rather, it came as the ticking of a clock.

Bowmen and soldiers moved to encircle the raft as it came ashore. The Baron smiled at them with false benevolence, pitching spray at their feet as he leapt to the beach, accompanied by a long-limbed coyote and an albino wolverine. The coyote seemed amused as they were escorted along a narrow route to the crest of the embankment, where the queen stood alone, having ordered her guardsmen aside.

"Dear cousin," the Baron said, parting his lips to show his teeth as he spoke. "It has been too long."

"Von Ulric." She tipped her head stiffly.

"You meet with us unshielded?" Lady Sira said. "This is bold."

"Not bold," the queen said to the Kathkan. "Simply aware. Tales of your adventures do not see you favorably."

"Word travels quickly in the royal circle, I see." Though his shrug was casual, the Baron's eyes shot to Eadric. "Sadly, it is true, I was unable to recover the scepter. But as you can see, that was not enough to dissuade my allies from standing with me."

She shifted the weight of her polearm, digging the end deeper into the soggy earth. "Your lust for power would see you on a foreign leash?"

"Power?" The Baron stepped forward. "This was never about greed, cousin. See me as selfish if you so desire, but you know as well as I that the House of Prideaux is weak. It has always been weak. What has Secora earned at the hands of your fragility? We are exposed. Disrespected. Our borders shrink as you busy yourself tending to those whom Fate would have forgotten. You think we prosper? You think the rest of the world cares for our notions of progress? Secora's power deteriorates with every year of your continuing rule. I alone can bring her to the strength and glory that she deserves. I can be the leader you are not."

"Is that so?" asked the queen. "Perhaps you should speak louder. The people of Secora must not have heard you, for still they are here. Or perhaps you should state your point in standing before me."

He growled. "I am here to offer you one chance to end this. The easy way."

"A deal, cousin?" The queen angled her jaw, the hint of a smile on her graceful features. "How very unlike you. If I didn't know better, I would say that your encounter with the sons of Masguard rattled your confidence."

"Oh no, my dear. You would never see such mawkishness from me." He made a gesture to the wolverine at his back. At an approving nod from the coyote, the albino lifted a great horn to his mouth, sounding a long blast. Moments later, returning calls bellowed from the south. "As you stand here hoping for aid, my land forces have amassed behind you. Your armada may hold off our vessels for a time, but certainly you've already learned of the Albatross and its untimely demise. Without your strongest flagship, what hope does your Navy truly have?" He stepped forward with a low growl. A dozen blades flew from their scabbards in warning. He ignored them. "You are surrounded. Outnumbered and outmatched. Stand down while you can."

With the haft of her polearm, Queen Prideaux pushed the weapons aside. Resolute, the fog of her breath struck his face even through the rain. "Perhaps we are outnumbered. But we are not outmatched. No deal shall be struck this day, cousin. As I live and breathe, you shall not have this ground."

"Be that the case..." He gave a cruel grin as the mist surrounding him condensed. A host of the dead sprouted from the night, forming a mass around the Baron's convoy that spilled into all the empty spaces of the beach. "Then by the end of this night, you shall live and breathe no more."

An audible gasp shot through the Secoran forces. Many of the younger soldiers fainted dead away. Having been prepared by Commander Calum, the noble queen herself was unmoved.

Von Ulric lifted his voice to the surrounding armies. "Lay down your arms and return to your homes if you wish to survive until dawn. Else – by blade or chain or mist – you will fall. I promise you that."

None spoke as he turned down the path, walking without a flinch through the spirits standing in his way. The sound of the rain was deafening.

Still, not a Secoran soul moved from the line.

Still, they stood.

Defiant and firm.

Victorie Prideaux swept her polearm in a wide arc to clear the moisture from the blade. Even in the downpour, the weighted edge whistled a sinister hiss as she said beneath her breath, "Make haste, Captain. This war begins without you."

≈

At the prow of the Havoc, one of Sira's crew stared through her scope, straining to see through the mist.

"The Lady returns," she said when she spotted the raft on the water. "The Secorans offer no opposition."

"These people." The rat behind her scoffed. "They have two of our leaders alone behind the line of their ships, and they do not strike them down? Are they cowards or fools?"

"Acting on such an opportunity would not be honorable." The former laughed, clearly seeing no honor whatsoever in the Secoran way. She lifted the scope again to her eye and frowned when the image fell dark.

"What is this?" The rat stepped alongside her, looking in confusion to the ship that had broken away from their line and now blocked their view of the shore.

Stowing her scope, the other leaned on the rail. The ship's deck was too obscured by mist for her to make out the shadows it held. "You there! Why have you broken formation?" When there was no response, she called again, "Errant vessel, identify yourself!"

After a moment, enough of the mist cleared for them to see the altered space along the prow, where the ship's original designation had long since been worn away. In its place, a new name had been scrawled.

Both Kathkans twisted their heads as they read aloud in unison, "Nighty... Night?"

At that, laughter poured from the opposing ship's deck.

They were slow to react when McKinley the Marauder leapt nimbly to the rail, feet planted in a wide stance, amused arrogance on his face. "You said it! Nighty-night, folks! Booya and better luck next time!"

An unnatural wave rose up beneath the ludicrously named vessel, propelling it against the current and into the Havoc's prow. The Kathkans lurched on the deck as their ship was nudged aside, their carronades having been pointed harmlessly away.

Sword held high, Marshall jumped onto the rail alongside his brother and together they cried, "FIRE!"

≈

Three heads came up sharply in the raft. Von Ulric, Lady Sira, and Grogoch each looked to the Secoran fleet as the sounds of canon fire erupted in the distance. The enemy armada had not moved.

Who was attacking?

"Grogoch, lift me above this mist," Lady Sira demanded, giving him little warning before planting her boots in his hands. He hoisted her over his head without so much as a grunt of effort.

Hands on her hips, the coyote peered firmly across the bay, tilting her head so the coins on her scarf jingled a jovial disbelief. "Some rotted wisp of a boat is attacking my ship." She laughed. "Who would be so bold?" The amusement fell immediately from her face as she looked down to Von Ulric in realization. "The sons of Masguard."

He snarled.

She leapt down beside him, noticing for the first time how the mist was slowly parting in the skies above, allowing the moonlight to dot the sea in scattered bursts. "And something is happening," she said.

"They have the scepter," the Baron came to his feet.

"Stupid otters!" Grogoch slammed his fists into the rim of the raft. "Why do you not die?!"

"Still underestimating Secoran tenacity, Kathkan? Those otters still live because we have not yet taught them how to fail." Von Ulric reached for an oar and found his hand halted by Sira.

"What do you think you are doing?" she said.

"Returning to shore. Your ship can handle an attack from a rotted wisp of a boat, can it not?"

Her eyes narrowed. "The boat, she can handle. Those captains, not so much. The gryphons on the sea, the monster on the island, and now they come back from the dead? Must I remind you that the Havoc houses this stone? The one you think so important?"

Von Ulric growled a rumble of irritation before conceding. "Take the raft then, if you fear so for your ship. I will go ashore alone." Then, to Grogoch, he said, "Sound the call to our rear forces. No more delays. We strike now."

The albino obeyed, lifting the horn as Von Ulric dove headlong into the sea.

"What will you do?" Sira asked when he surfaced.

He looked up at her, his horrid teeth grinning through the water like those of a shark. "I'm going to kill the queen."

≈

The ship's arsenal having long since been lost or spent, coins and bolts and silverware scraped awkwardly as gun crews packed every inch of metal they could find into the cannons. Shotgun bursts of steel and silver blasted through the Havoc's hull. Cries of shock poured from the enemy deck.

"Feel the wrath of our tchotchkes, vermin!" McKinley howled at the top of his lungs.

Marshall watched every cannon strike with the eyes of a hawk, tracking the damage blow for blow, knowing it could never be enough to bring the vessel down.

But then, that wasn't the goal.

"As I've said before, dear brother, I do so love a challenge," McKinley said, crouching behind the rail as a volley of arrows fired back at them. "Even so, remind me again why we're doing this?"

Marshall yelled orders over the fray before explaining, "To end this war before it can begin. If we can flush out the Baron to be killed or captured, the Empire will have no one to place upon the throne."

"What's to stop them from placing anyone else? Why not one of their own?"

"And start an uprising? Convincing Secora to accept the Baron will be challenge enough without expending the resources for a sustained conflict. The Empire isn't stupid."

The Marauder threw a crate fragment over the rail, pegging an enemy crewman in the eye. "Are you saying that I'm stupid?"

"No, McKinley," Marshall said, exasperated. "I'm not saying that you are stupid. You just haven't the faintest idea how political struggles are carried out."

"Oh, and you do? That's hardly something to be proud of," McKinley said.

"And this..." Marshall yelled as a second volley fell. "Is hardly the time!"

The cannons roared, drowning them out.

"Still no sign of the Baron, sir," Wexler said.

Marshall scanned the deck. "Ammo status, Ensign?"

The young fennec winced. "Could be better, sir."

"Ack!" McKinley suddenly cried out. Somersaulting across the deck, he hoisted a crate as he rolled to his feet, using it to shield the two mongooses near the rail. When the arrows ceased falling, he shot a how-dare-you look at the enemy ship. "YOU ALMOST HIT THEM, YOU IDIOTS!" Then he looked to Hamara and Va'pour. "What in the world do you think you're doing up here?"

"We are here to assist," Hamara said, holding up her spear.

"Oh, no you aren't!" The Marauder turned them both around and pushed them toward the stairs. "You're keeping your furry butts out of the line of fire!"

Va'pour turned on him. "Bearer of the scepter or not, we'll not be ordered about by you!"

"And I'll not have my daughter's antidote snuffed out by a stray arrow!" McKinley snarled.

They ducked behind the crate once again as another assault began, forcing them back across the deck.

"Alright, that does it!" McKinley hurled the crate aside. Leaping for the wheel, he earned a surprised grunt from Trimble as he shoved her out of the way.

"What do you think you're doing?" Marshall called after him.

"I'm running this ship ashore, that's what I'm doing!" McKinley yelled back. "Before those jerkish bad boys have a chance to remind the tribals that they're as bloody mortal as the rest of us!"

Trimble fought to retrieve the wheel. "Without the Armada having engaged? Are you mad?! The Empire will cut us down before we can blink! We need cover fire!"

"You'll excuse me for noting that they don't seem to be in a rush to provide anything of the sort!" McKinley gestured to the stationary fleet.

Marshall had just opened his mouth to respond when Gray materialized on the deck beside him. "Captain, it's the Baron. He's ashore, rallying support from his ground forces. He means to kill the Queen, sir."

McKinley wrenched the wheel and lashed it in place. "See? Ghosty says my plan's better!" He leapt to the yardarm and moved to cut the lines securing the mainsail. Then an amazing thing happened.

He waited.

He waited for Marshall to give the order.

Marshall's eyes went to the flag atop the mast.

His movements carried a different sort of grace than the sharp agility of the Marauder as he, too, leapt to the yardarm.

