The Storm Sprite pitched upward. The boiling waters crashed against the somercastle and poured over the wales, and the little cog rose on the water dune. Thirty yards off the bow loomed a great wall of dark planks, the hull of the mighty caravel. The witch raised an inquiring eyebrow, but Fowler shook his head.
'Harpoons, let go atop!'
They crested the dune. Ruha cried out in shock, for the caravel lay only twenty yards ahead, with the dragon's mountainous figure still hunched over the stem. A dozen astonished sailors stood at the great ship's wales, staring down at the Storm Sprite.
From the bow of the little cog sounded a trio of sonorous throbs. Three barbed harpoons arced away from the Storm Sprite's ballistae, a long braided rope trailing from each. The first shaft sailed high over the wales of the devastated caravel and passed through one of the wyrm's flapping wings. The other two harpoons dropped lower, piercing the mighty serpent's black scales and sinking to their butts. The dragon gave a furious roar. Its sinuous neck undulated in rage, and clouds of roiling black fog shot from the caravel's portholes.
The Storm Sprite started down the rolling dune, and the dragon disappeared behind the caravel's looming hull. Ruha thought surely they would smash into the great ship.
Captain Fowler pushed the tiller to port. The Storm
Sprite swung around, though not quickly enough to pre- vent her bowsprit from splintering on the other vessel.
The little cog completed her turn, then a tremendous boom filled the air when she slammed hulls with the great caravel. The impact hurled Ruha to the deck, and she felt the sliver of obsidian shoot from between her fin- gers. A terrible rasping arose between the ships as they rubbed hulls, and the witch knew it would not be long before they were past each other.
A powerful hand closed around Ruha's wrist, and she felt herself being dragged toward the tiller. 'This is no time to lie about!'
'No, wait!'
Ruha's protest went unheeded, for already Captain Fowler had pulled her to his side and set her on her feet.
Her eyes darted toward the deck. The planks were wet and as dark as the night and, even if the obsidian had not washed overboard already, she would never have found it in time to attack the dragon.
'Ready, Witch!' Fowler ordered. 'It's almost time.'
Ruha looked forward, raising her eyes toward the wyrm. She found her view blocked by the huge flaxen square of the Storm Sprite's half-filled sail. Beneath the sheet's fluttering edge, she could see harpoon lines play- ing out, and also the cog's bow slipping past the caravel's massive rudder. The witch thrust her hand into her aba and found several small pebbles.
Fowler hauled on the tiller, bringing his ship smartly around the stern of the caravel. The flaxen sail filled with wind and, like a proud stallion spurred to the gal- lop, the Storm Sprite leapt forward. The harpoon lines snapped taut, and a tremendous shudder ran through the cog.
Fowler flashed his tusks. 'Now, Lady Witch! Slice that terror out of the sky!'
Ruha pulled the pebbles from her pocket and pivoted around to keep her gaze fixed on the looming caravel.
Over the stern came a great mass of writhing darkness, the wyrm being dragged along by the sturdy harpoon lines. The dragon beat the air with its wings, struggling in vain to right itself and wheel on Its attacker. Its wings were tattered and strewn with holes, while its dark scales looked strangely tarnished and dull. Even the ser- pent's tail ended in a long section of gray, weathered bone, as though it were suffering from some wasting dis- ease or festering wound.
Bracing herself against the binnacle, Ruha rolled her pebbles between her palms and called upon her stone magic. The rocks began to buzz and shake, vibrating so violently that it hurt her bones to hold them. She tossed the stones up before her face, and there they hung, sput- tering and whirling around each other like angry wasps.
Recovering from its initial shock, the dragon ceased its flailing and stopped trying to wheel on its attacker. It beat its wings more slowly and contented itself with staying aloft.
'I said now, Witch!'
Fowler's eyes were locked on the dragon, and Ruha knew what concerned him. Smaller wyrms than this could spew fire and acid twice the length of the Storm
Sprite's harpoon lines, and the witch had no illusions about what would happen if such a spray caught the little cog. The serpent's neck began to curl toward the Storm Sprite.
'Wait no longer!' Fowler pleaded.
At last, a faint sapphire gleam appeared inside the pebbles. Ruha blew upon the swirling stones, at the same time breathing the incantation of a wind spell. They sizzled away, screeching like banshees and trailing a rib- bon of blue braided light. The dragon had almost brought its head around when the pebbles tore through its wing and blasted its flank, spraying shards of shattered scales in every direction. The wyrm stiffened and dropped toward the water, but when its belly touched the heaving sea dunes, it roared and once again lifted itself into the air.
Fowler's face paled from green to yellow. 'I was a fool to listen to you, Witch! To think a woman who'd take a slaver's coin could know dragons-'
'Captain Fowler, wait.' Ruha wrapped an arm around the binnacle, then pointed at the wyrm. 'The spell has only begun its work.'
The half-ore narrowed his eyes and turned back to the dragon, still being dragged along by the harpoon lines.
The wyrm had curled into the shape of a horseshoe, with both its head and tail pointing away from the Storm
Sprite. Its wings were fluttering so slowly and sporadi- cally they could barely keep it aloft, while its serpentine body shuddered with erratic convulsions.
'My pebbles have not stopped moving,' Ruha explained. 'They are flying about within the wyrm, tear- ing it apart from the inside.'
'A quick kill would've been better,' Fowler grunted.
The captain kept his gaze fixed on the dragon, as though he would not be satisfied until the thing dropped into the sea and sank out of sight. Behind the serpent, the battered caravel was lumbering away, rolling wildly from side-to-side as her crew struggled to bring her under control. Atop the stern, Ruha saw twenty men standing amidst the wreckage, some holding lanterns while the rest waved amulets and talismans at the Storm Sprite.
'That seems a strange custom. Captain Fowler.' Ruha pointed at the men on the caravel's stern. 'What does it mean?'
Fowler shrugged, barely glancing at the display. 'Who can tell? She's a foreign ship. They're probably telling us to mind our own business.'
A tarnished scale fluttered off the dragon's back, fol- lowed by the spiraling blue streak of a pebble. Ruha watched closely for more such flashes, as they indicated the tiny rocks had demolished the internal organs and were beginning to find their way out of the body. A sec- ond stone shot from the wyrm, then a third and a fourth, and still the serpent trembled and convulsed but some- how kept from falling into the sea.
Ruha scowled. Most victims were dead by the time four stones left their bodies.
Captain Fowler must have seen her brow furrow. 'How long's it going to take that wyrm to die?'
'It is a big dragon. Captain.'
Another pebble escaped the serpent's body and sph- raled away into the heavens, and Fowler cast an impa- tient glance toward the departing caravel.
'I'd like to catch her if we can,' he said. 'A prize like that… If her captain's a good man, he'll reward us well.'
'Captain Fowler, what is this obsession of yours?'
Ruha demanded. 'Do you expect treasure for-'
Ruha's question was interrupted when the dragon finally went limp and plummeted into the water, raising such a splash that buckets of dark sea rained down upon the Storm Sprite. The harpoon lines throbbed sharply, and the cog nosed into the water and heeled toward the wyrm. Fowler shoved the tiller to port, bringing his ship around so sharply she seemed to pivot on her bow.
