Sixth day after Sun's Height, year 30016 DC

Emlyn bit his lip, squinting against the glare of the sun as he looked out over the sea, the stong fishy smell of the docks filling his nostrils so that his nose wrinkled without his conscious decision. He was beginning to have second thoughts about his decision to join Tynan and Shadow.

Not second thoughts about Tynan. Only Shadow.

The elf was too… quiet. He made no sound when he moved, and when he spoke he… Emlyn struggled to express his feelings. Shadow talked, but he didn't convey information. Emlyn had tried to get to know the elf a little, but he knew he'd failed. He had made an effort to talk to the elf, but he hadn't learned anything. Shadow was slipppery, illusive.

Secretive. The word slipped darkly into Emlyn's mind. Emlyn distrusted secrecy. It suggested that there was something that needed concealing.

And the worst thing was that he was sure that Shadow knew all about his frustration. He knew the elf was a lot smarter than him, and suspected him of laughing at him behind his unreadable face. Or sneering, perhaps.

Emlyn couldn't help it. He didn't like Shadow. And he didn't trust him.

But Tynan did. Emlyn scowled in frustration, clenching his fists into balls. And Tynan knew Shadow far better than he did. Even Emlyn could see that Tynan and Shadow had the comfortable relationship of old friends who know nearly everything that there is to know about each other's habits and thoughts. For the moment, Emlyn decided, he would stick with it. He would trust Tynan to know what was best.

That decided, he felt a bit better. Emlyn shuffled his feet on the rough stone of the harbour, shifting his grip on the urn still cradled in the crook of his left arm and shaking his head to try and be rid of the stench. He looked around, but Tynan and Shadow were still in negotiations with the huge, black-bearded captain of a ketch which they hoped would transport them to Graveisle. Emlyn sighed. They were still stuck on Goldisle. He'd – they'd – hoped to leave the whole filthy, rotten mess on the previous day, but transport had proved harder to find than any of them had anticipated.

Emlyn set his shoulders against the jostle of the crowd on the quayside, and lifted his eyes again to look out over the sea. The schooner he'd seen on the previous day from the road was much closer now, riding gently to anchor in the deep channel outside the port, and he ran his eyes again over her smooth lines. Anchoring out there, it looked as though her captain wanted her at readiness all the time, without his crew distracted by the boisterous waterfront alehouses or the less reputable establishments on Goldport's backstreets. Goldport boasted deep-water berths in its harbour, and a glance over the harbour showed him that they weren't all full, so it wasn't necessary for that lovely ship to be anchored all the way out there… Idly, Emlyn scanned the docks, wondering if he could spot a dinghy that might belong to her captain.

'It's a deal, then,' said Tynan, shaking the dark captain's hand. 'Two gold pieces each for three of us to get to Graveisle.'

'I still say it's robbery,' muttered Shadow, but his friend ignored him.

'When can we leave?'

'Whenever you want,' grunted the surly man. 'And you tell your elvish lackey to keep 'is mouth shut. There's none as'll do better by you than me an' my ol' girl.'

Shadow regarded the sea captain with an amused eye, but kept his mouth shut, not even moving a muscle at the insult. Tynan knew he was laughing inside his head at the man who was trying to get a rise out of more than a hundred years of experience.

Tynan knew that people thought Shadow had no feelings, but he was never deceived. He'd known Shadow before the veneer of cynicism and disdain had been constructed as a barrier against the world…

'If you make ready to leave then, captain, we'll just pick up the third member of our company, and we'll go straight away.'

And he knew what mattered to Shadow, Tynan thought, as they turned away to stroll back up the quay to where Emlyn was waiting. His cousin was talking to a little old man who was dressed as a sailor, a flat cap perched on his wild white hair. 'You're not making things easy for yourself with Emlyn, you know,' Tynan remarked, so quietly that even in the bustling crowd of the harbour only Shadow could hear him.

Shadow lifted dark brows. 'Oh? I never realised I should be making an effort to appear other than I am in order to obtain his goodwill.'

Tynan sighed. 'I don't say you have to, Shadow – damn it, I don't say anything of the sort, and well you know it! But you aren't helping things along by playing to stereotype.'

'I don't play anything, Tynan.' Shadow's voice was hard, but his friend could hear the pleading behind it as he continued. 'If he's got it in him to look beyond the surface than he will, whatever I do. And if he hasn't –'

'And if he hasn't?'

'I don't know,' Shadow muttered. 'If he hasn't, I don't think he and I can travel together for very long.'

