Book Three

RAG0NF0LK

Deep within the belly of the leviathan, Kast felt trapped. Living walls surrounded him. As he followed Sy-wen, he ran a hand along the twisting corridor. The sea creature’s leathery skin was drawn taut between struts of bone. Under his palm, he felt the tremor of the giant beast’s heartbeat.

With a small shudder, he withdrew his hand. To live and make a home inside another creature was a concept too foreign for his Dre’rendi mind to fully grasp or accept. As a Bloodrider, the open air and the wide sea were his true home, not this world of cramped corridors and tiny cells burrowed under the skin of a gigantic beast that swam leagues under the sea.

Sy-wen seemed to sense his discomfort. She glanced back over a slim shoulder at him. Wiping back strands of flowing green hair, she spoke to him with a worried set to her lips. “It’s only a little farther. The council chamber is just ahead.”

Kast nodded, little comforted, and continued after the small mer’ai girl. Around him, the eternal soft phosphorescent glow from the walls had begun to strain his eyes with its weak light. Under his bare feet, the living floor yielded with each step, adding to his sense of disorientation and unease. It took practice to walk on this spongy footing.

As he concentrated on his steps, he noted that even the air felt wrong. It was too moist. He had learned that the giant leviathans somehow harvested fresh air from the sea’s waters and used it to fill these chambers and corridors they shared with the mer’ai.

Kast shuddered and closed the distance with Sy-wen. He sought to distract himself from these distasteful surroundings. “Do you think your mother will agree to your plan?” he asked as he reached her side.

Sy-wen shrugged. “It does not matter. Mother is just one of five elders. We must convince them all.”

“But if we could sway her, the others might come in line. She may be our best chance of getting a foothold in the council on this matter.”

Sy-wen’s pace slowed. “I fear my mother may be the hardest to convince. After I almost got Conch killed…” Her voice trailed off.

“But you also saved your mother’s dragon’s life.”

“No. It was the blood of Ragnar’k that healed his deep wounds.” Sy-wen stopped and turned to Kast.

“Since I returned from A’loa Glen, my mother will hardly look me in the eye, let alone speak to me. Even though she and the council have agreed to help in the battle to come, she still bears a hatred for all things associated with the lan’dwellers—and now that includes me. She fears me lost to the world of rock and dirt. So do not place much trust on our blood relations to sway her opinion.”

“But she and the council did agree to join forces in the coming battle.”

“Yes, to honor our people’s ancient debts to the mages of A’loa Glen for aiding our escape from the Gul’gotha, not from any real feeling of loyalty or concern for the people of Alasea.” Sy-wen turned away and continued down the narrow corridor. “My mother bears no love for any lan’dwellers.” They continued the rest of the way in silence. Kast did not know how to end this melancholy in Sy-wen.

Ever since they had left the coast to search for the Bloodriders and their dragon-prowed warships, she had sunk into a deep somberness that could not be shaken. Kast could blame his own sour feelings on the surroundings; almost a moon had passed since he had last seen the sky, and he grew more and more anxious as each day wore on. But this was Sy-*wen’s home. To be here should make her happy.

As Kast followed the young woman, his eyes traced the curve of her bare back and the smooth lines under her snug sharkskin breeches. He had yet to grow accustomed to the concept that he and this mer’ai girl were bonded. His fingers wandered to his cheek and

brushed across the tattoo inked in magick and poisonous dyes that ran from neck to ear. He knew what lay there: a coiled dragon of black scale and red eyes, the seadragon Ragnar’k. Here was Sy-wen’s true bonded: the dragon that hid under his own skin.

Kast felt a slight warmth heat his skin as his fingers touched the tattoo. Emotions warred in his breast. A part of him raged against the curse that had been laid upon him—to be forever half dragon, half man. But another part only wished for Sy-wen to stare him in the eye and reach to his cheek, to once again feel the burn and ecstasy of her touch on his skin, to once again become her full bonded. But was this his own wish or the dream of the dragon Ragnar’k, striving

to be released again?

Shaking his head, Kast followed Sy-wen. Dragon or not, he was also a man. And though his thoughts were swirled, one thing was clear. Since first they had met, his blood had stirred with the sight of her. Not from ancient blood debts or whispers of magickal bonds; it was as if a hole in his heart, an emptiness that he had never known was even there, had been filled. He knew in some way she completed him—and there lay most of his resentment for his curse. Kast did not want to share her with the dragon that hid inside him. But this, in turn, led to even more questions, worries that kept him awake long into the night as he tried to sleep: Just who was Sy-wen truly bonded to? Kast or Ragnar’k? And if the dragon was not present, would she still even acknowledge Kast or welcome him?

Kast sensed that these same worries wrestled in Sy-wen, too. He caught her sidelong glances at him when she thought he wasn’t looking, her silver eyes appraising him. He also saw the confusion in her gaze. It was clear she mistrusted her feelings. How much of her desire for him was magick-born? And how much came from her true

heart?

Kast wished he had the answers. But ever since their trials on the island of A’loa Glen, Sy-wen had kept a wary distance from him, refusing to discuss it. She was not ready to explore those answers yet.

“We’re here,” Sy-wen said, a flicker of anxiety in her voice. She had stopped and now pointed to where the passage ended. “The

council chamber.“

Ahead, a mer’ai guard stood stiffly by a blockage in the corridor. Like Sy-wen, he wore only a pair of sharkskin breeches, his oiled and hairless chest almost aglow in the shine from the walls. His hair, a mane of light green with hues of copper, was loose and draped to his waist. In his hand, he bore a long spear of shark tooth.

As they approached, he spoke. “Mistress Sy-wen, welcome. Your mother and the others await you.” The guard did not even bother to glance Kast’s way. By now, Kast was used to such an affront: the mer’ai had little warmth for those who lived above the waves. The name Ian’dwellers was used as a vicious slur among these people.

Sy-wen, though, bristled at every barb thrown at him. Even now, her cheeks reddened and she stared the guard down, not acknowledging his greeting until he corrected this slight in courtesy.

Finally, through clenched teeth, the guard spoke. “And of course, Master Kast. The council awaits you both.”

Sy-wen nodded, unsmiling and cold. “Thank you, Bridlyn. If you would announce us to the elders— both of us…”

He bowed again and pressed the center of the flap of ruffled leathery tissue that blocked the way further.

Instead of swinging clear like a hinged door, the way ahead opened like a puckered mouth, the thick tissue spreading open from the center to bunch along the walls and floor.

Though a common sight, it still made Kast queasy. There was no mistaking this passage as an ordinary corridor.

Stepping through the “doorway,” the guard led the way into the chamber beyond. Bridlyn made their formal introductions, but Kast was too stunned by his view of the room to even hear him.

The chamber, though relatively small, appeared huge. This illusion was created by the wall to one side.

Here the leviathan’s skin was as clear as blown crystal. The deep blue of the ocean seemed to spread forever. Around and above, schools of yellowfin and waving strands of kelp swept past the slowly swimming behemoth. Below, the landscape of rock and coral was festooned with anemones like living jewels, some aglow with their own inner light. In the distance, Kast even spotted several mer’ai patrols atop their seadragons, mounts of every color: jade, alabaster, copper, gold.

The view trapped Kast’s breath. He did not even know his feet had stopped until Sy-wen touched his elbow and drew him down a set of bone stairs. Still he could only follow slowly, his eyes wide, drinking in the sights.

Once he reached the floor of the chamber, his initial shock faded to simple wonder. He found himself able to concentrate again on the conversations around him. Bridlyn was already heading back up the stairs; he wore a disdainful smirk at Kast’s reaction to the view. The guard’s scorn helped sober Kast further. Kast was done acting

the awestruck child.

Turning his back on the window, Kast focused on the remainder of the chamber. Before him, seated along a curved table of polished coral, were the five elders of the council. Sy-wen already stood before the table, facing the elders.

Kast recognized Sy-wen’s mother among them, a stately woman with her daughter’s features. But the warmth and spark in Sy-wen’s eyes had long gone to ash in the gaze of her mother. “It was the death of my father,” Sy-wen had explained earlier. “Something in my mother died then, too.” Even now, the presence of her daughter failed to bring any familial glow to the woman’s cold eyes.

Kast could sense Sy-wen’s hurt, the way her shoulders were not as straight and the way her hands, clamped behind her back, clutched with whitened knuckles. She refused to speak directly to her mother, instead speaking to the senior elder of the council, Master Edyll. “We come with a request,” she stated briskly to the old man. “So it would seem, child,” he answered her. Master Edyll was ancient for a mer’ai.

His hair had gone to full silver, but there was no mistaking the sharp intelligence in his old eyes or the gentle humor in the bend of his lips. “But what has you so stiff and formal? Have you already forgotten how I once bounced you on my knee?”

“Of course not, Uncle… um, I mean Master Edyll.” Kast stepped beside the now blushing girl and placed a hand on Sy-wen’s shoulder. He spoke into her awkwardness. “If I might speak… ?“

Some of the humor faded from the elder’s lips, but not all. “Please elaborate then, Master Kast.“

“Sy-wen and I request permission to leave the leviathan.”

“To what purpose?”

“The mer’ai legions have scoured the Shoals now for nearly a full moon. And as of yet, the Bloodriders escape us. Time runs short.”

“And do you know where your, people might be hiding out there?” Kast licked his dry lips. “No, sir. But the mer’ai move too slowly through these seas.” These words raised heated murmurs among the other elders. The mer’ai were not wont to hear their shortcomings. Only Sy-wen’s mother and Master Edyll remained quiet.

“Once again, Master Kast, what do you propose?” Edyll asked after the others calmed down.

“I propose that Sy-wen ignite the bond in me and release Rag-nar’k. The dragon’s ability to fly will greatly enhance the search and—”

Sy-wen’s mother spoke for the first time. “No. We already discussed this when we left the coast. It is not safe. One dragon is no match against the fleets of the Dre’rendi. Unless the Bloodriders have grown lax, they will easily spot a huge black flying past their sails. Even if an arrow does not take you down, you will alert them to our presence. If we hope to pin down the Dre’rendi and bend them to our wills—” Now it was Kast’s turn to bridle. “Bend them to your wills? Do you believe yourselves still our slave masters? The Dre’rendi cast their blood upon the seas so the mer’ai could escape to the Deep. It was our ships that held off the Gul’gothal forces so you might live. And do you come back now and think to take us again as slaves? We won our freedom in blood!”

His words had no effect on the cold features of the woman. “We know our histories. We also know that the Dre’rendi have one more debt to pay before they can be truly free.” She waved a hand toward her own cheek. “Do you still mark your sons with the tattoo of the seahawk?”

“Yes, we have not forgotten our old oaths.”

“But do you know why we asked this of you?”

Kast remembered when Sy-wen had bonded to him. During the spell, they had shared a glimpse of an ancient sea and a deal struck upon a dragon-prowed boat. His ancestor had agreed to mark each male when of proper age with the tattoo of a hunting seahawk drawn in the dyes of the blowfish and reef octopi.

Kast’s fingers brushed his own cheek and neck where once such a seahawk tattoo had rested. He remembered Sy-wen’s first touch, before the dragon had claimed him and changed his tattoo. It had been a brand upon his skin, binding him to her will, enslaving him for as long as they touched.

Kast glanced at the row of elders. “Why?” Kast asked harshly.

“What more do you want of my people? I’m sure they will freely come to fight the Gul’gotha. You do not need to enslave us again.” Master Edyll answered. “You misunderstand, Master Kast.”

“How so?”

The humor had returned to the elder’s lips. “Have you never suspected?” When Kast did not respond, Master Edyll continued. “In the old tongue, your very name declares your secret. Dre’rendi means dragonfol’tr Master Edyll waited for his words to sink in and for Kast to understand.

Kast just shook his head.

The ancient elder finally sighed. “The seahawk tattoo is not to enslave your people to us, Master Kast, but to bring them back home. Our two peoples must be united again.” Kast found it hard to breathe. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying, Master Kast, that you are mer’ai.”

PlNORR Dl’RA, THE ANCIENT SHAMAN OF THE DRAGONSPUR, STOOD BY THE

bowsprit and stared out over the empty seas. The morning breezes tousled his long white hair. He combed the loose strands back from his eyes. Once, when his hair was still black, he had worn it in a warrior’s braid, but that was long ago, before the rajor maga had come upon him. Claimed by the sea gods, his sword had been taken from him, and he had had to untie his braid and don the robes of a shaman. It had been a day of both shame and honor. His lips grew hard at the memory. May he never suffer such a day again.

Pinorr sighed and studied the endless waves. Since he had woken this morning, the sea had called to him, summoning him with a nagging ache in his skull. At this age, he was well familiar with the call. “What is it you want?” he mumbled to the empty water. “Can’t you leave an old man to his warm bed and dreams of the past?” But he knew better. The seas could never be refused.

Closing his eyes, he reached out with his senses. He pushed aside the salty scents from his nose and ignored the soft breezes that brushed his shaven cheeks. He searched much farther than his own skin.

Reaching over the horizon, he found it at last—a hint of lightning in the air, the distant wail of wind. He knew the warnings. A fierce storm brewed, rising from the south.

He frowned and opened his eyes. Though the day was clear and the sky blue, by nightfall, the seas would roar and the winds would scream. These southern storms were the worst, whipping the rain-laden clouds of the tropics to crash and tear at the boats of the Shoals. With the boom of thunder in his ears, Pinorr stared at where the ocean met the sky. What brewed over the horizon was one of the worst southern squalls—a true ship killer.

Grim news for the fleet.

Pinorr spat into the sea, adding his water and salt to the great ocean, thanking the gods below for their warning.

“Papa,” a small voice said at his knee, “they’re coming.”

Pinorr continued to stare out at the sea. The child who sat by his ankles was not his own, but the daughter of his eldest son, whose spirit had returned to the waves before the babe was even born. And with her mother dying in childbirth, the youngster had known no other guardian but himself. Pinorr had at first tried to correct Sheeshon’s perception that he was her “papa,” but the poor child was weak in the mind and had never understood. Eventually he had given up trying.

“Sheeshon, who’s coming?” he asked softly, coddling her delusions. He knelt beside the child. Sheeshon was almost ten winters of age, but she still had the wide-open eyes of an infant. When her mother had died in the midwife’s arms, the poor child had had to be cut free from her cooling belly. Unfortunately, the healers had not been quick enough. The child had already been touched by death, her mind damaged.

Pinorr wiped the drool from the girl’s chin with the sleeve of his robe and smoothed back the drapes of black hair. Her face, though innocent, could never be considered pretty. The lids of one eye sagged, and she only had partial use of her lips on that same side. It was as if half her face had melted and drooped. He touched her cheek. Who will watch after you when I am gone ? he wondered sadly.

Sheeshon continued to ignore his question and his touch. She concentrated on the piece of whalebone in her tiny fingers, working it this way and that. Her small carving tool continued to dig and scrape at the bone.

“I’m almost done, Papa.”

Pinorr smiled at her serious expression as she worked. Though she was addled in the mind, her fingers were skilled; they flew over the bone, feeling, digging, rubbing. With such skill, she might have been able to be apprentice to a master carver, but her dull wits made

such a dream impossible. He leaned closer. “What is it you’re carving, dear?” She waved him away. “No peeking, Papa! I must hurry. They’re coming!” She was so earnest, her brows wrinkling together, her eyes pinched as she worked.

“Come, dear, I must go see the keelchief. A storm rides down on us.“ He reached for her shoulder.

“No!” Sheeshon stabbed at him with her small knife, driving him away. “I must finish!”

Pinorr rubbed at the long scratch where the tool had caught the back of his hand. He frowned—not in anger, but surprise. Normally, Sheeshon was so pliable, so easy to direct here or there. This new strident behavior concerned him. He matched it with his own stern words, in a voice that made many keelchiefs cower. “Sheeshon, leave your carvings till after your meal. I’ve work to do. Do you wish to be left with Mader Geel?”

The child’s fingers paused. She finally raised sad eyes toward him, tears streaking her cheeks. “No, Papa.” He instantly felt like the lowest mud wader. He sighed and leaned closer to Sheeshon, enveloping her tiny hands in his large and bony fingers. Her hands were like embers in his palm. A sickness must be coming on the girl, her skin feverish. Was this the reason for her sudden temper? He regretted his words even more.

“I’m sorry, Sheeshon,” he said. “You are my heart.” He pulled the damaged child to his chest. He kissed her on the top of the head. She mumbled something softly to his chest. Leaning away, he asked, “What was that, my dear?”

“They’re almost here,” she said, not meeting his eye. Her fingers clutched the figure she had been carving, but she no longer worked

at it.

“May I see?” he asked softly, indicating the carving.

She hesitated, then slowly released her grip on the piece of whalebone. “I wasn’t done,” she said in a half pout. “I can’t see them clearly until I’m done.”

“That’s all right. You’ll have time after the high sun meal.” He took the offered chunk of carved bone and tilted back on his heels, raising the figurine to the sun.

He blinked at her work, stunned. Her skill was breathtaking— and she considered this unfinished. The detail work, the smooth

curves, even the spread of fragile whalebone into thin wings—all was in such perfect symmetry. He rotated the sculpture in the sunlight. This could be a master’s work.

