The boy did not respond. Rolling his eyes, the rogue rose to his feet and reached out to place a hand on his shoulder.
‘Listen, we’re on a bit of a schedule, as you might recall. If I’m going to die, I’d like it to be before lu—’
In the blink of an eye, Dreadaeleon’s hands flung out, palms wide and aimed at the sail. His voice was an incomprehensible thunder, a furious phrase that erupted from his lips. The air shimmered for a moment before it rippled and quaked, as though threatening to burst apart like an overstuffed pillow.
The vessel responded immediately, rocking at the sudden burst of wizardly force and flying forwards like a javelin. Its prow rose so far out of the water as to threaten to capsize; bodies were forced to cling to wood to avoid being hurled from the deck, their protests inaudible over the boy’s chanting.
‘Sweet Silf,’ Denaos howled, ‘what is he doing?’
‘Turn the rudder!’ Lenk shouted from the prow. ‘Try to stop it!’
Hands, both human and dragonman, went to the steering rudder, arms quivering with effort as they grunted, growled and spat curses at the stubborn mechanism. It would not budge, except at the beck of whatever force Dreadaeleon imbued in it, jerking it wildly back and forth.
‘Stop him, then!’ Kataria shrieked above the sorcerous gale.
Gariath responded with a roar that nearly silenced the wind, pulling himself up the deck by his claws, the gleam in his black eyes suggesting that however he intended to stop the wizard, he also intended it to be permanent. As he came closer, his claws reached out to grasp at the boy’s fluttering coat-tails.
Dreadaeleon’s voice grew louder and, like a wooden slave, the vessel obeyed, lunging out of the water violently. Gariath tumbled backwards, his massive red bulk slamming into Denaos and nearly crushing the tall man against the ship’s gunwale.
‘Fine,’ the dragonman snarled, making ready to pull himself up again, ‘he can’t work his magic if his head is ripped off.’
‘No!’
He narrowed his fury at Lenk. ‘Why not?’
‘He’s focusing on . . . something,’ Lenk hollered. ‘If you disrupt him now, this whole ship may be blown apart!’
‘How is this any better?’ Denaos countered.
‘He’s not acting of his own will,’ Asper shouted in retort.
‘How do you know that?’ the rogue howled. ‘His magic may have driven him insane! It’s not unheard of ! We need to put him down!’
‘Calm down,’ Lenk shouted back. ‘I don’t think he’s going to bring us to harm.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ Kataria cried loudly as the gale intensified.
‘I can’t, really.’
‘Oh . . . well.’
He managed to pull himself up enough to see a rapidly approaching bank of sand in the far distance. As the waves lapped around the island, revealing jagged rocks jutting from the shore, he winced and braced himself as the island grew closer with each blinking eye.
Lenk stared upon the wreckage with dismay.
The companion boat lay on its side upon the beach, several yards up a shore marred by a deep skid-mark. Its red ribs jutted from the jagged hole gaping in its flank, as if it had been harpooned. Its shredded sail hung from a splintering mast like flesh flayed from bone. His frown grew so long it hurt his face as he waited for the carrion flies to begin swarming over it.
‘At least no one was hurt too badly,’ piped up a cheerful voice from beside him.
He glared at the grinning shict and then at the bandage wrapped tightly around his arm. He flexed it a little, wincing as the cut beneath it seared his skin.
‘Well.’ She coughed. ‘I wasn’t hurt too badly.’
‘Lucky for us,’ he grumbled.
He cast a glance over Kataria, who bore no physical injuries aside from a few scuffs and sand stains on her pale skin. When the vessel had hit the shore, she had been tossed into a nearby shrubbery. He had had the misfortune of nearly impaling his arm on a jutting timber rib. Disdainfully, he twitched his forearm again and saw a bit of red seep through the white bandages.
He glanced at the long skid in the sand where he had landed after being hurled from the vessel. He winced and made a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deity had prevented him from striking any of the bone-white jagged stones jutting from the sands like teeth. The tips of the same stones, their white hues mottled with coral the colour of vomit, emerged from the surface of