Crossroads 04 - The Dragon Isles (24 page)

 
          
Mik
marveled at the beauty of the Dargonesti city; it was even more spectacular in
the daylight than it had been the previous night. The shell-like spires and
reefs of Darthalla stretched almost to the surface above, and far into the
indigo darkness below. The city teemed with elves swimming about their daily
business: aristocrats and traders, hunters and fishers, kelp farmers, tuna
herders, and undersea vintners. Shell-armored riders on the backs of huge
draken rays glided through the streets, keeping the peace.

 
          
The
elves themselves were something to behold, too— slender and graceful, with
delicate features and sparkling eyes. Few were as lovely as Ula or her sister,
but most put human beauties to shame. Mik avoided gawking as much as possible.

 
          
The
magic of his necklace worked well during their sojourn, though he lost two more
jeweled scales. He experienced none of the difficulties he had earlier, which
left him hoping that the problems were merely a side effect of Karista’s magic
seaweed. In his heart, though, he knew the magic of the amulet—like all magic
in Krynn—was gradually failing.

 
          
After
completing their errands, Mik and Ula hooked up with Shimmer near the edge of
town. The bronze knight helped Ula and Mik mount their leathery indigo steeds,
then
swung into his own saddle.

 
          
“Follow
me,” Ula said, urging her draken ray forward.

 
          
Mik
and Shimmer fell in behind, and they quickly faded into the hazy blue distance.

 
          
* * * * *

 
          
Mog
could not hold fishy shapes forever. Lurking in the shadows of Darthalla taxed
his ability, strength, and willpower nearly to its limits. He had used other
disguises besides the eel: fish, octopus, and—once—even sea elf. This last had
strained him mightily; his scales twitched at the thought of it.

 
          
Still,
the dragonspawn’s ruses had worked. Amid his enemies, he remained undiscovered.
Several times he had been forced to take refuge in hidden places to resume his
own form and rest for a while.

 
          
Doing
so had hindered his mission to track Mik and the others—but always he had
regained their scents. During the night, he had even taken time to feed. He’d
hidden the elf s hones beneath a boulder, in the deepest trenches of the city.
Likely, no one would ever find the remains of the dragonspawn’s latest victim.

 
          
Hiding
in the wide seaweed beds beyond the city proved an easier task. Mog’s scales
blended in amid the tall kelp near the Sea Sage’s lair. The ocean floor fell
away here, into a deep, weed-filled sinkhole. Mog’s quarry tethered their
draken rays in the kelp nearby. Then the blue elf woman and the sailor went
down into the hole, while the bronze warrior waited near the top.

 
          
Mog
wondered which one of them had the black diamond key. He considered slaying
them one by one to find
out,
hut a voice in the hack
of his brain whispered “No!” Wait and watch.

 
          
Mog
shrank hack into the weeds. His time had not yet come.

 
          
* * * * *

 
          
Mik
and Ula wound their way down into the wide pit that formed the lair of the Sea
Sage. The kelp around them swayed sensuously, like thousands of dancing snakes.
It made the hair stand up on the back of Mik’s neck; Ula showed no signs of
feeling anything similar.

 
          
Mik
pushed himself to keep up with the Dargonesti. She moved with the grace of a
dolphin and the speed of a razorfish. The weeds didn’t seem to touch her; Mik
had to work hard to avoid becoming hopelessly entangled.

 
          
They
pressed ever deeper, and the azure light above faded gradually to indigo. As
the light lessened, the weeds thinned out, until they saw the sandy ocean bed
rising up before them. It was as though they were at the bottom of a very deep
bowl, surrounded by seaweed. On one side of the clearing, a green reef rose
from the silt. A cave, slightly taller than a man, opened up in the reefs face.
The grotto was not very deep, and mossy emerald weeds lined its floor.

 
          
In
the middle of the circle of sand at the clearing’s center lay a small coral
pedestal. It was shaped like a tiny column and carved with runes that Mik could
not read.

 
          
“This
is it,” Ula said. “Remember,
you
are
not supposed to be here. Say
nothing
.”

 
          
Mik
nodded.

 
          
Ula
opened the small sack she’d brought down with her. She pulled out five sand
dollars and a large golden starfish. Tiny pearls decorated the starfish’s arms
and there was a circular depression, slightly larger than the tip of a man’s
thumb, in the center. Ula took a large bluish pearl from the pouch and placed
it in the depression.

 
          
Immediately,
the sea around them began to bubble and swirl. A ghostly wailing sound emanated
from the cave and built quickly to a deafening roar. Mik covered his ears with
his hands and squinted, trying to see through the roiling waters.

 
          
A
shape moved at the cave mouth, just at the edge of his vision. The thing was
huge, much larger than the wizened

 
 
          
crone
Mik had been expecting—taller and broader than even a
minotaur.