“I wanted to paint the dragon black, Papa. It’s supposed to be black!” She slammed her tiny fist on the deck planks. The child’s frustration tremored her voice. “And her hair is supposed to be seaweed green!”

“Whose hair?” Then he tilted the sculpture and realized that a small figure rode the back of this handsomely rendered dragon. He had overlooked the tiny rider; she was dwarfed by the huge dragon. “Who is this?” he asked the child.

Sheeshon wore a crooked frown, one side of her lips slack. “Papa, it’s who’s coming. Aren’t you listening?”

He smiled at her imagination. “Ah, so these two are flying here to see you?” He handed back the figurine.

“Where are they coming from ?”

Clutching the figurine to her chest, Sheeshon glanced around the empty deck to make sure no one was eavesdropping. Once satisfied that they were alone, she turned wide eyes toward him. “From under the waves.”

“Ah, so it’s a seadragon then, like from the stories of the mer’ai.”

“But this one flies through the skies, too.” She lifted the chunk of scrimshaw and dove and glided it about the air.

“I see,” he humored her. “Are they going to take you up with them on fine adventures?” She stopped flying her dragon and turned to stare him in the eye. Her look was shocked. “Oh, no, Papa, they’re gonna kill us.” She then went back to flying her dragon about the air.

He sat back farther on his heels, watching his son’s poor child. Pinorr rubbed his palms together as if to remove the clinging dust of whalebone from his skin. Mostly, though, he wanted to warm the chill that had suddenly set in with the girl’s words.

Just the ramblings of an addled mind, he told himself as he stood up. But in his ears, he still heard the distant boom of a storm from over the horizon. He stared again at the peaceful seas while lightning and thunder echoed in his skull. He was now certain.

Whether upon the winds of a squall or the wings of a dragon, doom raced toward them all.

Sy-wen stared at Kast’s stunned expression, sharing his shock. How could Kast be mer’ai? The large man stepped away from the coral table as if to escape the elder’s words. Blood drained from Kast’s face, making the tattoo of Ragnar’k stand out like a black blaze on his neck and cheek.

“What is this nonsense you speak?” Kast muttered. Sy-wen turned to face the council. Surely Master Edyll was making some joke at the poor man’s expense. Kast shared none of the aspects of her people—no webbed fingers, no inner eyelid. Even his dark complexion was so unlike the pale and luminescent features of

the mer’ai.

It was these very differences that had first attracted Sy-wen to the brooding man. Even now, the sight of him stirred her heart. His wind-hardened features, ruddy skin, and hair as dark as midnight waters were so unlike her own people. He was like a granite island in a tepid sea.

Master Edyll sat silently, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he recognized her confusion. Sy-wen’s mother remained perched like a stone statue beside him. The other council members muttered amongst themselves, clearly upset with their senior member’s revelation.

Mistress Rupeli, a small brash woman who painted her cheeks in florid hues, twisted in her seat to face down Master Edyll. “You speak our secrets too freely,” she warned the old man. “You may be the head of the council, but that does not give you the right to reveal mer’ai secrets to… to this… this outsider.”

“He is not an outsider,” Master Edyll said. “He is a man of the sea, as are all Dre’rendi. And more than that, though you may wish to believe otherwise, he is also mer’ai.” Sy-wen could keep silent no longer. “But Kast is nothing like us. Just look at him! How could you name him mer’ai?” Sy-wen felt the Bloodrider’s eyes swing in her direction. His gaze burned her cheeks. She had not meant her words to sound so dismissive of Kast, as if the man were somehow unworthy to be classified as a mer’ai.

Glancing a quick apology his way, Sy-wen noticed the hurt in his eyes. Her blurted words had wounded him deeply. She should have known better. In the days prior, she had sensed the feelings the man had for her—emotions she had dared not acknowledge, not until she

knew her own true heart. Kast had waited these many days for any word from her, some sign that she shared his feelings. But for his patience and kindness, she now only rewarded him with her disdain.

Kast turned stiffly back to the council. “Sy-wen is correct.” He raised his hands and splayed his fingers, revealing the lack of webbing. “None of my people are marked with the signs of the mer’ai. You are deluded.”

Master Edyll’s face grew grim. “If you are so sure of mer’ai history, Bloodrider, then tell me yours. Where did the Dre’rendi come from? What land gave birth to your clans?” Sy-wen turned to Kast, awaiting his answer. His feet shifted under him. After a long silence, he answered.

“We have no homeland. It is said we were birthed from the seas themselves. But the land grew jealous at our birth and cursed us, transforming us into ordinary men so that we might never return to the sea. Exiled from our mother’s bosom, we forever ride the waves, seeking a way back home.” As Kast spoke, Master Edyll’s smile returned.

“It is just a hearthside story,” Kast stated, glowering at the senior elder. “A myth. But in your eyes, I can see what you’re thinking. You believe the story of our ocean birth to be some sign that our two people share a common heritage. Well, I say again: You are deluded! We share nothing with you, except a history of slavery.”

“Even there you are wrong,” Master Edyll said.

“Then speak plainly, old man,” Kast said, a worried glint in his eye.

Master Edyll turned to Sy-wen instead. “I’m sorry, my dear. With the exception of a few scholars and the council itself, what you are about to hear has been kept hidden from our people. I must ask you to keep this secret.”

Sy-wen glanced at her mother, but again the woman had grown distant, not meeting her eye. Swallowing hard, Sy-wen turned back to Master Edyll and nodded. “Wh-what secret has been kept from us?”

“The true history of our people,” he stated plainly.

Sy-wen’s brow wrinkled. “But I know our histories.”

“You know what we taught you, not the truth. Shame can make one do foolish things, even hide the truth from one’s self.” He glanced significantly toward the other elders.

“I don’t understand.”

“First, I ask that you listen with an open heart,” Master Edyll said.

He eyed the large Bloodrider beside her. “You too, Master Kast. Then judge if I am truly deluded.” Kast simply nodded, his features gone hard, arms crossed. Master Edyll settled back in his seat. “Long ago, before the lands of Alasea were even settled by man, the mer’ai were fisherfolk. We lived on islands far out in the Great Ocean.”

Sy-wen interrupted. “You mean we lived in the seas near these islands.“

“No, my dear, on the islands. We were once lan’dwellers.” A shock passed through Sy-wen. Even though she had spent time among the men and women of the coasts and had learned of their nobility and courage, a shred of old prejudices still sickened her blood at such an idea. She raised and displayed her webbed fingers, as if to disprove the elder’s words. “How could we have ever been lan’dwellers?“

“We were,” Master Edyll stated plainly.

“Or so the ancient texts claim,” the youngest of the elders added, speaking for the first time. Master Talon wore his pale green hair tied with bits of polished coral and mother-of-pearl. As he spoke, he fingered a strand of beaded and braided hair that draped over his shoulder. “Not a// of us accept these old tales as our true histories.”

Mistress Rupeli nodded her support. “Some of us know these old tales to be fabrications. I, for one, don’t accept your assumptions,

Master Edyll.“

“Assumptions? The scholars, one and all, agree with the validity of the written histories,“ Master Edyll countered.

“Scholars can be wrong,” Talon said, throwing back his thin braid.

“And even if the texts were written at the time of our origin,” Mistress Rupeli continued, “that does not mean what was scribed in ink

was true. I say we—“

“Enough!” declared the final member of the council, the somber-eyed Master Heron. He slammed his fist on the table for emphasis. “The past is past,” he stated sourly, his bald pate shining in the wall’s glow. “We waste our time on this foolishness. What does our past matter? We should address the current situation.

The Gul’gotha mass at A’loa Glen, and the Dark Lord’s minions scour the seas. It is only so long until they discover us and attempt to subjugate us, as they did Alasea. That is the issue we should be addressing.” Sy-wen watched Master Edyll during this outburst. He just sat quietly, ringers folded on his lap. Finally, he spoke again once the others were quiet again. “The man has a right to know,” he stated softly. He waved a couple of fingers at Kast. “You cannot deny the truth that stands before you.” The elders’ eyes all swung toward the Bloodrider.

“What?” Kast asked, irritation and growing impatience clear in his tight lips and squinted eyes.

They ignored him. Sy-wen’s mother turned to the senior elder. “Go on, Edyll. Finish the foul tale and be done with it. I, for one, have little stomach to dwell on this matter any further.” Master Edyll bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment and returned to Sy-wen and Kast. “As I was saying, the islands were once our home, but it was not idyllic. On the contrary, the harsh seas of the distant ocean hardened our people. We started as a savage nation, attacking neighboring islands and ruling the conquered tribes like tyrants. We sacrificed children to our gods and drank from the skulls of our defeated.

Our ancestors’ hearts were as cold as the ice floes of the north.”

“That cannot be,” Sy-wen moaned. She had never heard these histories before. As she searched the elders’ faces, she saw a spark of sympathy for her distress enter her mother’s eyes. The other council members kept their heads bowed, a mix of shame and anger clear in all their postures.

“One winter, a man appeared among our people. Some say he was born from one of our conquered tribes; some say he was the bastard son of our king. He declared our ways wrong and spoke words of peace. The downtrodden flocked to him, attracted by his words of kindness and compassion. He traveled among our many islands, and his flock grew larger and more vocal. The mer’ai ruler at that time, King Raff, sent his warriors out to slaughter these followers and bring back the head of this man.”

“Who was he?” Sy-wen asked.

Master Edyll sipped from a cup of kelp tea. “He bore several names: Spiritwalker, Dragonkin, Peacespeaker. But his true name was lost in history.”

“Further proof that the tales were mere myth,” Master Talon scoffed.

Sy-wen did not want a new argument to ensue. “So what happened to this man?” she asked.

Master Edyll’s gaze drifted away, into the past. “It was a long hunt. Entire islands were wiped out. It was said that the seas remained bloody for an entire moon. Finally, to end the massacres, the man came forward on his own, appearing in the throne room at the height of the slaughter. ‘Let this end now,’ he declared, and gave himself over to King Raff’s guards. They tortured the man for seven days and nights. They blinded him with flaming irons, they crushed his hands and feet, and finally they cut his manhood from him.” Sy-wen cringed from these words. How could this horrible tale be true? How could this be her people’s heritage?

Master Edyll continued in the same tone of voice. “They lashed his bloody and broken body, still alive, onto a raft and sent him out to the sharks. He sang as his body floated away—not a song of vengeance and hate, but one of forgiveness. Those of his flock who still lived, and many who heard his song for the first time, followed his raft into the seas. Even the king’s own daughter entered the waves after this man. Some say she had been his lover; some say she was simply touched by his song. Either way, one thing was clear—she bore magick in her voice. As she entered the waters, she added her song to his, and from the seas, the mighty dragons arose, answering her calls. They claimed these exiles and took them safely from the islands.” Master Edyll paused and reached for his cup of tea with trembling fingers. The old man clearly grew tired with the telling of

this tale.

“And so the mer’ai were born,” Kast finished for him, a sour set to his lips. “Seadragon and mer’ai united. How noble!”

“No,” Master Edyll said, shaking his head slowly. “You don’t listen closely enough. The tale is not yet done.” Master Edyll let his words sink in before continuing. “After the rescue by the dragons, King Raff sent ships out to hunt his escaping people. He meant to slaughter them all, dragons included. But again, the broken man would not let him. Atop a great white dragon, he met King Raffs armada and asked for the bloodshed to stop. ‘Take my life in exchange for your people,’ he had yelled across the waves, his battered body barely able to stay seated atop his mount. King Raff laughed at the blind man and ordered the warriors’ spears and harpoons loosed.

Dragon and man were pierced with a hundred blades. Dying, they sank under the waves, their blood mixing in the saltwater.“

Master Edyll’s voice grew grim. “But with the savage slaughter of their leader, the man’s flock grew wild.

Aided by the dragons, they attacked King Raff’s armada and washed the decks with the blood of the slain, sparing no one. King Raff’s head was spiked atop the prow of the lead ship, put there by his own daughter, and the fleet returned to their home islands. It is said not a single islander escaped their wrath. These wild warriors were cursed by the islanders as dragonfolk—or in the old tongue, Dre’rendi.”

“My people,” Kast said, horror in his voice. “Yes. Led by your first leader.” Kast’s eyes grew wide. “The warrior queen Raffel.” Sy-wen saw the look of recognition in the large man.

“Raff-^/,” Master Edyll elaborated. “Daughter of Raff. One and the same.” Into the stunned silence, Sy-wen spoke. “But how does this lead to our people’s origin?” Master Edyll sighed. “As the seas ran red with the blood of the slain, we were already being born. The leader who preached of peace, he who had sunk under the weight of a hundred spears, did not die with his great white. For three days, under the waves, the blood of dragon and man mixed with the salt of the sea.

The healing properties inherent in the dragon’s blood began to transform in the swirl of mixed bloods.

Magick began to blur the line between man and dragon. The man became a little like the dragon, the dragon a little like the man. The two were forever fused and bonded.”

“He became the first true mer’ai,” Sy-wen said with a tinge of wonder in her voice.

Master Edyll nodded. “Once fully recovered, the man rose from the seas atop his white dragon. His dark hair had gone white to match the dragon’s scale; his fingers and toes had become webbed like the great beast’s. Dragon and man could now speak to one another as kin. But with all the changes, one aspect of the man remained untouched by the magick—his heart. When he saw the slaughter done in his name, he cried to the cruel skies above and cast his gaze forever from the world of sunlight and rock. But before he fled, he went to his followers on their bloody ships and commanded them to end their murderous ways. The Dre’rendi bowed before his

miracle and begged to join him. ‘Not until the blood is washed from your hands,’ he told them. ‘Serve the children of the dragon to come. Protect them well, and one day I will call you back home!’ With those words, the man left, taking the seadragons with him.“

Kast cleared his throat. “But he was only one man. How could he be the father of your sea-dwelling clans?”

“Our forefather was more than a man. He was part dragon now.” Master Edyll stared Kast in the eye.

“And his white dragon was a female. From their union, the mer’ai clans were born.” Now it was Sy-wen’s turn to struggle to speak, her voice grown incredulous. “You mean we descend from the dragons themselves? We were once actual mates with the great beasts?”

“Yes, long ago. Though we can no longer conceive with dragons, we still share a blood bond with the great creatures that harkens back to such a time. Over the passing winters, other men and women, people from many lands, added their blood to our lines, expanding our clans. But then we fled with the coming of the GuP-gotha, exiling ourselves forever from the rock and coast.” As he finished, Master Edyll glanced significantly at Sy-wen’s mother.

To Sy-wen’s surprise, her mother swung away from the elder’s gaze, almost in shame, but not before Sy-wen noted the flicker of pain and sorrow in her mother’s eyes. Something unspoken had passed between them. Another secret.

Kast scowled. “You expect me to believe all this?” Master Edyll turned back to the Bloodrider. “Believe what you will, but one thing is certain. Our two fates are tied—mer’ai and Dre’rendi.“

“And you have something to prove the truth of your words?” Before the old man could answer, Talon interrupted. “Just dusty relics from the past. He puts too much potency in ancient scraps.” Master Edyll turned to the young elder. Sy-wen had never seen the old man’s eyes flash so fiercely. “You malign the past at your own risk, young Talon. You have lived too few winters to appreciate how quickly the past can bite you from behind if you stare only toward

the future.“

Talon grumbled but could not meet Master Edyll’s furious gaze. Kast clearly grew tired of this bickering.

“What is this proof,

then?“

Turning to face the Bloodrider, Master Edyll’s brows rose slightly.

He nodded toward Kast. “Why, you yourself are my proof, Master Kast.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is time you learned who you truly are.” The old man waved a hand, and a fold of wall pulled away to reveal an ancient painting hanging behind the council table. It was of a white-haired man seated atop a great dragon whose scale was the color of pearl.

“Dragonkin,” Master Edyll named the figure. “Our forefather.” Sy-wen gasped, unable to restrain her outburst. She took a step closer to the painting. Even with the man’s strange hair, Sy-wen could not mistake the familiar features. The man was Kast’s twin— even down to the dragon tattoo dyed on the skin of the man’s throat.

Master Edyll spoke into their shock. “You are our forefather reborn! Dragon and man united once again by magick.”

“It cannot be,” Kast mumbled, his eyes fixed on the painting.

As THE SUN CRESTED HIGH IN THE BLUE SKY, PlNORR STOOD BEHIND THE

keelchief of the Dragonspur . The old shaman waited patiently for the ship’s chieftain to finish whipping one of the boat’s crewmen. The punished man’s cries competed with the crack of the rawhide. Ten lashes was the common punishment for being found asleep on a watch.

The remainder of the crew went about the decks as if the screams of pain were nothing more than the cries of angry gulls. On a ship run by a hard keelchief, Pinorr had learned that such a chorus was routine.

Still, as Pinorr watched Ulster soak the leathers of his whip in seawater, he noted the glint of hunger and pleasure in the young keelchief’s eyes. Not all chiefs soaked their leathers in salt to heighten the burn of their whip’s touch.

