Newly made, the party parted ways outside the Halfking. Yellowhat scurried off to pack. El snickered at that. She was sure he didn’t mean bags. Revel and El divvied duties to prepare for the river. It fell on El to procure a boat and cane for the bard.

Neither task was trivial. Few peddlers would sell to Arath’s daughter, and the ones who dared balked at the amount Yellowhat required. In the end, El Sha La had to buy from three different dealers. Each time, she was warned she was buying enough cane to kill a man twice over. With the little change that remained, she bought the bard a backpack, canteen, and some hardtack. She was certain Yellowhat would arrive empty-handed if he came at all.

Next was Gray Quay and Giddy Jay. The one-eyed master of boats was suspicious of her sudden need for a long canoe and demanded to know where El Sha La was bound. El Sha La tried to intimidate him and failed, spectacularly. Giddy Jay took offense and outright refused to rent to her, sorceress or not.

El Sha La was forced to grovel an apology and buy the boat outright for twice what it was worth. Revel arrived, another fiasco. He’d bought a whole wheelbarrow of supplies at Red Rondie’s High-End Viands.

“Look at all this! This is a week’s worth of food!” El Sha La scolded.

“That’s the idea. We don’t know how long the pursuit will last. Eventually, our quarry must stop to forage.”

“Wait. Is that armor?”

It was indeed. Underneath the mound of rations was Revel’s entire suit of field mail, wrapped in sealskin. At the bottom of the barrow, he’d traded his rapier for his longsword and shield, both emblazoned with the triple tower insignia of House Ramos.

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“Revel, this is too much for an old man and a boy. We’ll never catch them lugging all this extra weight.”

“We don’t know what lurks on the Rakkar. Best to be prepared. I’ll just row a little harder.”

El Sha La eyed the armor. Revel was a terrible liar.

“This is about Fish, right? You need plate to beat him?”

Revel’s chipper smile went flat.

“It’s no sure thing, even in armor. He fights like a demon, El. Blast him with magic if you get a chance.”

El Sha La held her tongue. The hour was late. Sters the Hook looked completely spent when he arrived. His eyes were flat and hollow from agony. On his broad shoulders, he wore a rucksack packed with the meager remnants of Halfking’s already-ransacked storeroom. He seemed to have difficulty standing and leaned hard on his hook.

“Can you even row?” Revel challenged.

Sters glared at him and stepped forward, eager for a rematch. El had to intervene before the ornery dolts went for each other’s throats. There was no sign of the failed bard. Once the canoe was packed, El Sha La began bracing the stevedores in case any might take Yellowhat’s place. Laughter was their reply. Just as they were about to shove off without him, Yellowhat stumbled onto the dock. His eyes were tinged ochre, and his pants were half-laced.

“I had to tell Shosha goodbye,” Yellowhat explained, scrambling aboard. It was easy for Hat to load in. Everything he owned was in his pockets.

“For two hours?” El scoffed.

“She wanted to say it twice.”

El Sha La snorted. Hat gave a lascivious wink. The bard still had a bit of charm he hadn’t smoked away. He sprang onto the bow, swept the battered hat off his balding head and bowed in a ham-fisted flourish.

“To our doom, friends!”

The four fools piled into the long canoe and dipped their oars. They were bound for the bloody Rakkar, where no man went.