Jaska stalked onto the galley and showed the stamped documents to a ship captain clearly frightened by the presence of a palymfar. Captain Rohl scanned the papers and found everything in order. Then his eyes fell upon the name Jaska Bavadi. As the color drained from his face, he passed the papers to Sergeant Daras, the mercenary commander and an old comrade. Daras blanched and cursed his fate under his breath. 

Before either could protest or question their new assignment, Jaska said in a stern voice, "Set sail immediately, captain." 

Rohl crossed his left arm over his chest. "Aye, commander."

"Sergeant, prepare to defend the ship. We may have problems leaving the harbor."

Daras saluted. "As you wish, commander."

Jaska stowed his gear in the small cabin he would share with Zyrella and Ohzikar then returned to the deck. Captain Rohl and Sergeant Daras barked orders. The ship eased out into the harbor. Mercenaries waited with composite bows at the ready, but no one hindered the ship's progress. Likely, the authorities investigating the incident on the streets had accepted the easiest conclusion. And a ship loaded with mercenaries wouldn't demand notice in a port as busy as Hectyra's. 

Professional rowers pulled to the beat of the bosun's drums. The Spindrift Cloud's three sails caught the winds and added their strength. The bronze ram on the ship's front plowed into the calm sea and Hectyra fell from view. Jaska, Ohzikar, and Zyrella stood on the aft deck above the ship's two meager cabins. For a long time, the three simply watched the ship's progress and dwelt within their own thoughts.   

Ohzikar said at last, "How did those palymfar find us?"

Jaska lowered the mask from his face. "I think they tracked Zyrella with magic. The powers that hid you for so long must not be as strong as they once were. They approached Lord Ezaras looking for me, suspecting that I was a traitor. So we can assume that Salahn has figured out that I'm still alive. And that I'm no longer loyal to him. Also, he got a message this far, which shows proof of his increased power."

"Salahn may believe you to be under my domination," Zyrella said.

"Possibly, though it makes little difference. He will order me killed unless they are certain that you control me." Jaska took in a deep breath of salty air. "Before I came to you, I killed a palymfar named Ooran, after I dispatched Lord Ezaras. Ooran's qavra held a tracking spell that notified his comrades of his death. When I discovered it, I knew I had to find you quickly." 

Zyrella and Ohzikar stared at him, wondering about his stability. Jaska noticed their observation and frowned. "I killed Ezaras for his crimes against this city and humanity. The world won't miss him, I assure you."

Both looked away. After some time Zyrella said, "The last palymfar you killed was a student of yours?"

"All three were former students, but Yrvas was one of the best. Far more cautious than most, but he always used his caution to his advantage. He was also a friend."

Zyrella moved closer. She thought to put a hand on his shoulder then changed her mind, afraid of the feelings contact would arouse. "I'm sorry, Jaska."

He nodded. "Many things are different now. I owe gratitude and friendship to you and the White Tigress. No others. All other bonds have been severed."

"Yrvas didn't prove cautious today," Ohzikar said.

"No, their attack was hasty and desperate. They must have feared that we would soon leave."

"Other troops must be on the way then," Ohzikar said. “That’s why they waited.”

"I wouldn't be surprised if Salahn himself pursued us. Now that he's absorbed the White Tigress, he will have time to leave his work in the compound, something he hasn't done in many years."

Zyrella said, "Let us hope that he’ll avoid you, fearing the prophecy.”

As the ship sailed eastward following the coast, Jaska ordered the entire crew to assemble below. Ohzikar and Zyrella flanked him in a show of support.

"No doubt rumors have spread," he told the rowers, sailors, and mercenaries. "I am, in fact, Jaska Bavadi, the palymfar known as the Slayer."

More than several of the sailors made crescent mudras to ward away evil. Many cursed according to their various religious beliefs. Some hardened men accustomed to the rigors of warfare and seafaring looked as if they might jump ship.

"However, I am not the same man anymore. I am restored to my true self." Looks of confusion swept through the men assembled. "For years Grandmaster Salahn of the palymfar wielded a sorcerous hold over me and caused me to commit the terrors for which I am reputed.