On this ship, the current keelchief always did.

Ulster caught Pinorr’s gaze as he soaked the whip for the final lash. “ ‘Add salt to a wound to help them remember,’ ” the keelchief said, quoting the old codes of the Dre’rendi, as if to justify the added harshness to his punishment. But the hard grin on the man’s lips belied this excuse—Ulster truly enjoyed the pain he caused.

Pinorr simply nodded at the keelchief’s statement. He let no sign of his true feeling show on his face. It was not his place to question a chief’s punishment. Besides, Ulster was new to his chiefdom. After serving on many ships under countless keelchiefs, Pinorr had known many such young chiefs who had tried to prove their toughness and strength by brutalizing their crew, striving to earn respect through fear. Only the passing of many winters would teach such young men that terror never won a crew’s respect; only honor and a chief’s firm compassion earned a ship’s loyalty.

Still, Pinorr suspected it was more than a lack of experience that spurred Ulster’s cruelty. With the whip, the man exposed his true heart. Even now, Pinorr noted how Ulster had to shift himself in his breeches to hide how pleasurable he found these punishments.

As the keelchief turned away to deliver his last blow, the scowl that Pinorr had kept hidden rose to the surface for a brief flash, then retreated again under his placid expression. He hated this young chief—not just for his easy cruelty, but for everything about him. He hated Ulster’s continually smug expression and his habit of weaving his warrior’s braid in a pattern normally reseryed for the survivors of mighty battles.

Even Ulster’s chiefdom had not been earned through any triumphs of his own, but from the respect that the Dre’rendi had had for his dead father. Ulster’s sire had been the fleet’s high keel for almost two decades and had led the fleets to their current dominance in the Shoals. During this time of glory, Pinorr had been the high keel’s shaman aboard the mighty Dragonsheart . But more than chief, Pinorr had considered Ulster’s father a close friend. They had weathered triumphs and tragedies together: the death of Pinorr’s dear wife, the loss of the high keel’s first son to the madness of the sea, the victory of the fleet over the Bloody Wights. After all this shared blood, Pinorr could refuse his friend nothing.

On the man’s deathbed, with an arrow still sprouting like a weed from his bloody chest, the high keel had begged only two requests of his people. First, before he died, he wanted to see his son receive the dragon’s tooth brand of chiefdom. And second, he wanted Pinorr to serve his son as shaman. Nobody could dishonor the man by refusing. Before the sun had set that day, Ulster received the chiefdom of the Dragonspur , and Pinorr followed him to this smaller ship.

A scream of agony broke through Pinorr’s reverie. He watched the whipped crewman collapse in his shackles to the deck. Bloody stripes scarred his back. The cuts were deep. Pinorr spotted the white of bone through one of the strokes. Pinorr’s face grew ashen. There was no excuse for such force. A lashing was meant to discourage and punish, not kill.

Ulster crossed to the prone man, carrying the bucket of seawater in which he had soaked his whip. As the chief drew near, the man moaned and tried to curl into a ball, as if expecting another blow. The pain had long driven the count of lashes from his poor mind. He was now just an animal in agony. Ulster stood over the pathetic man and slowly poured the salty waters over the man’s wounded back. His screams began anew, stretching across the deck, flowing over the sea.

Pinorr tried not to cringe. He kept his features bland as Ulster finally dropped the bucket, now empty, and turned to Pinorr. The old shaman saw the look of satisfaction in the young man’s eyes.

Clenching fists behind his back, Pinorr kept silent. How could this petty creature ever have been spat from the loins of such a fine man as the high keel?

Wiping his damp hands, Ulster stepped beside Pinorr. “Now what news have you for me?” Pinorr fought to keep his tone even and respectful. “I sense a storm coming from the south. A large one.” Ulster glanced at the clear skies and calm winds.

The doubt in the keelchief’s eyes almost drove Pinorr to throttle the man. No one disrespected the word of a shaman, especially not when that shaman was Pinorr di’Ra. All knew his rajor maga , his sea senses, were the most regarded of any shaman’s. The sea gods had richly blessed Pinorr, and for this scrap of a man to doubt not only the shaman, but also the gods, was a dishonor that could only be cut away with the edge of a sword. Still, Pinorr kept silent. Ulster was the son of his friend, and he would honor the dead man’s memory by serving this fool as best he could manage.

“So what should we do?” Ulster asked, facing Pinorr again.

“The storm that comes will strike with the night. We must flag warnings to the other ships of the fleet. We must seek—”

Ulster waved Pinorr’s words away in impatience. “Of course, of course. I’ll have them signaled before the sun sets. What else do you have to report? My meal awaits.” Pinorr bowed his head slightly. “I apologize for not making myself clear from the start, Keelchief Ulster.

What rides down upon us

is no ordinary storm that requires only the reefing of sails, the laying of storm lines, and the battening of hatches. This squall hails from the deep south . A ship killer.“ Again doubt shone in the man’s eyes. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Pinorr stated coldly, letting a bit of anger slip into his voice, “that the fleet needs to be alerted now. To protect the ships, we must seek a sheltered harbor before the squall strikes.” Ulster shook his head, stiffening slightly at Pinorr’s harsh tones. “The Dre’rendi don’t run from storms like so many thick-bellied merchant ships. Our keels will ride any squall.” Pinorr gave up any pretense of obeisance to this fool. “You’re wrong, Ulster. You’re too young to have seen the worst that can blow out of the south. I’ve seen storms that split boats in half, waves so high that boats topple end over end down their roaring troughs, skies so dense with lightning that night becomes day from their glow. What rides toward us now is worse than anything I’ve sensed before.” Pinorr leaned closer to Ulster. “Send my warnings or die with the setting sun. It is your choice, Keelchief.” He spat the honorific so it sounded more a curse than a respected title.

Ulster’s face had grown red with Pinorr’s spouting anger. The tattoo of a diving seahawk blazed on his jaw. “You overstep your station, Shaman. Don’t rely on your old friendship with my dead father to keep you from my whips.”

Pinorr did not back down, not from this mud crawler. “Send my warnings, Ulster, or I’ll rip the blessing of the gods from this ship’s keel and no shaman will ever walk these cursed decks again. See then what crew remain aboard your ship!”

The blood drained from Ulster’s cheeks. “You dare threaten me!”

“You are a keelchief here, Ulster, not a god . The order of shamans will not tolerate any disrespect, not even from the high keel himself. By ignoring my vision, you insult the sea gods who have sent us this warning. That I will not tolerate! I will not let a fool like you bring the wrath of the gods down upon the Dre’rendi.”

By now, other crewmen had gathered nearby, feigning work: coiling rope, dry scrubbing the deck, mending nets. They sensed the storm brewing here and had come to see the play of thunder.

Ulster was well aware of the others’ gazes. His back grew straight and his shoulders square. “I will not dishonor the gods,” he said

stiffly. “But that does not mean I have to suffer your tongue either, Shaman. You know the law: ‘Shaman will guide, but keelchief will lead: ”

“Then heed my guidance , Keelchief Ulster. Send the warning, and lead our fleet to a safe harbor—before it’s too late.”

Shaman and keelchief stood now only a handspan apart, neither ready to back down. Pinorr smelled a hint of spryweed on the other’s breath. So Ulster partook of the potent herb that heightened a man’s pleasure while bedding a woman. Here was further proof of the man’s foolish nature. Not only did the weed dull one’s wit and judgment, but with continued use, the lust for spryweed could eventually outgrow even the desire for the bed of a woman. Only a fool would dabble with such a foul herb.

Suddenly a bell clanged from deep within the ship, announcing the midday meal. Ulster’s ear bent to its clangor. “I will flag the other boats with your warning,” he conceded finally, his voice cold with the promise of revenge, “but only after I sample the cook’s grilled potfish.” Pinorr knew the delay was Ulster’s attempt to soothe his wounded pride, some way to snub Pinorr’s nose without directly disregarding a shaman’s vision. Pinorr allowed Ulster to have his little show. Why should he care as long as the keelchief spread the warning? He would not put his own honor above the safety of the fleet.

Bowing his head, Pinorr took a step back. “So be it,” he said, the fire gone from his voice and manner. “

‘May the gods grant you stiff winds.’ ”

Ulster nodded his approval and turned away, flipping his warrior’s braid for all to note his victory.

Pinorr shook his head as the man left. The dolt had missed the clear insult in Pinorr’s final words. The quoted passage—“May the gods grant you stiff winds”—came from an ancient shaman prayer, a request to the gods to help a man who could no longer keep hard for a woman.

With tight lips, Pinorr turned away. For now, he let his anger fade from his blood and spent a long time staring across the expanse of blue sky.

As he studied the far horizon, Pinorr again sensed the brewing storm clouds, but closer now. He scented rain, lightning, and a whisper of something else, something that he could not name. He raised his fingers to the seahawk tattoo on his neck. Whatever the source of the foreign smell, even just a whisper of its scent made the dyes of his

tattoo burn like a torch.

As he traced the wings of the hawk with a finger, Pinorr remembered little Sheeshon’s seadragon carving and the small rider who rode the whalebone. “They’re coming,” she had claimed.

But who? Were her fancies of dragons more than just the dreams of an addled mind? Had the child inherited the gift of the rajor maga ? Was there some truth to her words?

Suddenly an urgent voice arose behind him, coarse and rasping. “Shaman Pinorr, you must come.” Pinorr snapped from his reverie, surprised to find the sun lower in the sky. How long had be been standing in this trance? Turning from the sea, Pinorr found the crooked form of Mader Geel standing behind him.

Her silver hair was tied in a severe braid, marking her prior years as a mistress of the sword. “What is it?” he asked with

irritation.

“It is Sheeshon,” the old woman hissed, then beckoned him to follow.

“What happened?”

“Keelchiet Ulster tired of her mumbling in the kitchens and—” Pinorr’s heart clenched in his chest. “What did he do ?” Mader Geel continued to urge him across the deck. “The child’s unharmed. The keelchief only threw her little carving against the wall and smashed it to bits. But the child… She screamed, flying into a frothing rage, and attacked the keelchief. Even cut his hand deep with her little knife. I bustled her out of there before any worse could arise, but I can’t calm her. And I fear Ulster’s response.” Pinorr was now racing ahead of the bent-backed woman, toward his cabins, his vision narrowed with hate.

Ulster had finally gone too far. Sheeshon was the last of Pinorr’s family, and he would not see her harmed by the keelchief’s petty vindictiveness. Pinorr ripped open the hatch to the lower deck. If Ulster wanted this war, so be it! As he dashed below, he made a promise to all the gods of the sea: Before the sun rose again, either he or Ulster would be dead .

Kast pushed away the platter of steamed clams. He had no ap-petite. His mind still reeled from all he had heard this morning. Across from him, Sy-wen rolled some type of boiled sea tuber across her plate, clearly just as uninterested in her own meal. They eyed each other over their respective plates. Neither was ready to speak.

After the meeting with the elders and the unveiling of the ancient painting, the council had disbanded for a midday repast before any further debate was allowed. Sy-wen and Kast had been bustled off by the guard, Bridlyn, to this private dining room.

The chamber was comfortably outfitted with a small table of polished coral and chairs cushioned with pillows of soft sea moss, while the walls were adorned with woven reed tapestries depicting various sea views. As handsomely as the chamber was appointed, it still felt cramped to Kast. It seemed more a cell than a room, especially after the morning spent in the council chamber, with its expansive views of the wide ocean. And it did not help that Bridlyn made it clear he would stay posted at the door.

Kast rubbed the stubble on his chin. He needed to break the growing silence before it drowned them both.

Nodding toward the tapestry-covered wall, he asked a question that had nagged at him since arriving. “So just how did the mer’ai ever train these leviathans to house your clans?” Sy-wen shrugged. “The dragons can communicate with the great beasts. Leviathans supply the seadragons with sources of fresh air, and in turn, the dragons help protect and feed the larger creatures.

The mer’ai were just incorporated into this mutual relationship. The Leviathans house us, and as payment, we help keep them healthy and clean.“ A small smile played on Sy-wen’s lips. ”But then again, who knows for sure? For all I know, maybe we mer’ai were mates with these beasts, too. Who knows what your great grandfather fancied back then?“

Kast blushed at Sy-wen’s frank talk. “The Dragonkin was not my ancestor,“ he insisted.

“Maybe not directly, but still, the resemblance…”

“As Master Talon said, it’s probably just a coincidence. Most Dre’rendi have similar features.”

“Even the dragon tattoo?”

Kast had no way to dismiss this last statement. The males of his people were always marked with a seahaw’t tattoo, not a dragon . Under A’loa Glen, Kast’s hawk tattoo had been transformed by the magick of Ragnar’k into a coiled black dragon, a twin to the design found on the painting of the Dragonkin. It made no sense.

Sy-wen seemed to sense his discomfort on this topic and switched to new matters—or old matters, rather: to the very reason they had sought the council this morning. “Whatever history is true, maybe we should put aside such talk for now and consider again our idea about leaving here to search for your people. We’re due to rendezvous with the others in only six days. Even if we left now, it would still take two days just to return to the point in the Doldrums where we were expected to meet. With time against us, I don’t see any way of accomplishing our task successfully unless we commit to searching on our own.” She glanced to the sealed door. “With or without the council’s approval.”

“You would defy your elders? Even go against your mother’s

wishes?“

Sy-wen stared at Kast. “How do you think I met you? Do you think I had permission to travel to the islands with Conch, or to pursue the ships that caught him? Besides, over time, my mother and I have developed an arrangement: She gives me orders, and I follow

only those I agree with.“

“I see.” Kast had a hard time not matching the ghost of a smile that wavered about the mer’ai girl’s lips.

Her silver eyes seemed to light up with mischief. “So you’re saying, one way or another, we make a run for the surface.”

Her eyebrows rose. “And why not? Have you not grown tired of breathing the stale air of the leviathan?”

“I guess I could use a bit of fresh air,” he conceded, his smile growing wider. He would love to feel the draw of a breeze through his hair, the touch of ocean spray upon his face. He had been cramped for too long within the belly of this seabeast. He straightened in his seat. “When you’re ready, I’ll be more than happy to fly away from here.”

Sy-wen matched his expression, showing true joy at the thought of escape. “I imagine Ragnar’k will be glad to stretch his wings, too.”

At the mention of the dragon’s name, Kast’s growing smile froze. He had forgotten that it was not he who would escape with Sy-wen, but Ragnar’k. Even if the two of them fled the belly of the leviathan, Kast would still be trapped—this time under the scales of a monstrous black dragon.

Sy-wen seemed to recognize his change of mood. She reached a hand to him and touched his arm. He could not meet her eye.

“I am not like my ancient ancestor,” she said softly to him.

“What do you mean?” he grumbled.

“I mean that I don’t share my forefather’s passion for dragons.” She squeezed his wrist. “When I choose a husband, he won’t be covered in scales and bear wings.”

Kast glanced up to Sy-wen. “But you’re bonded to Ragnar’k?”

“So? Bonded to a dragon does not mean the beast consumes your whole heart. In truth, I have stronger feelings for my mother’s dragon, Conch, than for Ragnar’k. In many ways, the dragon inside you frightens me. There is a wildness in him that can never be tamed, touched, nor drawn near to—not even by me.”

“But Ragnar’k will always be a part of me, even his wildness.” She smiled sadly at his words. “I have studied you, Bloodrider. You may bear a dragon inside you, but your heart is your own. That I know.”

“How?” he asked, his voice cracking.

She reached and touched his cheek, the one without the dragon emblazoned on it. “I know your heart, Bloodrider.”

Kast wished he could say the same of her. Was Sy-wen just consoling him, or was there more meaning behind her words? He dared to lean into her touch, just a little, letting her palm warm his skin.

But she pulled away as murmuring voices arose from beyond the room’s door.

The portal puckered open, and Master Edyll stepped through the entry. “I hope I’m not disturbing your meal,” he said and waved

Bridlyn away.

“N-no, Uncle,” Sy-wen stuttered.

Kast glanced at her, but again he could not read the woman. Was that relief or embarrassment that rattled her?

Master Edyll signaled the door closed, then crossed to join them. Kast stood and pulled another chair to the table, only sitting after the old elder had settled into his own seat.

“Thank you, Master Kast,” he said, patting the Bloodrider’s wrist as Kast resumed his place. Master Edyll eyed them both silently for a moment, then spoke. “So what’s this about you two leaving?” Kast glanced nervously at Sy-wen, whose expression remained placid. “What do you mean, Uncle?” Sy-wen asked.

“I thought we’d discuss in private the reason the two of you approached the council this morning.” Kast slowly let out his breath. He had been sure the elder had been privy to their secret plans. “Should we not broach this before

the full council?“

Master Edyll scrunched up his old features and shook his head sourly. “They’ll still be bickering for the next three days about me spouting mer’ai secrets. For a group so adamant that my words were false, they get quite heated when the subject is spoken aloud.”

