Dragon's Bluff

by Mary H. Herbert

  “Please excuse my manners,” Ulin said. “It has been a busy afternoon.”

  “I noticed. And who are you?” asked the Silver Fox, his eyes on Lucy.

  “I am Lucy, late of Solace. This is Challie of Flotsam, and my betrothed, Ulin, also of Solace. It is a pleasure to meet you, the, uh … sir … Silver Fox.”

  Her emphasis on “betrothed” did not escape the man’s notice. The half-elf dipped his head once in acknowledgment and winked at her. “Call me Lysandros. That’s my own name.” He turned to the dwarf and gave her a brief nod. “Chalcedony, it’s good to see you back.”

  Akkar-bin chose that moment to approach. He looked grimmer than ever. “Get back to the cook wagon, you three. We will pull out as soon as the wagons can be readied.”

  The resistance leader turned slowly on the caravan master. All affability vanished behind a cold, angry mask. “You were a fool to take your caravan on this short-cut. You know this is a favorite ambush site.”

  In unison Lucy, Challie, and Ulin turned accusing eyes on Akkar-bin.

  The Khur drew himself up. “We hadn’t seen sign of the draconians since yesterday,” he said defensively. “I was trying to save time.”

  “Lucky for you, we’ve been watching for your caravan,” Lysandros said, his pale eyes unblinking. “Lucky for you, you had this sorceress.”

  Akkar-bin’s mouth worked over words he wanted to say. His face hardened, then he turned on his heel and went back to his men.

  “Captain!” a pair of shrill voices shouted. “Captain, you’ve got to come see this!” The two kender dashed up to the half-elf, their topknots bouncing with excitement.

  One kender, slightly taller than the other one, spoke first. “There’s four dead men over there and another pool of acid.”

  “And a dead horse!” the second kender added rapidly. “Someone slashed its throat!”

  “And body parts,” the first finished. “There’s blood everywhere, and the stench is awful!”

  Lysandros held up a hand. “Slow down, boys. You talk so fast. I didn’t catch all that.”

  Instead of a reply, the kender grabbed the Silver Fox’s belt and hauled him toward the rear of the caravan.

  Ulin, Lucy, and Challie followed.

  “Four dead men and another draconian?” Ulin said so only Challie and Lucy could hear. “What in the name of Paladine did you use?”

  “Well,” Lucy hesitated. She was reluctant to admit she was as confused as he was. “I think one of the men they saw is the dead driver. The bandits killed the rearguard.”

  “Yes, but another draconian?”

  “And three brigands,” Challie put in.

  Ulin blanched. “But what did you use?”

  Lucy threw out her hands. “Potatoes! I was trying to create that old hot potato spell. It was the only thing I could think of. I just wanted to drive them away.”

  “Potatoes?” Ulin repeated. “What happened to them?”

  “I don’t know. I worked the spell as I always did, but something changed it.”

  They reached their cook wagon and saw a large group crowded around the back. The stink of the dead draconian’s puddle already ripened in the hot air, and flies gathered on the slashed throat of the dead horse.

  Lucy was relieved to see someone had cut the bay horse loose from his dead teammate and had tied the lathered animal to the back of the next wagon. She was not willing to view the carnage again behind the cook wagon, so while Ulin went to see, she untied the horse and walked him to relax his muscles.

  Ulin came back after just a few minutes and fell into step beside her. “I don’t know how you did it, but I am so proud of you.” He chuckled. “And there I was trying to keep one Kapak away from you.”

  “For which I love you beyond words.” She slipped her free arm through his.

  He felt the nearness of her body so close to his, and an urge filled his mind to wrap his arms around her and hold her so that nothing could ever take her away from him. Not plagues, nor magic, nor draconians, nor even the gods. His fear for her, and his fear of more loss and grief, fed the urge until it took all his strength to keep his arms at his sides and his stride steady. “I could not bear to lose you, you know. Not now.”

  “I know,” she said simply. She had met him when he was still mourning for his wife and two children dead from the plague. She had stood by him when the Academy he loved was destroyed, and she had watched him suffer through the disappearance of his father. She knew what she meant to him, and although the depth of his need for her scared her sometimes, it gave her the strength to wait for him to heal.

