Dragon's Ring (31 page)

Then it was back to the waiting game. And watching the sky.

The island of Starsey loomed far larger now, with its patchwork fields and stone walls. Meb thought it looked like a fertile place. Smaller than Yenfar, but more cultivated. And there were other ships to be seen on the sea.

"They've left one vessel to pick up the floats," said Hrolf. "The other one is coming on, under full sail. It held them up for a bit, but not for long enough. And we're losing the wind here."

Finn seemed not to have heard him. He was staring over the stern, squinting a little. He took a deep breath. "You may want to take the skiff and row toward those fishermen. That's Zuamar flying towards us."

The dragon must have been flying fast, because Meb could make out the batwing shape. Fear and anger surged in her. What had they done to him? Well, a few things, sensible Meb admitted. "You reckon it would work, gleeman?" asked Hrolf. "Just leave the tub to sail on, and they won't know we've gone until it is too late?"

Finn looked up again. "No. He's seen us."

"Hrolf! The sea is looking strange," said Mikka urgently. Meb looked at it. For a moment she did not know what he was talking about. Then it came to her. It was nearly still. Off in the distance there were whitecaps. But around their boat it was mill-pond calm. The one thing that was obvious was that the fishing smacks about a mile off were hauling up their sails, in what seemed like an enormous hurry.

"We're in the eye," said Finn. His eyes glittered.

Meb wondered for an instant if this was he meant. Or if this was some kind of magic he was working. He was the last human mage, she was sure now. He must have many a trick up his sleeve. The air felt . . . odd. She swallowed, and her ears popped. She noticed that her step-brothers were looking really afraid. The alvar swan-ship had been closing on them with some speed. Now Meb could see that the sailors were frantically working in the rigging.

Hrolf turned to his brother. "Get three reefs in that mainsail. Jump to it."

He started lashing the rudder.

Meb saw that the sky around them was changing color. Lord Zuamar was flying ever closer. And then, looking towards the land, she saw something else.

They were about to be attacked by another dragon. She yelled and pointed to it. She had to yell, because her ears were being assaulted by the roar of the water—there were three waterspouts rushing up at the tea-colored sky—and they were converging on the alvar ship as they raced across the water.

The attacking dragon coming from the land-side was beating his way up into the air. Zuamar was flying straight toward them—buffeted by the strange storm that raged around the yawl. Meb could hardly see the alvar swan-ship now, it was so obscured in the midst of a seethe of wild water. It appeared to have lost at least one mast.

"Looks like Vorlian is taking exception to Zuamar being too close to his lair," said Fionn in her ear. "And you'd better hold on tight, because those damned merrows have just no idea about how unseaworthy our little fishing-boat is." Meb realized that the shapes in the waves . . . were somewhat familiar.

Above them the two dragons met, and plummeted downward in a spiral of furious fire . . . and suddenly tumbled apart in a chaos of frantically flapping wings, as they were both blown wildly across the sky.

Finn shook his head. "Don't mothers teach these young 'uns of today anything about windshear?" he asked with mock sympathy. "Hold tight. Here it comes."

Meb clutched both the gunwale and her pup, as the rage of the wind suddenly hit them and the water picked up the fat slug of a fishing boat, and flung it about like a . . . well, like a small fishing boat in a hurricane.

Meb was not sure how they didn't sink. She was not too sure how long it went on for, even. It seemed interminable. The boat raced and bucketed, waves slopping over its decks, and the seamen frantically alternated between holding tight and bailing desperately. Meb got soaked to the skin. So did the shivering pup. Yet there was a curiously electrifying and almost joyful feeling to it all. Meb knew that she ought to be frightened for her life. But part of her wanted to shout with glee and laugh.

Eventually the wind slackened, and the battered little yawl sailed out of the cloak of rain and into a gentler ocean. The green bulk of Starsey was gone. Instead ahead lay towering gray cliffs.

"Where are we?" asked Meb.

"That's the back of Starsey," said Finn. "We're in the caldera bowl between Starsey, Pallin and Morth."

"In dead-man's sea," said Hrolf. "Well, we lived through the storm. Maybe we'll get out of this alive too." He didn't sound at all optimistic.

"Wh . . . why is it called that?" asked Meb.

"Because no living man comes back from fishing here," said Hrolf with morbid relish. "The merrows take you down and devour you."

"You'd be having that all wrong, as usual," said a voice from the water. "It's called that because we gather the souls of the dead here. And we're not after eating your kind. We know where you've been."

Wide-eyed fishermen grabbed for anything that could possibly be used as a weapon. Hrodenynbrys grinned toothily at them from the water. "And what do you think you'd be doing with those? If we'd wanted to drown you, we'd not have brought you here." He looked at Finn. "Couldn't you have found a better boat than this ratty little tub with a crew of layabouts?"

"The famous gratitude and grace of the merrows," said Finn sardonically. "Open that brazier, Hrolf. They don't want the piece of flotsam we have worked so hard to bring them."

"Well, I wouldn't be putting it quite like that," said Hrodenynbrys. "No point in being hasty and nasty about it. It's just that a fine vessel would have seemed more . . . appropriate."

"Unfortunately, all the swan-ships were going the other way," said Finn. "Now, having frightened both the Scrap and her pup out of a year's growth, not to mention having got salt onto my cloak, what are going to do about it?"

Hrodenynbrys looked sidelong at the crew. "Well, the Chieftainess Margetha has extended a welcome to all of you below. But I'd be thinking that these fine fellows might be happier out here in the sunlight."

The crew, like a row of puppets on a single string, nodded.

Hrodenynbrys nodded back. "So, we'll bring a bell up for you, Fionn. I'm knowing that your apprentice does not like the swimming much. Near drowned me, she did."

The merrow disappeared beneath the waves with a flick of his tail.

