sail up the curve of the Serpent’s Tooth—the great chains drawn back in this time of peace—passing between the narrow cliffs, looking up at walls and guards on each side, thinking of Sarantine Fire unleashed on hapless foes who thought to take Jad’s holy and defended City. Awe would give way to—or be joined by—a proper measure of fear. Sarantium was no harbor or haven for the weak.
