The hot sun pounded against the dock and the deck of the ship next to it, but to me, the heat was a godsend. I’d used the last of my “miracle drug,” my methotrexate, months before, and despite the pain-masking cloak Meuhlnir had commissioned for me on our trip to Nitavetlir, and Sif’s best efforts, my joints hurt, and the heat helped. “I wish you had stayed at Veethar and Frikka’s estate,” I said for the fourth or fifth time.
“Hank Jensen, bring that up again, and you’re going to limp the rest of the way to Pilrust,” said Jane. “And not because of your illness.”
“Tell him, Jane,” said Yowrnsaxa. “He’s as stubborn as my husband.”
“Oh, god, not that!” said Meuhlnir with mock horror. “Surely, no man aspires to emulate the Isir that spawned an entire mythos. Not to mention a film franchise!”
Sif turned a baleful glare at Meuhlnir. “Hank, I wish you’d never told him of these things called movers.”
“Movies, Auntie Sniffles,” said Sig.
“Yes, movies. Wasn’t his head big enough?”
Meuhlnir grumbled something under his breath and turned away to gaze out at Stein Tuhn Haf, the great ocean that bordered Suelhaym Eekier to the east.
I took Jane’s hand, suppressing a sigh. “I don’t want either of you getting hurt.” Life on Osgarthr had been pleasant and bucolic since we’d rescued Jane and Sig from Luka and Hel. It was a grand place, full of interesting people, but being trapped there rankled, and since my family’s rescue resulted in the closure of the preer, we had to go to the Herperty af Roostum—to the so-called Rooms of Ruin—and get the preer functioning again. If we could.
The Herperty af Roostum were located far to the north, on the northern continent known as Kleymtlant. We needed to go to a place named Pilrust—a long disused citadel of the Geumlu. The journey would be a long one, fraught with dangers we couldn’t predict—and that’s if the Dark Queen and her minions left us alone.
“And still he carries on,” said Yowrnsaxa in an exasperated tone, but with a glint of humor in her eye. “Why can’t men ever see when they're beaten?”
“Might as well ask the sun to set in the east,” said Jane.
Meuhlnir glanced over his shoulder. “That one wasn’t that bad, Jane. You’re getting the hang of it.”
“Awesome. I’m happy I graduated to ‘not that bad,’” said Jane in a droll tone.
“Don’t listen to him, dear,” said Frikka. “That one has always been slow to admit defeat.”
The ship looked like a logical evolution of a Viking longship from Mithgarthr—long and narrow, but with three masts, multiple decks, and a hold for the horses. The captain and crew had taken our coin without comment, despite the looks they’d given each other when Meuhlnir had told them the party’s ultimate destination.
“Defeat? Me? I haven’t even begun.”
“You’ve finished. Everyone knows this but you,” grumbled Sif.
“Woman, one day your mouth will get you into trouble that your pitiful shield—”
“Oh, here it comes,” said Mothi. “Good, I haven’t seen my father thoroughly thrashed in a flyting for months. Go on, Father.” Beside him, Sig snickered.
“I can see I will get no rest on this trip,” said Meuhlnir.
“Keep flapping those lips, dear one, and you’ll be whining and whinging about the amount of rest you get,” said Yowrnsaxa.
Meuhlnir looked first at Yowrnsaxa, and then at Sif. With a long-suffering sigh, he closed his mouth and boarded the ship. “We’re losing the tide!” he called.
“Now he thinks he’s the captain,” murmured Mothi. “The man has a difficult time navigating out of his own bedroom in the morning.”
“I heard that,” said Meuhlnir. “You’re not so old I can’t ground you.”
Mothi rolled his eyes but turned his head, so his expression was only visible to Sig. “Yes, Father,” he said.
“And don’t think I don’t know you’re over there rolling your eyes, showing off for your young cousin.”
The stevedores finished loading the last of the party’s luggage and the provisions for the voyage, and the captain paid them in Meuhlnir’s silver coins. “Let’s get going,” he said. “Before we lose the tide.”
Althyof scowled as he stepped off the gangplank and onto the deck. He walked as if the deck beneath him might break with each step.
“The ship is sound, sir,” said the captain, coming up the gangplank behind him.
“Sound? Sound? It’s made of wood.”
The captain shook his head and strode back to the bridge of the ship. Meuhlnir turned and walked toward the captain.
“Oh, for Isi’s sake, Meuhlnir. Leave the man be so we can get underway!” snapped Yowrnsaxa.
“I think I’ll stand with the captain for the beginning of our voyage.”
Sif tapped her foot and crossed her arms. “I think you’ll stay out of the man’s way before I clout—”
“Father, come stand next to Sig and me. Tell us a story to pass the time,” said Mothi.
Meuhlnir glowered at his wives but came to stand in the bow next to Sig. “You see, Sig? Mothi’s got the right of it. It’s better to stay single than to—”
“Single, you say?” chuckled Sif. “We can arrange that.”