"Then we'll not be going alone," he said before climbing arm over arm to the topmast.

With a shared nod, McKinley unfurled the sail and Marshall let loose the explorer's flag.

The one with Secoran colors.

Gray dispersed from the deck. And though it would have been difficult to know for certain that it was his act that punched the hole in cloud and mist – allowing a shaft of moonlight to fall on Marshall as he stood alongside the flag at the top of the ship, sword drawn, head held high – it would have been very much like him to do just that.

"For Secora!" Marshall said in a strong voice.

"FOR SECORA!" The call echoed out from below, pouring over the sea like a light all its own.

≈

"Do we have confirmation on who's firing?" The ferret stood tall at the front of the Secoran vessel.

"Not for certain, Admiral," came the reply. "It still seems to be in-fighting between two of the Kathkan ships."

She grunted. "Hm. Well, whatever damage they're willing to do to one another is fine by me."

"Admiral?"

Her head came around to face the one with the scope held to his eye.

He lowered the scope and passed it to her, seeming confused. "Am I wrong, sir? Or... is that... a Secoran flag?"

Frowning, she looked through the lens to the ship on the water, where the mist had parted in stark contrast to the rest of the bay.

"By Fate..." the ferret admiral whispered. "It is! Captain Marshall, you miracle!"

"Their boat seems to be making a break for it, sir," said the crewman at her side.

"Move in!" she commanded. "Order everyone to move in now! We protect that ship!"

The order echoed across the deck, spreading to the other vessels, and the ones beyond that.

With a smile of assurance, the admiral leapt to the prow and leaned over the rail, saying as if to herself, "We're with you, Captain."

≈

The distance between armadas was a dead zone, a gaping maw waiting to clamp down on anything that dared to cross it. Marshall stared it down. Within minutes, their rickety ship would be there, at the mercy of every cannon the Empire had at their disposal.

"We'll have one shot before they make range, sir," Gray said. "Two, if we're lucky."

"What do you mean, we?" McKinley scowled. "You're a ghost, Commander. What's a cannonball going to do to you?"

Marshall ignored them both. "We need to lighten the ship."

"We used the last of the cargo in the cannons, Captain," Ryder said. "There's nothing left to dump."

"Gunpowder?"

"Two barrels, sir," she said.

Looking to the broken bowsprit, Marshall nodded. "That will have to suffice."

McKinley squinted as he tried to follow his train of thought. Then he smiled. "Well, my, my, Marshall. Are we planning on blowing things up again? If I didn't know better, I'd think you were a pirate yourself, in another life."

"Any minute now, sir," Gray reminded.

With no more wasted time, Marshall took up a length of rope and tossed it around the end of the bowsprit. A few good thumps loosened the beam enough for him, McKinley, and Faiz to heft the rotten wood onto their shoulders.

Ryder needed no instruction. Her movements abrupt and efficient, she loaded both barrels onto the ship's sole raft. The puny boat creaked and bowed beneath the weight as otters and fox wedged the bowsprit end to end between the gunpowder. They had just begun to lower the raft at the rear of the ship when the enemy opened fire.

Across the water, the cannonballs skittered – piercing mist and glinting moonlight.

"DOWN!" Marshall yelled as a blast tore through the rigging and sent pulleys and cord whipping over the deck. The sudden tension jerked the raft upward and the bowsprit tumbled to the side.

Faiz was on it before it could fall. The raft scarcely had time to drop the final few feet to the sea before he'd reseated the beam and launched himself back to the deck.

McKinley caught his eye and shook his head. "Showoff."

As the distance between ship and raft increased, Ryder took up position with a flaming arrow and was joined in short order by Marshall.

"Captain." Faiz halted them by extending his hand. "If you'll permit me... This time, the shot is one I'd like to take."

Marshall looked to Ryder. When she did nothing to object, he handed his bow to the waiting fox.

Faiz planted his feet alongside Ryder's.

She gave him a single, almost imperceptible nod.

And together they fired.

Both arrows fell with precision, thunk-ing into each barrel of gunpowder and burning only a moment before the flame caught. The explosion resounded in time with the Empire's cannons, throwing up a colossal cloud of smoke and timber that mirrored a devastated ship and covered their escape.

"That won't fool them for long," McKinley said.

Marshall kept his eyes on the water before them until a smile tugged at the corners of his eyes.

"It doesn't have to," he replied.

One by one, they emerged from the mist. Vessels great and small, each of them firing in successive rounds as their Secoran flags wove an anthem overhead. Sailors scrambled along the rails to cheer and wave at the rickety ship sailing into their protection.

The one carrying Masguard's sons home to the Bannered Shore.

Agog, McKinley stared. Throwing his arms up in surprise and triumph, he whooped a wordless shout to the mist.

"I take it you've never been rescued by the cavalry before?" Ryder couldn't help but grin.

"Oh, I've had experience aplenty with cavalry rescues, Lieutenant. I'm just usually on their end of it." He jutted his thumb toward the Empire ships.

She began to laugh along with him.

Then, just as the last of the Secoran Armada was closing in behind them, a cannonball drove through the void, exploding into the aft of the ship with a deafening roar that knocked them from their feet and blocked out the world.

Chapter Fourteen

Ears ringing, McKinley forced himself to all fours. He coughed through the smoke that filled his nostrils, his splayed hands seeming so faint and far away that, for a moment, he wasn't sure whether he was even conscious. Was this a dream? It must have been, for he recognized none of the shapes scrambling and shouting in the fiery haze around him. And what was that sound? Was someone... yelling? It almost sounded like...

"McKinley!" Captain Marshall gripped his brother firmly by both shoulders. "Come on, on your feet, Marauder!"

He pulled McKinley upright only to have the pirate sag and tumble in his grip. The ship was sinking, and fast. Countless crewmen were in similar states, unable to stand, let alone swim. Though the Secoran Armada was within signaling distance, they were too far away to respond before the rotten ship went down.

"You three!" Marshall shouted to the Kota Brothers, who were helping one another from beneath a pile of debris. "Scour the lower decks for wounded! Get them to the fore of the ship! Sharply, now!"

"Captain!" Ryder called from the smoldering rail.

Growling in frustration, Marshall rested McKinley upright against a crate and bolted to her side. She pointed to a nearby shadow in the mist. It only took him a moment to recognize it as a raft.

One bearing Lady Sira and her monstrous guard.

The captain looked from Ryder to Faiz and gestured to the raft with a determined glare.

"Take it," he ordered.

They were over the rail in a flash.

"Doctor!" Marshall caught sight of Doc Calum emerging from below decks. She rushed to his side. "Injured crewmen are being moved to the fore of the ship. Once Ryder and Faiz have the raft, I need you to transport as many as you can to the shore."

The doctor looked to the small vessel on the water. "Captain, that raft will hold a handful of crewmen, at best."

"I know," he said, his mouth grim as he made a captain's call. "Take the ones you can save."

She drew an unhappy breath, then nodded.

Marshall had just turned back to his brother when the deck collapsed at his feet, sucking McKinley into darkness.

≈

Faiz and Ryder hung from the side of the hull in wait. As there had been no weapons on the rickety ship to replace them, strapped to the fox's back were the two axes he'd taken from the Havoc. Ryder couldn't help but find that fitting.

Nearer and nearer the raft came until it passed beneath the shadow of the ship.

Then they leapt.

Lady Sira and Grogoch came to their feet in surprise.

The white wolverine snarled at Faiz as the raft bobbed beneath their weight. "Grogoch remember you! Sneaky Secoran has no room to run here!"

Still in a crouch with one hand on the floor, Faiz used the other to grip an axe handle.

"I won't be running this time," he said.

"Neither will you, I take it?" Sira said over her shoulder to Ryder.

The collie gave a sinister grin. "You know, I've never been the type."

"That's my girl," Sira said, whirling on her with a mace in either hand.

They clashed in time with the distant cannons, axe on club and sword on mace. Blow after blow, becoming more intense until Faiz was little more than a blur and Ryder's sharpness bordered on perfection. Countless strikes and mere seconds later, a strong kick to Grogoch's sternum sent him flying into the surf. Sira grunted as she, too, was knocked down.

Frowning and rubbing the bruise forming on her jaw, the coyote looked up at Ryder and said, "I see you've learned to commit to your movements."

Ryder's sword hovered near the Kathkan's eye. "I'd take you prisoner, but we haven't room for you on this boat."

Sira smiled and splayed her hands. "So finish it."

"Kill a helpless victim?" Ryder shook her head. "That takes commitment of a different sort. Into the water with you."

"Yes, yes, yes." Sira shoved the blade away and rolled her eyes. "Always with the honor and the decency. Now that I know you are not attacking my ship any longer, we can resume our rivalry on the shore. It makes little difference to me." She stood and looked disdainfully at the water before leaping into it. Once there, she turned, treading water as she said, "You may wish to remove the seating from this raft. You will have more room for your injured."

Ryder stared after her for a long moment.

"She's not wrong," shrugged Faiz.

"No, I get that... I just..." Shaking her head, she brought her boot down on one of the seats, breaking it free. "Never mind. Let's just get our crewmen down here."

≈

A blue light.

Back and forth, it floated, occasionally brushing McKinley's hand with its warmth.

He struggled for a lucidity that would not come.

McKinley...

The voice whispered in his ear.

No, it was in his head. A part of him.

McKinley, get up. You have to get up...

His eyes flickered open to where he could see the rising water, which was red with his blood. The scepter rolled atop it, glowing. Back and forth... back and forth...

McKinley... please...

He felt a sensation on his cheek as of a hand turning his head toward the sky. He looked up through the broken ship. There, through the mist in the sky, he found the moon looking back.

The third. Full. Moon.

McKinley...

He blinked, feeling a tear at the corner of his eye.

"We've come this far, Selene." His weak voice gained strength with every word. "I'm not stopping now. I won't."

Drawing a deep and painful breath, he came to his feet and waded through the water. The scepter glowed brighter with every step he took. So much so that he hesitated before reaching to pick it up. He closed his eyes as he closed his hand, feeling the heat in his palm, his arm, his chest.

"I may not know how you work," he said to the artifact. "But neither do you know me. I need a miracle tonight. Like it or not, you're going to give me one."

The light intensified beneath McKinley's glare.

It crept from him in every direction, piercing the cracks and shooting from the sections of the ship that fell away into the sea.

It infused the mist with light.

Then with life.

Then with purpose.

McKinley smiled, determined. "Struggle on, you blasted ship. I'll not be sunk by you."

≈

Faiz was a machine. Scaling the hull and returning with one limp crewman after another. He was just returning with Trimble when it began.

"Pardon me, missus." A very wounded Tobb tugged at Ryder's sleeve. "Oi think sumpthin's a-happenin'..."

Ryder stepped back on the raft, staring at the glowing mist with uncertainty. "Priest?"

Leaping the last few feet, Faiz rested Trimble on the floorboards and looked up at the ship. "We need to get the raft away from the fore of the ship. Now."

"We still have room for the remaining crewmen," she said.

Faiz held up an urgent hand, "They'll be alright. You must trust me. Please."

