Free Wolf Captured by Jane Lindskold

first clear look at the man’s left hand. It was gloved in black, and the two smallest fingers jutted unnaturally stiff.
    So he wants others to overlook his mutilation, Derian thought, though it is such as could be excused by many accidents that would be routine in a sailor’s trade. Interesting, if not immediately useful.
    “As you may recall,” Waln began, “I was in possession of important information that caused Crown Princess Sapphire to grant my life.”
    Derian suppressed a grimace. He supposed that was one way to relate the shameful circumstances surrounding Waln’s defeat.
    “Upon my release, I returned to the Isles, but the queen I had so faithfully served betrayed me. She could not execute me lest my father-in-law, a powerful man in the Isles, argue that my estates must pass to my legal heirs. Instead, she named me traitor, stripped me of the titles she had given me, and sent me into exile.
    “Exile included very little that would assure my comfort: passage to the port of my choice and what few goods I could carry in a pack. I was permitted to take nothing of great value. All that could not be proven to have been brought into our marriage by my wife or what had been earned because of her actions was forfeit to the queen. My wife and children went into her family’s care. I have not heard from them since.”
    Derian felt a momentary flash of pity for the man until he recalled what Waln had done to earn that exile. Then pity melted from him, leaving him cold as the ocean depths. He found himself involuntarily taking a step back.
    Waln was so caught up in his own tale that Derian doubted he had noticed, but Harjeedian did and his eyebrows rose in silent comment. Waln went on.
    “I was barred from the ports of both Hawk Haven and Bright Bay, and had no wish to try my luck in Waterland.”
    Derian knew perfectly well why this would be so. Not only did Waterland share a border with New Kelvin—a nation which, at that time, harbored others whose enmity Waln had earned—but Waterland judged the worth of its residents by their fortunes. One such as Waln, coming with no fortune, might well have found himself enslaved.
    “Therefore I took passage on a ship heading into southern waters. I had voyaged in these some in my younger days, and thought I might find some curiosities or at least those who, unallied with those who had wronged me, would be willing to give me honest employment.”
    As far as Derian knew, nothing much was known about the lands to the south. Stonehold, the nation to the south of Bright Bay, was a land power, but their southern border was variously reported as densely forested or swampy. Dangerous shoals and fever-ridden swamps to the east kept the majority of Stoneholders on land. However, he supposed that the sailors of the Isles must have ventured south out of curiosity if nothing more. He admired their daring. Navigation out of sight of land had been among the arts the Old World rulers had kept to themselves.
    “Luck seemed not to be with me in this venture either,” Waln continued. “Some days after we had navigated the Shipwreck Shoals and were trying to discover whether we had also found the end of land, a storm came out of nowhere. We were driven far off course. When the storm abated, we were left with tattered sails and less than half our crew. Happily, the winds had also taken us close enough to land that we were intercepted by a local vessel—this very vessel, in fact.
    “Her name is Fayonejunjal . That translates as Child of Water ,” Waln said, proudly, as if he had named the ship himself. “She originates from a land called Liglim. They are a curious people, claiming origin in an Old Country nation I had never heard of before. As with our own land, when the Plague came, their rulers left, and the remaining colonists established their own country.”
    “Do they have contact with their Old Country?” Derian asked.
    “No,” Waln said. “Nor do they wish it—even if they