The enemy catapults sang again, and spiked iron balls splintered

the Wolfs forward mast and tore a gaping hole in the headsail. The ship shuddered and slowed, her fallen mast dragging over the side.

The man-of-war swept past, close enough for Beka to see the fierce, grinning faces of the black-clad marines sighting down their arrows. Mercalle's riders howled out their war cries and returned a hail of arrows, aiming skyward to arch their shafts onto the higher deck. The forward ballista crews launched more fire jars, but these missed their mark.

As the crew of the Wolf watched in horrified wonder, bronze lion heads mounted under the Plenimaran vessel's rail vomited streams of liquid fire that streaked the Wolfs torn sails with flames. From belowdecks came the screams of panicked horses and the cries of the wounded.

"By the Four!" Beka gasped. "What the hell was that, Captain?"

Before Yala could answer, a shaft buzzed past Beka's cheek and struck the woman in the eye. Clutching at it, Yala sank to the deck with an agonized groan.

"She's rounding on us, Captain," a lookout warned. "And she's running up fresh canvas!"

"Prepare—" Yala slumped slowly forward, blood flowing down her cheek. "Prepare to repel—"

Trailing smoke from one smoldering sail, the man-of-war closed on them again with a thick volley of arrows. Pinned down in the shelter of the rail shields, the remaining Skalan defenders shot back as best they could. A dozen or more bodies littered the deck, and Beka's heart sank as she counted three green tabards among them. Spotting Mercalle and Zir near the aft castle, Beka raced across the deck to them.

"Yala's dead. Have you seen the mate?"

The sergeant jerked a thumb at the forecastle. "That first load of quicklime got him."

"They're fixing to ram!" the remaining lookout shouted down to them.

"To what?" called Beka in alarm.

Everyone on deck had heard the warning, but there was little that could be done about it now. Marten and Ileah hurried over, supporting Ileah's brother Orineus between them. The young rider's tabard was stained dark around the broken arrow shaft in his chest. Beka could tell by his color that he was dying. Kallien brought up the rear.

The enemy vessel was almost upon them now, aiming straight for the Wolfs waist. Another burst of fiery liquid shot from the bronze heads as she bore down on the doomed carrack.

"Sakor's Eyes, the horses!" gasped Zir, face pale beneath his thick beard.

"Come with me," ordered Beka, starting for the main hatch.

"No time, Captain!" Mercalle warned.

The last thing Beka remembered before the whole world heaved under her feet was the muffled screams of the horses.

Searching the deck for Seregil, Alec caught sight of Thero for the first time since the battle began. Standing calmly on the forecastle deck, he raised his hands palms outward at the oncoming enemy vessel. A bright corona of light flashed around him, obscuring him from sight for a moment. Alec was still blinking when a great shout went up from the crew.

The enemy ship was foundering crazily off course, her fallen sails sagging over her spars and deck. Fires broke out and quickly spread, driving men overboard into the sea. The Courser swooped down to finish her off.

Alec scaled the forecastle ladder and found Thero sitting on a crate surrounded by grinning sailors.

"What did you do?" Alec asked, elbowing his way in to him.

"Turned their ropes to water," Thero said hoarsely, looking quite pleased with himself. "And relieved them of this."

At his feet lay a heavy metal rod nearly six feet in length.

"Their rudder pin!" Farren exclaimed. "Even with their rigging, they wouldn't get far without that."

But their triumph was short-lived. The Wolf was sinking.

Clambering down the ladder again, Alec joined Seregil and Klia at the starboard rail. Ahead of them, the Wolf listed in the shadow of the second man-of-war. The Plenimarans were showering the vessel with arrows and liquid fire. The carrack's sails and masts were in flames, sending a great column of smoke slanting across the water. They could all make out figures falling or leaping into the sea from the tilting deck.

"They've broken her back," Klia gasped.

"Hoist what sails we've got," Farren shouted to the mate. "Prepare the attack!"

The battle call traveled the length of the ship as the Zyria headed for the embattled craft. The Wolf "was going down fast.

"Beka's there," Alec cried, staring helplessly across at the foundering vessel. "Thero, can't you do something?"

"Quiet. He is," said Seregil. "Give him time."

Thero stood a little apart from them, eyes squeezed shut. Sweat poured down the wizard's face as he clenched his hands together in front of him. Then his thin lips curved up in a smile and he let out a small grunt of satisfaction. Without opening his eyes, he chanted softly under his breath and wove a series of symbols on the air.

"Ah, good choice, that," Seregil murmured approvingly.

"What? What is it?" demanded Alec.

Seregil pointed across to the enemy vessel. "Watch. This should be impressive."

An instant later a huge ball of fire erupted from the belly of the Plenimaran ship. Flames far fiercer than those aboard the doomed Wolf burst from every hatch, quickly engulfing everything above the waterline.

"Beautiful!" Seregil crowed, thumping Thero on the back. "You've always had a way with fire. How did you do it?"

The wizard opened his eyes and expelled a pent-up breath. "Her hold was full of Benshal Fire. I merely concentrated on that until it exploded. The rest took care of itself."

Leaving the Courser to her work, the Zyria sailed on for the Wolf. The broken carrack was rolling slowly onto its side, wallowing in the swells. Sheets of oily flame spread out from her smashed hull.

"Come on, come on!" Seregil hissed, hanging over the rail to scan the debris surrounding the wreck. Beside him, Alec did the same, praying to find Beka among the living. All too quickly, dark forms resolved into bodies, some charred beyond recognition, others fighting to stay afloat and crying out for help. A few horses—too few—churned in circles, screaming in panic.

"All boats away," the captain ordered. "Quick now, before the sharks get them."

Seregil and Alec ran for the nearest longboat being lowered over the side. When it smacked own in the water with a jolt, they took the prow seats, searching the waves while the sailors pulled the oars.

"There's someone, over there to the right," Alec called to the oarsmen, pointing the way. The boat leaped forward, closing the distance between them and a struggling Skalan sailor.

They were within ten feet of him when a huge shape broke the surface and dragged the man under. For one awful instant, Alec looked into the doomed man's wild eyes, and the shark's soulless black one. Then they were gone.

"Maker's Mercy!" he gasped, rocking back on his heels.

"Poor old Almin," someone said behind him, and the sailors rowed harder.

Leaving the dead to the sea, they rounded the Wolf's stern and found several people clinging to a broken spar.

"That's Mercalle!" Alec exclaimed.

The sergeant and two of her riders were supporting another between them. Alec recognized the sodden mass of red hair even before they had her all the way into the boat. Beka's face was white as milk except for a gash across her right temple.

"O Dalna, let her be alive," he muttered, feeling for a pulse at her throat.

"She is," Mercalle told him through chattering teeth. "She needs a healer, though, and soon."

The other riders looked only slightly better. Ileah was weeping silently, her face a mask of grief. Sitting close on either side of her in the bottom of the boat, Zir and Marten were chilled but apparently unhurt.