Wit'ch star by James Clemens

Author:James Clemens [Clemens, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Epic, Fantasy, Fantasy fiction, General, Fiction
ISBN: 9780345442451
Publisher: Ballantine Books
Published: 2002-11-26T00:00:00+00:00

O

spotted the small dandyflower growing amid the debris. Like the grass, it had also faded from stone back to green leaves and yellow petals. Tyrus reached down, plucking it free.

As he did so, the stem grew black, then the leaves, then the petals. In a heartbeat, he held only a granite replica of the flower. His eyes widened with horror.

Shocked, he dropped the flower. It shattered at his toes.

Only then did he remember the last words of the Magus.

But first' a gift.

Sy-wen swept through the foggy night atop Ragnar'k. She closed her eyes to savor the freedom of the open sky. Earlier, she had been dragged from belowdecks spitting and cursing, still possessed by the wickedness in her skull. But as before, Kast had called her forth enough to release the dragon.

Atop her mount, united by the bonded magick, she was her own self again. And Master Edyll had told her about the malignant boat they followed the ship of bone.

The possessed, led by Hunt, raced the foul creation toward the fleet, intending to seed their evil among the ships. They had to be stopped.

She and Ragnar'k were to scout the ship and prepare a plan of attack, while the Ravenswing kept high among the clouds, awaiting her signal to dive down and attack. Both Bloodrider and elv'in warriors readied for the assault.

Ragnar'k banked on a wingtip and swept seaward. Sy-wen opened her eyes. Below she spotted the pale ship sweeping through the waves. Distantly she swore she heard screams carried on the winds. It was the wake of fear left by the ship, a palpable evil. Muffled by the magick of her dragon, it was dulled and blunted. Still, a small tremble passed over her skin.

Bad ship, Ragnar'k grumbled, sensing her heart.

Sy-wen didn't argue. The foul craft, its crew, its cargo all of it had to be destroyed before it reached the fleet. But she had friends aboard the ship, as innocent as she herself. She pictured Hunt, his broad, easy smile, his love and concern for Sheeshon.

A twinge of guilt traced through her. Why was she allowed to live while the others were sentenced to a watery grave?

The dragon swept over the boat and circled back. No alarm was raised. The ebony scales of Ragnar'k blended with the dark night. Sy-wen stud-ied the empty deck. There was not even a steersman. It was ominous to see a ship in full sail without a single sailor on deck especially in these treacherous seas.

Around the ship, mountains of ice rode the currents, while other sections of the sea boiled and spat with searing steam. To sail such waters blindly was to invite certain death. But still the ship sped on, leaving a wake of screams.

Spied upon this close, the leathery sails were clearly skin, stretched and stitched with sinew. The rigging appeared damp with blood and gore. The skeleton at the prow held up bony arms toward the skies, pleading. The skull's mouth was frozen open in a silent wail.

Sy-wen felt bile rising in her throat at the sight of it.

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