How long had he been out here? He remembered dining in the cabin last night—his stomach would not allow him to forget—and recalled talking with the others about how to handle the confrontation that was inevitable once the frigate docked. Other than that, he remembered the dreams . . . the dreams that had bothered him since the summer solstice. Of writing madly through the night, filling parchment after parchment, his father hovering over him, whispers shrill in his ear, dictating, planning, scheming . . .

The frigate lurched downward again, this time careening far to the port, bringing the swirling currents of the ocean so close he could clearly see the sky, the hull of the ship, even the shadowy form of his own self dancing upon the ocean's surface. Over the creak of ropes and the flap of canvass came the shouts of the sailors. They did not sound urgent. Fortunate, Blackthorn thought, for certainly cries of alarm would mean a maelstrom.

"The comets are alight this night," Whitelock muttered, who must have arrived while Blackthorn had been trying to regain his bearings. The scribe stood without help from the deck's railing, undaunted, it seemed, by the wind and spray. He peered at Blackthorn with his good eye while the wind whipped his hood and hair over the ruins of his face. "Art thou ready for what awaits us?" He indicated the coast of New Magincia with his staff.

"We spoke of it last night," Blackthorn said, now feeling more composed. "It need not be discussed again."

But the scribe would not let it go. "They will not welcome thee upon their shores. They follow Windemere as if he were their king, not just their Councilor. And by now, they must know about what has happened." He paused, waiting for Blackthorn's reaction. He received none, and continued. "The men and women of New Magincia will resist thee as much as they can."

"There will be no violence," Blackthorn said, sternly. "They are but shepherds, humble and defenseless."

"Hardly," Whitelock scoffed. "They have Windemere's soldiers amongst them, fighters skilled enough that they now have thy men under guard. And thou art lucky that Windemere took most of his fleet to Britain, otherwise thou wouldst have to contend with his ships as well."

"I left only eight of the Black Company in New Magincia when I last visited, including Saduj. I wanted to leave more, but at the time, I had no desire to aggravate Councilor Windemere or New Magincia's inhabitants." He glared at the scribe. "I will admit that I erred in trusting them, but I will not harm them, nor will I allow others to harm them."

"They have openly defied thee, and by doing so, they have defied Lord British," Whitelock said. He shrugged. "'Tis thy choice whether or not to set an example with them."

"'Twas not they who wrought treason upon on us in Jhelom," Blackthorn said. "'Twas Windemere himself, and he is now justly imprisoned. Certainly, they will understand my reasons." A faint hope, for the Great Council had not.

As soon as he had returned to Castle Britannia after the destruction in Jhelom, he had thrown open the doors of the Great Council's chamber with such malice that they had hit the walls with a detonation that must have echoed into the outskirts of Britain. Indeed, when Blackthorn stormed into the chamber, the Councilors were already on their feet, all except Sindar, of course, who continued to doze contentedly, even as Blackthorn shouted in fury.

"Windemere!" He raised a rolled parchment that he gripped in his fist. "Is this why thou didst have Captain Suturb send me to Jhelom? Is this why thou didst try to have me and the leaders of the Black Company slain?" He threw the parchment upon the table.