She looked him hard in the eye, sighed, and took up an oar.

Together, they rowed the raft aside, scarcely making it from the shadow of the prow before the ship surged forward. The raft whipped around in the surf, slamming into the side of the sinking ship where Ryder's oar snapped against the hull. Palms on the wood, Faiz shoved them away to prevent the raft from capsizing.

And the mist?

The mist...

A blue light rose up from the center of the ship like a call to the weather. And the weather responded, coalescing around the vessel until nothing of the rotten hull could be seen. Again, the ship surged haltingly forward in the water, as though pushed by mist and light.

"Swear to me that this isn't a thing to fear, priest!" Ryder called over the upset in the surf.

He shook his head. "I'm beginning to believe the magic of the Ancients is always a thing to fear."

With a final burst of light, the ship shot forward through the bay, dragged in the direction of the shore. Ryder watched in astonishment until the mist closed at the ship's rear.

"After them," she commanded.

Faiz leapt to comply.

≈

Marshall careened across the deck.

The ship rocked and tumbled beneath his feet.

Seeing a shadow thrown across the rail, he dove forward into a slide, catching Doc Calum by the wrist as she fell. They were jarred once again as the keel struck against the rising seabed, sending a shudder throughout the timbers that threatened to rattle the ship apart.

Wood moaning like the wind, it finally came to rest in the shallows.

Marshall pulled the doctor back to the deck.

"Captain, what just happened?" she said, seeming unsteady.

He'd just opened his mouth to respond when a creak in the wood caused them to turn.

They stepped forward through the mist to see a dark form pulling itself up through the belly of the ship. A cough. A shaky arm crested the break at the center of the deck. Then McKinley the Marauder pulled himself into view, glowing scepter in hand.

"And that, my friends, is how you save a ship," he grinned.

Doc Calum strode forward and punched him in the arm. "Warn an old woman next time, will you? You might've killed me with that trick."

"Perish the thought! Why, if not for you, I'd have no one to lead those two to the children's hospital on the wharf." He gestured to Hamara and Va'pour. "When you get there, ask for Maya. Tell them that if they don't let you in, the Marauder will keelhaul every one of them and make a lovely coat of rock salt and fire ants for them to wear in turn."

She shook her head. "Not yet. People need me here."

The scepter went cold in McKinley's hand. The blue light faded.

"I'm sorry, my dear." His eyes darkened. "Were you under the impression that I was asking? Because I wasn't."

He stepped ominously toward her.

Shocked, Marshall put a hand on his chest to stop him.

The gesture seemed to snap McKinley back to reality. He pulled up short as though having not realized what he was doing, looking from Marshall's intervening hand to the concern on Doc Calum's face.

"I... I'm sorry," he said, his voice embarrassed and confused.

"Abner," Marshall said to the badger. "Would you kindly escort these two to the hospital? Doctor, see to your patients. We will post a guard to protect the ship. Hopefully, Lieutenant Ryder and Father Faiz will be along in short order." He lowered his hand and caught McKinley's eye. "I'm glad you're alright."

The Marauder shook his head as if to clear it. "Am I?"

On his way past, Abner bumped McKinley's arm. It was tense, shaking.

"Just don't grip it so tightly, my boy," the Elder said. "You'll be fine as long as you know when to let it go."

McKinley stared after him, then down to the scepter in his hand.

"Yeah... I'll keep that in mind."

Marshall waved Ensign Wexler to his side. "Go with them," he said.

The young fennec's ears wilted. "Sir, I can fight."

"I know you can, Ensign. That isn't the issue." He placed a hand on the ensign's shoulder. "I need a soldier at Abner's side."

Resigned, Wexler lifted his arm in a salute.

"You heard him, Ensign," McKinley chimed in with forced humor. "Git, git, git!" When they'd gone, he turned to slap Marshall on the back, soliciting a sharp gasp of pain that went wholly unnoticed. "Well, that's all I came for, so I guess I'll be seeing you around. Have fun with this."

"Very funny." Marshall gazed over the distant field of battle.

"It was, wasn't it?" McKinley grinned, but the gesture seemed strained. "Thank you for sending the boy on his way. It makes a father's skin crawl to see a young one marching to war. Speaking of which..." The Marauder drew his sword. "Are we going to get this party started, or what?"

Marshall held his gaze for a long moment. "You know that you don't have to do this."

He shrugged. "Your armies will be less likely to murder me if they see me fighting at your side. So... I guess I'm with you. Captain."

Marshall gave a nod of appreciation. "There's little room in this fight for strategy. Our soldiers can handle the living, but the mistwalkers must also be contained if we are to reach the queen. We can't battle the Empire while holding torches and symbols."

"I think I may be able to help with that, sir." Commander Calum appeared at his side. "Though I may need some assistance from the scepter."

McKinley winced. "Yeah, see, the thing is... I'm not really sure how I turned it on before. And I'm not sorry to say that we've just sent off the only two people who might have been able to tell me."

"Well, if we're going to have any chance here tonight, you're going to have to figure that out on your own," Gray said.

≈

Over the embankment, the Baron's armies poured, firing bows and closing the distance at breakneck speed. Lowering her weapon, the queen pulled her shield from her back and brought it to her face. An oncoming arrow embedded itself deeply where her eye had been only seconds before.

"On your shields!" she ordered, her voice as commanding as any general's.

Her army dropped, placing shield upon shield to form a massive wall against the attack. The Baron had numbers, but they were undisciplined, chaotic. Though they fought with typical Kathkan fervor, their strategy was scattered, each warrior fighting alone and for themselves. When at last they collided with the barrier of shields, it was largely to their detriment.

But they were not alone.

Even as the Kathkan assault proved ineffective, a second attack came from within the Secoran lines. Vaporous hands shot from anywhere and everywhere, ripping shields from their owners and knocking soldiers to the ground. Within minutes, they would be overrun.

Baring her teeth, the queen tossed her shield into the air, catching it beneath her arm as she spun. With a grunt, she flung it into the oncoming army. It cut down five of them before circling away into the mist. Following it with a swing of her polearm, she pressed the haft against a number of others, sweeping them aside.

Soldier or not, Victorie Prideaux had been trained from childhood to defend herself and her citizens.

And defend them she would.

She was just pausing to issue a string of orders when a vicious hammer of a blow sent her flying across the battlefield. She landed hard on one shoulder and slid through the mud, her weapon thudding well beyond her reach. Choking on swallowed earth and dizzy from the impact, she tried to rise only to be kicked to the ground once more.

"By night's end, I said," the Baron sneered over her. "It looks like I was being generous."

"Stop this madness, cousin," she gasped into the ground. "Do you think that these people would follow you after this? After you've subjected them to the wrath of the undead? You'll raze Secora to the ground in a civil war!"

Grabbing her roughly by the scruff of the neck, he spoke into her ear. "Whether by conversation, by conflict, or by the carnage of a thousand, this land will know the strength that it deserves. Gaze around on the coming citizens, Your Majesty. What nation in the world would stand against the union of Secoran wealth, Kathkan might, and an immortal army? Her people may perish, but Secora will live forever."

"Live?" she said. "Like these sprits? You are damning this kingdom to a shadow that will never again know peace. She will be banished from rest, from memory. A disgrace to the waking world. Is that what you want?"

"Preach to the wind," he growled. "It will serve you none. I want neither peace nor memory. And I will only ever know rest in Oblivion." Dragging her to her knees, the Baron held an open-clawed hand to her throat. "Take a final look, Your Majesty. Your reign is at an end."

≈

"There!" Ryder spied the ship crashed on the shore.

Faiz rowed until Ryder could hop into the shallows and drag the raft to land, where she turned to check on the wounded sailors. Gray appeared at her side.

"Lieutenant. Glad you could make it," he said. "My aunt's on her way. How are they?"

"Hanging in there, Commander. Where's the captain?"

"With any luck, he's making his way to the queen."

"I must join him," Faiz said. He touched a hand to Ryder's shoulder before taking off down the beach.

Ryder moved to follow and pulled up short when she saw Grogoch the albino rising from the surf.

"It's alright, Lieutenant." Gray stepped forward, drawing his ethereal sword. "Follow him. I've got this."

"Are you certain, sir?"

He smiled. "Quite."

In a flash, she was gone.

Grogoch watched her leave with bared teeth, head to toe bruised and bloodied from his brief encounter with Father Faiz.

"Hello, whitey," Calum said to him.

Grogoch looked down at the sword in Gray's hand and laughed.

"Soldier think to kill Grogoch with fog weapon? Is not even real!"

He stepped forward.

With a puff of impossible movement, Gray dispersed, crossed the distance between them, and reappeared with his misty blade embedded in Grogoch's stomach.

"Bye, whitey," he said.

"Grogoch not understand." The albino gasped, staring down at the wound with confusion. "Is not... real?"

Then the great beast collapsed.

Gray lifted his blade and nodded approvingly at the symbol there – the one that looked suspiciously like the marking on Roscoe's wing.

"Well what do you know?" he said. "It actually worked."

He looked up as a splash of movement caught his eye.

It was Lady Sira.

"You killed my pet," she said, pushing at Grogoch's still form with a disapproving motion of her foot.

"He killed me first," said Gray.

"This is true enough." She waved a hand. "Though it is not something I instructed him to do. For whatever that is worth."

The affable commander studied her. He couldn't help but smile. "Well, well. My Lady, are you actually worried what I think?"

"Don't be so sentimental." She rolled her eyes and walked away. "Tend to your wounded. I have a kingdom to steal."

Still smiling, Gray folded his arms and watched her leave.

≈

Canon fire roared with the crashing waves, breaking over the shore the way the spirit forces broke over the fighting crew and the sons of Masguard who led them. Their weapons tore through the mistwalkers and left a swath of dissipating fog in their wake.

It wasn't long before they drew the army's attention.

A rush of sound as wind from a hurricane, an angry whipping of moisture, and a wall of wispy enemies materialized before them. At its head was a recognizable face.

"Oh, for crying out loud, Chimmy." The Marauder's mouth twisted in irritation. "You're worse than any rash, you know that?"

"You didn't join us, pirate," the possum said. "You were meant to die."

"Yeah, death didn't sit so well with me. Can't imagine why."

"Give us the scepter."

"No," McKinley replied in a flat tone, tapping his cutlass against his shoulder. A flash reflected from the symbol etched into the blade there. "You can't have it. It's mine. So shoo."

The possum spirit looked at the symbol in confusion. He scarcely had time to recognize it before the tip of Marshall's sword appeared through the center of his chest.

"You heard my brother," the captain spoke over his shoulder. "Shoo."

With a howl of pain, the possum sizzled and disappeared.

Marshall flipped his rapier in an easy gesture. "Much more efficient than a torch and symbol, wouldn't you say?"

"Seems so," McKinley nodded approvingly. "Remind me to thank the good commander for his suggestion."

Through the haze of battle, darting swords, and falling soldiers, Marshall caught glimpses of the queen. She was on her knees, struggling against the shadow of a mountain she could not climb.

