The Day Of The Tempest

by Jean Rabe

  Rig stepped toward the closest cell door, opened it, and shuddered as a nauseating stench wafted out. The cell had no sanitary considerations. Excrement lined one wall, and a half-dozen elves huddled in the rest of the space better suited for two or three. They were gaunt and expressionless, eyes staring unblinking from sunken sockets. Their clothes were filthy, stained with sweat and urine, and their skin was covered with grime. A couple of the elves who were pressed together on the sole cot in the room looked like corpses. Rig stared at them and finally noted the faint rising and falling of their chests.

  He swallowed hard. “Let’s get out of here.” He motioned them out of the cell, but they held their position, continuing to stare blankly at him. “Look, I’m not here to haul you off and turn you into spawn.” He rubbed at a spot on his arm until the blue paint came off and revealed dark skin beneath. Then he instantly realized that proved nothing – he had no idea what color the brutes were beneath their paint. “I’m here to rescue you. Palin Majere, Feril, and....”

  “Majere?” The faint male voice came from the direction of the cot. An elf with long, matted hair and a facial scar shakily stood up. “The sorcerer?”

  “He’s outside. We’ve got to hurry,” Rig said. He motioned again, and this time the elves followed him, slowly shuffling out into the corridor. The mariner hurriedly unlatched the other doors.

  One cell contained only women. Another contained more than twenty men who must have been fairly new arrivals because they appeared a little healthier and moved more quickly. One room contained a sole occupant – an elderly man madly clutching a small clay tablet to which he mumbled. Rig had to pick him up off the cot and carry him out into the corridor with the rest of the prisoners.

  The mariner continued to free the captives, working rapidly and continually watching the hallway for fear that more brutes might come around the corner. “Leave us alone!” he heard from behind one cell door. He opened it and cringed when he saw a few women and more than a dozen girls and boys. The knights had kidnapped children, too. There were wooden bowls on the floor, filled with a pasty gruel that crawled with insects. It was the first sign the mariner had seen that the people were even being fed. The women stared at him defiantly and placed themselves in front of the youths.

  “We’ll not go willingly!” one spat at the mariner. She clenched her bony fist and waved it at him. “It’s all right” said the elf who had recognized the name Majere. “We’re being freed.”

  The woman glared at the blue mariner skeptically, until the elf with matted hair reassured her and tugged her gently from the cell, the others following. Rig busied himself with freeing the rest of the prisoners.

  Corpses were stacked like cordwood in the two cells farthest down the corridor. Rig guessed from the various states of decay that some had been dead less than a day, while others had been moldering here for weeks.

  “Any more cells?” Rig asked the pathetic-looking throng.

  The matted-haired man nodded back toward the way Rig had come. “I understand there are a few more cells upstairs. But they would be guarded, too.”

  The mariner drew his cutlass and edged past the group of prisoners.

  *

  Palin rushed down the last few steps and leapt at the knight. The air rushed from the man’s lungs with a muffled “whoof,” as the sorcerer knocked off his helmet, grabbed a fistful of dark brown hair, pulled the man’s head back and flashed the dagger against his throat. He paused for an instant when he looked into the man’s eyes. “Steel Brightblade?” the sorcerer whispered.

  “The water!” the sorcerer heard someone outside yell.

  The knight used the distraction to push Palin off him, but the young man’s movements were clumsy and slow. Palin drove the dagger into the knight’s chest, between a gap in the armor plates, and the man’s mouth opened in a scream. The sorcerer thrust the blade in again, and the scream died as blood gurgled from the knight’s mouth.

  Palin, blood staining the front of his robes, struggled to his feet and out into the courtyard in time to see Rig leading out a throng of haggard-looking people. A brute trundled around the corner and pointed at the bloodied sorcerer.

  “Trespassers!” the brute hollered.

  “Our water’s gone!” came another cry from somewhere in the inner courtyard.

  “Look!” shouted one of the knights stationed at the top of the nearest tower. “The prisoners are escaping!” He drew a horn to his lips, and a shrill bleating sound filled the air.

