Ship of Destiny

Even as he fell, Ke

"Paragon," he heard himself call breathlessly, as he had always called when the pain was too intense to bear. "I'm hurt, ship. I'm hurt."

"Keep breathing, Ke

Stupid charm. He was breathing. Wasn't he? Unhappily he turned his eyes down. With every heavy breath, he spattered blood from his lips. His fine white shirt was ruined. Etta would make him a new one. He tasted blood, he smelled it. Where was Paragon? Why didn't he take this pain? He tried to summon him by speaking his ship's old words for him. "Keep still, boy," he whispered to himself, as Paragon had always done. "Keep still. I'll take it for you. Give it all to me. Just worry about yourself."

"He's alive!" someone cried out. He rolled his eyes up to the speaker, praying for deliverance. But the face that looked down at him was Jamaillian. "You jerk, Flad! You didn't even kill him." Efficiently, this man stabbed his slender blade into Ke

THEY WERE TOO LATE. WINTROW SHOUTED HIS AGONY AND KILLED THE MAN who had just killed his captain. He did it without thought, let alone remorse. The crew who had followed him from the Vivacia cut them a space on the crowded deck. Etta flung herself past Wintrow to land on her knees by Ke

He knew she was wrong. There was far too much blood, dark thick blood, and it still spilled from Ke

The Satrap was underneath Ke

"What a nuisance," Wintrow muttered to himself, and then bit his tongue, scarcely believing he had uttered such words. As they started back to the ship with Ke

Jek bounded past him from the edge of the group. Stooping, she picked the Satrap up in her arms, then shifted him over her shoulder. "Let's go!" she proclaimed, ignoring the Satrap's cries. Althea, at her side, menaced the closing Jamaillian warriors with a sword, guarding Jek's back. Wintrow caught one flash from her dark and angry eyes. He tried not to care. He had to bring Ke

"Wintrow! Bring me Ke

Wintrow exchanged a glance with Etta. The pirate hung silently between them. Blood dripped from his chest to puddle on the deck. Etta's eyes were wide and dark. "To the foredeck," Wintrow said quietly. Then he shouted to the crew, "Get us clear of the Jamaillian ship. It's sinking. Jola! Get us away before the fleet can close us in."

"We're a bit late for that!" Jek a

The Satrap looked at the rag she had thrust into his hand. Then he looked down at his wound. He dropped the rag nervelessly and swayed on his feet. Althea kept a firm grip on him as Jek took his other arm with a shake of her head. She rolled her eyes at Althea.

Althea stared after Wintrow. Ke

"I'm bleeding. I'm dying. Where are you?"

A good question, Althea thought. Where was her little niece? She sca

"Reyn thinks I'm beautiful. Can you believe that? Do you know what he said about my hands? That they will scale heavily as far as my elbows, most likely. He says if I rub off the dead skin, I'll see the scarlet scales working through. He thinks I'm beautiful." Her niece's eyes shone with joy as she rattled words at Althea. And more than joy? Althea leaned forward incredulously. Reyn was right. Malta had a Rain Wild gleam to her eyes now. Althea lifted a hand to cover her mouth in shock.

Malta did not seem to notice. She slipped her arm around the Satrap, her face suddenly concerned. "You are hurt!" she exclaimed, surprised. "I thought you were just-oh, dear, well, come along, let's take you below and see to that. Reyn! Reyn, I need you!" Cozening and coaxing, Malta led the Satrap of all Jamaillia away.

Althea turned away from the spectacle of the unmasked Rain Wilder hastening to her niece's imperious summoning. She nudged Jek out of her stare. "Come on," she told her. They hastened toward the foredeck, following Ke