“But why were these histories kept hidden anyway?” Sy-wen asked. Master Edyll sighed. “It is what the Dragonkin wanted. It was our forefather’s first dictate. After fleeing under the sea and starting the mer’ai clans, he immediately banned any ties with surface dwellers. He thought to create a peaceful, idyllic society under the waves and wanted his people to believe the seas had always been their home.” Master Edyll finished with a derisive snort. “So what went wrong?” Kast asked.

“Ah, so you happened to notice that his grand plans failed?” he said with a chortle, but then grew more pensive. Kast saw the true pain in the elder’s eyes. “In some ways, our forefather was a fool.” Sy-wen gasped a bit at such open disparagement of their ancestor.

Master Edyll sat quietly for a moment, then continued. “He had thought to escape our heritage by fleeing under the sea. But it is never that easy. He just ended up dragging our violent heritage along behind him. Whether he hid the fact or not, our blood still rose from a people with a fiery temperament, and future generations were cursed with this same inner fire, a mixture of willfulness and an intense suspicion of others. To make matters worse, the merging of dragon blood in our bloodlines only added logs to this blaze, inflaming a fierce pride in our ancestors’ veins. We grew to consider ourselves superior to the foul lan’dwellers. Why else should we hide from them? We came to think ourselves rulers of the sea.“

Master Edyll shook his head and gave a slight shudder. “Even among our own people, before we fled the coasts, we used to cast out those who broke our rules. It was a cruel act. Away from the dragons, the sea magic would wear off those poor souls, and they would walk again like ordinary men, their mer’ai features fading away forever, damning them from ever returning to the sea. It was our greatest punishment—eternal banishment.”

Kast saw the horror on Sy-wen’s face and caught an inkling of what such a punishment would mean to such a close-knit, insular people.

Master Edyll let them absorb his words in silence before he finished. When next he spoke, his voice was granite. “I tell you all this as a warning. You must be careful what you plot. Since fleeing the Gul’gotha, the

‘banishments’ were stopped in order to keep ourselves hidden from the Dark Lord, but that does not mean we have grown less strict. For those who won’t abide by our rules—” He glanced first at Sy-wen, then at Kast. “—our punishments are still severe.”

“You now slay them,” Sy-wen said heatedly.

Her words startled Master Edyll, his pale face reddening. “So you know already?”

“While among the people of the coast, I learned that I was the first mer’ai to step from the sea in over five hundred years. It seems the stories of banishment were meant to hide an uglier truth.”

“Lies are often less painful than the truth.”

“Like our people’s true histories,” Sy-wen said sullenly.

“As I said before, we could not escape our heritage so easily. The past has a way of strangling you when you ignore it.”

Silence settled over the room.

Finally, Master Edyll stood up with a slight groan, rubbing his old knees. “Enough talk. It’s time we were under way.”

Kast stood up reflexively, respecting the old man. Sy-wen remained seated, her face closed. But her anger could not be completely hidden. “I have had enough of council meetings.” Master Edyll nodded. “So have I, some days… Luckily that is not where we’re going.“

His words drew Sy-wen’s eyes. “Then where?” she asked warily.

“It’s time I helped you escape.”

Kast stumbled as he stepped toward the door. “What?”

“The council has already met again and has banned you from leaving. I didn’t agree.” He shrugged. “We must hurry and get you

both out of here.“

Sy-wen was on her feet and following. “But, Uncle, you’re one of the elders!“

“No, I’m just an old man—some would say a foolish old man. But in this matter, the council is clouded by a fear of the unknown. They would rather hide under the sea than risk change.” Kast spoke as Master Edyll turned toward the door. “What are we to do?“

The old man turned tired eyes toward him. “Find your people.

Finish the dream our forefather started.“

“What do you mean? How?”

“A time of bloodshed and slaughter has come upon us again, as during the reign of King Raff.” Master Edyll placed a hand on Kast’s chest. “But in your warrior’s body beats the heart of a man of peace. Free our people, both our peoples, from our heritage of hate and war. Show us the path to a lasting peace.” With those words, Master Edyll turned and waved the doorway open.

As they followed, Sy-wen stepped beside Kast, and for the first time, she took his hand in her own. “It seems I’m not the only one who knows your true heart,” she mumbled.

Kast stared at her hand as it rested like a soft peach in his granite grip. He was shocked and amazed—and for a brief moment, he imagined even the improbable was possible. Even love.

PlNORR FOUND SHEESHON ROLLED UP IN A BALL UPON HER BED, ARMS

locked around her legs, rocking back and forth. He crossed to her, sat on the bed, and held her. Words tumbled from her lips in chaotic fashion: bursts of lucid words as if she were having a conversation with an unseen partner, then bouts of unintelligible phrases, even moments when her voice would suddenly change, going deep, sounding nothing like a young girl. Pinorr knew from past events that it was best to just let these ramblings run their course.

Nearby, Mader Geel’s granddaughter, little Ami, stood transfixed, eyes wide, fear clear in her unblinking gaze. Finally, Mader Geel shuffled in behind him and scooped her granddaughter under an arm. Pinorr glowered at the old woman, his eyes indicating Ami. The frightened child should not have been left as sole attendant to Sheeshon when Mader Geel had gone to fetch him. Sheeshon’s bouts could be frightening to behold, even for an adult.

Mader Geel made no apology, her face solid. “I do not hide Ami from life’s harshness… nor madness.” Combing his fingers through Sheeshon’s hair, Pinorr’s eyes narrowed. “Sheeshon is not mad. She is only a little weak in the head.” His voice lowered as he stroked the child. “I have even begun to suspect her bouts worsen lately because…” He raised his eyes toward Mader Geel. “Because she approaches a quickening.” These last words broke the woman’s usual stony expression. “Her madness must be catching,” she stated dismissively. “Why would the gods quicken such a broken child to the rajor maga ?”

“I never assumed to understand the mind of any of the seven sea gods. Their choice in bestowing their gifts has never been fathomable.” In Pinorr’s arms, Sheeshon seemed to calm with his voice and touch. Her flow of words died down to a trickle, and her rocking stopped. “What makes you think she’s touched by the sight?”

“You have seen her carving.”

Mader Geel’s face darkened. “She is skilled, I’ll grant you that,” she answered with clear reluctance. “But many of the mad, even those who eventually have to be walked into the sea, are often possessed by a specific talent. I once knew an addled fellow who was so skilled in the working of sails that he could walk a ship’s ropes without using his hands, even in a fierce gale, as if he were strolling across a wide steady deck.” She finally waved her hand to dismiss these accomplishments. “But beyond these single skills, these folk were still

broken. You look too closely at Sheeshon’s one talent and call her touched by the gods.“

“But it is not only her skill with scrimshaw,” he persisted. For a reason he could not name, he needed someone else to understand his growing realization. “Until this morn, I myself never suspected her skill was tied to the rajor maga . But now I know!”

Mader Geel scooted Ami toward some playthings piled in the corner. Most were bone figures carved by Sheeshon when she was younger. Ami sat down and picked up a tiny scrimshaw piece carved into the likeness of a handsome girl. For some reason, Sheeshon had insisted on painting the doll’s hands with red dyes.

With Ami settled, Mader Geel approached the bed. She sat on the far side of Sheeshon. “I know you fear for her, Pinorr…”

Mader Geel’s attempt at sympathy only goaded him further. “We should all fear for her,” he spat out. “A danger approaches the fleet. It rides a storm that will strike this night. And I believe Sheeshon is the key to understanding it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever suspected falseness in my visions?” he asked. She pulled back a bit. “Never! Do not forget I served with Ulster’s father, the high keel. I know how your sea senses saved many a battle.”

“Then know this, Mader. Sheeshon carved the dragon and babbled to me about a threat that approaches, something about dragons

and doom.“

“Just a child’s fancies,” the old woman insisted, but doubt now flecked her words.

“So I supposed as well. I had already sensed a great southern squall aiming our way and was impatient of her ramblings. But after I argued with Ulster, I again checked the seas. I sensed something new in the breezes.” He paused and pulled Sheeshon up into his arms. The child seemed to be coming out of her trance. Her eyes tracked around her tiny room, a thumb planted in her mouth. She leaned into Pinorr, needing warmth and reassurance.

“What?” Mader Geel finally asked. “What did you sense?”

“I scented dragons in the air.”

Horror washed across her features. “Perhaps you were influenced by Sheeshon’s words more than you had first suspected.”

Pinorr stared over Sheeshon’s head. “So you do doubt my abilities.” Mader Geel remained silent. The war inside her played across her face. She did not want to believe his words but could not dismiss the accuracy of his rajor maga . “Are you sure?” she finally whispered.

He simply nodded. “Sheeshon saw it first, then I. The mer’ai come for us.”

“Our ancient slave masters,” Mader Geel mumbled. For as long as Pinorr had known the hard woman, she had never shown a weak heart, even in fierce battle when the odds were severely against them. But fear now glinted brightly from her eyes.

Ami spoke up from where she played in the corner. She never looked up from her game, her voice plain.

“Sheeshie says we’re all going to die.”

Mader Geel and Pinorr glanced to the girl, then back at each other.

“Sheeshon is the key,” Pinorr said and pulled his granddaughter closer. “Locked in her head is the knowledge to free us from our doom.”

A loud booming rattled the door to Pinorr’s set of rooms. Both Pinorr and Mader Geel jumped. Ami looked up from her play, and Sheeshon merely moaned. “They’re coming,” Sheeshon mumbled into Pinorr’s chest.

“Open the door!” a voice ordered from beyond the latch. “By order of the keelchief, the child Sheeshon must answer for her attack upon a member of the crew.”

Pinorr passed Sheeshon to Mader Geel. “She must not be harmed,” he hissed at her. “Do you understand this? Not just for the sake of my heart, but for the fate of the Dre’rendi.” Mader Geel stared at him for a full breath, then slowly nodded. “I believe you.” The knocking resumed, less booming, more nervous. Pinorr knew the guards would not dare burst through, not even if the way was unlatched. The fear of a shaman’s wrath would keep them at bay for a bit longer.

Pinorr turned to Mader Geel. “Then you know what we must do.”

“We fight.”

Even with fear in his heart, he smiled at the fire in the old woman’s words, two gray-haired elders ready to take on a ship of warriors. “Ulster thinks his youth and strength make him strong. We will teach him that only the passing of winters forges a true warrior.” He pointed to his forehead. “The true weapons of victory are wits, not swords.”

Mader Geel nodded. “I always said you were wise.” Pinorr bustled across the room, gathering the items Sheeshon would need. “When did you ever admit that?”

Mader Geel’s eyes sparked with amusement. “Well, never to your face. A shaman’s nose should not rise too high above the horizon.” He stared daggers at her.

“Oh, enough of this false humility, Pinorr. You always were headstrong and insistent on your views. Even Ulster’s father often wondered who truly led the fleet.”

“Be that as it may, we must hurry.”

The pounding resumed more boldly. “Do not make us break down your door, Shaman!” a new voice bellowed. It was Ulster. The keelchief must have grown impatient with his lackeys’ cowardice. “Your son’s daughter is not above the law. She has passed ten winters and is answerable for her actions. So open this door— now!”

Pinorr knew Ulster’s speech was more for the benefit of the guards than for Pinorr. Once again, Ulster tried to hide behind the letter of the law to justify his cruelties. Everyone knew Sheeshon was far from ten winters of age in judgment, and Ulster’s attack was not to mete justice but to hurt Pinorr. Yet wrong or not, the keelchief could

not be disobeyed.

Shaking his head, Pinorr turned to Mader Geel, who had already gathered Sheeshon and Ami to her side.

He crossed and hurriedly whispered his plans to the old woman. Once finished, he stood back and passed over the items he had gathered from Sheeshon’s room.

“Can you handle your end?”

Mader Geel nodded, a hard smile on her lips. “I’ll watch over the girl. No harm will come to her.“

Pinorr crossed to the door. “Then let the battle begin.”

Breathless, Sy-wen pushed into the room first. Master Edyll followed, assisted by Kast. Once everyone was inside, Sy-wen sealed

the door.

“What is this place?” Kast asked warily, eying the cramped, unadorned room.

Sy-wen turned to the Bloodrider. “We’re in a pod on the underside of the leviathan.” She pointed to the room’s only feature: a deep well in the floor. Ocean water could be seen bubbling a short way down the mouth of the narrow hole. “We call this an obligatum” she said, knowing the word meant nothing to Kast.

When the two had first come aboard the giant leviathan, the great seabeast had already surfaced, allowing Ragnar’k simply to alight on its wide back. Sy-wen had then hopped from the dragon’s neck, breaking physical contact and returning Kast to his present form. From there, mer’ai guards had merely led them down into the leviathan’s interior.

But to leave now in secret would not be that easy.

“An ob-obligatum?” Kast glanced down the well.

Nodding, Sy-wen explained. “It’s the way the mer’ai enter or leave a submerged leviathan. Also through this well, a dragon in the sea can extend its long neck and sip from a leviathan’s air without having to surface.” Sy-wen studied the level of water in the throat of the well. “Luck is with us. The leviathan does not swim too deeply today.” She turned to Kast. “If it dives too far, the rising weight of the sea squeezes water up through the obligatum’s throat and fills the chamber. It would block our escape.” Master Edyll chuckled. “It wasn’t just luck, my dear.”

“What do you mean, Uncle?”

“When I heard you’d requested an audience with the council, I guessed your plans and ordered the leviathan to keep to the shallows this day.”

Sy-wen frowned. “When Mother finds out, she’s going to know you played a hand in our escape.”

“She will only suspect, but without proof…” Master Edyll shrugged. “You see… my poor old ears were being bothered. I just needed a short rest from the pressures, so I ordered the leviathan to shallower depths.”

“Ah, I see,” Sy-wen said, grinning at his fabricated alibi.

“Now out with the two of you.” Master Edyll unhooked an egg-shaped gourd that hung on the wall from a trailing stalk and handed it to Kast.

The Bloodrider accepted the offered apparatus and studied it, turning and fingering its stalk. “What is it?”

“An air pod,” Master Edyll said. “You’ll need it to breathe underwater. I think Sy-wen can hold her breath long enough.” He glanced significantly at his niece.

“Long enough for what?”

Sy-wen nodded toward the hole. “Master Edyll is right. I can’t call Ragnar’k forth in here. The large dragon won’t be able to squeeze out this tiny hole. We’re going to have to leave on our own and call forth the dragon while under the sea.”

Kast’s eyes grew wide, but he didn’t say a word. Sy-wen could see him fight to maintain his stoic self, even when faced with losing himself to the dragon again. Her heart ached for him.

Even Master Edyll seemed to notice his flaring tension. “I should be going. The council will wonder where I’m at if I delay much

longer.“

Sy-wen slid around the well and gave her uncle a tight hug.

“Thank you,” she said in his ear.

He returned her embrace. “May the tides carry you safely,” he whispered. It was an old mer’ai farewell.

They broke their embrace. Master Edyll said his good-byes to Kast and left, sealing the door behind him.

Now alone, the two grew quickly awkward. There was too much to say, too much to admit. To Sy-wen, it was as if the leviathan now swam a thousand leagues under the sea. The very air seemed thick.

and hard to breathe.

She stared at Kast but could not meet his eye. He too avoided looking directly at her. “We should go,” he finally said, his voice no

more than a croak.

She nodded. “I’ll go first and wait for you just outside the leviathan.” She moved closer to him and silently showed him how to break the tip of the air pod’s stem and suck fresh breaths through it. Standing close to him, she waved a hand over his body. “When I’m gone, you should strip out of your shirt and leggings.” He nodded. When the dragon burst free, anything he wore was simply shredded. “You should be going,” he said.

Just as Sy-wen reached to hug him farewell, Kast stepped back, pulling his billowy shirt from his hard shoulders. She froze in midreach. He also stopped, his shirt half off, both immediately awkward. Even though Sy-wen had seen Kast naked before, she had never touched him unclothed.

She cast her eyes down and turned away. “I… I will wait for you just outside the leviathan.“

“I… I’ll be… right there.” She stood at the well’s lip, feeling the fool. She could not get herself to move. Seeming to sense her hesitation, strong arms suddenly circled her from behind. She tensed in the embrace for a single gasped breath, then melted back into the heat of his body. His lips brushed the tender hollow on the side of her neck. Neither spoke. Sy-wen dared not even turn around. They said their farewells with touches and soft noises.

At last, his arms withdrew, his fingers trailing down her bare arm as he stepped away.

She trembled as cool air traced over her flushed skin.

Without looking back, she dove smoothly into the sea, the cold water washing away the tears that had begun to well.

Once free of the leviathan, she arced under its belly and twisted around to face the opening. Sy-wen’s inner lids had already snapped up, so she could see clearly through the crystal waters. As she waited, she fingered the spot where the Bloodrider’s lips had touched her. Even in the chill of the sea, her blood warmed with the memory. She had no name for the flurry of emotions that stormed through her heart.

Sy-wen dropped her hand from her neck and kicked closer to the opening in the underside of the leviathan.

She must not let her heart interfere with her duty. Kast was their forefather reborn. According to her uncle, the fate of her people rested upon Kast’s shoulders. Kicking and paddling, she kept near the obligatum. It seemed forever until an explosion of bubbles marked where Kast crashed out of the leviathan’s belly.