 
          
Quickly,
the bubbles faded and the water calmed to uncanny stillness.

 
          
Beyond
the coral pillar, in front of the cave, stood the Sea Sage. She was twelve feet
tall and made entirely out of seaweed. Her green eyes blazed brightly in the
indigo darkness. She spoke with a voice like ancient ship timbers breaking.

 
          
“Who
dares disturb my rest?”

The Pirates' Lair

 
          
The
water was chillier than Trip had exit pected, and he almost gasped out his air
as he sank under the dark brine. In a moment, though, he regained his
composure. Just before he was about to take a breath he remembered—and he was
proud of this considering the fix he was in—that he didn’t have any magical
seaweed.

 
          
Green
and indigo shadows surrounded the kender. He reached out with his hand to make
sure they were as insubstantial as they seemed, and felt slightly disappointed
when they were. Then he remembered the real threat—the men who were coming to catch
him.

 
          
He
gazed up at the surface, but saw only a vague, gray oval. No searchers yet—but
he knew they couldn’t be far behind. Turning, he dived down deeper. The strange
green luminescence didn’t make it much easier to see, and the kender had to
grope his way through the semi-darkness.

 
          
The
hole wasn’t as deep as he’d thought. He found the rocky bottom only three
fathoms down. For a moment, he feared he was trapped. Then he noticed that the
passage split in three directions. Neither the green light nor the current gave
any indication which would be the best way to go.

 
          
For
a moment, he thought about turning back. But a quick glance upward showed that
his pursuers had found his escape hole. Trip couldn’t be sure if they saw him
in the gloom, but he didn’t intend to make things any easier for them.

 
          
Though
he was an expert diver (part of his swimming talent), he doubted that he could
hold his breath longer than they’d care to hang around the hole. He could think
of only one thing to do.

 
          
Trip
pulled the thong of his lucky treasure finder from around his neck. He knew it
was a long chance, but the amulet had worked for him in the past He held the
rock out before him in the dim light, and moved it around in front of the three
diverging tunnels.

 
          
Astoundingly,
the small pointed rock began to spin in front of the right hand passage. He
took a moment—but only a moment as he was fast running out of air—to check his
findings. Then he kicked hard into the right hand tunnel.

 
          
He
swam holding the treasure finder in front of him. The gloom seemed to go on
forever as Trip swam. He was already tired from being chased to the caves. Soon
his lungs burned and once more spots danced before his eyes.

 
          
Just
as he feared he’d drown in the darkness, the green light grew stronger. The
passage opened up before him and the ceiling fell away. Dizzy, the kender
groped his way to the surface. He thrust his head out of the water and gasped
for air.

 
          
He
leaned against the lip of the opening for a few moments, panting to catch his breath.
Then a vague rattling sound caught his ear. Trip looked up and nearly fell back
into the water.

 
          
The
green light suffusing the cave came from glowing lichens on the wet rock walls.
A hissing breeze blew from some unseen source, making a sound like a snake
ready to strike. The room was filled with human bones. Some lay scattered
across the floor. Others dangled—like hideous marionettes—in mildewed netting.
The breeze tugged on the bones, making the eerie ratding that Trip had first
heard. The gruesome sight, though, wasn’t what nearly caused the kender to lose
his grip.

 
          
Trip
broke into a huge grin. A vast store of pirate loot lined the tiny cavern:
rusting weapons, tattered clothing, rotting draperies, some furniture, and
several upturned chests of coins. The chests’ contents lay spilled across the
cave’s stone floor.

 
          
“No
wonder the treasure finder spotted this place,” Trip said, his small voice
filled with awe.

 
          
He
pulled himself up out of the hole and took a good look around. While, to a
kender, the cave seemed a veritable archive of interesting things, Trip’s long
years as a treasure diver made him realize that few of the items held any real
value.

 
          
The
steel coins—which must have formed the majority of treasure in the chests—were
now little more than piles of rust. Some gold and silver pieces lay scattered
among the detritus, though. Trip scooped up a few scant handfuls of these and
stuffed them into the pockets of his lizard skin vest.

 
          
The
bones, he assumed, came from pirates or their victims. All seemed to have met
grisly ends; some still had rusting weapons protruding from their skulls and
ribcages. Trip figured that everyone who knew about this place must have died
in the massacre, or surely someone would have come for the treasure long ago—rather
than leaving it here to rot.

 
          
The
furniture and clothing had fared little better than the steel pieces. It
saddened Trip’s heart to see what must have once been wonderful things treated
so badly. “Sea worms would have been kinder,” he muttered.

 
          
He
turned up a few small pearls amid the rubbish, but only costume gems and jewelry.
A nice piece of gold embellished with cut rhinestones he stuck in a pocket.
“For Ula,” he told himself.

