The Day Of The Tempest

by Jean Rabe

  Chapter 1

  DEATHS AND BEGINNINGS

  The increasing pressure of the cool blue water snapped Dhamon awake. He was floating just above the lake’s silty bottom, his long hair fluttering like the fronds around him, his chest burning for air. He ached terribly from his fight with the dragon, but somehow he managed to summon a last bit of strength, kicking hard and struggling toward the surface. As he rose, he felt his limbs grow heavy and numb. Dhamon felt himself slip toward the comforting embrace of darkness. Then his head broke the surface and he gasped, coughing up a lungful of water and greedily gulping in air.

  His hair was plastered over his eyes, but through a gap in the strands he spotted Palin, Feril, and Rig walking up a hill, away from the edge of the lake.

  “Feril!” He raised his arm and thrashed about to get the elf’s attention. But he wasn’t loud enough. She was too far away to hear him, and getting farther with each passing heartbeat.

  “Feril!” he called again; then something brushed against him and dosed around his leg. His cries were silenced as he felt himself being pulled under. Water rushed down his throat and the darkness reached up and swallowed him.

  *

  Just before dawn, Flint’s Anvil eased away from the Palanthas docks. The green-hulled carrack glided as swiftly and silently as a wraith through the maze of fishing boats already dotting the deep bay. Palin Majere moved toward the bow, listening to the soft splash of the fishing nets hitting the water and the nearly imperceptible creaking of the Anvil’s deck beneath his sandaled feet.

  The son of famed Heroes of the Lance Caramon and Tika Majere as well as one of the few

  survivors of the Battle of the Rift, Palm was called the most powerful sorcerer on Krynn. Yet for all his magical skills and arcane knowledge, he felt powerless against the dragons threatening his world. He cursed himself for having been unable to save Shaon of Istar and Dhamon Grimwulf when the blue had attacked yesterday.

  Palin leaned against the rail and stared at a spot on the horizon where the rose-tinted sky met the waves. His gray-streaked auburn hair whipped about in the wind, and he halfheartedly brushed it away from his eyes and yawned. Sleep had escaped him last night. He had lain awake listening to the sounds of the workers repairing the Anvil’s mainmast, which the dragon had snapped in half during its assault. When the work was completed, he had listened to the water lapping against the hull and had thought about his dead friends.

  “We’re far enough out!” called Rig Mer-Krel, the sea barbarian who captained the Anvil He motioned to Groller, the half-ogre standing by the rear mast. Then he raised his arm, pointed to sails, clenched his fist, and brought his hand in quickly toward his chest.

  The deaf half-ogre nodded in understanding of Rig’s hand signals and started lowering the sails, stepping around Fury – the red wolf sleeping near the base of the mast. The rest of the Anvil’s complement stood amidships. The group formed a ring around a human-shaped bundle carefully wrapped in an old sail. Jasper Fireforge, nephew of the legendary Flint Fireforge, knelt next to the bundle and ran his stubby dwarven fingers over the silk cord wrapped around it. He mumbled a few words to the absent gods of the sea, stroked his short brown beard, and choked back a sob.

  Behind him stood Feril. The Kagonesti closed her eyes, and tears slid down over the oak leaf tattoo on her cheek. “Shaon,” she whispered. “I will miss you, my friend.”

  “I’ll miss you, too,” softly echoed Blister, a middle-aged kender. She grimaced as she fidgeted with the white gloves on her small hands; “You’re the only person I ever told about... about my —”

  “Shaon loved the sea,” Rig began, his resonant voice cutting off the kender’s reflections. “I often joked that salt water, not blood, ran in her veins. She was more at home on the rolling deck of a ship than on solid ground. She was my first mate, my friend, and my...” The mariner’s big frame shuddered as he stooped to cradle the bundle. His muscles strained, for the body was weighted with ballast to help it sink. “Today we return her to that which she cherished.”

  He walked toward the railing and paused, picturing Shaon’s walnut-brown face beneath the canvas. He would miss the feel of her skin against his and he would never forget her infectious smile. He dropped the first mate’s body over the side of the ship and watched it quickly sink out of view. “I will never forget you,” he said, so softly that no one else could hear.

