A powerful hand closed around Ruha's wrist, and she felt herself being dragged toward the tiller. "This is no time to lie about!"

"No, wait!"

Ruha's protest went unheeded, for already Captain

Fowler had pulled her to his side and set her on her feet.

Her eyes darted toward the deck. The planks were wet and as dark as the night and, even if the obsidian had not washed overboard already, she would never have found it in time to attack the dragon.

"Ready, Witch!" Fowler ordered. "It's almost time."

Ruha looked forward, raising her eyes toward the wyrm. She found her view blocked by the huge flaxen square of the Storm Sprite's half-filled sail. Beneath the sheet's fluttering edge, she could see harpoon lines play- ing out, and also the cog's bow slipping past the caravel's massive rudder. The witch thrust her hand into her aba and found several small pebbles.

Fowler hauled on the tiller, bringing his ship smartly around the stern of the caravel. The flaxen sail filled with wind and, like a proud stallion spurred to the gal- lop, the Storm Sprite leapt forward. The harpoon lines snapped taut, and a tremendous shudder ran through the cog.

Fowler flashed his tusks. "Now, Lady Witch! Slice that terror out of the sky!"

Ruha pulled the pebbles from her pocket and pivoted around to keep her gaze fixed on the looming caravel.

Over the stern came a great mass of writhing darkness, the wyrm being dragged along by the sturdy harpoon lines. The dragon beat the air with its wings, struggling in vain to right itself and wheel on Its attacker. Its wings were tattered and strewn with holes, while its dark scales looked strangely tarnished and dull. Even the ser- pent's tail ended in a long section of gray, weathered bone, as though it were suffering from some wasting dis- ease or festering wound.