The Eve of the Maelstrom

by Jean Rabe

“Magic,” Feril whispered. “Of a sort I didn’t know he could cast. He’s more than a healer. He’s a mystic, like Goldmoon was.”

  “Friend,” Jasper said warmly.

  “Friend,” the stranger replied.

  “You were following us.”

  The man nodded, his eyes never leaving the dwarf’s. “Yes, following you.”

  “Why?”

  “Had to be certain you were the ones. Orders.”

  “What orders? Who’s orders?”

  “The knight-commander’s orders.”

  “From the Legion of Steel?”

  The man shook his head.

  “You’re a Knight of Takhisis?”

  “No.” The man shook his head again, keeping his eyes focused on the dwarf’s. “Not a military man. Doesn’t pay well enough. I spy for the Dark Knights. For that, they pay me well, friend. There’s plenty of steel in my pocket.”

  “He’s worse than a Knight of Takhisis,” Rig mumbled.

  “The knight-commander ordered you to watch us?” Surprise was in Jasper’s voice. “Us?”

  “I was to watch for you. I and a few others – and the knights in the harbor. We’ve been waiting for a while. Knew you were coming to Ak-Khurman. It was just a matter of time. Had to be careful. The Legion of Steel knew there were Dark Knight spies in town. They were questioning townsfolk, trying to find us.”

  “You were watching for us?” the dwarf repeated.

  “A Kagonesti with an oakleaf on her face, a black man with a cutlass,” the stranger continued. “You, a short-bearded dwarf. A female Solamnic knight. A big half-ogre with a red wolf. And Dhamon Grimwulf. Spotted him a week ago, but didn’t recognize him then, too far away. Not with black hair.”

  The man paused, then added, “Malys. The red overlord wants you stopped and killed. She wants Dhamon Grimwulf captured and tortured.”

  “Wonderful,” the dwarf said. “A very pleasant way to earn some steel.”

  “But I wasn’t paid to kill you, just to report when and where I’d seen you, where the Dark Knights could find you. I wouldn’t want to hurt you, friend. Not by my own hand, anyway.”

  “So the knights blockaded the city because of us?” Jasper asked.

  The man nodded. “More ships down the coast left an hour or so ago, in case you accidentally wandered into an ogre village to the south.”

  “All these Ak-Khurman ships sunk,” Feril murmured. “Because of us.”

  “The red spawn in the mountains were probably sent for us, too,” Fiona said. “And because that didn’t work...”

  “Why?” Jasper pressed, a hint of anger creeping into his voice. “Why are the Knights of Takhisis so keen on stopping us?”

  “The Red knows you mean to prevent Takhisis from returning. Wants you dead.”

  “Now how could she know that? And how could she know we were coming here?” The question was Usha’s.

  Behind the dwarf, Rig shot a glare at Dhamon. Yes, how could she know that? the mariner mouthed.

  The stranger shrugged. “I don’t know how dragons know these things. I was just paid good steel to watch for you. I was on my way to tell the knight-commander I spotted you in the tavern.”

  “And just how were you going to tell him?” Rig asked. He knelt next to the dwarf.

  “A boat,” the man answered. He gestured in the direction of a massive lilac bush growing along the shore. “A boat hidden under that bush. I was going to take the boat to the knight-commander’s ship.”

  “So I guess we’re not going to have to swim after all,” Fiona said.

  “Good thing,” Jasper said. “I can’t swim. I’d sink like a stone.”

  Rig bent next to the spy, twisting the dagger in his hand so he was carefully holding the blade in his fingers. Then he rapped the pommel against the stranger’s head. The man crumpled, unconscious, at the base of the willow.

  Chapter 15

  FIRE ON THE WATER

  “Are we gonna sail this all the way to Dimernesti?” Blister eyed the fishing boat. “I don’t think all of us can even fit in it.”

  “All of us can’t,” Rig said, as he eased the boat into the water and motioned for Blister to get in. “Hurry,” he whispered.

  “But I thought we weren’t gonna do this until just about dawn,” the kender complained.

  “Change in plans. I want to get out of here now before any more spies see us.” Rig looked over his shoulder, eyeing Dhamon. “Blister, will you please hurry!”