The Baron.

"There!" He pointed. "Perhaps there is still time to end this."

They took a step only to be halted by a host of Kathkans swarming a single Secoran soldier. Weapons flashing, they intervened, but not in time. The soldier fell.

As he did, a strange thing happened.

The blood that pooled at his side whirled in a way that wasn't fueled by gravity. It hissed and popped, forming a vapor that rose up to join the mist in a red haze.

McKinley pulled back his lips. "What in the world...?"

Within seconds, the red had faded into the condensation, bleeding away to show the face of the just-dispersed Chimmy the Leech. Scarcely more than a mouth and a misty head, the spirit laughed.

"You can't kill what's already dead, Captain."

Marshall's eyes hardened. Before the possum was even fully formed, he again brought his weapon around, severing the place where his head would be and forcing the traitor to dissipate once more. Then he put a hand up to the mist.

"Blood for blood," he said, as if to himself. "They're using Ancient magic."

McKinley groaned. "But how? We have the scepter. Wasn't that supposed to be the driving factor in all of this?"

Marshall shook his head, searching for the queen in the fray. "It doesn't matter. It's a problem we don't currently have time to solve."

He began marching again in the direction they'd last seen her. McKinley put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

"Time be drowned. We have to solve it, Marshall, or none of this is going to matter. We can save the queen. We can fight and we can fight, but we'll never get ahead. Trust me, a pirate knows the odds. If any one of us falls, we'll stay there. But them?" He paused as Chimmy sprouted once again from the blood of a fallen soldier. "They'll just keep coming. I didn't bring magic home to my little girl only to watch it destroy everything that she knows."

Marshall tightened his grip on his rapier, frustrated.

"Fate frown on the Order and their secrecy! If there is an ounce of information to help us, our only chance lies in finding Eadric. Or in abandoning the battle altogether to go after the tribals."

"Those aren't our only options," McKinley corrected.

Marshall gave him a questioning look.

"Faiz will know," the pirate said in a calm voice.

"Are you certain?"

"Faiz will know," he said again. "You can count on it."

≈

The Baron's black flamberge drove to the hilt in the ground, narrowly missing the queen as she wrenched her way from his grip. She snatched her polearm from the mud and rolled to her feet.

"You'll not have me that easily," she growled.

His blade scraped sadistically as he pulled it from the wet sand. "Your Majesty, I'd have it no other way."

He charged at her, a goliath of fur and muscle. She parried and dodged, losing ground with every strike until he tore her weapon from her hands and struck her full in the face. The blow spun her sidelong into the ground yet again. This time, she was too disoriented to rise.

Von Ulric did not see the thing that sent him flying back. He was aware of a dark blur – too fast for the mind to distinguish shape or form – and a sudden pain in his chest. He felt himself falling. The sensation was so alien that he was slow to recognize it.

But he wasn't slow to recognize the strong shadow in plain black clothes that came to stand over him, a massive axe in either hand.

"Get away from my queen."

From her place on the ground some distance away, the queen blinked at him, bleary-eyed. "Sir Deagan?"

"I am here for you, My Lady," he replied. "As I should ever have been. I'm sorry that it took me so long to remember my place."

"Well, well." The wolf spit a mouthful of dirt at his feet and looked up with a malicious smile. "If it isn't the ignoble Knight himself. Deagan Faiz. I should have known that was you on the shores of Mosque Hill. No one else has quite your battle flair. You wear a different uniform these days, I see."

"Not so different as you might think," Faiz said with an intense glare. "Stand down, Von Ulric."

Coming to his feet, the mountain laughed. "Stand down? Look around you, Faiz. My forces outnumber yours a dozen to one." He paused as yet another mistwalker was born from the blood of a Secoran. "And counting. It doesn't matter how long you attempt to delay it, Secora is as good as mine."

"You know...." A jovial voice interrupted through the tension. "Before meeting you, I thought I had the corner on hubris."

"Not to worry, Marauder," Marshall said, joining McKinley and Faiz as they surrounded the Baron. "You may not be the usurping sort, but you've still an ego worthy of note."

McKinley grinned. "Thanks. I think. So hey, Father Faiz? Wanna clue us in on the Baron's new trick? We'd love to wrap things up around here, but the misty folk are getting in the way."

Faiz looked around at the ever-expanding number of spirits flooding the Bannered Shore.

"Von Ulric." He shook his head. "What have you done?"

"Only what was needed."

"You made a deal. Didn't you?" Faiz said.

"I turned a page in Secoran history," the Baron corrected, venom on every word. "Whether I must make one deal or a thousand, this kingdom deserves to be ushered into greatness. I alone hold the key to her glory."

Faiz held his eyes for a long moment. "The key? That's it, isn't it? You have the Mosque Hill Key."

"Of course," Marshall said.

"He must have taken it from the Albatross before burning it," added McKinley.

The Baron bared his teeth. "And how does that knowledge serve any of you, Knight? Even were it within your reach, do you truly think I'd let any of you leave this ground alive?" He spread his arms as if to show his lack of wounds. He'd traversed the whole of the battlefield, fought his way single-handedly through an entire army with not a scratch to show for his efforts. Who did these three think they were that they could stand against him? "I will kill you all. And I will revel in your blood."

As he finished speaking, his confidence hanging over the group like the mist itself, Lieutenant Ryder came rushing to the queen's side. Sword drawn, she pulled the wounded wolf to her feet and took up a protective stance.

"No," Faiz said, dropping his axes to the mud. "No, you won't."

"What are you doing, priest?" Ryder seethed with a confused glare.

He hesitated only a moment before looking his enemy in the eye and saying, "I am invoking the Rules of Challenge."

Again, Von Ulric laughed. This time tipping his head back in a vicious howl that poured over the shore, shocking far too many fighters into a standstill.

"You want to engage in weaponless combat? With me?" The Baron's face was as incredulous as it was amused.

"Champion for champion," the fox confirmed. "Best me, and your forces will be challenged no more."

The Baron licked his teeth. "Noble though it may be for the disgraced protector of the queen to want to serve his duty one last time, I doubt Her Majesty has any intention of supporting your bid to bargain with her kingdom."

"You would be wrong," the noble white wolf panted in response, earning a look of surprise from all those in company. "Royal support is required for his invocation to stand. And royal support he shall have."

"This is insane," Ryder growled.

McKinley folded his arms with a smug smile. "This is Secoran law. Now you see why I'm not so keen on following your rules, don't you?"

The Lieutenant shook her head, speaking quietly as she caught Faiz's eye. "Deagan, please. Weapon on weapon is one thing, but he is twice your size. He'll crush you without a second thought."

Faiz gave her a small smile. "Is your faith in me so easily lost?"

"It isn't a matter of faith, Deagan."

"No, it isn't." Marshall stepped forward, sheathing his sword. "It's a bargain for time. Whether or not the father succeeds, the battle will be halted. Lives will be saved."

The queen gave him a resolute look. "And you, Captain, will be able to retrieve the Key. To do as you must to purge these monsters of death from my kingdom."

"You realize I care nothing for your laws?" the Baron said. "I could just as easily let the battle take its course."

His cousin did her best to pull herself upright. "You could. But do you really intend to back down from a fight with one, unarmed fox? Quite cowardly a move for any would-be leader, don't you think? Especially one who claims to be the harbinger of strength Secora deserves."

The giant laughed. "If it eases your guilt to know that he was the last to fall for your mistake, it shall be so. I accept your Challenge, Knight. Maybe Fate will be kinder to you in death than it was in life."

Leaning hard on Ryder's shoulder, the queen gestured to a nearby hill.

"Help me," she commanded in a gentle voice. Stepping high on the embankment, she let out a long and piercing howl that stilled the night and ceased the clang of battle. When all eyes were on her and all blades were silent, she said, "A Challenge has been issued, accepted, and acknowledged by the crown. Two champions now compete for the outcome of this war. Those on this beach will stay their weapons until it is complete, or their lives will be forfeit."

"What is this?" Lady Sira pushed her way through the confused crowd. "You expect us to become bystanders in our own war?"

The Baron gestured to Father Faiz. "It is easier this way, Kathkan. Let Secora tend to its own. Your Empire will be served regardless."

She pointed to the muscled fox with her mace, something of a laugh in her words. "You fight this one? Truly? You Secorans. Brave fools, every one of you." Whether she meant that as a compliment or an insult was anyone's guess.

Having returned to level ground, the queen looked to the Baron. "A moment to convene with my champion."

Amused, the great wolf shrugged once more. "By all means."

Queen, priest, lieutenant, and captains all came together beyond reach of the Baron's hearing. A softness fell over the warrior queen's features as she looked at Marshall.

"Captain," she said. "It's good to see you again."

He tipped his head in a swift bow. "Likewise, Your Majesty."

"And... Captain," she turned to McKinley. "It is... interesting to finally be meeting you, as well."

McKinley's bow was far more dramatic. "My dear, the interest is mine."

He came sharply upright as Marshall jabbed him with an elbow and the two exchanged scowls.

"I will hold him as long as I can," said Faiz. "The Key is on the Havoc, though you will need a swifter means of travel than any raft."

Wordlessly, the queen took McKinley's hand in her own and drew a sharp claw across his palm. The Marauder scarcely had time to hiss in pain before she pressed the scepter into his hand and said, "Call your commander."

"Calum?" McKinley said, confused.

No sooner had the name left his mouth than Gray appeared on the shore at his side.

McKinley looked down at the glowing scepter. "Massive piles of gold?" When nothing further appeared, he frowned. "Stupid, one-trick pony."

"Take them to the Baron's ship," the queen said to the ringtail.

"Aye, Your Majesty." Calum bowed and put a hand on either captain's arm.

The noble Victorie Prideaux touched a red leather glove to the shoulder of her once and current protector, Deagan Faiz. "My faith in the Knights of Secora did not falter when the Massacre was condemned," she said. "And it doesn't falter now." Then she turned to Marshall. "Find the Key."

The captains nodded and vanished into a puff of mist as Commander Calum whisked them away.

Chapter Fifteen

Father Faiz and Baron Von Ulric stood toe to toe for what seemed an eternity. Only when the world around them was still did they step away from one another and drop to all fours with their heads low – primal and sinister as animals had not been for millennia.

Teeth bared, capes dragging unnaturally in the mud beneath, they paced one another in a counter-clockwise dance; civilization forgotten; title and pedigree swept aside. Until there existed no Baron, no priest.

Just two feral beasts.

Ruthless and infernal as the fires of Oblivion.

A rumbling began in the cavity of Von Ulric's chest and Faiz shifted his stance to face him, pressing low to the ground in preparation. The wolf would charge in an attack that could not be dodged, countered, or avoided. That much was clear. The amount of force at his disposal was enough to steamroll almost anyone.

Almost.

Baying in abrupt release, Von Ulric lunged at the stolid priest with the power of an avalanche. The impact exploded throughout Faiz's ribcage. Head down, he strained against the Baron's push, limbs trembling as he slid back in the mud. Necks pressed one against the other, the Baron snarled and snapped at the flesh between Faiz's shoulders. Even when the wolf's massive canine ripped through the garment to find purchase in the muscle there, the priest stood firm. Only when Von Ulric shifted his balance, driven mad by the taste of blood and the hunger for more, did the knowing Knight move.