  “Palin!” Blister yelled. “Over here!” The kender was frantically waving her arms. At the edge of the stable, the sorcerer spied a trio of Knights of Takhisis, tied and gagged. Nearby, the Kagonesti was gesturing at four elephants. The beasts were charging toward a large group of knights and brutes who were racing toward them.

  Almost in unison, three of the elephants raised their trunks and trumpeted, then their great feet pounded over the sand, following the Kagonesti’s directions, and they charged at the onrushing knights. The fourth elephant thundered past them and headed around the corner of the fortress.

  Palin shrugged off his bloodied robe. The tunic and leggings he was wearing beneath it were also stained. There’d been so much blood from the knights and the draconians that it had soaked through to his skin. He struggled for breath, and an incantation began to tumble from his cracked lips. Behind him he heard Rig shout to the prisoners. In front of him he heard the screams of the first knights to fall beneath the elephants’ feet.

  Chaos was erupting everywhere. The Kagonesti wrestled with a knight who had slipped past the elephants. The kender loaded her sling with elephant dung and pelted the knights. The largest elephant skewered a knight on one of its tusks and pitched the broken body to the side.

  Rig motioned for the former prisoners to run, then left them, dashing headlong into the fray. He slipped between two of the incensed elephants, his blade arcing down and drawing blood with practically every swing.

  From somewhere in the inner courtyard, where the fourth elephant had gone, there were more screams and barked orders. “To the walls!” the sorcerer barely heard someone say. “Get the bows!”

  Palin continued to mouth the words of his spell, and the energy in his hand surged outward, a catapulting magical force.

  He stared at the castle of sand, at the black walls, the towers, and the ornate crenelated tops. Then he uttered the last syllable of his summoning spell, urging some of the castle’s foundation to disappear.

  At the same instant, a barrage of arrows filled the air. Arrows pelted the elephants, but only served to madden them. One found its mark, lodging in Palin’s right shoulder. A second and a third struck his left thigh. The sorcerer groaned in pain, and dropped to his knees. Another arrow struck in the sand perilously close to him, and another. The pain was intense, but the sorcerer shoved it to the back of his mind. He couldn’t let it overwhelm him, lest his concentration on spellcasting break. The magic was harder now, but not out of his reach. He bit down on his bottom lip and fixed his gaze on the castle’s sandy base.

  “Palin!” he heard Feril cry. She was running toward him. He heard her feet pounding across the sand, then felt the sand, the ground deep beneath him, vibrate. Then came the piercing pain of another arrow lodging in his upper arm. The sensations – the trumpeting of the elephants, the pain he felt, the warmth of his sunburnt skin, and the wet, sticky heat of the blood from his wounds – started to overlap one another.

  “What’s happening?” Palin heard a knight cry. “The Bastion! Run!” Other words were shouted, but the sorcerer could no longer make them out. He felt himself slipping toward a welcoming blackness.

  Then he felt Feril tugging at him, helping him up. His legs were lead weights and didn’t want to move, let alone support him, but she persisted. Was this what my brothers felt, what my cousin Steel felt? Palin wondered. Did they feel agony like this before they died?

  Feril worked her way under his left arm, propped him up and started draggin
g him forward. The vibrations in the ground were increasing, and Palin tilted his head toward the stronghold. The walls were collapsing, and the towers were folding in upon themselves. Black sand exploded in all directions. Knights who were perched on the walls and towers pitched forward into the ditch, and those who survived the fall suffered further horror.

  “The scorpions,” Palin whispered.

  A loud thud cut through the din and the ground shook. One of the elephants had fallen, slain by the knights. The other two elephants continued to trample the knights and the brutes creating a sea of limbs and blood.

  Buster hurried to Palin and Feril, and then the trio saw Rig. He was covered in blood – his own and that of the knights he’d been fighting. The mariner was racing toward the path that led through the city gates and to the desert. The freed prisoners were already straggling down that path as his cries urged them to move faster. A few of the prisoners were being carried by their fellows, a couple of them were being dragged.

