The Sea elf lunged for the enormous tail. She caught hold of the tip, then pulled herself against the tail and wrapped her legs around it as tightly as she could. With one hand, she took her knife from between her teeth and drove it deep into the tail. She pulled it down with all her strength, tearing a gash in the hide.
Again the dragon turtle roared, a terrible sound that reverberated through the water and even created a lull in the sharks' grim feasting. Anarzee held on as the tail lashed fiercely back and forth through the water. When this method did not avail, the turtle raised the tail above the water and flicked it upward with one quick, hard motion. The Sea elf released her hold, letting the momentum throw her up onto the turtle's spiked shell.
She was not so fortunate as Darthoridan. Waves of agony swept through her as she slammed facedown onto the bony ridge. But she tore herself upright, off the short spike that grated against her hip bone, and came up onto her hands and knees. Ignoring as best she could the searing, numbing pain, she forced herself to look at the wound. There was blood, far too much of it. In a shark-infested sea, such a wound would prove mortal-of that she had no doubt. But perhaps she could survive long enough to complete the task before her.
Still on her knees, the Sea elf made her way over to where Darthoridan lay. He was hurt worse than she had first thought, and near to losing consciousness. She slapped and shouted and pleaded until at last his eyes focused on her.
"Anarzee," he whispered. "Oh, my poor, lost love. There are so many things I must say…"
"No time," she told him grimly. With one torn hand, she gestured toward the elven ship. It had passed the barrier, and pirates swarmed up onto its crystal decks. "The humans must not have this ship! You know what use will be made of it."
A female's scream, shrill with pain and terror, rang out over the sounds of battle. Darthoridan swore bitterly as two of the humans dragged a struggling elf woman up from the hold. The elf woman's bright gown, the circlet of summer flowers hanging askew in her tangled hair, left little doubt in Anarzee's mind as to her identity.
Darthoridan struggled to his feet, but he did not immediately go to his new wife's aid. He seized the harpoon and thrust a second spear into the metal tube. As clearly as if he spoke his thoughts aloud, Anarzee knew what was in his mind. His first task was to keep the ship in elven hands. As long as the dragon turtle lived, the ship was lost. The Sea elf looked down into the churning sea, where the sharks were still avidly feeding. No land-dwelling elf was nimble enough in water to avoid them. If Darthoridan tried again to stop the dragon turtle, he would surely be dead, and his efforts would be for nothing.
Anarzee seized the harpoon with her one good hand. "Go," she demanded, nodding toward the rope ladder that the pirates had draped down the ship's crystal hull.
"You are hurt," he protested, noting at last the blood that stained her mottled skin.
"I am dying," she said simply. "Go, and let me die well. You must save the ship, and the People upon it."
Before Darthoridan could respond, the Sea elf scrambled down the turtle's shell and dived into the water. The Moon elf took a long, shuddering breath and made his way up to the shell just behind the turtle's head. Although the creature's task was done-the elven ship had been herded beyond the magical shields-it remained nearby, circling the ship like a waiting shark.
Darthoridan waited until the creature circled back around to the place where the pirates' boarding ladder hung. He leaped, catching the lower rungs as he fell. The pain as he slammed into the crystal hull was nearly overwhelming, as was the dull throb in his torn shoulder. But he pulled himself up and rolled over the rail onto the ship.
Battle, bloody and fierce, raged all around him. As the elves fought for their lives. But Darthoridan's comrades were no army-just a few friends and kindred who had accompanied the newly wed couple on the northward trip.
The ship lurched suddenly as a rolling wave caught it. Darthoridan seized the rail to steady himself, and suddenly found he was eye-to-eye with the dragon turtle. The creature's eyes were frantic, and its gigantic mouth was flung wide, held open by the harpoon imbedded in the roof of its mouth. It could not shut its jaws without driving the weapon up and into its brain.
Even as he took note of this, Darthoridan saw the slender, webbed hands clutching at the base of the spear. Anarzee had not gotten off a killing shot, but the determined Sea elf would bring down her quarry even if that meant swimming into its mouth! For a moment he knew hope-Anarzee had wedged the spear in securely, and perhaps she would consider her task done and escape into the water. Even as the thought formed, a cloud of steam puffed from the dragon's mouth, turning crimson as it caught the light of the rising sun. The dragon turtle let out a garbled roar and tossed its head high. Anarzee's limp hands slid from the spear, disappeared down into the crimson mist.
Darthoridan dashed a hand across his tear-blinded eyes and turned to face the battle before him. One of the pirate ships had emptied its human cargo onto the deck of Sea-Riven, and another was closing in. The elves would soon be overwhelmed.
A silver streak shot down from the clouds toward the approaching ship. Darthoridan gaped as a ballista bolt struck and splintered the ship's single mast. The beam fell, smashing one side of the wooden ship and covering the pirates in a shroud of canvas.
The elf looked up in the direction of the attack. Incredibly, their rescuer was an airborne ship, a glittering elven vessel that swooped down upon the pirates like a vengeful butterfly.
Mariona Leafbower let out a whoop as the ballista bolt struck home. The frustrating years on Sumbrar fell away as the captain's blood sang anew with the wonder of flight, and the joy of battle.
"Well shot," commented a too-familiar voice behind her.
The captain whirled to see Vhoori Durothil, watching the battle with calm detachment and cradling in his arms a staff that was crowned with a glowing, golden gem.
"Who's on the helm?" she snapped.
"Chandrelle is quite capable," the mage replied. "No one could have brought this ship to battle more swiftly than I, but at this moment, my skills are best employed elsewhere."
"I can handle the fighting!"
"Can you also handle that?" he said, pointing with the staff toward the enraged dragon turtle. "When facing two foes, is it not best to pit one against the other?"
"But-"
"Enough!" Vhoori thundered. "I will do as I must. See to the battle as you will, but do not hinder me."
Mariona fell back a step, startled by the vehemence, the sheer power in the Gold elf's voice. For once, she had no inclination to argue.
The mage pointed the staff at the sea creature and began to chant. As he spoke, the light in the gem began to intensify. To Mariona's surprise, the Gold elf chanted a powerful spell of summoning and binding, using the magic as a frame for soothing words of friendship and promise-words spoken to the dragon turtle!
The sky-borne ship was closer now, and Mariona could see the spear lodged in the gigantic turtle's mouth. The creature was not an immediate threat to the elves, but neither was he of much good as an ally. What did Vhoori have in mind?
She did not have time to ponder the matter. Although the pirate ship she'd hit was badly damaged and taking on water fast, a number of pirates had managed to cut their way through the canvas. The last, undamaged ship was swinging around to come to their aid. Soon the elven fighters would be overwhelmed.
Mariona leaned down to the speaking tube. "Helmsman, set us down on the water, as close to the elven ship as you dare!"
She spun, ready to shout orders to the crew. They were already about their business-hauling up the lower wings of the sails, readying boarding pikes and ropes, gathering weapons. A fleeting moment of regret touched Mariona-what adventures she might share with elves such as these in wildspace! But the thought was hard to hold, chased as it was by the prospect of the battle ahead.