The Eve of the Maelstrom

15 Fire on the Water

“Are we gonna sail this all the way to Dimernesti?” Blister eyed the fishing boat. “I don’t think all of us can even fit in it.”

“All of us can’t,” Rig said, as he eased the boat into the water and motioned for Blister to get in. “Hurry,” he whispered.

“But I thought we weren’t gonna do this until just about dawn,” the kender complained.

“Change in plans. I want to get out of here now before any more spies see us.” Rig looked over his shoulder, eyeing Dhamon. “Blister, will you please hurry!”

The kender and the dwarf sat together, a sack full of jugs and rags wedged under them— the supplies the dwarf wanted. Blister had tried to explain to Rig how they obtained them from a dosed store, but Jasper cut her off.

“I’m not proud of what we did,” he whispered.

“But you left some steel on the counter,” she said.

“Still, it wasn’t right. It was justified,” he said, eyeing the ships in the harbor. “But it wasn’t right. Still, maybe the shop owner will be happy if what I think Rig has in mind works out.”

“What’s Rig...”

“Shhh!” the mariner cautioned. “They can’t see us. Too dark. But that doesn’t mean the Knights of Takhisis can’t hear us.”

Dhamon and Rig took the middle seat, under which was tucked a few lengths of rope, and Groller sat between Usha and Fiona. The small boat wasn’t meant to hold so many and sat heavily in the water. The lip of it bobbed only a few inches above the choppy surface. Rig passed Dhamon a paddle and stuck his own in the oar mount.

While they’d questioned the spy, the fog had grown thicker. It hugged the water and wrapped around all the ships, making their lights look soft and indistinct.

“Looks spooky,” Blister whispered.

“The fog’ll help hide us,” the mariner said. “If they see us, they can sink us. Now, nobody breathe too deep. We can’t handle an ounce more weight.” The mariner dipped a paddle in, slow and easy so the water wouldn’t splash. Dhamon’s oar moved together with Rig’s.

Feril and the wolf swam ahead of them, heading toward the closest ship, a good-sized galley. The water was warm and soothing to the Kagonesti, and the cool air felt good on her face, as she swam forward with strong kicks. The only sound she heard was the wolf paddling near her and the almost imperceptible creak of the twisting oar mounts from the fishing boat coming a few yards behind her.

The Kagonesti focused on the fog, thin all around her and spreading toward the horizon as far as she could see. Too thin, she knew. If she could easily see the Knights of Takhisis’s ships through it, then Rig’s boat could be seen by anyone on deck who chanced to look this way She slowed her strokes, concentrating on the air where it met the water. Her senses were teased by the tendrils of fog.

“Hide me,” she whispered to the fog. She was pouring all her energy into the thought, leaving herself just enough strength to stay afloat. “Hide me,” she repeated. She focused only on the fog, letting it intoxicate her.

Fury swept by her, paddling to keep his head above the water. He nuzzled her cheek, then pulled ahead, his churning legs brushing her arm.

“Hide us,” Feril said. The Kagonesti felt her magical strength growing. By the time the fishing boat caught up to her, the fog had thickened, like a dark, gray blanket that had been thrown across the Ak-Khurman harbor. She heard Blister chattering behind her. Rig hushed the kender, seeing the lights on the knights’ ships now as opaque as a gathering of will-o-wisps. “Perfect,” she whispered.

“I can’t see anything,” the kender was saying.

“Quiet!” Jasper softly scolded her.

“How can you tell where you’re going?” she persisted. “If I can’t see anything, you can’t see anything either. Neither can Groller, I bet. Or Fiona. Or Dhamon. What if you’re paddling the wrong way?”

“We’re not going the wrong way.” It was Dhamon’s voice. “We’re going against the current.”

“Oh.”

Feril stopped Dhamon’s paddle with her hands, and trod water next to the boat. “Go slower,” she said. “Follow me. I can see through the fog.”

“The ships,” Rig whispered. “Did you get a good look at them? Describe them.”

She did.

“Two galleys. Can’t steal either of them. It would take too many men to handle ’em. Four carracks and a small cog. I want one of the carracks, the biggest one,” he whispered. “But we have to take out the galleys first, or they’ll chase us down.”

Feril nodded. “We’re nearing the closest galley.”

Rig heard the galley before he saw it, heard the gentle groaning of the ship’s timbers, the water lapping against the sides, the musical creak of the great masts. It was a shame what he was planning, he thought to himself, a crime against the sea. “Can’t be helped,” he mused aloud. “Pass her by,” he said softly to Feril. “Take us to one of the smaller carracks, the closest one.”

The Kagonesti led the boat beyond the galley. Gazing up through the fog, she made out Pride of the Dark Queen, painted in white letters on its side. Several minutes later, they neared one of the smallest carracks. If it had a name, Feril couldn’t read it. Only one lantern burned from the bow of this ship.

The boat scraped against the carrack’s hull, and Rig ran his fingers along the wood just above the water line. The carrack was an older ship; he could tell by the condition of the timbers and the thickness of the paint, but it was well-maintained and had been recently scraped for barnacles. He held a hand out to Dhamon. The knight fumbled under the seat and produced a rope, passing it to the mariner.

Rig carefully stood, balancing himself, and quickly worked a knot into the rope. He whirled the rope above his head, then released it, grinning when his lasso landed around a railing post on his first try. Blister passed him two jugs and a couple of rags, all of which he held under an arm. He looked down at Dhamon. “Grab two more and follow me, if you can. Fiona, take the boat out a little bit. I don’t want the rest of you too close when the trouble starts.”

“I don’t have a weapon,” Dhamon whispered to the mariner.

“Then you’d better not get in a fight,” Rig returned. Catlike, the mariner started up the rope one-handed, using his feet against the side and scaling it as if he were a mountain climber heading toward a peak.

“Here.” Fiona extended her long sword.

Dhamon shook his head, tucking two jugs under an arm, and followed Rig up and over the side. The mariner was crouched low behind the capstan and was stuffing the rags in the jugs. Dhamon joined him and did likewise. “Tinder?”

The mariner shook his head. “Not yet.” He plucked a dagger from his belt, stuck it between his teeth, crept a few feet away to the anchor chain, and began winching it up.

The anchor thudded against the hull. Someone was approaching. Two someones, from the sounds of boot heels. Dhamon couldn’t see the men through the fog until they were practically on top of Rig. He set his jugs next to the mariner’s and waited.

At the same time, Rig saw the men. He plucked the dagger from between his teeth, hurling it at the man on the right, and drew a worn cutlass, one he had acquired in town. The dagger found the mark, sinking to the hilt into a Knight of Takhisis’s unarmored chest. The man thumped heavily on the deck. Dhamon was on the second, pinning him stomach first to the deck and clamping a hand over his mouth. The man continued to struggle, hammering his feet against the deck.

“No noise,” the mariner advised. He rapped the pommel of his cutlass against the back of the knight’s head. “See?” he said to Dhamon. “I told you that you didn’t need a weapon. Not when I’m around.”

Rig scuttled back to the capstan. “Current’ll take her right into that galley now, but I’m gonna hurry her along.” He looked toward the rear mast, cloaked in fog. “I’ll cut one of the sails to speed her up a bit. You stop anybody that wanders by.”

“With what?” Dhamon quietly shot back.

“Your charm.” A heartbeat later the mariner had climbed up the mast into the fog.

Dhamon crept back to the two bodies and tugged a long sword free from one. From the body of the other, he retrieved Rig’s dagger, wiping the blood off on the dead man’s tabard. He spotted a shadow in the fog; someone else was approaching, he could hear voices.

“I can’t see in this pea soup,” one man said.

“It’ll lift by morning,” a second shadow said.

“The fog’s not your concern.” A third voice. “Just find out why we’re drifting, and stop her. I don’t want to hit one of the other ships.”

