Crossroads 04 - The Dragon Isles (23 page)

 
          
Trip
guessed that Lady Kell’s room would have a similar porthole in the
ship’s
opposite hull. Moving quietly, the kender crept from Lord
Kell’s cabin and put his small ear to Misa Kell’s door. No voices came from
within.

 
          
As
he opened the door, though, a quiet gasp came from inside. Trip froze. When no
further cry went up, he decided to dare a peek.

 
          
Peering
into the darkened cabin, he saw Misa Kell lying on a simple palette near the
stem. She was alone. Sweat dripped from her brow, and—despite the freshness of
the dressing on her wound—the room smelled of blood and old bandages.

 
          
Trip
crinkled his nose and crept silently across the floorboards. Misa Kell groaned
and her gray eyes flicked open. Trip froze again; he couldn’t tell whether she
was actually seeing him, or whether she was lost in some fever dream.

 
          
She
reached weakly toward the kender; Trip backed across the room toward the
curtained porthole.

 
          
“The
light,” she murmured. “I want to see ... the
light .
..
before
I die. Please.”

 
          
Trip
nodded and smiled. “Fll be happy to,” he said. “I was going to leave that way
anyway. I hope you don’t mind.”

 
          
Misa’s
eyes fluttered shut and she groaned again.

 
          
Trip
pulled back the curtain and hoisted himself up to the lip of the portal. He
checked outside to make sure there were no swimmers below. There weren’t.
Before scrambling through, he turned to Misa and said, “Goodbye. I hope you feel
better.”

 
          
Lady
Kell didn’t reply, and Trip couldn’t be sure if she even heard him. With one
final wriggle, he slipped through the port hole and dived into die water below.

 
          
Coming
up for air, he checked the galley’s deck, to make sure no one had seen him. The
lookout was gazing past him, out to sea; the bulk of the ship hid the kender
from the man’s view.

 
          
Cautiously,
Trip swam around to the bow. He knew that there might not be anyone watching
that direction—while the helmsman would surely be stationed near the stem.

 
          
He
paddled cautiously toward the ram, then noticed that some of the crewmen were
clinging there, taking a break from their swim. Trip pressed himself against
the hull and thought hard.

 
          
The
kender knew he couldn’t hold his breath long enough to swim all the way to
shore. He also knew that he’d probably be spotted as soon as he surfaced.
However, he had few other options. He checked the pockets of his lizard-skin
vest and pulled out the last bit of magical seaweed. He stuck it in his cheek
and chewed vigorously.

 
          
Nothing
happened.

 
          
Either
the magic had worn out or there wasn’t enough left to make the spell work.
Either way, it was no use to Trip, so he spat it out Drat! He’d have to do this
the hard way.

 
          
Taking
a deep breath, he dived under the keel of the ship and headed for shore. He
watched Kell’s warriors swimming in the clear surf above him. They would
certainly see him if they glanced down, but Trip hoped they wouldn’t do that.
He also hoped that anyone on deck looking might mistake him for part of the
crowd in the water. He prayed that his leg wound wouldn’t open up again and
attract sharks.

 
          
He
swam as fast and as far as he could, holding his breath until spots danced
before his eyes. Then, with a final surge, he broke the surface about fifty
yards from the boat
A
quick breath and he went back
down again, swimming for all he was worth.

 
          
The
spots came more quickly this time, and he barely made it back to the surface.
He sputtered and coughed as he stuck his head out of the gentle waves. For a
few long moments, he gasped for breath. As he did, he heard a cry of alarm from
the trireme. They’d spotted him.

 
          
He
dived back under again. When he resurfaced, the shouting grew louder. Something
splashed in the water nearby, and Trip realized they were shooting at him. He
ducked back below the waves just as a brass-tipped arrow sailed over his head.

 
          
Again to the surface—nearly out of arrowshot this time.
Trip’s lungs burned, and his head felt dizzy and full of cotton. An arrow
splashed into the water beside him, barely missing his shoulder. He swam on the
surface for a while, trying to clear his skull. Another arrow whizzed past.
Gazing ahead, he saw Jaentarth’s rocky shores—still much too far away.

 
          
Once more under the waves.
Good thing he was the best
swimmer in a family of champion swimmers, if he did say so himself. He saw the
rugged shoreline rising up under him now. The clear water made it easy to pick
out the jagged rocks and coral lining the bottom.

