Doom of the Dragon by Margaret Weis Page B

might have turned into another figurehead.
    Softly creeping on his bare feet, Wulfe slipped over to the hold, raised the hatch, and crawled partway down the ladder. He quietly lowered the hatch, then crept down the rest of the way. The hold was dark after being out in the bright sun and Wulfe kept still until he could see.
    They had taken on food and fresh water before leaving the Aquin realm and the hold smelled strongly of fish. Wulfe didn’t like being down here. He didn’t like being anywhere that had walls. When his eyes adjusted, he padded softly among the jumble of barrels and stone jars, a large tangle of fishing net, a spare sail, the armor and weapons they’d brought with them from Sinaria, and sea chests where the Uglies kept their clothes and blankets so they wouldn’t get wet.
    Giving Skylan’s sea chest a pat as he walked past it, Wulfe ventured deeper into the hold, searching for what Aylaen called the “rag bag.” Nothing ever went to waste among the Vindrasi. She cut shirts and stockings worn past mending into strips to be used for bandages and cloths for cleaning, stuffing them into a gunnysack she kept near her healing supplies.
    Wulfe pulled out a handful of rags, piled them in a corner, and sprinkled them with water. He cast a furtive glance back at the hatch to make certain no one was spying on him, then, bending over the damp rags, he worked his magic, chanting a rhyme his mother had taught him, saying it would be useful in case he ever needed to rid himself of a foe.
    Hide me!
    Hide me!
    Blind their eyes.
    Make them sneeze.
    Make them wheeze.
    Hide me!
    Hide me!
    Blind their eyes.
    A multitude of sparks jumped from his fingertips and landed on the rags. Wherever the sparks hit, tendrils of gray smoke started to curl into the air. The blinding smoke would grow thicker and soon fill the hold. Wulfe had to hustle to return to deck before he got caught by his own magic.
    He scrambled up the ladder, holding his breath to keep from coughing, jumped out on deck, and shut the hatch.
    Seeing that no one was paying any attention to him, Wulfe sauntered across the deck, coming to stand close to the dragon, and waited, fidgeting, until he saw gray puffs start to float out of the hatch.
    Leaning against the rail, Wulfe sniffed the air and said, “I smell smoke. Do you?”
    Aylaen jumped as though he’d stabbed her in the ribs. Fire was the most feared danger on board ship. Whipping around, she saw the smoke that was now pouring out from beneath the closed hatch.
    â€œBlessed Vindrash!” she gasped. “Fire!”
    She ran toward the hatch. Farinn joined her. Acronis grabbed the water bucket and hurried after them. Aylaen lifted the hatch. Smoke billowed out, causing her to jump back. Acronis peered down.
    â€œI don’t see any flames. I’m going down there.”
    â€œI’m coming with you,” said Aylaen.
    â€œTie this over your nose and mouth,” said Farinn, handing them each some strips of sheepskin on which he’d been writing his song. They did as he suggested and the three of them plunged into the hold.
    Wulfe heard them banging about below, coughing and bumping into things. He stood in front of the Dragon Kahg.
    â€œYou know Skylan’s not dead,” Wulfe said.
    The dragon’s fiery red eyes swiveled around, catching Wulfe in their lurid glare.
    â€œThat night, after he died,” Wulfe continued, “I saw a woman take his soul. I recognized her. She was your goddess!” He pointed an accusing finger at the dragon.
    Kahg’s red eyes narrowed. Wulfe could hear more bumping and thumping coming from the hold and the sound of muffled voices. Smoke continued to pour from the hatch.
    â€œI heard you and the goddess talking,” Wulfe went on. “You talked about the spiritbones and the Great Dragon Ilyrion and how the spiritbones would cause the dragon to return to the world. I know about the great dragon. My