Faro heard the footfalls of the dhar long before they arrived at the chamber door.

"It is time," Klotig said.

Faro's belongings were wrapped in two large linen bags of Inevien make. He had arrived at the halls of the dhar desperate, alone, with nothing but the clothes he wore. He would depart arrayed in fine Vien linens re-worked with silver threads by the dhar themselves, his arms laden with rings, a torc on his neck, his hair braided with loops of silver. Every dhar in the tunnels had given him a gift of some kind, and he felt ashamed he had nothing to give in return. Klotig assured him that his service was enough.

Faro reached for his bags, but two of the dhar pressed forward and took them from him, slinging the burdens over their own shoulders. Faro thanked them and grasped the short spear that leaned against the wall. As he touched its smooth haft, all eyes fell upon it.

The haft itself was three feet of polished dark driftwood cast upon the dhar shore by the waves of the wintry sea. The haft was masterfully inlaid with silver with a silver cap, but it was nothing compared to the point. For now, the slender blade was covered by a thick linen sheath secured with a drawstring. Klotig had urged him to use leather for the sheath, but Faro would not use the flesh of a living creature, no matter how used to the dhar's ways he had grown over the long winter.

Faro lifted the spear, feeling the perfect balance of the weapon. His gaze met Klotig's.

Deep under the mountain, when the dhar had finished the forging of the long spearpoint, Faro had stared at it in amazement. As he worked, Klotig had asked many questions about Faro's skills and methods of fighting, and about his foes. Somehow, from all that, the dhar had produced a marvelous union of beauty and deadliness. At first, Faro could not believe that such a thin blade would survive a fight, but Klotig assured him that the living steel was not like any other metal.

"You give me this for my misplaced bravery?" Faro had asked, overcome as he first held the completed weapon.

"Yes. And for a sign to your people."

"What sign?"

Klotig had shrugged and given no answer.

Without speaking, Faro followed the dhar from the now empty chamber. It had been his through the winter, but he was not sorry to leave it and the fathoms of stone above. In that place, he had listened to his own mind for hours alone, lying on the rock sleeping-shelf. He needed to return, to find his mother and Coir and a place where they could be safe, and maybe someday a young vienu of his own generation. That thought had grown in him for some time. The plight of the dhar had only made it clearer. Soon, his mother and Coir would be gone, and he did not want to spend life alone. He could tell children of the Insensitive and the human who had raised him.

Faro could have found his way to the surface alone, now, but he still feared the many side passages and the deeper tunnels. Nesht had taken him to see the working mines once. He still could not understand how the dhar tolerated their lives beneath the stone. The sense of oppression and fear had never departed from Faro in his time there, no matter how beautiful the music of the short folk or the art of their handiwork. Even though he had never come to love their tunnels, the realization of goodbye dawned on his spirit as he followed Klotig toward the surface. It weighed his steps with a greater sorrow than he had expected.

The procession reached the turning stair so quickly. The first gust of wind struck Faro's face as his head rose above the level of the shingle. It was summer—or what counted as such in that land—and the ice was gone, leaving only a blasted undulating landscape of moss, dark rock, and black sands. Yet the sea was blue as sapphire, and the sky like lapis lazuli. He wasn't sure if Nesht would be proud that at least he had learned those rocks.

Vibrants sails approached. The low Inevien ships cut the water, heeled sharply under the brisk wind.

The whole shingle was full of dhar and of tied bundles of goods wrapped in linen—linen the Vien provided both in trade and so the master smiths would not pack their products in hides. This was not the first landing of the Inevien that year. They had first arrived only a week before, and Faro had done his part.

When their boats had touched gravel at that first visit, the Inevien sailors were shocked to see a vien awaiting them on the strand. It felt strange to speak his own tongue again, to see the complexions of his own kind, but it felt good to speak standing straight in the free air, without crouching or bending to look them in their faces. Faro's face was not known among the Inevien, and the sailors were so perplexed at his presence that it was clear they had no suspicion of his identity. They had asked many questions, but he answered in flawless Inevien dialect, proffered a false name, and passed himself off as belonging to Arnel, a landlocked enclave not likely to produce sailors. Whenever possible, he'd avoided their questions, hoping they would take him for a deserter or some other sort of vagabond. The uncertainty of his identity took on less importance when they heard the dhar's offer. The promise of wealth beyond their comprehension went far to make their suspicions inconsequential.

Now, the two vien ships turned gracefully in the cove, lying to just beyond the shallow shoals and the breakers. The sailors prepared the shallow skiffs and soon pushed off. Faro recognized Deav, the master of the ships of Meln. It was he who had accepted Klotig's offer a week before.

With remarkable agility, the vien sailors brought the skiffs through the surf and into a shallow calm behind a natural jetty of outlying rocks, driving the skiffs up on the black sand. Deav leapt from the fore and landed without wetting his wrapped sandals.

"Blessing of Isecan, Yeervan," Deav said, smiling.

"Blessing of Isecan," Faro replied.

