"We have an hour at most before the sun rises," Siegbjorn said. "If we don't spot them soon, we'll have to take cover on shore."

Caile nodded. They had passed Spearpoint Rock an hour before and turned south, skirting the Pyrthinian shoreline, but still had seen no sign of the Valarion fleet. Caile suspected the fleet was not far off but could not be certain. Don Bricio was sometimes unpredictable. If he suspected much resistance from the Pyrthin navy, he might have waited to set sail, or he might have led the fleet farther to the north, far from sight of the coast, to turn around and enter the bay at its northern end. Caile kept his eyes peeled regardless. Don Bricio was also an arrogant man, and with any luck he would sail in the most direct route toward Kal Pyrthin.

The minutes passed, and still they saw nothing. The eastern horizon brightened, and Siegbjorn looked toward shore for a suitable place to hide.

"Not yet," Caile urged him. "A few more minutes." The thought of waiting another day to finally face Don Bricio was more than Caile could bear. Where are you, you bastard? he muttered beneath his breath.

They traveled onward and just when Siegbjorn was about to insist on landing, Caile spotted dark shapes on the horizon.

"There!"

Siegbjorn followed his gaze. "Indeed, there they are. But it is nearly light now. We would not be able to approach unnoticed."

"Yes we will. Drop down low and turn dead east. We will wait and use the rising sun to come at them in their blind spot."

"Of course," Siegbjorn agreed, disappointed he had not thought of it himself. He dropped the ship low, no more than twenty feet over the rolling waves, and turned eastward toward the sun. A mile out, he stopped the propeller and brought them to a halt. "Now we wait."

Caile nodded and wordlessly prepared himself. He took off his boots and shirt, rolled up his trouser legs, and removed his sword and scabbard from his belt.

"What plan do you have?" Siegbjorn asked.

"Stay low as we approach," Caile said. "I will jump into the water on their starboard side and climb aboard as you sail past. Once you're past them, stay low so they see you. The sight of the airship will distract the crew so I can get aboard unnoticed."

"Those ships will be under full sail and moving fast," Siegbjorn pointed out. "How do you mean to get aboard from the water?"

"I'll need a short length of rope, something to hook around the anchor, and this won't do me much good," Caile said, throwing his sword into the cabin. "Have you got something smaller I could have? Something easier to swim with?"

Siegbjorn took the skinning knife from his belt and gave it to him, then unwrapped one of the anchoring ropes from the rail of the airship.

"I just need a loop, five or six feet long," Caile said. "The anchor hangs no more than a few feet from the water line on the portside of Don Bricio's ship."

Siegbjorn looked at him skeptically, but tied the rope in a loop nonetheless, then tied a wide knot at the free end of the rope. "You are in for a sore surprise, you will find, if you think you will be able to pull yourself aboard a fully rigged ship."

"Trust me," Caile told him. "Let's go."

The fleet was parallel to them now to the west. Siegbjorn reengaged the propeller and they turned toward the Valarion ships. With the sun at their back, they were completely invisible to the Valarions. Caile tucked the knife into his belt and looped the rope over his head and one shoulder, then went to stand at the bow of the airship in front of Siegbjorn.

"You'll want to board the flagship, yes?" Siegbjorn said over the wind.

"No, the one at the rear. Don Bricio never sails in the flagship. He commands the fleet from the rear."

"He commands the fleet from that tiny caravel?" Siegbjorn asked incredulously, spotting the ship at the rear.

"That's the one. She's maneuverable and fast—easier for Don Bricio to escape if things go wrong. Cut us right across her prow, then make a good show to keep them all distracted. Maybe yell some curses at them in your tongue just to really get their attention."

Siegbjorn couldn't help but laugh in appreciation of Caile's brazen confidence. "As you say, Prince."

They were approaching now at a fast clip. Caile climbed up onto the railing at the bow and stood at a crouch. He could see the water speed by below and realized they were going faster than even the fastest horse could run. This is going to hurt, he told himself. And it's going to be damned cold.

