Chapter 25

Thousand-Spire Bay, Neron

Shedara hit the water hard, sucked in a mouthful, and barely managed to swallow before it could go into her lungs. Drops of green slime spattered the surface above as she plunged to the sandy bottom, pieces of the boat sinking beside her. A huge, dark shadow swept overhead as Gloomwing shot past the wreckage of the Starlight.

The dragon would come around again soon, aiming for another pass—coming in low to pluck them out of the water, one by one. She'd watched a wyrm do it once, from a safe distance: a hungry blue who had devoured half a clan of mer-folk as they tried to flee the shallows where she'd trapped them. That would be her fate, and her friends', if Shedara didn't move quickly.

The first step, as was often the case, was magic. A quick gesture and a muffled word sent a blizzard of bubbles rising through the brine, and she felt a change run through her, down deep in her body. Shutting her eyes to fight back the wave of panic that always came with this spell, she forced herself to suck in another gulp of water—and this time, let it fill her lungs. For a moment there was the terrible sensation of smothering… then it disappeared, and she was breathing the water as easily as air.

Without the need to surface again, she cast about in search of the others. Eldako and Hult were nowhere to be seen—but then, they'd abandoned the ship first. Hult still couldn't swim, but the merkitsa was as strong a swimmer as she knew. She had to trust that they'd already made it to shore because… .

Forlo was bad off, lying face-up in the sand, pinned by a torn hunk of the boat's hull, which had come down on top of him. Pink streamers of blood ran from his temple and nostrils; he was very pale, his lips turning blue. Already drowning. She swam for him, tiny silver fish darting away from her.

A sudden darkness from above was all the warning she got, but it was enough. On instinct, she dove deep, flattening herself against the sea floor as Gloomwing's jaws plunged into the water. He ripped a furrow through the waves, fangs snapping as he sought prey. All he got, though, were a few of the silver fish; he passed by Shedara, tossing her crazily in his wake, then pulled up and out again. She saw his shadow recede as she lunged for Forlo again.

The wood trapping him wasn't hard to shift under water; she got it off with one great shove, then grabbed his arm and pulled him away. He was far from light, with his mail and sword weighing him down, but fear gave her strength, particularly when she glanced up to see Gloomwing finish wheeling about and start to dive again. She didn't make for shore; there wasn't time, so instead they went deeper, to where the acid-scorched bulk of the ship was settling, even now, into the sand. There were two large pieces, one of which lay upside-down, enough to give some semblance of shelter. Dragging Forlo, she ducked into a pocket just as Gloomwing hit the water again.

Shedara held Forlo tight to keep him from drifting away, watching the water above grow dark as night. Gritting her teeth, she listened to the roar of the black wyrm approaching. The slab of hull above her shuddered with the impact, slid a few paces, then shattered, pieces flying everywhere. It had served its purpose, though: the dragon was past them again, its shriek of frustration barely audible from twenty feet deep.

They were still alive—that was the good news. The bad was there was nowhere else to hide. The other half of the hull lay facing upward: a feeding bowl for the wyrm, nothing more. She had no choice left but to flee—so she did, one arm wrapped around Forlo's chest as she swam madly toward shallower water.

Never make it, said a voice in her head. Not with this extra weight. Leave him—he's probably already drowned, anyway.

Shut up, she answered. He comes with me.

To her left, Gloomwing rose again, pulling away from the surface and starting to round about, one more time. Shedara clenched her teeth, uttering curse after curse as she swam on. She could see the jungle, shimmering up above the water. She'd once followed a mirage in the desert for an entire day before realizing it wasn't real; this seemed every bit as false.

Look, she thought. I don't know what gods might be listening right now, but anything you can do… anything at all…

The dragon dove, its fanged mouth raking the water, heading straight toward her. She shut her eyes, awaiting the pain. Death would be quick, at least. One quick snap… .

Instead there was a shriek, and Gloomwing jerked and turned aside, one wingtip dragging through the water, slicing all the way down to the bottom, throwing up a storm of sediment that swept over her, blinding her. She shut her mouth just in time—breathing water was one thing, getting a lungful of silt something else—and held Forlo tight as the wake buffeted her again.

Then everything was still again, and she didn't know where the dragon was. She didn't waste any time looking for him; instead she swam as hard as she could, wondering which god had answered her prayers. She hoped it was one she liked.

