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An image from the dreams he'd had about the great shark surfaced in Jherek's mind, sending a cold shiver down his spine when he thought of Sabyna out on the Sea of Swords. "Perhaps not as dangerous as these," he said. "Sail safely."

"And you." Tilting his head, Tynnel nodded. "Ill tell her you're here, and I won't stop her from coming to see you if she wishes." He turned and walked away.

Aysel brushed free of the crewmen herding him out the door. "This ain't over, boy!" the big man roared, pointing at Jherek. "Me and you and her, this little jig ain't heard the final tunes yet."

Jherek almost said something, but he refrained. Tynnel wouldn't allow anything to happen to the ship's mage. Still, he could warn her if she came to see him before she set sail. The possibility that she wouldn't left him feeling empty. He also had no clue what he was supposed to do next.

Live, that you may serve.

The words haunted him, taunted him, and-by turn- tormented him. If some greater power had taken an interest in his life, why wasn't it making its desire more clear? Why make every step increasingly difficult? Had whatever destiny that had been laid before him somehow gotten tangled up with the bastardized birthright that was his? The gods weren't infallible. Perhaps he'd been chosen wrongly. Even a small mistake made by a god might stretch across mortal lifetimes before it was caught.

"C'mon, boy," the old warrior said, taking Jherek gently by the arm. "Best have that wound tended to. The longer it stays open, the greater chance for infection to settle in."

Reluctantly, Jherek went with the man. He had no answers to any of the questions or problems that plagued him. He drew the attention of the serving wench who'd taken part in Aysel's scheme.

"If a woman should come searching for me____________________ " he said.

The serving wench bobbed her head. "I'll tell her straight away where to find you." Moisture glinted in her eyes. "I'm sorry for the way things turned out. I thought it would only be a joke. You deserved to be treated better than this."

"It's not your fault, lady," Jherek said softly. "The ill luck was mine. It always has been." He touched her shoulder gently and managed a small smile, then he stepped out into the harsh Amnian sunlight, smelling the sea so near, yet so far away.

He considered the ships out in the harbor, his eyes drawn to one in particular.

XXX

13 Tarsakh, tike Year of the Gauntlet

Laaqueel surveyed her image in the mirror with growing distaste. Iakhovas's magic had woven an illusion over her that even she couldn't pierce. She held her hand up to her reflection. Looking at her hand, she saw the webbing between her fingers, but the mirror image didn't have it. Her fingers looked clean and smooth, grotesquely human, without any means of real defense. The hated tan color that marked her as different from the aquatic elves she was supposed to resemble most took on a hue that was more brown in the reflection. Cosmetics adorned the totally elven face she spied in the mirror, emphasizing her eyes and making them suddenly seem too large, her lips too full. Rose blush touched her pronounced cheekbones.