DREAMWIELDER Book 1 of The Dreamwielder Chronicles

Chapter 12: THE MEETING

Makarria and Parmo saw Pyrthin's Flame long before anyone on Pyrthin's Flame spied their tiny skiff. It was mid-morning and Makarria at first thought the white sails on the horizon were nothing more than clouds. When she realized that it was actually a ship, she was overjoyed, hoping they would be rescued, but Parmo shook his head in worry and told her to lie down out of sight as he yanked in the oars and crouched down beneath the rail to join her.

"That's no fishing boat, Makarria. It's a naval brig if I've ever seen one. Two masts, fore and aft sails..." Parmo glanced around frantically for his sword. I haven't even had time to take off the rust and put an edge on the blade, he lamented.

"You think it's after us?" Makarria asked, peeking up over the rail.

"I hope not. It's best not to find out, so stay down and out of sight."

Makarria saw that her grandfather was worried, but she didn't find herself the least bit scared for some reason. "It's flying a red and yellow flag. Aren't those the colors of Pyrthinia, Grampy—I mean, Parmo?"

Parmo found his sword still wrapped up in the burlap but paused to glance over the rail at the ship to see if Makarria was correct. Pyrthin's Flame had gotten closer but had not altered its westerly course, which was merely tangential to the northwesterly path they were on.

"It looks like the gold and red stripes of Pyrthinia," Parmo agreed. "That means nothing, though. The Emperor could have sent word to King Casstian."

Makarria didn't believe it. "I think they'll help us. We should wave at them with the sail."

"No, we'll stay put," Parmo said, his tone making it clear the matter was not up for debate.

Makarria sighed and rested her chin sullenly on the rail of the skiff and Parmo turned his attention back to his sword.

On board Pyrthin's Fire, the sailor assigned to the crow's nest glimpsed Parmo's skiff, but even through his telescope, it was so small and distant, he could discern little more than that it was a single-mast skiff—drifting aimlessly in the current without a sail, it seemed.

"Fishing boat, starboard side, looks to be abandoned or stranded," the sailor yelled down to the first mate on the main deck.

The first mate turned to the starboard and saw the skiff as an intermittent speck bobbing up and down on the swells in the distance. They were already a full day out from Kal Pyrthin Bay, which was farther from the coast than most fishing boats would dare venture, and normally the first mate would change course to check on a boat in distress, but the captain had made it clear this was no normal voyage. Their orders had been strict: stop for no one and make for the East Islands with all due haste. The first mate sighed inwardly at having to leave fellow mariners stranded at sea, but orders were orders. He turned from the starboard rail, intent on heading to the quarter-deck, and nearly ran smack into Taera.

"Your Highness," the first mate stammered in apology, "I didn't hear you approach."

Taera hardly heard the man speak. She had been in her cabin and seen a small boat in her mind. "There is a girl on that boat. We must rescue her."

"Your Highness, we are on strict orders to not delay for any reason."

"It's not a request—it's a command, sailor."

The first mate hesitated for only a moment, then dashed to the quarter deck to relay the orders to the helmsman.

Taera made her way to the forecastle as Pyrthin's Flame came about to the starboard side. The captain found her there a few short minutes later watching the skiff slowly loom larger in the distance.