“You never learn, do you, old man?” asked Frikka, trying to hide a grin.
“One day, I will beat them—”
“At flyting? It’s not likely,” said Veethar.
“Now you speak? You don’t say a word all the way from Trankastrantir to the coast, you don’t say a word while we arrange for transport, not a word over a meal, nothing while the roustabouts load our luggage, and the words you choose to break your verbal fast are those?”
Veethar looked Meuhlnir in the eye. “Everyone knows this, Meuhlnir. Everyone.”
Meuhlnir harrumphed. “Well, I hadn’t finished. Perhaps I meant to say, ‘with a stick’ or ‘at dice’ or ‘in wrestling.’ Did you consider any of those, O God of Silence?”
“None of those, either,” said Veethar quietly. “Everyone knows this.” Veethar glanced at Frikka as she came to stand by his side. She smiled at him and put her arm through his.
Meuhlnir shook his head. “Is no one on my side?”
“Might as well ask grass to grow downward into the dirt,” I said.
Meuhlnir’s cheeks quivered, and he tried to keep the smile off his lips, but he couldn’t. He glanced at Frikka. “You see? That is true mastery of the craft, and here I am admitting Hank has become a master.”
“Anything to turn attention away from how badly your wives trounced you,” said Veethar with the slight stretching of his lips that served him as a broad smile.
“You only say that because you think Yowrnsaxa will give you extra helpings from the cook pot.”
“And he’s right,” said Yowrnsaxa.
“Are Skowvithr and Yowtgayrr on board?” asked Jane with a hint of impatience.
“They are below. They don’t enjoy traveling over water,” I said. “Sif made them a draught so they will sleep.”
“If only I’d made one for my husband,” Sif said behind her hand.
“Why is it everyone in my family thinks I’m deaf?” grumbled Meuhlnir.
The ship lurched away from the dock as they laughed, thralls on the deck closest to the water pulling on the oars to get them through the breakwater. The spray from the waves crashing against the bow was frigid, but once they cleared the breakwater and turned north, the spray lessened to a mist.
“How long will it take to get to Suelhaym?” asked Sig.
“Don’t start that, Siggy,” said Jane. “We’ll get there when we get there.”
“I just wanted to know if there’s time for Cousin Mouthy to teach me to use one of his axes.”
“No,” said Yowrnsaxa. “Because the second he starts, I will break his legs, and he’ll have to heal up before you can continue.”
“Aw, come on, Auntie Yarns! Mom gets to learn to use a shield and axe! Why don’t I get to learn to fight?”
Meuhlnir glanced at me. “With your father’s permission, young Sig, I will teach you to vefa strenki.”
“Only his father’s permission?” asked Sif with an arched eyebrow.
“Er…that is, I meant that…”
“It’s okay,” said Jane, laughing.
“Fine by us, Meuhlnir. Thank you.” I scratched my chin, trying to keep from smiling. “But no lightning. Not for a long while.”
Meuhlnir drew his head back as if I had spit at him. “Of course not! I do know a thing or two about teaching a youngster to vefa.”
“Sure, sure,” I said. “But you do enjoy lightning.”
Meuhlnir grinned. “That is true.” He took Sig off to the side and began instructing the boy in hushed tones.
“And what about you, Jane? Are you ready for another lesson?” asked Frikka.
“Yes!” Jane stood and dug out her wooden practice axe. The three Isir women smiled at each other and got out their own training weapons.
“Guess that leaves us chickens,” I said.
Veethar grunted.
“I’m surprised you consented to go by ship, Veethar. You opposed it when we discussed the route.”
Veethar waved his hand over the rail as if that was answer enough.
“No forests?”
“No horses, either,” said Mothi with a grin.
“At least we’re bringing the horses with us,” I said.
Veethar shook his head. “And yet, instead of riding them, we stand on this glorified raft and hope we don’t encounter rough weather.” He walked away from Mothi and me and went over to stand next to Althyof, who stood next to the mast, twitching at every groan the ship made.
The women set up a large square, three paces by three paces, using a length of rope to mark the boundaries. I watched Jane limbering up, rolling her shoulders, taking practice swipes with her wooden axe.
“She’s a fine woman, if you don’t mind my saying,” said Mothi.
“Why would I mind? She is.”
With a cry, Frikka leapt into the square, putting her weight behind an overhand blow. Jane stepped forward, forcing the leap to end awkwardly, and swept her shield up to meet Frikka’s practice sword.
Frikka smiled. “That was good.”
“Thanks,” Jane said, returning the smile. “I was—” She yelped and backpedaled as Frikka came at her, first barging Jane with her shield, then swinging the practice sword in a vicious flat arc.
“You’re not here to talk, girl!” growled Frikka. “Talk when the fight’s ended.”
