A steady wind blows across the deck, filling the sails and sending us skimming upriver. The sea is already behind us, and even the buildings of Lirelei have fallen away, leaving only a moonlit landscape of rolling plains stretching out on either side of the wide ribbon of river. If there are houses along the river, or farther out, the occupants have long since turned in. Not a flicker of light disturbs the rolling landscape. It fades into darkness before it meets the star-speckled horizon.
Belayn leans against the railing to the right. Before him stand a dozen or so prisoners spaced out along the rail, each with a sailor holding him in place from behind. I recognize the heavyset form of Bull halfway down the line, and there at the end, hunched in pain, waits Thornbush. The remaining sailo