She kicked nearer. He was all flailing limbs and twisting body as he tried to orient himself. Once close enough, she realized he was blind in the water. He did not have the extra lids to keep the sting and blur of salt from his eyes. She could imagine his panic at being thrust into this cold, blind world, depending only on her for his survival.

She grabbed his hand, and his thrashings instantly calmed. He did not even grab for her but let her come to him, trusting her skill. With his chest bare and his manhood covered only by thin linen underclothes, she found it hard to look at him. The sight of his strong legs and chest made it difficult to keep her breath trapped.

She swam in front of him and drew him closer, keeping her eyes fixed on his face. She had to wrap her legs around his waist a bit to keep them both steady.

She touched his chin and turned his face to expose the dragon tattoo on his neck and cheek. He tensed under her, knowing what was to come. The emblem of Ragnar’k, a coiled black dragon with savage red eyes, stared back at her. She could almost feel the imprisoned beast urging her to release it.

Readying herself, she let go of Kast’s chin. His face swung back to her, but his eyes were blinded by the salty water. A hand groped up and touched her own cheek, a signal that he was ready.

She reached for him, but not to his tattoo. She slipped the stem of the airpod from his lips. He did not resist, still trusting her.

She cast aside the pod and pulled him to her, pressing her lips to his. He startled a bit under her touch, then pulled her hard against him, their arms wrapping hungrily around each other. Through tight lips, they shared each other’s breaths.

Time stretched toward eternity—but where hearts made promises that lasted forever, her air could not last that long. Before she could drown, her fingers reluctantly reached to his tattoo.

Good-bye, Kast , she sent silently to him. And for the first time, she allowed herself to add what her heart had known all along. /

love you.

With her touch, the sea vanished in a rush of scale and wing. A roar filled her ears and mind as the dragon inside Kast broke free. Before the waters could clear, Sy-wen found herself seated atop the back of the monstrous creature, its wings like sails to either side, its neck stretched far into the blue sea.

Ragnar’k turned to face his rider. Ruby eyes glowed toward her; a hint of silver fangs glinted in the refracted light. Sy-wen, the dragon whispered to her, a throaty purr. My bonded . The beast’s exhilaration at its freedom rolled over her, overwhelmed her; but under its thrill, she also sensed its hunger, a dark well that seemed bottomless.

Sy-wen brushed her fingers along Ragnar’k‘s thick neck, scratching under the hard scale to the tender flesh underneath. Feed, she sent to her mount, we’ve still a long way to travel.

Reaching forward, she slipped free the tiny siphon that let her share the dragon’s air. She drew a breath, driving away the tiny sparks that had started to build from lack of air. It felt good to breathe again. But in her chest, an ache still remained. No amount of fresh air could dissolve away the sense of loss in her heart.

The dragon also freshened its own air by returning briefly to sip from one of the leviathan’s obligatums. Once refreshed and its lungs full, the dragon twisted away and began its hunt.

Sy-wen settled closer to the dragon. Where in this great beast was Kast? With her thighs, she could feel the beat of the dragon’s thundering heart. She let herself imagine that it was the Bloodrider’s own heart.

She leaned nearer, placing a hand over a thrumming vessel in the dragon’s neck. She let her eyelids drift partway down as the dragon flew through the water, snatching yellowfin and angelwhites down its long gullet. The pleasure of its feasting blurred with her own memory of lips on skin.

They glided above reefs like distant mountain ranges. In the distance, she saw other seadragons darting like falling jewels through the blue waters. Fading behind now, she saw the massive bulk of the leviathan drifting away, an enormous mountain rolling through the sea.

She closed her eyes and just drifted in a haze of sorrow and pleasure until Ragnar’k intruded on her thoughts. Belly full. Where now?

Sitting straighter, she slipped her feet into the folds at the base of the dragon’s neck. Up, she sent to him, up and away.

A trumpet of excitement coursed through dragon and rider.

After tightening his neck fold to cinch snug her ankles, Ragnar’k swept his wings wide and dove deeper, then spun in a tight arc to gain momentum, coiling in on himself. Sy-wen had to lean against the pull of the water, her fingers latched to a scaled ridge of bone. Just before she thought she would be thrown free of Ragnar’k, the dragon’s long tail snapped like a plucked bowstring. Ragnar’k sprang upward, his wings sweeping even with his body as he shot toward the distant light.

Sy-wen closed her eyes and held tight to the dragon’s back.

She felt the rush as Ragnar’k burst from the waves. Seawater cascaded over her, trying to drag her back into the ocean, but the dragon kept her feet clamped in his neck folds. She clung by hand and nail.

Then it was over. The dragon pulled up under her and again she rode his back easily. She dared to open her eyes.

They glided above waves now, and breezes whipped dry her green hair. She stared forward toward the distant curve of the world. The ocean was a featureless plain before her. The bright sun hid behind scudding white clouds, giving the water a sheen of beaten silver.

The skies are angry, Ragnar’k sent to her. “What?” Sy-wen yelled into the wind. Suddenly a thundering crack exploded.

Craning around, Sy-wen saw the reason for the dragon’s words. Behind her, a short distance away, the entire world was black clouds, sheeting rain, and lancing bolts of light. Again thunder rolled at them, the rumbling bellow of a savage beast.

Flee, she urged Ragnar’k. We must not get caught in that storm. Ragnar’k swung to face the full fury of the tempest. The dragon opened its black maw and threatened the thunder with its own roar. Then it spun on a wing and swept away, sailing close over the waves. Hurry, she pushed.

The crack of thunder and the scream of winds grew louder in her ears. She leaned close to Ragnar’k.

The dragon sped onward, a fire building up under her seat as Ragnar’k fought to escape.

As they raced, Sy-wen began to realize that she and Kast may have been rash to seek the Dre’rendi on their own. She should have heeded her mother’s counsel. Thoughts of returning to her people danced in her mind, but she pushed such ideas away and stared at the sea under her. Perhaps they could flee under the waves and let the storm pass over while they sheltered within the womb of the sea. No, she thought savagely, bending lower over the dragon, urging him to greater speed. They had delayed too long already and dared not risk losing another day by hiding from the storm. Flying was not only faster, but free of the sea, their gazes could search from horizon to horizon. If the Dre’rendi were to be discovered in time, she and the dragon must outride this storm.

As if sensing her thoughts, a massive tangle of lightning burst behind them, casting the dragon’s shadow upon the still ocean. The seas below grew flat and glassy as the sun’s meager light was swallowed away by the savage squall.

The dragon spoke. The fangs of the sty are upon us. With this thought, the black clouds rolled over the pair and blew forth with jagged spears of lightning. The boom of thunder pounded at Sy-wen’s ears, and screaming winds threatened to tear them both from the sky.

They had lost their race.

The squall had caught them in its jaws.

PlNORR STOOD IN THE CROWDED COMMONS OF THE DrAGONSPUR. HaLF

the crew had gathered to witness this battle between shaman and keelchief. The room served mostly as ship’s galley, but this day the ale-stained benches had been shoved back, and a space had been cleared before the longest table. Though the reek of fish-belly stew still clung to the rafters, for the moment the galley had been transformed into a ship’s court.

Pinorr studied his judges. Seated behind the long table were Jabib and Gylt, the ship’s first and second mates. They were also Ulster’s

cronies.

Pinorr eyed the pair with distaste. Jabib, the first mate, was a giant of a man as gaunt as he was tall, with a misshapen nose sitting like a broken scow atop a pocked face. Gylt, his second, was short and stocky, his dark face frozen in a perpetual scowl.

Sheeshon would find no mercy from those two. From Ulster’s smug expression as he stood alongside Pinorr, the matter of Sheeshon’s attack upon the keelchief had already been settled. Supposedly a keelchief was the equal of any crewmember when a cause was brought forward, but here Pinorr spotted the veiled smiles shared between the pair of judges and Ulster.

Justice this day would be as blind as a mud crawler buried in silt.

As Pinorr sourly pondered his odds, Ulster stepped forward to begin the proceedings. The keelchief bowed deeply to each of the two judges, as was custom.

Pinorr followed but only bowed his head— once . The crowd behind him muttered at his slight.

The faces of the two mates reddened angrily at Pinorr’s lack of deference. Jabib opened his mouth to reprimand Pinorr, but Ulster cut him off, further proving who truly ran these proceedings. “Shaman, your son’s daughter should be present before the tribunal.”

Pinorr turned to his keelchief, keeping his voice respectful. “I serve as her counsel here, as is allowed. I speak for her.”

“Counsel or not, she should still be present in this room.”

“Mader Geel watches her in my cabin, and your guards have the old woman and the frail child well in hand.

Unless of course you fear

the two might overpower your men. I could bring her here if you fear for your safety while the child is out of sight.“

Ulster began to bluster and redden.

Pinorr continued. “We wouldn’t want you to have to face such a dangerous swordswoman a second time, especially seeing as how she bested you once already.” Pinorr nodded toward Ulster’s bandaged hand.

Again the crowd snickered, their faces averted so Ulster could not see exactly who laughed at the shaman’s words.

Pinorr kept his features serious.

“Fine. Let her remain in your rooms. I would never want to be called unfair.“

Pinorr swallowed back a snort. “Then let us settle this matter.” Clearing his throat, Ulster stepped forward.

“I accuse Sheeshon

di’Ra of an attack on a fellow crewman without properly declaring a challenge.“

Jabib nodded somberly as if considering his chief’s words, then turned to Pinorr. “How do you answer?” Pinorr refused to step forward. “This is a farce. My son’s daughter could not declare a tehra, a blood challenge, because the word is meaningless to her. As all here know, Sheeshon is not hale of mind or body.

She is but an infant in a young girl’s body. To bring her before the tribunal as a full crewmember is the act of a craven man.”

The crowd erupted behind the shaman.

Ulster spoke into the uproar. “You’re mistaken, Shaman. I never claimed the girl was a crewmember. That is for the tribunal to decide. I only follow the old code of the Dre’rendi. The girl has passed ten winters, and she has broken our law. The code is clear. She must face the tribunal and trust them to find where justice lies in her matter.”

The crowd hushed to low murmurs.

Pinorr found the amused eyes of his judges studying him. It would be hard to fight the letter of the Dre’rendi code. Ulster had found a weak spot to exploit and now reveled in his sure victory here. But Pinorr was not finished. He knew that often a fire could only be met with fire.

“You speak much of code,” Pinorr said. “But you have not read far enough back to remember one of our older codes: ‘He who stands accused can claim jakra of his accuser.’ ”

“A blood duel}” Ulster’s face paled, but soon laughter bubbled from his hard lips. “You grow foolish in your tottering years, old man. Has the madness ofrajor maga finally touched you, as it eventually claims all shamans?”

“I am not yet blinded by the sea gods’ touch. My mind is still my own. And as counsel of Sheeshon, I declare jakra for her.” He pointed to the keelchief, a man with twice his muscles and half his age. “I call you to a blood duel with Sheeshon.”

The shock on Ulster’s face had wiped away all traces of smugness. Pinorr saw the man’s mind working on the puzzle set before him. He could not fathom where Pinorr was tacking in this storm. No one of sound judgment would choose the path of ja^ra. The archaic code had not been invoked in over a century. All knew that it was far better to face the harsh decision of a tribunal rather than face a blood duel. The odds were against the challenger. He who invoked a blood duel had to face his opponent unarmed, whereas the other, the accuser, was free to choose any single weapon at hand. In the long history of the Dre’rendi, no challenger had survived the ja^ra.

“What is this game you play at?” Ulster hissed.

“Do you accept the challenge yourself, Ulster? Or do you wish to assign someone to take your place in the duel ring?”

Now that Pinorr had called the keelchief craven, he knew Ulster dare not refuse lest he risk losing honor with the crew. “I accept the challenge,” the keelchief said warily. “And I suppose you have someone in mind to stand up for Sheeshon who would be foolish enough to face me in the ring unarmed?” Pinorr shrugged. “Me.”

A gasp arose from the crowd. It was forbidden for a shaman to fight. Once the sea gods had called a man to the rajor maga, he was forced to untie his warrior’s braid and wear only the robes of the shamans. Even carrying a sword was forbidden. It was considered the worst insult to the sea gods if a shaman should ever fight as a common warrior. It sullied the gifts that the gods had bestowed, calling ill fortune down upon a boat.

“You cannot enter the ring, Shaman.” Ulster declared. “It is forbidden. Choose another to stand for Sheeshon.”

“The code is clear. He who invokes the jaf^ra may choose any willing champion. None can refuse him—whether shaman or not.” Pinorr turned to face Ulster. “It is the code.” Ulster now stood red faced.

The silent Gylt raised his voice for the first time. “But if you fight, you’ll bring the sea gods’ blight upon our prow,” he blurted out. Jabib just glowered beside his fellow tribune.

But the crowd echoed Gylt’s sentiment.

Ulster noticed the panic rising in his crew. “If you die,” he said with clear menace, “the code of the ja^ra is clear. Sheeshon, as the one who is represented, must die also—by whip and ax.”

“I would rather have her dead than living on a boat cursed by the gods.” Pinorr turned his back on Ulster. He let the keelchief dwell on the predicament at hand. Ulster’s craven attack on Sheeshon now threatened to bring the wrath of the sea gods down upon his boat, and even if Ulster was willing to accept such a doom, his crew clearly was not. If Ulster proceeded with the duel, forcing the shaman to fight, he would find himself with an empty boat. No Bloodrider would step foot aboard the decks of a cursed ship.

Pinorr waited until the moment was ripe and turned to face Ulster again. “The only other option you have, Ulster, is to dismiss your accusation and end this tribunal now.” Ulster’s fists were clenched with anger. He knew he had been bested, tangled in the very code in which he had hoped to ensnare Pinorr. The keelchief’s features squalled with frustration, brows dark with thunderheads, eyes flashing with lightning. “You win, Pinorr,” he spat. “I submit—”

“Wait,” Jabib interrupted. “Before the matter is settled, we should bring Sheeshon before the tribunal.” Ulster tried to wave away his first mate’s objections.

But Jabib stood up. The first mate had always been Ulster’s schemer. Pinorr knew the man now had the seed of some new plot in mind. But what?

The first mate held up a hand. “The tribunal has the right to question Sheeshon on her choice of champions. Let us see if she truly wishes to watch her grandfather die for her.” For a moment, Pinorr’s vision darkened. He began to understand the wiles here. He had left Mader Geel to drill Sheeshon, just in case the child had to name Pinorr as champion, but clearly Jabib meant to scare her into withdrawing his name. Even if they failed to wear Sheeshon down, they could always withdraw the charges and be none the worse. Yet if they should succeed, Sheeshon was doomed.

The blood duel had already been called forth and could not be withdrawn by Pinorr—only Ulster could call it off by retracting his accusation. Sheeshon would have to call a champion who was willing to face the keelchief unarmed—which no one would do.

Pinorr’s face drained of blood, and a coldness settled in his chest. With his own words, he may have doomed his granddaughter. He had let his pride and overconfidence blind him. Pinorr noted Ulster’s growing smile.

A pair of guards left to fetch Sheeshon.

Pinorr cleared his throat. “This is not necessary,” he tried futilely. “She has already named me, and I accepted.”

Jabib scowled at him. “That is a matter for the tribunal to judge, not you. We have the right to hear her choice from her own lips. It is the code.”

Pinorr knew it was futile to argue. As he waited, he prayed to the gods to protect his granddaughter. She did not deserve this punishment. He closed his eyes and willed strength to Sheeshon for the storm ahead.

After what seemed an eternity, the crowd, which had been mumbling and wagering the outcome among themselves, erupted with renewed vigor as Sheeshon was shuffled through the press of the crew. By now, even more of the ship’s men and women had pushed into the cramped commons.

Sheeshon was led to stand before the long table. Mader Geel was with her. Jabib nodded toward the old woman. “You are no longer needed.”

But Mader Geel eyed Pinorr and kept her place.

“Are you deaf to the tribunal’s order?” Ulster asked. He waved to the guards, who reluctantly approached the old swordswoman.

“The child is frightened,” she said in defense, holding Shee-shon’s hand.

Sheeshon stared around at the number of people, her eyes wide, her lower lip trembling. In her fear, the numb side of her face seemed to droop worse. Mader Geel was stripped from her side forcibly, leaving the girl alone before the table. Sheeshon tried to wander back toward Pinorr, but a guard held her by the shoulder.

Jabib, by now, had crossed around the long table. He knelt before Sheeshon with a smile and whispered soft words for her. Sheeshon listened but was clearly nervous, glancing frequently back at Pinorr.

Once he had her attention, Jabib raised his voice so the others could hear him. “Now, Sheeshon, my little dear, do you know why you are here?”

Sheeshon shook her head slowly. A hand raised to suck a thumb, but Jabib guided her hand down.

“You must pick your champion. Do you know what that means?” Sheeshon’s voice was a wisp before a gale. “Mader says I’m ‘posed to point to Papa.”