"Now my skill turns toward righting the wrongs of the palymfar and restoring my honor. I fight for the good of all people and in helping me, you serve that cause as well."

The men's faces were unreadable. Their expressions varied and shifted as they pondered whether they should trust him. Only one thing was certain. They feared the zealous fire that laced his words and smoldered in his eyes.

"All who serve me now will likely face death. Any man who has a problem with this shall be released from his duties with what pay he has already earned. You will receive no retribution for doing so, only my good wishes.

"Soon Hareezan raiders will pursue us. They give no quarter, and they disdain the codes that protect sailors in times of peace. All of you must fight for your lives and freedom if such a time comes. I shall fight with you to the best of my ability. Zyrella Anthari, High Priestess of the White Tigress, promises the same, as does her templar captain Ohzikar Sanwared.

"Now, I would speak with the officers. The rest of you may return to duty. Those who wish to end their service should speak with their superiors tonight and let their wishes be known so that we may drop you off at the next port."

* * *

As the crew dispersed, two twin brothers who served as marines exchanged meaningful glances. Lithe and tall, they carried themselves with the grace of dancers. With demeanors more appropriate to actors or musicians, the two looked out of place amongst their fellow mercenaries. However, in a number of battles, the two young men had proven their lethal skill with sword and bow. Despite hailing from Issaly far to the west, their skin was as dark a tan as that of any Hareezan. But their hair was pale, as if bleached by decades of sun. Their eyes were of a blue so faded as to be almost white. Friends and enemies alike thought them ghost-touched. And even the most reserved women would comment on their beauty and openly stare but never dare speak with them.

Bakulus's eager, icy eyes glowed. In terms of spirit and personality, if he were the daylight sky, his brother would be the velvet of night. "He could be the one."

"Don't even say it," Caracyn replied. "Not yet. We shall bide our time and see what sort of man he truly is. He may prove false like all the others. Don't get your hopes dashed again."

"We have to find the one eventually. It's our destiny."

Caracyn waved a hand dismissively. "Maybe the prophecy was wrong. Maybe our search is in vain."

"Our mother died with those words on her lips, Cyn."

"Then maybe we have failed somewhere along the way."

"I will never give up. Until I die, I won't stop searching. I would even search without you."

Caracyn's slender, angled face tightened. "You'll go nowhere without me, and you know it."

"For this I would."

"Then I will follow you," Caracyn replied, "even if the cause seems lost."

Bakulus smiled. "You don't really think that anyway."

Caracyn harrumphed and turned away. "I won't get my hopes up again, Bak. Not after the last time. I'm tired of this search, and I wish we could live normal lives."

"What joy would that be? Look at us. We have to be more than simple mercenaries. From birth we were marked as special."

"Aye. That is our problem."

* * *

As the officers climbed to the aft deck to meet with Jaska, Ohzikar told him, "The men will never trust you."

"I don't expect them to. I only wish for them to know the truth of whom they serve."

The truth wouldn't change anything. The ship's crew took pride in their work, and leaving would bring dishonor upon themselves and a reckoning with the gods of the sea. Even more, the sailors feared Jaska's wrath if they should leave, despite his promise otherwise. 

Not a man would quit. 

* * *

After meeting with the ship's officers and discussing plans in depth, Jaska huddled in a corner of their cabin, as far from the others as possible. There he studied three scrolls that Zyrella had purchased for him. The charcoal rubbings, inked diagrams, and notes clearly detailed Salima's diagrams. When the others went to sleep, he continued by the light of a single candle. Still awake at dawn, Jaska donned his training outfit and stepped out onto a mist-covered deck. The ocean sloshed at the galley's sides as shipped oars waited on sleeping rowers. Yet the ship moved on, if slowly, powered by a light breeze. 

