by Jean Rabe
He felt a warmth radiating from his chest and slipping down his arm to his fingers and Groller’s face. He felt the fishing boat lurch.
“Jasper!” he heard Fiona shout. “Grab the boat!”
He made no move to do so, not wanting to interrupt his spell. He felt his free hand touch the water, then sink below it. He spilled over the edge of the boat and started to sink, but he made no effort to keep himself afloat. Everything was directed toward the spark and saving Groller.
Then Jasper heard the half-ogre gasp and felt Feril grab his stubby arms. Her legs churned. His eyes snapped open, and he saw Dhamon helping Fiona and Usha bring Groller into the boat. Fiona slipped over the side to make room for the half-ogre. Then her hands joined Feril’s in lifting Jasper out of the water. He was deposited next to Groller and Rig in the center of the boat.
“Jaz-pear good healer,” he heard Groller whisper, as he drifted off to sleep.
Feril, Dhamon, and Fiona trod water next to the fishing boat. The freed slaves were nearby in the water, some holding the edge of the fishing boat, others holding onto bits of broken, floating rails.
“What now?” Usha asked. “The shore’s too far for the slaves to swim.
“The carracks are all burning,” Blister said. “It’s my fault. I raised the anchor and let the ship drift into them. Then I fired flaming jugs at them. Kind of neat, huh?”
“You saved us,” Dhamon said. “Those knights would have joined the fight on the galley and killed us. There were just too many of them. This was not one of Rig’s better ideas.”
“There’s still one ship left.” Fiona pointed toward the east. “That little cog Feril saw.”
The Kagonesti grinned. “Yes! It stayed back when we set the galley on fire.”
“Then let’s make for it,” Dhamon said. “It’s closer than the shore. Let’s hope there aren’t very many knights on board. There can’t be. It’s pretty small.”
“And we’ve got people to man it!” Blister beamed, gesturing at the freed slaves.
“Only if they’re willing,” Feril returned. “Otherwise, we’ll put them ashore.”
“Let’s discuss this after we’ve taken over the cog,” Dhamon said. His voice was weak. He started swimming towards the cog. “If we can take it,” he added.
It seemed like hours before the fishing boat scraped and bumped against the seaward side of the cog. The smoke was still thick on the water; it cloaked them from the knights on board, most of whom were busy watching the fires from the far railing.
Dhamon squinted through the darkness, fighting to stay awake. The light from the fire didn’t reach this side of the ship. He pointed toward the bow. “I see an anchor rope. There’s our ladder up.”
“You’re not going,” Fiona whispered harshly. “You’re bleed-mg.
“I’m not hurt that badly,” the knight lied. “And I’m not staying in the water. It’s only a matter of time before the sharks show up.” He paused. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a weapon. I left the ones I borrowed on the galley.”
Feril guided the fishing boat to the anchor rope. Usha took a rope from under the middle seat and looped it around the cog’s anchor rope. “We won’t drift this time,” she said. Then she reached toward the center of the boat, fumbling with something. A moment later, she handed two daggers over the side to Dhamon. “Rig’s sword is on that burning galley, too. But I saw these sticking out of his boots. I don’t think he’ll mind.”
Dhamon grinned. Though it was dark, he could make out the pearl inlaid lilies on the black pommels. Rig must have expropriated them from a high-ranking knight. He stuck them in his belt and started up the rope, hand over hand. It took a lot of effort. As he neared the railing, he felt someone climbing up after him.
He let out a soft moan as he lifted himself over the side, and pressed a hand to his side. A wave of dizziness washed over him. He ached from his injuries.
Fiona was next. As she hit the deck, she drew her sword and looked toward the line of men against the far rail, all of their eyes trained on the burning ships. Feril silently slipped over the railing, and glanced at Dhamon. Blood trickled through his fingers. More ran down his arm from another deep slash. She gave him a concerned look.
He gripped the railing and pulled himself to his feet, plucking the daggers from his waistband.
Stay here, she mouthed to him.
