agonized protest. With an incomprehensible cry, she swung the staff in a wide arc and smashed it against the mizzenmast.
The light from the staff died in a moment of complete darkness, then the mast suddenly burst into flame. Within seconds the flames spread along the boat in strange green lines of fire. Tarja jumped back from the rail as it flared beneath his hand. The magical fire consumed the wards protecting the ship like they were lines of lamp oil, blistering the garish blue paint and eating into the wood beneath. In less than a minute, the entire ship was ablaze.
“Tarja!” R’shiel screamed, as she dropped the broken staff, holding her burned hands out in front of her. He ran toward her, leaping the rising flames that stood between them. Only the fact that he was drenched from his swim saved him from the inferno. Drendik reached them about the same time. The Karien Envoy lay at the head of the companionway, the Fardohnyan’s sword embedded in the center of his decorated armored chest. Tarja spared the captain a glance, wondering at the strength of the man. The Karien’s armor might have been ceremonial, but it still took a great deal of strength to pierce it. As he reached R’shiel, she collapsed into his arms. Pins and needles attacked his numb right arm as the feeling began to return. Tarja threw his sword to Drendik. The Fardohnyan snatched it from the air and turned on the priest, slicing the man from shoulder to belly where he stood. Without hesitating, Tarja ran for the side of the boat, crashing through the flaming rail into the darkness and the safety of the river below. R’shiel, the loose cassock aflame, screamed as she felt them falling. Then the dark icy water swallowed them, pulling them down into its glassy depths.
chapter 52
In the dawn light, the smoldering hull of the Karien boat looked forlorn, floating near the shore amid the burned flotsam of what had once been a mighty, if rather cumbersome vessel. It had burned to the waterline. Another smoking pile smoldered on the shore, where the bodies of the Karien sailors had been cremated. Gazil, Aber, and Ghari spent the remainder of the night at their grizzly task, gathering the bodies from the water’s edge and throwing them on the impromptu funeral pyre. The Fardohnyans were not pleased with the cremations but were willing to make an exception for the Kariens, particularly when Tarja pointed out what would happen if the bodies washed up downstream. The body of the Envoy had not been recovered. Tarja supposed he had sunk into the muddy river, weighted down by his ornate armor. The body of the priest lay separate from the pyre. Tarja would not let them burn it, not yet. They were all tired and filthy, worn out by the night’s exertions and suffering the typical letdown of men who had faced death and then discovered, somewhat to their surprise, that they had survived.
Tarja scanned the western horizon again, expectantly, but the sky remained clear. With a sigh, he turned back toward the small fire that Drendik had built, away from the sight of the funeral pyre. R’shiel sat beside it, wearing the charred remains of a cassock and wrapped in a gray woolen blanket, her eyes vacant. Tarja was desperately worried about her. She had said nothing since they had dragged her ashore. She flinched whenever somebody touched her, even accidentally. Her hands were burned where she had gripped the staff, and another deep burn scarred her right shoulder.
Ghari walked up the small rise to stand beside him.
“You know the irony of all this,” Tarja remarked to the young rebel, “is that we’ve started a war despite ourselves. When the Kariens learn their Envoy was killed on Medalon soil, they’ll be over the border in an instant. The alliance is well and truly broken.”
“I think Padric knew it, too,” he said. For a moment they shared a silent thought for the old rebel. His body had been one of the first they recovered.
“Will she be all right?” Ghari asked, glancing at R’shiel’s hunched and trembling figure.
“What happened on the boat was magic, and I don’t know anything about it. Hell, I don’t even believe in it.” He studied her for a moment and added, “She needs her own people now.”
“Did you call them?”
Tarja nodded. “Hours ago.”
Ghari scanned the horizon, just as Tarja had been doing a few moments before, then he turned to Tarja. “You said it was magic? I thought the Kariens hated magic more than the Sisterhood?”
“So did I.”
“Maybe it wasn’t magic. Maybe it was their god.”
Tarja smiled grimly at the suggestion. “Ghari, do you honestly think we would be standing here now if a god had intervened on their behalf?”
“I suppose not.” He turned back to study the horizon again. “Tarja! Look!”
Tarja followed his pointing finger and discovered two dark specks in the sky, rapidly growing larger as they approached the river. A coppery glint of light reflected off the specks and removed all doubt about what they were. He nodded with relief and headed down toward the fire.
Drendik was trying to get R’shiel to accept a cup of hot tea, but she stared into the fire, ignoring him. He looked up as Tarja approached with a helpless shrug. Tarja knelt down beside R’shiel and gently took her arm. She jerked back at his touch, staring at him as if he was a ghost.
“R’shiel? Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.”
She stared at him for a long moment before allowing him to help her up. He led her up the small rise where Ghari waited, hopping up and down with excitement. The Fardohnyans followed them, staring at the growing specks with astonishment.
“Mother of the gods!” Drendik breathed as he realized what he was seeing. The specks had grown much larger now and looked like huge birds, their coppery wings outstretched as they rode the thermals down toward the river.
“Look!” Tarja urged.
R’shiel glanced at him and then followed his pointing finger as the dragons drew nearer. She stared at them as a tear spilled onto her cheek and rolled down toward her lip, leaving a white streak on her soot-stained face.
They waited until the dragons finally landed with a powerful beat of their wings. Lord Dranymire was in the lead, raising a dusty cloud that settled over the humans. The dragon that landed beside him was a little smaller, her scales more green than coppery, her features more delicate. The two dragons lowered their massive heads to the ground to allow their riders an easy descent. Tarja recognized Shananara riding Dranymire and was a little surprised to find Brak climbing down off the other dragon. As the Harshini walked toward them the Fardohnyans fell to their knees.
R’shiel watched the dragons, ignoring everyone around her. She shook off Tarja’s arm and walked down the small slope toward the two Harshini, still clutching the blanket around her. She ignored their greeting and kept walking. Tarja ran after her, but Shananara and Brak stopped him as he drew level with them.
“Leave her be,” Shananara advised. “I want to see what happens.”
Tarja watched anxiously as R’shiel walked toward the larger of the two dragons. She stopped a few paces from him, seemingly unafraid, and stared up at him.
The dragon studied her curiously for a moment. “Well met, Your Highness,” he said in his deep, resonant voice. Dranymire lowered his huge head toward the girl in a courtly bow.
Finally, R’shiel reached out and touched the dragon with a burned hand. As she touched him, the dragon seemed to dissolve before their eyes. One moment there was a mighty beast standing before them, the next moment it was gone, and the ground was swarming with tiny, ugly gray creatures with bright black eyes. Tarja was aghast at the sight.
“You’ve done well, Brak,” Shananara said as she watched the demons falling over themselves to get near R’shiel, who stood frozen in the middle of the sea of gray creatures, too stunned or afraid to move. Tarja glanced at the Harshini and caught the look she gave Brak as she spoke. It was anything but reassuring.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, really.”
“Were you expecting them to harm her?”
