Three of the men who stood over me, hard-bitten warriors carrying stained steel, raced forward to defend their ship. The kryll struck at one and took a lance-cast through the eye that put it down. But no weapon’s edge came close to Vohanna. She thrust a palm toward her attackers and a blast of dark fire smashed them to the deck.
“Ruenn Maclang!” she shouted, ignoring the fallen men who writhed at her feet in agony. “I want Ruenn Maclang.”
As the rest of those around me drew back slightly, I started to call out, to tell the witch where I was. But a third figure stepped between the two of us. This one I knew. He was of that race known as the Vlih, with skin dark as oiled jet and equally dark hair hanging in a coarse mane down his back. His fists were empty of swords for the moment. No blad