He shook his head and stepped toward the center of the small ship. It had a single mast, and its sails were lowered. He moved stealthily around the rigging, Fiona and Feril behind him. He balanced a dagger in each hand. Eleven men against three. Not the best of odds, he decided, but they were oblivious to the threat behind them.
He searched for a clue as to which was the sub-commander, but with their backs to him, he couldn’t see any braid or insignia. His eyes locked onto the largest man, one with a broad back, taller than the others. First target. The knight thought of shouting a challenge, but his caution got the better of him. Better to be alive with diminished honor, he thought wryly. Dhamon raised the dagger over his shoulder.
“Surrender!” Fiona’s shout caught Dhamon by surprise. “So much for stealth,” he muttered, as the men whirled. Seven of them wearing the black chain mail of the Dark Knights drew long swords and cutlasses. The other four were sailors, and they fumbled for belaying pins and daggers.
“We’re responsible for the fires!” the young Solamnic continued. “And we’ll not hesitate to burn this ship, too. But we offer you your lives. Don’t be as foolish as your brothers. Drop your weapons! Surrender to us!”
The sailors hesitated, one of them glancing over his shoulder toward the burning ships. The large knight Dhamon had singled out rushed forward. Dhamon inhaled deeply and hurled a dagger. The blade pierced the man’s body just above his waist. The knight took a few more steps, then dropped his sword and fell to the deck.
Dhamon readied the other dagger.
“There’s ten of us!” one of the knights shouted. “Three of them. Let’s take’em.” This knight darted toward the Solamnic, then pitched forward, clutching his throat. He gave a gargled scream before he died. Dhamon’s second dagger had hit the mark.
“We’ll make this offer only once more!” Fiona barked. “You can surrender and flee on the longboat, help your fellow knights on their burning ships – or you can die.”
“This ship can burn, too!” This came from the kender, who had climbed onto the deck. She was holding a jug in one hand, and the rag stuffed into the top of it was on fire.
The men glanced toward the fires on the other ships, and a second later their steel hit the deck. Only two knights remained defiant, sheathing their swords rather than dropping them. Fiona did not press the matter, and Feril darted forward, kicking the swords out of the men’s reach.
“Are there any others below deck?” the young Solamnic continued.
The men shook their heads. “The Red wants you,” one of the older knights sneered. He pointed at the Kagonesti. “The elf with the tattoos. Bad luck for you. The dragon’ll get what she wants. She always does.”
“Not always.” Dhamon moved forward and snatched up one of the fallen knight’s swords. He felt weak and dizzy, but he forced a thin smile to his lips. “Count yourselves lucky that you’re all still alive.”
“We left no survivors on the galley!” Feril added.
A knight toward the middle of the line took a step forward. His sword remained in his scabbard, but his fingers were edging toward it.
“Don’t try anything!” shouted Blister. The kender had moved up behind Fiona, and was holding the flaming jug toward the rigging. “And there’s more of us coming,” she added. The sounds of feet thudding against the hull backed her up. In a moment, three of the freed slaves stood behind her ominously. “If I were you,” the kender continued, “I’d listen to Fiona. She’s awfully good with that sword. And I’m getting pretty good at playing with fire.”
“Those of you with armor, lose it!” the Solamnic ordered.
“You’re going over the side in the longboat. Unless you want that boat to sink to the bottom of the harbor from all the extra weight, you’d better get rid of it.”
Glaring back at them, the five knights slowly removed their black chain mail.
“Now over the side and into the boat!” Fiona’s face was grim. She waved her sword for emphasis. “Be quick!”
The four men who were sailors, not Knights of Takhisis, were the first to comply. That left the five knights. The oldest among them glowered at Fiona.
“She’ll get you, the dragon will,” he spat. “She’ll make you pay!”
Dhamon stepped toward the man, pointing his sword. “I’d worry about myself if I were you. I doubt the dragon rewards failure.” He clamped down on his bottom lip as he felt faint. The pain helped keep him alert, but he knew he wouldn’t be on his feet much longer. “Into the longboat! Now!”