The brunt of the fleet had already passed before them, and they were on a near collision course with Don Bricio's caravel at the rear. Caile waited until the last possible moment, then dived forward off of the airship. The impact was violent, but he cut into the water as best as he could hope. Still, his head was ringing when he surfaced, and he had to gasp for breath. He spun in the water to catch his bearings and saw that the caravel was bearing down right on him. He kicked and backpedaled with all his might, and then suddenly the surge of water at the prow of the ship hit him and pushed him clear. He scrambled to get the rope from around his neck and took the loop in one hand, the knotted free end in his other. Meanwhile, the ship was zipping by before him. He spied the anchor hanging from a porthole racing toward him. You've only got one shot at this, he told himself, then kicked with his feet to push his upper body up out of the water and heaved the rope.

His aim was true. The loop in the rope caught on the forward rung of the anchor, and before he knew it he was yanked forward with so much force his arms nearly came out of their sockets. It took so much concentration to hang on, he couldn't even cry out in pain. His legs and torso slammed in and out of the water as the ship crested each wave, and it took every bit of his will power to hold on to the rope. With great effort, he pulled himself up out of the water to grab hold of the anchor. The rusty metal scraped the skin from his fingers and palms, but the pain only steeled his resolve. He climbed hand over hand up the chain, then pulled one foot up into the porthole and heaved himself up onto the main deck. He looked around and saw thankfully that the men on deck were all at the portside of the ship, yelling and pointing at Siegbjorn's airship.

Caile pulled himself up as quietly as he could manage, then darted to his left down the stairs leading beneath the sterncastle to the captain's quarters. This is it, he told himself. Don't be fooled by his smile. He pulled the knife from his belt and took a deep breath, then threw the door open.

Don Bricio stood hunched over, facing away from him as he yanked his britches up. "What is all the damned yelling about?" he asked, thinking Caile was his first mate.

"Why don't you look and see," Caile said, closing the door behind him.

Don Bricio turned and stared in shock at Caile, his tight, rotund belly hanging over his trousers. "You. How did you get on board?" His hand reached instinctively for the sword at his hip, but his sword sat in its scabbard along with his belt on the bed. Caile had literally caught him napping.

"You taught me well the ways of stealth and treachery," Caile replied with a smile.

"Yes, yes, you always were a quick learner," Don Bricio said and smiled. He brushed his thin, gray-black hair slickly back over his head. "I taught you a little too much perhaps, but this is still good I think. Yes? It's not too late, you know. Join me and you will be rewarded handsomely. The throne of Pyrthinia is still yours if you league yourself with the Emperor. You can become my equal. Again, Valaróz and Pyrthinia will be strong allies."

"Under the yoke of Guderian? I don't think so."

Don Bricio held his hands palms-up and waggled his fingers, as if beckoning a child to come sit on his lap. "Come, come. Put your weapon down. Let us not be hasty with one another. I was like a father to you, yes? Let us embrace, then we will go to the galley and discuss matters over a few cups of fire nectar. It will be like old times."

Don Bricio stepped forward, ostensibly to hug Caile, but also closer to the sword on the bed.

"Don't take another step," Caile warned him, crouching forward with the knife held at the ready.

Don Bricio's smile disappeared.

"There's nothing to discuss," Caile told him. "You have nothing to offer me because you are no longer King of Valaróz. Prince Parmenios Pallma has returned."

"Nonsense!" Don Bricio spat. "You speak of rumors from that treacherous liar Casstian. The Pallma line is dead. Quit being a damn fool and drop your weapon. You try my patience, boy."

"I'm not a boy anymore."

"No, you're a dead boy now," Don Bricio said, and he lunged as if he were reaching for his sword. Caile leapt onto the bed, lashing his knife outward, but Don Bricio pulled back with surprising quickness and darted around the bed for the door as Caile tumbled across the bed. Caile let his momentum carry him to the far side of the bed and hurled the knife at Don Bricio as he spun to his feet. Don Bricio grunted and stumbled into the door as the knife struck him in the back of his right shoulder.

"Whore's whelp," Don Bricio swore, leaning heavily into the door. He reached back over his shoulder with pained deliberation and wrapped his fingers around the handle of the knife. "I'll kill you and your entire family, just like I did with the Pallma line," he said and yanked the knife free. He let the door support his weight and turned to face Caile.