Jane blushed, but set her feet and leaned into her shield, taking Frikka’s blows on its face. Frikka slammed blow after blow on the shield, and Jane winced. Sensing a quick victory, Frikka closed the distance and raised her sword. Jane thrust under the bottom rim of her shield, poking Frikka in the stomach with the head of her axe.
Frikka doubled over, laughing. “Oh, Sif, my sister. You taught her that trick?”
When Jane straightened, Frikka favored her with a half-mocking bow and stepped out of the square, rubbing her stomach. Sif nodded and strapped on her shield. “Let’s see if you can use that trick on me.”
Jane smiled and beckoned Sif with her shield.
“She fights well,” said Mothi. “Learns quick.”
“When she sets her mind to something, no one can stop her.”
“Strong woman. Admirable.”
I glanced at him, narrowing my eyes. “I’m not going to have to break your legs, am I?”
A broad smile split Mothi’s face. “Why? I’m not going to teach Sig how to use one of my axes.” Mothi rested his hand on my shoulder, and I winced. “Bad today?”
I looked away. “No. It’s okay.”
“That awful, is it? The cloak doesn’t help?”
“Oh, the cloak helps. Without the cloak, I’d be in bed somewhere.”
“This poison you used to take, this…”
“Methotrexate.”
Mothi shook his head. “The Gamla Toonkumowl has words easier to remember.”
“If you say so,” I said and laughed.
“Mother Sif was working on something to replace the meth…the poison.”
“Methotrexate. Yes, she is, but so far she hasn’t come up with a replacement that is potent enough to make a difference.”
“She’ll find it,” Mothi said with confidence. “She’s like your Jane—when she sets her mind to something, it’s best to just get out of her way.”
“I heard that!” Sif called without breaking the rhythm of blows she was trading with Jane.
Mothi rolled his eyes. “This family…”
I chuckled. “Indeed.” I nudged Mothi with my elbow. “Without being too obvious, look at Althyof.”
Mothi glanced at the Tverkr, who had graduated to crouching next to the mast, looking up into the rigging as if he expected something to fall on his head. “Poor guy. Too bad ships can’t be constructed using granite.”
“Meuhlnir! I expect battle pay for this voyage!” yelled Althyof.
“Is it so?” asked Meuhlnir without turning away from Sig.
A loud buzzing sound vibrated through the ship, starting in the stern and sweeping forward toward the bow at an alarming rate. The noise ceased, leaving my feet tingling. Everyone froze for a moment. “What the hell was that?”
“Not sure,” Mothi said. “I’ve never heard anything like it.”
Meuhlnir ushered Sig away from the gunnels. He handed Sig off to Jane and turned to Veethar. He opened his mouth, but a loud, pulsating throb made speech impossible. The vibrations it sent through my body nauseated me—it was similar to the deep throb of double bass drums at a heavy metal concert, but far more intense.
Mothi pulled me away from the bow, concern etched on his face. “I don’t like this, Hank.”
The captain of the boat was shouting orders at the crew, his face pallid, expression grim. He ordered the oars pulled in and shipped, and their holes plugged.
“What is it?” bellowed Meuhlnir.
“What we wanted least to meet,” said Veethar. “A dragon.”
The captain snapped orders, and the crew leapt to answer his demands. They set the sails and the rigging for speed. “Wind, Yarl!” he called.
Meuhlnir raised an eyebrow at Veethar, who made a mocking half-bow. “Vintur plowsa,” he said, raising his arms wide. The wind doubled, then trebled, until it howled through the rigging, snapping at the sails, stretching the ropes that held them. The big ship leapt forward in the water and accelerated hard.
“More, if you can, Yarl,” called the captain. He kept glancing off the stern at something in the water.
“How much can your ship take?”
“More than this!” snapped the captain without turning from the stern.
“Sterkari vintur, sterkari,” chanted Veethar.
“Oh, by the Plauinn,” snapped Althyof. “Can you Isir only think in one dimension?” The Tverkr knelt next to the mast and withdrew one of his twin daggers. He chanted under his breath, but without enough volume to be heard over the thrumming coming from the sea beneath us. With sharp, quick gestures, he carved runes in the planking that made up the deck we stood on, and then did the same to the mast. Without breaking the rhythm of his song, he moved to each of the other masts and carved runes into them. When he stood, he glared at Veethar. “Now, make the damn wind blow, Isir.”
Veethar shrugged and drew a deep breath. “Andardowhtur kuthadna!” he boomed, his voice echoing like thunder. The wind surged, blowing like the leading edge of a hurricane.
The ropes sang with tension when the wind caught the sails, and the ship lurched forward as if shot from a cannon. The masts creaked and groaned, but they held.
“Can we outrun it?” asked Meuhlnir.
“Hope that we do,” said the captain. He turned and stared off the stern.
My gaze went to Meuhlnir’s, and we hurried toward the stern of the ship. “How do we fight a sea dragon?” I asked.
Meuhlnir shook his head. “I’ve not had the occasion to do it.”
“But still, you must have an idea.”
