Elementary by Mercedes Lackey Page B

the
contramaestre
shouted. “Cut the lines!” Several men raced for axes from the arms chests, the strongest hacking in desperation at the arm’s-width ropes until one broke and the ship shifted, now held by only the aft anchor. As soon as the
galleas
was moving again, dragging her second anchor until the men cut that rope, the helmsman guided her out of the path of the oncoming fireships while the slaves and
buenaboyas
rowed for their lives. The immediate danger past, Rodrigo and the other sailors stood on the deck, watching the blazing English ships drift idly past without so much as brushing the
galleas
, or any other of the Armada’s ships.
    â€œPerhaps it is time to make him ‘El Draque’ in more than just name?”
Rodrigo was startled by the dry, rusty voice, so clear in his head that he thought it spoken aloud, until he realized the men beside him did not respond to it. He turned to the sea, where he saw nothing but blackness. In the back of his head, however, he felt echoes of Tareixa’s joy and pride of accomplishment.
    Again he heard that rough rasp, the sound shaping itself into laughter as a clear picture flashed behind his eyes. Legends named them draconets, the smaller kin to the dragons. No bigger than a dog, agile and nimble, they still possessed the fire of their much larger cousins.
    â€œAs you will, but have a care,”
he thought to the darkness over the sea, unused to sharing his mind with one who had such clear command of language. The raspy laugh was filled with anticipation as a warm breeze whisked past his cheek, moving counter to the salty sea breeze. He turned to look in the direction of that counter-breeze, spying the stern lantern of the
San Salvador
of Oquendo. No sooner had he identified the ship when an explosion in its stern lit the night, followed by several smaller blasts as fire ripped through the gunpowder stores. The breeze carried the screams of the dying across the water, along with shouts of command as the men struggled to put out the fire and save what they could.
    â€œShe will be taken, but not, I think, by El Draque.”
The draconet’s rusty voice filled Rodrigo’s head and he nodded. Although the draconets were not known for the gift of prophecy of their larger cousins, he did not doubt the truth of what this one told him.
    â€œNow,”
the rough voice said,
“I must return to my home. This salt-wet air is no friend to my kind. I was far from my usual paths when the little one found me.”
Once more, a warm breeze flitted past Rodrigo’s cheek, this time moving to the south at speed.
    Rodrigo smiled at the description of Tareixa as a little one, for she could easily swallow the draconet whole. But her mind and spirit, and that of most of her kin, was childlike and playful. “Farewell,” he whispered to the darkness.
    â€œFarewell to whom? To the poor souls of the
San Salvador
? Why should one smile at their loss?”
    Rodrigo ducked, but he was too slow to avoid the iron grip of Don Ruarte.
    Leaving the
San Lorenzo
to the sea winds, the Don dragged the struggling Galician to his tiny cabin space within the
camarote
. Once inside, he placed his body in front of the door and released Rodrigo. Rodrigo’s lunge for the small window was halted when the air around him vanished, leaving him gasping for long moments until the Don loosened his grip on the winds and he could drag breath into his aching lungs. He turned back to his captor, who stood watching him with folded arms and narrowed eyes.
    â€œThe Inquisitors claimed they had rooted out the last of your kind,” Don Ruarte said. “So successful were they that few now even believe in the existence of the great sea serpents and the fire lizards, much less that there were those who could speak with them and command them. How is it that you, or the one that taught you, survived?”
    â€œI do not command.” Rodrigo kept his head down,