Without warning, Faiz dropped full on his side.

Propelled by his own momentum, the Baron stumbled forward. Faiz slid fluidly beneath him. Latching onto the skin of Von Ulric's jaw, he planted his legs into the great wolf's gut and pushed for all he was worth. There was a horrid tearing sound and a howl of pain as Von Ulric was sent flying.

Recovering from the surprise attack, the Baron twisted mid-air to land roughly on all fours once again. He came about, throat torn, but not fatally so. Though the fur around mouth and neck glistened with the blood of attacker and attacked, still he smiled.

"The warrior becomes a priest becomes a warrior once again," he said. "I knew you would not disappoint me."

Faiz rose from the ground without response, careful to hide the trembling in his limbs, the extent to which his wounds had already drained him.

He would hold the brute as long as he could, he'd said.

He worried now that it would not be long at all.

≈

Limbs and shadows collided as Marshall, McKinley, and Gray fell to the deck; their anything-but-graceful landing silenced by the roar of the cannons.

"Guess they didn't get the message that the battle is on hold!" McKinley shouted over the blasts.

Marshall drew his sword and gestured to the surrounding Kathkan mob. "If you want to be the one to tell them, now's the time!"

With a zealous howl, the Kathkans attacked. Blades flashing in every direction, the sons of Masguard ducked and weaved with such precision that the crew of the Havoc hardly stood a chance. To say nothing of Calum's darting here and there with misty puffs, striking and disappearing in the blink of an eye.

"Not that I'm the suspicious sort," McKinley said as they fought their way to the center of the ship. "But I couldn't help but notice that your queen seems to know more than she's let on where all of this is concerned."

Marshall turned from having punched an attacker to the deck. "Would that it were not so, but I believe you're right. I can only imagine that she must have some reason for her secrecy."

Gray frowned, remembering his captain's distaste for such things. "And to think that we came down hard on Eadric for keeping information to himself. He barely seemed to be stumbling his way through what little he knew."

"Not much different from what we're doing now." McKinley rolled behind two crewmen and slammed their heads together. "We may know that the scepter is activated by blood – and, for the record, it also seems to tickle my grumpies into a tizzy – but I'm still not sure how that helps us, precisely."

Just then, a cannonball blasted through the side of the Havoc, throwing it sideways in the water. Those on ship careened across the deck. McKinley slammed into the rail with such surprising force that the scepter fell from his grip. End over end, it fell through the mist toward the sea.

At the very last moment, Gray appeared beneath it, snatching it from the air and reappearing on deck with the scepter in hand.

Both captains looked at him in confusion.

McKinley pointed to the artifact. "Um... why can you pick that up? Marshall, why can he pick that up?"

With the crew of the Havoc still struggling to pull themselves upright, Marshall was given space to think. Blood for blood was the way of the Ancients. But was it so simple as that? The mist had a connection to these artifacts. Eadric had referred to the scepter itself as a tether between land and sea; a means of opening a door to the other side. He'd even warned of time's erosion in the matter.

A flood...

"Blood and spirit, land and sea," Marshall said as if to himself. "There cannot exist a surplus of one without the loss of the other."

McKinley raised an eyebrow. "Come again?"

"Blame my military mind, but it is the only sense I can make of this. We're in the middle of a takeover, plain and simple."

"Yes, Marshall," the Marauder said in a condescending tone, seemingly fighting the urge to pat his brother on the head. "That's what all of the weapons and shouting and stabbing are for." The surrounding Kathkans made as if to attack a second time, but pulled up short when McKinley whirled on them and yelled, "Enough with the distractions, you thoughtless cretins! Can't you see we're on the verge of a breakthrough, here?!"

The Kathkans stared at him in bewilderment, then bared their teeth and hurled themselves forward.

With a groan, McKinley prepared his sword.

"We'd always believed the Key to be of Ancient construction, but what if we're wrong? What if they made the scepter as a counter to it? A weapon to use against an existing force? Maybe Key and scepter are two opposing but complimentary forces." Marshall pushed an attacker into McKinley's grip.

"Like you and I, for example?" McKinley gave a cheeky grin and held the crewman as Marshall struck him in the face, rendering him unconscious.

"Sure, why not. The Ancients were able to maintain a working balance between the two." Marshall pointed from himself to McKinley. And then to Gray. "But what of the power between? What if the magic itself had a manipulative will of its own? Remove the Ancients from the equation and what are you given? The flood of the dead, the deceit of the Fortune, the way the scepter tries to drain the living of spirit or of blood. What if it's indicative of a darker will? What if this entire battle is a plot perpetrated by a living force that has been submerged for so long that it is desperate for a rebirth? And the only way for it make itself known, to have any form of potency, is to gather enough followers to push us out of the way?"

McKinley frowned. "So that magic is what? An extreme version of these restless spirits? A stronger version of the dead?"

"It would have to have been older than the Ancients. More powerful. More terrifying." Marshall caught his gaze with a somber eye. "What happens when you bury a god, McKinley? One who has no intention of staying dead?"

The misty commander and McKinley took a break from the fighting to share a look.

"That's an awful lot to glean from the fact that he can hold something." The Marauder jutted his head toward Gray.

"Perhaps," Marshall said as the final crewman fell to the deck with a definitive thud. "But what if I'm right?"

McKinley sighed. "Then I have a feeling things are about to get a lot more complicated."

≈

Faiz tumbled through the mud, cape flying, hands searching for purchase in the unkind ground. When finally he came to a stop, he struggled to all fours.

"You're being played for a fool, Von Ulric, don't you see that?" The broken father gasped.

"You and I have rather different opinions of foolishness, Knight. From where I'm standing, a warrior who neglects his training for so long and still challenges a greater fighter to battle is the very definition of a fool. One who'd do well to avoid lectures." The massive wolf watched with cold detachment as the fox faltered. Mud caked the wounded canine's clothing. Blood pooled in the crevices of his muscles. The Baron began to pace. "I still remember watching you on the field that day, you know. There was something remarkable about you. Such vigor and bloodlust. It's a spark that seems to have faded."

A hiss broke between Faiz's clenched jaws. "You saw a young Knight whose zeal was for saving lives, not taking them. That has never changed."

"You cannot lie to me. I recognized that eagerness as clearly as I'd have recognized my own reflection. You lived for the fight, the glory of battle, and the victory of murder, just as I did."

"I was a soldier!" Faiz growled.

Von Ulric came to a stop, peeling back his self-satisfied lips. "Soldiers don't kill innocent children, Knight."

Eyes like coal, the humble fox twisted his snout into a hideous snarl. "I thought that camp was yours! You staged the slaughter! I may have been your weapon, Von Ulric, but you killed those people!" His limbs seemed to find strength at last as he pulled himself upright. He looked into the crowd, to where Ryder stood with her hand on her sword. She gave him an approving nod that spurred him into speaking once again. "I will spend my life seeking forgiveness for my part in that horrible night. Those people deserve no less. But I am through holding on to a blame that was yours all along. I've carried it long enough."

The night filled with the Baron's laughter. "You've mistaken this for a story of redemption. There are no uplifting words to be heard here. This is a lesson against trifling in matters of power!"

Again, the great wolf lunged.

Faiz sprung from one side to the other, forcing the Baron to track and lose velocity. Not that it mattered. He rolled, but too late. The Baron brought his muzzle around at the last second, clamping his teeth on Faiz's foreleg and tossing his neck. There was a sickening tearing sound as muscles and tendons pulled from their places. Faiz cried out, planting his forehead in the ground and gritting his teeth in pain.

There was no pause in the Baron's movement. He whirled behind the fox, his jaws snapping this way and that as Faiz forced himself from the ground. Even partially lame, the former Knight would not be so easily pinned down. The Baron had just found purchase in the soft tissue at the back of Faiz's neck when the fox buried his teeth along the Baron's ankle and pulled. The ligament instantly snapped.

Yipping in surprise, Von Ulric collapsed beneath the burden of his own weight. He looked back on his useless leg in horror, knowing that an injury such as that would never heal.

"Now, we both carry permanent wounds given by the other," Faiz said, the blood on his muzzle mingling with that from behind his ear. "We're even."

The Baron staggered forward, his leg dragging in the mud, an unreadable expression on his twisted face. "Evenness is an illusion! Like your honor and your servitude to a crown that holds your kingdom to so base a standard! It is the weak attempting to convince the strong that they are equals! I have no equal, Knight! Just as Secora should have no equal! And no longer will we be held down by you or your simpering ilk!"

With a horrifying howl, Von Ulric rose up and launched himself at Faiz with a force that could only be born from hate. They collided in the air, where the Baron's teeth closed on the fox's face – upper canines sinking into the cheek below his eye while the lower punctured the hollow of his jaw. A strangled sound flew from Faiz's open mouth. As the two fell to the ground, the former Knight jerked his neck in a desperate attempt to pull his head from the Baron's maw.

He could feel his skull being crushed.

Ryder leapt forward, sword drawn, a pained expression on her face. She was halted by the haft of the queen's polearm. Victorie looked at her with a sympathetic expression but shook her head in warning.

No interference.

This was the law.

Faiz grunted and kicked his legs. Though he struck the Baron repeatedly in the side and stomach, the great wolf's hold was too strong; the pressure of his teeth unbearable. The Knight-turned-priest took one last look in Ryder's direction as his skull threatened to cave.

Forgive me, Rós. I've failed you yet again.

Forgive me...

≈

"It's there." Calum pointed to a cabinet at the back of the wardroom. "I can feel it."

McKinley sheathed his sword and shook his head as they crossed the room. "Enchanted stones, needy scepters, angry gods. Blimey. To think, when all of this started, I'd have been grateful for a teaspoonful of this kind of magic."

"Suppose it goes to show," Marshall said as he pried the lock from the cabinet and opened it to reveal the Key. "Be careful what you wish for."

"So, it's been a few minutes since we've sussed a few things out," said McKinley. "Your astute brain has had more than ample time to concoct a brilliant plan, right?"

Marshall raised an eyebrow. "Brilliant? Perhaps not. But a plan, nonetheless. The mistwalkers and the force manipulating them are trying to enter our world through an oceanic threshold. We must lead them back through this doorway and," he placed the Key on the table, "lock it at their backs."

"I'm assuming they'll follow the scepter through this doorway?" asked McKinley.

"Yes," Marshall said quietly.

The Marauder stared at the Key for a moment, understanding the words he hadn't said. "Which means, to lock them in, you'll also be locking in the bearer of the scepter. Me."

Seeming at a loss, Marshall looked down and swallowed.

McKinley nodded. "I could be halfway to Hathe by now but I just had to stick around, didn't I?" Sighing, he put his hands on the table and laughed a humorless laugh. "You see what happens when you try to do the right thing?"

Commander Calum looked as if he'd have liked to put a hand on the pirate's shoulder.

