When twilight approached, Terryll ordered his crew to drop sail and lay anchor in a crook near the western bank of the river where the current was slow moving. By his estimation, they had sailed eight leagues inland over land. The offshore breeze had held most of the day and they had made good time—better than Terryll could have hoped—but the wind had shifted and now dark clouds came upon them from the north, threatening more rain and unpredictable winds.

Once they were anchored and the sails battened down, Terryll sent word to the Earl that his soldiers could come on deck. Terryll watched from the stern castle as the whole lot of them came up from the cargo hold to stretch and piss over the rails. The Earl came up to piss and then joined Terryll at the stern castle with Basilides. There was no sign of Lyrie nor Lord Klaye, however. Everild came on deck, but only for a moment before going back into the hold. Terryll watched him, but said nothing. He had considered telling the Earl he knew Lyrie and suspected she had been stolen away, but he didn't figure the Earl would care one way or the other, and so kept silent with the hope Lyrie would be left onboard when the Earl disembarked.

"How do we fare for the morrow?" the Earl asked after some time.

Terryll eyed the darkening sky. "Depends on the weather, my lord. This storm is coming from the north and that means we'll be heading straight into it. If there's enough wind and it holds steady it'll be a day of beating to windward and we should make good time; if not, we paddle. We've about four leagues to go still to reach your Gildan's Sprite. If we have to paddle we might make it by this time tomorrow."

"That will be good enough, Captain, as long as I'm there before the morning after tomorrow."

"We'll make it, my lord, but you may have some weary soldiers if we're forced to row."

"They're stout men, they'll survive."

The first raindrops began falling on them, and Basilides stepped toward the Earl. "We should get you below deck now, my lord."

"Indeed. I fear we'll all become soaked enough on our march to come. Good day, Captain."

Terryll nodded and watched the Earl go. The Earl's men seemed not to mind the rain and loitered about on deck, but Terryll still saw no sign of Lyrie or Lord Klaye. He gritted his teeth in frustration. He was not one to sit idly by and let things happen, but he didn't see anything that could be done but wait, and it infuriated him. Lord Klaye was not likely to harm Lyrie while onboard with all the Earl's men nearby, but Terryll couldn't be sure. He decided he could at least post a watch on deck throughout the night to keep an eye on things, and went to find Alwyn to make it happen.

***

A dozen different snores echoed through the cargo hold. Lyrie watched Lord Klaye toss and turn and finally sit up after an hour or more of fidgeting in his sleep. Neither of them had gone up on deck to relieve themselves since boarding and Lyrie felt near to bursting. She had resisted asking Everild, knowing he would keep a tighter reign on her, and was determined to hold out until Lord Klaye himself had to go up on deck.

"Are you going up to piss?" Lyrie whispered.

"What's it to you?"

"I have to go too."

Everild was suddenly awake, sitting up beside them. "I'll go, my lord."

Lord Klaye waved his hand at him. "Go back to sleep. I'll take her...him."

Everild said nothing, but Lyrie could see his eyes in the dark and knew that he thought better of letting her go alone with Lord Klaye. She didn't wait for him to protest further. She hopped up and stepped between the sleeping soldiers to the ladder and up onto the deck, leaving Lord Klaye to follow.

It was raining gently and with the cloud cover it was nearly as dark outside as below deck. Lyrie hurried to the railing and dropped her britches to piss into the river water below. As she sat there, hanging over the rail, she saw that all of the sailors were sleeping up on the stern castle deck and that one of them was standing watch, looking right at her. Her heart skipped a beat for a moment—unless he thought her to be shitting over the side, he would know she was a girl—but then she decided she didn't care if he knew. He was Terryll's man, and if she wasn't mistaken, it was Terryll's first mate and he probably already knew.

Either way, Lord Klaye was oblivious to the sailors and merely stood by bleary-eyed watching Lyrie finish pissing. "Go below," he said when she was done.

"You don't want me to wait for you?"

"I have to shit. I don't need you watching me."

Lyrie moved away and he watched her only for a moment before dropping his trousers and pulling himself up onto the ship rail. Lyrie glanced back once to make sure he wasn't paying attention, then climbed down the ladder to the aft cabins instead of the cargo hold. At the bottom of the steps she stopped to listen for signs that she had roused anyone. There were only the sounds of the boat rocking, though, so she grabbed the door latch to Terryll's cabin and pushed it open as slowly as she could manage. When it was open enough for her to squeeze through she slipped inside and turned to let the door close in the same manner, but suddenly found a dagger at her throat.

Lyrie froze. "It's me."

"Ordryn's Cunny," Terryll whispered, lowering the dagger. "What are you doing here? Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine, but I had to get away from him."

Terryll grabbed her and held her close, his heart still thumping at having been awoken so abruptly. "I know, Lyrie, but you should've stayed put. The Earl means to leave you onboard with me when we reach Gildan's Sprite, and then we'll all be safe and clear. Until then, you have to play this game of theirs, pretending to be his nephew. The Earl needs Klaye to lead him somewhere."

"It's a trap, Terryll. He's going to betray the Earl."

"What?"

"I'm not sure how, but he's arranged something with Sturm Galkmeer."

Terryll gritted his teeth. "That filthy blackspur. We have to warn the Earl. Do they know you've snuck away?"

"Everild is sleeping, and Lord Klaye is shitting—"

A shout rang out from up on deck.

