over your body. I even saw them on your feet. You get those kind of scars from a demon pact.”
“There are ways to get scars like mine,” Harp said quietly, “that make a demon pact look like a stroll down the dock. I’m no warlock.”
“What then?
“It’s a long story I promise to tell you another time,” Harp said, “but now…” Harp stood up and brushed the sand off his knees. He caught Verran’s eye and held it. “Where did you learn about demon pacts, Verran?”
Verran looked away from Harp and rubbed his eyes with his fists. “I don’t know anything,” he insisted. Harp could tell he was lyingand doing it badly.
“I’m not angry,” Harp said. “Whatever your story is, you’ve clearly got skills we need. Besides, you wouldn’t believe what Boult told me earlier.”
Boult coughed, and Harp continued, “Men are entitled to their secrets, sure. But when it affects the safety of your crew, it’s time to put it in the open.”
“My father… was a warlock,” Verran said and stopped.
Harp noticed the tears forming in the boy’s eyes and decided the topic should be discussed with fewer people around.
“Good enough,” Harp said, raising his hand. He turned to talk to Cenhar. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I been dragged through all Nine Hells… No offense to you, Verran,” Cenhar said.
“Can you row the skiff back to the ship?” Harp asked.
“I don’t need to go back.”
“You’re ill,” Harp said firmly.
“My arm’s all right,” Cenhar said. He waggled his fingers as if to prove that everything worked. “But I don’t want to”
“Sleep on the ship,” Harp insisted. “Tell Llywellan what happened. He’ll keep an eye on you.”
“What if you have trouble?”
“We’re going to find the colony. We’ll come back to the ship and figure out our strategy together. No time for trouble.”
For a moment, Cenhar looked like he wanted to argue. Changing his mind he said, “Aye, captain.”
“Kitto, Boult, help him get the boat on the water.”
When the three men had moved away, Harp turned back to Verran.
“Your father was a warlock?” Harp prompted.
“Not at first. I loved my father, but he was… easy to persuade. He began studying with a man who had traveled everywhere searching for lost magics and artifacts. My father idolized him.”
“A sorcerer?” Harp asked.
Verran gave a noncommital shrug. “He was very charismatic, and his followers were utterly devoted to him. I’d never met someone who was so… strong-willed. Just a few words could convince you of things that, as I look back on it, made no sense.”
“You knew the man?”
Verran wiped his sleeve across his eyes. “Yes. My father used to take me to their gatherings, in the guts of a derelict building. I was always the youngest one there.” He looked up at Harp. “They said it made me special.”
“You were a child, Verran,” Harp assured him. “You couldn’t have known any better.”
“Some things are horrible no matter how old you are.”
Harp took a deep breath. He and Verran had more in common than the boy thought.
“The man offered my father a deal,” Verran said.
“It’s one of the oldest stories,” Harp said grimly. “Men sell their freedom for power.”
“And it worked,” Verran said bitterly. “My father became very powerful. But he also changed. He’d been so happy, so cheerful, and suddenly it was like something black replaced his heart.”
“Spending too much time around death will do that to a man,” Harp agreed.
Verran shook his head. “It was more than that. I saw scars on his hands one night. Scars just like you have, only they were fresh,” Verran continued. “My father was so proud of them. Whatever he’d done had been a major accomplishment. Mama got so angry. I’d never seen her like that. She saw marks on his back. There were five of them, all in a row. Like… silhouettes of a shape that’s just a little too far away to recognize. The night when he got those scars, one of the… silhouettes… took a new shape. It was finished.”
“I don’t understand, Verran,” Harp said patiently. He knew the boy was trying his best to explain, but finding the right words to describe something evil was hard. Harp knew that as well as anyone.
“It was the pact. My father was given power. And he was expected to do certain tasks, part of a larger plan that none of us understood.”
“And one of those debts was paid that night?” Harp pressed.
“Yes. My mother was clever. Once she saw the mark on his back, she knew what he had done. She took me away from him.”
“Where did you go?”
“A relation’s farm in Cormyr. Mama and I were both relieved to be away from him. We missed who he had been, but we were happy there,” Verran paused. “He found us a year later, after he’d had a change of heart. I’m amazed he found the strength to get away from them. But he couldn’t escape the demon at that point, just fight it. He was a broken man. He’d sit in the fields for hours staring at the sky.
“I was in the village when… something came to the house and killed him and Mama. Our neighbor found me and told me what happened. They smuggled me out of the province that very day. There’s no reason for it to be looking for me, but still I wonder. It’s why I joined the Crane.”
Harp laid his hand on Verran’s shoulder. “None of us have an empty road behind us.”
“No, I guess not,” Verran said, but he sounded unconvinced. He turned sharply as Boult and Kitto walked up to them. Behind them, Harp could see Cenhar rowing the skiff across the waves to the Crane.
“Did you do the spell on the ship?” Boult asked abruptly. “The one that melted the captain?”
Verran looked at his fingers. “I’m not sure.”
“How could you not know?” Boult demanded.
“It seems too powerful for me. Once we left home, my mother wouldn’t let me try spells anymore. She was too scared.”
“And do you try spells now?” Harp inquired.
“Sometimes,” Verran admitted. “And sometimes things just happen.”
“Has anyone ever gotten hurt?” Harp asked.
“You mean besides the dead captain?” Boult reminded him.
Tve never hurt anyone… who didn’t deserve it,” Verran finished slowly.
“That’s comforting,” Boult said sarcastically.
“It’s been useful to us so far,” Harp pointed out. “Verran, I don’t supposed you have another useful spell that can locate the path?”
Verran looked sheepish. “It’s over there.”
“Did you just figure that out?” Harp asked.
“Um, a little while back. Before Cenhar was attacked. I was on that side of the trees when you shouted,” Verran replied. “And there’s something else.”
“I hope it’s a welcoming party,” Boult said.
“No. I think there’s a body on the other side of the trees.”
A mesh of woven branches hid the path. Without Verran’s luck, there was little chance they would have discovered it. And without the path, there was little chance they would have made it very far through the twisted undergrowth, fungus slicks, and flesh-eating vines.
“You think it was Bootman’s crew who covered the path?” Harp asked Boult as they made their way down the narrow channel through the dense vegetation. It was more like a tunnel than a path, with leaves and branches intertwining over their heads. Without regular travel across the ground, the jungle would soon retake the unnatural highway that allowed intruders to enter its confines.
“Doubtful,” Boult said. “That wasn’t done yesterday. There was new growth mixed in with the cover. Plus, someone shaped the vines. I don’t think they formed that latticework naturally.”
