The Eve of the Maelstrom

by Jean Rabe

  Dhamon pulled back his sword and brought it up in an attempt to parry another blow by the morning star. The chain of the weapon caught around the blade, and his opponent jerked the sword from Dhamon’s hand.

  Without pausing, Dhamon lowered his shoulder and rammed it into the knight, pushing him backward. He swept his leg behind the knight’s feet and sent the knight tumbling to the deck, the morning star spinning away with his sword.

  “Honor be damned then!” Dhamon drove the heel of his boot into the knight’s stomach. The knight rolled, and Dhamon staggered. As he struggled to keep his balance, the knight’s fingers closed about the morning star. The warrior started to rise, but Dhamon moved fast. He kicked the man’s stomach again, then drove the blade into his throat, tugged it free, and whirled toward the fallen Rig.

  “There’s no honor in fighting an unarmed man!” Dhamon cried.

  Two knights still stood over Rig, one ready to stab a sword into the mariner’s back. Dhamon rushed forward, sliding in the blood, clutching his side.

  The taller of the two knights sneered at him and lunged, but the other pointed toward the rear of the ship. “Fire! She’s burning!”

  Dhamon registered the smell of burning timbers as he engaged the tall knight. He stepped beneath the man’s swing and drove his sword to the left, meeting the man’s shield. Then he jammed his elbow into the man’s abdomen, pushing the knight back several paces.

  Dhamon spun about and met the challenge of the other knight. Their swords clashed above their heads, but Dhamon couldn’t find a decent opening. He concentrated on staying alive.

  “Rig!” Fiona was at the mariner’s side, having vanquished her foe. Her armor was splattered with blood; the hair that spilled from under her helmet was matted with it.

  Rig groaned and waved her off, trying futilely to push himself off the deck. “Help Dhamon,” he breathed. “Get to Groller. I’ll be all right. Find Jasper.”

  She paused only a moment, then joined Dhamon, taking on the taller of the two knights. The man leveled swing after swing at her. She parried several strokes, but one found its way through her defenses, and the sword came down hard on her breastplate. He followed up the attack, slamming his shield into her chest. The impact knocked her to the deck.

  Dhamon gritted his teeth and drove forward, putting everything into one final thrust. The blade glanced off the knight’s weapon. At the same time, Dhamon knocked the knight’s shield aside with his free hand. He swung again, the blade finding its way between the knight’s ribs.

  Dhamon stepped over the dying man, and met the swing of the tall knight who had been striking down at the fallen Fiona. “Fiona! Drag Rig to the rail! Get everyone to the rail,” Dhamon called to her. “The ship’s burning fast! And those carracks are coming! They’ll be on top of us in a moment!”

  “She’s on fire!” came a shout from off the starboard bow, from the deck of one of the carracks. The three carracks were closing; they would be upon the galley within seconds.

  “Drop anchor!” someone shouted. “Don’t get too close! Send longboats over!”

  Dhamon heard Rig groan and heard Fiona’s boots tromping through the blood. “Rig, stay here,” she said. “I’ve got to help Jasper. I can see him – barely – behind the mainmast.” Dhamon returned his attention to the tall knight. The man had dropped his shield and snatched up a smaller sword, was wielding it in his other hand. He wove the two blades before him in a gleaming tapestry of steel.

  “You’re not leaving this ship alive,” the knight hissed. His voice was deep. He’d been one of the last ones to come up on deck, and from the bloodied insignia on his tabard he was a sub-commander.

  “Sorry, have to leave,” Dhamon replied.

  “Oh, you’ll leave, all right. You’ll leave straight to the Abyss.” The man laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle that rose above the crackling of the fire. “Too bad you won’t be alive to see Takhisis return!” Smoke wafted past the knight and Dhamon, and they felt the heat of the fire that was swiftly consuming the ship. The knight lunged with his long sword, drawing back with the other blade. Dhamon jumped and turned, reversing their positions so the knight’s back was to the fire now.

  Dhamon glanced past him. The entire rear of the ship was on fire. The sail Feril had lowered was engulfed, lighting up the night sky and cutting through what little fog remained in the harbor.

  Blister was at the edge of the blaze, firing jugs from a small ballista at the approaching carracks. Lit rags were in the bottles’ mouths, and Dhamon realized, with a curious detachment, that the kender was responsible for starting the fire on the galley.