  Feril stepped to the rail beside him. The breeze fanned her curly auburn hair around her shoulders and teased the tips of her pointed ears. “Dhamon Grimwulf died, too, though we could not recover his body. He abandoned his life as a Knight of Takhisis to take on a noble cause, and he sacrificed himself to slay the blue dragon who killed Shaon.” The Kagonesti held a leather thong in her slender hand. She had found it among the scant possessions Dhamon had brought aboard the Anvil. She paused to tie the short strip of leather around an arrowhead. “Dhamon brought us together. Let us honor his memory – and Shaon’s – by staying together and reclaiming our home from the dragons.” The arrowhead and thong slipped from her fingers and plunged into the sea much as Dhamon and the blue dragon named Gale had plunged to their deaths into the nearby lake.

  For a long while the only sound was the faint creaking of the ship’s masts. Finally Rig backed away from the rail and nodded to Groller. The half-ogre raised the sails, and the dark-skinned mariner made his way to the wheel.

  *

  Noon, several days later, found Rig, Palin, Blister and Feril drenched with sweat, standing in the desert of the Northern Wastes. Before them sat a foot-long curly-tailed lizard. It flicked its forked tongue and peered with special intent at the Kagonesti, who was communicating with it. The others looked on, but understood none of the unusual conversation.

  “Only for a short time can I share this desert, little one,” Feril said aloud in clicks and hisses. “Run with me across the sand. Enjoy with me my very, very beautiful home. Plenty of desert for everyone.”

  “It is a most beautiful desert,” Feril admitted. “But I need to know —”

  “Catch with me insects. Crunchy beetles. Sweet butterflies. Juicy hoppers. Very, very juicy hoppers. Plenty for everyone.”

  “I’m not interested in insects,” Feril explained. The lizard looked disappointed and turned away.

  “Please don’t leave,” she hissed, kneeling dose to the lizard.

  “What are they talking about?” The kender asked, eyeing them with typical wide-eyed curiosity. “Rig, do you know what they’re talking about? All I hear are hissing noises. Sounds like a couple of tea kettles.”

  “Shh!” the mariner scolded.

  “I wish I knew how to use magic like that,” Blister said huffily. “I’d be able to talk to anything... everything.” The kender crossed her arms and glared down at the ground, at least what she could see of it over her thin orange tunic that billowed about her short legs in the hot, dry wind. The tunic was another sore point. That morning, when Blister had come up from below deck wearing the large orange garment along with green gloves and a green belt, Rig had said she looked like a ripe pumpkin. The comment was enough to make her doff her matching orange boots in favor of brown sandals and to leave her green hat behind. “Palin, couldn’t you cast a spell or something so we can all understand what the lizard is —”

  “He’s telling me about his big desert,” Feril said, briefly glancing at Blister. She reached out and scratched the top of the lizard’s head and resumed hissing and clicking.

  “It is an awfully big desert,” Blister admitted as she glanced at the sea of sand spreading away from them in all directions. She had to strain her eyes to see the Anvils masts edging into the northern horizon. So thin and far away, the kender thought they looked like sewing needles sticking out of the white fabric of the landscape. “I know it’s a very big desert because I saw a map of it. Dhamon bought the map in Palanthas several weeks ago – before we went into the desert way south of here. Shaon was with us.” She paused when she saw Rig’
s lips tighten at the mention of Shaon. “Of course,” the kender quickly continued, “Dhamon didn’t have the map for very long. Spawn attacked us and frightened away our horses, and the map was on Dhamon’s horse, which is who knows where now. Do you think the horse is alive? Do you think we’ll need another map? Or maybe the lizard could sort of, you know, draw a map in the sand with its tail. Or maybe we —”

  “Shh!” Palin and Rig admonished practically in unison.

  The kender thrust out her bottom lip, ground her heel into the sand, and stared at the curly-tailed lizard, which was staring attentively at Feril.

  “You’re very smart,” the Kagonesti hissed.

  “Very, very smart,” the lizard added. It sat back on its small haunches and looked up at her smooth, tanned face and sparkling eyes. “Smartest one in this wonderful desert.”

