Flamecaster (Shattered Realms, #1)(111)

“Except for the part where there’s no place to run if you get caught, or if somebody blows up the ship. Or if a dragon decides to roast you like a chestnut.”

“You can swim, can’t you?”

“Of course I know how to swim. But have you smelled the river?” Lila wrinkled her nose. “It’s a cesspool. I’m not planning to do any swimming tonight, just so you know.”

“Are you really going to whine the whole time?” Ash buckled his blackbird cloak over his collar and pulled the hood up.

“There’s no reason both of us have to go,” Lila said abruptly. “I’ll handle it. You stay here.”

“Give it up, all right? If anyone stays behind, it’s going to be you. Otherwise, we stay with the original plan: You deal with the explosives. I’ll deal with the dragon. That way we can be there and gone in no time. If you’re spotted and questioned, we’re the harbor patrol, remember. We saw something suspicious, like somebody boarding their ship.”

“And that’s why we’re carrying canisters of black powder. Got it.”

On reaching the docks, there was one piece of good news: at some point, Strangward’s ship had raised anchor and was now tied up at the wharf, maybe to load supplies for their departure. Once again, Ash thought he heard something, soft footsteps or maybe the creak of planks behind him. He turned, scanning the length of the dock. He saw nothing, and heard nothing beyond the slap of water against the pilings and the clank of rigging against masts.

It was near midnight, and there was just a single light burning in the wheelhouse. The crew quarters were dark and silent, the gangway was drawn up, and the ship was shrouded in a shimmering layer of what appeared to be greenish ice.

Ash stood staring at it, hands on hips.

“What’s that?” Lila whispered.

“I don’t know,” Ash said, “but I think it means keep out.”

“Can’t you do something?”

“Maybe.” Closing his hand on his amulet, Ash sent a tendril of magic forward. When it collided with the barrier, the ice vaporized into a poisonous-looking cloud that was carried away by a stiff wind blowing upriver. He continued until the near side of the ship was clear.

They waited for someone to sound the alarm, but there was nothing. The ship appeared to be deserted.

“What do you think?” Ash whispered.

“Looks like a trap to me,” Lila said glumly.

Ash threw a line over the rail and used it to pull a rope ladder up and over. Then waited again. Nothing.

“I’ll go up first, take a quick look, and then signal to you,” Lila said. Sliding the backpack over her shoulders, she scrambled up the ladder to where she could peer over the rail. Apparently satisfied, she vaulted over, turned, and motioned to Ash to come ahead. Then she disappeared.

Ash ascended the ladder, climbed over the railing, and dropped to the deck on the other side. He pulled up the ladder so that it couldn’t be seen from the wharf, then hurried amidships, where the hold was.

The hatch was secured by a chain and padlock. Ash melted the chain and removed it, then wrestled the hatch open. The stench from below hit him like a physical blow.

We’re too late, he thought, heart sinking. The dragon’s already dead.

He knew he should be relieved. Instead, he felt a keen sense of loss. And not just because he hated the thought of facing Jenna with the news. If he survived the night himself.

Dropping the ladder into the darkness, he climbed down, using his fingertips to kindle his torch.

The dragon lay at the rear of the hold. Its head was down, resting on its forelegs, and its eyes were closed and crusted, like it hadn’t opened them in a while. Even its scaly armor seemed dull. Rabbit carcasses lay untouched in the corner, which accounted for some of the smell. A trickle of vapor from the dragon’s nostrils was the only visible sign of life, but Ash sensed that a spark still burned deep within.

“Hey,” Ash murmured. There was no response. Ash reached out with his mind, trying to make a connection, but the mind behind the eyes was murky and muddled, impossible to read, or to communicate with.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you sick?”

For a moment, he could have sworn the dragon understood. It turned its head, and looked into Ash’s eyes, like a plea for help. Then it rested its head on its forelegs.

He eased closer until he could reach out and touch the dragon’s shoulder. It was dry and cool. But maybe that was the way it was supposed to be. He pressed his fingers against the side of its neck and felt a pulse, thready and weak. Truth be told, Ash knew nothing about dragons. But his healer’s instinct told him that this dragon was close to death.

Was it sick because it had been penned up inside the hold too long? Had it been taken away from its mother too soon? Or had it lost the will to live? Who wouldn’t, in this environment?

“I’m here to help you if I can,” Ash said. “I’m going to try and get you out of here.” The dragon didn’t stir, didn’t open an eye.

Taking a deep breath, Ash sent magic in, exploring in totally unknown territory.

The dragon was cold, cold, cold until he neared its head. It got warmer and warmer until he reached the area around the collar, which was blistering hot, feverish with power.

What was going on? Was the collar leaking magic into the dragon? Or was it preventing it from flowing into the rest of its body? Ash ran his finger over the dragon’s collar, feeling a familiar tug. Ash touched the collar around his own neck—the one that prevented him from accumulating enough flash to do mischief.