“We should land,” Sters growled again, voice raised against the roar of the rain. No one answered. How he hated that! It made him want to whip his oar around in a circle and brain the lot of them.

When the deluge began, the four pursuers were a quarter mile downriver from the fallen sycamore and the standing stone. Now, they might be anywhere. They saw nothing, save the oars in their hands and the water rising around their boots in the belly of the canoe.

“Madness,” Sters muttered.

Lightning flared at starboard, and the raindrops became a hail of blinding diamonds. A tree on the east bank blazed like a brand, split in two.

“LAND!” Sters demanded again. The thunderclap thrummed in his molars. His right ear rang like a bell.

“Agreed!” the bard blubbed into the torrent. Yellowhat had it worst at the stern. The floppy brim of his hat was no defense against wind that ripped down the Rakkar and spat rain sideways into his face.

“Not yet! We’re nearly—” Whatever Revel said was drowned out by a blare of thunder. They were dazzled by another strike on the western shore. Now, both of Sters’ ears rang.

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“KEEP ROWING!” Revel shouted.

Sters did just that, putting extra force on every stroke so they tilted toward the western bank. When Revel realized, he fought back. The canoe rocked as each man strained at his oar.

“STAY THE COURSE!” Revel shouted.

Lightning struck the obelisk atop the stone outcrop in a tremendous flare. Sters blinked away stars and shook his head, trying to quiet the peal in his ears. He squinted up through the glare and the rain and tried to set his bearings. The obelisk glowed on. Like a new-made nail, the standing stone glowing cherry red.

As Sters watched, a lick of ruby lightning howled upward and struck the sky. Thunder rocked the canoe, and the river was lit a nightmarish crimson. The bolt left a spiral wound in the storm. The clouds glowed like hot coals and shed glittering sparks.

“WHAT?!” Sters bellowed at El Sha La, pointing his oar at the bloody sky. Her lips moved in answer, but he could not hear.

“ROW!” Revel shouted; his voice seemed acres away. Sters dipped his oar and worried that his eardrums had ruptured. The tinnitus whined away, but a low and persistent roar rose. He was afraid he’d spend the rest of his days deaf as a diver.

When the wall of water slammed into the canoe, Sters felt a moment of stupid relief. He wasn’t deaf! The avalanche roar was just a flash flood that would surely drown them all. All that rainfall in the mountains had to go somewhere, and they were fools enough to row right into it.

As the canoe capsized and the Rakkar sucked them under, Sters wished he’d brained Revel with the oar when he had the chance.