“Oh, so you want your papa to die then.” Sheeshon’s eyes grew round; tears welled up. “Die?” Jabib nodded. He turned Sheeshon’s face toward Ulster. “That big man is going to slice your papa’s belly open with a big sword if you pick your papa. Do you want to pick your papa?” Tears welled up and ran down her cheeks. “No,” she said in a strangled voice. “I don’t want Papa’s belly opened up.”

Pinorr could stand no more of it. “Leave the child be,” he said, his heart aching for his granddaughter.

“Please.”

Jabib patted Sheeshon on the head as he stood. His voice rang above the murmuring crowd. “You have all heard her words. She declines Pinorr.”

Ulster stepped forward. “She must choose a champion or face me in the duel. ]akra has been issued.” Pinorr spoke up. “End this, Ulster,” he said. “Take me if you wish, but leave poor Sheeshon out of our squabble.”

“And kill a shaman? Bring a curse down upon my boat? I don’t think the crew would stand for it.” Pinorr just stared at Ulster. “So you would slay an innocent child? Before your entire crew?”

“It was not my choice,” Ulster claimed. “I had only meant to have her punished. Two lashes of my whip was what I planned—to teach both of you a small lesson. But you have set this new course, not I.” Grimacing, Pinorr could not argue against the keelchief. The shaman had thought himself so clever, so wise in passing winters. “If you take Sheeshon from me, I will find a way to destroy you. That I promise.” Ulster shrugged.

Mader Geel was allowed back to console Sheeshon. The old woman hugged the girl and whispered consolation in her tiny ears.

Pinorr knew he had lost. He tried to join his granddaughter, but guards held him back.

Instead, Jabib knelt again by little Sheeshon. “You must pick someone, my dear. You must find someone to fight for you.”

Pinorr had stopped listening. It was over. No one would agree.

Sheeshon pulled out of Mader Geel’s embrace. Her eyes were glazed and far away. Fear had driven her to retreat inside. Sheeshon tilted her head toward the rafters of the galley. “They’re here,” she mumbled.

Suddenly a crack of thunder reverberated through the planks of the boat, as if the keel of the boat had snapped. Everyone jumped.

Jabib touched Sheeshon’s shoulder. “Choose,” he said impatiently.

In the throes of her madness, Sheeshon had the strength of a grown man. She shook free of Jabib and stumbled toward the crowd. The crew parted before her. No one would meet her eye. None wished to be forced to deny the child if pressed.

Jabib followed as Sheeshon began to run. The crowd stepped back, allowing Pinorr and Ulster to pursue at Jabib’s heels. Sheeshon broke from the room and ran up the steps toward the outer deck. The crowd followed, surging behind Jabib, Pinorr, and Ulster.

As Pinorr stepped from the hot and cramped spaces below, the coldness of the air shocked him.

Thunder again boomed. The skies to the south were a solid wall of black clouds stacked to the heavens.

The sun, setting to the west, was already threatened by the storm’s edge. Though the seas lay calm around them, they were unnaturally so. The waves were flat and colored like hammered iron by the dying sun.

In the distance, flashes of signal lights marked the other ships of the fleet. Sails were being reefed, and snatches of bellowed orders echoed over the still waters.

Pinorr turned to Ulster. “You never sounded the alarm,” he said.

At least Ulster had the dignity to look momentarily guilty. His eyes, though, remained on the wall of storm.

But Pinorr knew he could not lay the entire blame at Ulster’s feet. When confronted with Sheeshon’s danger, Pinorr had forgotten the warning from the sea gods, too. They had both been fools—and now the entire fleet was in danger.

Sheeshon stood near the starboard rail and studied the building squall, searching the skies. Jabib was at her side. Ulster and Pinorr crossed to join them.

Jabib glanced to his keelchief. “We must batten down the ship. This storm is not one we can run from.

Our only hope is to lock up the ship and pray she stays afloat.” Ulster nodded mutely. This was the first time the young keelchief had faced a ship killer, and it had stolen his tongue.

Pinorr took advantage of Ulster’s fear. “Only the sea gods will protect us this night. Release Sheeshon of the jafyra, and I will beg a blood boon from the gods. Refuse and spout your own prayers. See how little the sea gods listen to ordinary men.”

Ulster spun on Pinorr. “This is all your fault,” he growled, his fear lighting a fire in his chest. “You have called this monster down

upon us

!“

Jabib tried to place a consoling hand on the keelchief’s arm but was thrust away. The first mate stumbled back against the rail. “We will need all the prayers,” he urged, “especially the shaman’s.” Ulster grabbed Sheeshon roughly by the shoulder. “Pinorr has cursed us. Before this storm strikes, I will stab this traitor where he is most vulnerable.” Ulster tried to drag Sheeshon from the ship’s rail, but she was latched like a barnacle. Ulster persisted, his face raging. “The sea gods will know I follow the old code and will protect us.”

Jabib hovered near his keelchief. Pinorr could read his worries. The first mate knew it was madness that Ulster proposed. To shed blood on deck before a storm was the worst luck. Blood invited more blood.

The crew would not stand for it.

“I call for the blood duel,” Ulster screamed. “Now!” He finally yanked viciously at Sheeshon, ripping her from her post.

A squeak of fear escaped her as she was swung around. “Papa?” she cried, trying to grab at Pinorr.

Pinorr stepped directly into the path of the raging keelchief. Behind Ulster’s eyes, the shaman could see the squall mirrored. It was called storm fever, when the might of an approaching gale destroyed one’s reason. “She must first choose, Ulster,” Pinorr said firmly. “By code, she has until sundown to choose a champion or for you to retract your charges and end this matter.” With these words, the storm clouds began to eat the sun. The light around them became a false twilight.

“End this?” Ulster waved a hand wildly. “See? Even the skies tell us it is time. They drown the sun early, so the ja^ra can be held now.”

Jabib stepped beside Pinorr, shoulder to shoulder, facing Ulster. The first mate’s words were firm. “She must still choose, Keelchief.”

Frustration and fury fought across Ulster’s face. He trembled a moment, then pulled Sheeshon up by the arms and drew her to his face. “Choose!” he yelled.

She whimpered and struggled in his grip.

“Release my granddaughter,” Pinorr said coldly, “or I’ll take a sword to you right now.”

“You dare threaten me!” Ulster dropped Sheeshon. She fell like a broken doll at his feet, then crawled back toward Pinorr.

Jabib held Ulster and Pinorr apart. He towered over both of them. “Enough!” he yelled. He faced Pinorr.

“The jafy-a has been called fairly, by your own mouth.” Jabib then turned to Ulster. “And until this matter is settled, I am still tribune. So you will bow to my authority, or I will have the high keel strip you of your rank.”

His words seemed to dim the fever in Ulster’s eyes. “Then make her decide,” the keelchief ordered, backing a step away.

Pinorr glanced down to Sheeshon. Again her blank gaze had wandered to the roiling skies. She did not understand any of this. She pointed to the layer of black clouds sweeping overhead now. “They’re here.” Pinorr found his own eyes drawn to where she indicated.

Suddenly a section of the thunderhead broke away. A fluttering piece of darkness fell toward them.

Lightning chased it across the sky as thunder boomed in anger.

Other eyes spotted the oddity. “What is that?” Jabib said.

Pinorr held his breath. His sea senses screamed in him now.

As they watched, the shred of blackness grew in size, darting between bolts of lightning. It was a huge creature, wings swept to either side. But Pinorr knew it was no ordinary gull or tern. He had seen Sheeshon’s carving. “Get back!” he yelled, hauling Sheeshon with him, but the child slipped free.

Sheeshon danced forward, arms raised toward the sky. “They’re here! They’re here!” she chanted.

Ulster had his hand on his sword’s hilt. “She calls a demon to us!” By now, everyone on deck had stopped their hurried preparations to secure the ship against the storm. All eyes watched the descent of the great black beast.

“Not demon,” Pinorr said, drawing Ulster’s fury. “Worse.”

“What?”

“Dragon.”

Thunder drowned out further conversation, booming, rattling the rigging. Overhead, Pinorr’s statement proved true. The great beast sailed past the tips of the masts. Black scale reflected the lightning like oil on water. Suddenly it banked and turned on a single wing tip. Its red eyes held all the storm’s fury.

Cries of terror spread throughout the deck. One man even jumped overboard in fright.

“Man the harpoons!” Jabib screamed, caught up in the panic. Then it dove at them, dropping like a boulder from the sky. Pinorr’s eyes widened. It aimed for the empty center of the deck— right where Sheeshon now stood, staring transfixed at the beast. “Sheeshon!” But Pinorr was too late. The dragon crashed onto the deck, wings braking and claws digging long gouges from the planks as it skidded to a halt. Once stopped, its hot breath steamed and fogged from its throat into the cool air. Red eyes stared at the men frozen on deck. Silver teeth longer than a man’s forearm glinted brightly in the last glimmer of the sun. Suddenly it stretched its neck toward the folded sails and bellowed at the skies.

All across the deck, men fell to their knees, crying out supplications. Others ran for the hatches. A handful were brave enough to leap for swords and spears.

Pinorr waved the warriors back. Sheeshon was still out there. He stepped forward, palms raised, trying to indicate that he offered the beast no threat. The dragon bent its neck to study the approaching shaman.

Pinorr ignored the menace in those crimson eyes. He cared only to see if Sheeshon was safe. Once close enough, he spotted a small drenched girl collapsed atop the back of the dragon, her green hair sluiced with water. Her skin was pale and ashen. Though he could see she breathed, the rider seemed near death. What was happening here?

Suddenly Sheeshon stepped out from under the wing of the great beast. The dragon startled a bit at the child’s abrupt appearance. It hissed and pulled back its wings.

Ulster and Jabib crept forward to shadow Finorr.

Sheeshon wore a lopsided smile as the dragon towered over her. She pointed at the great beast. “I choose him,” she said clearly, her voice ringing sharp across the silent deck. Even the thunder had quieted for the moment.

Pinorr turned to the keelchief. “It’s what you asked for, Ulster,” he answered grimly. “Sheeshon has chosen her champion.”

Sy-wen heard voices and a familiar accent, deep and rich. Kast. She struggled through the black void back to a world of cold winds and rain. Where was she? She rolled her head and saw watery images, dark figures moving all around her. Lightning split the night and thunder roared, drawing back her memory. She whimpered as she recalled the rip of screaming winds and the dragon’s flight through castles of black clouds. She pulled tighter to her mount. The sky opened up above her, and rain lashed down. But the heat of the dragon was like a roaring fire under her.

Bonded, Ragnar’k sent to her. The dragon’s hunger was an ache in her belly. She shared its senses of blood and meat nearby.

She pushed a bit higher, pulling her cramped fingers from their stranglehold on the ridge of scale. Rain pelted her bare back in stinging bites. The dragon’s hide steamed in the downpour, creating a thin, rising fog. She eyed her surroundings. Her vision had cleared enough to recognize that she and the dragon were on some boat. Overhead, a hastily tied sail had loosened a snatch. It snapped and cracked in the wind.

But all of Sy-wen’s attention was on the figures around her. A circle of hard men and women stood a wary distance from her, some kneeling, some armed. The lanterns swinging from yardarms and rail highlighted the sea-worn men. One feature was shared by all: the tattoo of a diving seahawk emblazoned on cheeks and necks.

“Bloodriders,” she mumbled. Kast’s tribe.

One man stepped forward, his blue robe drenched and clinging to his tall frame. His hair was as white as Master Edyll’s. As he stared up at her, his eyes held no fear, only awe. He reached out a hand, and a small girl wandered out from under Ragnar’k, her small eyes wide with wonder.

“He’s big, Papa,” she said as the elder pulled the child to him, hugging his arms around her.

The robed man stared up at her. “You are mer’ai.” Sy-wen nodded.

Hungry , Ragnar’k complained uselessly. Sy-wen still sensed the dragon’s burning belly. Ragnar’k leaned toward the two who stood nearest and sniffed at the old man and the child. Not much meat, but taste good

.

No, Sy-wen sent him silently. You will eat no one here. These are who we hunted for. They may be new friends .

Don’t need more friends. Need full belly . But Sy-wen sensed the acquiescence of the great beast.

Sy-wen cleared her throat, trying to mimic her mother’s commanding voice and demeanor. “I come seeking the Dre’rendi,” she said aloud. “We call upon your ancient debt to serve us one last time.” Her attempt at dignity was ruined when a sudden gust of wind almost toppled her from her seat and she hastily grabbed at the dragon to keep from falling. She straightened and tossed wet strands of green hair back from her face.

She did not feel like a herald of her people, but more like a drenched seal pup.

“I am Pinorr, shaman of this ship. I welcome you to the Dragon-spur” the old man said, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Maybe it was just the resemblance to Master Edyll, but Sy-wen found herself instantly liking this fellow.

Two other men stepped forward and flanked the shaman. “The ship’s first mate, Jabib,” the old man introduced. “And our keelchief, Ulster.”

Sy-wen eyed the second man. His face was stone, but his eyes glinted with suspicion. His hand rested on the hilt of a sword at his waist. “Why have you come here? ” he asked with clear anger.

The small child, still clinging to the shaman’s robe, answered instead. “They come to kill us all,” she said cheerily.

Sy-wen blinked at this outburst.

Pinorr patted the girl’s head. “My apologies, mistress of the mer’ai, but Sheeshon is a bit addled. She does not always know what she speaks.”

Sy-wen nodded. “But perhaps she knows more than you suspect. For what I have come to ask of you may mean your deaths.”

“What is this you speak?” the keelchief demanded.

Suddenly a new burst of lightning and thunder drowned out all further words. Winds and rains tore at the ship.

Pinorr sheltered the child against this sudden onslaught. When the winds calmed for a breath, he glanced up to Sy-wen and yelled into the thunder. “I don’t know if your dragon can weather the storm atop the deck, but we cannot. The squall’s fury is about to strike. I recommend we continue this conversation below.” Sy-wen chewed her lower lip. Atop Ragnar’k, she felt little true threat, but she feared to be alone with them, even with Kast at her side. The crew easily numbered over fifty.

As if to goad her, a bolt of lightning struck the tip of the foremast with an explosive crack. Ragnar’k bellowed anger. Blue energies danced along the rigging. Sy-wen studied the furious skies. No number of men, no matter how hard, could match the danger that thundered toward her.

She turned back to the others. The keelchief’s narrowed eyes almost made her balk again. Sy-wen mistrusted him.

The shaman, though, drew back her attention. “There is nothing to fear from us. I offer you full freedom of the ship. As shaman, you are under my protection.” Pinorr glanced at the keelchief as if his next words were meant more for that man than Sy-wen. “None will harm you.” Ulster’s eyes twitched, but he lifted his hand from his sword and crossed his arms over his chest. “May our hearth and keel keep you safe,” he said, his voice cold and formal, weakening the invitation in his words.

Pinorr seemed satisfied and turned back to Sy-wen. The old man missed the flash of hatred in the young keelchief’s eyes. Clearly the storm above was not the only squall threatening this boat. “Come,” the shaman said, extending his hand. “Join us below.”

Sy-wen knew she needed to win these people to her cause, something she could never do atop the back of a dragon. Besides, she

uu nesn would go a Jong way to earning the BJoodriders’ trust. He was one of their peopJe.

Sliding over the neck of the dragon, she slipped to the planks. She almost lost her footing and fell, both the slippery deck and her own weak legs betraying her. Sy-wen managed to keep one hand on the dragon. She did not want to lose contact just yet. She ran a hand along its neck until she reached its massive head. Ragnar’k snuffled at her. Bonded. Sweet in my nose. She rubbed at the ridge between the beast’s flared nostrils. The dragon brushed her palm, its thick tongue pushing out to lick at her. Its glowing eyes stared into hers. I don’t want to go bac’t, Ragnar’k said sadly, almost a moan in her mind.

Her heart ached for the great beast. The dragon was a creature of simple pleasures but depthless heart.

She hugged the huge beast warmly. “Thank you for carrying me here safely,” she whispered at him. “But I must send you back for now. I have need of Kast.”

Wea’t man, Ragnar’k said with a silent snort of derision. I’m stronger than him.

“I know, my big bonded, but some battles can’t be fought with tooth and claw. I will call you back soon, and we will hunt the seas together.”

A feeling of trust and pleasure suffused through her. You are my bonded. Go now. I’ll dream of you…

and fishes, many big fishes . Dragon laughter echoed in her mind.

She smiled at him. “Good-bye, Ragnar’k. Sleep well, my bonded.” Sy-wen lifted her hand from the wet scales and stumbled back a few steps.

Behind her, the crew gasped and fled farther away. As expected, with the contact broken, the dragon began to fold upon itself. A twisting whirlwind of wing and scale, claw and tooth, spun down to reveal a naked man standing atop the deck. On his bare neck, the dragon tattoo glowed a bright ruby for several heartbeats, then died back down.

Kast’s usual scowl deepened as he took a moment to orient himself. Sy-wen stepped closer, keeping her eyes slightly averted from his nakedness. The Bloodrider took her hand in his own as he studied those around him. “You found the Dre’rendi,” he mumbled, slightly awed.

She nodded. “They offer us shelter from the approaching storm.” Speechless, Pinorr stepped forward, his mouth hanging open.