He glanced my way but didn’t meet my eyes. “Let’s get a look at the thing before we decide whether to fight it or not.”
The pulsating throb changed pitch, becoming a booming click that rattled through the ship, making anything not secured jump and dance. “What the hell is that?” I asked, not expecting an answer.
“The dragon’s roar,” said Meuhlnir.
We reached the stern as the beast broke the surface of the water. Where the white dragon I’d fought had been streamlined for flight, massive chest and shoulder muscles built for controlling its huge wings, the sea dragon was long and thin, similar to a snake, or a Chinese dragon. It had no arms or legs, and though it had wing-like appendages, they looked more useful in the water than the air. Iridescent scales covered its body, and the reflected sunlight glinted and shimmered with a thousand different colors at once. Mouth stretched wide, the dragon emitted another series of clicks at such a volume I thought my head might explode. I felt hot, skin super-heated by the sound waves.
“Still want to fight it?” asked Meuhlnir.
“Not in a million years,” I whispered.
The dragon was twice the length of the ship, with fins and sails designed for speed in the water. It couldn’t fly per se, but it could glide through the air for a short span. It used the time to shift its gaze back and forth amongst the people on deck as if marking them. When the dragon’s gaze lingered on Althyof, it hissed, and its eyes glowed a fiery orange.
“Your reputation precedes you, Runeskowld,” said Meuhlnir.
Althyof made a disparaging sound. “I’ve bound stronger dragons than this.”
The dragon’s eyes narrowed, and it hissed again before ducking its head and plunging into the water.
“Can dragons understand us?”
“Of course, they can,” snapped Althyof. “How else would my bindings work?”
“The runes I saw on Friner’s belt—”
“Maintain the binding in my absence, but the binding must come first.”
“Can you…can you—”
“Not from atop this floating disaster! I can’t concentrate in this claptrap.”
“You cut the runes into the deck and masts.”
“A ship has no will.”
Meuhlnir grunted.
“Captain, what’s the draft on this vessel?” I asked.
He turned to me with a scornful expression. “The last place you want to flee from a sea dragon is in the shallows, you fool!”
Meuhlnir cleared his throat. “You forget yourself.” He said it in a hard-edged tone and didn’t even glance at the man, but the captain blanched, and his eyes widened a little.
The captain bowed to Meuhlnir. “I meant no disrespect to you, Yarl,” he said.
Meuhlnir chuckled and hooked his thumb at me. “He’s the last of us you want angry with you. Disrespect him at your peril.”
The captain turned back to me, confusion written on his face. “But…but he’s…he’s not even…” The man’s eyes roamed my body, lingering on Kunknir and Krati and the strange belt that had been made for me by Prokkr, the Tverkr Master Smith.
It dawned on me that he was looking for melee weapons, and I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. Holding my hands out, palms toward the captain, I shook my head. “It’s okay, Captain. You don’t owe me—”
“It most certainly is not okay, and he certainly does owe you respect, Aylootr.” Mothi stepped onto the bridge and glared at the man. “Have you not heard?” he asked, his tone dripping disdain. “You are in the presence of Aylootr, slayer of dragons, slayer of oolfa, pursuer of the Black Bitch herself.”
The captain’s eyes bounced between Kunknir and Krati again, getting wider and wider. “And these?” he asked.
Mothi clucked his tongue. “You’ve been at sea too long, Karl.” He stepped to my side, face set, muscles across his shoulders bunching. “Do you know me?”
The captain nodded. “You are Mothi Strongheart.”
Mothi’s nod was curt. “I respect this man,” he said, lifting his hand toward my shoulder. “If I, Mothi Strongheart, respect him, what should you do?”
“Mothi,” I said, using the quiet voice I used to calm drunks back in New York. “There is no—” His hand came down on my shoulder and squeezed.
“Respect, Captain. It is granted to you because of your position on this ship. It can be given to your first mate, instead.”
The captain bowed to me, a deep bow from the waist. “I apologize, Yarl Aylootr.”
“Good, now we can be friends again. Answer his question!” Mothi’s voice cracked like a whip, and the captain jumped.
“The draft of this vessel is shallow for its size and displacement. It was built for speed, long and narrow, with a flat bottom. We can sail tight to the shore, but as I said before, that’s the last place we want to be with a sea dragon close.”
“Why?” asked Meuhlnir without turning.
“They spring off the bottom, leaping high in the air. From the air, the damn things spit poison on ships beneath them. The poison is like…like…well, I don’t know what to compare it to. It eats into the skin and burns while it does so.”
“Acid,” I said.
“Poison,” said the captain with a shake of his head. “Once touched, a man dies. Of that, there is no doubt.”
“Okay, so shallow is out, but that’s fine. What I’m interested in is the shape of the keel and the bottom of the ship.”
Mothi grinned and struck the captain on the shoulder with the back of his hand. To look at Mothi, it was just two friends horsing around, but to look at the captain, Mothi’s blow hadn’t been a playful one. “You see? Next time, answer without all the fracas.”
