By sunrise on the first morning aboard the longboat, they had already passed beyond the estuary of the Silver River to the open sea. A surprising amount of the black tubers had already been consumed, and the drinlings showed no hesitation about washing them down with seawater. As they rowed, Jason watched the bodies of the drinlings adapt to the work, muscles thickening across backs and along arms, men and women alike. Rather than tiring out over time, the drinling rowers were growing stronger and more able.

The longboat was not designed for as many passengers as it presently carried, but the members of the delegation made the best of it. Sleeping was the worst part, huddled in cramped spaces while the rowers toiled through the night.

They had not been harassed by any imperial ships. Raz and Io had related that although Maldor had built an impressive navy in the western ocean, the emperor had made no effort to dominate the eastern waters. A navy had been essential to conquer the island nation of Meridon off the western coast, but as the eastern ocean held no such spoils, Maldor had opted to attack Kadara strictly by land.

Consequently, the Kadarian navy went unchallenged on the water. Unfortunately, this did little to help their besieged cities, except the capital, Inkala, which had docks shielded by massive city walls.

Ever since the drinlings had stopped fighting the emperor, the Kadarians had shown no love for them. But the Kadarian ships the delegation had encountered only made token efforts to harass them. Evidently the Kadarians had bigger problems on their hands.

Now, for the first time in five days, the prow of the boat turned diagonally toward the shoreline. Tark joined Jason, hairy forearms resting on the gunwale. “Back to land,” he said in his gravelly voice. “No more fish.”

“I had no idea you were such a fisherman,” Jason remarked, glancing down at his friend. “You caught twice as many as anyone aboard.”

“I worked the sea for a time,” Tark answered simply.

“What haven’t you done?” Jason asked. “You were a fisherman, a diver, a miner, a musician. What am I missing?”

“Cook,” Tark said. “Soldier. Tradesman. Hedonist. Traitor. Those are the main ones.”

“You need to go easier on yourself,” Jason said.

“I’ve gone plenty easy often enough,” Tark replied. “I appreciate the sentiment, Lord Jason, but I’ll decide when my penance is done for turning my back on good causes. I’ve got too many comrades reprimanding me from their watery graves.”

“What do you think we’ll find back on land?” Jason asked.

“Nothing so terrible as what we faced in the Forsaken Kingdom, I hope,” Tark said, hawking up phlegm and spitting over the side. “That business was the worst I ever want to see.”

“I hear you,” Jason agreed. “Thanks for watching my back through all of that.”

“Thank Rachel,” Tark said.

“Good point.”

“I wouldn’t mind some bread,” Tark mused. “Been some time since we had any bread. We were spoiled in the Vales.”

“Will the Last Inn have good food?” Jason asked.

Tark rubbed his hands together. “Don’t torture me. I’ve never made it there, but the Last Inn has a reputation that spans Lyrian. That doesn’t happen without desirable fare.”

“How far from the Durnese River to the inn?”

“Just a day or two on foot, according to Raz.”

“Think Galloran will be there?”

“Hard thing to guess. I sure hope so. He’s had some time. Thanks to the speed of this ship, we’ll arrive more or less on schedule.”

Under the cover of darkness, the longboat entered the wide, slow Durnese River. Jason swatted at biting insects as he watched the banks glide by, grateful to be in motion without any personal effort. To either side of the vessel, beyond the flat water, bobbing fireflies twinkled amid ferny shrubs. The lukewarm air tasted humid, as if poised to condense into a rain cloud all around him, although the starry sky above was mostly clear.

At length, the longboat ran aground against a level bank of firm mud interspersed with puddles. Raz and other drinlings helped the delegation disembark. After nearly a week of backbreaking labor, the drinling rowers had swelled up like bodybuilders.

Without ceremony, Raz aided the drinlings as they shoved the longboat back into the water. The few vessels secreted near the Silver River were among the drinlings’ favorite assets, and the experienced crew wanted to reach the safety of the open sea by sunrise.

“This nearest of river to Last Inn,” Raz explained in uncertain English. “We have fresh legs. We walk.”

So Jason, Rachel, Farfalee, Nollin, Kerick, Drake, Ferrin, Tark, Nedwin, Aram, Nia, Io, and Raz hiked away from the river and soon came to a road. Aram cradled Corinne in his strong arms, as she remained too nauseated to walk. He seemed relieved to be on dry land. The half giant had patiently endured growing and shrinking aboard the longboat for all to see.

“This is a remote corner of Lyrian,” Ferrin said, falling into step beside Jason. “I’ve only made it this way once, and then simply out of curiosity.”

“You’ve been to the Last Inn?” Jason asked.

Ferrin nodded. “A massive structure. Maldor technically occupies this part of Lyrian, the former kingdoms of Durna and Hintop. But the area is sparsely populated, and since the emperor has not yet elected to engage any of the settlements within the southern jungle, little heed is paid to this southeastern portion of the continent.”

“How far is the Temple of Mianamon into the jungle?” Jason asked.

“Far enough to keep the emperor away for now,” Ferrin replied. “I’ve never entered the jungle. I’m not sure Lyrian has more perilous terrain. Forget the venomous snakes, poisonous plants, deadly insects, and impenetrable foliage. The wizard Certius left behind some ferocious races that Maldor has opted to leave unchallenged.”

“Certius was part of the big war with Zokar and Eldrin,” Jason said, remembering his lessons in history from the Repository of Learning.

“Good memory,” Ferrin said. “Zokar attacked Certius first, and suffered horrible losses to gain victory. Certius was killed, his races scattered, but the forces of Zokar never recovered sufficiently to stand up to Eldrin. None really know how much the races of Certius have recuperated. Certius and his creations never showed interest in venturing beyond the jungle. Historians believe that Zokar lost the war by engaging Certius prematurely. Had Zokar initially bested Eldrin instead, strategists argue he could have rebuilt his forces at his leisure before attacking Certius. Maldor participated in that conflict, and is a devoted student of history.”