"McKinley..." Marshall began.

"No," McKinley cut him off with a raise of his hand. "No sympathy, Marshall. You're no good at it. Besides, I got myself into this. The Baron isn't the only one who made a deal."

Marshall looked confused for only an instant before sorting it out. "Blood for blood. Your daughter."

McKinley shrugged. "If this is the price to be paid for Maya's life, then, well... It is what it is. I'll go. I'll save this blasted kingdom. I'll even do it with a smile. Maybe then they'll remember me as something more than just another troublesome pirate."

The three were quiet a moment.

Then Marshall cleared his throat.

"Troublesome? You have definitely been that." The captain smiled, holding McKinley's gaze with an unreadable expression. "But there's hardly a Secoran soul who would make the mistake of calling you just another pirate. You aren't alone in this, McKinley. I'll be with you every step of the way."

Standing to his full height, McKinley the Marauder reached out to shake his brother's hand. "Suppose that has to count for something, doesn't it?"

They turned to Gray, but the misty commander seemed not to notice that they were ready to leave. In fact, he seemed frozen and slightly confused.

"Commander?" Marshall asked.

He brought his eyes to the captain's with considerable effort, as though he were bound by something the others could not see.

"Captain?" he managed to groan out before disappearing from the wardroom in a rush of sound.

Marshall and McKinley looked to one another in confusion.

"Well there goes our ride," said the Marauder.

No sooner had the words escaped his mouth than a cannon blast rocked the Havoc. Tearing through the side of the wardroom in an explosion of debris, it threw the brothers across the room. They slammed into the wall with a painful crunch.

When the smoke cleared, McKinley coughed. Pushing his way through the rubble, he helped Marshall to his feet. The captain hissed, trying to hide the damage to his arm and broken ribs. They looked across to the opposing Port Sundry ship to see a familiar face.

Marshall smiled through the pain. "And there's our new one."

"Hold fire!" yelled the hare. He waved across to them. "Ho, there, captains! Look, Inspector, it's McKinley and Captain Marshall!"

The somber fennec moved into view along the rail with a frown that seemed almost pleased. "So it is."

McKinley nudged Marshall with his elbow. "Then again, maybe they're just here to arrest you."

≈

The meager light in the fox's eyes began to dim but he would not go down gently.

Even as he failed, he fought.

A Queen's Knight to the end.

Just as he felt the last of his strength fading, he heard a snuffling sound and a shifting from the great wolf overhead. It took him several moments to realize that the blood from his neck wound was trickling over the Baron's face, blocking his nostrils. With his mouth closed in the bite, the indomitable Von Ulric was struggling to breathe.

Mustering his last, Faiz pulled himself from the ground. He lowered his head and shook his neck – violently and painfully – until the blood flowed faster, ever faster. Until he thought he might pass out from blood loss.

But it was the Baron who was forced to relinquish his hold.

Faiz seized his final chance.

Snapping his head around, he clamped his teeth on the Baron's throat, closing the wolf's windpipe and denying him the air he so desperately needed. Von Ulric's eyes widened in shock and fear. Muscles flailing in frantic convulsions, he whipped back and forth across the ground, towing Faiz through the mud in an attempt to slough him off, but the Knight would not be dislodged.

At last, lungs starved, the Baron collapsed. His legs kicked a feeble plea. His mouth opened and closed as if to speak, though no sound was present.

He was yielding.

The fight was finished.

For a moment, the fox's stare held such a battle-hardened steel that he seemed unable to recognize the wolf's desperation. He caught sight of Lieutenant Ryder standing nearby – watching, waiting. Then, slowly, the muscles around his eyes relaxed. He stepped back and spat the Baron's throat from his mouth as though finding it rancid.

Still on all fours, Faiz limped several steps away, his breath labored, limbs shaking. Blood matted his fur into the shredded remains of his clothing. He tipped his weary face to the sky and, for an instant, had the strange but powerful desire for the rain to return.

The queen moved to the center of the muddy ring and lifted her polearm. "The Challenge is concluded. The battle is ours."

Voice hoarse, hand clamped on the deep wound in his throat, the Baron struggled to protest. "My... allies..."

"Are allies no longer." Sira looked down on him without pity. "You have no more power. We have no more use for you." Then, to the queen she said, "Keep your kingdom as it is. The Empire wants no part of this one."

Standing weakly to his full height, Faiz limped to where the Baron still lay.

"Leave," he said. "Leave now and never again set foot on Secoran soil. If you do, I will find you. And I will kill you."

The massive wolf, now broken and weak, stared fearfully from one face to another as though unable to recognize what they were saying. At long last, he rolled from his back and bolted over the embankment on all fours.

Like the animal that he was.

As the crowd watched him flee, the faint light of dawn began to creep over the distant horizon.

"That's it, then?" Ryder said, coming to Faiz's side and draping his arm around her shoulders for support. "It's over?"

The father sagged against her, then shook his head and turned his eyes to the shore.

"Not yet, I fear."

≈

Gray could see nothing in the fog.

It surrounded him, entombing his senses and stifling his movement.

"Ssssstruggle as you will. It serves you none," a voice echoed in his ear.

"Where am I?" the ringtail cat demanded.

"Standing in the doorway," the voice replied. "The world between worlds. Here, you are neither living nor dead. As I have been for far too long."

"You're the harbinger," Gray deduced as he pushed against the mist. "The buried god. The captain was right. This is about you, isn't it? You're leading a takeover."

"Petty aspirations. I have no wish to lead."

"What then? Why are you doing this?"

"Because I must," the disembodied voice replied. "Because it is my purpose."

Gray scoffed. "That's a non-answer."

"Perhaps so, to someone who must find purpose on his own. To those like me, purpose is a birthright, an instruction given by Fate, a destiny we are born to fulfill. Destruction. Rebirth. This is my duty. I have walked this path for longer than your history can remember. You are here because I began it. Your Ancients ended because I willed it. This is a sacred cycle, one that we Lords are tasked with by our blood. Your time is over. A new season must begin. My will was thwarted by the father once before. It shall not be thwarted by the sons."

"The father?" Gray smiled. "Masguard. All those years ago, he stopped you, didn't he?"

The voice seemed to swell with anger. "He used the Ancient's weapon against me. He corrupted my totem, what you call the Key. But he did not do it alone. I was betrayed by one whose birthright was meant to align with mine. Ustim. A fellow Lord of the Fall. He killed me at the father's behest.

"Masguard convinced one of you to defect? A rogue god?"

"A disgrace!" the harbinger corrected. "A traitor who lives among you still! His world will end with yours! A new civilization will be born on the backs of your dead!"

"Why tell me any of this?" Gray asked suspiciously. "Why bring me here?"

"To give you a choice. If you return to your corporeal world in your current form, your soul will be consumed with its inevitable destruction. If, on the other hand, you take the chance to cross over." A light appeared at Gray's back. "Your eternity can be given to you the way that it was meant."

The dead commander looked over his shoulder, then back to the void. He was quiet for the longest moment.

Then he burst into laughter.

"You're afraid of them, aren't you? McKinley and Captain Marshall! Are you really so powerless? You can't touch the sons of Masguard, so you abduct the person helping them, is that it? Sad move, for a god. Be honest, harbinger. This isn't about fulfilling your destiny. For all your contempt over petty aspirations, yours is the pettiest of all. Revenge. You aren't interested in any sort of civilized rebirth. Just putting an end to the one who killed you, and to the line of Masguard. I'm not going anywhere. If this world dies, it can take me with it."

"False bravado." Gray could almost hear the voice shaking its non-existent head. "You will cling to it as you fade to nothing."

"Nothing false about it. I believe in my captains. With or without my help, they will stop you."

Gray choked as he felt the mist clamping down on his ethereal limbs. The voice grew until it filled the emptiness with thunder and timeless hate.

"Not if I stop them first!"

≈

Marshall splashed down in the coastal shallows, Key in hand. McKinley followed him, leaving the raft to drift in on its own.

"You're certain this is the magic spot?" McKinley frowned at the shore beneath his feet.

"No," Marshall replied simply.

The Marauder squinted at him. "Oh, well, that's comforting. Thanks."

His steps somber, Marshall moved to dry land while McKinley stayed as he was, halfway between sea and sand, a part of both and neither. The captain was slow to turn around.

"Look," McKinley said. "I hate to ask this, but... See, Maya and I used to have this thing. I'd bring her something special if I was away for too long. Considering that you're filthy rich and all... I was hoping you could do that for me. Just bring her something. Preferably something incredible. You know, something that says I... I might be away a little longer this time."

Marshall swallowed, remembering Masguard's similar penchant for gifts. As a lonely youth, he'd believed his father never understood that what he really needed was a parent.

Only now did he see how wrong he'd been.

His father had always known.

Just as McKinley knew now.

"I don't know that it matters. But, for what it's worth, I'm..." Marshall paused as though wishing to keep the words to himself. As though his hesitance could put this off for just a moment more. "I'm going to miss having someone around. You know, to keep me on my toes."

"Bah. You're too uptight to be anything but vigilant. Hardly need me around to see to that. You'll get on, dear brother." The Marauder sniffed and shook his head. "Alright, enough with the goodbyes. This is a rite of passage. What I'll find on the other end of it can't be all bad, can it? I'll meet you there, someday. We'll have a good laugh about all of this."

"Still can't even take death seriously, can you?"

"Like I said, depending on who's doing the dying... When I made the deal, I thought they'd be coming after you. The blood of Masguard, and all. I figured you embodied him more than I ever could."

Marshall cocked his head.

McKinley shrugged. "I'm... actually glad I was wrong." Drawing his cutlass with his left hand, he tapped it against the wound in his right, bringing the blood to air once again.

Marshall looked down at the wretched stone in his own grip and nodded. "Are you ready?"

McKinley lifted the scepter to the sky and smiled.

"Not in the slightest."

≈

Calum struggled in the void long after the harbinger had abandoned it. The attempt was confused. It was as much a motion of heavy limbs as it was an act of will, but he would not be held here. Not while his captains still needed him.

Grr, this is useless! he thought to himself, calming his mind. I'm fighting physically, when I'm no longer a physical being. Use your head, Calum.

Why was he unable to move here?

Why had he been unable to enter the corporeal world before McKinley found the scepter? Even when others like him were swarming the Albatross, taking lives and standing in the way of Marshall's quest?

Because I'm not one of them, he realized.

Unlike them, he had accepted his fate. He'd have been content to find his peace in the sea had he not been bound by his sense of duty – an obligation never to abandon his crew. That was the only reason he was here rather than... wherever he might have been, on the other side.

As a pathway for those he fought against, the mist was his enemy.

But it didn't have to be.

He smiled.

I've played the villain once before. This can't be that different.

He dug into his memory, into emotions he'd hardly ever felt. Into malcontent and fear, anger and desperation. He loathed and he resented until the mist accepted him as a thing to be recognized.

Only when he was near his breaking point did the fog relent, like a lake of ice turning to water around him. As suddenly as he'd been bound, he was again able to move. He fell through he knew not what until his feet touched something that felt like ground, even though he knew it wasn't. Then he stood.