The man opened his mouth to say something else, but the knights on either side of him grabbed him and hustled him over the rail. The remaining knights followed. Fiona and Feril lowered the boat, and Blister tossed the flaming jug over the other side of the ship into the sea.
When the men were safely in the boat, Dhamon stumbled to the mast, sagged against it, and slid down to the deck. He held his side, closing his eyes. “Fiona, when Jasper wakes up, could you have him...” The rest of his words were lost.
*
It was morning before Dhamon, Rig, and Groller opened their eyes. The three were in a well-appointed cabin paneled in sweet-smelling cedar. Dhamon and Rig were on beds, and Groller, too large for one of the narrow mattresses, was wrapped in blankets on the floor.
They were all bandaged and washed beneath fresh sheets. And an assortment of clothes were piled on a chair for them to try on – what had been left behind by the sailors and Knights of Takhisis.
“Didn’t lose a single patient,” the dwarf said proudly. Jasper was immensely pleased with himself, grinning broadly as he paced. “Though I’ll admit it wasn’t for the lack of your trying. Picking fights with that many of the Dark Queen’s knights. That was a dose of foolishness if you ask me.” He clucked concernedly at them. “Amazing how many sheets and shirts we ripped up just to make bandages. I think you lost more blood than you’ve got left in you.”
Dhamon was the first to stand, though somewhat shakily. Rig’s and Groller’s gazes locked on the black scale on his leg. Dhamon padded toward the chair and started picking through the clothes, selecting the drabbest of the lot.
“Leave me that red shirt,” the mariner said, as he struggled out of the bed. “Mind telling us what happened to that scale?”
“Yes,” Dhamon answered tersely. “I do mind.”
Groller sluggishly joined the two.
“Now, none of you move around too fast, understand? You were all less than an inch from death, and I don’t want any of my meticulous work undone. Or the ladies’ handiwork. They put on most of the bandages.”
Dhamon slowly drew on a pair of gray leggings, baggy enough to fit over the bandages on his legs. The cuffs hung just above his ankles. Next he put on a dark gray linen shirt, belted it with a black sash. The clean material felt good against his bruised skin.
Rig had the red shirt. Made of silk, its voluminous sleeves suited him. He picked out a pair of black leather trousers, started putting them on, and grinned when he noticed the half-ogre’s dilemma. Nothing was large enough for Groller.
The mariner snapped up a long green and black striped nightshirt, held it up to the half-ogre’s back and grimaced. Blood showed through the bandage wrapped around Groller’s chest. Rig ripped out the sleeves and handed Groller the altered garment.
The half-ogre struggled into it, testing the limits of the seams. The garment fell just above his knees, and wouldn’t button from midchest up. Groller scowled and shook his head when he caught sight of himself in the mirror.
Jasper tugged on the shirt to get Groller’s attention. The dwarf drummed his stubby fingers against his temple, shook his head and frowned.
“Jaz-pear zayz I shud not worry,” Groller translated. The half-ogre let out a chuckle and glanced down at his bare legs, each of which had a thick bandage on it. “But Jaz-pear haz clothez that fid. Jaz-pear haz zhoes.”
“Your boots are drying,” the dwarf replied, though he knew Groller couldn’t hear him. “They’re blood-soaked. Usha washed them. Usha can sew, too. She’ll fix something for you. I’m sure we’ve got days to go before we reach Dimernesti, wherever it is. She’ll make you something that fits.”
“I know where Dimernesti is – at least if the Master gave me the right directions.” Rig was admiring himself in the mirror that hung on a maple frame between the two beds. He glanced at his surroundings. The wood trim was lacquered, polished to a soft shine, and the furniture that was nailed to the floor was expensive and inlaid with brass. They were in the second mate’s or bosun’s quarters, he guessed.
Jasper pointed toward a table in the far corner. A beveled glass-door cabinet over it was filled with rolled parchments. “Nautical maps,” the dwarf said. “Fiona found one with the Khur coast, has it laid out and ready.”
“She okay?” Rig gave the dwarf a worried look.