Tynan looked round at the elf. 'Give him time, Shadow. Emlyn's not very old. He's still learning.'

'I hope so.' Shadow didn't sound very convinced.

Tynan laid a hand on his arm. 'Kyr.' The elf turned to look at his friend, and met the gaze of sincere dark eyes. 'Things will come out all right, if it's in my power to make it happen. I promise you.'

The ranger turned and went onwards through the crowds, but Shadow stopped, his opaque eyes suddenly deep pools of pain. To himself he whispered, 'But what if this time it's not in your power, Tynan?'

'Looking at the Wave Dancer, lad?'

'Is that her name? Yes.' Emlyn had been aware for some time of the aged and weatherbeaten man perched on a mooring bollard beside him. The old man's face was creased and crinkled all over like old parchment, and a pipe was clamped firmly in his mouth between crooked and black teeth, sending up a strong, pungent odour. An old sailor, Emlyn had assumed, observing how he watched the bustle of the quayside with an expert eye.

'No it ain't, not these days.' The old man sighed. 'But that's what she were called when she first put in here. Under old Hedren Ewerd she were in those days. Now he were a sailor…'

'Out of the shipyards at Haven?'

'Aye. She's quite new, too. One of Corin Torkilsson's, no less.' The old man squinted up at Emlyn and smiled. 'O'course, what's quite new to me seems a long time ago to you, I make no doubt… You know a good vessel when you see one, lad, for all you're no sailor. Are you alone?'

'No. My companions are trying to find us a passage.'

'That's good,' nodded the sailor. 'You wouldn't want to be alone, here. Actually, I'd watch yourself, lad. You're standing there, not seeming to care or notice when you're jostled… If you had any valuables on you, I'd check you still have them.'

'I haven't,' said Emlyn, indifferently. Glancing down the waterfront, he saw Tynan apparently come to an agreement with the little ketch's captain, for they shook hands, and Tynan and Shadow turned and began to walk towards him. He raised a hand to acknowledge them, but they were engaged in some kind of deep discussion and he didn't think that they saw him. 'I have to go.'

'You're leaving the Island?'

'Yes. I…' Emlyn gently touched the urn under his arm with his right hand.

The old sailor dipped his head in sympathy, but asked, 'And you're coming back, when you've visited Graveisle?'

Emlyn looked around. A shrill argument had broken out a little along the quay over the goods some trader was hawking. The strong sun was intensifying the stinks of sewage and rotten fish. He could still feel the menacing aura of the city. Even the little old man talking to him was wearing a sword at his side…

The bile rose in Emlyn's throat. 'No,' he said. 'I'm not coming back.'

The old man sighed, looking out over the sea with sad eyes. 'And so it goes,' he said softly, half to himself. 'Another good man leaves. I think the Huntress is fighting a losing battle…'

Emlyn hesitated, intrigued but unwilling to keep Tynan waiting. 'What's your name?' he asked, impulsively.

The sailor turned his eyes back to Emlyn, slightly startled. 'I'm Garrow Seaheart.'

'Thank you. I'm Emlyn Ulmer. I…' Emlyn gestured helplessly with his free right hand. 'I have to go.'

'A fair wind for your journey, then, Emlyn Ulmer.'

'Thanks. You too.' Emlyn paused for a second, not sure what to do, then turned and walked down towards where Tynan and Shadow were waiting.

Standing in the bow of the ketch to keep out of the way, Emlyn planted his feet widely apart as the little ship rocked in the waves. A lingering odour of fish hung about her, and he guessed her four-man crew were fishermen by trade – at least when nothing more profitable presented itself.

There was a little more wind out in the channel between Goldisle and the Inner Isles than there had been on the Island itself. The ketch slipped downwind, her sails spread wide to catch the breeze, slowly gathering speed.

As they passed the Wave Dancer, Emlyn looked up at the elegant schooner curiously. The section of hull which had once held her name had been scraped bare. In its place was a crudely painted symbol that Emlyn recognised from the city – a red sword. The fighter frowned. Now that was strange… He'd known that the gang who used that symbol were powerful, but he'd thought they were just another gang. The Wave Dancer seemed to be telling him something else…

He shook his head, cross with himself. He was leaving. None of this was his concern any more.

Or is it? he thought. He could still hear the sadness in the old sailor's voice, and it brought vividly to mind his own doubts on leaving the farm. Maybe he should return…

And maybe he never would. His mother's ashes were cold in the urn under his arm.