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."
He turned to go, but Imkhian caught his arm. "Leave
the lantern," he said. "I wish to pray."
Dunvane pulled the cabin door shut quietly. Norry
came up behind him.
"The trysail's been rigged, sir," he reported, "and we've
spotted lightning. Looks to be a terrible storm, dead ahead."
What else could happen? Dunvane sighed and followed
his mate to the wheel. A red glow lit up the horizon, too
early and too easterly to be the dawn. "What is that?" asked
the captain, staring.
"Dunno, sir. Could be a ship on fire."
Dunvane squinted through the tangle of rigging, masts,
and the billowing trysail. "If so, it's a big one," he muttered.
"Aye."
Lightning flickered around the scarlet glow. An
uncommonly warm wind blew over them; patches of mist
rose from the cooling sea. They could hear the sound of
thunder. The previously calm sea was roughened by rising
swells. The SUNCHASER wallowed in the waves. The
motion roused Jernina, who came aft to see what was
going on.
"What's that light?" she asked, clutching at the binnacle
for support.
Before anyone could reply, Imkhian, white robe
flapping in the increasingly hot wind, appeared like a pale
ghost at the captain's elbow.
"Let the gods steer your ship, Captain," he commanded.
"We are in their hands now."
"Every sailor is in the hands of the gods," Dunvane
said, "but my hands stay on this wheel, Holy One."
A thunderclap was punctuated by a stinging hail of
dust. The wind crackled the frail trysail. The ship glided
along with the speeding current
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