The shallows came fast, and she sputtered as she burst up out of the water, vomiting brine, then yelled for help when her lungs cleared. Hult was there, sprinting down the beach, sand flying behind him. He got to her as she tried to haul Forlo up onto land, his face questioning. Shedara shook her head, then waved toward the trees.

"I don't know. Just get him in there."

It was hard, even with two of them, but together they dragged Forlo ashore, then lifted him and staggered down the beach. As they went, she caught sight of Eldako—standing at the water's edge, bow in hand, staring out across the water. Gloomwing was fighting to stay aloft, three arrows lodged in the joint where his left wing connected with his body.

Not a god after all, then. She grinned.

Then she looked back toward the jungle and nearly dropped Forlo in shock.

There were faces among the trees—small, painted faces beneath wild manes of bright hair, threaded with feathers and beads. Each held a weapon—a small bow of wood and horn, or a long blowgun, or a slender spear hooked into a throwing stick. One met her gaze and put a finger to his lips—a graceful gesture. None of them made a sound.

Elves. She'd heard the legends, that a race akin to hers dwelt in the jungles of Neron—an ancient people called the cha'asii. Unlike the merkitsa, however, she'd never seen them—not until now. Now she shivered as they watched her with wide eyes, so dark they seemed to be almost all pupil. They parted to let her pass, and she and Hult laid Forlo down, just inside the tree line.

He wasn't breathing. Tilting his head back, she balled her fists together and pumped his chest, his chain mail digging painfully into her flesh. After a few hard shoves, she bent over him and breathed into his mouth, forcing in air.

The cha'asii watched her for a moment, then turned to peer out toward the water again. She glanced that way too and felt a twinge of terror: Gloomwing had got control back, and was wheeling for another attack. Now he turned toward Eldako, who stood ready, waiting. The dragon swept in over the sparkling water.

The merkitsa's quiver was empty. He dropped his bow and drew his sword.

"What in the blue Abyss is he doing?" Shedara exclaimed, starting to rise. But she couldn't leave Forlo. Not now. Every moment counted.

Her stomach clenching, she breathed into Forlo's mouth again, and again, and again, thinking, come on. Hult touched her arm.

"Eldako baits the beast," the Uigan said. "My people did it this way, sometimes, when we hunted griffin or steppe-tiger. One man rides out alone, to draw in the enemy. That man must have courage that will not fail."

Shedara glanced at the cha'asii standing ready. There were perhaps fifty of them in all. They lifted their blowguns, drew back their bowstrings, and waited. Gloomwing came on, jaws open wide, sharp teeth glistening.

She bent over Forlo and breathed, one more time. At last he reacted, choking at first, then coughing up a great gout of water and vomit, all over her legs.

"The dragon?" he gasped.

"Being dealt with," she said, turning to watch. "Lie still."

Gloomwing, evidently, was not very intelligent—not as dragons went, anyway. And he was hungry and hurt, which made him stupider. He saw Eldako, and he saw prey. The merkitsa didn't balk, didn't flinch as the dragon bore down on him—only stood, sword low at his side, waiting. Shedara couldn't see his face, but she imagined a grim smile.

Looking back, in the days to come, she knew that was the moment she finally fell in love with him.

The dragon came in low, skimming over the floating stub of mast that was all that remained of their boat. He drew a furious breath, and the tang of acid stung Shedara's nose. A cold feeling came over her.

"Eldako!" she cried.

Gloomwing spat a sizzling spray of slime. It hit the merkitsa head-on. He fell, vanishing into the surf.

At the same moment, the cha'asii leaped out of the trees, taking aim at the wyrm. The satisfied leer that had begun to light the dragon's eyes disappeared, replaced with shock. Madly, he pumped his wings, trying to pull up, but the arrows in his shoulder hampered him. Silently, the jungle elves let fly.

The dragon screamed. One of his eyes was pierced; the roof of his mouth too. His wings were tatters. Riddled with darts and spears, he tried to bank, lost control, and slammed into the trees not thirty paces from where Shedara stood. The crash of splintering wood and shattering bones filled the air, followed by a shriek of agony. The earth shook.

Then Gloomwing was silent, and there was only the crashing of the waves.

She combed through the breakers for what seemed like forever, while Hult stayed with Forlo, and the cha'asii went after the fallen dragon. She waded out into the water until she was hip-deep, picking her way through the driftwood that had been their boat, walking a quarter mile one way, then just as far the other. The sky turned red, then began to darken, the stars glinting above—a firmament almost completely different than the one that hung above Panak, so many leagues away. She could barely remember what it had been like, to be so cold for so long, to have gone without seeing anything green for weeks. She wondered, as she searched the churning water, what had become of Angusuk and the other survivors of his tribe. Anything not to think about what she didn't want to.

