Traitor's Moon

air.
    â€œAh, good choice, that,” Seregil murmured approvingly.
    â€œWhat? 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.
    â€œBeautiful!” 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 Benshâl 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.
    â€œCome 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.
    â€œAll 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.
    â€œThere’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.
    â€œMaker’s Mercy!” he gasped, rocking back on his heels.
    â€œPoor 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.
    â€œThat’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.
    â€œO Dalna, let her be alive,” he muttered, feeling for a pulse at her throat.
    â€œShe 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.
    â€œIt’s her brother,” Zir told him, putting an arm around Ileah. “He was dead before the bastards rammed us. How’s the captain?” He looked anxiously at Beka.
    Bent over Beka’s still form, Seregil did not look up as he replied, “Too soon to tell.”
    Aboard the
Zyria
, they carried Beka below to one of the little cabins. Groans and screams came up from the hold, where the wounded sailors had been laid out. The stink of blood and Benshâl Fire hung strong on the stale air.
    While Alec went in search of the ship’s drysian, Seregil stripped off Beka’s sodden clothes. He’d done the same when she was a child, but she was a child no more. For once, he was glad of Alec’s absence. Surprised at his own embarrassment, he finished as quickly as he could and wrapped her in blankets. It hadn’t been only her brief nakedness that was discomforting but the number of battle scars marring her pale freckled body.
    That sort of thing had never bothered him before, not even with Alec. Sitting on the floor beside Beka now, though, he rested his head in his hands, fighting down guilt and grief. He’d been the first after Micum to hold Beka in his arms at her birth; he’d carried her on his shoulders, carved toy swords and horses for her, helped teach her to ride and how to fight dirty.
    And got her the commission that put her here, unconscious, scarred, and