A Muddle of Magic. Alexandra Rushe

carefully bathed the golem in dragon fire until the creature was consumed. The little man shrank and puddled between the two swords until only a waxy lump remained. A last blast from Flame, and the remains of the golem turned to ash.

      “We’ll seal what’s left of it in a jar,” Gertie said. “If it doesn’t regenerate in a day or two, that should be the end of it.”

      Raine threw her arms around the dragon’s neck and gave him a hug. “You did it, Flame.”

      Morven is happy?

      “Morven is very happy.”

      Flame yawned. Flame is glad. Flame is tired now.

      He curled up on the floor beside Raine’s bed and closed his eyes.

      Mauric chuckled. “Will you look at that. He’s gone to sleep.” He stiffened suddenly. “Tro, Flame’s a dragon.” He grabbed Gertie and spun her around. “Gertie, Flame’s a dragon.”

      “Of course, he’s a dragon,” Gertie said, looking much astonished. “What ails you, boy? Have your brains made a boat of your skull and gone sailing?”

      Mauric released Gertie and looked wildly around the room. “Where’s Gurnst? Has anybody seen Gurnst?”

      He took off at a run and pushed his way out of the cabin, shouting the helmsman’s name.

      “What’s in Kron’s name’s gotten into the boy?” Gertie demanded.

      “You said it yourself,” Brefreton said. “There haven’t been dragons in Tandara for a very long time.”

      “What of it?” Gertie said. “This is hardly news.”

      “Flame’s been shedding the past fortnight and more.” Brefreton grinned at the troll. “I suspect young Mauric has realized there’s a fortune in dragon skin under Gurnst’s bed.”

      Chapter 5

      King’s Bay

      Ten days after the golem attack, the Storm slipped into the Strait of Gorza with her lights extinguished and her sails lowered. It was well past midnight, and Raven stood at the helm, scanning the dark sea. The Vilkanni, savage Torgali pirates, prowled the strait in dreggs, small, flat-bottom ships equipped with a flutter of triangular sails. Darting out of the small bays and coves that dotted the Torgal coast, the Vilkanni swooped down on their prey in groups of three or four, ransacked the hapless vessels and sailed away, leaving ruin in their wake.

      The Vilkanni, or Viles, as they were commonly known, were indiscriminate, attacking Torgal herring drifters, private cutters, and merchant barks alike, though they rarely approached Finlaran ships or any vessel flying the silver and black. A Finlaran pennant snapping in the breeze next to the red and gold flag of Esmalla or the Valdarian purple was a clear warning to the raiders that Death awaited them on board.

      The rowan’s practice of hiring out his men to stand guard on merchant ships was longstanding, serving dual purposes of economy and comity. The merchant and his wares were protected from the Vilkanni scourge and the rowan’s men lined their purses with extra coin, while the rowan’s beneficence was firmly established, and his army’s repute for ferocity was reinforced. More importantly, the rowan’s troops didn’t languish at the Citadel, growing fat and lazy on the king’s stores and drinking his ale.

      In his early years at the Citadel, while working his way up the ranks and before he’d become the captain of his own ship, Raven had done his share of mercenary work. He was well acquainted with the Viles…and they with him. Were this a normal run, he’d sail into the Gorza in full daylight with the Vilkanni white flag and its skeletal black horse flown upside down in scorn. But today he was taking no chances. The Storm’s cargo was too precious.

      Dipping their oars soundlessly into the black water, the crew rowed. The ship navigated the narrow waterway without incident, and the coiled tension in Raven’s gut eased.

      “Hoist the sails,” he shouted, and a group of sailors hurried to jump the halyards.

      The faint scent of soap and damp fur alerted Raven that Gertie was near. The troll had recently bathed, and she was fragrant.

      “Couldn’t sleep, Mor?” he asked, without turning his head.

      “Wanted to talk to you before we reach the Citadel. Find out what’s eating you.”

      “Hmm, let me see. The Eye is lost and Tandara is on the brink of war.”

      “You’ve been to war before.”

      “Many times. But this war, I fear, will be different.”

      “That ʼud be Glory’s influence. Madam Portent’s faffling is enough to swerk anybody.”

      “She’s been right, so far.”

      Gertie snorted. “Even a blind pig finds an acorn now and then. She didn’t know about Flame.”

      “Flame surprised everyone. There’s a dragon in my hold. Merciful gods, think on it. My ship, my responsibility, Mor. And that’s just the beginning. Have you any idea what the Dark Wizard is offering for your capture?”

      “A sizable sum, I would imagine.”

      “Ten thousand magraks. That’s the price on your head, and the strait teeming with Viles.”

      “You’re not worried about a few pirates. Is it Squeak’s curse that has you chaffed? That’s done.”

      “Not quite.” Raven patted the pouch dangling from his belt. “I’ve one last batch of seedlings to plant.”

      “What? Why in skelf didn’t you dump the lot at our last stop?”

      “It doesn’t work that way.” Raven hesitated, uncertain how to explain the strange compulsion Squeak had placed on him. “They must be sown in the right place, with the proper words. The seeds…speak to me.”

      “I’d keep that to myself, if I were you, son. Makes you sound soft in the head.”

      “Believe me, I know.”

      “If it’s not the curse, what’s got you bedeviled? Is it the gossip about you and Hedda? By Kron, I hear one more word of that tripe, and I’ll have the rumor monger’s head for a shit pot.”

      Raven chuckled. “Easy, Mor. This is not my first visit home since the scandal. I’m accustomed to the whisperings.”

      “Codswallop, that’s what it is. As if you’d wave your prick at the evil shrew.”

      “Thank you, Mor. If I’ve seemed distracted of late—”

      “Distracted? You’ve been surly as a borg with the toothache.”

      “Surly then. If I’m surly, it’s because I’m accustomed to charting my own course.”

      “You ain’t the only one muddled. Reba’s pulling the strings in this affair, and I don’t trust that red-haired harpy.”

      “Hush, Mor. The gods have long ears. Why do you mistrust Reba?”

      “Other than the fact that she’s a—”

      “Mor. Please.”

      “Blister it, she sent Bree to Urp after Raine. Who told her about the girl?”

      “The Circle of Seers, perhaps?”

      “Nay, those windsuckers didn’t know about Raine any more than the rest of us. I’m beginning to wonder if Reba’s consorting with Glonoff. Remember the day Raine went into the woods?”

      “I’m not likely to forget it. I turned into a troll.”

      “I’m sorry, son.” She laid a heavy paw on his shoulder. “You’ve fought tooth and nail to prove yourself a Finlar, and then you go and find your halmo. Hidebound, your father’s people, and idiotish when it comes