  “I’ll bet you know a lot of what goes on here.”

  “Know everything,” the lizard replied, puffing out its small chest

  “What do you know about a blue dragon?”

  “Blue?” Its curly tail straightened for an instant, and it bunked at her quizzically. “Brown like mud?”

  “Blue like the sky,” she corrected.

  Its mind whirled in deliberation. “The very, very big lizard?” Feril nodded.

  “Wings? Like a bird?”

  “Yes, die dragon can fly.”

  “Stay with me away from the very, very big lizard,” the curly-tailed one lectured. “It will eat you very, very quickly.”

  Blister tugged on Rig’s pant leg. “I wonder if Feril’s telling the lizard this was really all your idea. We all preferred to go to Southern Ergoth after the White. You’ve got Dhamon’s lance, and you might be able to kill it.”

  “It’s my lance.”

  “Now” Blister agreed. “But originally it belonged to Sturm Brightblade, and he used it In the War of the Lance a long time ago. And then it belonged to people who took it apart and kept the pieces as souvenirs. And then Dhamon and Palin put it all back together, and then the lance belonged to Dhamon until he died. Maybe you should have brought it along in case we run into a dragon. Maybe you shouldn’t have left it on the ship with Groller and Jasper. Maybe we should be heading to Southern Ergoth instead.”

  “We will go to Southern Ergoth,” Rig said emphatically.

  “Good, but I still think you should have brought the lance.”

  Rig sighed and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Listen, Blister. I don’t know how to use the lance. Satisfied?”

  “I thought you could use any weapon. Feril says you’re a walking arsenal.”

  “Swords, daggers, garrotes – those I know how to use. A bola in a pinch, and a couple of others. But a lance is something different entirely. You need both hands for it, and it’s heavy. I want to practice a little bit with it first, become familiar with it. Using a weapon I’m unfamiliar with could do me more harm than good.”

  “So, you’re basically saying that you don’t want Palin to see that you can’t use the lance. That’s why you’re whispering so he won’t hear.”

  Rig groaned. “Blister...”

  “Anyway, why should you drag around a big lance in the desert? It’ll only make you sweatier and hotter and grumpier. You know, you could give it to someone who does know how to use it Maybe Groller could use it or even —”

  “It’s my lance,” the mariner repeated. “I’ll have plenty of tune – weeks, months – to practice on our way to Southern Ergoth.”

  “We should just go to Southern Ergoth right now.”

  “I said we would, but only after we find the blue dragons lair. That dragon killed Shaon, killed Dhamon as it was dying. Dragons have lots of treasure – so they say. And I aim to get as much of it as I can carry.”

  “Well, I’ve never been on a treasure hunt before,” Blister said cheerfully. “It all seems so exciting – even though it’s so hot. I’m surprised Palin’s going along with it, though. He really wanted to go to Southern Ergoth.”

  Rig sighed. “Palm agreed because I’m the captain of the ship, and he needs me to get to Southern Ergoth.”

  “I agreed because I think we can learn more about dragons by studying a dead dragon’s lair” corrected Palin. “We might gain dues that will help us defeat a living one.”

  “That’s provided we can even find the lair,” Blister said. “The couple of birds Feril talked to this morning didn’t seem too helpful. And now this lizard... well, who knows what it’s saying?”

  “Shh!” Feril interjected. “I can barely hear my little friend here.”

  “The very, very big lizard eats everything,” the curly-tailed lizard continued. “Eats camels and —”

  “It won’t eat anything again,” Feril hissed. “It’s dead. A friend of mine killed it”

  The lizard closed its eyes and its dark red tongue flicked in what Feril sensed was a sign of relief. “Very, very glad it is dead.”

  “We want to see where it lived.”

  “Lizard hole is dark and very, very stinky. Smells like death.”

  “You were there?”

  “Once. Went inside chasing beetles, then went outside. Stinky. Did not want beetles that bad.”

  “Will you take us there?”