Quietly, she began to cry.

She saw it, every time she closed her eyes—Eldako standing tall and still, goading Gloomwing on, giving the jungle elves the chance they needed to bring the great beast down. Had he forgotten the wyrm's breath, that deadly spittle that had eaten through their ship? Had he thought he could dodge it, when the time came? Either way, Shedara cursed him for a fool.

It was senseless. Eldako had a part to play in their hunt for Essana and the Hooded One. But she couldn't bring herself to believe it was to die here, on the Neroni coast. Helping defeat the dragon was a noble goal, but… it didn't feel right for him to be dead. She slogged on through the brine, refusing to give up.

Finally, she heard someone yelling her name and looked back toward shore. It was almost full night, twilight's ruddy glow fading in the west. Her elf-sight picked out the warm figures of Hult and Forlo, the two humans standing at the water's edge, trying to find her in the gloom. They called again—her name only. Not Eldako's.

She felt a new rush of tears at that, then wiped them away with a growl. She raised her hand to them. "Over here!"

Still weak from his near-drowning, Forlo stayed where he was, but Hult waded out until the water foamed around his knees. Behind him, small blue lights glimmered at the edge of the trees: the cha'asii had gathered solemnly, were watching.

Shedara walked shoreward, started to speak, then caught herself and coughed as her voice broke. She shook her head angrily and tried again.

"How is he?" she asked, nodding at Forlo.

Hult spread his hands. "He was dead, almost. Now he isn't—thanks to you. Considering that, he is well. A night's rest, and he'll be fine, mostly."

"Good," she said, glancing out at the waves again. "And the dragon?"

"Dead, though he was still breathing when the elves found him. They cut off his head. They mean to take it back to their village, to use as a totem. They think it will protect them against the akitu-shai."

"The what?"

"Crawling Maws, in their tongue." Hult's hand strayed to the amulet, hanging flat against his broad chest. "Creatures that serve the Faceless. They abduct the cha'asii and kill them."

Shedara nodded, anger roiling in her breast. "Blood sacrifice. To Maladar."

"Yes."

"Will they help us?"

Hult shrugged. "I don't see why not. Will you come out of the water? It's getting late. If you haven't found—"

She raised a hand. "Don't say his name."

The Uigan started, hurt, then turned away and walked back inland, toward Forlo. She watched him go, then gazed back out at the sea, trying to accept what she'd been refusing to consider: Eldako was gone. It still didn't seem right… but death seldom did. Shuddering, she turned and strode back up to the beach. Hult and Forlo stood near something that lay half-buried in the sand. She bent to pick it up, and felt her eyes burn when she uncovered it. Eldako's bow.

She unstrung it, relieving the tension on its limbs. Then, holding it gently, she turned back toward the ocean and stared, long and hard. The red moon was low over the jungle now; it made the water glisten like blood.

A hand touched her shoulder. She tried to shake it off, but Forlo refused to let go. Shedara turned to face him, and gasped to see the man's face. It was sallow, his cheeks sunken, his eyes dull and tired. He looked twice his age.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I can't believe it either. He's the only reason we're still alive. It's not the first time, either."

He bowed his head.

Hult held something out. It glistened in his hand. "I took this from Gloomwing's body. You should have it. I already have one of my own, as does Forlo. Perhaps, one day, one of us might travel to the Dreaming Green. If we do, we should give it to Tho-ket and tell him tales of his son."

She took the object from him. It was long and black, pointed, slightly curved. A talon. Gloomwing's. She squeezed it tight in her hand.

"Damn it," she murmured.

A voice called out from the trees in a language she didn't know. She saw the cha'asii standing there.

"They say we must go," Hult told her. "It isn't safe here. The Maws come at night."

Shedara wanted to tell them all to go rot in the Abyss. She'd leave when she was ready. There were still places she hadn't looked—a spot to the south in particular, where the coast got rocky and there were many nooks and sockets to be explored. In her heart, though, she knew better. Eldako was lost—the riptide had probably carried him out to sea. She bowed her head and sighed.

"All right, then," she said and turned to walk toward the jungle. Hult and Forlo left her alone, following silently a few paces behind. Now they were three.