“Aye, sir!” replied the first man.

They’d find the bodies, Dhamon thought. He clutched the dagger in his left hand, the long sword in his right. Hurry, Rig, he said to himself. He glanced at the mast. There was still no sign of the mariner, but he heard the canvas drop and heard the breeze catch it.

“Hey!” one of the men barked. “We’re not drifting! We’re under sail. Better get the sub-commander.”

Dhamon rushed toward the shadows, leading with the sword, wanting them to see him. There’ll be no more ambushes, he thought. It’ll be an honorable fight this time. A few steps more and the shadows came into focus: two Knights of Takhisis in black tabards and leather shirts. One had a sword in his hand, while the other started to draw his weapon as soon as he spied Dhamon.

“Sub-commander!” the one with sword already out called. “We’ve got company!”

Dhamon tossed the dagger at the man drawing his sword, and muttered a soft curse when it sank into the fellow’s thigh instead of his chest. Still, the wound was enough to stop him. The man dropped to one knee, hands clawing at the dagger.

At the same moment, his companion lunged. Dhamon ducked below the sweeping blade and thrust his long sword forward, impaling the knight on it. The man’s sword clattered to the deck and he pitched forward, just as footsteps thundered from below. Dhamon turned to face the wounded knight, who was now on his feet.

“Trouble, sub-commander!” someone hidden by the fog called.

“Trouble, all right,” growled the wounded knight. The dagger free from his leg, he tugged his sword from its sheath, quickly parrying Dhamon’s blow. “I don’t know who you are,” he snarled, but it doesn’t matter.” He effortlessly parried another thrust. “You’ll be dead soon enough.”

Dhamon increased the force of his swings, marveling at the man’s defense. The knight was well-trained in the classic strikes and parries taught by the knighthood. Dhamon leapt in close, using a maneuver he’d borrowed from Rig, catching the man off guard. Dhamon brought the long sword out to his side and swung it in hard, slicing through the leather shirt and deep into the man’s midsection.

“Fire!” came another voice. “She’s on fire!”

Rig was responsible, Dhamon knew. The mariner had been busy. Dhamon cut at the man again, killing him quickly. Then he rushed back to the capstan. The mariner was there, holding two jugs, the rags in them burning merrily. The other two had been smashed on the deck and were responsible for the fire the knights were rushing to put out.

“You were supposed to wait for me here,” Rig snapped, as he lobbed the two remaining jugs toward the rear mast. “Let’s move.”

The mariner darted toward the rear of the ship, glancing over his shoulder once to make sure Dhamon was following. Then he dropped over the side. Dhamon paused long enough to stick the long sword in his belt, then he too vaulted over the rail.

“Feril’ll find us,” Rig said as he trod water near Dhamon.

“The boat can’t be far.”

Dhamon didn’t say anything. He was watching the burning carrack. The ship was moving quickly its anchor up and sail billowing. Some of the men on deck were concentrating on the fire. But other men and the slaves who had manned the ship were jumping overboard.

The flames grew smaller as the ship drifted. Then Dhamon and Rig heard a heavy thud, as the carrack struck something.

“I remembered where the galley was,” Rig said matter-of-factly. “I knew the way the wind was blowing, so I figured out just where to aim her.”

The air was filled with the cries of “Fire!” Smoke roiled off the carrack’s deck, and flames spilled onto the galley. The scent of burning wood hung heavy in the fog. More men and slaves were jumping over the side.

“Well, you don’t have to congratulate me or anything,” Rig continued. “But I just took out two ships. We take out another carrack or two, and it’s clear sailing.”

Dhamon watched the fire, made hazy now by the still-thick fog.

“They’ll burn right down to the waterline if they can’t put them out,” the mariner continued. “You know, you surprised me up there. You didn’t have any qualms about killing those knights on deck: your comrades-in-arms. I would’ve thought...”

Dhamon thrust the mariner’s words to the back of his mind, listening to the burning timbers. Then he picked out the sound of oars and of Feril’s voice. He quickly climbed aboard the fishing boat.

Gaps were appearing in the fog by the time Feril and Fury guided the boat toward the three remaining carracks, bobbing side by side only a dozen or so yards apart. Feril had dropped her concentration on the fog, and was too tired from treading water to spend her energy on deepening the mist again. Men were gathered on the bows of all three carracks, spyglasses pressed to their faces. The carracks had not made a move to raise their sails and come in closer. No doubt the captains didn’t want to risk the fire spreading.

“Risky,” Rig said. “They’re awfully close together. Where’s the other galley?”

“Farther out,” Feril said. “At the mouth of the harbor. Near the little cog.”

“That’s our target,” the mariner said. “The other galley. We’ll do the same thing, lead the galley into one of the carracks, the one on the right. I want the bigger one, to the far left—the three-master.”

“How are we going to man it?” Feril whispered. It was a question Blister had asked earlier and that the mariner had ignored.

“Legion of Steel maybe,” he replied. “I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

The fog had thinned considerably by the time the fishing boat reached the far side of the galley. Dhamon and Rig no longer needed Feril to guide them. They could see well enough through the wispy fog. Fortunately the men on deck were all watching the fire and had not seen them approach.

Rig found his balance, threw the rope up, and cursed when it missed its mark and splashed in the water behind him. He rolled it up and tried again.

“There’s nothing to hook it on,” Blister said. “You’ll have to try the other side.”

Rig shook his head and coiled the rope over his arm. He pulled two daggers from his belt and worked them into the ship’s hull, a few feet above the waterline and between the oar ports.

“Hey, that’s pretty clever!” the kender squealed. “He’s making a ladder. Maybe I could...”

A cross look from Dhamon and Jasper silenced her.

Rig took two more daggers and wedged them in higher in the hull. Then he stood on the first two daggers and climbed to the higher pair. Precariously balanced, he wedged in another couple, and continued climbing, using his makeshift footholds. Several minutes later he was out of daggers, but he was at the top. He disappeared over the side.

Blister fidgeted. “I don’t think he should be up there all by himself,” she whispered. “I’d like to have a little of the fun.”

The rope dropped over the side, as did a rope ladder the knights probably used for boarding. Rig hung over the railing, motioning to Groller. The half-ogre pointed to the sack under Blister and Jasper. Dhamon brought it out and carefully tied it to the rope.

Dhamon climbed up the ladder, retrieving two of Rig’s daggers in the process and sticking them in his belt next to his long sword. He guided the sack up the side, careful to avoid scraping the hull and shattering the jugs inside. He helped Rig lift it over the rail and joined the mariner on deck.

“Same as before,” Rig whispered.

They looked toward the ship’s starboard side, where nearly two dozen Knights of Takhisis stood against the railing, watching the fire.

“I don’t think so,” Dhamon said quietly. He pointed at midships, then gestured at the mainmast, where a knight stood perched in the crow’s nest. The knight had noticed them.

“Pirates!” the knight bellowed, instantly drawing everyone’s attention away from the fire. The knight waved his arm toward Rig and Dhamon.

“We could use some help up here!” Rig called over the side. He felt for his daggers. “Damn! Used ’em all.”

“Here!” Dhamon passed him the two daggers he had retrieved, then darted forward, meeting the charge of the first three knights. This is suicide, he thought. He ducked below a wide swing and stabbed up with his long sword. The blade dug into one knight, and Dhamon leapt back just as the man pitched forward.

He did not leap far enough, and the knight’s falling body knocked him over. Dhamon scrambled out from under the corpse and leapt to his feet as one of the other advancing knights stabbed his thigh. Dhamon swung toward a knight wearing black chain mail. The sword bounced off the armor. Dhamon jumped back a few steps. Both of the knights rushing toward him were wearing chain mail; four more in leather were behind him somewhere.

“Suicide,” he repeated half under his breath.

