The shouting woke him.

Piers picked his head up from where he'd been lying, stretched out in the dirt in his cell, and tried to figure out what was going on. Orange-red torchlight flickered through the window, and when it had passed him by he saw the sky was still pitch-dark.

More shouts sounded from outside, along with the distinctive clash of steel on steel. He rolled to his feet, interested, and tried to get a better view, but the window was too high. He settled for listening instead, as the chaos outside intensified.

Another pirate attack? He didn't know that the town had anything left to steal. Although if it were pirates, maybe it would finally convince everyone that he wasn't in league with them.

He grinned a little, in the dark. If only he were so lucky.


Shin came crashing through the prison door not long after breakfast, slamming it so hard behind him that it shook dust from the walls. He stalked to the front of Piers's cell, and stood, and glowered.

Piers merely raised an eyebrow at him.

The silence went on, long enough to become uncomfortable, and finally Shin grumbled, "I guess you're free to go."

Free to go? Piers must have misheard. "What?"

Shin's glare shifted, to the mud-brick walls, the hard-packed floor — anywhere he wouldn't have to meet Piers's eyes. "They found the pirate in Alhafra" he said sullenly. "Mayor says you're free to go." He stepped forward then, a key in hand, and reached for the lock. His hands were shaking.

Piers watched in astonishment as Shin slid the key home, and struggled with the turning—it was an old lock, and not well-made. Could it really be? Finally? After all this time?

Ever-so-slowly, a grin began to spread across his face. He was free. He could finally get out of here, and get on with his mission—and then go home.

Yes.

At long last, the lock thunked open, and Piers headed for the door. Shin had already turned and run.


First things first, Piers decided. He wanted a bath, he wanted proper food, and he wanted to get going, but before any of that could happen he needed the orb.

The brightness of the sun hurt his eyes after so long in the dimly lit jail, but he did his best to ignore it. The mayor wasn't here, he learned after inquiring among people who were only marginally less bothered by his presence than Shin was, but the mayor's wife had stayed behind and she handled matters for him when he was away.

She looked like she'd seen a ghost when she answered his knock at the door, and he wondered at that—they knew he wasn't a pirate, now, so why were they all so terrified?—but then she let him in, and offered him a seat and a cup of tea, both of which he refused, and that was when things stopped going right.

"I can't stay," he explained. "I just came to fetch something your husband was holding for me."

"Did you?" She gave him a weak smile and set down the teapot none-too-steadily, rattling it against the table. Perhaps the mayor hadn't told her. Piers sighed, inwardly, and tried not to be too irritated. He'd been here for weeks. A few minutes more wouldn't matter.

"There was an orb. A black orb. He said he'd keep it safe, but now I need it back."

She twisted her apron hem between her hands and took too long to respond. She wouldn't look at him.

"Do you know where it is?" he asked, and in four words she brought his whole world crashing down.

"I'm sorry…" she whispered. "It's gone."

He froze. "What?"

She bit her lip, and continued fidgeting with her apron. A couple stitches snapped. "The raid, last night—they took it."

No.

No, no, no.

It couldn't be. After all this, after everything

He was never going to see his home again. Dread sent his pulse pounding in his ears and the power rushed down his arms, as though striking out would fix things. He clenched his fists to rein it in, and growled, "Who?"

"W-warriors. From Kibombo. It's-it's—" She broke off and shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

He was scaring her, he realized, and took a step back. His knees felt like jelly.

He needed to get out of this place.

She relaxed, fractionally, gaze darting down to his hands. "It would be—to the northwest. The land's connected now."

Now? He had no idea what that meant, and he was going to have to track these people down through country he didn't know and hope he made it in time before they broke it or sold it or—

He'd never quite felt this amount of panic before.

"A map," he heard himself asking, "Do you have a map?"

"The tidal wave changed things, but I can show you what it used to look like." She backed away from him and scrambled for the bookshelf. After some deliberation she pulled down a heavy tome and frantically began to leaf through it. "There's one in here, it's the only one in the village. I'll get Devi to make a copy for you, she's good with a pen—"

"No." By the time she'd finished who knew where his orb would be. He looked at the map, intently, trying to fix it in his mind, noting the changes between it and his ancient charts. It would have to do. "No time."

She looked back to him, wide-eyed. "You can't mean to follow them—the cliffs—"

"I have to." He closed the book, and turned away.

"No—don't—wait!" She said something else, but he didn't catch it.

He was already headed down the road.


Piers's ship lay beached in the shallows to the northeast. It seemed more-or-less unharmed, thank the gods, and he practically sprinted the last hundred yards to it before hauling himself up onto the deck. Finally, finally, he was back where he belonged. Giddy relief welled up in him, and he sank to his knees near the figurehead. He could have kissed it.