 
          
On
the surface again, breathing more easily now, well beyond the range of the
ship’s bowman.
Before him, though, another problem.
The trireme had alerted the landing party. He saw Lord Kell, Karista, the
healer, and a number of brass- armored guards standing on the hillside. They
were pointing his way and shouting.

 
          
The
shore was close now. With every surge, the breakers carried him forward. “Don’t
get smashed on the rocks,” Trip told himself.

 
          
The
waves pushed him toward the boulders. Trip twisted his body to avoid being
crushed and grabbed with his fingers. He caught a nook on one of the crags and
held on. In the lull before the next wave, he scrambled up out of the surf.

 
          
He
lay on the rocks for a moment, panting,
every
part of
his body burning with exertion. Blood pounded in his ears, mixing with the
crashing of the waves.
Then, another noise rose above the
sounds of blood and water—yelling.

 
          
Raising
his tawny head, Trip saw the landing party coming for him. Every muscle aching,
he thrust himself off the boulder and down the rocky beach. The beach’s stones
bruised his feet through his soft-bottomed boots. He ignored the pain and kept
running. Good thing he was a champion runner too, from a family as good as
running as it was at swimming.

 
          
The
shoreline stretched before him, a hundred yards of rocks and coral. Beyond
them, the surf again, and a sheer cliff face a hundred feet high. Trip liked to
climb, but rock climbing wasn’t his specialty; no, he was a swimmer and a
runner and, if it came to climbing, he was far more at home in a ship’s
rigging.

 
          
“If
I try to climb the cliffs, they’ll shoot me like a duck in a barrel,” he
thought.

 
          
The
sea caves in the cliff face presented a better option. He was willing to bet
that he might be able to lose his pursuers there. And what other choice did he
have?

 
          
Trip
ran for the caves as fast as he could. He splashed into the surf and took them
in
turn,
peering into each one he passed. He turned
down the first two—obviously too shallow—and the third because he heard the
sounds of water echoing back out.

 
          
The
fourth looked more promising. It angled up, out of the water, and disappeared
into semi-darkness. Trip might have explored further, but the sounds of pursuit
made up his mind.

 
          
Not
daring to look back, he ducked into the cave and ran up the slope. The light
grew very dim as the tunnel leveled off, and he found himself squinting.

 
          
He
hoped that his pursuers might not have spotted which cave he went into. That
hope proved short-lived, though, as shouts from the cave entrance told him that
Kell and the others were nearly on top of him.

 
          
Groping
with his hands, he moved down the tunnel as quickly as he dared. The walls
around him were wet and slippery. He dashed forward, and then stopped.

 
          
It
was a dead end.

 
          
He'd
picked a dead end.

 
          
The
kender wondered briefly what they'd do when they caught him. Being locked in
the cabin again wouldn't be so bad. On the other hand, maybe they'd decide that
he was more trouble than he was worth. Maybe they'd decide not to take him to
kendertown, and just get rid of him.

 
          
A
half dozen interesting ways they might kill him ran through Trip's mind.

 
          
Then
he noticed something he hadn't before. His eyes had finally adjusted to the
darkness. There was something odd about the far end of the blocked tunnel—some
source of vague, greenish light.

 
          
Racing
the last few yards, his heart pounding in his throat, Trip gazed at the tunnel
floor. He hadn't noticed the passage descending again, but it must have,
because there, on the floor at the end of the tunnel, was a hole filled with
sea water.

 
          
The
opening was about four feet around, plenty big enough for the kender to jump
into. The vague green luminescence was reflecting up out of the small pool.
Trip looked in and couldn’t see the bottom. Perhaps it was a way out.

 
          
The
sounds of voices close behind him made up his mind.

 
          
Tripleknot
Shellcracker took a deep breath and dived in headfirst.

Council & Conflict

 
          
 
The large moray eel swimming surrepti- tously
through the coral canyons of Darthalla was not an eel at all. It darted from
shadow to shadow, peering into windows, following its sensitive nose. The
scents of the elven city confused it, hut strong purpose burned in its mind:
destroy the Veil, pursue those who have pierced it, discover their secrets,
find
the keys.

