As if made of quicksilver and ice, Raathgir rose out of the frigid water, breathing frosty steam and regarding the two vessels.
Saan and his companions scrambled back aboard the Al-Orizin while the horned ice dragon circled, looking for any chance to lunge forward and snatch them in its jaws. Its long fangs were translucent, like icicles.
From the deck, two sailors threw a boathook and a harpoon at Raathgir, yelling challenges. The creature flinched when the spear points struck its polished scales, and it let out an ominous hoot from its blowhole. Still, it seemed more curious than ferocious as it darted away then immediately circled back, keeping out of range of the projectiles.
“Sea monsters just don’t learn their lessons,” Yal Dolicar said with false bravado.
“I don’t fancy diving into that cold water to wrestle with the beast,” Grigovar replied. “I’d throw you overboard first.”
“Maybe it thinks we invaded its territory,” Saan said. “Ystya, can you uncreate that monster, as you did the Kraken?”
Alarmed by his question, she vigorously shook her head. “There is no call to destroy him—Raathgir hasn’t harmed us. These are his waters.”
“But it’s…a monster!” Fyiri cried. “You won’t use your powers to protect us against it?”
“Raathgir is one of Ondun’s creations—as you should well know.” She looked pointedly at Fyiri. “I won’t simply destroy a creature because you call it a ‘monster.’”
“What if it attacks?” Saan asked.
“It won’t attack.”
The sailors hurled more curses, followed by another round of harpoons. One iron point struck Raathgir’s jagged dorsal fin with a clang and ricocheted off to splash in the water.
“Stop wasting our harpoons!” Saan snapped. He turned to Ystya, shaking his head. “How can we get out of here with that beast guarding the waters?”
Raathgir let out a shrill blast of frosty steam, recoiled, and raced away from the two ships. The ice dragon darted to a cave opening in the blue walls of a nearby iceberg and slithered into the passage like a worm burrowing into dirt to evade a hungry bird. Its pointed tail vanished into the ice mountain.
Grigovar shifted his grip on the frozen tabletop he had taken from the ice-locked ship, which was still tucked under his arm. “That was easier than I expected.”
“Ha! The beast knew we wouldn’t back down.” Yal Dolicar swelled his chest. He raised the stump of his right wrist.
Sen Sherufa remained unsettled. “We should get out of here now, Captain. Something powerful froze that ship…something we don’t understand.”
Saan felt as uneasy as the Saedran woman. “You’re right, Chartsman. We don’t know what frightened the ice dragon. Prepare to set sail!”
Beside him, Ystya suddenly looked around in dismay. Her face paled to the color of chalk. “Raathgir sensed it before I did—my mother is coming.”
Saan shouted to the crew, “Quickly, hoist those sails and strike the ropes!” The Al-Orizin’s crew detached the hooks and ropes that tied them to the ancient ice ship.
Shivering on the lookout nest above the mainsail, a man called out, “Captain, I see that ship again—the island witch! She’s entering the field of ice mountains!” The encroaching icebergs blocked the pursuing vessel from view.
“These frozen islands are going to be a maze to navigate, Captain,” said Sen Sherufa. “It’ll be dangerous.”
“That’s to our advantage. We’ll be like a buck taking refuge in the forest from hunting dogs. Iyomelka might have our scent, but we can hide among these ice mountains, like thick underbrush.”
Long ago, when the Al-Orizin had sailed away from Olabar amid cheers and celebrations, Saan had been proud of his colorful sails, but now he wished he had plain white or gray ones, like a Nunghal ship, which would blend into this pale oceanscape.
Saan whispered to Ystya with more confidence than he felt, “Don’t worry, we’ll keep you safe from her.”
The young woman was too filled with apprehension to smile. “And I’ll protect you, too.”
Moving again, the Al-Orizin sailed into the cold gray channels between icebergs, leaving the ancient vessel behind. Though his hands were stiff with cold, Saan climbed the mainmast to join the lookout high above. The man pointed around a blue-white wall of ice. “She’s back there, Captain. I don’t think she saw us.”
From the high vantage, he caught a glimpse of Iyomelka’s resurrected ship, like a flash of detail illuminated by a lightning strike. The masts were dark and sharp, like the branches of a dead tree on an autumn’s night; the ragged sailcloth was stitched together with seaweed.
“Hard to port!” Saan cried. “Stay out of sight.” The ship turned swiftly, scraping close to a floating berg. The Al-Orizin deftly threaded its way through the frigid labyrinth.