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spotted the small dandyflower growing amid the debris. Like the grass, it had also faded from stone back to green leaves and yellow petals. Tyrus reached down, plucking it free.

As he did so, the stem grew black, then the leaves, then the petals. In a heartbeat, he held only a granite replica of the flower. His eyes widened with horror.

Shocked, he dropped the flower. It shattered at his toes.

Only then did he remember the last words of the Magus.

But first' a gift.

Sy-wen swept through the foggy night atop Ragnar'k. She closed her eyes to savor the freedom of the open sky. Earlier, she had been dragged from belowdecks spitting and cursing, still possessed by the wickedness in her skull. But as before, Kast had called her forth enough to release the dragon.

Atop her mount, united by the bonded magick, she was her own self again. And Master Edyll had told her about the malignant boat they followed the ship of bone.

The possessed, led by Hunt, raced the foul creation toward the fleet, intending to seed their evil among the ships. They had to be stopped.

She and Ragnar'k were to scout the ship and prepare a plan of attack, while the Ravenswing kept high among the clouds, awaiting her signal to dive down and attack. Both Bloodrider and elv'in warriors readied for the assault.

Ragnar'k banked on a wingtip and swept seaward. Sy-wen opened her eyes. Below she spotted the pale ship sweeping through the waves. Distantly she swore she heard screams carried on the winds. It was the wake of fear left by the ship, a palpable evil. Muffled by the magick of her dragon, it was dulled and blunted. Still, a small tremble passed over her skin.

Bad ship, Ragnar'k grumbled, sensing her heart.

Sy-wen didn't argue. The foul craft, its crew, its cargo all of it had to be destroyed before it reached the fleet. But she had friends aboard the ship, as innocent as she herself. She pictured Hunt, his broad, easy smile, his love and concern for Sheeshon.

A twinge of guilt traced through her. Why was she allowed to live while the others were sentenced to a watery grave?

The dragon swept over the boat and circled back. No alarm was raised. The ebony scales of Ragnar'k blended with the dark night. Sy-wen stud-ied the empty deck. There was not even a steersman. It was ominous to see a ship in full sail without a single sailor on deck especially in these treacherous seas.

Around the ship, mountains of ice rode the currents, while other sections of the sea boiled and spat with searing steam. To sail such waters blindly was to invite certain death. But still the ship sped on, leaving a wake of screams.

Spied upon this close, the leathery sails were clearly skin, stretched and stitched with sinew. The rigging appeared damp with blood and gore. The skeleton at the prow held up bony arms toward the skies, pleading. The skull's mouth was frozen open in a silent wail.

Sy-wen felt bile rising in her throat at the sight of it. It seemed mad to board such a craft, but they must. This den of evil had to be destroyed.

Circle back to the Ravenswing she whispered, sending her desire through her thoughts as much as her words. We'll attack when the moon is fully risen.

Ragnar'k beat his wings to spiral back up toward the waiting ship. Movement below drew her attention. She focused back on the dread craft, where a hatch opened and someone stepped to the deck, face raised, searching.

Hide, she urged her mount.

Ragnar'k swept into one of the steamy fog banks, vanishing inside. All sign of the ship was lost below. The world itself vanished in a cloud of warm haze. Water beaded her skin, smelling of brimstone.

Sy-wen shivered despite the warmth and prayed they hadn't been spotted. For that brief moment, as the sentinel below had raised his face to the skies, she had recognized Hunt.

Catching an updraft, Ragnar'k flew high and cleared the fog bank. Starlight and moonlight shone brighter. The dragon's wings glistened with jeweled droplets. With a final shudder, she left the terror of the ghost ship behind and turned her face to the open skies.

Haifa league away, she spotted the Ravenswing, its iron keel ruddy in the night. She directed Ragnar'k back home. They dared not wait any longer before waging their assault. Whether Hunt had spotted them or not, he was clearly wary.

Ragnar'k swept over to the elv'in ship, drawing abreast. He swept along as Sy-wen called to the ship's captain and pointed toward the seas below. Now! As we planned, but we must go now!

Captain Lisla acknowledged her with a wave. Other elv'in stood behind her, along with a tight group of Bloodriders. All were armed.

The captain yelled to her crew. Foresails were reefed, and lines were

-| hauled with practiced precision. Lisla stood midship, her figure limned in energy. She cast her arms skyward, then swept them apart and down.