  Together they walked the horse in companionable silence until he was cool and could be reharnessed alone to the cook wagon. That accomplished, Ulin reluctantly left her to help the Khurs bury their dead.

  Meanwhile the Silver Fox and his troop helped Akkar-bin put the caravan in order. Word spread fast about Lucy’s battle, and everyone came at some point to see the bodies and the pools of dead draconians. A great deal of whispering and hushed talk went on, and more than one warrior came to stare at her in speculative interest until Lucy threatened to get her skillet and bash the next person who eyed her. Of course, the kender thought that would be fun to see and fetched the skillet for her. After that the men kept a respectful distance.

  As soon as the bodies were removed, Lucy and Challie put the cook wagon back in order with the enthusiastic help of the two kender. Lucy made sure Challie’s axe and their personal belongings were kept out of sight of the inquisitive young duo.

  The kender took an immediate liking to Lucy and introduced themselves. The tallest was Cosmo Thistleknot, a cousin, he claimed proudly, of the renegade kender leader, Kronn Thistleknot. The other was a year or two younger and went by the name of Pease Stubbletoes. Both kender had hair the color of honey oak. Their eyes, like bright brown acorns, glinted at her behind rosy cheeks and fields of freckles. Both wore tan-colored tunics and breeches without a kender’s usual clutter of pouches and overfilled pockets. Both were personable and insatiably curious, and yet Lucy noticed the two seemed not so frivolous. There was a serious, harder side that ran through these two like a vein of iron. They had grown up in the shadow of the red dragon overlord and had heard the horrific tales of the destruction of their homeland, Kendermore. They knew what few kender ever learn: fear and the will to fight. They were also very proud to be riding with the Silver Fox.

  “He likes to be called Captain Fox when we’re out trooping,” Cosmo told the women.

  “So what is this troop?” Lucy asked, hanging the skillets back on their hooks.

  Pease tapped the silver fox emblem on his tunic. “We’re the Vigilance Committee.”

  Cosmo swatted his arm. “We’re the Vigilance Force,” he corrected his friend. “The Committee meets in town.”

  “Which town?” asked Lucy.

  “Why Flotsam, of course. We have a very active underground organization,” Pease told her. “We fight ogres, defend caravans, raid the Dark Knights’ patrols …”

  Cosmo’s foot flew out and kicked his companion’s shin. “Shhh!” he whispered loudly. “You’re not supposed to tell anyone!”

  Pease rubbed his arm and glared at the other kender. “We can tell them. They’re not Khurs or Knights of Neraka. That one’s Chalcedony—obviously, she already knows. And she’s a sorceress.” He didn’t add “so there!” but it rang as clear as a bell in his voice.

  “My name is Lucy,” she told them.

  The kender broke off their argument and bowed politely.

  “If you are going to stay in Flotsam, you must come visit us,” Cosmo said. “We have the most disheveled hovels in town.”

  Lucy checked in surprise at his choice of words. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again and thought better of opening that topic of conversation. Kender could talk all day on some of their favorite subjects, and at the moment she was too tired to listen.

  “Who’s the tall man who likes you? Is he
a sorcerer?” Pease asked as he pulled out drawers in the food cupboard.

  Lucy came behind him and closed them again. She smiled a sad smile. “He used to be. His name is Ulin.”

  From outside, the captain’s voice called his riders to mount, and to Lucy’s relief, the kender hastily jumped out of the wagon to fetch their ponies. Several spoons, a bag of salt, and a tin of hot pepper disappeared with them, but Lucy didn’t mind.

  It was early evening before the wagons were ready to roll. Two drivers and seven guards had been buried by the road. The wounded had been bandaged, and the dead bandits were dumped in a gully for the scavengers. In the failing light of sunset the caravan set off under the escort of the Vigilance Force.

  The miles rolled slowly by, and gradually the desolate hills gave way to grasslands dotted with copses of scrub oak, cedar, and wild olive trees. Trees in greater number had grown there once, until the powerful magic of the red dragon had changed the landscape and the weather and turned the lands into waste.