Several yards behind him, Rig was engaging a pair of unarmored knights. A third lay on the ground with two daggers protruding from his chest. The mariner had snatched a sword from the body and was deftly parrying the knights’ swings and hurling insults at them at the same time.

The thunder of more footsteps from below made Dhamon swallow hard. He was good with a blade but overwhelming odds were another matter. And a ship this size would have dozens of men on board—not to mention dozens of slaves chained in the hold and at the oar ports. Suicide definitely.

“Oh no you don’t!” taunted Blister. “You leave Dhamon alone!” The kender had climbed onto the deck and was expertly pelting the knights attacking Dhamon. Sea shells she’d gathered from somewhere struck the backs of their heads.

The knights lifted their hands to protect them from the fusillade, giving Dhamon an opening. He kicked out at one knight, forcing the man back and impaling him on the out thrust sword of one of four advancing knights. At the same moment, he slashed hard to his left, cutting through links of chain to find the skin beneath. The knight howled, and Dhamon followed through with a strong thrust that pushed the long sword deep into the man’s belly.

Dhamon tugged his blade free just as Feril darted past him. The Kagonesti was heading toward the mast, down which the knight who’d been in the crow’s nest was climbing. Agile as a monkey, Feril scrambled up the rigging and kicked out at the man. He held tight to the mast and drew his sword, but she kicked again, ferociously and repeatedly, until man and blade fell to the deck.

“Cut the sail while you’re up there!” Rig called to her.

She paused.

“Unfurl it!” Rig bellowed. “Let it down to catch the wind!”

A quartet of knights drew Dhamon’s attention back to the battle. He guessed that counting the ones who’d just come up from below, there must be at least three dozen on deck to contend with. He backed toward the rail, parrying blows, although one got through his defenses, wounding his arm.

“Swim for it!” one of the knights shouted.

Dhamon had no intention of jumping over the side, he just wanted to feel the rail at his back. Several feet away, he noticed Fiona, her armor gleaming in the light of the lanterns spaced around the deck. She had her back to Rig, and the two of them were keeping another quartet of knights busy. Other knights crowded around, looking for an opening.

“The carracks!” Feril called from the rigging. “They’re raising their sails. All three of them!”

Rig muttered a string of curses. “We’re gonna have more company than we can handle!” he yelled. Under his breath, he added, “I didn’t think they’d all come over here.”

“Let’s finish this fight quickly!” Fiona called.

“Finish it?” The voice belonged to Jasper. The dwarf awkwardly climbed over the rail and fumbled with the sack at his waist. Groller climbed over behind him and headed toward midships. “Finish it? They’re going to finish us.” Jasper pulled the Fist of E’li from the sack and smacked it into the leg of an approaching knight. The man doubled over and Jasper swung the Fist into his head, grimacing as he heard the man’s skull crack. The dwarf stepped over the body and waded into the fray.

“The half-ogre!” a knight bellowed. “And an Ergothian! These are the ones we came here for! And they came right to us! Kill them all! Malys will reward us!”

Groller met the charge of two knights, pitching one over the side. He barreled into the other, pinning him to the deck. His big hands found their way to the man’s throat and squeezed. The knight struggled for several moments, then lay still.

Groller pushed himself off the knight and caught a blow to his arm. The cut was deep, and the half-ogre howled as he brought his uninjured arm up to punch the knight. The man was momentarily stunned, and Groller pressed his attack, kicking the knight in the chest, then tugging a belaying pin from his belt and cracking it against the side of the man’s head. Four more knights were heading his way.

“We can win this!” Rig shouted above the clash of swords.

“Losing’s not an alternative I want to think about!” the kender called back. She’d climbed onto the capstan and was hurling sea shells, rocks, buttons, and an assortment of other oddities with her sling. She caught a couple of the knights off-guard, buying Rig a little time with his cutlass. Then she looked about for Dhamon.

The mariner had downed two men and whirled to take on one of Fiona’s targets.

“I don’t need help!” Fiona yelled.

“Just being honorable,” he returned.

“Be honorable to those over there!” She gestured toward a pair of knights who had stepped up to take their fallen comrades’ places. Rig leapt back from one of the two Knights of Takhisis, who thrust upward with his blade. Had the mariner not moved, the sword would have pierced his heart. Rig ducked below another swing, then twisted to the side and drove his blade into the knight. A moment later, he heard Fiona’s target fall to the deck.

More than a dozen knights had been killed, but there were three times that many still on their feet. Rig suspected there were still more below deck putting on armor and grabbing weapons.

“See why we couldn’t steal a galley?” Rig called as he stood back-to-back with Fiona again, careful not to trip over the bodies. “It takes too many sailors to man her!”

“Too many to man a carrack, too,” Blister muttered.

The canvas dropped from the mainmast and billowed, and the Kagonesti dropped in a crouch.

“That’s great, Feril!” Rig yelled. “But we aren’t going anywhere with the anchor still down.”

“I’ll get it!” the Kagonesti called to him, then sprinted toward the rear of the ship, leaping over a fallen knight and sidestepping another.

“It’s got two anchors!” he yelled. But the Kagonesti was too far away, and the sounds of the battle drowned any hope of being heard. “One at the front,” he added to himself.

“Get the kender!” a knight cried.

“No!” Dhamon had dispatched the four knights in leather, suffering more than a few cuts in the process. Now he was fighting a towering man, whom he could tell was a commander, perhaps the man to whom the spy was supposed to report.

“Dhamon Grimwulf,” the towering commander hissed between clenched teeth. “Don’t quite match your description. Thought you had blond hair. Malys wants you alive.” The commander shifted the grip of his sword, intending to strike Dhamon with the flat of the blade. “I can take you alive.”

“Not if I can help it.” Dhamon parried the man’s wide swing, forcing him toward the capstan. As the knight drew back for another blow, Dhamon stepped closer, thrusting the blade up and through a gap in his armor. The wounded knight stepped back, clutching his stomach and brought his long sword down. The impact knocked the weapon out of Dhamon’s hand. The sword clattered to the deck.

Blood flowed from the knight-commander. “Malys wants you alive,” he repeated through clenched teeth. He coughed deeply and backed Dhamon toward the rail. “But I’m not going to see tomorrow. And now neither are you. Don’t know why Malys is so keen on you. Word is you were a knight.” He coughed again, rosy saliva spilling over his lip. “That would make you a traitor.”

The knight-commander drew back his blade, careful not to give Dhamon room to escape. “Rogue knights carry a death sentence.”

His sword arced toward Dhamon but stopped short, falling from his grip even as the knight-commander dropped to his knees. Dhamon’s sword stuck through the man, and Blister’s hands were on the hilt.

Dhamon bent and retrieved the commander’s sword, just as Blister huffed and tugged Dhamon’s sword free. Her hands were trembling.

“I think you better use this sword,” she said. “Too heavy for me. I like my sling better. I have to admit, though, he just wasn’t gonna be stopped by my buttons.”

“You saved my life,” Dhamon panted, as he plucked the sword from her grasp and dashed forward just in time to stop a knight from reaching Blister. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted the kender heading toward the rail, where Usha was climbing over.

“You saved my life,” he repeated as he parried the thrust of a new opponent. “But Palin will take my life sure enough if something happens to his wife.”

Feril had managed to pull up the rear anchor. A burly knight was headed her way, sword out and cursing.

“You’re the wild elf,” the knight said. He slowed and stood a few feet away. “Tattoo on the cheek. We’re ’sposed to kill you. Pity. You’re a pretty thing.”

He moved forward, and Feril spun to the side. Then she darted past him, her bare feet sounding on the deck. She ran hard, leaving him behind, but she still heard the pounding of his footsteps. She rushed to Dhamon’s side. He had just dropped another knight and was standing in front of Usha and Blister, trying to keep them safe.