"I think not," Caile said, and he ran Don Bricio through the neck with his own sword.

~~~

Parmo looked upon the familiar sight of Spearpoint Rock from where he stood at the forecastle of Pyrthin's Valor. There was no time for side trips or reminiscing though. Their scouting ship had spotted a fleet coming from the south. I hope you're ready for this, he told himself as he turned to Rufous, now captain of Pyrthin's Valor. "Signal the fleet to hold here," he yelled, "then raise the yellow flag for a parley. We'll face the Valarion fleet alone."

Rufous carried out his orders, and within a few minutes Pyrthin's Valor sailed southward alone. The Valarion fleet soon came into sight, and Parmo looked to the top of the mainmast to make sure his yellow flag was flying. It was a symbol honored by Valarion sailors of old, but Parmo was not certain the Valarion fleet would honor it now. He could only hope they would. His plan was simple. If the Valarions agreed to parley, he would state his claim for the Valarion throne and challenge Don Bricio to single combat. If Don Bricio refused, he would attempt to win the hearts of the Valarions over and mutiny against Don Bricio. Snippets of phrases and ideas swirled through his head, but he had no set speech in mind. Speak to your own heart, and you'll speak to theirs, he knew. If that failed, it was war. Rufous would signal the rest of the Pyrthin fleet at the first sign of trouble, and they'd all sleep at the bottom of the ocean, Pyrthinians and Valarions alike.

The first ships of the Valarion fleet drew near now and Parmo saw with some relief that they were lowering sail. In fact, the entire fleet lowered sail and formed a perimeter around Pyrthin's Valor. Rufous ordered his men to drop their own sail, and soon two hundred ships were drifting off the eastern shore of Pyrthinia, all of them, but one, Valarion ships.

A lone caravel sailed forward to halt alongside Pyrthin's Valor. Parmo put his hand to the hilt of his sword and yelled across the span of water between the two ships.

"I am Parmenios Pallma, rightful heir to the throne of Valaróz! I demand to speak with the usurper, Don Bricio."

A sailor stepped up onto the sterncastle of the caravel and shouted back. "I am Socorro, Admiral of this fleet. If you have something to say, say it to me."

Parmo glanced at the ships surrounding Pyrthin's Valor. On the deck of each and every one, Valarion sailors crowded forward to hear what he had to say.

Rufous saw it too. "Word of your return has gone before us," he spoke quietly. "They are yours to win over."

Parmo breathed in deeply, then spoke, projecting his voice out over the water. "I have come to retake the throne of Valaróz! Thirty-four years ago, my family was slain by the Emperor and the usurper, Don Bricio. King Provencio was shot in the back with a crossbow, like a common thief. Queen Lauda and Princess Maysa were burned alive on the steps of the palace in Sol Valaróz. Maysa was only four. Four years old! These were your countrymen, your just and faithful rulers, descendants of Vala herself. In their place, the Emperor placed a foreigner from the Old World, a weasel who rules by force and cares not for the welfare of Valaróz. How many of your friends—of your kin?—have died or felt the sting of the whip at Don Bricio's hand? How many have disappeared never to be seen again because they were an outspoken Valarion and unafraid to stand up for truth?

"I remember a time when Valaróz was proudest of the Five Kingdoms, the never-wavering force that kept the Old World at bay. The kingdom of the sun, home of the finest wine, the best catches of the sea, and the most beautiful women. I remember a time when all Valarions were free to live and prosper without fear of pain or death for speaking their mind or disparaging Sargoth. I remember a time when Valaróz and Pyrthinia were allies, when we fought together for justice and peace. But now, Valaróz is nothing more than an extension of Sargoth. Our once proud kingdom has sunk lower than Golier, even!

"But we can regain our glory, my countrymen. Join me. Let me lead you, and together we will once again ally ourselves with Pyrthinia. Together we will defeat Sargoth. Together we will remake Valaróz into the kingdom it deserves to be!"

A great murmuring rose up from the Valarion sailors, punctuated with intermittent shouts, but Parmo could not make out their words, whether they were for or against him.

"Silence!" Socorro yelled. When all was quiet again but for the lapping of the seas against the ships, he addressed Parmo. "How can we know your are truly of the Pallma line?"

Parmo withdrew his sword and held it up for all to see. "Because I bear the sword of my ancestors. Bring forth Don Bricio and he himself will recognize my face. He was there when I was thrown into the bay of Sol Valaróz thirty-four years ago. Let him speak for himself, and if he still lays claim to our kingdom's throne, I will cut his heart from his chest."

All was silent for a long moment. Parmo held his breath. He didn't know what else he could say to sway them.

"I'm very sorry," Socorro said finally, "but Don Bricio cannot vouch for you."

A young man stepped forward onto the forecastle of the caravel to join Socorro, and he flung something toward Pyrthin's Valor. One of the Pyrthinian sailors caught it out of the air and held it up. It was a burlap sack. The sailor looked inside and pulled out the severed head of Don Bricio.

"Don Bricio no longer lays claim to the throne of Valaróz," the young man said from the other ship.

Rufous ran forward to stand alongside Parmo. "Is that you, Prince Caile?"

"So it is, Captain," Caile yelled back with a smile.

"How is this possible?" Parmo asked, stunned.

"Perhaps you should come aboard," Socorro said, "and we can explain... Your Highness."