  The single moon rose, shining and full-bellied, and cast a silver light on the dim trail. It was fully dark when Lysandros brought the caravan to a watering hole and called a halt. They were only eight miles from Flotsam, but the animals were weary and the wounded men needed rest. Ulin and his helpers made an easy meal, using all the remaining supplies left in the cook wagon. Everyone enjoyed the beans, spiced potatoes, flat bread, and bacon.

  Dawn came, clean and clear and warm enough to promise another hot day. The caravan left shortly after daybreak and took the road over the grassy hills toward Flotsam.

  Lucy drove, for Ulin had been pressed into service driving one of the freight wagons. Although he still could not manipulate the whip like the Khurs, Akkar-bin put him in the last ox wagon, knowing that on this gentle road, the oxen would simply follow the others. The caravan master then told Lysandros and his company to ride at the rear while he and his remaining guards rode at the front of the train.

  Lysandros lifted one elegant eyebrow at that effrontery but chose to ignore it. He sent most of his riders on to Flotsam while he and a few others rode alongside the wagons.

  Lucy soon realized why. As soon as the caravan was well underway, Challie tugged at her sleeve and pointed, and when Lucy looked around, she saw the captain riding his big gray close beside her. His silver gray hair shone in the early morning light, and his pale blue eyes gleamed like forget-me-nots against his tanned skin. A saber hung at his belt, and a silver horn was fastened to his saddle. He did not look up at her or say anything at first. He rode as if lost in thought and unaware he had pulled so far forward, yet Lucy saw him cast furtive glances at her, and she wondered why. She was honest enough with herself to know she was no beauty, so why was someone as dashing and handsome as the captain studying her so intently?

  She saw Ulin glance back and frown at the rider. She could not resist giving him a smile and a wave. “So”—she turned to the captain—“you are a resistance leader and the master of the Thieves’ Guild? That’s an interesting combination.”

  The half-elf lifted his chin, his mouth curved in good humor. “In this region, the two jobs go well together.”

  “Are you related to the original Silver Fox?”

  He rested his hand lightly on the hilt of his saber and nodded. “I am his youngest son. My oldest brother was the second Silver Fox until the Dark Knights caught up with him. We never found his body. Only this sword, which belonged to our father … and the dismembered bodies of his troop.”

  Lucy hid a grimace. She had lived in a free realm for so long that she could not imagine what life was like under the merciless control of a dragon overlord. She wondered for a hundredth time why her pleasure-loving, irresponsible, rogue of a father had come to Flotsam, and if he had really died in that fire. She heard Lysandros ask her a question, and she pulled out of her thoughts.

  “What are we doing here among the Khurs?” She flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and laughed. “It was the only way we could get to Flotsam. I have come to find my father.”

  He looked up at her obviously intrigued. “Your father is in Flotsam? Who is he?”

  Lucy was so busy shifting her attention back and forth from her task to her companion that she did not see the hard look Challie fired at the resistance leader. “It would be more accurate to ask who was he? The magistrate came to tell us he died. She asked us to come to Flotsam to identify a body.”

  Lysandros pretended to ignore the dwarf and said in a startled voice, “You traveled all the way from Sanction to identify a body?”

  “Actually,” Challie informed him coldly. “We’ve traveled all the way from Solace.”

  Both of the captain’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Solace? But that’s …”

  “Ridiculous?” Lucy offered. “Foolhardy? Dangerous?”

  “I was thinking ‘far away.’ What sort of man engenders such devotion in his family that they would risk so much for his corpse?”

  “One who doesn’t deserve it,” Lucy replied. She caught the startled look on his face and gave her shoulders a slight shrug. “Maybe you knew him. His name was Kethril Torkay.”

  An odd, rather strangled sound forced itself past Lysandros’s tight lips. His face turned the strangest shade of red. “Are you all right?” Lucy asked in genuine concern.

  “I’m sorry,” he managed to sputter. “Something just disagreed with my stomach. Excuse me, my lady.” Making wheezing noises, he reined his horse around and trotted off into the dust.

  “I hope he’s not sick,” Challie said in her driest tone.

  “I’m sure he’s fine. He probably just choked on the memory of my father,” Lucy replied. The corners of her mouth turned down, and her hands tightened on the reins.

