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“A few minutes ago you were trying to kill us all,” I said. “Why should we believe your change of attitude now?”

“Because that was for money and I had a saddle bird. Now my mount is dead and my life is worth more than money to me.”

“Axe him and throw him over the side,” Kreeg said.

“Yes,” agreed Rhandh. “Only, let me do it.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “This one fought like a devil to stay alive when I wanted him dead. I doubt he’s changed his mind now.”

“Believe it,” the man said. “Only, we’d better do something fast or the flames will cook our decision-makers for us.”

“No they won’t,” I said quickly. “I’ll get you the time. Have you more exploding quarrels?”

“To what purpose?”

“To fight fire with fire. Now where are they?”

His eyes lit with sudden understanding. “In my bags,” he said.

He dropped to one knee beside his dead vullwing, his fingers dipping into a handy leather pocket of his saddle, coming up with a thorn-wood box that opened to show the glittering heads and shafts of three more darts.

“You haven’t a crossbow,” he said, as he handed me the box.

“They’ll explode on impact if I throw them hard enough, won’t they?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “They should.”

“Then that’ll have to do.”

“Wait,” said Rannon. “What are you planning?”

I grabbed her shoulders, kissed her. “I’m going below,” I said. “I’ll use these darts against the fire to slow it. You put this man in the pilot’s chamber and have him take the ship down to the river.”

“No,” Rannon said, but Rhandh was taking her arm and I was pulling away, tucking the case of darts into the belt at my waist.

The mercenary was already running for the pilot’s position. I took the axe from the hands of a surprised Kreeg and staved in one of the water kegs that stood against the midship riser. I ripped off my shirt and dunked my upper body. Skin burns more slowly than cloth, wet skin more slowly than dry.

Rannon recovered herself then. She’d been afraid for me. Still was. But she trusted that I knew what I was doing. She tore off the silken sleeve of her garment and wet it before tying it across my nose and mouth. I plucked up a second water keg and stumbled down the stairs into the burning symphony of the cabin below.

At the bottom of the steps I hesitated. Some of the rundal-oil lamps were still alight, but even without them I could have seen well enough. Streamers of fire bloomed across the front of the long cabin in brilliant shades of red and gold, like sunlight come down to earth to play. And it was as frightening as anything I had ever seen. Or hoped to.

The pilot’s chamber had stood directly over the forepart of the cabin and the explosion above had driven fiery debris into the room. Curtains had caught. Silk hangings had gone up like tinder. The heavy oak paneling of the walls and ceiling had not yet started to burn. But the temperature was rising. I could feel it in the sweat on my skin. There was no way through to the far end of the room, where the heaviest flames ate the rugs and bed, and gnawed at the floor.

Almost, I turned to go back up the stairs, but the image of Rannon’s face held me where I stood. I axed open the keg I carried and splashed the water against what flames I could reach. Then I jerked out the case containing the three explosive bolts and opened it. The swollen heads of the darts gleamed a sullen yellow. They looked evil, though I knew it was my imagination that dressed them so. I drew one out, balanced it in my hand, and threw it at the point on the floor just beneath where the fire ate most furiously.

I understood, as few people on Talera probably did, that an explosion could rob a fire of its fuel. Destroying the material upon which the flames fed, or even scattering that material, would dissipate the heat. And it was the heat that would cause the walls and deck to catch. Until that happened, we had a chance.

For more than one reason, my breath held as the first dart struck. Valyan’s shield had nearly blocked the blast of one of these quarrels so I knew their explosive power