  Feril and Blister guided Palin in that direction, too. The knights they passed were too busy to try to stop them. The knights were intent on staying alive, avoiding the elephants’ feet and tusks, and staring wide-eyed at the thousands of scorpions pouring out of the ditch.

  The scorpions swarmed over knights who had lost their footing, scrabbling over their plate armor and stinging their victims’ hands, necks and faces. The knights screamed and writhed on the ground, trying to brush the creatures off. But for each one flung away, three more skittered up to take its place. Scorpions swarmed up the legs of the brutes, who tried frantically to brush them off. Distracted, the brutes couldn’t defend themselves from the elephants’ tusks or get out of the way of their massive feet. Many of the brutes were trampled as the elephants plodded past them on their way to join the Kagonesti.

  “So much death,” Palin whispered. His thoughts drifted back to the Chaos War where bodies of Knights of Takhisis, Knights of Solamnia, and dragons littered the floor of the Abyss. “We’ll be next” the kender said. “If we don’t get moving.”

  Feril and Blister nudged the sorcerer forward. The two were practically carrying him. “We’ve got to stop, tend to your wounds,” the Kagonesti was saying. “You’ll bleed to death.”

  Palin shook his head. “Not that bad,” he insisted. “Keep moving. Blister’s right. We’ve got to get away from here – the scorpions.” The elf protested, but they had reached the escaped prisoners who were poised on the lip of the depression and the murmurs of the many excited voices drew her attention.

  Rig was talking to the gaunt elf with long, matted blond hair and ragged clothes who had urged the prisoners to trust the blue-skinned mariner. When Rig noticed Palin, Blister, and Feril, he rushed toward them.

  “I’ve got him,” Rig said. The Kagonesti and kender let Rig take over propping up the sorcerer. “Palin Majere?” the prisoner said, meeting the sorcerer’s clouding gaze. His voice was weak, but tinged with awe. “I’ve heard of you. I know your parents. You’re the most powerful sorcerer on Krynn.”

  “I don’t feel so powerful” Palin answered. “And you’re...”

  “Gilthanas.” The man brushed a clump of hair behind a dirty, but gracefully-pointed ear. “I was second to the throne of Qualinesti. You saved us. All of us.” He swept his hand out to indicate the more than one hundred men, women and children. “We owe you more than our lives. We were destined to be...”

  “Spawn,” Rig finished.

  “Not the elves,” Gilthanas said. “It seems they don’t want elves for their process. I was taken when I tried to keep the knights from capturing humans outside Palanthas. I was slated to be executed in front of the Blue for my insolence.”

  “Did you say Gilthanas?” asked Palin, blinking and looking around, as disoriented as if he’d just woken up. He turned to face the elf and almost lost his balance. “My father told me stories of the legendary Gilthanas. Where have you been? Your sister has long sought your return. We’ve got to get out of here before the dragon comes back.”

  The mariner nodded. “We’ve got a lot of sand to cover.” Palin nodded and grew dizzy. Rig rushed forward and almost effortlessly picked up Palin. “Feril, do you think you can talk those elephants into accepting a few passengers?”

  “I hope the dragon doesn’t figure out who is responsible for all that carnage” Palin heard Gilthanas say. “Dragons are a vengeful lot.”

  “Skie will know,” Palin whispered. The sorcerer pictured the dead Sivaks who now bore the face and form of their slayer. Then Palin gave into the pain and fatigue and slipped into peaceful unconsciousness.

  Chapter 8

  MAGICAL MINDS

  “How are we gonna feed ’em?” Blister anxiously looked up at Rig, leaned against the rear mast, and yawned.” She was not used to getting up at dawn, and she dabbed at the sleep in her eyes with the padded fingertips of her gloves.

  No one had made her get up, especially after she had stayed awake half the night helping the freed prisoners on board – refugees, Rig was calling them. It was just too hard to sleep with all of these people milling about. There were too many chances that she might miss something, might miss out on some especially interesting conversation. “They’re all so hungry. I can hear their stomachs growling from here. Wake up, Rig Mer-Krel! I’m down here! How are we ever gonna feed ’em?”

