The Butcher said it was Galaphan, the great titan whale, risen from the dead to claim his dominion over the waters. Leshie said that was stupid. Galaphan had died thousands of years ago and his body had washed ashore. “It’s still there, dummy,” she’d scoffed to the Butcher. “The whale bones. The Rasals celebrate important events there. Isn’t that right, Coldheart?”

The Wall was loath to get involved in their arguments but admitted that Leshie was correct. “I have seen the bones of Galaphan many times. He is dead, Butcher. And isn’t likely to rise again.”

Some others said that maybe the great kraken Izzun still lived, or that there was a giant manator out there somewhere, strong enough to knock a ship right through the air with a blast of its great long tusks. Del had wondered if there were creatures down there that no one knew about, things never seen before. “Maybe the gods have created something new?” he offered.

“The gods are gone, boy,” the Baker had said to that. “Their creating days are done.”

In the end, it came down to Alym Tantario to tell them that in any mystery, the simplest solution was usually the most likely to be true. “It was the storm,” he thus declared. “A great wave lifted that ship up there.” Saska agreed he was probably right. But the guessing was fun as well.

As the morning moved languidly along, they saw several more vessels scragged on rocks and stranded at the bases of cliffs, to add to the others they’d seen. Some were so battered that they were barely recognisable as ships at all. Others were seen only distantly, snagged out in some bay or beached against a coastal island. When the sun was high in the sky, they stopped at a stream to water the animals and cool their necks. Joy loped over for a drink, lapping in that ridiculous way cats did, barely taking in a drip of water with each lick. It made Saska chuckle as she knelt beside her, cupping her hands to the run, splashing it against her face.

The Wall stepped over, casting her in the shade. “My lady. There is another ship.”

She gave her face another splash. “There’s always another ship.” She assumed he had left off the ‘wreck’ for the sake of brevity. “Why is this one special?” It was not common for Rolly to announce such trivial matters to her.

“Kaa Sokari says it has sails in green and red.”

She did not immediately know why that should be considered important. Then she thought about it a little more. “The apple lord?”

“It may be so. Or one of his vessels.”

Saska stood, intrigued. “Where is it?”

“Another few miles up the coast. Sokari spotted men down there, on the beach. They are trying to make repairs.”

Saska looked back to the road, where a short stone bridge spanned the stream. Kaa Sokari was there now, speaking with Sunrider Tantario and the Butcher. “Joy, on me.” She paced over to join them, the starcat loping at her side, Rolly following. “What’s this about a ship?” she asked. “It’s one of Lord Gullimer’s, Sir Ralston says.”

The other men broke off from their discussion. “The sails would suggest so,” confirmed Kaa Sokari.

“And these men? How many are there?”

“We didn’t stop to take a count.”

“Give me an estimate, then.”

“Hundreds,” the eagle-eyed bowmaster said. “They’ve set camp on the beach while they make repairs. They are not in good shape, it did not seem to me.”

“We might want to give them a wide berth,” Sunrider Tantario offered. “There is a path inland I know. It will lead us safely around them.”

Saska shook her head. “These are Lord Gullimer’s men. Robbert’s men. Not his uncle’s. We’re not enemies with them.”

“Pardons, Serenity. But we cannot be certain of this. If there are hundreds, they could overwhelm us. They will have Bladeborn with them, no doubt. And we’ve just sent away four of our own. That is not a risk we can take.”

Saska disagreed. They were Tukoran, and only trying to get home to help fight in the war. At the least she wanted to know which ship it might be. “We need Del,” she said, looking around. “Someone fetch him.”

The Butcher saw to it. With a swish of his tattered red cloak he strode off, returning a short while later with the lanky youth all but grasped by the scruff of the neck. He pressed him into the centre of the circle. “Describe Lord Gullimer’s flagship,” Saska said to him.

Her brother frowned in thought, in that way he had, as though trying to puzzle out an impossible riddle, and never quite sure if he was getting it right or wrong. “It’s a…a galleon, I think. Or…or maybe a carrack, I’m not sure. They call it Orchard, for his sigil, Lord Gullimer’s. The sails are green and red for apples, and the figurehead is a hand, holding an apple too.” His face scrunched up as he tried to recall anything else, but that would serve just fine.

“Well done, Del. That’s enough.” Saska always liked to praise her adopted brother, to help build his confidence. She looked at Kaa Sokari. “Is that the ship you saw?”

The archer gave a nod. “The fist figurehead. Yes. That is her.”