  More men were racing up on deck, though they were not in the livery of the Knights of Takhisis. They were thin, dressed in torn and dirty clothes. Feril and Usha led them around the flames. The Kagonesti coughed, talking to Usha, then pointing toward the rail.

  “Blister!” Feril yelled. “We’re leaving!”

  Behind them, Blister catapulted two more jugs and headed toward the rail.

  Beyond the galley were two carracks. One had caught fire and was burning merrily. Dhamon could see its glowing sails. The third carrack had held to a safer distance and was lowering longboats that would rescue the knights and slaves.

  If Dhamon could finish this man, he and the others could escape to the relative safety of the small fishing boat. This man, and... out of the corner of his eye he spotted Jasper.

  The dwarf was between the main and forward masts. He held the scepter extended in one hand and was slowly waving it back and forth between two armored knights. The knights eyed the dwarf, but were making no attempt to rush him. Then Dhamon spotted Fiona coming to the dwarf’s aid. She had caught one of the men’s attention, and he charged her.

  “We’ve got to hurry, Jasper,” she grunted, parrying the knight’s thrust. “This ship isn’t going to be floating too much longer. Blister saw to that.” As if to give credence to her words, a flaming piece of sail broke free and fluttered to the deck right behind the knights. Fire leapt from it, adding to the flames already lapping at the ship. It broke the stalemate between the dwarf and the knight closest to him. The warrior growled and stepped toward Jasper.

  Fiona held the advantage over her foe. He moved sluggishly as the smoke grew thicker.

  “I’ll spare you your life!” she offered, as she dodged a poorly aimed blow. The man shook his head, as if he was trying to clear his senses. “I’ll give you your life, if you drop the sword!” she repeated.

  He shook his head again and swung his blade low. The blow glanced off her sword, and she aimed her weapon at an opening where his armored breastplate met a short chain skirt. He pitched forward, she freed her sword and moved on to help the dwarf.

  Because the dwarf was so much smaller, the knight had difficulty penetrating his defenses. Each time the man thrust at the dwarf’s chest, Jasper raised the First, and each time the blade harmlessly bounced off the enchanted wood.

  “We don’t have time for this!” Fiona shouted. She was coughing now, and waving the smoke out of her eyes. “Get to the side, the fishing boat! Help Rig over the side! He’s hurt real bad, Jasper. And I think Groller’s dead.”

  Jasper didn’t argue, knowing she could handle the knight better than he could. As the dwarf moved toward the railing, sliding in the blood, stepping over the bodies, he heard the clang of Fiona’s sword against the man’s sword and armor. There was a rhythm to it. Then the rhythm stopped, and through the crackling of the flames he heard a dull thud. Fiona coughed, her boots slapping across the deck, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The Knight of Takhisis had fallen.

  Rig was on his knees, holding onto the rail, his breathing ragged and uneven. The dwarf looked about frantically for the rope ladder he’d climbed up. It was too far away, toward the rear of the ship, which now looked like one big ball of fire. “We’ll have to swim. At least you’ll have to,” the dwarf said. “I can’t. But maybe I can keep from sinking like a stone.”

  The dwarf raised
the Fist of E’li and battered it against the rail, breaking a section of it free and knocking it into the water. “It floats. And maybe with its help, I can float too.” The mariner raised his head, his eyes stung by smoke. “I can swim. I’ll help you.”

  Not in your condition, Jasper thought. The dwarf helped Rig over the side, so that the mariner hung like a sack of flour, dangling in the air. The dwarf looked for the fishing boat. The dark gray smoke from the galley mingled with the wispy fog, and at first he could see nothing.

  But through gaps in the smoke he finally spied people in the water: the slaves Feril and Usha had rescued. They were treading water and backing away from the galley. And then he saw the floating rail.

  “My sword,” Rig gasped. “Got to get my sword. Can’t lose another one.”

  “Fury!” the dwarf shouted, ignoring the mariner. “Blister!”

  A moment later he was rewarded with the wolf’s frantic barks. “Jasper! We’re down here!” It was Blister’s voice. “We’re in the boat!” So the boat was somewhere below. It couldn’t be too far away if he could hear her this easily. Jasper thrust the Fist into the sack at his waist, making sure it was secure, then pushed Rig over the side. The dwarf took a quick look around the deck. Feril was toward the bow, cranking furiously on the anchor chain and coaxing over the last of the freed slaves. Usha gathered her skirts and jumped over the side.

