Brian Rathbone - Regent

"He doesn't drop us from the sky as often as he used to," Kenward corrected. "I almost had to throw him overboard for trying to fly us into low-lying clouds. Who knows what flying through clouds would be like? We'd be blind and we might even drown!"

Pelivor flushed and would not meet Catrin's eyes.

"It's wet, true, and very difficult to see, but you can breathe just fine," Catrin said.

Kenward involuntarily spit out the wine he'd been drinking and broke into a fit of coughing. When he'd recovered, he said, "When will I ever learn not to try to match wits or questionable behavior with you, m'lady?"

Catrin shook her head. Coming from him, that was no compliment.

"Did you really fly through the clouds?" Pelivor asked.

Catrin told the tale of her and Kyrien's flight from the Godfist. It was difficult to get through without crying, but she managed-just.

"We nearly made it to the Godfist," Kenward said, "but Bryn spotted dragons-the nasty-looking black ones-and we turned back. The devils gave chase, and it took everything Pelivor had to keep us in one piece. The greenish ones like Kyrien came not a day too soon. That was when I started dreaming about you being stuck on an island."

"I'm glad you came," Catrin said.

"None of this lot believed me," Kenward said for what seemed the twelfth time, and Pelivor rolled his eyes. "So why are we going back to the Firstland?"

"What?" she said, standing up.

"Well, every time I dreamed about you being on that island-sometimes even when I was wide awake, mind you-I'd always see us sailing back to the Firstland. I figured you'd know why."

Catrin said nothing for a time, every part of her conflicted. Nothing mattered to her more than getting back to Sinjin and Prios, but she had no idea what had become of those within Dragonhold or even if the defenses had withstood the assault. If they still lived-Catrin's chest ached at that thought-her chances of getting inside were dismal. Letting their defenses down to admit her and Kyrien would open the doors for the hoard of demons, and Catrin did not want to put her loved ones in greater peril, yet staying away went against every instinct she possessed. She clenched the top rail of her chair and stared down at the table.

"Do you want to go back to the Godfist?" Kenward asked.

"Yes," Catrin said.

Kenward sucked in a deep breath. "I'm not sure we should do that."

"Then why did you ask?" Catrin snapped. "If you're just going to sail to the Firstland regardless, then don't bother asking me."

"I'm sorry, Catrin. I just wanted to know what you desired while still advising you on the dangers-"

"I know, Kenward. I'm sorry. It's just. . Sinjin. How do I abandon my son? My husband? My people?"

"I don't know," he said, her pain reflected in his eyes.

Not able to look at her companions, Catrin gripped her chair and looked down at its seat.

"I'll take you home if that is your wish, Catrin," Kenward said.

Silence hung between them for a time. Catrin made no move to respond, and Kenward started to stand up from the table.

"I can't leave them behind," she said. "Even if it takes me to my death, I must go back."

Kenward swallowed. "I understand."

"I don't want you to take me, though. I'll call for Kyrien, and he can take me home."

"But how will you fly if you no longer have your saddle? You said that was the only thing that kept you on his back."

"I don't know. We'll just have to find a way."

"I don't know either, Cat, but I've seen dragons fight, and I don't think you want to be anywhere near when that happens. Maybe you should let me sail you home."

Again silence.

A feeling crept over Catrin, but she pushed it away, not wanting to let anything alter her course. She was a mother; nothing could stand in her way, but that feeling, which fostered doubt, would not be ignored. Gripping the chair so hard that she thought she might snap it, a thought occurred to Catrin. "Kenward, what is your cargo?"

"Spices, seeds, a variety of things for homesick Greatlanders living on the Godfist, and a pair of boilin' heavy stone thrones for your highness."

"That's it. I can use one of the thrones to travel back to the Godfist."

"Oh, no," Kenward said. "I'm not going through that again. The last time you tried that, you nearly died. And how do you think I'd feel with your dead carcass on my deck? No, sir. Not me. Nope. Besides, you can't get to those thrones. They're acting as ballasts and are underneath the rest of the cargo."

"Surely we can manage to get one of them on deck," Catrin said.

"No. It took ten men and a hoist to get them where they are, and even if we could move one up here, I wouldn't. That would make us top heavy, and we'd likely capsize. I'm sorry. No."

"You owe me," Kenward said hours later, looking more agitated than Catrin had ever seen him.

Shifting, she tried to find a way to get comfortable on the cold, hard stone. She reminded herself that the throne was designed not for comfort but to act as an anchor to her physical form, which would guide her back to her body.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this. What was I thinking?"

Looking out at clear, blue sky, Catrin knew better than to smile. The hastily cut hole in Kenward's deck provided just enough of a view for her purposes. Bales of herbs had been stacked as strategically as possible to provide the proper acoustics and the separation of the two individual chants. Many of Kenward's crew, including Kenward himself, knew both sides of the chant from their harrowing voyage to the Firstland in search of Archmaster Belegra. Those memories brought fear and mourning, and Catrin tried to put that out of her mind as she concentrated.

Before her, Pelivor knelt, looking up into her eyes. "I'll attend you. Just as I did all those years ago."

Catrin smiled. "I know I can count on you." She also nearly laughed when she heard Kenward complaining that he should just start keeping drums on his ships so he would not have to constantly make them from whatever was in his hold.

Voices rose slowly on either side, each with their own cadence and melody that uncannily merged into seamless harmony. When the drums did start, Catrin was impressed by the amount of vibration she felt. The crew had done well. Those vibrations allowed her to slip beyond her mortal shield, and Catrin flew free in a rush of exaltation. The open sky welcomed her, and she soared through it. Behind her, a silvery thread ran back to her waiting form. She, Prios, and Brother Vaughn had been right; it was indeed the mixture of metal and stone that created the anchor effect. Had the thrones ever reached the Godfist, everything could have been different. Catrin and Prios would have had the ability to safely travel astrally anywhere they wished; they could have been so much better prepared. Instead, she and Prios had nearly been killed just trying to travel a short distance to save their son. Catrin did not blame Kenward for the horrors they faced, but she did shiver at the memory of them and wished again that Kenward could have come sooner.

Instinct guided her as she sailed straight toward Sinjin, her course direct and unerring. The waves raced beneath her, a feeling of bliss nearly overcoming her as she flew. Such freedom! Twisting and spinning, she reveled in the glory of being naught but energy, free of burden and driven by pure purpose. Only the nature of that purpose brought Catrin out of her revelry. The thought of the demons that ravaged her homeland brought with it a dangerous odor, and the wind cried afoul. Those who stood against her overwhelmed Catrin's senses; single-minded hatred engulfed her, and it was that obsession that frightened her the most. It was not as if each of them hated her for his own reason. The hatred was homogeneous and felt as if it came from a single, dominating source. An oily and cloying feeling encroached on Catrin, and she felt insignificant and small. Every sense told her that she would be dead already if not for something surrounding her, protecting her.