Cloak of the Two Winds by Jack Massa

weapons and marched her to the mainmast, where they chained her beside the others. Brinda looked cold and miserable. She dropped to the deck as soon as the chains were in place.
    The three men huddled to shield her from the wind. Draven took out his water flask and put it to her lips. Brinda drank all the water left within.
    "Where's Karrol?" Lonn asked.
    "I don't know. Ahead of me." Brinda gazed at each of them, her expression bleak but grateful. "I'm glad to see you, mates."
    "We're glad to see you." Draven grasped her hand.
    "How did you and Karrol get separated?" Eben asked.
    "I couldn't keep up with her. We skated together all day and most of the night, without seeing anything of Glyssa or the boat. My legs started to give out. I called for Karrol to stop, but she wouldn't." Brinda sniffed, "She wouldn't stop for me, as if her grief had driven her mad. I kept on as best I could alone. Then the wind changed and I got frightened and turned around."
    "Don't worry," Draven said. "We'll find Karrol."
    "If the meltwind doesn't drown her first," Brinda answered, shaking her head. She barely had the strength to eat and drink the meager rations the cabin boy brought her. When she finished, she lay with her head in Lonn's lap and was soon asleep.
    The Plover continued beating north, making good headway against the steady, warming breeze. Lonn sat with his back to the mainmast, keeping still so Brinda could rest. He stared vacantly about, scanning the coaster's complex rigging, the flamboyant ornaments on doors and hatches, the quarterdeck, where the stout Captain Troneck manned the helm behind the cluster of windbringers. The witch had apparently gone below to her cabin.
    Draven and Eben stood in their chains, restlessly circling the mast, stretching their backs to look for Karrol. Eben muttered a chant to the wind spirits, pleading that the thaw be forestalled, that Karrol's life be spared. The orange sun hung bright in the north, implacably heating the day.
    When the wind gusted, sparks of silver erupted in the air, harbingers of the meltwind. Lonn winced and Eben swore furiously under his breath. Brinda sat up and looked around.
    Amlina came out on deck and stood gazing over the rail on the port side.
    A shout came down from the crow's nest—another skater off the port bow. Lonn and his mates were on their feet at once, straining to see.
    "There!" Eben pointed with a fettered hand.
    Just aft of where the ship's boat hung from its davits, Lonn spotted Karrol—a tiny figure approaching out of the immense brightness.
    The Iruks cheered aloud, but next instant their voices went dumb. Behind the skater a silvery light was rising, brighter than the gleaming ice or the sunlit sky—the fluttering, baleful face of the meltwind.
    "Oh, no," Brinda moaned.
    "She will make it," Draven declared. "If there was ever a skater too stubborn to be caught by the wind, it is Karrol."
    But Eben, staring, shook his head.
    Now Lonn could see Karrol's arms flailing furiously as she skated. He squinted, trying to judge how much lead she had on the glittering front where the ice was changing to water.
    She might have a chance, he thought, a small one.
    Then the coaster swerved, blocking their sight of Karrol. The mainsail and boom swung creaking overhead as the vessel changed tacks, aiming close to the wind to intercept the skater.
    Amlina had come forward on the tilted main deck.
    "We'll do what we can to save her." She spoke in answer to the Iruks' stricken looks.
    Lonn stared down at the chains binding him. If free, he might have a chance to help save Karrol. Suddenly it was unendurable to be helpless. A growl started in his throat again and grew louder as his lips parted, his teeth still clenched. He began whipping his tether up and down in a frenzy.
    "Lonn?" Draven said.
    "The chains work on our minds," he answered. "Are our minds not our own? Help me!"
    Lonn braced his foot against the mast and yanked harder, ignoring the protest of his torn