Terryll pushed Lyrie aside with a curse, and rushed out the door. "Stay there!" he yelled at her, and then he was on deck with two lunges up the ladder, just in time to see Everild standing over Alwyn's prostrate form, about to strike with his massive mace.

"No!" Terryll yelled.

Everild paused a moment, long enough for Terryll to push him aside and kneel over his first mate. "Alwyn. Alwyn!" Alwyn's eyes were open but unfocused. The side of his head was caved in and blood oozed out onto Terryll's hands. "What happened?"

Lord Klaye stepped forward to stand beside Everild. "The rat-spear tried to slit my throat and push me overboard."

"Move aside," Everild told Terryll. "He will die for his treachery." Terryll ignored him. "What did you do, Alwyn?"

Alwyn still could not see, but he focused on Terryll's voice.

"Sorry, Cap'n...just wanted, to kill...little bardache...didn't hear other one sneaking up behind."

"Balin's sac, Alwyn. What did I tell you?"

"Step aside," Everild said again, "and let me finish him."

"He's already dead, you daft cunny." Terryll laid Alwyn's head down, and squeezed his own eyes shut in grief.

"I said, move." Everild shoved his way past Terryll.

"No," Lord Klaye started to say, but too late. With a yell, Terryll smacked Everild's arms away and grabbed up Alwyn's curtelaxe. He was too angry for words. All that came out of his mouth was a rabid roar. He swiped at Everild's head and the man-at-arms barely raised his mace in time to deflect the blade.

Lord Klaye ran clear of the two of them with a startled cry, and Terryll's crew was suddenly all around them, circling and cheering Terryll on.

Everild was no doubt the better warrior, but he was unaccustomed to the footing on a ship, especially in the dark, and Terryll was enraged at his first mate's death. Even wearing only his small clothes he went at Everild with a blood-fury bordering on madness and it was all Everild could do to shield himself from the curtelaxe blows. As it was, Terryll's blade nicked and cut him in a half dozen spots through his leather armor and chainmail. Frustrated and furious, Everild finally tried a counteroffensive, but he overextended himself. Terryll sidestepped onto the ship rail and knocked Everild's mace out of his hands.

Terryll bounded back onto the deck and drew back his curtelaxe to strike the killing blow, but the Earl's squire was there, tackling Terryll, and the Earl's voice rung out: "Don't kill him. He is our guide, damn you! Do not harm him!"

More of the Earl's men tried to push their way forward, but Terryll's crew held their ground. One of Terryll's men heaved the squire off Terryll and when a man-at-arms shoved him from behind in retaliation, Terryll's man stabbed him in the throat with a knife. The deck exploded. Curses, curtelaxes, and daggers in the dark—Terryll's crew against the Earl's best soldiers.

"Enough!" the Earl screamed.

"Stand down!" Terryll yelled, finally coming to his senses and realizing what was happening. "Stand down!"

And the men warily stopped and separated, but already four men-at-arms were on the deck bleeding their life away and two of Terryll's crew lay dead besides Alwyn. Basilides was there and he looked to the fallen men, passing all of them over except one of the Earl's men who merely had one of his hands severed.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Earl demanded.

Terryll didn't know where to begin.

"The bastard tried killing me," Lord Klaye said.

"My first mate tried killing him," Terryll said, still stunned. "I came on deck when I heard the noise, but Lord Klaye's man came after me."

"You came at me," Everild insisted.

"Why is anyone trying to kill Lord Klaye?" the Earl asked.

"Isn't it obvious enough?" Lord Klaye asked. "My good servant Everild may not recognize him, but I seem to recall seeing our captain in a certain brothel in Gaulang. The rat-spear meant to kill me so he could steal Lyrie away for himself."

"You stole her away," Terryll growled.

"The whore?" the Earl asked in disgust. "You're telling me three of my men are dead now because of a filthy whore!"

"He kidnapped her, my lord," Terryll said. "Don't trust whatever he is telling you. Don't follow him, he means to—"

"That's quite enough, Captain," the Earl interrupted. "As vile a whoremonger as he may be, Lord Klaye is still one of my bannermen. I'll not have you disparage his loyalty."

Lord Klaye bowed with mock modesty.

"I'll hear no more arguing about the whore," the Earl went on. "If either of you mention her again, I'll have her thrown overboard. We're sorely undermanned now because of this nonsense." The Earl paced in front of Terryll and his men. "Thanks to their foolishness, your crew has just volunteered themselves into the service of my army, Captain Payce. Lord Klaye and his servant are our guides once we get off this boat, so if any of you so much as sneezes in their direction again, I'll have your head. Am I understood?"

"Yes, my lord," Terryll said between clenched teeth.

Lord Klaye smirked.

"And you, Lord Klaye," the Earl snapped, "I'll expect you to act a gentlemen as befits your position and title."

"Of course, my lord," Lord Klaye agreed. "As long as Lyrie comes along. I think you'll find I'm much less temperamental and more prone to follow orders when my needs are being met. Unless perhaps one of your men is good with his hands and mouth... your squire looks to have soft, girlish fingers."

"You are too bold," the Earl warned.

All playfulness disappeared from Lord Klaye's face. "My lord, I must insist. If she doesn't go, I don't go, and if I don't go, Everild doesn't go."

The Earl glared at him. "Bring her if it makes youhappy, but I warn you, if she gets in the way or hinders our progress, I'llhave her head taken off, and if you ever threaten to disobey me again, I'llhave yours too, cousin to Sturm Galkmeer or not."