"We are provisioned to take the dhar east, as agreed." Deav sized up the bundled goods upon the shore as he spoke, his gaze calculating. This was not the promised reward for purveying the young dhar, but rather the usual goods of trade as in any other summer—tonnage of steel, iron, silver, and finished crafts, especially weapons of war. The Vien sailors were already unloading kegs and bales upon the strand. "As soon as we are unloaded, their people may board the skiff. We do not want to delay. The wind may grow fouler."

"Be kind to them," Faro said. "They fear the waves."

Deav tilted his head and squinted. He nodded, but did not reply.

Faro turned to Klotig.

"Are you sure?" he asked the dhar.

"Yes."

"And you think your people will come? You think they will cross the waves?"

"They will find a way for this." Klotig pointed toward the sheathed point of Faro's spear with his thumb.

"When they unload, Nesht and the others can board the skiff," Faro told him. "Now is the time to say your goodbyes."

"We have said our goodbyes already." Klotig's tone was as flat as his expression. "We will not do so before them."

Faro nodded.

"Then I will say goodbye. It has been my honor to be a guest in your halls, and I cannot repay the gifts you have given me."

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Klotig kept his expression blank for a moment, and then he offered a faint smile.

"If this venture finds success, then it is I who cannot repay."

Faro did not feel he had done much to deserve thanks, but he did not argue. The wind was loud, buffeting them and whipping their clothing. Even in the summer, it was not mild on the island, though the sun warmed his face.

It did not take long for the sailors to empty the skiffs, and with Faro to interpret, Deav directed the dhar as they clambered aboard the skiffs. Whether the whole colony was out on the strand that day, Faro wasn't sure. He supposed around two hundred stood to watch. The twenty-seven dhar who would make the voyage were bundled in heavy skins and carried surprisingly little baggage. It would take both skiffs to ferry them to the ship.

The Vien sailors did a poor job of hiding their bemusement as their passengers huddled in the center of the small crafts. Faro made eye contact with Nesht before they shoved off. He raised a hand. She nodded but kept her face studiously blank. He could tell the pride of the dhar would let them betray no emotion before the Vien, especially not fear. But Faro had heard their songs and seen their celebrations; these were feeling folk, and he knew the pain that must hide beneath the stone of their fixed expressions.

"Are they ready?" Deav asked. Faro looked to Klotig.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes," he said.

Faro nodded to Deav.

"Go ahead."

Deav commanded and the sailors pushed the skiffs off the strand. No dhar raised a hand in farewell. Those ashore watched in silent stillness as their future was born away. The vien fought the breakers as they pulled around the rocks and out to the ships that waited at anchor. One vessel would carry the dhar east, while the second would load the trade goods before returning to Meln.

Faro watched the sailors on the ships hauling the dhar over the rails as they clung to ropes. He knew they would hate that. Emptied, the first skiff returned to shore while the second was raised aboard the ship with surprising speed.

Deav leapt to the strand again.

"Do you wish to board now, or will you wait?" he asked Faro.

"I will wait."

He stood next to Klotig as the vien loaded the bales of goods. The skiff made three more trips back and forth, but the dhar paid them no heed. Aboard, the young dhar had entered the pavilions pitched across the deck. Though they were lost to sight, the dhar ashore did not avert their gaze. The sailors aboard the ship hurried to make way, readying lines and bringing up anchors. For a time, it appeared one anchor was caught, but at last it rose from the bottom. Sails of gold and green unfurled, and the ship heeled in the wind.

When finally the ship slipped away beyond the point, the dhar ashore got to work without a word, breaking down the unloaded Vien bales to fit the goods through the narrow stairway down into the rock. By the time the second skiff had returned for its last load of cargo, only Klotig and Faro remained on the strand.

"Time to board," Deav said at last.

Faro turned to Klotig and grasped the dhar's hand.

"Thank you," he said.

Klotig smiled, and without a word, he turned and walked to the hole in the rock. He didn't look back as he descended into the stone.

Faro reached down and lifted one of his personal bags in his free hand. Deav took the other, squinting at its weight. It was full of the masterful handicrafts of the dhar. That bag was much heavier, but the one that Faro held contained something far more precious to him. He carefully handed the bag to a sailor within the skiff before leaping over the side without wetting his feet. The sailor handed the bag back and pointed out a spot among the bales where he could sit. Deav boarded, and the sailors pushed off.

Faro tensed as he felt the unfamiliar unsteadiness of the water beneath the craft. He had never been aboard a boat of any kind, and the sensation was novel. The wind flecked them with salt spray as they rounded the rocks and turned into the breakers. Faro looked behind as they pulled toward the ship. There was nothing to hint of the dhar's presence below the stone. It looked like a barren shore and nothing more. A few seabirds circled above the shingle, hoping for something left behind.

Faro managed to hold his spear as he clambered over the ship's rail by the aid of a rope. Deav had offered to hold the weapon, but Faro had asked him to hold his bags instead. He feared they might disarm him, but so far they had not hinted at anything beyond keeping to their deal.