“Why, Hank? What difference does the bottom of the ship make?” asked Sif.
“Friction…to be fast, a ship needs a shallow draft. Isn’t that correct, Captain?” The captain nodded, rubbing his shoulder. “The heavier the ship, the deeper it sits in the water, and that means friction with the water increases. We need this ship to ride higher—out of the water if we can achieve it.”
“Out of the water?” asked Althyof. “What ship sails out of the water?”
“One enchanted by Master Enchanter Althyof,” I said.
“You over-estimate my skills.”
“And one with the help of a vefari,” I said, turning to Meuhlnir.
He glanced at Althyof. “Well, Tverkr? Shall we try?”
Althyof tucked his head to his chest, but even over the wind, the snapping of the ropes, and the sound of the sea pounding against the hull, we could hear him muttering. When he looked up, his eyes glinted. “If this fails, it will not be because of my enchanting, Isir.”
Meuhlnir nodded.
Althyof began chanting again, and walked to and fro on the deck, squatting now and again to carve a rune or two into the planks. The more he carved, the faster the ship went.
Meuhlnir grunted. “I’m not sure what will work, if anything.”
“All we can do is try,” I said. The clicking sound boomed through the ship again, sounding as if it originated beneath the keel. “No time like the present.”
Meuhlnir nodded and said, “Veka midna.” The timbers that made up the ship groaned, and the ship rode a minuscule amount higher in the water.
“No, no!” snapped Althyof. “I’ve already made the wood light!”
The water astern began to churn and roil.
“Do something else, Father,” said Mothi. “Now.”
Meuhlnir shot a glare at him. “Taka plug!”
The ship began to skim and skip across the water, like a flat stone thrown side-arm. Behind us, the water erupted in a column of frothy white water, and sunlight glinted from iridescent scales at its center.
“It attacks!” yelled Frikka.
Kunknir and Krati came out of their holsters in my palms without my decision to grab for them. They would be useless once the beast returned to the water, but when it was in the air…
Jane stepped up beside me, her shield on her arm and a sharp axe in her other hand. She wore a winged helmet and a mail shirt that was a little too big for her. Even so, she was beautiful.
“More speed,” said the captain, his voice almost inaudible in the din.
“Not yet,” I said, cop-voice coming to the fore.
When the water cascaded down the length of the dragon and the beast’s entire body was in the air, I fired. Kunknir roared and bucked, slinging hot brass across the bridge. Krati crashed in counterpoint, and more hot brass flew. The rounds flew true, the .40 caliber rounds from Krati glancing off the iridescent scales, and the .45 caliber rounds from Kunknir slicing through them as if they were papier mâché. The dragon made a sound like a baby rabbit in the jaws of a cat. Its eyes sought mine, but I remembered how the white dragon had mesmerized me that day on the plain and avoided its gaze. Kunknir fired dry, locking the slide back. Still firing Krati, I released the magazine from the .45 into the pouch Prokkr had designed for that purpose, the weight and momentum of it triggering the clever device that propped another magazine away from the belt. I slammed the pistol onto the fresh magazine and released the slide, chambering a round.
The dragon hissed, and then the booming clicking noise hit me full force. It was loud, as loud as anything I’d ever heard, and it hurt—not only the sound but the physical impact of the sound waves as they slapped against my body. I shifted Krati to fire at the dragon’s eyes and brought up Kunknir.
The dragon shrieked as the hot lead from Krati ricocheted from the scales around its eyes. At that moment, the ship skipped off the last wave and skimmed a foot or two above the water. Without the friction of the water slowing it down, the ship accelerated away from the dragon at an increasing pace. The dragon hissed like a teapot about to burst, and, in an acrobatic feat, folded itself in half to dive back into the water. It dove deep until I could no longer see the sun glinting off its scales.
“Has it gone?” asked the captain.
“No idea. It’s too deep—invisible.” As soon as I’d finished, the deafening clicking hit us again, vibrating the entire ship with its intensity. “I guess that answers that question.”
“Dad!” yelled Sig.
I glanced at the mast where Veethar stood, arms still raised, concentrating on keeping the wind blowing, but Sig was not there. “Sig?”
“Oh my God!” cried Jane. “Sig! Get away from there!”
I followed her gaze to where our son stood—stood—on the gunnel. He was pointing at something straight below us. “Sig, get down from there!”
Jane was sprinting toward our son, maternal instincts in overdrive—or maybe she had a bit of what Frikka had. I followed her, putting fresh magazines into both pistols as I shuffled that direction.
The clicking was louder, making the entire deck jump and heave. As I reached the halfway point to where Sig stood on the rail, and as Jane stretched her arms out to grab him, the dragon slammed into the bottom of the ship between the bow and midships. The ship rolled to starboard as if it would capsize in midair, and the dragon executed another of its acrobatic folds and dove into the water again, its tail slamming into the port side. Jane screamed and leapt toward the port rail, fighting the momentum of the heaving deck plus gravity itself.