  “No.” It wrinkled its scaly nose, uncurled its tail, and turned toward the southeast. “The very, very big lizard lived that way. Near rocks that touch the sky. Far walk from here, three days, four, two. But not so far for you. Only one for you, maybe.” It looked at her long legs. “Very glad it is dead. Come run with me across the sand. Search with me for juicy hoppers.”

  Feril shook her head. “I haven’t time today.” She rose and brushed the sand off her knees and watched the lizard scamper away.

  “Did it know anything about the dragon’s lair?” Rig asked. The mariner wiped the sweat from his face and took a long draw from one of his waterskins.

  “This way,” Feril answered, pointing in the direction the lizard had indicated. “Follow me.”

  *

  Shortly before sunset the foursome stopped to rest. They could find no cover and simply sat down on the sand, near a small dune. Palin’s legs ached from all the walking, and his feet burned from the grains of sand that were constantly getting between the soles of his feet and the leather of the sandals. The thin garments he wore, once pale green, now were dark with sweat and clung to his skin. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something cool.

  “You’re sure the lair is around here?” Rig slumped a few feet away from Palin and kept his eyes on the Kagonesti.

  “In this direction, yes,” Feril replied.

  “How much farther?” The mariner tugged off his shirt. His dark skin gleamed, and he futilely tried to blot himself dry with the sweat-soaked shirt. Then he put it back on. “We’ve been at this all day. Maybe talking to animals wasn’t the best way to find the dragon’s lair.”

  “And you have a better suggestion? This whole trip was your idea, Rig Mer-Krel” she reminded him. “If you hadn’t been so set on finding the dead dragon’s lair and getting rich, we’d be....” She let the words trail off. Home, she thought, we’d be well on our way to Southern Ergoth – my home until the white dragon moved in.

  Feril turned her back to the two men and concentrated on the warm wind playing across her skin. She was enduring the heat much better than her grumbling companions. A wild elf, she was inured to many of the vagaries of nature, and she savored rather than despised dramatic climates. She stared at the steadily dropping sun. A brilliant ball, it was painting the desert a pale orange-red. It was captivating, and she wished for a moment that Dhamon was alive and here to share it with her.

  “At least we won’t be sweating when we get to Southern Ergoth,” Blister offered. She gingerly raised her gloved hands to her head and fussed with her braids. She sucked in her bottom Up when her fingers started to ache, and decided to leave her hair as it was. “Wonder how cold it’ll be there? Probably not as cold as it is hot here. I’m dro
wning in sweat”

  The mariner smiled – his first smile since Shaon’s death. He emptied his second waterskin into his mouth, leaned back against the dune, and closed his eyes. He wondered what Shaon would think about him traipsing across the sand and looking for a hok in the ground where a dragon – the dragon who killed her – once lived.

  The sound of flapping wings interrupted Rig’s thoughts. He glanced at a rise in the sand several yards away. A vulture had come to roost and was watching them; a few more birds circled high overhead.

  Feril feverishly worked a lump of clay into a miniature sculpture of the bird. She concentrated on the smells and sounds of the desert around her and then felt her mind floating on the warm wind toward the vulture. She intensified her concentration until the connection was made across the distance and she had entered the vulture’s thoughts.

  Dying soon? it cawed loudly, the shrill tones filling her head. My belly rumbles and you would fill it nicely.

  She shook her head. I plan on living a long time.

  Humans without camels do not live long in this heat, it cawed. Soon you will stumble and not get up. Soon you will smell sweetly of death and we will feast.

  You like the smell of death. It was a statement, but Feril saw the bird bob its head in assent.

  So sweet, it cawed.

  Perhaps you know a place nearby where the smell of death hangs heavy?

  *

  Just as the stars winked into view, the quartet spotted an enormous rocky rise. It stretched across the sand like the spine of some half-buried beast, and it reached at least forty feet high in places.

  “Rocks that touch the sky,” Feril whispered, remembering the curly-tailed lizard’s words. “The dragon’s lairs here.”

  Palin brushed by her and walked toward a cave entrance. It was incredibly wide and low to the ground. It looked like a great, dark shadow cast by the ridge above it and was practically hidden by the night sky. Even in daylight it might be difficult to spot because of the shadows.

  The mariner raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see any dragon tracks.”