The Ravenswing, an extension of her body and spirit, bucked up, then dove steeply toward the fog-shrouded ocean. Its keel shone brighter as it dropped away.

Ragnar'k tucked his wings and followed, dropping like a stone from the skies. Sy-wen leaned against the dragon's hot neck, her feet clamped tight in the flaps on either side. Wind ripped at her, threatening to tear her from her perch. Despite the danger, delight surged through her. In her heart, a dragon roared a matching pleasure. The sensations blurred, and it became impossible to tell where dragon ended and rider began.

Ragnar'k passed the diving ship, and the pair broke through the clouds, the ocean spreading before them. Blue ice glinted against the black sea. Plumes of steam rose like ghostly towers of some lost city. And amid the wild ocean, a single ship scudded over the waves. Go! she urged. Do not let them escape. Never, my bonded' never!

Behind the sending of the dragon, she felt the heart of another. She touched that smaller heart and felt a pride and fierceness that matched a hundred dragons. Sy-wen smiled into the winds. Whatever came of this night, for this moment they were all together.

Sy-wen sensed the Ravenswing sweeping in behind her. She did not slow or glance over a shoulder. It was now or never.

Ragnar'k dove toward the pale ship. Whether screams still filled its sail, Sy-wen could not say. Winds howled around her, blanketing her. The sails of the other ship swelled as the dragon swooped down; its bone deck grew wide.

It was not empty.

As she had feared, Hunt had roused the ship. But it was too late to turn back.

Ta/^e them down! she shouted into the wind.

Ragnar'k was an arrow pointed at the center of the deck. Sy-wen ducked lower. The dragon's scales were a hearth burning under her. At the last moment, his wings shot out, cupping the wind. Clawed legs swung forward to land.

Men on deck fled from the onslaught, lest they be crushed.

Ragnar'k roared as he smote the deck, scattering all from his path. Claws dug into the bony planks. Sy-wen was thrown forward by the impact, but she was held fast by her mount. She crouched up as one wing lashed out and snapped the bone of the foremast, toppling it seaward.

As the possessed fled the dragon, she glanced back and saw the Ravenswing sweep over the boat. Ropes dropped from hatches in the bow and stern. Ladders unfurled, thrown over the rails.

From the hatches, elv'in dropped headfirst down the ropes with one leg twisted in the lengths as support. They looked to be plunging to their deaths, but at the last moment they slowed, then flipped to land catlike on the deck, swords ready.

Following them down the ladders, the Bloodriders clambered and slid with equal alacrity. They leaped to the deck, bellowing war cries, armed with axes and swords.

Then the two forces met. The possessed fought like wild beasts. Once Dre'rendi themselves, they were skilled fighters; now, directed by the creatures inside them, they used tooth and nail as readily as their blades.

Screams rose all around. Sails snapped as if in a tempest.

By the stern, a line of archers dropped to their knees and shot flaming arrows skyward, peppering the underside the Ravenswing. Fires ignited, but buckets of water were cast upon the small blazes before they could spread.

Around the dragon, the fighting grew fierce. Sy-wen sat in the eye of the storm. The dragon's wings protected her, while Ragnar'k snatched any of the enemy who came too near. Their broken bodies were tossed overboard.

Across the deck, blood washed over bone.

From her perch, Sy-wen was the only one to notice the transformation. The bloody bones of the deck rippled. Leathery flesh grew as if fed by the blood and gore. Gasping, she realized the fight was feeding the foul creation, bringing it from bone to life.

She yelled across the deck. Beware! The ship comes alive!

But the sounds of battle muffled her warning. She watched an elv'in step on a patch of transformed deck. Under his feet, a maw opened, lined by sharp teeth. Caught by surprise, he fell into the waiting jaws, arms flailing. As he slid down, the teeth clamped shut, biting through his chest with a crunch of bone. He didn't even have time to scream. Few noted his fate.

The others must be warned! she cried to her dragon. Already the spread of flesh swept over the decks.

Be ready! Ragnar'k answered.

The dragon's chest swelled under her; then he stretched his neck and roared with all his might. The cry split the sounds of battle.

Sy-wen did not wait. In the moment of stunned silence that followed, she screamed to be heard. Beware the ship! It comes to life under you!

