With lazy strokes she swam beside the dragon, diving around her and splashing like a child to wash the stink of the Tarmaks off her body. Eventually she stopped to rest against Sirenfal’s wing.
“Where did you learn to swim like that?”
She glanced up to see Callista staring down at the waves in suspicion and fear. Her blond hair had been tied back in a pony tail, and her face and arms were still smudged with soot and dirt and smeared with blood.
“My brother taught me the strokes, but Crucible taught me to enjoy the water,” Linsha said. “Why don’t you join me?”
A grimace marred the courtesan’s lovely features. “I can’t swim,” she admitted. She blinked and stared down at Linsha. “Where did you get that key? I don’t remember seeing that before.”
Linsha’s fingers touched the scales and the key hanging on the gold chain. “It was a gift from Lanther.”
“A key?” Callista said dryly.
“It’s supposed to be the key to the chamber where the eggs are being kept.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I’m willing to take the key back to the Missing City and try it.”
“Who is Crucible?” Sirenfal’s tired voice asked.
“He was my friend,” Linsha replied.
“Tell me about him.”
Linsha climbed up to the dragon’s back, pulled her grubby clothes on, and sat in the warm breeze to drip-dry. “It’s a long story,” she sighed.
“We have the time,” Callista pointed out. “I haven’t heard the whole story either.”
So while the dragon rested, rocking gently on the waves, Linsha told them both about Crucible and Lord Bight, Iyesta, Lanther, Sir Remmik, and the fall of the Missing City. She hadn’t meant for her tale to be anything more than a quick, cool assessment of the bronze dragon, but once started the story came out in full passionate detail. Neither Callista nor Sirenfal interrupted her once. They listened avidly to the end, when Linsha told Sirenfal of her meeting with Lanther and his promise of the eggs.
When she finally stopped and stared silently at the darkening sky, Callista said, “Gods of all, Linsha, I had no idea.”
A faint glint of tears shone in the corners of Linsha’s eyes, and she whisked it away before anyone noticed. “Yes, I hadn’t realized what a tale it becomes when you put it all together.” She retrieved the water bag and took a small swallow to ease her dry throat.
“Do you know if Crucible is alive?”
She shook her head. “He was badly wounded by the Abyssal Lance. I don’t know if he survived it.”
Through her knees Linsha felt a faint shudder run through the brass dragon at the reminder of the Lance. The old black wound made by the splinters of the Lance lay close to Sirenfal’s neck ridge almost under Linsha’s seat. The scales around the scar looked warped and discolored, and the flesh that she could see beneath them felt hard and hot to the touch.
“Are you all right?” she asked the dragon.
Sirenfal’s wings rose and flapped slowly in the wind to dry. “I am just weary. I will fly for a while and rest again. One thing I should know: Where do you want to go? What about Kern or Nordmaar? We must try to avoid Malys at all costs.”
No one disagreed. The huge red dragon, Malys, was the largest and the most dangerous dragon in the world. She could and gladly would eat a young brass like Sirenfal for a snack. Her realm lay to the south and west in the region now called the Desolation that formed the southern border of the Blood Sea of Istar. To avoid her, Linsha knew Sirenfal would have to fly due south, skirting the Blood Sea, then swing southwest around Silvanesti. That way was longer and spent much time over open water, but it would stay clear of Malystryx. Or she could fly far to the west and come south between the realms of Khellendros, Malys, and Sable. Neither way looked inviting.
“I know it’s a long way to go, but I need to go to Iyesta’s realm, the Plains of Dust. Where do you want to go?”
“As far as I can.” The dragon fell quiet and did not speak again for a long while. She paddled around into the wind, lifted her wings to finish drying them, then said, “Hold on!”
They did, and the dragon stretched out her neck and flapped her wings with all her might. As she pumped her wings, her body moved slowly forward and rose laboriously, streaming water behind her.
Linsha and Callista clung to her back and willed her into the air.
Her belly cleared the water, then her back feet, and finally her tail. At last she was airborne. Sirenfal rose to a comfortable altitude and settled into a strong, steady beat that carried them south over the undulating leagues of the Courrain Ocean. The sun settled in the west, burning a golden path across the sea before it sank and left the sky to the brilliant swaths of stars in their strange constellations.
With little else to do but hold on, Linsha let her thoughts wander. She was delighted to be free of Lanther and the island of the Tarmaks, but so much still preyed on her mind, and she’d barely time to assimilate everything that had happened. As far as she could tell, she and Callista had been on the island about three weeks, which meant they had been gone from the Plains for well over a month and a half. Who knew what had happened on the Plains in that length of time? Or what had happened to Varia, Crucible, Falaius, Leonidas, and the defenders of the Plains? Her time in the Akeelawasee had been almost worse than fetters, yet it had given her a badly needed chance to rest and recover from the war. She had learned much about the Tarmak and had improved her skill with the language. She had met Afec, a Damjatt of inestimable qualities, and she had found Sirenfal.
Of course she had also been forced to fight the Emperor’s daughter, marry the Akkad-Dar, and kill at least one Tarmak guard. She’d probably made an implacable enemy of Lanther, but on the other side of the coin Sirenfal had burned the Tarmak fleet. With winter settling in to the southern Plains, it could be half a year or more before the Tarmaks rebuilt their ships and sailed again for the Missing City. A great deal could happen in the span of six months; many things could be accomplished. Would she be alive to see it? What should she do next?
Callista must have been thinking along the same vein, for she said, “What are we going to do when we get back?”
Linsha turned her head to the courtesan, surprised by the similarities of their thoughts. “You’re optimistic. We haven’t even seen dry land yet.”
“I know.” Callista sighed. Her teeth were chattering, and she was shivering in the cool night air. “But planning ahead takes my mind off the more immediate possibilities, like freezing, drowning, dying of thirst, being eaten by Malys…” Her voice fell to a slight murmur that only Linsha could hear. “I can see well enough that Sirenfal is not well. I saw many dragons come and go in Iyesta’s realm, and I have never known one to look as ill as this one. Will she survive the journey?”
Linsha listened to Sirenfal’s wheezing exhalations and felt the struggle in the wing muscles near her legs. “I don’t know,” she answered.
“Then we’ll hope for the best,” Callista said. “That’s why we left Ithin’carthia in the first place. So what do we do when get to the Missing City? Obviously I can’t go back to work there as long as the Tarmaks are in control.”
A picture of Callista with a dagger in her hand facing the warrior surfaced in Linsha’s mind, and she smiled at the memory. “You could join the militia—what’s left of it. Where did you learn to cut throats like that?”
“In the militia. Well, from my father really. He was a captain in Iyesta’s militia. He never married my mother, but he cared for me and taught me a few things about fighting and self-defense, and he left some coins for me when he died. I thought about joining the militia because of him.” She shrugged. “But I decided staying in bed late was much better than getting out early, so I followed my mother’s profession.”