 
          
The
voice of Tempest hissed sofdy in the eel’s mind; her visage, huge and wrathful,
danced before its eyes. The eel who was Mog watched, and waited, and lurked
unseen.

 
          
*****

 
          
Mik
swam beside Ula and Shimmer as they trailed Lyssara Drakenvaal through the
maze-like passages of the palace in Darthalla.

 
          
Now
that Mik had a chance to look more closely at him, he could see that
Shimanloreth was exceedingly handsome.
 
         
His
features were strong and well-formed. His hair shone like spun copper,
complimenting his orangish eyes. His skin was tanned and smooth. There was an
elvish cast to his face: the regular features, the arched brows, the slightly
pointed ears—though Mik didn’t think he was actually an elf. Not for the first
time the sailor wondered about the bronze knight—who he was, how he came to
live in the sea, and what was the secret of his amazing armor.

 
          
Ula’s
sister, Lyssara, talked incessantly as they swam down the gently curving
hallway. Her words were eloquent, though Ula seemed unimpressed.

 
          
“It’s
not just your family,” Lyssara was saying. “This concerns the whole of
Darthalla—and even the Isles themselves. Something is wrong with the Veil.
Tempest could never have gotten so close otherwise. The weather has been
erratic as well. Of course storms don’t affect our people as much as they do
the surface dwellers, hut it
has
hindered shipping—which affects everything else.”

 
          
“The
departed gods forbid that Dargonesti should be selfsufficient,” Ula said
sarcastically.

 
          
Lyssara
frowned. “None of us is alone in this world, Ula,” she said, “no matter how
much we might
like
to he. Ah, here
are your chambers. I trust you’ll find them adequate for your brief stay.” She
led them all up a short
slope,
and through a moon pool
into a dry foyer.

 
          
“I’m
sure it will be fine,” Mik said.

 
          
Lyssara
smiled at him, though Mik didn’t think she liked him at all. “I’ll leave you
alone to get settled then,” she said. “It’s late, and I’m sure you’re tired.
We’ll talk again during breakfast.”

 
          
“Or
perhaps we could enjoy our breakfast in silence,” Ula said, imitating her
sister’s false smile.

 
          
Lyssara
grinned back. “See you in the morning.” She dove into the moon pool and swam
swiftly away. Two guards emerged from the water and stationed themselves near
the door to the chamber.

 
          
“We
won’t
be needing
you,” Shimanloreth said.

 
          
The
guards looked at each other, then bowed to Shimmer, and retreated back into the
water and disappeared around a bend in the passage.

 
          
“They’re
probably lurking right around that corner,” Ula said.

 
          
“A
respectful distance,” Shimmer noted. A smile tugged at the comers of his mouth,
and his brazen eyes flashed.

 
          
Their
apartment had a main room with five smaller sleeping alcoves arranged
symmetrically around the edges. The chamber was composed of shaped coral, worn
smooth by the Dargonesti. A large crystal window set into one wall overlooked
the city. Comfortable-looking shells set along the walls served as chairs and
couches. Several large nets for stowing possessions hung from the ceiling. An
opening in one wall led down a short tunnel to a grooming chamber with hot and
cold running fresh water. Each bedchamber featured a web of silky seaweed to
support the sleeper.

 
          
The
three guests took a few moments to freshen up before settling into their
netting.

 
          
“A
nicer prison than last time,” Mik noted. He removed his necklace and set it on
the hammock beside him.

 
          
“I
hope your minnow’s faring well,” Ula said, “since he’s got the key to finding
this treasure.”

 
          
“Trip
won’t let us down,” Mik said. “I just hope you’re reading those clues right.”

 
          
“We’ll
know soon enough if I’m not,” Ula replied.

 
          
“That’s
small comfort.”

 
          
“We
must remember that Aurialastican and its secrets belong to dragons,” Shimmer
said. “The owners departed along with the gods—but the Dragonheights are still
perilous.”

 
          
“How
hard can it be to wander through a vacant house?” Mik asked.

 
          
“Just
because the owner is away, doesn’t mean that the house is unguarded,”
Shimanloreth said. He yawned.

 
          
“We’ll
crack that egg in the morning,” Ula said. “Or after we rescue your kender.”

 
          
*
* * * *

           
The next morning, Mik woke to find
Ula and Lyssara in mid-argument once more. He slitted one brown eye open and
gazed at the elf women; even squabbling, they were still amazingly beautiful.