The Kagonesti glanced around. Bodies littered the deck. Dhamon was bleeding from cuts on his arms and legs, and there was a gash across his stomach. Several yards beyond him, Jasper kept two knights at bay. Despite their longer reaches, they gave the dwarf a wide berth, keeping their eyes on the scepter.

Feril got Dhamon’s attention, pointing to the dwarf, and then to Rig and Fiona on the other side of the ship. Five knights jockeyed for position around the Solamnic and the mariner.

Dhamon pushed his sword into Feril’s hands, and bent to scoop up a blade from a fallen knight. “The Knights of Takhisis use slaves to man their oars,” he shouted above the din of battle. “They’d be down in the hold.” Then he spun on his heels and headed toward Rig and Fiona. “Free them if you can!” he called over his shoulder.

“We have to try,” Usha said, her voice difficult for the Kagonesti to hear over the clang of swords.

“Then let’s go.” The Kagonesti darted toward the open hatch, Usha at her heels. Blister followed, but paused to pelt a knight with a slingful of buttons.

Feril stepped over the body of a knight lying at the edge of the hatch. She bent and pried a long sword out of his cold fingers. She held it out to Usha. “Take it!” The elf pressed the pommel into Usha’s hands. “There might be more knights below.”

The Kagonesti and Usha disappeared below deck. Blister stood at the hatch, sling ready, watching for any knights. None seemed to be interested in the kender any longer. They were directing most of their efforts against Dhamon, Rig, and Fiona and Groller.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Blister taunted softly. “I can take you. I can... hmmm. Maybe weapons aren’t the answer.”

The kender glanced toward the rear of the ship, at the sack Rig and Dhamon had hauled over the side. It sat undisturbed. “Or maybe a different kind of weapon would work,” she said to herself. Blister took a look into the hatch and strained to hear Feril and Usha. “Nothing. Must mean they’re okay so far and not in trouble.” She stuffed her sling in her pocket and headed toward the sack.

At midships, Dhamon was fighting at the side of Rig and Fiona, quickly slashing through two of the five men who surrounded them. That left one foe for each, and Dhamon faced the one in armor.

Several yards beyond them, Groller struggled against three knights, with another three heading toward him. Dhamon tried to keep the half-ogre in sight as he continued to assault his foe.

“There can’t be more than two dozen left now!” Rig cried cheerfully. The mariner was hurt badly, bleeding from a gash in his side and from several deep cuts on his leg. Fiona was exhausted, but uninjured. Her Solamnic armor had protected her well. “We can take ’em!” Rig continued. “We can...” Out of the comer of his eye he saw Groller slump to the deck, six knights around him now. “Groller!”

Dhamon saw what was happening to Groller too, but he could not get past the armored knight in front of him.

The mariner summoned all that was left of his strength and swung his sword. But each thrust was parried, preventing Rig from reaching the half-ogre. “No!” he screamed, as he watched one of the knights shove a sword in Groller’s back. The knight stepped on the half-ogre, tugged the blade free, then pointed toward Rig. The six men turned as one and advanced.

Dhamon tried not to think about Groller as he fought on. He managed to stab his opponent. The knight howled in pain, and when Dhamon struck him again, he dropped his sword and fell to his knees. With one swift stroke, Dhamon whipped his blade across the man’s neck. So much for honor, he said to himself as he stepped forward to fight the half-dozen knights who’d finished off Groller.

Dhamon met the lead knight head-on, plunging his long sword into the man’s unarmored chest. The sword lodged deep and stuck, as the man fell.

Behind him, he heard a throaty groan and a loud thump, but he couldn’t afford to take his eyes off the five men in front of him. Two of those he faced carried shields, black as night with lilies gleaming around the edges. One wielded a wicked-looking morning star.

“Bastards!” Rig, clutching his bleeding side, raced past Dhamon to grapple with the two knights with shields.

“Rig, don’t be a fool!” Dhamon called to him. “You’re badly hurt!” He scanned the deck, spotted a discarded sword, and dove for it, his fingers closing on the pommel, just as three of the knights reached him. He jumped to his feet, and out of the corner of his eye saw Rig reeling from blows.

“Dhamon!” Fiona screamed. “Rig’s down! Help him!” She had her hands full, dueling with two knights. She cast worried glances at the mariner, while swinging her sword erratically.

Rig slumped to his knees, in a growing pool of blood. Somehow he raised his sword just in time to block one of the knight’s blows. Another cut at his sword arm. Rig screamed, and his sword spun away.

“Fight me!” Dhamon challenged the three men in front of him.

“All right, let’s be done with this,” the one with the morning star returned. He took up a position in front of Dhamon, while the knights with swords lined up alongside him.

One of the other two swung again at Rig, and the mariner pitched forward. The knight placed a conquering foot on the body.

“You used to be honorable!” Dhamon snarled. “Honorable!”

The knight with the morning star grinned. “Only you and the lady knight left,” he said as he whirled the weapon in a circle above his head. “And the women who went below decks. We’ll take our time with them. Save ’em for last. I’m not too worried about the kender.”

Or the dwarf, Dhamon thought, wondering where Jasper was. He growled, feeling the morning star pass over his head as he ducked. Slashing to the right, he caught a knight in the abdomen, and quickly repeated the stroke, downing the man. At the same time, steel bit into his left side. The other knight had scored a cut. Dhamon felt his side grow wet and warm. He spun and stood, slashing at the knight on his left side, while dodging another blow from the morning star.

The knight stopped, his blade suspended, his mouth gaping in surprise. Dhamon had pierced the man’s stomach with his long sword.

Dhamon pulled back his sword and brought it up in an attempt to parry another blow by the morning star. The chain of the weapon caught around the blade, and his opponent jerked the sword from Dhamon’s hand.

Without pausing, Dhamon lowered his shoulder and rammed it into the knight, pushing him backward. He swept his leg behind the knight’s feet and sent the knight tumbling to the deck, the morning star spinning away with his sword.

“Honor be damned then!” Dhamon drove the heel of his boot into the knight’s stomach. The knight rolled, and Dhamon staggered. As he struggled to keep his balance, the knight’s fingers closed about the morning star. The warrior started to rise, but Dhamon moved fast. He kicked the man’s stomach again, then drove the blade into his throat, tugged it free, and whirled toward the fallen Rig.

“There’s no honor in fighting an unarmed man!” Dhamon cried.

Two knights still stood over Rig, one ready to stab a sword into the mariner’s back. Dhamon rushed forward, sliding in the blood, clutching his side.

The taller of the two knights sneered at him and lunged, but the other pointed toward the rear of the ship. “Fire! She’s burning!”

Dhamon registered the smell of burning timbers as he engaged the tall knight. He stepped beneath the man’s swing and drove his sword to the left, meeting the man’s shield. Then he jammed his elbow into the man’s abdomen, pushing the knight back several paces.

Dhamon spun about and met the challenge of the other knight. Their swords clashed above their heads, but Dhamon couldn’t find a decent opening. He concentrated on staying alive.

“Rig!” Fiona was at the mariner’s side, having vanquished her foe. Her armor was splattered with blood; the hair that spilled from under her helmet was matted with it.

Rig groaned and waved her off, trying futilely to push himself off the deck. “Help Dhamon,” he breathed. “Get to Groller. I’ll be all right. Find Jasper.”

She paused only a moment, then joined Dhamon, taking on the taller of the two knights. The man leveled swing after swing at her. She parried several strokes, but one found its way through her defenses, and the sword came down hard on her breastplate. He followed up the attack, slamming his shield into her chest. The impact knocked her to the deck.

Dhamon gritted his teeth and drove forward, putting everything into one final thrust. The blade glanced off the knight’s weapon. At the same time, Dhamon knocked the knight’s shield aside with his free hand. He swung again, the blade finding its way between the knight’s ribs.