Her boots skidded against the wood planks, but she had no traction, and she began to slide back toward starboard. She uttered an unladylike curse and a set of black raven’s wings sprouted from her shoulders, emerging from the clever slits worked in her mail shirt for that purpose. Her wings beat once, twice, and she was away from the deck and rising toward the port rail where we’d last seen our son.
I slid toward the starboard gunnel, feet scrabbling against the rough wooden planks, as unable as Jane had been to defy gravity and reach the port side.
Meuhlnir stomped his heavy boot against the deck. “Stuthva!” he shouted, and the air crackled with power. The ship shuddered and stopped tipping to starboard. “Pletya oot!” The ship righted itself with a wobble toward port.
“Jane!” I shouted. I forgot my aching joints and ran toward the port rail. Beneath us, the dragon splashed and clicked. “Meuhlnir! Jane and Sig went over!” His heavy footfalls sounded behind me as Mothi raced past me. Mothi skidded to a halt at the rail, peering over the side.
“There,” he shouted, pointing behind us and port.
I turned and ran to the stern. Jane hovered six feet above the waves, holding Sig, who was soaked to the bone. She struggled to gain altitude and to lift our fourteen-year-old son out of the sea at the same time.
The water beneath them churned and boiled. “Jane! The dragon!” I waved Kunknir over my head, willing her to hear me, to notice me. Sig glanced at me, then down at the churning water below him. He looked up into his mother’s face and pulled her hands off his arms. “No!” I shouted and stumbled into the rail.
Jane shrieked as he fell and tucked her wings to dive after him. She shouted, her words lost in the wind and the incessant, infernal clicking.
The distance was a problem, and every second we moved away from them. “Turn the ship!” I yelled.
“Are you crazy?” shouted the captain. “It’s better that two should die so the rest of us can escape! I’ll not—” His words became an agonized wail, and he slid to the deck.
Althyof stood behind him, eyes blazing, the captain’s blood dripping from one of his polymorphic daggers. He was singing in that strange language he used during battle. “Better that one than two, fool.” He motioned at the great wheel on the bridge. “Someone drive this accursed floating trap!”
The first mate jumped to the wheel and spun it, but nothing happened. The rudder was out of the water, flapping free in the air.
“Snoothu vith!” yelled Veethar and the wind that had been blowing from behind us changed to blow from the bow in an instant. For a moment, the ship shuddered as the sails flapped, but then the wind began to turn the ship.
Jane hovered mere feet above the roiling white water. Sig had surfaced behind her.
“Jane!” I called. “He’s behind you!”
The ship was floundering around, spinning her out of my line of sight. I followed the rail as it spun, screaming at the top of my voice and waving my pistols above my head, but it was no use. She couldn’t hear me over the booming clicks coming from the dragon, and she didn’t notice the change in the wind. Sig started swimming toward her, and something inside me snapped. I swung my leg up and over the rail, meaning to get down there and help.
Mothi grabbed me from behind, using his immense strength to lift me off the rail and away. “No, Aylootr!”
It enraged me, and I turned on him. Kunknir and Krati were in my palms, and the urge to do battle sang in my veins. I shouldered past him, or tried to, but he looped an arm, thick with muscles, around me and spun me back.
“No!” he said. “You can’t help from the water! Aylootr! Hear sense!”
Yowtgayrr stumbled out of the stairwell that led to the sleeping deck. His eyes were glassy, and his bluish-ivory hair stood on end, but he held both of his blades naked and ready for battle. “What?” he demanded, gaze going first to Althyof and then finding Meuhlnir.
“Sea dragon,” Meuhlnir said as if it were nothing more exciting than a brisk wind. “Jane and Sig are overboard. The boy in the water, Jane flying on raven’s wings.”
Yowtgayrr’s eyes sought mine, noting the stand-off with Mothi. He reversed his grip on his blades and stabbed them into the wood. He pointed at me and glared. “You, Hank Jensen, do not leave this deck.” I opened my mouth to argue, but with staggering steps, Yowtgayrr ran toward the rail closest to Sig. He leapt from the rail and dove into the water.
“By the balls of all the Plauinn,” Althyof yelled. “No one else leave this damn boat!”
Mothi stared into my face. “Hank? Will you stop fighting me?”
I nodded and, when he released me, stepped past him. Yowtgayrr had covered half the distance to my son, his arms lifting and burying themselves in the waves at a rapid pace.
“What have I done to earn such loyalty?” I muttered.
“Well, for one thing, you do a good job of teasing Father,” said Mothi. His eyes never left Sig, but his hand found my shoulder and patted it. “Get those noise-makers ready. The beast comes.”
My eyes snapped to the seething white water, then to Jane, who hovered a few feet above it. Without giving myself time to think, I lifted Krati and put a round in front of her. She wore the ring Althyof had enchanted—she could heal herself if the bullet went awry. The same ring that let her fly on those beautiful sable wings.
