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questions.'
    Danlo inclined his head, slightly, accepting Malaclypse's criticism as a compliment. Then he said, 'You have come to Farfara to complete this determination about me, yes?'
    Again, as he often did, Danlo began to count his heartbeats, and he waited for Malaclypse to remove his killing knife from his cloak. But Malaclypse only looked at him, strangely, deeply, drinking in the wild look that filled Danlo's eyes like an ocean. 'I don't know who you really are,' Malaclypse said. 'Not yet. In truth, I don't know who your father really is, either. Mallory Ringess, this once Lord Pilot of the Order who everyone says has become a god.'
    For a moment, Danlo looked up into the sky in sudden understanding. 'You have come to find my father, yes?'
    'Perhaps.'
    'Not just . . . to Farfara,' Danlo said. 'You would follow our Mission to the Vild.'
    Now, for the first time, Malaclypse seemed slightly surprised. He regarded Danlo coolly and said, 'I had heard that you were too perceptive for a mere pilot – now I see that this is so.'
    'You would follow us,' Danlo repeated. 'But follow . . . how? Warrior-poets do not pilot lightships, do they?'
    The Merchant-Pilots of Tria, of course, did pilot ships: deepships and prayerships, and sometimes even lightships. They journeyed to Nwarth and Alumit and Farfara, but no Merchant-Pilot would ever think of taking a lightship into the Vild.
    'There is a man,' Malaclypse said. He pointed along the curve of the retaining wall at a stand of orange trees some forty feet away. 'A former pilot of your Order. He will take me where I need to go.'
    As Danlo saw, beneath an orange tree laden with bright, round fruits, there stood a silent man dressed all in grey. Danlo recognized him as the infamous renegade, Sivan wi Mawi Sarkissian, once a pilot of great promise who had deserted the Order in the time of the Quest for the Elder Eddas. None of the other pilots whom Mer Tadeo had invited would bear the shame of talking to such a faithless man, and so Sivan stood alone, sipping from his goblet of wine.
    'And where is it that you need to go, then?' Danlo asked.
    'Wherever I must,' Malaclypse said. 'But I've heard that Mallory Ringess has returned to the Vild. Somewhere. It may be that your Order's mission will cause him to make himself known.'
    'And then?'
    'And then I shall know,' Malaclypse said. 'And then I shall do what must be done.'
    'You would murder my father, yes?'
    'If he is truly a god, I would help him toward his moment of the possible.'
    'If he is truly . . . a god?'
    'If he is still a man, I would only ask him to complete a poem.'
    'What . . . poem?'
    'A poem that I've been composing for some time. Only a man who has refused to become a god would know how to complete it.'
    Danlo looked off at the Istas River gleaming in the starlight, but he said nothing.
    'I believe that you might know where your father is.' Danlo squeezed his empty wine glass between his hands, but he remained as silent as the sky.
    'It may be that we share the same mission, you and I,' Malaclypse said. 'I believe that we're both seeking your father.'
    Was it possible, Danlo wondered, that Malaclypse's only purpose in seeking the Vild was to lay eyes upon his father? He did not think so. The warrior-poets always had purposes within purposes – and often their deepest purpose was war.
    'You're very good at keeping a silence,' Malaclypse said. 'Very well, then – let us listen to what our host is saying.'
    As Danlo looked down at the dark forest far below the cliff face, he became aware of a voice falling through the spaces all around him. It was the voice of Mer Tadeo, convolved and amplified by the music pools, hanging like a silver mist over the lawns of the garden. Mer Tadeo had begun his toast, and Danlo looked away from the warrior-poet to concentrate on Mer Tadeo's words: '. . . these brave women and men of the Civilized Worlds' most honoured Order, who have vowed to enter the Vild and seek . . .' Danlo became