Dhamon stepped over the dying man, and met the swing of the tall knight who had been striking down at the fallen Fiona. “Fiona! Drag Rig to the rail! Get everyone to the rail,” Dhamon called to her. “The ship’s burning fast! And those carracks are coming! They’ll be on top of us in a moment!”

“She’s on fire!” came a shout from off the starboard bow, from the deck of one of the carracks. The three carracks were closing; they would be upon the galley within seconds.

“Drop anchor!” someone shouted. “Don’t get too close! Send longboats over!”

Dhamon heard Rig groan and heard Fiona’s boots tromping through the blood. “Rig, stay here,” she said. “I’ve got to help Jasper. I can see him—barely—behind the mainmast.” Dhamon returned his attention to the tall knight. The man had dropped his shield and snatched up a smaller sword, was wielding it in his other hand. He wove the two blades before him in a gleaming tapestry of steel.

“You’re not leaving this ship alive,” the knight hissed. His voice was deep. He’d been one of the last ones to come up on deck, and from the bloodied insignia on his tabard he was a sub-commander.

“Sorry, have to leave,” Dhamon replied.

“Oh, you’ll leave, all right. You’ll leave straight to the Abyss.” The man laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle that rose above the crackling of the fire. “Too bad you won’t be alive to see Takhisis return!” Smoke wafted past the knight and Dhamon, and they felt the heat of the fire that was swiftly consuming the ship. The knight lunged with his long sword, drawing back with the other blade. Dhamon jumped and turned, reversing their positions so the knight’s back was to the fire now.

Dhamon glanced past him. The entire rear of the ship was on fire. The sail Feril had lowered was engulfed, lighting up the night sky and cutting through what little fog remained in the harbor.

Blister was at the edge of the blaze, firing jugs from a small ballista at the approaching carracks. Lit rags were in the bottles’ mouths, and Dhamon realized, with a curious detachment, that the kender was responsible for starting the fire on the galley.

More men were racing up on deck, though they were not in the livery of the Knights of Takhisis. They were thin, dressed in torn and dirty clothes. Feril and Usha led them around the flames. The Kagonesti coughed, talking to Usha, then pointing toward the rail.

“Blister!” Feril yelled. “We’re leaving!”

Behind them, Blister catapulted two more jugs and headed toward the rail.

Beyond the galley were two carracks. One had caught fire and was burning merrily. Dhamon could see its glowing sails. The third carrack had held to a safer distance and was lowering longboats that would rescue the knights and slaves.

If Dhamon could finish this man, he and the others could escape to the relative safety of the small fishing boat. This man, and... out of the corner of his eye he spotted Jasper.

The dwarf was between the main and forward masts. He held the scepter extended in one hand and was slowly waving it back and forth between two armored knights. The knights eyed the dwarf, but were making no attempt to rush him. Then Dhamon spotted Fiona coming to the dwarf’s aid. She had caught one of the men’s attention, and he charged her.

“We’ve got to hurry, Jasper,” she grunted, parrying the knight’s thrust. “This ship isn’t going to be floating too much longer. Blister saw to that.” As if to give credence to her words, a flaming piece of sail broke free and fluttered to the deck right behind the knights. Fire leapt from it, adding to the flames already lapping at the ship. It broke the stalemate between the dwarf and the knight closest to him. The warrior growled and stepped toward Jasper.

Fiona held the advantage over her foe. He moved sluggishly as the smoke grew thicker.

“I’ll spare you your life!” she offered, as she dodged a poorly aimed blow. The man shook his head, as if he was trying to clear his senses. “I’ll give you your life, if you drop the sword!” she repeated.

He shook his head again and swung his blade low. The blow glanced off her sword, and she aimed her weapon at an opening where his armored breastplate met a short chain skirt. He pitched forward, she freed her sword and moved on to help the dwarf.

Because the dwarf was so much smaller, the knight had difficulty penetrating his defenses. Each time the man thrust at the dwarf’s chest, Jasper raised the First, and each time the blade harmlessly bounced off the enchanted wood.

“We don’t have time for this!” Fiona shouted. She was coughing now, and waving the smoke out of her eyes. “Get to the side, the fishing boat! Help Rig over the side! He’s hurt real bad, Jasper. And I think Groller’s dead.”

Jasper didn’t argue, knowing she could handle the knight better than he could. As the dwarf moved toward the railing, sliding in the blood, stepping over the bodies, he heard the clang of Fiona’s sword against the man’s sword and armor. There was a rhythm to it. Then the rhythm stopped, and through the crackling of the flames he heard a dull thud. Fiona coughed, her boots slapping across the deck, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The Knight of Takhisis had fallen.

Rig was on his knees, holding onto the rail, his breathing ragged and uneven. The dwarf looked about frantically for the rope ladder he’d climbed up. It was too far away, toward the rear of the ship, which now looked like one big ball of fire. “We’ll have to swim. At least you’ll have to,” the dwarf said. “I can’t. But maybe I can keep from sinking like a stone.”

The dwarf raised the Fist of E’li and battered it against the rail, breaking a section of it free and knocking it into the water. “It floats. And maybe with its help, I can float too.” The mariner raised his head, his eyes stung by smoke. “I can swim. I’ll help you.”

Not in your condition, Jasper thought. The dwarf helped Rig over the side, so that the mariner hung like a sack of flour, dangling in the air. The dwarf looked for the fishing boat. The dark gray smoke from the galley mingled with the wispy fog, and at first he could see nothing.

But through gaps in the smoke he finally spied people in the water: the slaves Feril and Usha had rescued. They were treading water and backing away from the galley. And then he saw the floating rail.

“My sword,” Rig gasped. “Got to get my sword. Can’t lose another one.”

“Fury!” the dwarf shouted, ignoring the mariner. “Blister!”

A moment later he was rewarded with the wolf’s frantic barks. “Jasper! We’re down here!” It was Blister’s voice. “We’re in the boat!” So the boat was somewhere below. It couldn’t be too far away if he could hear her this easily. Jasper thrust the Fist into the sack at his waist, making sure it was secure, then pushed Rig over the side. The dwarf took a quick look around the deck. Feril was toward the bow, cranking furiously on the anchor chain and coaxing over the last of the freed slaves. Usha gathered her skirts and jumped over the side.

Dhamon was nearby, struggling with a tall knight.

I should help him, Jasper thought. But then Rig might drown. The dwarf leaped over the side after the mariner, angling his body and praying to the departed gods that he wouldn’t sink.

Fiona had doubled over coughing. She couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her now, but she knew where to go. She heard metal striking metal. Dhamon was still fighting the tall knight. That was the only battle still going on. She peeled off pieces of her armor and staggered toward the noise.

Both men were covered with blood. The tall knight was using two weapons, parrying Dhamon’s sword with his longer blade and slashing at Dhamon’s chest with the shorter weapon.

Dhamon’s tunic was blood-soaked. She realized most of the blood was his, the tall knight’s tabard was practically pristine. She pulled off her breastplate, letting it fall to the deck, and then rushed forward, stopping just short of Dhamon.

“Unfair odds,” the tall knight hissed. “Two against one. There’s no honor in that.”

“You didn’t think the odds were unfair when you were fighting my friend!” Fiona spat.

“The black man?” the knight laughed. “Malys wants the Ergothian dead. But you,” he tipped his head toward Dhamon. “You—I want an honorable fight with you!”

“Not this time,” Dhamon retorted. He let Fiona parry the knight’s long sword, while his blade clanged against the shorter weapon. Dhamon awkwardly spun about and jabbed at the man’s side. His blade sunk in only a few inches. But the pain was enough to make the tall knight glance at his wound. Fiona stepped closer and slashed at his chest, then crouched and sliced at his legs, her blade striking black plates, clanging hollowly. The knight stepped back and wildly waved his weapons at the pair to keep them at a safe distance.