He reached out, instead, and put a hand to the wooden boards. No spark of psynergy jumped to meet him, no presence answered his touch. Without the orb, the ship was dead and cold and useless, but it was still his, and he was going to set it back to rights no matter what he had to do.

With that thought in mind, he picked himself back up, and set to seeing what kind of damage the villagers had done. The main cabin had been searched, and it was a mess, with charts flung every which way and some of his supplies missing—food, it looked like—but after all the other things he had to deal with he found he couldn't even summon the energy to be angry about it. He decided to sort that out later and headed belowdecks.

They mayor must have stopped the boarding party before they got this far, as everything else was still as he'd left it, undisturbed, with boxes and barrels of supplies still stacked neatly in the hold. Thankfully, his king had expected a long journey and had had the ship outfitted with provisions to match.

Piers was crouching by one of the crates and trying to decide if he wanted food or soap or weapons first, when the truth of the matter hit him.

The king. Home. Even if he had the orb and had completed his mission, he didn't know how to get back, didn't know how to find the path through the swirling mist.

He was alone.

All of a sudden, the storeroom felt cold, and dark, and very, very large.

He swallowed.

Food and soap and weapons all at once, he decided, rising to his feet. And then he could get moving.

The sooner he got moving, the sooner he'd make it home.


Some days later, Piers again found himself lying in the dirt, although this time it was the dirt of a desolate patch of jungle as opposed to the dirt floor of a prison cell. And for that, he preferred it, though just barely. He considered the scratches covering his arms and legs and grimaced. At least the prison cell hadn't been full of thorns.

The prison cell also hadn't held his orb, however, and this patch of jungle just might. He lay, hidden by a tangle of spiny bushes, on a ridge overlooking Kibombo village, and watched as the people bustled about, carefully arranging drums and torches around the massive idol statue that stood at the north end of the town. If the rumors were true, they were inducting their new witch-doctor tonight, and the orb had something to do with the process.

If the rumors were true. He hadn't seen the orb, yet, but he didn't have any other leads. He longed to just jump down and ransack the village until he found it, but if he did they'd surely try to stop him and he was loath to entangle himself any more than he had to.

He'd already had a run-in with some of their soldiers. They'd come up behind him and he'd panicked, and flung ice at them before he had a chance to think.

He wasn't proud of it.

If they needed the orb for the ritual they'd have to bring it out, sometime. In the dark he might even be able to steal it back without having to fight any of them.

He shifted, settling in and trying to get a little more comfortable. He had all day before they started; he might as well try to catch up on sleep.

He would wait.


Nightfall brought noise, and the big drums served handily as a wake-up call. The villagers had begun their ceremony, dancing and chanting to the beat. Piers scouted around, looking for a way in.

The ledge on which he stood continued around to the back of the statue. It would have been a good place to start—he could climb down from there without anyone seeing him—but to get behind the statue he'd have to cross a gap that was too large to jump. The dead tree on the other side might have made a suitable bridge, but he'd used the last of his rope crossing the cliffs and had no other way to bring it down.

He headed for his original hiding space, trying to come up with a new plan. Maybe he could find a way across the rooftops…

A voice called out in the darkness, just audible over the drums. "There he is!"

Piers spun around, hands up and ice at the ready.

A young man stood there, tall and dark-haired—the visitor from Madra, he realized with a jolt. What business could he possibly have here? Piers stared at him, baffled, and dropped his hands. "Who are you?"

It came out less surely than he'd meant it to, embarrassingly high-pitched. He took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together—and that's when he noticed the visitor had others with him. Two girls, one brown-haired and tallish, and the second short and blonde. Both carried weapons. Behind them an old man leaned lightly on a walking stick.

His gaze swept over it all, taking them in, and then focused on the young man, intently. He drew himself up to his full height, set his jaw. "What are your intentions?"

Better, that time. They couldn't possibly mean to fight him. He'd defeat them all, handily. He'd have to. He wasn't going back to prison.

Fighting, however, didn't seem to be part of their plan.

"He doesn't remember us!" the brown-haired girl squawked, incredulous.

The blonde one, meanwhile, gave him a searching sort of look, a small smile playing across her face. "Yes, he does."

Something about the way she said it, with absolute certainty in her voice, made Piers deeply uncomfortable. He turned back to the young man.

"I remember you," he said softly. "You came to the prison. Why are you here now?"

The others all turned to look at the young man as well—was he their leader?—but he said nothing.

Behind them, the drumming picked up, and Piers clenched his fists. There wasn't time for this. "If you have an answer, speak quickly. If not, leave."