 
          
Then
something in the corner of the room gave him a start. At first, he thought it
was a person. Then he realized that it was actually an old, hooded cloak,
propped on top of a chest and leaning against the cavern wall. The cloak looked
bulky and solid—like a tarpaulin—and it shimmered in the dim light.

 
          
Moving
closer, Trip saw that it was covered with tiny greenish scales. The cloak’s
surface rustled in the faint breeze, and the scales glistened.

 
          
Trip’s
mouth dropped open in appreciation and awe. “I wonder what kind of lizard it
came from?” he asked himself. His face brightened as he gazed at the
seaweed-like fringe around the cloak’s edges. “Maybe it’s from a sea serpent!”
It didn’t resemble the skin of the monster that had attacked him a few days
ago, but it did remind him of a sea serpent he’d seen once on a previous voyage
with Mik. His heart beat faster at the prospect.

 
          
Throwing
caution to the wind, the kender skipped forward and grabbed the cloak by the
hem. As he did, a creaking sound came from within the fabric. The kender looked
up, and saw a skeletal face bearing down on him as the cloak lumbered forward.

 
          
Trip
yelped and drew the daggers from his boots. He slashed with the small blades as
the thing in the cloak lurched toward him. He stepped back, swinging again and
again, trying to remember how far it was to the passage opening, hoping he
could make it that far.

 
          
Then
it fell on him. The kender went down, his legs and arms flailing. He felt his
knives cut into something hard. Cold fingernails slashed his face. The cloak’s
darkness enveloped him. The thing’s smothering presence bore him to the ground.
Its foul odor clogged his nostrils.

 
          
He
stabbed at it, again and again and again as its dead weight pressed down on
him. Something clattered and the kender felt teeth scrape against his cheek. He
tried to roll away, but the cloak wouldn’t let him out. He was trapped— pinned
in a heavy, dank robe of darkness, trapped with an undead creature that wanted
his life.

 
          
Unable
to think of anything else to do, he kicked hard, aiming at the creature’s
groin. His soft boot met only the yielding serpent cloak. The cloak flapped up
in the back and the sickly green light of the cave beamed in.

 
          
Trip
found himself staring eye to eye with a skeletal face. He smashed his forehead
against the bridge of the things nose,
then
reeled
back as sparks flew inside his head. “By all the gods, let go of me!” he
shouted.

 
          
He
tried to roll to the other side, away from the undead face. This time, the
cloak gave way and he tumbled out into the light of the pirates’ lair. He
scrambled to his feet and backed against the wall, holding his pearl-handled
daggers before him.

 
          
The
cloaked thing lay between Trip and the underwater passage—his only means of
escape. It crouched in a heap on the damp cavern floor, waiting for him to try
and pass. Panting, Trip held his ground.

 
          
The
thing didn’t move.

 
          
Trip
held his breath. The thing still didn’t move. A small breeze wafted through the
cave, and the scales of the serpent-skin cloak glistened in the wan light.

 
          
“Well?
Come on!” Trip called to the undead creature.

 
          
Still
the thing in the cloak did not move.

 
          
Slowly,
a realization came to the kender. Mustering his curiosity, he strode over to
the cloak and gave it a hard kick.

 
          
“Maybe
your family should have called you ‘Timberhead’ rather than Shellcracker,” Trip
said to himself.
“Because sometimes you’re as dense as a
pylon.”

 
          
He
grabbed one edge of the serpent-skin cloak and gave it a good yank, like the
kender magician he’d once seen pull a tablecloth out from under a dinner
service. The cloak flew into his hands while the thing inside it clattered to
the floor—which, come to think of it, was pretty much the same result the
magician had obtained.

 
          
Bones.
Nothing but old bones with a curved
knife sticking out of the ribs.
The man must have died sitting in the
comer of the cave with his cloak on. He’d been moldering there quietly until
Trip yanked on the cloak—at which point the corpse tumbled on top of the
startled kender.

 
          
“Timberhead,”
Trip said to himself.
“Fighting a pile of old bones.”
He laughed, but the laughter echoed eerily in the small cave, so he stopped.

 
          
He
held up the cloak and gave it a good looking over. “You’re lucky you didn’t cut
it to ribbons, fighting imaginary spooks,” he said aloud. Then he smiled.

 
          
The
sea serpent cloak was quite beautiful, in a shabby sort of way—and in amazingly
good condition for something that had been sitting in a dank cave for who-knew-
how-long.

 
          
Trip
threw it around his shoulders and immediately felt both warmer and not so wet.
“You
must
be sea serpent skin,” he
said, “because regular lizard isn’t so warm.” Pleased with his find, he
returned to poking around the pirates’ lair.

 
          
Sadly,
Trip had turned up all there was to see before his desperate fight with the
dead pirate. After topping off a few pockets with the remaining coins, he
looked for another way out. “They can’t have brought all this loot through the
hole in the floor,” he reasoned.