  The kender and the dwarf sat together, a sack full of jugs and rags wedged under them – the supplies the dwarf wanted. Blister had tried to explain to Rig how they obtained them from a dosed store, but Jasper cut her off.

  “I’m not proud of what we did,” he whispered.

  “But you left some steel on the counter,” she said.

  “Still, it wasn’t right. It was justified,” he said, eyeing the ships in the harbor. “But it wasn’t right. Still, maybe the shop owner will be happy if what I think Rig has in mind works out.”

  “What’s Rig...”

  “Shhh!” the mariner cautioned. “They can’t see us. Too dark. But that doesn’t mean the Knights of Takhisis can’t hear us.”

  Dhamon and Rig took the middle seat, under which was tucked a few lengths of rope, and Groller sat between Usha and Fiona. The small boat wasn’t meant to hold so many and sat heavily in the water. The lip of it bobbed only a few inches above the choppy surface. Rig passed Dhamon a paddle and stuck his own in the oar mount.

  While they’d questioned the spy, the fog had grown thicker. It hugged the water and wrapped around all the ships, making their lights look soft and indistinct.

  “Looks spooky,” Blister whispered.

  “The fog’ll help hide us,” the mariner said. “If they see us, they can sink us. Now, nobody breathe too deep. We can’t handle an ounce more weight.” The mariner dipped a paddle in, slow and easy so the water wouldn’t splash. Dhamon’s oar moved together with Rig’s.

  Feril and the wolf swam ahead of them, heading toward the closest ship, a good-sized galley. The water was warm and soothing to the Kagonesti, and the cool air felt good on her face, as she swam forward with strong kicks. The only sound she heard was the wolf paddling near her and the almost imperceptible creak of the twisting oar mounts from the fishing boat coming a few yards behind her.

  The Kagonesti focused on the fog, thin all around her and spreading toward the horizon as far as she could see. Too thin, she knew. If she could easily see the Knights of Takhisis’s ships through it, then Rig’s boat could be seen by anyone on deck who chanced to look this way She slowed her strokes, concentrating on the air where it met the water. Her senses were teased by the tendrils of fog.

  “Hide me,” she whispered to the fog. She was pouring all her energy into the thought, leaving herself just enough strength to stay afloat. “Hide me,” she repeated. She focused only on the fog, letting it intoxicate her.

  Fury swept by her, paddling to keep his head above the water. He nuzzled her cheek, then pulled ahead, his churning legs brushing her arm.

  “Hide us,” Feril said. The Kagonesti felt her magical strength growing. By the time the fishing boat caught up to her, the fog had thickened, like a dark, gray blanket that had been thrown across the Ak-Khurman harbor. She heard Blister chattering behind her. Rig hushed the kender, seeing the lights on the knights’ ships now as opaque as a gathering of will-o-wisps. “Perfect,” she whispered.

  “I can’t see anything,” the kender was saying.

  “Quiet!” Jasper softly scolded her.

  “How can you tell where you’re going?” she persisted. “If I can’t see anything, you can’t see anything either. Neither can Groller, I bet. Or Fiona. Or Dhamon. What if you’re paddling the wrong way?”

  “We’re not going the wrong way.” It was Dhamon’s voice. “We’re going against the current.”

  “Oh.”

  Feril stopped Dhamon’s paddle with her hands, and trod water next
to the boat. “Go slower,” she said. “Follow me. I can see through the fog.”

  “The ships,” Rig whispered. “Did you get a good look at them? Describe them.”

  She did.

  “Two galleys. Can’t steal either of them. It would take too many men to handle ’em. Four carracks and a small cog. I want one of the carracks, the biggest one,” he whispered. “But we have to take out the galleys first, or they’ll chase us down.”

  Feril nodded. “We’re nearing the closest galley.”

  Rig heard the galley before he saw it, heard the gentle groaning of the ship’s timbers, the water lapping against the sides, the musical creak of the great masts. It was a shame what he was planning, he thought to himself, a crime against the sea. “Can’t be helped,” he mused aloud. “Pass her by,” he said softly to Feril. “Take us to one of the smaller carracks, the closest one.”

  The Kagonesti led the boat beyond the galley. Gazing up through the fog, she made out Pride of the Dark Queen, painted in white letters on its side. Several minutes later, they neared one of the smallest carracks. If it had a name, Feril couldn’t read it. Only one lantern burned from the bow of this ship.