The small girl at his side was unfazed. “That man is wearing no clothes, Papa,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Hush, Sheeshon.” Pinorr stopped before them. His eyes were on Sy-wen’s companion. “How… ?

How could this be?”

Sy-wen tried to explain about Ragnar’k. “On the island of A’loa Glen, we found a—” Kast squeezed her hand, silencing her. The two men stared at each other for a moment, then Kast spoke.

“How fares my father, Pinorr?”

Startled, Sy-wen glanced up at Kast. So they knew each other.

“Your father died three winters past.” Pinorr’s voice grew angry. “On his deathbed, he called out for you.”

Kast remained quiet. Sy-wen felt his grip tremble in her palm, then grow calm again. “I… I did not know.”

“You should never have left, Kast. After you fled with that mad shaman, chasing after dreams, something died in your father.”

“But what of my younger brother? He was to watch over the old man.

Before the shaman could answer, the keelchief interrupted, pushing forward. The man had fled all the way to the rail when the dragon transformed. As he approached, his hand again rested warily on the hilt of his sword. He eyed Kast up and down sourly.

The keelchief glared at the Bloodrider defiantly, fists on his hips. “What are you doing back here, Kast?” Thunder crashed overhead as the storm’s edge finally rolled upon them.

With rain sluicing over the hard planes of his face, Kast studied the smaller man. “Ulster, after ten winters, is that how you welcome home your elder brother?”

Pinorr sat on the edge of his bed and shook his head at Kast’s story. The Bloodrider and his ward, Sy-wen, had retreated to Pinorr’s cabin while Ulster and the crew secured the Dragonspur against the storm. In a corner, Sheeshon played quietly with her scrimshawed carvings. Pinorr cocked his head and studied Kast’s dragon tattoo. “So this… this Ragnar’k… He’s a part of you now? Sy-wen can call him forth anytime with a touch?”

Kast nodded, wolfing down fish stew and hard bread. He spoke on

wling, Pinorr looked away. “Ulster will not help. He is not the you left behind, Kast.” What do you mean?“

“After you left, Ulster bore the brunt of your father’s ire. As the remaining son and heir to your family name, he was driven u d by your father, his head filled with dreams of glory. Your father would brook no failings from him. Eventually something broke in rhe boy, and he grew into a hard man, bereft of compassion, a lover of easy cruelties. He is no brother to you now. Remember that.“

“I cannot believe these words,” Kast said.

Pinorr saw the mer’ai girl slip her hand into Kast’s, comforting him. It seemed that more than magick bound these two. “I’m sorry, Kast. I tried my best to guide Ulster after your father died, to mentor him in the ways of stewarding a ship. But I believe what broke in him will never heal. He now bridles against my counsel, turning his resentment for his father against me.” Pinorr went on to explain about the recent attack on Sheeshon.

Kast’s face was red with anger by the time the story was finished. “How could my brother grow so craven?”

Pinorr shook his head sadly. “Let it go, Kast. It’s over. With Sheeshon choosing Ragnar’k as her champion, I don’t believe Ulster will press the blood duel now. He’ll be glad to forget his threats.”

“For now,” Kast said grimly. “But what of later?”

“We’ll cross those rough seas when the winds blow us there,” Pinorr answered, waving away Kast’s concerns. “I only tell you all this so you will understand. The Dre’rendi are not likely to consider your request. There are few who will even listen to you.”

“But your people swore oaths,” Sy-wen argued and pointed toward the faded tattoo on Pinorr’s neck. “For your freedom, you promised to serve us one last time. Now is that time. We call you to honor your ancient debts.”

“Those are old oaths, faded and forgotten like the dyes on my wrinkled neck. None will place much strength on such vows.”

Kast’s face remained ruddy with an inner fire. “You’re wrong, Pinorr. The Dre’rendi have no choice.” He related how the tattoos held magick in their ink, how Sy-wen had bent his will to her desires. “The tattoos bind us to the mer’ai. If they have a need of us, we will be forced to serve. Trust me; I know.” Pinorr fingered the old seahawk on his cheek, his eyes wide. “So they would enslave us again.”

“That is not our desire,” Sy-wen persisted. “Or even possible. Each of the mer’ai can bond to only one of the Bloodriders. As I am bonded to Kast, I can command no others. Such a magick would not allow us to enslave your entire people. You outnumber us tenfold.” Kast supported her. “They’d rather have the Dre’rendi as allies, not slaves. The mer’ai have as little interest in us as we do in them. They only ask us to honor our ancestors’ oaths and to unite against a common foe. Afterward, our two peoples can part ways with our old debts paid.”

“That is, if any survive,” Pinorr replied under his breath, remembering Sheeshon’s words of doom.

Kast leaned closer to Pinorr. “There must be some way to convince our people, to get them at least to listen.”

Pinorr sighed and contemplated their words. Kast, with his eyes afire and his brows fierce, reminded the shaman of the younger man’s father, his old friend. The flame of the high keel still burned in this elder son.

Pinorr had never been able to refuse the high keel anything, especially when the man’s blood was aflame.

Rubbing at his chin, Pinorr mumbled softly. “There may be a way.” He sensed that he was about to betray his people, to set them on a path of doom. Yet his heart told him to trust Kast.

“How?”

“It will take the dragon, the one named Ragnar’k. Are you willing to forsake yourself to him again?” Kast nodded. “If I must.”

Pinorr turned to Sy-wen. “What I ask of you is much worse.” He told her what he needed accomplished.

“Only your hand can do this.”

The woman’s eyes grew wide with horror, but she nodded her understanding.

“You must reach the high keel’s ship before the morning,” Pinorr finished. “Otherwise, if the fleet regroups after the storm, you will need to face the full council of keelchiefs, and there are too many like Ulster for any chance of them listening. But the high keel himself is a just man. If you catch him alone in this storm, he will listen. Convince him and the battle is won. He must understand the truth of our two peoples’ shared histories.”

“But what of the storm’s fury?” Kast asked as thunder boomed through the planks, rattling the bowls on the table.

“We will have to trust the sea gods,” Pinorr said.

Sy-wen was clearly not as convinced, her eyes full of doubt. “You place too much trust in gods and ancient stories of dragons.” Her gaze flicked toward the tiny child playing with her toys. Drool dripped from the slack side of the girl’s lips. “If either proves wrong…” Pinorr stood. “I know what I risk.” He crossed to Sheeshon and gathered his son’s daughter up in his arms.

The girl smiled up into his face. “Papa, where are we going?”

“You’re going to fly, sweetheart. Fly with a dragon.”

Ulster sat hunched with Jabib and Gylt in the ship’s galley. The storm rocked the lanterns on their hooks, waving their long shadows over the walls. Thunder rumbled in a continual growl through the boat, erupting occasionally into fierce booms that shook their mugs of Tulusian kaffee.

Every such burst caused Gylt to duck his head and glance nervously upward, as if he were about to be struck. “May the sea gods protect us,” he prayed, then waited for the echoes to trail away.

Ulster scowled at his fears. “The gods do not protect the foolish. Only a well-manned boat will survive this storm.” He turned his attentions back to his first mate. “Who have you assigned to pilot, Jabib?”

“Biggin, sir. He’s already lashed to the wheel. He’s a good man in rough seas.”

“What about Hrendal?”

Jabib shook his head. “He’s a better navigator, but he doesn’t have Biggin’s sea sense.” Ulster nodded, satisfied with his first mate’s judgment. Jabib knew the crew’s strengths and weaknesses better than he. “Good. With the rigging secured and the decks cleared, we should steer right through this storm.”

Jabib’s expression did not appear as confident.

“What’s wrong?”

“The crew, sir. I’ve heard rumblings. They say your fight with Pinorr has brought this storm down upon the fleet. They believe the

dragon was birthed by the skies to punish the ship and is being led by the spirit of your dead brother.“ Ulster snorted. “That’s ridiculous. Kast never died. He just ran off. The dragon and the girl are just some trick of his to rejoin the fleet. We’ll deal with him and his green-haired whore after the storm.” Jabib shrugged. “It’s just what I’ve heard. The men are scared by the storm’s size and spooked by the queer happenings on the deck earlier. Their talk grows stronger. Rumors abound. I’ve even heard some of the crew whisper plans of casting the shaman into the sea to appease the gods—”

“That is not a bad idea,” Ulster grumbled.

“But I’ve also heard the same threats against you and your brother.” Ulster pounded his gloved fist on the table. “What are you saying? Is it mutiny they want?”

“It’s just talk, sir. But a show of strength by you…”

Ulster pondered his words. “What do you propose?”

“A demonstration of your love for the gods.” Jabib glanced about the room, then leaned nearer. “A sacrifice… by your own hand.”

“And you think a spurt of goat’s blood will still the tongues of these whispers?”

“No, but maybe something stronger will. The shaman’s child— her twisted face, her ramblings. She makes the crew uneasy. Mader Geel is the only one who will even look after the girl.” Jabib looked significantly at Ulster. “None will miss her.”

Gylt spoke into the silence, his voice cracking with fear. “She is cursed. All know it, but none have dared confront Shaman Pinorr. Tales say the child was birthed from a dead belly. One just has to look at that half-frozen face to know the gods have shunned her.”

Jabib nodded. “If you rid the ship of the child, the crew will see your strength and know you honor the gods.

This will end their talk of mutiny.”

“But what of Pinorr?”

Jabib leaned even closer, his voice a hushed whisper. “In storms, accidents can happen.” Kast crept down the passageway. The deck rolled under his feet, seeking to topple him. Barefooted, he kept his balance and snuck upon the guard stationed near the hatch to the upper deck. His many winters at sea among the cutthroats of Port Rawl had taught Kast the art of the assassin. His prey was no challenge, his eye pressed foolishly to the peephole in the door as he watched the storm’s first rally against the ship.

Beyond the hatch, winds screamed like tortured spirits, masking Kast’s final steps toward the man’s back.

Without pausing, Kast struck the man a sharp blow to his neck with the callused edge of his hand. His prey collapsed at his feet. Kast relieved the man of his sword, then hurried back five paces and waved the others forward.

Sy-wen, her eyes wide with fear, hurried toward Kast. Pinorr, his face red from both exertion and anxiety, held Sheeshon in his arms. “We will not have much time,” Pinorr commented. “You must hurry.” Kast nodded. “The storm is fierce. Stay close.” Turning to the hatch, he threw open the latch, but the door ripped away on its own, torn free by the howling gales. The fierce winds fought to drag the lot of them onto the deck, but Kast fought the wind’s pull, legs braced, hands tight to the door’s frame. Only Kast’s strength kept the others sheltered within the opening.

Behind him, Sy-wen hung from his right arm, her cheek resting on his shoulder as she squinted at the storm.

Her breath was like fire on his neck. “I… I don’t think I can do this. The rain… the winds…”

“You must,” Pinorr said.

A huge wave suddenly crashed over the rails, a monster of frothing foam and swirling currents. It tore loose a set of lashed barrels and sent them crashing across the deck. Kast scowled at such poor preparations.

He waited for the waters to sluice away and the ship to right itself. “Now!” he yelled and sprang out, keeping a firm grip on Sy-wen’s hand. Rain, whipped by the winds into stinging sleet, strove to hammer him to the deck. He sheltered Sy-wen under him. Before the fury of this storm, the small mer’ai woman would be nothing but a stray leaf.

Pinorr had remained in the doorway, Sheeshon in his arms. “Hurry!” he called to them.

Once far enough out on the deck, Kast swung around, pulling Sy-wen into his embrace. “Call the dragon,” he yelled as the wind tore at his words.

Sy-wen seemed frozen by the fierceness of the warring skies. Lightning played in jagged spears across the underbellies of the black clouds. Thunder ached the ribs in their chests. “We can’t possibly fly in this—” As she resisted, Kast drew her fingers to his tattoo. “Ragnar’k can,” he said. “The dragon and I are one.

We will not fail you. Trust me. Trust the dragon’s heart.”

Her eyes were moist from more than just the rain as she glanced up at him. “I will trust my bonded,” she said, her words a whisper in the wind. “Both of them.” She gazed into his eyes, and for a moment, the storm’s howl vanished. It was as if they were alone on the deck.

In the silence between cracks of thunder, she placed her palm upon his cheek and leaned up toward him, her lips brushing his ear. “I have need of you.”

With those words of binding, the world around him vanished.

Sy-wen sat astride the dragon’s neck as Ragnar’k awoke to the storm. The great beast bellowed at the skies, its silver claws dug deep into the ship’s boards. Sy-wen knew that no wind or wash of wave could dislodge the huge dragon.

Its massive head swung in her direction. Red eyes glowed at her. Do we fly again ? it asked.

Yes, she answered silently. We must make for the largest ship.

Ragnar’k sent his willingness to her in a warmth of bonded loyalty. His thoughts drove away the storm’s chill. He unfurled his wings.

Wait, she urged him. We must carry someone with us. A rasp of irritation flooded her. You are my bonded. Only bonded shares the winds .

I know, my dragon, but I have a great need and it is only a short distance.

A grumble, the equivalent of a dragon’s sigh, rose from his chest. Wings folded back down.

Sy-wen raised her arm toward the opening to the lower decks.

Pinorr and Sheeshon were still sheltered in the doorway. She waved to the shaman.

Pinorr showed no fear as he scurried across the space between door and dragon. As the waves rolled the boat, he almost lost his footing on the slippery deck. Soon he crouched in the lee of the beast’s bulk, protected from the worst of the storm. “Can you manage? ” he yelled up at Sy-wen.

She nodded. “Ragnar’k will keep us both safe!”

Sy-wen leaned down and accepted the small child from Pinorr’s outstretched arms. Sheeshon struggled and sobbed in fear, not of the dragon, but of the angry skies. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the lightning.

Sy-wen pulled Sheeshon into the space in front of her and wrapped both arms around her. “Hush. You’re safe,” she soothed, but in her heart, Sy-wen was not so confident. With her ankles locked in the dragon’s folds, Sy-wen had to trust the strength of her own arms to keep the child atop the dragon.

Sheeshon glanced up at Sy-wen. The girl struggled for bravery in the face of the storm. “Your big dragon has a funny name.”

“Yes, he does.”

“He’s gonna eat me,” the child said calmly.

Shocked, Sy-wen stared as Sheeshon turned and patted happily at the dragon’s scaled neck, her actions so incongruous with her words.

/ will not eat her, Ragnar’k argued grimly. She’s too small.

I kriow, my bonded. Ignore her words. She is addled . Still, Sy-wen shuddered. The child had spoken with such certainty.

Suddenly the roiling clouds unleashed their fury. A crash of icy hail pounded down from the black skies, pelting the deck with a roaring clatter.

Cringing from the stinging bites, Sy-wen leaned over the dragon’s shoulder and found Pinorr staring up at her. “Fear not, Shaman, I will get the girl safe to the Dragonsheart . Kast and I will convince the high keel of our urgency.”

His face was still lined with worry. “You know what you must do.” Nodding, Sy-wen pulled back, her lips tight. She clutched tighter to the child. Sweet Mother, forgive me, but I do.

Pinorr retreated, bent against the hail. He fled to the doorway and waved an arm in farewell.

Sy-wen turned toward the raging seas. Fly, she sent the dragon.

Ragnar’k obeyed, wings snapping taut in the strong gale, catching the winds. The dragon released his claws, and the storm took hold of him. Ragnar’k sailed over the rail. Away from the ship, whitecaps blew up from the sea, reaching for them, struggling to tear them from the skies. Some waves towered as high as mighty cliffs. But the dragon sailed above their grasps.

Lightning chased them across the sea.

Ducking away from the thunder, Sy-wen considered ordering the dragon to dive under the furious sea to escape the storm’s brunt, but speed was essential. Flying was faster, and she feared the child’s panic if they fled under the waves. Sheeshon could easily drown— and that must not happen. The success of their mission depended on the girl.

Sy-wen kept a firm grip on the trembling child. Sheeshon was mumbling something, over and over. It sounded almost like a child’s song, rhythmic and repetitive. The wind tore away most of her words, but occasional snatches reached her. Sy-wen pieced them together in her head: Dragon heart and dragon bone,

only blood will shatter stone. Dragon dark and dragon bright, only pain will win this fight.

Sy-wen pulled back, her mind working on the child’s rhyme. What did it mean? Her skin prickled with the words. As with Kast’s tattoo, she sensed old magick in the girl’s chant.

Touching the child’s cheek, Sy-wen drew her attention. “What are you—?” Suddenly the world exploded. Time froze. Pain seared Sy-wen’s left side. Blind for an unknown length of time, Sy-wen came back to the world with a scream filling her ears. It took her a moment to realize that it was her own throat crying out. She stared in horror at the raging sea flying toward them.

Under her, the dragon dove in a spiraling fall, head lolling on a flailing neck. Sheeshon was still clutched in her arms. The child struggled an arm free and pointed to the left. Sy-wen glanced and saw the smoking tear in the dragon’s wing. Mother above, Ragnar’k

must have caught the edge of a lightning bolt! As she stared, other jagged spears pursued her injured mount.