Several of the combatants stared down at the decks. Others retreated from the flow of flesh.

Then the fighting resumed. The tides of battle turned against them. The possessed fought with renewed vigor, aided now by the ship itself. Jagged mouths appeared everywhere, snaking out with fleshy tongues to drag attackers to their doom.

A horn sounded from above, the call to retreat.

Men leaped to ropes and ladders. The possessed attempted to follow but were kicked off or cut free. The Ravenswing lurched away.

Ragnar'k spread his wings and leaped skyward to follow. But the blood-fed ship was not ready to let them escape. The transformation swept up the mast, changing bone into a clawed limb.

Without momentum or the speed to escape, Ragnar'k was snatched from the skies, gripped by a hind leg. Sy-wen was jarred from her seat and flung sideways. But before she could fall to the monstrous deck below, her left leg was wrenched, twisting her knee savagely. Crying out, she hung by one ankle from the dragon, her foot still locked in one flap.

Ragnar'k snaked his neck around and bit into the clawed grip that held him. Bone broke. Spouts of black blood ran down the mast, but still the claw held, dragging them back to the deck.

Then a bloom of flame exploded from the ship below, shooting high into the sky.

Sy-wen was baffled by the fire until she saw a pair of barrels topple past her. They struck the deck and burst with fiery blasts. She craned up and saw the Ravenswing above them. More barrels were being shoved out hatches to bombard the monstrous ship.

Attacked anew, the claw weakened enough for Ragnar'k to break free. But the dragon was off-kilter, too close to the deck. He fell before he could get his wings out to catch himself. He struck the deck hard, managing at the last moment to roll and swing Sy-wen above him to keep from crushing her under his own weight. Bonded!

I'm safe, she gasped out, swinging to resume her seat. Then an arrow struck her shoulder. The impact more than the pain surprised her. She sprawled across the dragon's neck.

Ragnar'k, sharing her senses, roared in fury.

Sy-wen turned to see Hunt toss aside his bow and leap atop the dragon's back, his sword raised above his head.

She tried to raise an arm in defense, but pain from the arrow dimmed her vision. The sword plunged toward her.

-|

Then Hunt was torn from the dragon's back, flung upward. His sword went flying as Ragnar'k shook the Bloodrider gripped in his jaws.

No! Sy-wen sent, sensing the murderous intent of her mount. To the Ravenswing.

Muscle surged under her, then they were aloft. She watched more barrels strike the ship, exploding with flame. It burned from prow to stern, igniting the marrow of the bone ship.

Ragnar'k banked away as the ship sank under the waves. The last she saw of the monstrous thing was its living mast clawing at the skies before it, too, sank away.

She closed her eyes, blacking out. When she opened her eyes, she was back on the Ravenswing. Men and elv'in bustled around her.

She pushed up, but a familiar voice warned her, Lie still, my dear. It was Master Edyll. We've taken the arrow out, but a healer's gone to fetch more dragon's blood.

She nodded weakly. The blood of a dragon could heal any wound except for the evil inside her. She lay stretched atop the warm dragon. Ragnar'f^'

I'm here, my bonded' I'm safe.

She sighed. Across the deck, she saw Hunt pinned to the deck, a Blood-rider on each limb. His upper torso had been stripped and an arc of bite wounds marked his flesh. An elv'in healer attempted to minister to his injuries, but he thrashed and fought, howling and snapping like a wild dog.

/ carried him to the ship, Ragnar'k explained, sensing her confusion. As you wanted.

She remembered her last order when the dragon had attacked Hunt. She had only meant for the dragon to drop the Bloodrider and escape, but Ragnar'k must have divined her heart, known the affection she had for the large man.

From atop the dragon, she watched Hunt struggle and howl. Soon she would be doing the same. Without the dragon's magick, the demon would overwhelm her again, turning her into a raving beast. Tears welled at this thought and with her vision blurred, she was a moment too late in noticing the danger to another. She shoved up despite the pain in her shoulder. Sheeshon! No!

The tiny girl had broken through the milling warriors and dropped beside the pinned Hunt. She reached to her bonded Bloodrider. I have need of you. Her fingers touched Hunt's tattoo, and his body convulsed with the magickal connection. The reaction was so violent and sudden that the guards holding the man were knocked aside.