Faro had considered his choice for many days beneath the stone, but in the end he knew there was no choice. Besides the horrid weight of stone overhead, he could never be at home among the dhar, living as a guest without a sense of purpose, without knowing of his mother or Coir. What had Vireel told them? Had she told them anything? Had she harmed them? At times, he rebuked himself for not crossing the sea in the winter on the ice. Klotig had dissuaded him. He would freeze, the dhar said, and the ice was not trustworthy near the Vien shore. It was a fluke that he had crossed it once. Even the Inevien with their lust for steel waited until the thaw to trade.

Now, he was bound for home, or at least back to his own kind to seek his loved ones. He would find his mother and Coir, and he would take them somewhere and care for them in their age. Already, a year was wasted—a year with them he could never get back. A pit of fear rested in his stomach that he would be too late. What if something had happened? Coir was so frail. The human had never been strong, but even in the past few years, age had bowed him. Even his mother bore the weight of the years, her skin sagging, wrinkles stretching from her eyes, her muscles loose. Nothing had touched the clarity of her eyes, though.

The sailors busily unloaded the skiff.

"Please, come with me," Deav said, taking one of Faro's bags. Faro took the other and followed the shipmaster to the stern. There they entered one of the vibrant blue pavilions. Unlike the other vessel, this ship had sails of blue and white, with canopies to match.

Within, Faro was surprised to find a neat rug, cushions, and a table set with a wide-bottomed pitcher and cups of carved wood. Deav laid Faro's bag aside and motioned for him to sit. The shipmaster poured them each a cup of wine. Raising their cups, they drank. It was a fine, cold mulberry.

"It is less than favorable weather," Deav said, "but with a blessing, we will reach harbor in the morning."

"Do you think their crossing will be safe?" Faro asked. "The other ship?"

"I think so, though there is no surety in such things. They will tack northeast first, and so avoid the main sea-paths to the human lands. The humans are more trouble on the southern and eastern shores."

"And how long will it take?" Faro had asked before during their first meeting, but he worried for the dhar. The Inevien would not receive the bulk of their payment until the ship returned bearing some secret token prearranged between Nesht and Klotig, proving the safe passage. It was certainly in the enclave's interest to keep the bargain.

"With a better wind, four or five days, but so long as the east wind is in their teeth, they must tack. It means the same for us. It will take us all night to reach Meln, and that only by keeping as southerly as we can for shore. The Nethec often blows a west wind close in, and we may catch it above the Mingling."

The shipmaster related this without any great appearance of concern, but the prospect was unsettling to Faro.

"I have to wonder," Deav said, taking another drink of his wine, "how you managed to live with them for an entire winter."

"It was my honor," Faro said. He would not insult the dhar by describing the difficulty.

Deav shook his head as if bewildered.

"Orve" a voice said, and Faro turned to see a sailor leaning into the pavilion. "All is aboard."

"You may get under way," Deav replied. The sailor retreated, and sung commands carried across the ship, repeated by a chorus of voices. In moments, the sailors began to sing, but Faro had a hard time making out the words as the wind whipped and cracked the fabric of the pavilion. He felt his stomach lurch along with the heave of the vessel.

"So will you go back to Arnel?" Deav asked, smiling.

"I wish to see my mother," Faro replied.

"I hope she is well. The border and central enclaves are much beset with the affliction."

Faro nodded.

"I hope so as well." He said this only for Deav's benefit; his mother and Coir had nothing to fear, though he might. Living his whole life in Vireel's isolated embrace, there was little reason to fear the Malady. It would be different, now.

The ship heeled, and Faro gripped the cushion, flinching. Deav's mouth flickered.

"Our riders made it to Arnel in two days," he said. "The Tree you described does not exist. No one has heard of you."

Faro met his gaze.

"And?" This was not entirely unexpected.

Deav shrugged.

"In the end, it will be up to the ancients to decide what to make of you. I cannot help but be curious, though."

"Will you keep your bargain with the dhar?"

"We rely on the stunted beasts," Deav said. "So long as they keep their agreement, we will keep ours." He nodded toward the spear that lay across Faro's lap.

"I do not know if you are dangerous," he said. "But my crew is."

"You have nothing to fear of me."

"I could consider you to have broken the law of hospitality with your lies, and take your weapon until we disembark."

Faro's fingers tightened around the haft.

"But," Deav went on, "I suppose you have a right to keep your own councils. Only do not be trouble." The shipmaster stood and pointed toward a screen secured across a corner of the pavilion. "You may rest on the cushions within and help yourself to the wine. The voyage will be short." With that, he left.

Faro drank down his wine. He was thirsty, and it was good, so he helped himself to another cup. When that was gone, he braved the deck for a time, watching the water rush by, feeling the cold wind and the prickling sea-spray. Gulls followed their mast, crying overhead. The sight of the ship cutting the waves was mesmerizing, but he had not slept well for some nights, and the fresh air lulled him. At length he returned to the pavilion-corner and lay down on the cushions, the spear cradled in his arms.

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