Sy-wen concentrated on the dragon. Ragnar’k, wake! I have need of you!

Somewhere far away she felt a slight stir. She reached out with her senses and sent forth her urgency.

Awake! Help us!

A faint thought came to her. Sy-wen?

She knew this was not the dragon. She did not have time to ponder the miracle. Kast! You must wake Ragnar’k !

The dragon’s body swept into a trough between gigantic walls of frothing waters. Instinct kept its wings wide, so they glided along the valley between the mountainous waves. But they had only another few heartbeats before the dragon struck the water.

Kast struggled. 1 don’t know how …

Do what you must! Or the girl and I die!

Suddenly the dragon lurched under her. She was almost thrown from his back. The great beast wobbled, struggling with his injured wing. But finally his neck stretched long, scales slick with saltwater. His head swung side to side, surveying the situation.

A tower of water threatened to topple upon them, its top edge thrashed white by the winds. The dragon arched his back up, turned on his good wing, and fought to pull up from the trough.

Hurry! Sy-wen urged, watching the wave’s crest begin to tumble toward them.

Muscle writhed under her; wings fought wind and rain. A roar of frustration and rage bellowed from the dragon as he dragged his bulk upward.

Sy-wen twisted her neck and watched the wave chase them. It snarled and gnashed at the dragon’s tail.

Then it was over.

A final lunge and the dragon heaved above the monster wave. The waters crashed below, roaring their own frustration, missing the dragon’s tail by a mere handspan.

Crying in relief, Sy-wen collapsed over the girl. “We made it,” she moaned. Sy-wen rubbed her hand appreciatively along the dragon’s neck. Thank you, Ragnar’k-It wasn’t just the dragon.

Kast?

/ could not wa’te Ragnar’t . Sy-wen sensed the exhaustion and strain in the Bloodrider. The shoc’t and pain had driven Ragnar’k^ too deep. I was only able to reach his baser thoughts — his simple instincts and reflexes. But it was enough. With my will giving direction and purpose, the dragon’s instincts and reflexes powered his body. But how… ?

The dragon tumbled downward, then caught itself. It… it’s too hard to tal’t this way… and control the dragon. Watch over the girl . Sy-wen sent her silent thanks and warmth to Kast. Around her, thunder boomed as the squall’s fury heightened. As they flew, the winds grew fiercer, forcing Sy-wen to lean closer to the dragon, sheltering the girl under her.

Suddenly out of the rain-swept darkness, a ship appeared. Triple masted and dragon prowed, it fought the waves with a fury that seemed almost alive. Sy-wen knew this ship from Pinorr’s description. It was the largest of the fleet—the Dragonsheart .

Her mount must have spotted it at the same time. The dragon leaned his neck down, and his body followed, diving toward the ship. Sy-wen clutched the child as the ship grew under them. The tumble toward the ship’s deck was not the artful glide of Ragnar’k in full control. Kast must be struggling fiercely to fly the giant. Wings beat and fought to both slow their descent and guide their aim. It was a close battle, the outcome uncertain.

The ship, rolling among the towering waves, made an unwilling partner. Its deck teetered, and the three masts stabbed at them like hostile spears.

The dragon roared at the stubborn boat, banking and twisting to match the ship’s tumble.

As the ship’s decks flew toward them, Sy-wen closed her eyes. It did no good to look. With her heart clenched in her throat, Sy-wen leaned and pinned the child under her, hugging the dragon tight. Kast, do not fail me.

A shuddering crash was her only answer. Sy-wen fought to keep her grip, but the impact was too great.

Her ankles popped free from their footholds, and she and the girl slid up the dragon’s neck. Gasping, Sy-wen willed her arms and legs to grip with every fiber in her small body. The screech of claw on wood stretched forever as the dragon skidded across the wet deck. Sy-wen waited for the snap of rail and the final tumble into the roaring sea.

It never happened.

The dragon settled to a trembling stop under her.

Sy-wen kept her eyes closed and sent a silent prayer to all the gods of the world. Slowly, she opened her eyes. The tip of the dragon’s nose touched the rail. It had been close—too close. The great beast lay stretched across the deck, too exhausted to lift himself. His chest heaved in huge gulping blasts, steaming into the cold rain. Behind her, Sy-wen noted the deep gouges dragged across the deck. Pieces of broken silver nail littered the trail.

Sheeshon also surveyed their surroundings. “This isn’t Papa’s boat,” she said. A trace of fear etched her words.

Sy-wen placed a palm on the child’s cheek. “It’s all right, Sheeshon. You’ll be safe here until your papa comes.”

A crash of wood sounded to the left as a hatch flew open. Sy-wen watched men rush out onto the storm-swept deck bearing spears and swords. When they saw what lay before them, they stopped, their faces mixed with fear and awe.

Sy-wen knew Kast should do the talking here. She lowered Sheeshon onto the deck. “Stay by the dragon,” she urged the child.

Then Sy-wen, conscious of all the eyes upon her, followed the child off their mount, careful to keep one hand on Ragnar’k. Once her feet were secure under her, Sy-wen took Sheeshon’s hand in her own and turned to face the growing audience.

Even the wicked storm could not keep the crew away. From among their midst, the tallest man Sy-wen had ever set eyes upon shoved through the crowd. Older, but still well muscled, he was as wide as he was tall.

She heard a few whispered comments from the others gathered here. One name was spoken by all: high

/(eel. The man stopped and stared at the two small women and the sprawled dragon. He wore a hard scowl; no twinge of welcome softened his features. His eyes were dark with suspicion.

Sy-wen swallowed. Kast was certainly the one to confront this man.

Stepping forward, Sy-wen removed her hand from the dragon, releasing the spell. She cringed away from the whirlwind to come— but nothing happened.

Glancing over her shoulder, Sy-wen saw the dragon still draped across the deck. Only his steaming breath gave sign he was still alive.

“Kast?” she called out.

A harsh voice drew her back around. It was the high keel. His glare promised pain. “What manner of storm demon are you?”

As Pinorr returned to his cabin, worry gnawed at his belly. With his plan now under way, he was not as confident of his idea. It depended too much on the truth of ancient tales. If he was wrong, it could mean not only the failure of Kast and Sy-wen’s hopes, but the death of Sheeshon as well.

He reached for the latch to his door, thunder in his ears, lanterns casting twisted shadows. At that moment, a sudden lull in the storm saved his life. As the thunder’s roar died away momentarily, Pinorr heard the faint scrape of heel on wood. It was enough to draw his eye.

Hunched a short way down the passage stood the stocky Gylt, a stained blade in hand. From his furtive posture and the sudden guilt in his eyes, the shaman knew the crewman meant him harm. After checking the rest of the passage, Pinorr turned to face the man fully. “So you come to murder in Ulster’s stead?” The crewman still stood frozen in midstep, indecision wavering his determination.

“I see you draw the sea gods’ wrath to your own shoulders, sparing Ulster. How brave of you to damn your own spirit.” Pinorr narrowed his gaze. He began to understand the keelchief’s purpose here. “Even though you may trick the crew and blame my disappearance on the storm’s fury, do not think the sea gods will not know which hand wielded the sword. Even now, they watch you through my eyes. They stare at your heart.” A sudden burst of thunder shook the deck under their feet.

Gylt gasped and backed a step away.

Pinorr knew the man was easily cowed, especially when scared. He leaned closer. “Hear how the gods call for your blood already.”

Gylt’s eyes grew wide with horror. His sword trembled in his grip. “I… I wasn’t supposed to slay you, Shaman. Truly I wasn’t! I w-was only supposed to make sure you returned to your cabin.” Pinorr frowned at Gylt. He sensed the truth to the man’s words.

Behind Pinorr, his cabin door suddenly swung open. He knew he had left his room empty. He had clearly stumbled blindly into an

ambush. He had not thought Ulster could grow so craven—at least not this soon.

In front of Pinorr, a shadow cast from the room’s lanterns spread on the far wall of the passage: a man with his sword raised. Pinorr watched the shadowy blade plunge toward his back.

Pinorr had no time to turn, only to duck sideways, raising an arm in warding. The blade sliced under his arm, just missing his chest and catching the edge of his robe. Pinorr saw the blade’s tip thrust out from under his raised arm. At that moment, old instincts returned to Pinorr—under his shaman’s robe still beat the heart of a Bloodrider. Though he had untied his warrior’s braid long ago, a part of him remembered.

Crying a warrior’s roar, Pinorr brought down his arm, trapping the flat of the blade against his chest. He clamped hard and twisted on a heel. As expected, his attacker was slightly off balance by his failed thrust.

The clamped blade tore free of the other’s grip. Pinorr did not pause. As he continued his turn, he reached for the freed blade. After forty winters, his hands again settled around the hilt of a sword.

Sweeping the weapon forward, he faced his disarmed attacker. A rage burst in Pinorr’s heart. His vision narrowed to sharp edges.

Pinorr heard the gasp from Gylt on his left. “You must not bear a sword. You must not shed blood. You’re a shaman!”

Ignoring the man’s outburst, Pinorr stared at his attempted assassin. He was not surprised to find Jabib standing before him, always Ulster’s dog. The first mate reached for a dagger. Pinorr was faster.

The sword buried itself in the first mate’s chest. Pinorr thrust deeper, stepping toward Jabib, until they were nose to nose, the sword’s hilt lodged between their bellies. Hot blood washed over Pinorr’s cold hand. He trembled with rage as he faced his attempted assassin. “May the sea gods feed your spirit to their worms,” he spat as he stepped away, twisting the sword as he pulled it free.

Jabib gasped and fell to his knees. Blood frothed from his mouth and poured down his chest. Before the man could tumble onto his face, Pinorr grabbed the man’s braid, holding him up by his corded hair.

Jabib raised his eyes in horror.

“I send you to the gods without honor,” Pinorr said coldly and sliced the braid away in one sweep of his sword. Unsupported now, Jabib crashed to the planks, his life’s blood pooling under him. Pinorr turned, sword in one hand, Jabib’s braid in the other. Gylt dropped his sword, eyes white with fear. “You have cursed us,” he cried. “You have soiled yourself with blood.”

“You have cursed yourselves,” he said. “The sea gods warned me of your treachery, protected me. They silenced the storm so I might hear your tread. They cast Jabib’s shadow on the wall, revealing his craven attack.” Pinorr stepped closer to Gylt. “They bless me this stormy night, so I might seek their vengeance upon those who plot against the gods.”

Gylt shook his head, violently denying Pinorr’s words. He slipped to his knees. “No… no…” he moaned.

Pinorr towered over the sobbing man. “Yes,” he said, his voice as harsh as the storm raging above.

Gylt must have sensed Pinorr’s heart. He lunged for his sword— but it was too late.

Pinorr swung his own blade with all the rage in his bones. Blood sprayed over his forearms. Pinorr stepped over Gylt’s body while the man’s head still bobbled down the passage ahead of him.

With Jabib’s braid dragging at his side, Pinorr continued deeper into the ship’s bowels. He knew that for too long he had allowed a foulness to fester in this ship. Fear for Sheeshon, fear for himself, had stayed his hand. With Sheeshon gone, Pinorr knew it was time he acted. This night, tides of prophecy drew all the players together, allowing none to escape their destiny.

By morning, the Dre’rendi would either be forged into their final purpose—beaten into a weapon against the Gul’gotha—or sunk under the waves.

His people’s final fate would depend on a shaman’s cursed sword and the heart of a child.

TH CH N O RIBBING THE SKV, Sv-WBN FACED THE HIGH

Wl

LI

T

IN

Raindrops pelted the decks in a constant ^^ the man, the deck bristled with spears and swords. other crewmen. All that mattered was the ^| her. He was the leader here, the one she and Kast had ^ sway.

But nothing was going according to the old shaman’s la. as a fellow Bloodnder, was the one who was supposed to herald

cause, not her. ,

Glancing behind to the collapsed dragon, Sy-wen kne. plans needed to be hastily reworked, but she couId not thin^ Her thoughts worried on Ragnar’k and Kast. What had happened-Why hadn’t the spell reversed itself? Was it the hghtninsmk^ Was Kast forever trapped in the dragon’s form? Her mind spun with the implications. „ wen’s

A small hand squeezed her own. Sheeshon tugged on Sy-wn arm. “That man’s bigger than Papa,” she commented plamly, point ing to the high keel. The drenched ch.ld sh.vered ¦„ the wrn^

Hugging the girl closer to keep her warm, Sy-wen turn from a few paces away, Sy-wen rill had to crane her neck to face the man. His eyes were shards of blue steel, hi, braided ~“*^~ silvered along the edges from passmg win**, n to righfi** clutched a whaling harpoon that towered oveHto. .H»<Y« «•*

between Sy-wen and the huge black dragon. W.th Ragnar k

her, he was cautious. »

?

“Again I ask you,” he said, “what manner of demon are you.

Sy-wen finally freed her tongue. Silence was not going to sway anyone. “I am no demon, High Keel of the Dre’rendi,” she said solemnly, bowing her head slightly in greeting. “I am Sy-wen, emissary of the mer’ai. I have been sent by Shaman Pinorr to seek your counsel.” His crew were too well trained to speak out of turn, but Sy-wen saw furtive glances pass among those who backed the high keel. Doubt and anger were mixed in their nervous stances. From their responses, Pinorr’s earlier warning proved correct. The mer’ai name was not well received.

The high keel spoke into the stretch of silence. His voice cracked slightly from the shock of her announcement, but it soon returned to its commanding tones. “Do you have proof for such wild claims?” he asked.

Sy-wen waved her free hand back to the dragon. “If this is not proof enough,” she said as she pulled Sheeshon in front of her, “Shaman Pinorr also sent his only blood as his seal of support.” The high keel seemed finally to notice the small girl. He squinted at Sheeshon. “I know this child…” he said hesitatingly.

Another man pushed forward, coming around the high keel’s shoulder. He was blue robed like a shaman, but where Pinorr was weathered thin and hard, this man was full bellied, one hand resting on his ample paunch. He eyed the skies fretfully. “We should take the captives below,” he said with a slight lisp. “I fear this is but a calm before the storm’s true fury strikes.” He glanced to the dragon, his gaze frightened.

“Bad omens still scent the winds.”

The high keel nodded. He waved for two guards to flank the pair of girls. The men bore sickle-shaped swords; lightning reflected off their wet blades. “If you are not demons, then come with us. Tell us why you’ve come, why my old friend would send you.”

Sy-wen noted the raised blades. The high keel’s statement was no request, but she nodded anyway.

“We appreciate your offer of shelter,” she said, then indicated the dragon. “But my mount has suffered a grievous wound. I must first beg a boon from you.”

Thunder again began to build around them. “What is it?” the high keel said impatiently.

“The dragon needs a healer.”

The Dre’rendi leader nodded to the boat’s shaman. “Bilatus is this ship’s healer, but his arts serve men, not dragons.”

The portly shaman nodded his agreement vigorously, his eyes fixed on the steaming hulk of black scale and silver claw. “I have no herbs or salves for such a beast. I could harm as easily as heal.”

Sy-wen’s heart quailed at the thought of leaving the collapsed dragon unattended on the deck. What if a wave should wash him overboard? She glanced back at her huge companion. Twin streams f white billowed from his flared nostrils, but his eyes still remained o closed

A hand touched her shoulder, making her jump. It was the high keel; he had come so silently upon her.

“Fear not. Your dragon will remain safe, Sy-wen of the mer’ai. I have given my welcome. Until this matter is heard and judged, none will dare break my invitation. We will tether your mount with thick lines to mast and rail. Unless the Dragonsheart sinks, your beast will remain secure.”

“Thank you.”

The high keel stepped closer to the great dragon, reaching a hand to touch it.

“Careful, my high keel!” the shaman called out from behind them.

The broad-shouldered man ignored the warning and placed his palm upon a wet fold of scaled wing. “I never imagined I’d see such a wonder.” He shook his head and pulled his hand away. As he returned to his line of men, Sy-wen spotted the whisper of a smile again on his face.

“Come,” he said as he passed her.

She followed this time, discovering a twinge of respect for the man. She now understood why Pinorr had placed such trust in the high keel. There was no question that steel flowed through his veins. But she found that a keen curiosity also shone forth from his eyes.

With Sheeshon clinging tight to her side, Sy-wen followed the high keel’s back. Shaman Bilatus kept close to the man’s shoulder, constantly glancing back at them as they entered the ship.

The high keel led the procession down a short stair and along a wide corridor. He pushed into a long room. Overhead, lanterns hanging from beams swayed with the roll of the boat. Tables and benches lined the floor. He faced the gathered crew. “You all have your orders and stations,” his voice boomed. “I don’t expect my ship to sink in this storm because my crew turned into a bunch of slack-jawed gawkers.

Be off to your duties!” He waved to one other fellow, a handsome man who stood almost as tall as the high keel. “Hunt, accompany us.”

“Yes, High Keel.” His eyes lit up with excitement. Suddenly Sy-wen recognized why the man seemed familiar. “Is he your son?”she asked.

“And the Dragonsheart’s first mate,” the high keel said proudly. “Come. We will retire to my cabin and speak of these matters in private.”