“I’ll give you your life!” Fiona called. “Drop your blades!” The knight let out a guttural cry and dashed forward. Fiona stepped up to meet him, while Dhamon slid to one side. Dhamon raised his long sword high over his head and brought it down with all the strength left in his arms. The sword bit into the man’s shoulder. Dhamon pulled it loose and struck again. The knight gasped and dropped the shorter blade, fighting only with the longer weapon now.

The Dark Knight gave Fiona a tight smile and jockeyed to the side so he could see both her and Dhamon. The smoke around him was thick, and he was gasping for air. Fiona was having trouble breathing as well, and Dhamon gestured toward the side of the ship. Go! he mouthed.

She shook her head. “Not without you!”

Dhamon, choking on smoke, moved forward clumsily now, swinging his sword in a broad, uneven arc. The knight stepped back, staying just beyond the weapon. The blackhaired warrior steadied himself, and brought his blade up. As the knight waited for an opening, Dhamon gave him the illusion of one.

The knight stepped forward, bringing his blade down. At the last possible moment, Dhamon stepped close to the man and into his swing. The long sword hit Dhamon’s shoulder, but his own sword cut at the man’s already-injured side. Dhamon pulled the sword back and slammed the blade in again, and the knight collapsed on him, pinning him to the deck.

Fiona was there, coughing, gasping for air, pulling the dead knight off Dhamon and tugging him toward the rail. “We’ve got to get off this ship! It’s listing. Can’t you feel it?”

She was right. The deck slanted toward the sea, as if the ship were taking on water. And the ship was moving toward the shore. Somehow the forward anchor must have come loose.

Dhamon leaned on Fiona for a moment, and both grabbed the rail as the galley stopped, a crunching sound that competed with the roar of the fire.

“She’s hit one of the other ships!” Fiona gasped. The galley lurched again, and the Solamnic started to fall. Dhamon caught her, leaned her over the rail where she could gulp in a bit of fresh air.

“You first,” he said, waving his arm. “I’ll follow.”

She tugged at the last few metal plates on her arms, her fingers fumbling with the fastenings, then tossed her helmet off. I should’ve left it all in the swamp, she thought. When the last piece clanged against the deck, she sheathed her sword and dove over the side.

“I’ll follow after I find Groller,” Dhamon called. He closed his eyes and imagined the deck. Then he dropped down to all fours and crawled forward, picturing the mainmast, the forward mast, and the place where he’d seen the half-ogre go down between the two. Dead or not, Dhamon intended to bring Groller with him.

Dhamon’s hands connected with body after body, none of them large enough, all in the garb of the Dark Queen’s knights. He crawled steadily over them, slipping in the blood and cutting his fingers on dropped swords. It felt as if he’d crawled for hours. His chest was on fire, water ran from his closed eyes, and he ached from a dozen wounds.

He was feeling faint, dizzy from lack of air and loss of blood, by the time he reached a large body.

It was face down and bloody. With considerable effort, Dhamon turned it over, ran his fingers over the long hair, felt about around the broad shoulders, and touched the man’s face. His hands felt Groller’s wide nose and thick brow. Dropping lower, they felt for the worn leather tunic, now cut and slick with blood.

“Be alive,” Dhamon prayed. He pressed his cheek to the half-ogre’s nose, at first feeling nothing. Then, barely detectable, he sensed a trace of shallow breath. The sensation did not cheer him. Dhamon had tended enough wounded on various battlefields to know that the half-ogre was dying.

Dhamon struggled to his feet, carrying Groller under the armpits. He staggered toward the railing, dragging the half-ogre with him. Going back was easier; the deck was tilting more in that direction.

“Dhamon!” Someone was calling for him, a woman. The voice was faint, and he couldn’t make out who it was. Feril? Usha? It wasn’t the kender—Blister’s voice was more childlike. Perhaps it was Fiona.

He wrestled with Groller’s body, pulling it up and propping it against the rail. He threw one of his legs over the rail, the one with the blackened scale. The scale shone through the numerous cuts in his leggings. It was one of the few spots not spattered with blood. The half-ogre was heavy, and Dhamon was growing increasingly weak. He hauled him up, and the rail snapped under their combined weight. Dhamon clutched Groller to him, and together they struck the water.

He felt himself sinking, the weight of the half-ogre pulling him down. Dhamon held tight to Groller and kicked hard. The saltwater stung his wounds and helped to revive him. It seemed to give him a burst of renewed strength. He heard sounds through the water, things he couldn’t describe but guessed were pieces of the galley falling into the harbor. Then suddenly his burden was lighter. Something or someone was helping him with Groller.

Dhamon’s head broke the surface, and he gulped in air. Feril swam at his side, helping to keep Groller’s head above the surface.

“He’s dying,” Dhamon managed to get out.

She waved an arm and whistled, and Dhamon heard the splash of oars. Finally he saw the small fishing boat cutting through the fog and smoke. Jasper leaned over the side, stretching his fingers out toward Groller.

The dwarf was singed and soaked, as well as exhausted. His face looked oddly pale in the firelight. “Bring... him... closer,” the dwarf gasped. Fury stuck his head over the side of the ship and howled. The wolf tried to jump in, but Fiona’s arms were locked around him.

“Is Groller all right?” Blister asked.

Feril and Dhamon struggled to pull Groller up over the edge of the small boat. Jasper touched the half-ogre’s face, closed his eyes, and worked to find the healing spark again. He’d spent the past several minutes tending to Rig, while struggling to hold onto the floating railing until the fishing boat came to their rescue.

The mariner had been seriously wounded, and it took most of the dwarf’s energy to heal Rig’s worst injuries and keep him alive. Jasper, too, was injured, as was Fiona, but neither were in danger of dying.

Groller was another matter. The dwarf coaxed his spark to grow stronger, searching for the half-ogre’s familiar life essence. It was weak and hard to find, like an ember growing cold. Groller was slipping from Krynn, as Goldmoon had slipped from the world. Jasper knew the half-ogre was injured worse than he had been in the cavern. Behind him Fury howled again, struggling against Fiona, and now Blister, too, as she helped to hold back the wolf.

“You’ll get in Jasper’s way,” Blister scolded Fury. “Stay here.”

Groller’s cheek felt unnaturally cold beneath the dwarf’s fingers. “No,” Jasper whispered. “I’ll not lose you, too. I can’t.” The dwarf barely clung to the side of the boat now, putting all his effort into his healing spell. “Don’t die on me. I saved you once. I can do it again.” He heard his own heart beating, thumping over the distant sounds of fire and men shouting. It beat in time with the choppy waves lapping against the side of the boat. The dwarf focused on the rhythm, using it to build the spark.

He felt a warmth radiating from his chest and slipping down his arm to his fingers and Groller’s face. He felt the fishing boat lurch.

“Jasper!” he heard Fiona shout. “Grab the boat!”

He made no move to do so, not wanting to interrupt his spell. He felt his free hand touch the water, then sink below it. He spilled over the edge of the boat and started to sink, but he made no effort to keep himself afloat. Everything was directed toward the spark and saving Groller.

Then Jasper heard the half-ogre gasp and felt Feril grab his stubby arms. Her legs churned. His eyes snapped open, and he saw Dhamon helping Fiona and Usha bring Groller into the boat. Fiona slipped over the side to make room for the half-ogre. Then her hands joined Feril’s in lifting Jasper out of the water. He was deposited next to Groller and Rig in the center of the boat.

“Jaz-pear good healer,” he heard Groller whisper, as he drifted off to sleep.

Feril, Dhamon, and Fiona trod water next to the fishing boat. The freed slaves were nearby in the water, some holding the edge of the fishing boat, others holding onto bits of broken, floating rails.

