She screamed, but the sound was lost in the inferno.
I’m addled by the smoke and the blow to my head, Jenna thought. I’ve got to get to fresh air. Crawling on her hands and knees over broken glass, she made her way to the window, where the wind still howled through the grate, only now snow swirled into the room, and hailstones the size of marbles clattered on the floor. She huddled under the window, her arms wrapped around herself, waiting to burn to death. And then it occurred to her that she didn’t have to wait.
She’d tied the packet the healer had given her inside her bodice, so it hung between her breasts. She caught a claw under it and lifted it out, but then could not manage to untie the string with her hands the way they were. She bit at the string, then tried to rip apart the cloth bag. As she did so, the berries fell out, landing somewhere on the floor.
She groped with her clawed hands, but couldn’t find them by feel or by scent. She screamed, a harsh cry of despair and frustration that echoed around the room. There came an answering cry from outside the tower, a cry that resonated inside her.
She thrust her face into the wind, into the clean, cold air, slitting her eyes against the bits of ice. Pressing her claws against the marble, she cried, “Flamecaster!” and heard the beating of wings.
40
DEATH BY DRAGON
Ash cut the throat of the first priest who dropped through the hatch. He didn’t need flash for that. He stopped the heart of the second, which didn’t take much. With the third one, though, there wasn’t time for finesse. Ash immolated him before he hit the floor. It felt good, to be using attack magic again, as if he were using muscles he hadn’t stretched in a while.
Then something struck him hard, on the shoulder, sending him flying into the wall.
It was the dragon; it was trying to open its wings.
“Not down here,” Ash hissed, scrambling to his feet. But by that time, one of the priests had dropped into the hold and stood facing Ash, his blade in his hand, so fixed on his target and the scent of blood that he didn’t seem to notice the dragon.
“Prepare to die, demon,” the priest said, drawing his lips away from yellowed teeth stained with blood. It was the nightmare in the dormitory room all over again.
The dragon can be a distraction. That’s what he’d told Lila.
Ash pointed over the priest’s shoulder. “Look out for the dragon,” he said.
“If you think I am so foolish as to—aaaaiiiiieeee!”
Ash dove out of danger as the dragon lashed his tail, the spikes impaling the oblivious priest, then smashed him against the wall to either side. Ash covered Lila with his body as tiles shattered all around them, the shards littering the floor and biting into his exposed skin.
Death by dragon. That hadn’t been on his list of possibilities.
More priests were wedged into the hatch, all of them trying to get through at once. The dragon sent flame torrenting into them, wave after wave, and the screaming began.
The noise was deafening—the shrieking of the priests, the dragon’s primal cries of rage and fear. Ash’s eyes burned as he breathed in the stench of sulfur and charred flesh.
Well, all right, Ash thought. Maybe freeing the dragon wasn’t such a good idea. Especially since there was no way any of them could get out of the hold.
Then again, it was a great distraction. And he was enjoying watching those meetings between the dragon and the priests.
The dragon roared, a battle cry. His legs bunched under him and he launched, smashing through decking, sending what remained of the priests flying in all directions. Another scream of rage and it was gone, leaving a charred hole behind.
Rain poured through the shattered deck, sending steam rising where it hit burning wood and bodies. It turned out there was a way out for a dragon. And, now, for them.
“Let’s go,” Ash said, giving Lila a hand up. “I don’t think we want to stay and find out if dragon flame can set off explosives.”
They climbed over and around mounds of rubble, passing through the hole where the wall of the hold had been, moving forward until they found a stairway. Lila cried out once or twice when she bumped or jostled her arm, then pressed her lips tightly together as if to prevent its happening again. Once on deck, they hurried aft to the gangway. Ash didn’t think Lila could manage the rope ladder.
The dock was swarming with blackbirds, who must have come running at the sight of the burning ship. Ash scanned them, looking for someone that he knew, and spotted Marc DeJardin. He and Guy Fleury were busy wetting down the docks and hurrying masters to their ships so that they could get underway and out of danger.
“Marc!” he called from the deck. “Barrowhill is hurt. She needs a healer right away.”