The turbid vapor that had spilled from the dragon's maw earlier began to settle over the front part of the ship. As soon as the dark fog touched the rigging, lines started to snap and fall, hissing and smoking as though they were on fire. The sail broke free of the yardarms and fluttered to the deck, as sheer and full of holes as old lace. The mast, and then all the wood from midships for- ward, began to sizzle and fume.
Fowler sank to his knees. 'Wretched witch! What have you done to my ship?'
The dragon turned its shattered face toward the cap- tain. 'Did she give the order to interfere with me? Or was it you, thinking of Cormyr's filthy bounty?'
With that, the wyrm withdrew its head and slipped beneath the sea's dark surface. Ruha stepped to the taffrail and saw the shadow of one huge wing gliding through the water toward her.
'Captain, did I not promise that the Harpers would buy you another ship?' She stepped toward the half- ore.
'How can they do that if we perish with this one?'
Fowler looked at Ruha with disbelieving eyes. 'You think we've a choice in the matter? If you could destroy the dragon, you'd have done it by now.'
The yardarms broke free and crashed down upon the deck. The thick planks gave way as though they had been rotting for a hundred years, and the spars struck several barrels stowed below decks. One of the casks split in two, spilling a viscous liquid that filled the air with a bitter, caustic stench. The babble of swirling water sounded behind the Storm Sprite.
Without glancing back, Ruha pointed into the hold.
'What is in those casks?'
The half-ore looked puzzled, as though he found it a strange time for Ruha to question the cargo. 'Lamp oil
We've got to have ballast, and it might as well pay-'
A sharp crack sounded from the rear of the deck. Ruha glimpsed the tiller disappearing through its housing, then three black talons rose into sight and hooked them- selves over the taffrail. The witch grabbed Fowler's arm and jerked him off the poop deck, pushing him toward a boarding axe down on the main deck.
'I cannot save your ship, Captain, but I can save us. Go and smash those oil casks.'
The half-ore jumped down and retrieved the weapon, then leapt into the hold. Ruha ducked down beside the somercastle and emptied her pockets of all the brimstoni powder she possessed, piling it upon the deck before her.
A sharp crack sounded from the stern of the ship, thei the Storm Sprite pitched to her rear. The witch shape‹ the heap of yellow powder into the figure of a tiny bird and uttered a wind spell.
The brimstone vanished in a brief flash of yellow, and in its place appeared the diaphanous form of a yellow canary. Ruha pointed toward the ship's hold, where Cap- tain Fowler was busy smashing oil casks, and made a quick sweeping motion. The little bird flitted off to circle the area she had indicated.
A tremendous crackling sounded from the poop deck, and Ruha peered over the edge to see the dragon's claws ripping into the stern of the ship. She withdrew another quartz crystal from her aba, then jumped onto the ladder and pointed it at the creature's pulverized face, yelling a series of nonsensical syllables that she hoped the beast would mistake for those she had used to cast her first lightning bolt.
The dragon's head swiveled toward Ruha. She felt oil- laden air swirling past her head and heard the unmis- takable rasp of the creature filling its chest. The beast sucked the diaphanous yellow bird she had created ear- lier into its throat. The witch dropped behind the somer- castle, squeezing the quartz crystal and uttering the incantation of a fire spell.
A fiery spark shot from the tip of the crystal, igniting the stream of air being sucked into the dragon's throat.
Ruha threw herself through the somercastle door. She felt a jolting crash; then there was a searing fulguration, the smell of wood ash, and finally the cool bite of saltwater.
Two
Once the numb ringing inside Ruha's skull abated and it occurred to her that she was still alive, her first thought was not that she would choke on the saltwater she had swallowed, nor that the weight of her sodden aba would drag her beneath the dark waters, nor even that she might bleed to death from her many lacerations. When the witch opened her eyes and saw the sea heaving all around her, her first thought was that she would never be found.
The dunes loomed as high as mountains, with rolling, moonlit faces that blocked Ruha's sight in every direc- tion, making her feel immeasurably alone and insignifi- cant in the stormy vastness of the Dragonmere. They were maddeningly inconstant, now lifting her toward the stars, now dropping her into the abyssal gloom, now car- rying her along on steep, tumbling slopes of water. The witch knew she could not let the sea have its way with her. She had to free herself of its capricious grasp or die, but her chest was pumping water from her lungs in rack- ing coughs, and she could barely keep her head above the surface, much less hold herself steady on the crest of a surging dune long enough to… do what, Ruha did not know.
In all likelihood, she was not the only one to survive the disintegration of the Storm Sprite, but there had been no time to put the little shore boat into the water.
The others would be in the same predicament as Ruha, and no doubt anxious to blame her for their troubles.
The caravel crew would have every reason to treat the witch more kindly-providing they came back. Certainly, they had witnessed the explosion that destroyed the dragon, but would they realize what had happened to the Storm Sprite? Was their captain an honest man who would turn back to help those who had helped him?
Ruha could only allow herself to believe that the answer to both questions was yes; to assume anything else was to lose hope, and to lose hope in Umberlee's domain was to die.
Still, the caravel would not arrive soon. It would take time for the great vessel to come around, then she would have to beat her way against the wind-using only one of the three masts she had once carried, and probably rely- ing upon a tiller half splintered by the dragon attack. By the time she arrived, the Storm Sprite's wreckage would be strewn across a square mile of heaving sea, and Ruha knew better than to think any lookout would spy her dark head bobbing amongst all the oil casks, splintered timbers, and shreds of dragon floating upon the surging waters.
A large, curved timber appeared atop a nearby dune, its end briefly jutting over the crest like a great scimitar.
Ruha fixed her eye on the beam. As it glided down the watery slope, she started to swim, reaching forward and kicking her legs in the fashion Storm Silverhand had taught her. The witch's shawl and veil had vanished, but her aba remained securely wrapped about her shoulders, and she had to struggle against both its clumsy cut and sodden weight to make headway. Nevertheless, she did not even consider slipping out of the garment. Its pockets were loaded with exotic dirts and rocks useful for her stone magic. More importantly, all of her spells were sewn into the interior lining. In the desert, paper and ink were precious commodities, but there was always plenty of thread to spare for embroidery.
By the time Ruha reached the timber, she could do no more than throw her arms over the top and hang there gasping. Though she had not realized it until the exercise had warmed her body, the water was deceptively cool.
Her joints began to stiffen, and she recalled Fowler's sto- ries of pulling his sailors aboard, blue and dead after only minutes in the water. But that had been in northern seas, and the Dragonmere was in the south. The temper- ature here could not be so dangerous-or so the witch hoped.
Ruha fought back her growing panic, reminding herself that the sea was not so different from the desert: it was vast and empty and lonely, with most of the life lying hidden beneath the surface. True, the dunes moved faster and they were made of water, but not water that one could drink. That was as precious here as it was in the
