wind had died down but did not cease. They were in the eye of the cyclone, the calm center of a miles-wide storm.
The Gharm swung over to the port side rigging. Kitiara followed across the deck. She was so intent on keeping the fiend in view that she missed the end of the mainsail Sturm had cut free. The heavy, flapping canvas was soaked with rain, and one corner of it whipped around and slapped Kiti ara between the eyes. She fell backward and lost the torch.
As the sail struck her, the Gharm pounced.
'No!' Sturm cried. He was on the fiend's back in a flash, slashing at its pale, leathery hide. The ghoul had one set of talons deep in Kitiara's shoulder, but Sturm's attack made it let go. He inflicted wounds that would have killed a mortal foe, but the Gharm wasn't slowed. A detached part of
Sturm's mind noted that the ghoul already had grown back the arm that he'd chopped off.
Kitiara pushed herself away from the duel between Sturm and the Gharm. Her shoulder wound burned like Bell crank's vitriol. She crawled to where the torch lay charring the deck. In her pants' pocket she still had the tin can of oil from the captain's storm lamp. At the right moment, when
Sturm gave ground to the monster, she flung the oil over the
Gharm, and with it the torch.
It was scarcely a cupful of oil, but it burned rapidly, and the Gharm yowled in unimaginable pain. It threw itself on the deck and rolled to put out the flames. Failing that, it leaped up and ran forward, burning as it went, and tore off the hatch cover. The Gharm disappeared below, trailing a thin plume of putrid smoke.
Sturm knelt and put an arm around Kitiara. Her teeth chattered. She had been poisoned by the ghoul's vile talons.
'Kitl Kit!' Her eyes were almost completely white, they had rolled so far back in her head. 'Kit, listen to me! Don't give up! Fight it! Fight it!'
Her hand came trembling to her throat. There, under the thin fabric of her blouse was the amethyst arrowhead pen dant that Tirolan Ambrodel had given her so many weeks before. Drained of color before they met the gnomes, the crystal's magic had been restored by the days they'd spent on Lunitari for it now was a rich, royal purple. The stone had not surrendered its power upon its return to Krynn.
Kitiara's fingers would not grasp the amethyst. They were already stiff and cold. Sturm gently lifted the magic crystal.
Was there enough power in it to save Kit's life? Did he, a sworn opponent of magic, dare use it to heal her?
Her breath came short, in hard, ragged gasps. Death had
Kitiara in its grasp. There was no time to debate. Sturm closed the amethyst in his fist and placed his other hand on
Kitiara's injured shoulder.
'Forgive me, father,' he whispered. 'This is for her life.'
The stone was hot for the merest second, but not enough to burn him. Kitiara gave a sharp cry and then went limp in his arms. He thought he was too late, that she was dead.
Sturm opened his fingers, to see that the amethyst was clear again. He peeled back the bloody cloth over Kit's wound and saw that it was healed.
Smoke from the hatch was getting thicker. Sturm put an arm under Kitiara's legs and staggered to his feet. Muffled screams filtering through the open hatch proved that the
Gharm hadn't yet overcome the fire.
The smoke got so bad that Sturm retreated to the poop deck, carrying Kitiara. The wind switched from port to star board, never allowing the ship to drive clear of the fumes.
When the first tongues of flame licked out of the hold,
Sturm felt real fear. How could they escape if the ship was on fire? The Werival's longboat was missing.
At that moment, the wall of rain off the starboard bow parted, and out came the brown hull of the Cloudmaster.
The flying ship was skimming over the waves so low that a few high swells lapped the bottom of her hull. Sturm saw the gnomes at the bow, waving white handkerchiefs.
A great shout of triumph escaped his throat. 'Kit, wake up!' he cried. 'Kit, the gnomes are coming! We're saved!'
Fire blasted out of the fore hatch, and with it, the figure of the Gharm. Blazing from head to toe, the hideous ghoul bounced from bulwark to bulwark, shrieking its cursed life away. Unable to bear the burning any longer, the ghoul finally dived into the churning waves.
The bows were burning now, and the foremast was begin ning to smolder. The Cloudmaster drifted past the stern.
Sturm left Kitiara lying on the deck and grabbed a boat hook from the rail. As the gnome ship coasted slowly along the port side, Sturm hooked it and drew it tightly to the car avel.
The gnomes clutched the Werival's sides as Sturm lifted the limp Kitiara over his shoulder. He sprinted for the rail and leaped, one foot kicking the rail top as he went. The gnomes let go, and the Cloudmaster sank toward the sea.
'Too much weight!' Wingover cried. 'Out ballast!'
Amidships, Sighter, Cutwood, and Birdcall threw doors, window glass, and other loose objects over the side. The ship rose again into the low clouds.
'W-welcome aboard!' Stutts said heartily.
'Glad to be here,' Sturm said with genuine relief. He lay sprawled on the deck.
'What happened down there? asked Wingover.
'It's a long story.'
'Is the lady well? She seems unconscious,' said Sighter.
He lifted one of her arms and let it fall.
'She'll be all right,' Sturm said. The Cloudmaster broke through the top of the clouds. Below, the cyclone's whirling mass spread out in all its glory. The gnomes set the sails and put the setting sun to their backs.
'It was very clever of you to start a signal fire,' Wingover said. 'But it got out of hand, didn't it? I mean, you might have destroyed the whole ship before we ever arrived.'
Sturm felt a crazy desire to laugh. Instead, he said,
'That's not the way things went.' He paused to yawn prodi giously.
'Did you find anything useful on that vessel?' Sighter asked. But by then Sturm was already fast asleep.
Chapter 35
Sturm smelled land: wet soil and flowers and fresh- ly turned fields. The sun was in his eyes. He sat up. He was in the wheelhouse, alone. The windows and doors were gone, as was most of the roof. He went out on deck. At the bow was Sighter, surveying the ground below with his tele scope. Aft, by the former tail post, sat Kitiara, Stutts, Fitter, and Rainspot. Kitiara was talking rapidly and making wild gestures with her hands.
'— and then Sturm stepped in and chopped the monster's arm off!' The gnomes all went Ohh, and Kitiara described how the arm had withered before their very eyes.
Stutts saw Sturm approach. 'Ah, Master B-Brightblade!
You're awake. We are just hearing about your t-tremendous adventure on board the cursed c-caravel.'
Sturm grunted something noncommittal and looked at
Kitiara. 'How do you feel?' he asked.
'Fit as can be. How're you7'
'Rested,' he said. 'How long have I been asleep?'
'T-two nights and a day,' said Stutts.