 
          
"If
the overlords find the Isles, they will destroy us all,” Lyssara said.

 
          
"And
that should matter to me because
... ?”
Ula replied.

 
          
Lyssara
gazed at her sister in disbelief. "Ula Drakenvaal, how can you even think
such a thing?”

 
          
"Are
the Isles any more precious than the mainland?” Ula asked. “I didn’t see our
people rushing to help Ansalon when the overlords came.”

 
          
"The
dragons did what they could,” Lyssara said. "It was all that
anyone
could do.”

 
          
"All
save the gods, who turned their backs on the world,” Ula replied. "No
wonder the world turns its back on the gods. If the metallic dragons weren’t
willing to defend this place, why should I?”

 
          
Lyssara
glared at both Ula and Shimanloreth, who was lounging on a shell nearby. “Some
dragons are willing to fight, as are some people—both human
and
elf.”

 
          
"Like
Benthor and Misa Kell?” Ula asked. "Pardon me if I don’t like the company
you keep, sister.”

 
          
“Ula,
these are
your
people, too. We are in
danger—even you and your friends. If you don’t believe me, if you won’t believe
your family, speak to the Sage. She will advise you of the truth.”

 
          
"Who?”
Mik asked, sitting up in his hammock and
stretching. He fetched his enchanted necklace from the bedding and stuck it
securely in his belt.

 
          
Lyssara
looked surprised, as though she’d forgotten about the sailor. “The Sea Sage—an
ancient oracle, tied to the spirit of our people. She counsels us in times of
trouble or need.”

 
          
"The
Dargonesti turn to her rather than think on then- own,” Ula said sarcastically.

 
          
Lyssara
ignored her sister’s jab. “The sage says that every
Dargonesti
soul—even
the least—will be needed in the dark times ahead.”

 
          
Ula’s
rolled her green eyes at Mik.
“The
least
meaning
me,
of
course.”

 
          
Lyssara
paced agitatedly around the room.
“No
, ”
she said, “I’m saying that
all
are needed.”

 
          
Mik
pulled himself out of his sleeping web and stretched again. “This sage sounds
pretty wise,” he said, catching Ula’s eye. “Perhaps she could help us with our
current... problem.”

 
          
“As
a matter of fact,” Ula replied, “I’d already planned to visit her on our way to
Aurialastican.”

 
          
Lyssara’s
long eyelashes fluttered, and a surprised smile danced across her lovely face.
“You have? I’m so glad. Some distrust you, my sister, but I know your heart
will not lead you astray. Shall I make the arrangements for you?”

 
          
“No,”
Ula said. “I’ll handle this on my own.”

 
          
“Very
well,” Lyssara replied. “May the tides lift you to
glory.
”
She bowed slightly and left the chamber.

 
          
“ Neath traversed azure wine—Converse with
hoary fates—With tangled hones of vine—To root Green keg awaits, ” Mik recited.
“You think the ‘Green key’ lies with this sage?”

           
“I’m almost certain of it.”

 
          
“It’s
a dangerous path, Ula,” Shimmer warned.

 
          
“All
our paths are dangerous,” Ula replied. “It’s true the Sea Sage can be tricky,
but I’ve dealt with her before.” She paced in tight circles around the chamber,
rubbing her chin with one slender hand. “I’ll make the necessary preparations.
Mik, you and Shimmer should hire some draken rays for our trip to
Aurialastican.”

 
          
“No,
I want to go with you to visit this Sage,” Mik said. Ula arched one platinum
eyebrows
at him. “Outsiders are usually not permitted.”

 
          
“Worried
about protocol, Ula?” Mik asked, his brown eyes twinkling.

 
          
“All
right,” she said. “You can come, but we need steeds in any case.”

 
          
“I’ll
hire them,” said Shimmer.

 
          
“Good,”
Mik said. He looped his arm through Ula’s elbow. “You and I can pick up some
breakfast on the way. I’m starving.”

 
          
*****

 
          
Shimmer
left to find suitable draken for their trip while Ula and Mik stopped for
breakfast and went to gather provisions to visit the Sage. Shimmer gave them
some money to cover expenses and Ula converted the change into small bits of
jewelry, which she wove into her sparse clothing.