  The mariner glanced down at her, and shrugged his broad shoulders. The kender made a soft huffing sound, crossed her arms petulantly, and returned to ogling the many people gathered on the forward section of Flint’s Anvil.

  Some were sleeping near the mainmast, others were too giddy with freedom to do anything other than stand at the railing, take in their watery surroundings, and chatter about the future. There were nearly as many below deck – the more malnourished and injured of the lot. Jasper had been tending to them. The ship was seriously overcrowded.

  Blister had counted them seven times. It took her that many attempts to get the same number twice – one hundred and eighteen. Nearly all of them were human. Gilthanas was one of six elves. “Where are we gonna get enough food?” the kender persisted.

  “And you wanted to bring one of the elephants on board? Then you really would have had something to worry about” The mariner studied her. It was clear she wasn’t going to drop the subject. “A couple of the men are in the galley fixing breakfast. Can’t you smell it?” Rig took a deep breath, held it, and smiled at the scent of eggs and spiced pork lingering in the sea air. He was hungry too.

  “What about after that?” the kender said, sniffing the air.

  “We took on supplies before we left Palanthas – dried meat, plenty of grain for bread, and bins full of potatoes and carrots.”

  “All of which will last three days – if we’re lucky. I already figured it out. The water should last six or seven – maybe.” The kender pursed her small lips. “Saving all these people was wonderful, and I’m glad I got to help. But what are we gonna do with all of ’em?”

  Rig shrugged again. The mariner knew the escaped prisoners couldn’t be dropped off in Palanthas, the closest sizeable city. The Knights of Takhisis controlled the place – Khellendros’s knights. Hiding them in the cargo hold while they took on more supplies in the city wouldn’t work – the knights were inspecting practically every ship that pulled into the Palanthas docks.

  “Gander, maybe,” he said after a long silence. It was three and a half weeks away, perhaps a couple of days less if the winds were favorable. The kender was right, they’d have to take on food and water at some point, but any place before Gander was too close to the dragon as far as Rig was concerned. “Witdel, Portsmith, maybe Gwyntarr farther to the south,” he added. “Maybe we’ll drop a couple dozen off in each place to avoid too much attention. Those cities are all in Coastlund, and Skie doesn’t make too much trouble there.”

  “So there wouldn’t be as many knights around?”

  “Right. Should be safer.”

  Blister shook her head. “I do
n’t think any place is really safe anymore, but I definitely vote for Gwyntarr. It’s the farthest from here. Besides, I’ve never been there, and I’d like to see it. Wonder how it got its name?”

  The kender was determined to see as much of Krynn as possible during her lifetime. Itchy feet, she called k – the inability to stay in any one spot for too long. Her passion for traveling was the reason she had left Kendermore a few decades ago, and it had compelled her to join forces with Dhamon several long months ago. The prospect of travel made her continue to keep company with the mariner and Palin Majere. If she could fight a few dragons along the way, all the better.

  “So what will they do?” she continued. “Provided that we can find enough food to keep ’em all alive?”

  “I don’t know. Start a new life in one of those towns. Stay out of trouble. Stay away from any Knights of Takhisis they might see.”

  The kender scowled and shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. These people have no money, only the clothes on their backs – which aren’t even very nice clothes. Look at that fella – he’s got no shirt and his pants are ripped. And that one – the tunic has more holes than thread! How are they gonna start from nothing in a strange town? Who’d hire these beggars?”

  Rig caught several of the former prisoners staring at him, smiling. It made him happy to think he had helped save them, had deadened some of the pain he was still experiencing over Shaon’s loss.

  “They might have to steal to get some money or food. And if they get caught they could end up dead or in prison.” The kender was continuing to contemplate the freed prisoners’ fate in a soft enough voice that they couldn’t hear her, but loud enough that Rig couldn’t ignore her. “And if they end up in prison, maybe more Knights of Takhisis will come along and kidnap them. Or maybe they’ll starve. Maybe...”

  The mariner looked down at the concerned kender and gave a hard tug on her braid. “Give it a rest, Blister,” he said. “We’ll give them a stake, some coins, help them start a new life.”