“Then I’m going,” Saska said. For once she did not equivocate. “Kaa, is the beach easy to access?” Much of the coastline here was high and rugged, though sometimes the lands sloped down toward broad stretches of beach.

“It is reachable.”

Alym Tantario still seemed dubious. “Serenity, are you sure about this?”

“Certain.” Lord Wilson Gullimer had gone for help when she fought with Cedrik Kastor. And even after I stabbed him. She might well have been slain by the odious greatlord were it not for him, and besides, he might know what had become of Prince Robbert. It was not an opportunity she could pass up. “Sir Ralston, you can accompany me. Butcher, you too.” The sight of those two ought to be more than enough to deter any ill-advised heroics. A white flag would serve as well. “Sunrider Tantario, do you have a truce banner?”

The man confirmed as much.

“Good.” Saska looked at her brother. “Del, you can be my banner-bearer. It’ll help show good faith.”

The boy swallowed nervously, and nothing more needed to be said.

Five minutes later, the company was back on the road, and an hour following that, they had reached the rocky headland at a brisk canter. Saska commanded that the rest of the company remain there while she went down to the ship, then set off with Rolly and the Butcher and Del, crossing a land of parched earth dotted with sprouts of brittle sedge. The slope was moderately steep, though manageable for their horses. Saska’s mare trotted gracefully beside Bedrock, who lumbered along in that thunderous way of his, while the Butcher’s red stallion and Del’s spotted, black-maned palfrey followed just behind.

They made quite a quartet, Saska had to admit. How must we look, coming down this hill. The Butcher with his shredded red cloak and shredded grinning face; Sir Ralston Whaleheart, the biggest and most serious man in all the world. Del was rather normal by comparison, though was evidently having trouble holding up the white banner properly, as Saska could hear the Butcher laughing and japing as they went. “Not like that, Dellard. You’re going to drop it. Hold it straight, boy. Straight. How hard is it? Your arms are too thin and weedy. You need some muscle, boy. Some meat on those skinny bones.”

“Shut up,” Del snapped eventually. “I’m doing the best I can, Meshface.”

The Butcher’s laugh was as loud as a thunderclap. “Meshface? This…this is your nickname for me? Meshface?”

“For…for the scars. They look like a mesh.” Del’s voice was very small and embarrassed. “I thought it was good.”

“No. It is not good. You have had many weeks to think of a nickname for me, as I asked you, and this is what you come up with?” The Butcher sounded grossly disappointed. “You do not have Ersella’s talents, Dellard. Perhaps you need to train with her, as you train with Kaa Sokari?”

Saska could imagine the sort of training Del might like to engage in with Leshie. Ever since she’d undressed right there before him at the river, he had looked at her differently, and Leshie had teased him relentlessly over it. “Quiet now,” she told them. “They’ve seen us.”

They were nearing the bottom of the slope now, where it flattened out into a rugged mire of pitted grey rocks bordering the edge of the beach. Beyond, the small camp was pitched on the hard-packed sand, no more than a few tents and shelters and lean-tos, and further back, the battered body of Orchard lay beached among the shells and pebbles and seaweed. Men were hard at work with hammers, knocking in nails and fixing what wounds they could, while others picked through the rocks in the surf and a little further to sea, searching for usable driftwood to patch holes in the bulwarks and bow.

Ahead, a host of soldiers were approaching, armed with swords and shields, a dozen or so in number. They looked ragged and half-starved, sunburned and bearded, and their cloaks were salt-stained and discoloured. Saska made out some browns and greens and faded reds, but they were scorched by the sun, sand-scoured and torn. Beneath those cloaks they wore oddments of armour, scratched and stained, much of it leather, but here and there a bit of castle-forged plate and even some misting godsteel.

Saska could not see Lord Gullimer among them. “Del, do you recognise anyone?”

“I think…that one…” He tried to point, but realised he had to keep hold of the banner with both hands, lest he drop it. “The one with the yellow beard and dark hair. And the godsteel sword. That’s Sir Kester Droyn. He’s one of Lord Gullimer’s knights.”

“Should we stay ahorse?” Saska asked the others.

“That would be best until we know their intentions, and they ours,” the Wall told her.

“Dellard must dismount, however,” the Butcher put in. “He must plant the flag. This is how the parley is done.”

Del looked at Saska, unsure. The Wall nodded. “Go ahead, boy. Plant the flag.”

The youth dismounted with a certain lack of grace, almost dropping the banner as he did so, then hastened forward to plant it in the dirt. He did so with great toil, but eventually got the flag standing straight, or near enough, before scrambling back to his horse to mount up. He seemed vastly happy to see his duty done.