~~~

On board Don Bricio's caravel, Caile explained to Parmo and Rufous how he had snuck aboard and killed Don Bricio, then confronted Socorro.

"When he showed me that head, I didn't know whether to kiss him or kill him," Socorro laughed. "But he somehow knew you were with the Pyrthin fleet, King Parmenios. We'd all heard rumors you were back but didn't dare to hope it was true. I'm glad it is."

"As am I," Parmo agreed. "But how is that you knew I'd be here, Caile?"

Caile shrugged. "It was not hard to guess. I'd heard the rumors you were back, too, but I happened to know they were true because I've met your granddaughter. And if you're anything like she is, I knew you'd be with the Pyrthin fleet."

"Makarria?" Parmo could hardly believe what he was hearing. "She's alive?"

"Alive and well last I saw her."

"Makarria?"

"Yes, Makarria," Caile said with a smile.

Parmo gave out a hoot of elation, then picked Caile up in a bear hug and swung him around in a circle before kissing him on the forehead. "Where is she? You're sure she's fine?"

"She's in Norgland with a sorceress—the daughter of Trumball himself—so I imagine she's safer than the rest of us," Caile said, and he proceeded to tell Parmo how he'd been rescued by Talitha and traveled with her to Issborg to free Taera and Makarria from Kadar and Roanna. He told Parmo everything except where Makarria was headed. That information Talitha had made them all promise to keep secret. You're not to tell anyone, not your father, not Parmenios, not anyone, she had said. Even those we trust can unintentionally let secrets slip, and if the Emperor learns Makarria is coming, she is lost. And so Caile kept his promise and made it sounds as if Makarria was still in Issborg.

When Parmo was content that he had heard everything and that Makarria was safe, they set about discussing what to do. After much deliberation, they decided to split up. Caile would go with Rufous and the Pyrthin fleet back to Kal Pyrthin, then upriver to reinforce Kylep, while Parmo would return with Socorro and the Valarion fleet to Sol Valaróz and make official his claim to the throne. Parmo's initial instincts were to go with Caile to Kylep and help Casstian fight the Emperor, but he knew Socorro and Rufous were right: he'd better serve the war against the Emperor by unifying Valaróz under his rule and striking out both by land and sea.

Less than an hour later, their plans were made, Caile was gone with Rufous on board Pyrthin's Valor, and Parmo stood at the sterncastle of Don Bricio's caravel which he promptly renamed Makarria.

"Are we ready to set course for Sol Valaróz, Captain and King?" Socorro asked him.

"Send the rest of the fleet on ahead of us," Parmo said. "We'll catch up with them shortly. There's something we must do first."

"What would that be, Captain?"

"Set course for Spearpoint Rock. We're going to fetch the rest of the royal family."