He was a mistwalker now.

Clearly, there was a way out.

He'd just have to keep walking until he found it.

≈

McKinley the Marauder closed his eyes as he called the spirits from the battle.

All of them.

Blood for blood, the weapon devised by the Ancients as a desperate attempt to save their civilization sent a pulse over the shore. It rippled through the mist, pushing forward and back until the mistwalkers were knocked from their feet and dragged as though by a riptide.

"That's it, McKinley, stand firm!" Marshall called from the edge of the water. "It's working!"

Irritated by the useless advice, McKinley growled back, "What's working?! I don't even know what I'm doing!"

"Whatever it is, keep doing it!" Marshall swiped and parried as the spirits blowing past him scrambled for the Key, their desperation yielding tenacity and strength their misty composition had no right to own.

Behind him, McKinley strained. His arm shook. His mouth clamped down on the tremors running through his body.

Marshall threw worried glances between dodges. With the undercurrents worming their way throughout the air, the force of the scepter was evident even from the shore. It was uncertain whether McKinley could tolerate it at all, let alone long enough to end this.

Stand firm.

Marshall whirled, his rapier tearing through the final mistwalker.

There was a light.

Then a burst of brightness and a snarl of effort from behind.

Marshall turned to see McKinley struggling to maintain his grip on the scepter, which seemed wrapped in mist.

As though something were pulling it away from him.

Into the water, Marshall dove. He reached McKinley's side just in time for the both of them to be thrown back to shore, with scepter and Key thumping to wet earth some distance away.

McKinley groaned and sat up, putting a hand to his head. "That isn't at all how that was supposed to go."

Peering warily into the mist, Marshall gestured down the shore. "Get the artifacts. Keep them from the mist."

"What is it?" McKinley stood.

Marshall tightened his grip on his sword. "We're not alone."

"Wonderful," said McKinley with a sneer. His feet dug into the soil as he started down the shore, eyes peeled.

As it turned out, they wouldn't have helped.

A force he could not see plowed into his body once again, sending him flying.

"Run, run, run..." A voice came from nowhere and everywhere.

Marshall hoisted him to his feet and the two stood back to back, swords levied at the emptiness. The mist coiled around them like a shadowed serpent, mocking their weapons with its nature.

"You cannot strike me, fools. Your weapons mean nothing to me. Your goals, even less. You cannot win."

"That doesn't mean we'll ever stop fighting," Marshall said, his voice as heavy as his hand. "You'll have to kill us, first." Belatedly, as though just realizing that he'd lumped McKinley in with his own contrarianism, he shot an apologetic glance over his shoulder.

"No, I'm with you on that one." McKinley waved off his concerns by gesturing to his former place in the water. "You saw!"

"The sons stand in the place of the father. But you cannot win," the voice repeated.

Marshall staggered, feeling a pressure in the mist, a tightening as of a noose wrapping about the whole of his body. He made a choking sound and heard McKinley doing the same. With a sudden boom of thunder, they both collapsed, pressed into the mud in a horrifying and unavoidable hold. Tendons strained. Skin bruised in furious complaint. Their mouths filled with mist until they could not speak or breathe or even think.

"Diieeee, you pointless mortals. Your ending brings a new age to us alllll...."

Just as Marshall's lungs were preparing to cave, he saw a flash of movement in the mist.

The swing of...

A cane?

There was a thump! as the stick connected with something he could not see. Then a familiar voice brought him from his stupor.

"You leave my boys alone!"

They turned to see Abner Frum stomping an angry foot in the surf.

"What?" the harbinger hissed as its slithering form came somewhat into view. "How is this possible?"

The Elder smiled. "Maybe this old blood has a few tricks of his own that you didn't know about."

"Whoooo are yoooou?!"

"Get the artifacts," Abner said to McKinley and Marshall, ignoring the harbinger's question. "I'll take care of this brute."

With a curious glance to the cane in his hand, Marshall nodded and urged his brother down the shore.

"WHO ARE YOU?!" The harbinger demanded again.

Abner turned back from watching the brothers in their escape and bit his words in the misty form's direction.

"I'm your worst nightmare. A grumpy old man with a cane."

≈

With nothing to hold them, the spirits were once again swarming the shore, competing with the brothers in a race for the artifacts. They clawed at the otter captains. They threw their strange weapons, their corporeal anchors, at the brothers' feet. They fought.

But they were doomed to fail.

In the final stretch, McKinley dove for the artifacts and – with his trademark agility – rolled to his feet, tossing the Key in Marshall's direction. Catching it deftly, Marshall turned and attacked, keeping the mistwalkers at bay as McKinley again dove for the surf.

Arm held high, he began the process again.

This time, he did not hesitate, he did not waver.

When the last of the spirits were swept from the shore in a rush, Marshall turned and pulled back his arm.

Catching McKinley's eye, he stopped.

"What are you waiting for?!" shouted the Marauder. "Throw it!"

The skin around Marshall's eyes tightened.

And, though he couldn't be sure, though he'd not felt the sensation in many a year, he thought there may have been a tear in his eyes.

"Blast it, Marshall, end this!" McKinley called again. "Throw it!"

I don't want to, he would not say.

He could see the response clearly in McKinley's eyes.

Do it anyway.

At last, with a wordless cry that echoed his despair, the captain complied.

As the hated stone sailed through the air, Marshall fell to his knees and whispered, "I'm sorry."

With a comforting smile, McKinley nodded his approval and recited, "Let me go, brother. This is how it should be."

The Key splashed down before him, causing a chain reaction in the mist and a cry from the harbinger that echoed throughout the beach, the city, and beyond before disappearing into silence.

"NOOOOOOO!"

Like a flood called back to its point of origin, the mist rushed in after the Key, a closing door that would be shut in a matter of moments.

McKinley closed his eyes, waiting for the end.

He could only smile as he thought it a strangely familiar setting.

Maybe he would see Selene.

Maybe she would be proud...

He felt a pulling on his limbs, a shoving that threatened to force him from his position.

He opened his eyes in shock when his sword was wrenched from his grip.

Stumbling in the surf, hand still on the scepter, he turned to find himself looking up into the misty face of Commander Calum.

"Well, what do you know?" Gray looked around with a grin. "Fate alive, I didn't think I'd make it out in time. That was one tricky exit."

The Marauder looked around to the mist, shocked to see that it was still continuing its process of draining into the sea, despite his loss of concentration. "I don't understand."

Gray shrugged, seeming pleased as the scepter slowly turned to mist in his hand. The process stopped near McKinley's grip, remaining half substance, half fog. "Maybe Fate was really on your side, after all. Be happy, captain, it's not like you're the one dying, here. Not anymore. Though, I think you'll have to let go of the scepter in order for me to finish this."

"Gray..." McKinley said, remembering Abner's advice on the ship. "You don't have to do this."

"I wouldn't have it any other way. How many people get the chance to die twice for their captain?"

McKinley shook his head in argument. "I'm not your captain."

The ringtail cat lifted McKinley's sword as it turned to mist as well. "Looks like Fate would disagree with you on that, sir."

Finally making it to McKinley's side, Marshall gripped his brother's shoulder in relief before turning to stare at his former commander in awe.

"Duty to the end, soldier?"

"To the end, sir."

McKinley looked down to the transforming scepter. With a sigh and a grateful glance to the fading officer, he opened his hand and let the scepter evaporate.

Gray nodded affably, his form vanishing in the dawn until little of it could be seen, with a mass of faces behind. Souls of the lost, some familiar, some wailing in despair. A pale possum who was always sure of his place. A bony thief who was suddenly confused about his.

And a little girl who stared at the pirate captain in recognition.

She spoke before dispersing along with the rest, her single word striking fear into the Marauder's heart.

"Dad...?"

≈

McKinley flew through the streets like a creature possessed. He ran long after his legs should have given out. Long after his lungs should have failed. Far behind, Marshall did his best to follow but was eventually forced to pause and catch his breath through the pain of his wounds.

On, McKinley ran.

Through the wharf district, to a building of finery and fear. Up the stairs, through the door, he burst into his daughter's room.

There, he saw Hamara and Va'pour shaking their heads over a silent bed.

Ensign Wexler was in tears.

"No..." McKinley said quietly, coming to the bedside and lifting Maya in his arms. He looked desperately through the window at the growing light, seeking the full moon in a sky that was clear for the first time in months. Too clear. Too empty. "No, no, no! It isn't supposed to end like this! I found the magic! I saved the kingdom! Come on, Maya, I saved you! Don't you know that?! Wake up!" He collapsed with his daughter clutched tightly to his chest, sobbing into her still form. "I saved you..."

The pain was too much.

Too much to bear.

Was this his punishment?

Had Calum's intervention broken his deal with the scepter's magic?

Damn those Ancients and their sorcery of trickery...

Damn them...

"Dad?"

The quiet word echoed in his ear like a whispered taunt. He felt his chest tightening even further.

Until he realized he could feel movement outside his chest as well as within.

Slowly, he looked down.

Blinking in weariness and confusion, Maya looked up at him and yawned. "What happened? Where did the nice officer go?"

McKinley shook his head, barely comprehending.

Then a wisp of mist from the corner of the room caught his eye.

"Turns out, once you find the door, it's not that hard to find again. Especially when you have this to strengthen your efforts." Commander Calum flipped the scepter over in his palm.

"You?" McKinley said in an exhalation of shocked breath. "You're the outsider from the healing family?"

Gray shrugged his response.

"The Fortune misleads, but it does not lie," Hamara said, a crease in her brow that seemed almost like pity. "It fulfilled its end of the bargain."

Her words carried a threat that McKinley did not care to acknowledge as the tribal mongooses frowned and took their leave. They passed Marshall on his way in.

Marshall pulled up short, at first not knowing how to react as he gazed down on family.

His family.

He looked to his former commander and caught his breath, tears in his eyes once again.

"Thank you."

End

"Hey, heroes." Ryder knocked on the door. "Everyone's waiting for the three of you."

Marshall turned to see her looking regal in the white of her dress uniform.

"We're having a bit of trouble with this one." He jabbed his thumb in McKinley's direction. "But we'll be on our way shortly, Commander."

She tipped her head and took her leave as McKinley fiddled with his neckpiece in annoyance.

"You wouldn't be having trouble with this one if you hadn't insisted that this one wear one of your stupid uniforms," he said crossly. "That was a good move, by the way. Promoting her. Much as it pains me to admit it, she deserves the recognition."

"Yes, she does," Marshall agreed as he pushed McKinley's hands aside and fixed the neckpiece for him.

"Must irk the bejeezus out of Gray." The Marauder grinned.

"It was Gray's idea," Marshall countered.

"Must you talk about me as if I'm not here?" The former commander materialized behind them, a frown on his affable face.

"In our defense," said McKinley. "It can be difficult to remember that you're here when you aren't always visible. Try it from our end, ghosty." He grunted and shook his shoulders, as though willing the uniform to stretch out or bloody well fall to the floor. "I really hate this thing. It just looks wrong on me."

