said. "What are we going to do now?"
Cashel turned, frowning. It was a good question, one he'd been turning over in the back of his mind, but he didn't see why the girl seated on a lava block would be asking him.
"What's your wizard say?" he said. He frowned still deeper. Personally, he wouldn't trust Captain Mounix' judgment much farther than he would that of sottish Kellard or-Same back in the borough, but Tilphosa had boarded the fellow's ship. Maybe she felt otherwise. "Or the captain, I suppose."
"Metra's doing an incantation," Tilphosa said, gesturing toward a stand of palms where a piece of salvaged sailcloth was rigged as a screen. A puff of orange smoke rose above the fabric and dissipated in the breeze. "She wants to learn whether our wreck was chance or if Echea struck at us from beyond the grave."
She didn't mention Mounix; her opinion of the captain must be pretty close to Cashel's own.
"That big snake wasn't a common thing," Cashel said, looking seaward again. The water shimmered like jewels now that the sun had risen further. "Not where I come from, anyway."
Tilphosa shrugged. "In these times it could have been chance," she said. "The forces that turn the cosmos are peaking, you see. That's why I'm being sent to wed Prince Thalemos now and bring about the return of the Mistress to rule the world... but Chaos has power also, and creatures of chaos can be met anywhere."
Cashel noticed the matter of fact way Tilphosa discussed wizardry and the powers wizards controlled or tried to control. She sounded like a peasant discussing the risk of a bad winter: potentially disastrous, but nothing unnatural in her scheme of things.
About two double handsful of the crew had survived the wreck. They were combing the black-sand beach sullenly, dragging the more interesting bits of flotsam above the tideline to where tree ferns grew among lobelias and geraniums the size of shrubs.
When the sailors looked toward the screen around the wizard, they scowled. Occasionally Cashel caught them looking at him and Tilphosa with much the same expression—until his eye fell on them.
Cashel smiled. He guessed he'd be doing something wrong if this lot liked him.
Captain Mounix was examining the ship's dinghy, still keel-up on the beach. With him were two of his particular cronies: a tall but cadaverous fellow named Costas, and a runt with a fringe of red hair who went by 'Hook', probably because he'd lost the outer three fingers from his left hand.
Cashel had done enough woodworking that he might have had something useful to say about the dinghy's condition, but he didn't suppose the captain wanted his company any more than Cashel wanted the captain's. Joining the beachcombers was an even less appealing prospect.
"I guess I'll take a look around the island," Cashel said. "I'd like to find a stream or a spring, anyway."
Rain had pooled in a basin of rock just above the tide line. Cashel had drunk from it—Tilphosa was more squeamish than thirsty, at least while the darkness was still cool—but found the water brackish from windblown spray. The lush vegetation inland meant there was likely better available.
"Ah...," Cashel added, balancing his quarterstaff as he thought. He'd just as soon not leave the girl alone with these sailors—or with her wizard Metra, if it came to that. "Would you like to come?"
Cashel felt responsible for Tilphosa the way he'd feel for anybody who needed the sort of help he could give them. Folks in the borough stuck together, pretty much. A peasant's life was hard enough even when neighbor helped neighbor.
Tilphosa nodded curtly. "Yes," she said. "When I look at the sea, I remember the dragon coming toward us. Metra's wizardry kept it from pulling the ship under, but it drove us onto the rocks. I thought I was going to drown."
She flashed Cashel an embarrassed grin.
"You weren't going to drown," Cashel muttered. He looked at the captain, then toward the screen around the wizard and her dealings.
Cashel turned, frowning. It was a good question, one he'd been turning over in the back of his mind, but he didn't see why the girl seated on a lava block would be asking him.
"What's your wizard say?" he said. He frowned still deeper. Personally, he wouldn't trust Captain Mounix' judgment much farther than he would that of sottish Kellard or-Same back in the borough, but Tilphosa had boarded the fellow's ship. Maybe she felt otherwise. "Or the captain, I suppose."
"Metra's doing an incantation," Tilphosa said, gesturing toward a stand of palms where a piece of salvaged sailcloth was rigged as a screen. A puff of orange smoke rose above the fabric and dissipated in the breeze. "She wants to learn whether our wreck was chance or if Echea struck at us from beyond the grave."
She didn't mention Mounix; her opinion of the captain must be pretty close to Cashel's own.
"That big snake wasn't a common thing," Cashel said, looking seaward again. The water shimmered like jewels now that the sun had risen further. "Not where I come from, anyway."
Tilphosa shrugged. "In these times it could have been chance," she said. "The forces that turn the cosmos are peaking, you see. That's why I'm being sent to wed Prince Thalemos now and bring about the return of the Mistress to rule the world... but Chaos has power also, and creatures of chaos can be met anywhere."
Cashel noticed the matter of fact way Tilphosa discussed wizardry and the powers wizards controlled or tried to control. She sounded like a peasant discussing the risk of a bad winter: potentially disastrous, but nothing unnatural in her scheme of things.
About two double handsful of the crew had survived the wreck. They were combing the black-sand beach sullenly, dragging the more interesting bits of flotsam above the tideline to where tree ferns grew among lobelias and geraniums the size of shrubs.
When the sailors looked toward the screen around the wizard, they scowled. Occasionally Cashel caught them looking at him and Tilphosa with much the same expression—until his eye fell on them.
Cashel smiled. He guessed he'd be doing something wrong if this lot liked him.
Captain Mounix was examining the ship's dinghy, still keel-up on the beach. With him were two of his particular cronies: a tall but cadaverous fellow named Costas, and a runt with a fringe of red hair who went by 'Hook', probably because he'd lost the outer three fingers from his left hand.
Cashel had done enough woodworking that he might have had something useful to say about the dinghy's condition, but he didn't suppose the captain wanted his company any more than Cashel wanted the captain's. Joining the beachcombers was an even less appealing prospect.
"I guess I'll take a look around the island," Cashel said. "I'd like to find a stream or a spring, anyway."
Rain had pooled in a basin of rock just above the tide line. Cashel had drunk from it—Tilphosa was more squeamish than thirsty, at least while the darkness was still cool—but found the water brackish from windblown spray. The lush vegetation inland meant there was likely better available.
"Ah...," Cashel added, balancing his quarterstaff as he thought. He'd just as soon not leave the girl alone with these sailors—or with her wizard Metra, if it came to that. "Would you like to come?"
Cashel felt responsible for Tilphosa the way he'd feel for anybody who needed the sort of help he could give them. Folks in the borough stuck together, pretty much. A peasant's life was hard enough even when neighbor helped neighbor.
Tilphosa nodded curtly. "Yes," she said. "When I look at the sea, I remember the dragon coming toward us. Metra's wizardry kept it from pulling the ship under, but it drove us onto the rocks. I thought I was going to drown."
She flashed Cashel an embarrassed grin.
"You weren't going to drown," Cashel muttered. He looked at the captain, then toward the screen around the wizard and her dealings.
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