opened his eyes. “What – ?” was all he could say before the
cord parted.
A mighty wall of wind, invisible, irresistible, blast ed
across the palace roof. The emaciated alchemist, his robes
filling with air like black bat’s wings, was lifted off his feet.
Screeching with terror, Mukhari Ras flew backward to the
edge of the roof. An upward gust filled his skirt, lofting
him. The Lord of the Sea soared into the sky, borne by the
ensorceled wind. On and on he flew, his brittle body spread
flat by the torrent of air, until he was lost in the billowing
clouds and dust.
Mukhari was gone, but the danger was not yet passed.
The wind blew Sturm over the table, but he managed to
thrust an arm through the funnel hole. He held on dearly as
the tempest howled around him. Retorts and alembics from
the spirit still toppled over and were blown away. The
Kernaffi priests collapsed in a heap, only to be torn from
each other by the brutal wind. One by one they were swept
away, the last pair clinging together even as they were
carried off.
Sturm cried out in pain as the wind tore at him. He
thought his arm would snap off at the shoulder, but he was
able to get a relieving grip with his free hand. The table
shifted and turned. Sturm pressed his face to the copper top.
Dust scoured the roof, stinging the boy’s exposed flesh. Just
when it seemed he could endure no more, the wild fury
abated.
He clung fiercely to the table, the instrument of death
that had preserved his life. He heard a faint call for help.
Gingerly, Sturm removed his aching arm from the funnel
hole. The arm was black and blue from wrist to elbow.
The cry came again: “Help me, help . . .” Sturm shaded
his eyes and looked around. He was alone on the roof.
Everything, including Soren’s body, was gone.
Radiz, his plume bent at an angle and his golden armor
dented, hobbled up the steps. He stared around. The groan
for help came again. Radiz and Sturm walked converging
paths to the edge of the roof.
“At last, we are free!” he murmured.
Dangling from a rain gutter was Artavash. The gaping
dragonmouth spout had snagged her long military cape as
she fell. Now she was suspended high above the housetops
of Kernaf.
“Help me!” she pleaded. The cape tore a little and
Artavash begged for quick assistance.
Sturm eyed Radiz. The Kernaffi blinked dazedly. “I
leave it to you, boy. If you wish, we’ll bring her up. Or I can
cut her free and let her fall. What do you wish?”
Her gray eyes appealed for mercy. “She killed Soren,”
Sturm said.
True,” said Radiz. He pulled the sword from his belt.
“No,” said Sturm. “The Measure teaches mercy, even to
our enemy.”
He dropped on his stomach and reached for her cape.
Radiz took hold as well. They hauled Artavash to safety.
Once securely on the roof, she rolled over on the tiles and
gasped for air. Radiz took her sword and knife away.
He jerked Artavash around on to her stomach and
quickly bound her arms and legs tightly. When she cursed
too loudly, he drew a brightly colored scarf from his pocket
and jammed it into her mouth. At last he stood and faced
Sturm.
“Now, what can I do to make amends, young lord?”
asked Radiz.
Sturm cradled his bruised arm and frowned with
concentration. “I wish to leave,” he said. “I want a ship to
take my mother, Mistress Carin, and me to Solace. It was
my father’s wish that we go to Solace, so that is what we
shall do.”
Radiz nodded. As they walked slowly to the steps, the
commander laid a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Whatever made you think of using the old sailor’s magic
string?” he asked.
“I didn’t plan it,” said Sturm, swallowing. “My only
thought was to turn Mukhari’s knife away.”
“You didn’t realize cutting the cord would release all
the wind?”
Sturm shook his head. “I don’t know anything about
magic. It’s not a fitting subject for knights.”