-|

Sy-wen fought to go to her aid, but the dragon held her ankles, refusing to let her go.

Hunt grabbed up the small girl.

No! Sy-wen moaned.

But instead of any harm, Hunt curled his limbs around Sheeshon protectively. A sob escaped the large man's throat as he kissed the top of her head.

Pikes and swords surrounded the pair. Master Edyll pushed forward.

Master Hunt' ?

I'm myself, he gasped. Sheeshon's touch it broke the creature's hold.

Sheeshon nodded, her small hands hugging tight. But he still has worms in his head.

Master Edyll glanced between Hunt and Sy-wen. Like Sy-wen's bond to her dragon. As long as Sheeshon ignites the magickal bond and stays in contact

He'll be free, Sy-wen mumbled to herself. It cheered her to see the two together it fueled her hope that one day the same might be true for her and Kast.

A healer appeared at her side with a small cask of dragon's blood, We should see to your injuries, he said.

She nodded, but she knew there were no salves to heal her deepest wounds. Instead, she watched Hunt and Sheeshon as the healer worked on her shoulder. For the moment, she forgot her despair.

One day, my love' One day I'll hold you in my arms again.

Belowdecks aboard the Dragonsheart, Kast leaned over a table covered with sea charts and maps. The high keel and his portly advisor, Bila-tus, stood on the other side of the table. Three days had passed since the sinking of the bone ship, and in another two days, they would lead the fleets to Blackhall.

Shaman Bilatus straightened with a groan. Perhaps we could plan better strategies if our eyes weren't crossing with exhaustion. He ran a hand over his balding pate and shrugged his blue robes higher on his shoulder.

The high keel matched the shaman's tired expression, but he just stared harder at the scrolls and outlines. Kast understood his determination: the man had seen what had become of his son. Kast and the high keel shared this personal torment: to see a loved one suffer and be unable to help.

The attacks grow bolder upon us, the high keel grumbled. The mer'ai had to fend off another assault by a kraken this morning.

I heard, Kast said. And the elv'in were harried by patrols of skal'tum last night.

The high keel slammed a fist on the table. We should strike now! Why this cursed waiting?

You know why, Kast answered. Tyrus leads the d'warves through the Stone Forest. They aren't in position to attack the north entrance of the mountain.

Let them join the fighting when they can! What's to stop us from striking at the south?

Kast sighed. It was an old argument; the broader plan had already been laid out. There were only two ways into Blackhall. As the sun rose two days from now, the d'warves would attack over the land bridge from the north while the Dre'rendi and mer'ai assaulted the southern seaport and the elv'in warships gave support from the air to both parties.

The finer details were still fluid and under discussion by various fleets. Day and night, crows flew between ships on the sea and in the air. Messenger riders swept through the ocean depths atop their dragons with final orders or suggestions. The complete plan was coming together. Now was not the time to rush.

As the high keel grumbled, Kast glanced to Bilatus. The shaman placed a hand on the old man's shoulder. You need to rest.

The high keel shook out of his grip. Leave me be!

Kast cracked a kink in his back. Well, I need some fresh air, he said. We'll come back to this at moonrise.

I could use something from the galley, the high keel conceded grudgingly.

I'll join you down there, Kast said. I'm going to walk the deck first.

The other pair nodded. Together they left the room and went their separate ways.

Kast climbed atop the deck and breathed in the night air. It smelled of salt and sulfur. The cold winds turned steamy for a breath as a stray breeze gusted from another direction. These were strange seas indeed.

He crossed to the starboard rail. The dark sea was filled with sails all around. Overhead, elv'in ships hovered or floated over the masts, great black thunderheads aglow with ruddy fires. In the distance, Kast could make out the piping of dragons. Closer by, a lute was playing softly, while somewhere else, a seaman sang to the night of some missing love.

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Kast leaned on the rail. It would all be over soon. He shook his head. All this planning was for naught. The true war would be fought on another field far from here.

Whatever final evil the Dark Lord expected to visit on this world, its heart was not to be found among these strange seas. Their efforts here were no more than a feint, a distraction against the true attack.

Kast didn't even dare glance to the east, toward the distant mountains and the small town of Winterfell. That was not his battle.

Instead he focused on the north, where the horizons glowed a fiery red, where a dark shadow loomed, waiting.

A shadow named Blackhall.