Marc motioned to a handful of wide-eyed healers, standing by for orders. Ash was pleased to see that Harold and Boyd were among them.
“Harold, Boyd! Get over here!” They hustled forward, bursting with importance, pleased and proud at being chosen out. When Harold recognized Ash, he said, “Master Adam, why are you wearing a guardsman’s cloak?”
“I got cold,” Ash said. “And so did Barrowhill. She’s been stabbed, and I know I can count on you to take care of her until I get back.”
“I’m all right,” Lila hissed. “I need to take care of the—you know—”
“I’ll handle it,” Ash said. Turning back to the apprentices, he said, “It was a four-inch blade, entry between the collarbone and the right shoulder. I’ve stopped the bleeding, on the outside at least. Apply a dressing and bandage, then immobilize the arm and fashion a sling. Keep her warm and keep her quiet. Make sense?”
They nodded in unison, ignoring Lila’s grumbled protests.
“Check her pulse and breathing every few minutes. I’ll be right back.” He handed Lila off to the two of them.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to check for any other survivors on board.” And kill them.
He caught Marc’s arm. “Move everyone away from the ship, as far away as possible. Don’t let anyone else get on board. The way it’s burning, I wouldn’t be surprised if it explodes.”
Without waiting for a response, Ash jogged back up the gangway. He searched the main deck from bow to stern, wishing he knew how many priests had boarded to begin with so that he could account for them all. There were three Darian bodies scattered around the hatch opening, and one priest near death, broken and badly burned, who Ash had to finish. He made himself climb back down into the hold, where he found three more dead. In the crew cabin, two of Strangward’s mages lay crumpled on the floor, sucked dry. That was it.
There was no sign of the dragon, nor Strangward, Von, and the rest of his crew. They must have disembarked before the attack began. Where could they be? Where else would they go in Ardenscourt? He’d had the impression that the emissary didn’t mean to stray far from his ship.
He recalled the conversation in the presence chamber, the expression on Strangward’s face when the king refused to make an immediate trade. Was it possible he’d decided to go after Jenna himself? If he had, would he know where to find her? Possibly. Somehow Strangward had known that Jenna had been found and had come to collect her. He must have an informant at court.
The longer Ash thought about it, the more convinced he became that wherever Jenna was, that’s where he would find Strangward. And he needed to find them right now.
Before Ash returned ashore, he took one more walk around the ship, lighting the slow fuses that Jenna had recommended. From what he could tell, Lila had done her job well. He hoped they would both survive long enough for him to tell her so.
41
FLAMECASTER
The wall of the tower room shattered, sending shards of stone flying, all but burying Jenna. She struggled to free herself from the cairn of stones. Blood poured down into her eyes from a cut on her scalp so that she could scarcely see. When she finally staggered to her feet, the wind caught her, nearly toppling her, and needled her face with sleet and cold rain. Her arms and legs were still covered with armor-like scales.
Every time I think things can’t get any worse, they do.
She found herself standing on what remained of the tower—a platform littered with rubble. Everything above her head was gone, and only one wall remained of what had been her tower cell. She cowered against the wall, shivering, mingled blood and rainwater splattering on the stones under her feet. Had the tower been struck by lightning, or a typhoon, or what?
At least the rain was putting out the fire.
She heard another screaming cry, and a furious beating of wings. She looked up, just as an enormous beast stooped down on her, claws extended, its huge wings blocking out the sky. Instinctively, she crouched, so as to make a small target, closed her eyes, and covered her head with her arms, waiting for its razored claws to sink into her flesh.
Instead, she heard a splash as it hit the deck next to her. She cracked her eyes open to see it skidding across the wet surface of the platform, flapping furiously to keep from sliding off the edge. It managed to stop at the far side, balancing on the edge. Once stable, it turned back toward her, straightening its crumpled wings.
Then it came to her, what she was seeing. It was—it must be—the empress’s dragon. Ash must have managed to free it. And then it had come straight here to kill her. Scummer.