  The boat scraped against the carrack’s hull, and Rig ran his fingers along the wood just above the water line. The carrack was an older ship; he could tell by the condition of the timbers and the thickness of the paint, but it was well-maintained and had been recently scraped for barnacles. He held a hand out to Dhamon. The knight fumbled under the seat and produced a rope, passing it to the mariner.

  Rig carefully stood, balancing himself, and quickly worked a knot into the rope. He whirled the rope above his head, then released it, grinning when his lasso landed around a railing post on his first try. Blister passed him two jugs and a couple of rags, all of which he held under an arm. He looked down at Dhamon. “Grab two more and follow me, if you can. Fiona, take the boat out a little bit. I don’t want the rest of you too close when the trouble starts.”

  “I don’t have a weapon,” Dhamon whispered to the mariner.

  “Then you’d better not get in a fight,” Rig returned. Catlike, the mariner started up the rope one-handed, using his feet against the side and scaling it as if he were a mountain climber heading toward a peak.

  “Here.” Fiona extended her long sword.

  Dhamon shook his head, tucking two jugs under an arm, and followed Rig up and over the side. The mariner was crouched low behind the capstan and was stuffing the rags in the jugs. Dhamon joined him and did likewise. “Tinder?”

  The mariner shook his head. “Not yet.” He plucked a dagger from his belt, stuck it between his teeth, crept a few feet away to the anchor chain, and began winching it up.

  The anchor thudded against the hull. Someone was approaching. Two someones, from the sounds of boot heels. Dhamon couldn’t see the men through the fog until they were practically on top of Rig. He set his jugs next to the mariner’s and waited.

  At the same time, Rig saw the men. He plucked the dagger from between his teeth, hurling it at the man on the right, and drew a worn cutlass, one he had acquired in town. The dagger found the mark, sinking to the hilt into a Knight of Takhisis’s unarmored chest. The man thumped heavily on the deck. Dhamon was on the second, pinning him stomach first to the deck and clamping a hand over his mouth. The man continued to struggle, hammering his feet against the deck.

  “No noise,” the mariner advised. He rapped the pommel of his cutlass against the back of the knight’s head. “See?” he said to Dhamon. “I told you that you didn’t need a weapon. Not when I’m around.”

  Rig scuttled back to the capstan. “Current’ll take her right into that galley now, but I’m gonna hurry her along.” He looked toward the rear mast, cloaked in fog. “I’ll cut one of the sails to speed her up a bit. You stop anybody that wanders by.”

  “With what?” Dhamon quietly shot back.

  “Your charm.” A heartbeat later the mariner had climbed up the mast into the fog.

  Dhamon crept back to the two bodies and tugged a long sword free from one. From the body of the other, he retrieved Rig’s dagger, wiping the blood off on the dead man’s tabard. He spotted a shadow in the fog; someone else was approaching, he could hear voices.

  “I can’t see in this pea soup,” one man said.

  “It’ll lift by morning,” a second shadow said.

  “The fog’s not your concern.” A third voice. “Just find out why we’re drifting, and stop her. I don’t want to hit one of the other ships.”

  “Aye, sir!” replied the first man.

  They’d find the bodies, Dhamon thought. He clutched the dagger in his left hand, the long sword in his right. Hurry, Rig, he said to himself. He glanced at the mast. There was still no sign of the mariner, but he heard the canvas drop and heard the breeze catch it.

  “Hey!” one of the men barked. “We’re not drifting! We’re under sail. Better get the sub-commander.”

  Dhamon rushed toward the shadows, leading with the sword, wanting them to see him. There’ll be no more ambushes, he thought. It’ll be an honorable fight this time. A few steps more and the shadows came into focus: two Knights of Takhisis in black tabards and leather shirts. One had a sword in his hand, while the other started to draw his weapon as soon as he spied Dhamon.

  “Sub-commander!” the one with sword already out called. “We’ve got company!”

  Dhamon tossed the dagger at the man drawing his sword, and muttered a soft curse when it sank into the fellow’s thigh instead of his chest. Still, the wound was enough to stop him. The man dropped to one knee, hands clawing at the dagger.