  Dhamon was nearby, struggling with a tall knight.

  I should help him, Jasper thought. But then Rig might drown. The dwarf leaped over the side after the mariner, angling his body and praying to the departed gods that he wouldn’t sink.

  Fiona had doubled over coughing. She couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her now, but she knew where to go. She heard metal striking metal. Dhamon was still fighting the tall knight. That was the only battle still going on. She peeled off pieces of her armor and staggered toward the noise.

  Both men were covered with blood. The tall knight was using two weapons, parrying Dhamon’s sword with his longer blade and slashing at Dhamon’s chest with the shorter weapon.

  Dhamon’s tunic was blood-soaked. She realized most of the blood was his, the tall knight’s tabard was practically pristine. She pulled off her breastplate, letting it fall to the deck, and then rushed forward, stopping just short of Dhamon.

  “Unfair odds,” the tall knight hissed. “Two against one. There’s no honor in that.”

  “You didn’t think the odds were unfair when you were fighting my friend!” Fiona spat.

  “The black man?” the knight laughed. “Malys wants the Ergothian dead. But you,” he tipped his head toward Dhamon. “You – I want an honorable fight with you!”

  “Not this time,” Dhamon retorted. He let Fiona parry the knight’s long sword, while his blade clanged against the shorter weapon. Dhamon awkwardly spun about and jabbed at the man’s side. His blade sunk in only a few inches. But the pain was enough to make the tall knight glance at his wound. Fiona stepped closer and slashed at his chest, then crouched and sliced at his legs, her blade striking black plates, clanging hollowly. The knight stepped back and wildly waved his weapons at the pair to keep them at a safe distance.

  “I’ll give you your life!” Fiona called. “Drop your blades!” The knight let out a guttural cry and dashed forward. Fiona stepped up to meet him, while Dhamon slid to one side. Dhamon raised his long sword high over his head and brought it down with all the strength left in his arms. The sword bit into the man’s shoulder. Dhamon pulled it loose and struck again. The knight gasped and dropped the shorter blade, fighting only with the longer weapon now.

  The Dark Knight gave Fiona a tight smile and jockeyed to the side so he could see both her and Dhamon. The smoke around him was thick, and he was gasping for air. Fiona was having trouble breathing as well, and Dhamon gestured toward the side of the ship. Go! he mouthed.

  She shook her head. “Not without you!”

  Dhamon, choking on smoke, moved forward clumsily now, swinging his sword in a broad, uneven arc. The knight stepped back, staying just beyond the weapon. The blackhaired warrior steadied himself, and brought his blade up. As the knight waited for an opening, Dhamon gave him the illusion of one.

  The knight stepped forward, bringing his blade down. At the last possible moment, Dhamon stepped close to the man and into his swing. The long sword hit Dhamon’s shoulder, but his own sword cut at the man’s already-injured side. Dhamon pulled the sword back and slammed the blade in again, and the knight collapsed on him, pinning him to the deck.

  Fiona was there, coughing, gasping for air, pulling the dead knight off Dhamon and tugging him toward the rail. “We’ve got to get off this ship! It’s listing. Can’t you feel it?”

  She was right. The deck slanted toward the sea, as if the ship were taking on water. And the ship was moving toward the shore. Somehow the forward anchor must have come loose.

  Dhamon leaned on Fiona for a moment, and both grabbed the rail as the galley stopped, a crunching sound that competed with the roar of the fire.

  “She’s hit one of the other ships!” Fiona gasped. The galley lurched again, and the Solamnic started to fall. Dhamon caught her, leaned her over the rail where she could gulp in a bit of fresh air.

  “You first,” he said, waving his arm. “I’ll follow.”

  She tugged at the last few metal plates on her arms, her fingers fumbling with the fastenings, then tossed her helmet off. I should’ve left it all in the swamp, she thought. When the last piece clanged against the deck, she sheathed her sword and dove over the side.

  “I’ll follow after I find Groller,” Dhamon called. He closed his eyes and imagined the deck. Then he dropped down to all fours and crawled forward, picturing the mainmast, the forward mast, and the place where he’d seen the half-ogre go down between the two. Dead or not, Dhamon intended to bring Groller with him.

