“Get ready,” she told Viran as they approached their target.
“Keriya—”
She wasn’t listening—she’d spotted the summoner. Black robes and indigo eyes marked him for what he was. He stood alone at the prow, surrounded by corpses. His lithe frame was rigid with tension as he shouted to the sky, chanting in the language of dragons: “—and I invoke the mighty Frinshir to come forth that I, Latrimun Roach, servant of the Black Temple and Erudite sorcerer of the Ninth Pavilion, might use her powers in battle to—”
“Shut up,” she yelled. The skimmer dipped beside the ship’s helm and Keriya jumped from its back, landing on deck, drawing Sethildras to face Roach head-on.
“—to defeat our enemies, and . . .” Roach faltered. Something was wrong. He’d lost the feeling of power that always coursed throu
