Ruha's hand loosened around her dagger, but she did not gasp, or even worry that she was falling into uncon- sciousness again. She had been suffering visions since before she could walk, so she recognized the change in

Arvold's face for what it was: a mirage from the future.

Sometime soon, she would meet a man with the face that had appeared over the sailmender's. She could not say

what would happen then, but she doubted it would be anything good. It was never anything good.

Ruha's first mirage had been of thousands of butter- flies. Later that year, her tribe had been forced to camp at an oasis infested with moths, and soon every piece of cloth in the khowwan was full of holes. Later, the face of a handsome stranger had appeared over that of her hus- band, Ajaman. Ajaman had died that night; the hand- some stranger had arrived soon after to help Ruha's people fight the ones who had murdered her husband.

She had eventually taken the stranger, the Harper named Lander, as a lover-only to see him felled by the same enemy that had slain Ajaman.

Noticing Ruha's distraction, Arvold slid forward, still wearing the face of a slant-eyed stranger. When he stretched a hand toward her dagger, his fingers suddenly changed into sharp talons. The flesh of his arm turned black and scaly, and the pupils of his eyes narrowed into vertical slits with irises as black as obsidian. A crest of jet-colored fins sprouted along his back, and the long, lashing tail of a dragon appeared at the base of his spine.

Ruha tried to pull her jambiya, but the sailmender's claw lashed out quick as a serpent and caught her wrist.

She cried out and slammed her forehead into the strange face. Arvold raised his free hand to slap her, and it, too, was a black claw.

Captain Fowler appeared behind his sailmender and caught the man's scaly arm. Arvold's dragon tail disap- peared instantly, as did his scales, his talons, and his crest of dark fins. His pupils grew round, the yellowish tint vanished from his skin, his nose grew hawkish again, and Fowler continued to hold his wrist.

"Arvold, you know what the witch meant to say. Do you really want to hold her to the letter of what she said, knowing what she's liable to do if you anger her?"

The sailmender continued to stare at Ruha's bare face, his leer more angry than lustful. Though she felt bashful and naked without her veil, the witch forced herself to

return his gaze with an icy glare.

At last, Arvold released the witch's arm. "Ah, Umber- lee take you!" He pushed himself to his corner of the raft.

"If that's how you repay your debts, I'll have nothing to do with you."

Ruha let her head fall back onto the deck, weakened by both her vision and the trouble with Arvold.

Captain Fowler's swinish face appeared over her.

"Sorry I didn't move faster, Witch," he whispered. "But after you nearly called me a coward, I-"

Ruha raised a hand. "Do not apologize, Captain. You warned me before not to question your judgment-and I

should have been able to handle Arvold without your help."

Fowler nodded. "Aye, any Harper should've, but you hesitated-and why you let him grab your dagger arm,

I'll never know."

"I have lost a lot of blood," Ruha said.

The witch balked at telling Fowler about the mirage, for she had long ago learned that few people understood her visions. Her own tribe had banished her from their camps, believing her wicked magic caused the calamities she foresaw. Even in the Heartlands, she had twice been stoned for warning people of disasters about to befall them, and once she had been accosted for not foreseeing a catastrophe that befell the flirtatious young daughter of the mayor ofTeshwave.

The witch rolled her head away from Fowler. "Perhaps

I was just too weak."

The captain checked the tourniquet on her leg, then laid his leathery palm on her forehead. "You're losing no more blood, but you do feel cold as a barnacle." He grabbed her chin and pulled it around so he could look her in the eye. "You wouldn't be thinking of dying on me, would you Witch?"

Ruha tried to chuckle and failed. "Not without your permission, Captain."

Fowler glared at her from the corner of one eye. "Aye,

that's good." He grabbed the collar of his tunic and turned it inside out, displaying the Harper's pin Ruha had given to him. "I've every intention of collecting on your promise-and don't think you can squirm out of it, like you did with Arvold."

Ruha managed a weak smile. "Get me to Pros, and you shall have your ship."

"That I shall, Witch-and it'll be easier than you think." The captain grinned broadly, then stood and turned toward the front of the raft. "Arvold, man your paddle!"

Three

The caravel's bowsprit shot over the dune crest, less the twenty yards from the raft. Beneath the giant spar, illu- minated by the pearlescent sphere of a silver glass lantern, hung the mag- nificent sculpture of a square-snouted dragon. With its delicately curled horns, ball-shaped eyes, and lustrous green scales, the beast looked nothing like the wyrm that had destroyed the Storm Sprite. The figurehead's glower- ing face appeared more reproachful than vicious, and there was nothing in its expression to suggest bloodlust or insatiable greed. Still, the thing was clearly a dragon, and that was enough to give Ruha pause.

The caravel's great prow burst through the back side of the dune, hurling curtains of spray high into the air.

Ruha pointed at the figurehead.

"Do you see that, Captain Fowler? Is that not a dragon's head?"

The witch sat near the back corner of the raft, her mangled thigh extended before her. During the twenty minutes it had taken Fowler and Arvold to paddle into the caravel's path, everything below the tourniquet had grown numb and cool to the touch, and now the leg was beginning to turn blue, as she could tell whenever the moon's silver light flashed across her bare flesh.

When Captain Fowler did not comment on the figure-

head, Ruha asked, "Why does the caravel carry such a thing on its bow? Could that be the reason the dragon

attacked it?"

Fowler set aside the plank he had been using as a paddle. "I think not, Witch. Half the prows on the Drag- onmere bear figureheads of such fiends, to scare off mon- sters of the deep."

Ruha studied the figurehead more carefully, then shook her head. "That carving does not look frightening

to me."

The captain had no time to answer, for the bow of the great caravel was already slipping past. Along the wales stood a dozen dark figures, all shining storm lanterns over the rail. Both Fowler and Arvold jumped to their feet and waved their arms in excitement. From the shad- ows behind the lantern bearers emerged a figure holding a large bow nocked with a white, round-nosed arrow.