The brown-haired girl jumped in before he could answer, her hands planted firmly on her hips. "We're trying to help you! What's your problem?"

Piers nearly growled in frustration. More talk. If these people didn't leave him, soon, he would miss his chance and he'd be stuck here the rest of his life. "Tell me something," he hissed. "Exactly when did I ask for your help?"

She jabbed a finger at him, about to say something more, but just then a shout rang up from the village. "SILENCE!"

Piers whirled around, all thoughts of visitors forgotten.

One of the villagers—the witch-doctor-to-be, he guessed, from the elaborate headdress and intricately-beaded cloak—stepped forward. He reached under the cloak and held out—

—the orb.

"That's it," Piers breathed, unaware he'd spoken aloud. His way home. It was right there, right in front of him, so close. He took a step forward, and froze.

It was his, but there were a hundred people down there, and they'd fight him for it.

As he stood thinking, the witch-doctor approached the giant statue, holding up the orb like an offering. Piers held his breath, heart pounding in his ears.

Nothing happened.

Was that part of the ritual? The crowd of villagers began to murmur, restlessly. Something had gone wrong.

Below him, the witch-doctor put the orb away and drew back, and the drumming began anew.

Piers let out the breath he'd been holding. He'd have to get the orb back before whatever-it-was went right.

He hoped it would take a while.

The young man tapped him on the shoulder, and met Piers's glare with what might have been an attempt at a smile. He looked about as happy as Piers felt. "I apologize for my sister. She's not exactly a diplomat."

Sister? Piers looked more closely at the man in front of him, and saw that he and the brown-haired girl did look rather alike. And none of that mattered, he reminded himself, because he wasn't staying here long enough to get to know any of them. "Fine," he said. "What do you want?"

"Can I speak with you?" He shot a glance back at the aforementioned sister. "Alone?"

Piers supposed if he agreed, it would hasten their departure, and he could get the orb without distraction. Maybe he could find a vine to use as rope across the gap in the ledge, or weave some of the thorny branches into a bridge…he nodded, absentmindedly, and headed for the gap, the stranger trailing behind. "Who are you?" he asked once they'd reached it.

"My name is Felix."

"Then tell me, Felix, what could you possibly do to help?"

Something—annoyance, perhaps—flitted across Felix's face for all of half a second before he closed his eyes and faced the dead tree, one hand outstretched. After a moment, it started to move, and kept moving, until it had covered the gap in the ledge. He turned to Piers, raising an eyebrow.

Oh. "You're Adepts."

He'd heard they existed, out here, but that had been centuries ago. The king had suspected they'd all died out.

Apparently not. What else was this place going to throw at him?

"I am. Jenna and Sheba are. Kraden isn't."

Jenna and Sheba must have been the girls. Piers wondered which was which. No, he didn't, he told himself. He was leaving these people as soon as he could. Even so…"What are you doing here?"

Felix scrubbed a hand along his jaw. "I'll be honest. We need the use of a boat."

Wonderful. He didn't even know these people and they wanted something from him. He should never have agreed to this mission. "I have a ship. Without the orb it's useless." A realization dawned. "You knew that already."

Felix nodded. "We'd hoped if we helped you…"

"…then perhaps I'd return the favor?"

He had the manners to look sheepish about it, at least.

Still… "You came all the way here on a chance?"

Felix looked even more sheepish, at that, but held Piers's gaze. In the dim light his eyes were black. "And-"

He stopped.

"And what?"

He was silent about it a long moment, and then went on, hesitantly, "You're an Adept, as well. We don't come across many of those."

Somehow, Piers thought that hadn't been his original answer. "If I were to refuse?"

Felix looked disappointed—maybe, it was hard to tell with those strange eyes—but not surprised. At least, the charitable part of Piers's brain thought, he knew he was asking a large favor. "We'd help you anyway," Felix said.

An awfully convenient response. Piers narrowed his eyes.

Felix sighed, and looked away from him. "Objects that have power are dangerous in the wrong hands."

He had the sense that there was more to it than that, but no further answer was forthcoming. He crossed his arms. "Suppose I were to give you passage. Where are you going?"

Why was he even entertaining this? The weeks he'd spent in prison must have driven him mad. But they could help, and if it came down to fighting four Adepts were better than one.

Felix grimaced. "It's—a long story. It'll take some time to explain."

Time they didn't have. That didn't sound promising.

Piers would have liked to press the matter further, but behind them, the drumming picked up again. He looked down into the village to see that they'd changed their dance, as well. His orb was still as it had been, front and center—though who knew for how long. He glanced back to Felix. "You will help?"

His face was near-unreadable in the darkness. "Yes."

Piers nodded, and reached for his sword. "Then let's go."