. . now that the wind’s dropped, as it usually does when the sun sets.” Wren woke out of a soggy sleep. The gray, choppy, nervous sea reminded her somehow of a horse that smells trouble. The sky was a uniform gray that hid the sun. The others were all awake, looking tousled, as no one had had either a bath (other than head-plunges into the bucket of fresh water) or a cleaning frame for days. Thad rapped his knuckles against the mast, a helpless, angry gesture. “We can’t be but a day or two from land,” he exclaimed. “That’s what’s so maddening.” Lambin hunched over his tiranthe, strumming it softly. Two of its strings were missing now, but he had no replacements. “They have to know how close we are to land, but are risking it anyway. This chase just doesn’t make sense, even if that sorcerer-king is really after you, Wren. Would he really send all these ships just for a grudge?” Wren sighed.