“What now?” Usha asked. “The shore’s too far for the slaves to swim.

“The carracks are all burning,” Blister said. “It’s my fault. I raised the anchor and let the ship drift into them. Then I fired flaming jugs at them. Kind of neat, huh?”

“You saved us,” Dhamon said. “Those knights would have joined the fight on the galley and killed us. There were just too many of them. This was not one of Rig’s better ideas.”

“There’s still one ship left.” Fiona pointed toward the east. “That little cog Feril saw.”

The Kagonesti grinned. “Yes! It stayed back when we set the galley on fire.”

“Then let’s make for it,” Dhamon said. “It’s closer than the shore. Let’s hope there aren’t very many knights on board. There can’t be. It’s pretty small.”

“And we’ve got people to man it!” Blister beamed, gesturing at the freed slaves.

“Only if they’re willing,” Feril returned. “Otherwise, we’ll put them ashore.”

“Let’s discuss this after we’ve taken over the cog,” Dhamon said. His voice was weak. He started swimming towards the cog. “If we can take it,” he added.

It seemed like hours before the fishing boat scraped and bumped against the seaward side of the cog. The smoke was still thick on the water; it cloaked them from the knights on board, most of whom were busy watching the fires from the far railing.

Dhamon squinted through the darkness, fighting to stay awake. The light from the fire didn’t reach this side of the ship. He pointed toward the bow. “I see an anchor rope. There’s our ladder up.”

“You’re not going,” Fiona whispered harshly. “You’re bleed-mg.

“I’m not hurt that badly,” the knight lied. “And I’m not staying in the water. It’s only a matter of time before the sharks show up.” He paused. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a weapon. I left the ones I borrowed on the galley.”

Feril guided the fishing boat to the anchor rope. Usha took a rope from under the middle seat and looped it around the cog’s anchor rope. “We won’t drift this time,” she said. Then she reached toward the center of the boat, fumbling with something. A moment later, she handed two daggers over the side to Dhamon. “Rig’s sword is on that burning galley, too. But I saw these sticking out of his boots. I don’t think he’ll mind.”

Dhamon grinned. Though it was dark, he could make out the pearl inlaid lilies on the black pommels. Rig must have expropriated them from a high-ranking knight. He stuck them in his belt and started up the rope, hand over hand. It took a lot of effort. As he neared the railing, he felt someone climbing up after him.

He let out a soft moan as he lifted himself over the side, and pressed a hand to his side. A wave of dizziness washed over him. He ached from his injuries.

Fiona was next. As she hit the deck, she drew her sword and looked toward the line of men against the far rail, all of their eyes trained on the burning ships. Feril silently slipped over the railing, and glanced at Dhamon. Blood trickled through his fingers. More ran down his arm from another deep slash. She gave him a concerned look.

He gripped the railing and pulled himself to his feet, plucking the daggers from his waistband.

Stay here, she mouthed to him.

He shook his head and stepped toward the center of the small ship. It had a single mast, and its sails were lowered. He moved stealthily around the rigging, Fiona and Feril behind him. He balanced a dagger in each hand. Eleven men against three. Not the best of odds, he decided, but they were oblivious to the threat behind them.

He searched for a clue as to which was the sub-commander, but with their backs to him, he couldn’t see any braid or insignia. His eyes locked onto the largest man, one with a broad back, taller than the others. First target. The knight thought of shouting a challenge, but his caution got the better of him. Better to be alive with diminished honor, he thought wryly. Dhamon raised the dagger over his shoulder.

“Surrender!” Fiona’s shout caught Dhamon by surprise. “So much for stealth,” he muttered, as the men whirled. Seven of them wearing the black chain mail of the Dark Knights drew long swords and cutlasses. The other four were sailors, and they fumbled for belaying pins and daggers.

“We’re responsible for the fires!” the young Solamnic continued. “And we’ll not hesitate to burn this ship, too. But we offer you your lives. Don’t be as foolish as your brothers. Drop your weapons! Surrender to us!”

The sailors hesitated, one of them glancing over his shoulder toward the burning ships. The large knight Dhamon had singled out rushed forward. Dhamon inhaled deeply and hurled a dagger. The blade pierced the man’s body just above his waist. The knight took a few more steps, then dropped his sword and fell to the deck.

Dhamon readied the other dagger.

“There’s ten of us!” one of the knights shouted. “Three of them. Let’s take ’em.” This knight darted toward the Solamnic, then pitched forward, clutching his throat. He gave a gargled scream before he died. Dhamon’s second dagger had hit the mark.

“We’ll make this offer only once more!” Fiona barked. “You can surrender and flee on the longboat, help your fellow knights on their burning ships—or you can die.”

“This ship can burn, too!” This came from the kender, who had climbed onto the deck. She was holding a jug in one hand, and the rag stuffed into the top of it was on fire.

The men glanced toward the fires on the other ships, and a second later their steel hit the deck. Only two knights remained defiant, sheathing their swords rather than dropping them. Fiona did not press the matter, and Feril darted forward, kicking the swords out of the men’s reach.

“Are there any others below deck?” the young Solamnic continued.

The men shook their heads. “The Red wants you,” one of the older knights sneered. He pointed at the Kagonesti. “The elf with the tattoos. Bad luck for you. The dragon’ll get what she wants. She always does.”

“Not always.” Dhamon moved forward and snatched up one of the fallen knight’s swords. He felt weak and dizzy, but he forced a thin smile to his lips. “Count yourselves lucky that you’re all still alive.”

“We left no survivors on the galley!” Feril added.

A knight toward the middle of the line took a step forward. His sword remained in his scabbard, but his fingers were edging toward it.

“Don’t try anything!” shouted Blister. The kender had moved up behind Fiona, and was holding the flaming jug toward the rigging. “And there’s more of us coming,” she added. The sounds of feet thudding against the hull backed her up. In a moment, three of the freed slaves stood behind her ominously. “If I were you,” the kender continued, “I’d listen to Fiona. She’s awfully good with that sword. And I’m getting pretty good at playing with fire.”

“Those of you with armor, lose it!” the Solamnic ordered. “You’re going over the side in the longboat. Unless you want that boat to sink to the bottom of the harbor from all the extra weight, you’d better get rid of it.”

Glaring back at them, the five knights slowly removed their black chain mail.

“Now over the side and into the boat!” Fiona’s face was grim. She waved her sword for emphasis. “Be quick!”

The four men who were sailors, not Knights of Takhisis, were the first to comply. That left the five knights. The oldest among them glowered at Fiona.

“She’ll get you, the dragon will,” he spat. “She’ll make you pay!”

Dhamon stepped toward the man, pointing his sword. “I’d worry about myself if I were you. I doubt the dragon rewards failure.” He clamped down on his bottom lip as he felt faint. The pain helped keep him alert, but he knew he wouldn’t be on his feet much longer. “Into the longboat! Now!”

The man opened his mouth to say something else, but the knights on either side of him grabbed him and hustled him over the rail. The remaining knights followed. Fiona and Feril lowered the boat, and Blister tossed the flaming jug over the other side of the ship into the sea.

When the men were safely in the boat, Dhamon stumbled to the mast, sagged against it, and slid down to the deck. He held his side, closing his eyes. “Fiona, when Jasper wakes up, could you have him...” The rest of his words were lost.

It was morning before Dhamon, Rig, and Groller opened their eyes. The three were in a well-appointed cabin paneled in sweet-smelling cedar. Dhamon and Rig were on beds, and Groller, too large for one of the narrow mattresses, was wrapped in blankets on the floor.

They were all bandaged and washed beneath fresh sheets. And an assortment of clothes were piled on a chair for them to try on—what had been left behind by the sailors and Knights of Takhisis.