  Dhamon’s hands connected with body after body, none of them large enough, all in the garb of the Dark Queen’s knights. He crawled steadily over them, slipping in the blood and cutting his fingers on dropped swords. It felt as if he’d crawled for hours. His chest was on fire, water ran from his closed eyes, and he ached from a dozen wounds.

  He was feeling faint, dizzy from lack of air and loss of blood, by the time he reached a large body.

  It was face down and bloody. With considerable effort, Dhamon turned it over, ran his fingers over the long hair, felt about around the broad shoulders, and touched the man’s face. His hands felt Groller’s wide nose and thick brow. Dropping lower, they felt for the worn leather tunic, now cut and slick with blood.

  “Be alive,” Dhamon prayed. He pressed his cheek to the half-ogre’s nose, at first feeling nothing. Then, barely detectable, he sensed a trace of shallow breath. The sensation did not cheer him. Dhamon had tended enough wounded on various battlefields to know that the half-ogre was dying.

  Dhamon struggled to his feet, carrying Groller under the armpits. He staggered toward the railing, dragging the half-ogre with him. Going back was easier; the deck was tilting more in that direction.

  “Dhamon!” Someone was calling for him, a woman. The voice was faint, and he couldn’t make out who it was. Feril? Usha? It wasn’t the kender – Blister’s voice was more childlike. Perhaps it was Fiona.

  He wrestled with Groller’s body, pulling it up and propping it against the rail. He threw one of his legs over the rail, the one with the blackened scale. The scale shone through the numerous cuts in his leggings. It was one of the few spots not spattered with blood. The half-ogre was heavy, and Dhamon was growing increasingly weak. He hauled him up, and the rail snapped under their combined weight. Dhamon clutched Groller to him, and together they struck the water.

  He felt himself sinking, the weight of the half-ogre pulling him down. Dhamon held tight to Groller and kicked hard. The saltwater stung his wounds and helped to revive him. It seemed to give him a burst of renewed strength. He heard sounds through the water, things he couldn’t describe
but guessed were pieces of the galley falling into the harbor. Then suddenly his burden was lighter. Something or someone was helping him with Groller.

  Dhamon’s head broke the surface, and he gulped in air. Feril swam at his side, helping to keep Groller’s head above the surface.

  “He’s dying,” Dhamon managed to get out.

  She waved an arm and whistled, and Dhamon heard the splash of oars. Finally he saw the small fishing boat cutting through the fog and smoke. Jasper leaned over the side, stretching his fingers out toward Groller.

  The dwarf was singed and soaked, as well as exhausted. His face looked oddly pale in the firelight. “Bring... him... closer,” the dwarf gasped. Fury stuck his head over the side of the ship and howled. The wolf tried to jump in, but Fiona’s arms were locked around him.

  “Is Groller all right?” Blister asked.

  Feril and Dhamon struggled to pull Groller up over the edge of the small boat. Jasper touched the half-ogre’s face, closed his eyes, and worked to find the healing spark again. He’d spent the past several minutes tending to Rig, while struggling to hold onto the floating railing until the fishing boat came to their rescue.

  The mariner had been seriously wounded, and it took most of the dwarf’s energy to heal Rig’s worst injuries and keep him alive. Jasper, too, was injured, as was Fiona, but neither were in danger of dying.

  Groller was another matter. The dwarf coaxed his spark to grow stronger, searching for the half-ogre’s familiar life essence. It was weak and hard to find, like an ember growing cold. Groller was slipping from Krynn, as Goldmoon had slipped from the world. Jasper knew the half-ogre was injured worse than he had been in the cavern. Behind him Fury howled again, struggling against Fiona, and now Blister, too, as she helped to hold back the wolf.

  “You’ll get in Jasper’s way,” Blister scolded Fury. “Stay here.”

  Groller’s cheek felt unnaturally cold beneath the dwarf’s fingers. “No,” Jasper whispered. “I’ll not lose you, too. I can’t.” The dwarf barely clung to the side of the boat now, putting all his effort into his healing spell. “Don’t die on me. I saved you once. I can do it again.” He heard his own heart beating, thumping over the distant sounds of fire and men shouting. It beat in time with the choppy waves lapping against the side of the boat. The dwarf focused on the rhythm, using it to build the spark.