After a moment’s silence, Sadira continued the debate. “Neeva, did it ever occur to you that the prophecy might be a warning? That it might be something we don’t want to come true?” she asked. “Perhaps the fate of our two armies is a portent of what’ll happen if we go through with this plan.”
“What the prophecy says doesn’t matter,” declared Rikus. “We’ve got to kill the Dragon, even if doing so frees Rajaat.”
“Think of what you’re saying!” Sadira objected. “As powerful as the sorcerer-kings are, it took all of them together to imprison Rajaat-and he could be even more powerful now.”
“I don’t care,” said the mul, stubborn as ever.
“Borys and the sorcerer-kings are greedy and power hungry, but their evil is nothing compared to that of Rajaat,” Sadira pressed. “At least they won’t wipe out every Athasian race except the humans-and wouldn’t have the power to succeed if they tried.”
“True,” agreed the mul. “And I’m as worried as you. But we’ve got to kill the Dragon. We’d be fools to think we can control him forever. So, if we free Rajaat, we’ll just have to destroy him, too. We can’t trade one evil for another.”
There was a short silence, then Sadira asked, “Neeva, what do you think? It’s your son we must risk if we decide to kill the Dragon.”
“And it’s my son who’ll have to live-or die-with the scruples of our choice,” she said. “Given that, there’s only one thing to do. Rkard must kill the Dragon.”
Tithian heard Sadira suck in a deep breath. “Victory or death, then,” she said. The declaration was one that Tyrian gladiators had once recited before entering the arena.
“No, just victory,” said Rikus. “Death means that we have lost, and we can’t allow that-not when we are risking so much.”
Tithian heard the soft slap of three hands coming together, then Rikus said, “That leaves us only one problem: Tithian.”
“As much as I’d like to kill him, we can’t,” said Sadira. “He’s the only mindbender among us, and we know from the battles we’ve already fought that we can’t get along without one. Abalach-Re used the Way in the Ivory Plain and nearly defeated me, and I suspect that Borys will prove even more powerful.
“We can’t trust Tithian,” objected Rikus.
“Of course not,” replied Sadira. “But we can keep him under control until we’ve killed Borys.”
“And after that?” asked Neeva.
“As soon as the Dragon falls, he’ll try to kill us,” said Rikus, lowering his voice to a whisper. “If we want to survive, we’ll have to kill him first.”
Tithian smiled to himself. They could try to murder him, but snow would blanket the Athasian deserts before they outperformed him at his own art.
In his stomach, the king felt the dhow descending. “It’s almost dark,” said Sadira. “We’d better rouse His Majesty.”
A small foot smashed into Tithian’s ribs, forcing him to groan in pain.
“Time to go to work,” Sadira said. With one hand, she grasped his hair and pulled him off the bilge floor. She sat him on the floater’s dome. “I trust you slept well.”
Tithian opened his eyes, feigning grogginess. The Dark Lens had been moved to the bow of the craft, and the king could see little more than its red-tinged base showing beneath the boom of the lateen sail. Neeva and Rikus stood directly in front him, their weapons in their hands as they glared at him with open hostility. Caelum still lay in the bilge, his bandage crusted with dried blood.
The king reached up and pulled his coarse hair from Sadira’s grip. “You shouldn’t separate me from the Dark Lens,” he said. “Borys has been looking for me, hoping to find the Lens nearby.”
“Then I hope he finds you,” said Sadira. “It would save us a journey.”
“How far have we gone?” Tithian asked, looking around. He saw nothing but dust swells swaddled in the purple shadows of dusk, with no sign of land in any direction. “Where’s Jo’orsh?”
Sadira pointed to a spot off the port bow. “Every now and then we see a furrow of dust over there,” she said. “Sometimes he sticks his head up to be sure we’re still following.”
“That won’t do me much good.” The king laid his hand on the tiller. “I’ll never see him in the dark.”
“Don’t worry,” said Rikus. The mul sat on the starboard gunnel and laid his sword across his knees. “I’ll be sitting up to help you look.”
“So will I,” added Neeva. She took a similar position on the port side. “And if one of us even thinks you’re using the Way against the other or hears anything that sounds remotely like a mystic word, we’ll assume the worst.”
“That means we’ll cut you up into little pieces.” Rikus reached out with the tip of his sword and cut the strap of Tithian’s shoulder satchel. The bag slipped off the king’s shoulder and fell out of the dhow. “Just in case you didn’t understand.”
Tithian lunged for the sack, trying to grab it before it sank into the Sea of Silt. He instantly felt Sadira’s fingers digging into his shoulder, jerking him away.
“You fools!” The king hissed, watching the satchel sink beneath the dust. “That was magic!”
“Which is why I thought it best to be rid of the thing,” said Sadira. “Who knows what surprises you had stored in there for us?”
“Now that we’ve made our point,” said Rikus, “is there anything else we should know about-so we don’t accidentally throw it overboard?”
The king shook his head. “You’ve no need to fear me or anything I have left.” He grasped the tiller. “If we’re going to kill Borys, we have to work together. I understand that-probably better than you.”
“Good,” said Sadira. She moved toward the bow. “Then you take over until dawn.”
Tithian opened himself to the floater’s dome, allowing his life energy to flow into it. Icy tendrils of pain began to spread up through his hips and into his abdomen. He closed his eyes and visualized the ship’s hull in his mind, then pictured the gray dust swells changing to blue waves of salt water-the Sea of Silt as it was, long before the sorcerer-kings ruled Athas. The dhow’s weight settled on his spirit, filling him with a terrible ache, and again the craft began to pitch as it rode across the endless swells of dust.
That was how it went, day after day. From dawn to dusk, Sadira’s magic carried the dhow above the gray waves. Then, as dark fell, Rikus roused the king to float the craft over the silt. The mul and Neeva spent the nights sitting to either side of Tithian, watching his every move. At least once a night, one of them smashed him with a fist, just to make certain that he knew they would kill him at the slightest provocation. The king accepted his persecution with a grace that Rikus found vaguely unsettling, never complaining or begging forbearance. Tithian did not even try to win them over with cajolery or false promises, perhaps because he knew such efforts would only bring more abuse.
On the afternoon of the third day, Caelum finally woke. With a great deal of care, more from Sadira than Neeva, the dwarf soon felt well enough to call on the sun. After that, the women left him to his own resources, and he quickly grew better, using his healing powers to mend his terrible wound. Other than the dwarf’s recovery, the routine never changed. Jo’orsh’s head periodically rose out of the dust, his glowing orange eyes serving as beacons in the darkness of the night. Sacha stayed atop the mast day and night, never leaving his post-which was probably wise, since neither Rikus nor any of the others had quite forgiven him for pulling the scouts into the well to feed Tithian.
Deep into their fifth night, with a steady wind blowing from the west and a dust curtain clinging to the sea, Sacha suddenly drifted down from the mast. “Lights,” he reported. The head’s voice was so hoarse that Rikus could barely understand him. “Behind us.”