“We’ll have to let it go!” she gasped, but behind her Rapskal shouted, “No!” and waded in with a will. Heedless of the tail that wildly lashed through the water, he proceeded to jab the thing half a dozen times with his own fish spear. Dark blood tendriled through the murky water and the fish only redoubled its efforts.

“Pull out my spear! Don’t let it carry it off!” Thymara shouted at Alise. She was soaked to the waist and grimly clinging to the spear.

“Nor mine!” Tats shouted. “Thymara, that’s my last one!”

“Out of the way!” Sintara trumpeted, but gave no one time to obey her. The dragon lumbered into the water as Rapskal frantically tried to avoid her.

“Thymara!” Tats shouted, and then Sintara’s unfolding wing hit her. The water seemed to leap up and seize her; the spear was jerked from her hands. Then something large, flat, and alive struck her, rasping fabric and skin from her left arm before propelling her into deeper water. She opened her mouth to shout a protest and silty water filled it. She blew it out, but had no air to replace it. She held her breath desperately. She had never learned to swim; she was a climber, made for the canopy, and she floundered in this foreign element that had seized her and was hurrying her along to somewhere.

Light broke over her face suddenly, but before she could take a breath, she sank again. Someone, she thought, had shouted something. Her eyes stung and her arm burned. Something seized her, engulfing her torso and squeezing. She beat at the scaly thing with her fists, and her mouth burst open in an airless scream. It dragged her through the water and then out of it. A thought penetrated her mind. I have her! I have her!

Then she was hanging from Mercor’s jaws. She could feel his teeth through her clothes. He held her gingerly, but still they scratched her. Before she could react to being in a dragon’s mouth, he dropped her on the muddy riverbank. A circle of shouting people closed around her as she gagged up river water and sand. It ran in gritty streams from her nose. She wiped at her face and someone pushed a blanket into her hands. She dried her face on a corner of it and blinked her eyes. Her vision was blurry, but it slowly cleared.

“Are you all right? Are you all right?” It was Tats, kneeling next to her, soaking wet, and asking the same question over and over.

“It’s my fault! I didn’t want to let the fish go. Oh, Sa forgive me, it’s all my fault! Is she going to be all right? She’s bleeding! Oh, someone get some bandaging!” Alise was pale, her red hair hanging in wet streamers down her face.