Jaska climbed onto the small foredeck, stretched, and began his martial katas. Today he introduced subtle changes based on Salima's sigils. At first he felt awkward and clumsy, since the moves were similar yet different from what he had practiced thousands of times before. From time to time he would pause at the end of a strike and ponder the direction of the energies flowing out from him, or he would hold a step longer than he should, contemplating the buildup of power within him. Haltingly, he progressed until he began to understand the katas.

Once he could perform them in the correct sequence and without error or pauses, he knew the changes were valid, for the katas felt more fluid. Pure, vibrant energies gathered within him, and he felt he could conquer his every weakness and vice. 

Then Jaska performed the katas once again in the familiar way Salahn had taught him. He felt just as much power, but the energy built up in a heavy, seductive way. He wanted more, and he felt he could overpower anyone who stood in his way. 

He aborted a spinning kick at the end of one of the katas, a kick he well remembered Salahn teaching him. Salahn had made these changes to suit his purposes. By changing the forms, Salahn had transformed the way the palymfar trained and thought. 

Jaska feared he would have to relearn everything. 

Jaska continued practicing the older katas. Where Salima's sigils gave him no clear reference, he gave himself over to the movements and trusted his instincts to carry him through the proper motions. He avoided Salahn's katas altogether, no longer wanting their influence in his life.

Eight mercenaries gathered along the edge of the deck and watched Jaska with wary interest. None had ever witnessed the secret arts of the palymfar. None failed to imagine the terrible result should they ever face such a warrior. Ohzikar joined the mercenaries but stood unobtrusively at the back of the crowd.

Jaska’s first reaction to his audience was to forbid their observation, but he quelled such a notion. These men might soon face palymfar. If they saw the moves practiced, they would feel less awe when facing them. In fact, it wouldn't hurt if he prepared them.

Jaska led Ohzikar away from the mercenaries. "Do you think they have what it takes to fight palymfar … If it comes to that?"

"I think so. Your benefactor didn't spare expense. He hired the best available."

"Do you think they will accept my instruction?"

"They may not trust you, but no soldier would ever refuse a better sword."

"Could you join me in the demonstration?"

"Of course. But I don't know how much help I can be. I have much to learn as well."

"You are the finest warrior I have ever fought against. That is truth, not flattery."

"I'm no palymfar."

"No, your techniques are different. But in a fair fight, you could better most one-on-one."

Jaska singled out one of the mercenaries. "Summon the rest of your comrades, including your sergeant."

"Yes, my lord."

Sergeant Daras and his men arrived on the deck. Jaska explained his intentions. "I'll show you how the palymfar fight and how you might counter their tactics. Don't let these instructions swell your confidence. No single one of you can stand up to a palymfar, but you might survive if you pay close attention and fight against them in teams. We will work on this twice a day throughout our journey. Ohzikar will help me demonstrate."

Jaska and Ohzikar sparred at half-speed with Jaska explaining the basic palymfar moves as he used them. He kept things simple since it was their first day. Afterward he taught them exercises to improve their speed and flexibility. 

Sergeant Daras thanked Jaska for the instructions. Though his men hesitated to speak to Jaska directly, they stood nearby and nodded quietly, except for Bakulus and Caracyn who discussed something between themselves.

Jaska said, "I hope that you'll never need these preparations, sergeant."

"I fear we might, commander. Hareez gathers strength. Rumors of war with city-states in the East circulate. The palymfar number few overall, but a mercenary never knows whom he might face."

"Well said and true. Send your men through those exercises only once a day until they have grown accustomed. We can't afford fatigued men in an ambush."

* * *

The afternoon sun beat down on the laboring rowers. Strong men with endless stamina earned good money on Pawan Kor's galleys. No slave could rival a professional rower's discipline and eagerness to earn his pay. Nevertheless, many rowers missed the bosun's drumbeats as Jaska stepped into their midst on the starboard side.

The bosun stopped his drum taps. The captain checked to see what was happening. The bosun pointed to Jaska and shrugged. The rowers shipped their oars while Jaska stripped down to pants and qavra.

He approached the first rower in the line, the senior oarsman for the starboard bank. "I'm taking over for the next few hours. Go rest. You've earned it."