  At the same moment, his companion lunged. Dhamon ducked below the sweeping blade and thrust his long sword forward, impaling the knight on it. The man’s sword clattered to the deck and he pitched forward, just as footsteps thundered from below. Dhamon turned to face the wounded knight, who was now on his feet.

  “Trouble, sub-commander!” someone hidden by the fog called.

  “Trouble, all right,” growled the wounded knight. The dagger free from his leg, he tugged his sword from its sheath, quickly parrying Dhamon’s blow. “I don’t know who you are,” he snarled, but it doesn’t matter.” He effortlessly parried another thrust. “You’ll be dead soon enough.”

  Dhamon increased the force of his swings, marveling at the man’s defense. The knight was well-trained in the classic strikes and parries taught by the knighthood. Dhamon leapt in close, using a maneuver he’d borrowed from Rig, catching the man off guard. Dhamon brought the long sword out to his side and swung it in hard, slicing through the leather shirt and deep into the man’s midsection.

  “Fire!” came another voice. “She’s on fire!”

  Rig was responsible, Dhamon knew. The mariner had been busy. Dhamon cut at the man again, killing him quickly. Then he rushed back to the capstan. The mariner was there, holding two jugs, the rags in them burning merrily. The other two had been smashed on the deck and were responsible for the fire the knights were rushing to put out.

  “You were supposed to wait for me here,” Rig snapped, as he lobbed the two remaining jugs toward the rear mast. “Let’s move.”

  The mariner darted toward the rear of the ship, glancing over his shoulder once to make sure Dhamon was following. Then he dropped over the side. Dhamon paused long enough to stick the long sword in his belt, then he too vaulted over the rail.

  “Feril’ll find us,” Rig said as he trod water near Dhamon.

  “The boat can’t be far.”

  Dhamon didn’t say anything. He was watching the burning carrack. The ship was moving quickly its anchor up and sail billowing. Some of the men on deck were concentrating on the fire. But other men and the slaves who had manned the ship were jumping overboard.

  The flames grew smaller as the ship drifted. Then Dhamon and Rig heard a heavy thud, as the carrack struck something.

  “I remembered where the galley was,” Rig said matter-of-factly. “I knew the way the win
d was blowing, so I figured out just where to aim her.”

  The air was filled with the cries of “Fire!” Smoke roiled off the carrack’s deck, and flames spilled onto the galley. The scent of burning wood hung heavy in the fog. More men and slaves were jumping over the side.

  “Well, you don’t have to congratulate me or anything,” Rig continued. “But I just took out two ships. We take out another carrack or two, and it’s clear sailing.”

  Dhamon watched the fire, made hazy now by the still-thick fog.

  “They’ll burn right down to the waterline if they can’t put them out,” the mariner continued. “You know, you surprised me up there. You didn’t have any qualms about killing those knights on deck: your comrades-in-arms. I would’ve thought...”

  Dhamon thrust the mariner’s words to the back of his mind, listening to the burning timbers. Then he picked out the sound of oars and of Feril’s voice. He quickly climbed aboard the fishing boat.

  Gaps were appearing in the fog by the time Feril and Fury guided the boat toward the three remaining carracks, bobbing side by side only a dozen or so yards apart. Feril had dropped her concentration on the fog, and was too tired from treading water to spend her energy on deepening the mist again. Men were gathered on the bows of all three carracks, spyglasses pressed to their faces. The carracks had not made a move to raise their sails and come in closer. No doubt the captains didn’t want to risk the fire spreading.

  “Risky,” Rig said. “They’re awfully close together. Where’s the other galley?”

  “Farther out,” Feril said. “At the mouth of the harbor. Near the little cog.”

  “That’s our target,” the mariner said. “The other galley. We’ll do the same thing, lead the galley into one of the carracks, the one on the right. I want the bigger one, to the far left – the three-master.”

  “How are we going to man it?” Feril whispered. It was a question Blister had asked earlier and that the mariner had ignored.

  “Legion of Steel maybe,” he replied. “I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

  The fog had thinned considerably by the time the fishing boat reached the far side of the galley. Dhamon and Rig no longer needed Feril to guide them. They could see well enough through the wispy fog. Fortunately the men on deck were all watching the fire and had not seen them approach.