“Didn’t lose a single patient,” the dwarf said proudly. Jasper was immensely pleased with himself, grinning broadly as he paced. “Though I’ll admit it wasn’t for the lack of your trying. Picking fights with that many of the Dark Queen’s knights. That was a dose of foolishness if you ask me.” He clucked concernedly at them. “Amazing how many sheets and shirts we ripped up just to make bandages. I think you lost more blood than you’ve got left in you.”

Dhamon was the first to stand, though somewhat shakily. Rig’s and Groller’s gazes locked on the black scale on his leg. Dhamon padded toward the chair and started picking through the clothes, selecting the drabbest of the lot.

“Leave me that red shirt,” the mariner said, as he struggled out of the bed. “Mind telling us what happened to that scale?”

“Yes,” Dhamon answered tersely. “I do mind.”

Groller sluggishly joined the two.

“Now, none of you move around too fast, understand? You were all less than an inch from death, and I don’t want any of my meticulous work undone. Or the ladies’ handiwork. They put on most of the bandages.”

Dhamon slowly drew on a pair of gray leggings, baggy enough to fit over the bandages on his legs. The cuffs hung just above his ankles. Next he put on a dark gray linen shirt, belted it with a black sash. The clean material felt good against his bruised skin.

Rig had the red shirt. Made of silk, its voluminous sleeves suited him. He picked out a pair of black leather trousers, started putting them on, and grinned when he noticed the half-ogre’s dilemma. Nothing was large enough for Groller.

The mariner snapped up a long green and black striped nightshirt, held it up to the half-ogre’s back and grimaced. Blood showed through the bandage wrapped around Groller’s chest. Rig ripped out the sleeves and handed Groller the altered garment.

The half-ogre struggled into it, testing the limits of the seams. The garment fell just above his knees, and wouldn’t button from midchest up. Groller scowled and shook his head when he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

Jasper tugged on the shirt to get Groller’s attention. The dwarf drummed his stubby fingers against his temple, shook his head and frowned.

“Jaz-pear zayz I shud not worry,” Groller translated. The half-ogre let out a chuckle and glanced down at his bare legs, each of which had a thick bandage on it. “But Jaz-pear haz clothez that fid. Jaz-pear haz zhoes.”

“Your boots are drying,” the dwarf replied, though he knew Groller couldn’t hear him. “They’re blood-soaked. Usha washed them. Usha can sew, too. She’ll fix something for you. I’m sure we’ve got days to go before we reach Dimernesti, wherever it is. She’ll make you something that fits.”

“I know where Dimernesti is—at least if the Master gave me the right directions.” Rig was admiring himself in the mirror that hung on a maple frame between the two beds. He glanced at his surroundings. The wood trim was lacquered, polished to a soft shine, and the furniture that was nailed to the floor was expensive and inlaid with brass. They were in the second mate’s or bosun’s quarters, he guessed.

Jasper pointed toward a table in the far corner. A beveled glass-door cabinet over it was filled with rolled parchments. “Nautical maps,” the dwarf said. “Fiona found one with the Khur coast, has it laid out and ready.”

“She okay?” Rig gave the dwarf a worried look.

“A few cuts, but I healed them. Lots of bruises, but they’ll have to heal on their own. Feril and Usha are in good shape, too—now. I tended to them this morning. They had to wait. The three of you took all my energy last night. Blister didn’t even suffer a scratch.”

“Now why would they put all the maps in the bosun’s quarters? Why not the captain’s?”

This is the captain’s, Jasper observed.

Rig strode over to the table, glanced at the map. “How long’ve I been out? How long’ve we been sailing? Did you pick up some Legion of Steel knights in town to help man her?”

“One question at a time,” the dwarf answered. “We’ve been sailing since late last night. The women got us underway right after they brought you down here. The former slaves from the galley—all three dozen—are taking turns manning the ship and sleeping in the hold. They demanded to come along as payment for their freedom.”

“Three dozen. Not nearly enough for a carrack. We’ll need at least twice that many.”

“Actually,” Jasper said softly, “that’s about twice as many as we need.”

The mariner hadn’t heard him. “I better get up top quick. The ship needs a real captain.”

“As a matter of fact,” Jasper said a little louder, “Blister was at the wheel when I looked a few minutes ago.”

Rig groaned and went to the door, catching himself as the ship rose and rocked. He stepped out into the hall. Teakwood panels gleamed in the light of a lantern that burned scented oil. It was a narrow hallway, with only four other doors. There must be another way into the rest of the ship, the mariner decided as he walked toward the ladder that led up top. Groller and Dhamon followed him.

At the base of the steps, the mariner turned to Dhamon. “I don’t remember much after the Dark Queen’s men took care of me last night,” he said in a voice a little above a whisper. “But I recall Fiona saying that you kept them from finishing me off. You saved Groller, too.” It was as close to a thank you as Rig was going to offer Dhamon.

The dwarf closed the door. “Well, don’t everyone thank me all at once for tending to them,” Jasper chuckled. “At least the ladies were much more polite.” The dwarf yawned and scratched at his own bandages. He eyed the beds, picked out the softer-looking one that Rig had vacated, and settled himself into it. He closed his eyes, feeling the ship rise and fall with the waves, and quickly fell asleep.

On deck, Rig took a deep breath, pulling the welcome sea air into his lungs. He spotted Fiona first. She was near the wheel, wearing baggy black leggings and a crisp white shirt that was a couple of sizes too big. It snapped and billowed about her like a sail. Her red hair fluttered in the breeze. Blister was in front of her, standing on a crate and steering. The kender, dressed in a bright yellow cutoff shirt that was belted at the waist and hung to her ankles, was doing a pretty good job of keeping the ship on course. He decided to let her continue a while longer.

Dhamon brushed by Rig, walking toward Feril at the bow. The Kagonesti was leaning into the wind, her hair fanning out around her head. She was humming something, and Dhamon stood quietly for several moments and listened. She was clad in a pale green shirt the color of sea foam. She had torn out the sleeves. She also wore darker green leggings she’d cut off just above her knees. A bandage was wrapped around her arm, and another was around her ankle, which looked badly swollen. She turned to face him.

“Feeling better?” she asked.

Dhamon nodded. “I’ll survive.”

“I’m grateful—and surprised,” Feril said. “But then, I’m surprised we all lived through that.” She stepped aside, making room for him. They looked over a bowsprit that reminded Dhamon of a lance. “She’s called the Narwhal. I don’t think she belonged to the Knights of Takhisis. Fiona thinks she’s a coastal ship, a small merchant trader. She’s beautiful. The knights probably took her because she’s obviously got some value to her. Someone put a lot of steel into this ship.”

“She’s a little small for the ocean,” Dhamon observed. He stood next to her, the wind whipping his black tresses.

“She’s cozy,” Feril argued. “I’ve been thinking, Dhamon, and talking to Jasper. About forgiveness. About a lot of things.” She leaned into him, and he raised his arm as if to drape it around her shoulder, then dropped it to his side.

I killed Goldmoon, he thought to himself. I don’t deserve happiness.

After Rig said his good mornings to Fiona, he took a good look around the deck. Usha was sitting against the mainmast—the only mast—mending a spare sail. She looked up, waved, and smiled.

One mast, Rig said to himself. “This isn’t one of the carracks,” he said aloud, the size of the ship sinking in.

“No. All of them caught fire.” Fiona came up behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her head into his neck. “But you probably weren’t awake to see them burn. They lit up the sky for miles and miles.”

“One mast. Twenty-five feet long at the most,” he said. “The cog.”

“Twenty-two. Blister paced it off.”

“Wonderful.”

“At least we got a ship,” Fiona consoled him. “The one ship that didn’t catch fire. And she is awfully pretty.”

“No,” Rig softly grumbled. He shook his head then closed his eyes. “We don’t have a ship, Fiona. We have a boat.”