The round splashed into the water in front of her, and her gaze snapped up and to me. I waved her away from the moiling water, and Mothi pointed at Sig. She got the message and veered away, just as the dragon broke the surface of the water.
Yowtgayrr reached my son and hooked an arm around the boy’s chest. Sig struggled as Yowtgayrr started to pull him away, back toward the ship.
“No, Sig! Go with him!” I yelled.
The dragon hissed at the ship, then saw Jane. It lunged at her, mouth open wide. Jane juked to the left and darted back, wings working hard. The beast snapped at her again, and again Jane dodged away, flitting this way and that like a hummingbird on methamphetamines. The sea dragon emitted a long series of loud clicks, and Jane weltered in the shock wave that followed. When it saw her wallowing, moving like a drunk butterfly, it hissed and arched its neck while tilting its head to the side, preparing to strike at her and snap its jaws around her body.
Kunknir and Krati roared and boomed, and lead flew toward the dragon’s head and neck. The bullets might have hit Jane, but I didn’t know what else to do.
I kept firing until Kunknir’s slide locked back, and as I ejected the magazine and fed in a fresh one, the bullets from the gun rived through the dragon’s scales covering its jaws and the side of its neck. The dragon heaved its head away, ducking behind the bulk of its own neck. Jane cried out, and I cringed, wondering if one of the rounds from Krati had hit her.
The dragon emitted a string of pops and whumps in rapid succession, the clangor stunning Jane further, and she dipped close to the perilous waves. When it turned, the dragon hissed at me, its eyes gyrating like a Hollywood special effect. Yowtgayrr and Sig drew its attention, and it blasted them with a long volley of loud clicks that agitated the surrounding water, making the surface of the sea carom and dance with its intensity. The dragon lunged at them, mouth dripping a foul-looking arylide yellow, viscous fluid into the waves below it.
“Yowtgayrr! Poison!” I screamed it so loud that my voice cracked.
The Alf redoubled his efforts, using his free arm to scoop at the water. Sig had stopped fighting him and instead, kicked his feet and paddled in the water as if he were doing an upside-down butterfly stroke. Even with both of their efforts, they stood no chance of outpacing the behemoth beast.
Jane shook her head and beat her raven-black wings hard to gain altitude. She glanced around in time to catch the dragon preparing to strike, towering over Yowtgayrr and our son, jaws dripping acid. “No!” she screamed, and as she did, a bright carmine aura flashed around her and, a heartbeat later, around the sea dragon.
The clicking from the dragon ceased, and it spasmed and convulsed, its head flopping this way and that as its body performed a strange dance in the water. The beast’s entire body stiffened and fell to the side with a tremendous splash, reminding me of a tree felled into a lake.
After the booming clamor of the dragon’s clicking and hissing, the sound of the roaring wind seemed trivial, a welcome respite. Jane listed sideways, head lolling.
“What did she do?” murmured Mothi.
“Althyof,” I said.
“What?”
“The ring gives her the power to kill by a force of will alone. She said she’d never use it.”
“Her son had never stared into the jaws of an angry sea dragon when she said that.”
“No doubt,” I said.
Jane rolled her head to stare at the long, iridescent body of the beast, seeming to see nothing else—not Sig, not Yowtgayrr, not the ship. I thought she wallowed in remorse, that she was busy cursing herself for killing the beast, but it wasn’t that. Or at least not all of it was. Her magnificent black wings stopped beating the air and disappeared as her eyelids sank closed. She tilted to the side and fell into the sea as if dead.
“Get us down!” I shouted and ran toward the rail.
“You stay here!” Mothi yelled at me. With a running leap, he jumped to the gunnel and dove into the sea.
“Setyast til syowvar!” Meuhlnir commanded, and the ship sank to the surface of the water.
“Vinturidn er rowlegur,” said Veethar, and the sails slackened as the wind died away.
I twisted out of my belt and swept the cloak off my shoulders for the first time since I’d run out of my methotrexate. Caustic pain descended from my shoulders to my hips, ripping a harsh gasp out of me. I stripped off my armor, and let it fall to the deck. Tunnel vision swept in from nowhere and I staggered as the ship lurched through the waves.
“No,” said Meuhlnir in a calm voice. He wrapped the cloak around my shoulders and relief sang through me. “Mothi’s already there. He has her, Hank.”
I forced my eyes open and saw he was right. Mothi had his arm across her shoulder and was pulling her toward the boat with long, efficient strokes of his other arm. Yowtgayrr had Sig and was angling toward Mothi in case he needed help. I sagged against Meuhlnir, fighting the urge to vomit.
“Sif!” Meuhlnir called.
Veethar snapped his fingers at the first mate. “Get them all on board.”
The first mate glanced at Althyof, and the Tverkr gestured at the rail with impatience. “Don’t look to me every moment! Do your job!”