"That's probably because it's missing something," Gray said, stepping forward. With a flourish, he pulled McKinley's misty cutlass from his belt and held it toward the Marauder.

McKinley shook his head. "I really don't think that –"

Gray cut him off by tossing the cutlass in his direction.

He was shocked when he was able to catch it.

A grin spread slowly across his face as he swished the misty blade this way and that, testing its viability. Sure enough, it was still a weapon to be feared. He proved as much when he accidentally sliced a tapestry from its fastenings with his antics.

"Oh-ho-ho, that is epic!" He brandished the weapon in Marshall's direction. "What do you think, Marshall? Should I trade in the Marauder moniker for McKinley, Keeper of the Mistblade? Does it sound pretentious? Probably a bit too pretentious, right?"

Marshall just frowned and moved to hold open the door.

"You're jealous, aren't you?" The Marauder grinned and sheathed his strange new blade.

"We have a celebration to attend," Marshall said, refusing to engage.

"Yup." McKinley patted his brother condescendingly on the chest. "You're jealous, I can tell."

Marshall walked alongside him in his brisk military stride as they ascended the stairs to the great hall. "Fewer jokes at this stage would be advised. You are about to receive the kingdom's highest honor, after all. Possibly even a commission of your own."

Waving his hand as if to indicate the silliness of this entire affair, he said, "None of them will compare to the Negvar. Besides, I have every intention of stealing the first ship they put me on."

"Not if it's mine, you won't."

"If it's yours, I'll hang myself."

"Arguing again, I see?" A serene voice halted them at the top of the stairs. McKinley and Marshall each fell silent and bowed to noble Queen Victorie Prideaux. She smiled and gestured for them to rise. "Please, continue. Family disputes are something of a novelty to me."

"We're still easing into the roles ourselves, Your Majesty." Marshall tipped his head.

"Speaking of roles," she turned to McKinley. "With only the exception of the Baron, you have been the single greatest scourge of the Secoran Kingdom for many years."

"Yeah..." The Marauder self-consciously scratched his neck. "About that... I'm... uh... sorry?"

A short laugh came from behind her closed mouth.

Holding his gaze, she removed the crown from her head and held it in outstretched hands, offering it to him.

McKinley stared down at the bejeweled metal circlet with his mouth open. He looked at her as though questioning her sanity. "My Lady?"

"Though I was not near enough on the shore to witness it myself, I am told that you not only discovered the scepter but you put yourself in a position of sacrifice in order to save our kingdom. Article Seven of the Ancient code was never struck down. According to its demands, you are to be given reign of this realm."

Again, McKinley stared from the crown to the queen. "King? Me?"

"King." She smiled in the affirmative. "Indeed."

For a long moment, the Marauder seemed to be weighing his options.

Eventually, an exaggerated look of confusion came to his features as he drew the ceremonial hat from his head and ran his fingers through the fur there. "I must say, My Lady. Much as I may wish to accept – and I do wish so to accept – I'm not really sure what it is you're going on about. I never found this..." He paused and turned to Marshall. "What was it again?"

"Scepter," Marshall aided, his amusement under wraps.

"Scepter, yes, that was it." McKinley returned his smiling face to Queen Prideaux. "I never found any scepter. And do I really look like the type to consign myself to sacrifice? I mean, really? So, many thanks, much appreciated, but I guess you're stuck running the joint."

The move was almost imperceptible. And whether it was born of gratitude or grace of character, only the history books would ever say. But in response, and possibly for the first time in Secora's long account, a queen looked upon a pirate... and bowed. Then, with a very slight upturning of her mouth, Victorie placed the crown atop her head, where it belonged.

"Enjoy the festivities, captains. I will be joining you shortly."

McKinley watched her leave, frowning in retrospect as he handed their announcement card to the guard at the door. "I should have at least demanded a pardon for my troubles, shouldn't I? Not like me to miss an opportunity. My pirate deviousness must be slipping."

The guard opened the door, walking ahead of them into the bustling celebration and shouting to the crowd, "Announcing Marshall and McKinley, resilient captains of the brave ship Nighty-Night!"

McKinley and Gray both fought to keep their faces straight as Marshall closed his eyes and clasped his hands behind his back in irritation.

"No, McKinley, I'd say your deviousness is very much intact."

"Hey, now." The Marauder lifted his hands in surrender. "I may have named it that, but you went along with it, you stick-in-the-mud."

"Shut up, pirate."

"You shut up."

"Boys!" Ryder came between them, gesturing to the multitude of citizens gathered in their honor and expecting some form of civility. "Party."

As if on cue, three raccoons came bursting through the crowd, an exuberant otter girl on their shoulders.

The Marauder pulled his daughter away and hugged her tight. "There's my angel! Just in time! Honey, join daddy in picking on Uncle Marshall for his bland take on life, will you?"

She frowned. "If I do that, he might not let me on the ship you're both going to captain."

The brothers looked to one another, shocked enough to say in simultaneous distaste, "Both?"

"That's what the funny advisor said." Maya nodded, giving her newfound uncle an adorable smile.

He smiled to her in turn. "Remind me again, McKinley, what was it you said about hanging yourself?"

"Ugh!" The Marauder threw back his head and groaned. "What did I ever do to deserve this?"

"Well, Cap'n..." Lumber lifted a finger. "There was that one time in Port Sundry..."

"Could've been tha years o' pillagin'," Ormac added.

"Or tha plunderin'," nodded Gil.

McKinley sneered at them. "You know you guys suck at being pirates? Never could keep a secret, could you?"

"That's because we ain't pirates, is we?" Ormac winked to his brothers before turning to the remaining members of the Negvar crew scattered throughout the crowd and yelled, "What is we, mates?"

Their crew was joined by that of the Albatross as they hoisted their ale and shouted in boisterous unison, "CORSAIRS!"

"Gah! Semantics!" McKinley set his daughter on the floor and took her hand. "Come on, Maya dear. We've got a ship to steal and a mess of crazy pirate adventures to be had without this contrary lot. But first, we dance!"

The crowd parted and she trotted after him with a giggle.

"Hey, priest." Ryder nudged Faiz. "You should dance with me, too. Your faith doesn't frown on that sort of thing, does it?"

He looked at her a moment, seeming surprised. Then a gentle smile formed as he bowed his head and offered his arm. "No, it doesn't."

As the collective crew filtered into the crowd – dancing, talking, laughing – were one to stand aside and watch, they would be convinced that they were observing the sights and sounds of contentment, victory, and relief. At this, even the stoic and silent Captain Marshall could not help but smile.

He put his hands in his pockets where his fingers brushed against the familiar metal of his father's compass. Pulling it to the light and opening it, he felt no small amount of nostalgia as he brushed its face.

Suddenly, he stopped.

Staring at the compass with a frown, he turned to his left, then to his right.

The needle was fixed on something.

Not the distant west, where they'd left the moving island of Mosque Hill, but on something to the north.

Something very nearby.

Shooting a glance to the occupied crowd, Marshall left the hall to its festivities as he slipped through the side door and made his way to the beach.

≈

Queen Prideaux leaned on the balcony's rail, marveling over the clarity of the view. The remaining fog had long since lifted, peeling from the sea like a sloughing off of false skin, leaving a pristine image of ocean and sky that couldn't help but raise the spirits of any not contemplating the things on Victorie's mind.

She did not turn when she heard someone join her.

"The Voice of Fate has decided to grace me with his presence once more," she nodded. "You interfered, Elder. You cheated."

"So did you, when you set them on their path." Abner Frum put both hands on his cane and thumped it against the floor. "So did the sons, by sacrificing someone who couldn't be sacrificed. So did Masguard, when he tied the scepter to his ship so that he wouldn't be pulled into the void. Yet here we are."

"Most of us, yes," the queen corrected, looking down at the well-worn paper in her hand, the one she'd sworn did not exist.

"You feel guilty, don't you?" The old badger moved from the archway to her side.

"Yes," she replied without hesitance. "Don't you?"

"No," he grunted. "It had to start somewhere. Better here and now. Better with them."

"Perhaps." She sounded doubtful. "What happened on that island, Abner?"

The badger adjusted the glasses on his stout face. "Marshall chose to save the girl. He risked the whole of the kingdom and possibly the world itself for the good of a single life. Because he believed it was the right thing to do."

"Then he chose well." The white wolf nodded. "For isn't that what Secora is all about?"

"Maybe." Abner shrugged. He did not continue for the longest time. "The truth is, my dear, I don't know whether he made the right choice. I don't know whether things will progress as they should from here. Whether he's saved or doomed us all with his decency. Fate doesn't tell me everything. I can only hope that things will turn out well, in the end. In that way, I'm no different from any of you."

She stopped him as he turned to leave, wondering, "Then how is it that you are so calm?"

"My dear." He shook his head. "The lack of vigor in my eyes isn't calmness. It's terror."

Again, he thumped his cane – this time, in farewell – and Queen Victorie Prideaux watched the Voice of Fate return to the party, where he joined in like just another citizen.

Mouth tight, she opened the paper in her hand and read the final words there.

"Will he ever forgive me for this?

It is my dearest hope that I will one day be able to ask him in person.

But should Fate will differently, please tell him nothing of what we've done. I do not want him burdened by this. Not unless or until it must be so. We've destroyed but a single Lord where many more shall stand. Many more with designs that we cannot see or know... or perhaps do anything to stop.

Know that I have succeeded in my task, for now.

But the clouds will return, my friend.

And I'm sorry to say this is not the only storm on the horizon.

The worst, I fear... is yet to come."

≈

Marshall moved slow along the Bannered Shore, toward the wreckage of a ship that never should have had the will to carry them home, but had somehow done just that.

The compass, he now realized, had never been pointing to Mosque Hill.

All along, it had been pointing its way to his father's ship.

Why would Masguard never tell him this?

Wouldn't he have known that it might bring comfort to a lonely child to be able to connect with his father at a glance?

Marshall frowned, climbing through the great hole in the ship's belly and noting the way the compass jumped to one side.

He moved until the needle held fast. Until it spun in confusion every time he took a step. There, he pried the boards from a strange platform in the hold, one that shouldn't have been there.

He froze when he saw what lay beneath.

Feeling as though he'd fallen from a yardarm, as though he'd been doused in icy and inhospitable waters, Marshall shook his head, wary of even reaching his arm toward the artifact that had been hidden there, in this tomb of a rotting ship, for decades.

This was Masguard's unknown relic.

This was the thing his father refused ever to speak of.

And at last, Marshall understood why.

"No..." he whispered in the dark, where none could hear. "Fate preserve us all."

About the Author

Vivienne Mathews is a nerdy ice queen who talks with her hands and owns far too many hats. A beekeeper with a bee allergy, no one would ever accuse her of being sensible. She spends most of her days in Hermitville, just past Nowhere, with her loving husband, two dogs, and a child who won't stop growing, no matter how desperately she tries to keep him young. More than anything, she hopes you enjoy these books as much as she enjoys writing them.

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