“A few cuts, but I healed them. Lots of bruises, but they’ll have to heal on their own. Feril and Usha are in good shape, too – now. I tended to them this morning. They had to wait. The three of you took all my energy last night. Blister didn’t even suffer a scratch.”
“Now why would they put all the maps in the bosun’s quarters? Why not the captain’s?”
This is the captain’s, Jasper observed.
Rig strode over to the table, glanced at the map. “How long’ve I been out? How long’ve we been sailing? Did you pick up some Legion of Steel knights in town to help man her?”
“One question at a time,” the dwarf answered. “We’ve been sailing since late last night. The women got us underway right after they brought you down here. The former slaves from the galley – all three dozen – are taking turns manning the ship and sleeping in the hold. They demanded to come along as payment for their freedom.”
“Three dozen. Not nearly enough for a carrack. We’ll need at least twice that many.”
“Actually,” Jasper said softly, “that’s about twice as many as we need.”
The mariner hadn’t heard him. “I better get up top quick. The ship needs a real captain.”
“As a matter of fact,” Jasper said a little louder, “Blister was at the wheel when I looked a few minutes ago.”
Rig groaned and went to the door, catching himself as the ship rose and rocked. He stepped out into the hall. Teakwood panels gleamed in the light of a lantern that burned scented oil. It was a narrow hallway, with only four other doors. There must be another way into the rest of the ship, the mariner decided as he walked toward the ladder that led up top. Groller and Dhamon followed him.
At the base of the steps, the mariner turned to Dhamon. “I don’t remember much after the Dark Queen’s men took care of me last night,” he said in a voice a little above a whisper. “But I recall Fiona saying that you kept them from finishing me off. You saved Groller, too.” It was as close to a thank you as Rig was going to offer Dhamon.
The dwarf closed the door. “Well, don’t everyone thank me all at once for tending to them,” Jasper chuckled. “At least the ladies were much more polite.” The dwarf yawned and scratched at his own bandages. He eyed the beds, picked out the softer-looking one that Rig had vacated, and settled himself into it. He closed his eyes, feeling the ship rise and fall with the waves, and quickly fell asleep.
On deck, Rig took a deep breath, pulling the welcome sea air into his lungs. He spotted Fiona first. She was near the wheel, wearing baggy black leggings and a crisp white shirt that was a couple of sizes too big. It snapped and billowed about her like a sail. Her red hair fluttered in the breeze. Blister was in front of her, standing on a crate and steering. The kender, dressed in a bright yellow cutoff
shirt that was belted at the waist and hung to her ankles, was doing a pretty good job of keeping the ship on course. He decided to let her continue a while longer.
Dhamon brushed by Rig, walking toward Feril at the bow. The Kagonesti was leaning into the wind, her hair fanning out around her head. She was humming something, and Dhamon stood quietly for several moments and listened. She was clad in a pale green shirt the color of sea foam. She had torn out the sleeves. She also wore darker green leggings she’d cut off just above her knees. A bandage was wrapped around her arm, and another was around her ankle, which looked badly swollen. She turned to face him.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
Dhamon nodded. “I’ll survive.”
“I’m grateful – and surprised,” Feril said. “But then, I’m surprised we all lived through that.” She stepped aside, making room for him. They looked over a bowsprit that reminded Dhamon of a lance. “She’s called the Narwhal. I don’t think she belonged to the Knights of Takhisis. Fiona thinks she’s a coastal ship, a small merchant trader. She’s beautiful. The knights probably took her because she’s obviously got some value to her. Someone put a lot of steel into this ship.”
“She’s a little small for the ocean,” Dhamon observed. He stood next to her, the wind whipping his black tresses.
“She’s cozy,” Feril argued. “I’ve been thinking, Dhamon, and talking to Jasper. About forgiveness. About a lot of things.” She leaned into him, and he raised his arm as if to drape it around her shoulder, then dropped it to his side.
I killed Goldmoon, he thought to himself. I don’t deserve happiness.
*
After Rig said his good mornings to Fiona, he took a good look around the deck. Usha was sitting against the mainmast – the only mast – mending a spare sail. She looked up, waved, and smiled.