"My lord," said the grizzled sea-veteran, "are you certain?"

"I'm not afraid of hard work, if that's what you mean. I won't ask anything of anyone in my hire that I'm not willing to do myself. Besides, I need the workout."

The aging man furrowed his bushy eyebrows. "Where should I wait, my lord?"

"Wherever you wish. The bosun will call for you when you are needed."

A grin spread across the man's face and creased his eyes. "Yes, my lord."

While the oarsman's stunned comrades watched in silence, Jaska sat and took hold of his oar. The bosun strolled over while two ship boys carried buckets down the line giving water to the rowers.

"You've done this before, my lord?" 

"No, but I've watched them work and listened to your commands. I'll catch on. Work us as normal."

The bosun licked his lips from between his gapped teeth, like a lizard probing the air. Then he half-shrugged and bobbed his head. "Aye, just as you wish, my lord."

The bosun returned to his station on the foredeck and took up his mallet. "Back to rowing, you dogs!" And he began to beat the rowers’ rhythm with many of the men singing chanteys in time.

Jaska winked at the balding, middle-aged man next to him. His oar-mate nodded, and his large hoop earrings, three in each ear, swayed and tinked together. "A fine day for rowing, my lord. Do you know the chanteys?" Jaska shook his head. "Would you like to learn them?"

"No, I think I prefer my thoughts."

"It's the same for me, silence or chanteys, I've sung and heard them for so long. You won't mind if I hum and sing sometimes? My lord."

"Not at all. And I'm no lord, just Jaska, please, at least while I'm rowing."

"And after?"

Jaska frowned. "I'm used to being called master, but I'm not a master of anything anymore."

"You've got to be called something or men of lesser station won't respect you. And if you don't mind me saying, master is a better title than the Slayer."

"True enough. Call me, Kharos then."

"Old Hareezan is it?"

"Yes. It means respected teacher."

"Kharos Bavadi then."

"Jaska for now, though."

The man nodded. "Is it true what you said, about being controlled for all these years? It wasn't just a speech to impress us?"

"It's true."

"What about the other palymfar? Are they all like that?"

"Only me. A prophecy said I'd defeat Grandmaster Salahn but he preferred to harness my talents rather than kill me."

The bulky rower studied him out of the corner of his deep brown eyes. "It'd have been better to kill you, I think."

That was obvious to a man who worked the oars for his living but apparently not to one who coveted power. Jaska heaved on the oars, working harder than he had expected but enjoying it nonetheless. He toiled for three hours. Sweat dripped into his eyes and ran across muscles still atrophied from injury. Aches dug deep beneath his scars but not with sharp pangs, so he continued to press himself. He needed to rebuild his health, and hard labor cleared his mind in a way palymfar meditation and katas no longer could.

When finished, he patted his partner on the shoulder. The man smiled back and said, "You did good. Though I pulled more than normal…”

"In a week, I'll be pulling my fair share. Of course, tomorrow I plan to overwork someone else."

"Hah! I won't miss you."

"I don't expect so . . . You never told me your name."

"Tieros Rowman. The oars are all the men of my family have done for generations." Jaska nodded and then turned to leave but Tieros stopped him. "One thing more, Kharos Bavadi. If you're not used to this, I'd suggest you take tomorrow off. Trust me, you'll want to."

"I will stretch the muscles tonight, my friend, and work them again tomorrow. Pain gathers strength."

* * *

Captain Rohl had watched Jaska, trying to discern whether the man had staged that display to earn the trust of the rowers, but he saw no reaction that would lead him to think so. Perhaps his tale of redemption held truth. Rohl sighed. He feared he wouldn't live past this venture. He vowed to quit taking dangerous commissions and promised himself he'd earned enough money already.

Bakulus and Caracyn had also watched from their nearby posts. They witnessed a tired, silent man lost within his own thoughts and emotional struggles. They saw neither pride nor pleasure at what he had done nor any move to capitalize on the trust he had built. 

"Either he's a master of deception," Bakulus said. "Or he's the one."