The first mate—now the new captain—yelled orders at his thrall crew and they hustled to get our four companions back on board. The ship maneuvered close, and the crew threw netting over the side to act as an impromptu ladder. Yowtgayrr set Sig to climbing the net and then took one of Jane’s arms so he and Mothi could bring her up the net.
My attention shifted back and forth between Jane and Sig. Jane’s head lolled from side to side with the movement of the waves. Her eyes were half-open but empty. “Jane!” I called. She gave a start and turned her head toward me, but she didn’t seem to recognize me.
Sif gave me a cursory look. “I’ll deal with you later,” she promised. “You made your own pain, you can live with it while I treat your wife.”
I nodded, eyes only for Jane.
Sig cleared the rail and ran over to me. “Daddy! What’s wrong with her?”
“I don’t know, Son.”
“Don’t worry, Sig. Auntie Sniffles is here.” She put her arm around Sig’s shoulders. “But don’t you think for a second I didn’t see the silly thing you did and won’t have words with you about it later.”
Mothi and Yowtgayrr reached the gunnel and handed Jane over the rail to Meuhlnir and Sif. They set her on the deck, and Sif examined her.
“What is it? Did the dragon—”
“No,” said Sif. She closed her eyes, lips moving. Jane’s body convulsed, and she regurgitated sea water all over the deck. Sif nodded and put her ear to Jane’s chest, expression tight, worried. Then, she smiled. “All is well. She’s in a kind of sleep. Whatever she did, it drained her body to dangerous levels. I cleared the water from her lungs, and she is breathing on her own.”
A sigh of relief gusted out of me. “When will she—”
“Telling the future is Frikka’s department, not mine,” said Sif. She glanced up at me, and her eyes softened. “But don’t worry, she will wake. For now, we make her comfortable.” She stood and began issuing orders to the thralls to bring up blankets and the rocks they used below deck for heating the cabins.
“Dad!” murmured Sig, and I tore my gaze away from Jane and put my arm around my son. “Is she going to be okay?”
“Yes, Son,” I said. “Auntie Sniffles is better than an emergency room any day of the week.”
“Did you see what Mom did to it? The dragon, I mean? It fell over dead!”
I flinched and put my arm around his shoulders. “Mommy will feel bad about that, I think, so maybe we shouldn’t make too much of it when she wakes up.”
Sig glanced around me at his mother and looked up at me. “Why? I don’t understand.”
“It’s no small thing to kill another living being, let alone one that might be intelligent. It affects almost everyone, but in different ways.”
“But, it was a dragon, and it was trying to kill me!” His whisper was fierce.
“Which is why your mother acted as she did. Her choice was between her beliefs and your life.”
He nodded after a moment of thought. “Oh.”
“Let’s tread carefully for a while, make things easy for her.”
“Yeah, Dad. I can get with that program.”
“Good. Now you’d better get out of those wet clothes before you turn into a Sigsicle.”
“It’s not that cold, Dad. I want to talk to Mommy when she wakes up. To thank her.”
“Get yourself changed, Sig, then we’ll see.”
I turned back to Yowtgayrr and Mothi. “Thank you, both of you. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve friends like the two of you.”
Mothi grinned at me, but Yowtgayrr shook his head. “Don’t be silly, Hank. The boy is a fine addition to the party, and it was my honor to help your family. As for thanking me, that is unnecessary. Recall my mission, recall my beliefs.”
I nodded but didn’t let go of his forearm. “Yes, that’s all well and good, but recall my beliefs and accept my gratitude.”
Yowtgayrr shrugged and smiled. “Fine. You’re welcome, Hank.” He squeezed my forearm for a moment, then broke away. “It’s very cold in this wind. I’ll go below and get warm.”
“Do that,” I said.
Mothi clapped Yowtgayrr on the shoulder and together the two men went below to get dried off and warm. The new captain was shouting more orders to the thrall crew, getting them underway again, but he wasn’t turning the ship back to their original course.
“Captain!” shouted Meuhlnir. “Our destination lies to the stern.”
The man shook his head and pointed back toward the port we’d sailed from. “You’ll have a refund minus expenses and a funeral, but I’ll not risk the ship.”
Meuhlnir turned to look at me and raised his eyebrow.
“Why is it at risk? The sea dragon’s dead.”
The captain nodded but didn’t spin the great wheel. “That one is dead, yes. But sea dragons hunt in pods.”
“Pods?” asked Meuhlnir.
“Groups,” I said. “I wouldn’t think they’d act that way. Aren’t they territorial?”
“To non-dragons, yes,” said the captain. “And to dragons outside their pod, but the dead sea dragon called his mates.”
“How do you know?”
“The other sound it made, not the clicking,” said the captain. “We’re in a race now, whether we like it or not. We need speed, now, or you will have to fight other dragons.”
“Andardowhtur kuthadna!” commanded Veethar, and the hurricane-like winds filled the sails again.