The fishermen looked at the water, warily. "You're not going down there, are you?" asked Mikka.

"Yes. You'd be amazed where gleemen get invited to go to," said Finn. "I'd say we ought to leave our boots behind, Scrap. It's wet down there. And maybe leave the pup as well. We'll be back soon, or not all."

Meb nodded, less frightened because Finn wasn't, and anyway, she trusted 'Brys. You had to watch him, that was all.

A wood-framed bubble—well, that was what it looked like—popped up to the surface of the water. Several merrows pushed it up to the side of the fishing yawl, and flipped it onto its side.

Finn jumped down into it, showing that he was familiar with the device.

"Can you hold my dog?" Meb asked Mikka.

He smiled for the first time since the merrows had appeared and took the pup from her. "Are you sure that it's a dog? More like a half-drowned rat, s—uh, gleeman."

"He's still growing. I shall bring him back in a year or two to bite you if you insult him," she said firmly, winking at her stepbrother, and climbing down into the merrow device.

"Climb up here and sit on the pole," said Finn. "Hold tight onto the handle. They'll flip it in a moment. The first time I fell out into the water."

The strange bubble flipped and Meb nearly imitated Finn's first time, but stayed on the pole more by luck than good judgement.

The whole device began to descend into the depths, hauled down by thick ropes.

"It's not too deep, but they dribble air in as we go. Keep your feet up. The water rises."

"It leaks?" Meb looked out of the now transparent walls of the bubble between its thick wooden struts.

"No, it's the pressure. They're cautious about the time we spend down there and how long they take to bring us to the surface. I can only assume a number of humans died before they got it right. But by now they seem to have got it right."

"There are fish out there!" She ought to be terrified but instead found herself fascinated by it all.

A shoal of silver moved around them, flickering and changing with the light like some huge magical metallic ribbon. "Yes. It's one of the things about water. Fish live in it, in spite of the merrows. And they keep this caldera lagoon as one vast sanctuary, which is why we probably should have told your fishermen friends not to drop a line. Now, to warn you, when dealing with merrows, give as good as you get, Scrap. They respect that."

The bubble was being slowly towed towards tall and impossibly slim towers. Meb blinked. They swayed. She was sure that they did! She asked.

Finn nodded. "They move with the waves. They're not solid—more like an airtight fabric. Very strong."

They came down to the ocean floor, where Meb looked out onto a series of odd, shimmering structures set in a neat double rows in an avenue. "Soul nets," said Finn, "Made of the hair of drowned sailors."

Meb shuddered. "Why?"

"Ask Hrodenynbrys."

They passed down the avenue of soul nets, to a building—if you could call it that, with an enormous roof framework—made of the great timbers of lost ship keels. The bubble was pulled under the edge of a framework, and allowed to pop up into it. Merrows appeared to have been swimming down after them and they came and tipped the bubble on its side again. Meb did fall off the pole this time, but just onto the wall of the bubble. The air was thick and humid and redolent of salt and seaweed. The merrows towed them to a little dock, and helped them out. "Welcome to the place of the merrow, the land beneath the waves," said Hrodenynbrys somewhat formally. He led them up a short flight of stairs and along to a huge chamber. The transparent walls between the pillars gave a view out onto an underwater garden of seaweeds and corals. The light was a little muted by the depth, and the dancing effect of the sunlight on the waves made subtle changes in the varied hues outside. Of course it was a little odd that they were sloshing through knee-deep water. But it was quite warm—a lot warmer than the cold seas of Cliff Cove. "Why is it so warm? I thought it was cold under the sea?" she asked Finn.

"Geothermal vents," he answered. He took in her puzzled expression, and explained. "The inner fires of the world warm the place. Not the safest spot under the ocean to live, but merrows don't do 'safe' very well."

At the end of the room was a throne of pink coral, and in it lounged a woman. Well, her skin was—like Hrodenynbrys's—blue. And she too had tasseled fins. And she'd omitted to wear a blouse. But her chest was . . . uh . . . womanly. Meb understood why sailors were supposed to be distracted into jumping overboard by merwomen. There was quite a lot of exposed chest. Meb found it very embarrassing.

"Didn't I tell you slouching around in that seat would ruin your figure?" said Finn sternly. "You'll end up with a belly as broad as your behind!"

"Fionn! I'd have guessed it was you, if Hrodenynbrys had just said that you were so ugly only a mother could love you." She was smiling as she said it.

"As it was, he said that you were so ugly your mother ran away," said Hrodenynbrys with his usual toothy smile.

Meb found herself mildly offended. She'd never really thought how Finn looked. Just . . . like Finn.

"And this here is his apprentice. Scrap has a fine mouth," said 'Brys. "You know what Scrap told old Shellycoat to do?" And he proceeded to explain it to her in graphic detail, with embellishments.

"And if you'll look at what is on the youth's head, you'll know that old Shellycoat had a long, interesting, uncomfortable day," 'Brys snickered.

"I'd better watch my tongue then," said Margetha.

"If you do, you'll go squint," said Meb, determined to get at least one comment in.

"Ach, you'll do," said the bare-chested female merrow chieftainess, approvingly.

"Has this daft fool told you what he tried to do to us, Margetha?" said Finn, pointing to Hrodenynbrys. "You're likely to have a war with the alvar on your hands."

"Aye," said Margetha. "To be sure they're already demanding you be turned over to them for punishment. At least one prince with a face like a hake is. The description is a bit off though. They said a tall renegade alvar with a foxlike face, and a human mage. They made no mention of the Angmarad, though."

"You know," said Finn, thoughtfully, tugging his wispy beard, "bizarre though this is, they may not know that it is missing. It was not kept in any special place. And we relieved them of a large number of the rubies that Prince Gywndar obsesses about. There were too many of them in one place."