  Challie’s expression softened. “Surely your father wasn’t that bad to you.”

  Lucy snorted. “He was a cheat, a con-man, a gambler, a womanizer, and a fake. He abandoned his wife and daughters, and he never bothered to write or visit or do anything to prove that he still cared about them. I’m glad he died a miserable death.” Her voice hardened with each word until she was spitting them out like nails. The sudden intensity of her feelings took her by surprise. She had tried for years to bury her anger and resentment toward her father, and she thought she had been moderately successful, yet all it had taken was the reaction of a stranger and the sympathy of an acquaintance to jiggle loose her poorly constructed defenses. She closed her mouth with a snap and stared down at the rump of the bay horse.

  The dwarf looked around, startled by Lucy’s outburst. “Maybe he was, Lucy, but surely he must have had something positive about him to attract your mother. She seems to be a very nice person. Even if he did nothing else good, he fathered you and your sisters.”

  Challie’s unlooked-for solicitude touched Lucy and surprised her. She shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t explode like that. He wasn’t that awful. That was the problem. He had just enough good qualities that we all adored him. I just wish I could have seen him one more time.” She fell silent, and her thoughts flowed back into the few memories she had of her father.

  Flotsam lay on the southwestern edge of the Blood Sea in the shelter of Blood Bay. It owed its name and much of its existence to the ancient kingdom of Istar whose Kingpriest awoke the wrath of the gods and brought cataclysm upon Krynn. His fabled city sank to the bottom of the Blood Sea where it was lost beneath the great Maelstrom. Bits and pieces, trash and relics washed ashore along miles of coastline, but due to the currents and the curves of the shoreline, much of the flotsam washed into Blood Bay. Drawn by the hope of valuables, the lure of magic artifacts, and ready availability of building materials, a diverse collection of people settled in the area and named their town with simple honesty. Flotsam had gone through many changes since its founding. It had been a pirate hideout, a dragonarmy base, and a flourishing port. Now, under the merciless rule of the Red Marauder, about two thousand of its surviving citizens eked out
a rough existence as best they could.

  Because of the town’s isolation, the population considered the arrival of a caravan from Sanction and Khur a big event. The Silver Fox’s men had spread the word that the wagons were due by noon, so when the wagons wound down out of the hills and into the valley of Flotsam, most of the residents came out to greet them.

  At the dusty end of the caravan, the cook wagon crested the low ridge and started down the long slope. Lucy reined her horse to a halt and stared down on the valley below. The port lay in a cup-shaped vale surrounded by bare hills that ended in bluffs at the water’s edge. A small but deep harbor sat like a blue bowl on the eastern side of the valley, and on the east side of the bay sat the Rock, a thumb-shaped, rugged headland that projected out into the bay and rose more than thirty feet above the water. The Rock was a natural fortress and formed Flotsam’s strongest defense and shelter from the rough storms that plagued the Blood Sea.

  In the midst of this valley, curving around the circular bay like an old dump, stood the most ramshackle, disreputable excuse for a town Lucy and Ulin had ever seen. For a moment they were struck dumb by what they observed.

  “I’ve seen gully dwarf towns that look better than that,” Lucy finally remarked.

  Challie shrugged. “It certainly fits its name.”

  “Welcome to Flotsam, ladies!” Lysandros called. He waved cheerily as he cantered his horse past the wagons. “I’ll see you in town.” He and his men rode on past the caravan and down the road where they disappeared among the rowdy crowd waiting to greet the newcomers.

  Lucy slapped the reins to urge the horse forward, and they followed the other wagons down the hills. They passed a few farms with fields newly plowed for spring planting. Some gentle slopes were rowed with grape vines and olive trees, and here and there a few cows and sheep grazed in small pastures beside the farmhouses. For the most part, the land around Flotsam sat empty and ill-tended. Ruins of burned-out cottages and the gray skeletons of wrecked barns were scattered across the valley, attesting to the numerous depredations of Malys. The closer the caravan drew to the town the more the years of damage became apparent. Crumbling cottages and outbuildings sat in ruins beside the road, some nearly lost in tumbled vines and overgrown weeds. A few huts and hovels looked inhabited, but they were ill kept and shoddy.