When Ash was done, he took one last drink, then poured the rest of the flask into Pasha’s mouth. Pasha coughed and gagged, then lay still.
The three of them stood, and Ash looked at Mann. “The Bowl of Fom is dirty,” he said in accented N’naradin. “He might live. He might not.” He nodded toward the prow. “We all might live. We might not.”
Mann looked. He saw Ves on the smaller boat nearing the gap in the sea wall, carried by the outgoing tide. Beyond, a web of objects floated low in the water, flanked by hulking Tyrsh gunships, gleaming in the Eyelight, three to a side.
Ashmarirai shouted something in Ristroan, and there was a flurry of activity among the crew as they all donned black cloaks and began readying a pair of lifeboats at the stern, likewise painted black. One of the crew hand
