The Eve of the Maelstrom

by Jean Rabe

  Then the birds in the tall willows around her resumed singing, signaling to her that Palin was moving farther away, no longer worrying them. The chittering of chipmunks, chucks, and ground squirrels reached her, and she sagged against the thick trunk of a shaggybark, taking the myriad sounds of the tropical forest. She tried to relax. Had the circumstances been different, or had her husband been accompanying her, she might have enjoyed her surroundings or at the very least appreciated them. However, as it was, she couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable, a wary intruder in the elven woods.

  Once again, as it had happened before, the elf stepped into view. Once more she heard her name as if it were a curse. The details were as vivid as if she were back in the Qualinesti Forest.

  “It is called the Fist of E’li,” the Qualinesti woman was saying, “an ancient thing once wielded by Silvanos himself. Ornate, it is said, bejeweled and pulsing with power. Perhaps if we had the Fist, we could do something against the dragon’s minions.”

  “If Palin gains it, you can’t take it away!” Usha surprised herself by the vehemence of her tone. “We need —”

  “I’ll not take it, if he finds it – though I doubt that will happen. I’ll be glad enough to keep it away from the occupants of the tower. But I’ll accept a promise from you, provided your husband returns here with it.” The elf’s eyes glowed. “If the scepter is not consumed by whatever your husband has planned for its use, then you will do everything in your power, Usha Majere, to keep it safe and to return it to us. You will risk your very life for this scepter – the Fist of E’li – if need be. Do you understand?”

  “Risk my life,” Usha murmured. “Keep it safe. I promise. But you must tell me what the Fist does. You owe that to me after stealing my memories.”

  “I will tell you, Usha, but only because I do not believe Palin Majere will ever return from the tower. Legends claim Silvanos used the Fist of E’li, the Fist of Paladine, to rally the elves, to incite them, to inspire them, to urge them to champion his causes. Some say the Fist of E’li is a mind-controlling device. I prefer to believe those elven scholars, however, who insist the Fist only reinforces what people already believe or support. It simply lends them the courage to stand up for their convictions. The Fist, these scholars say, gives people the resolve to embrace with deeds what is harbored by their thoughts. I believe this, too. The Fist is not capable of corrupting people.”

  “I understand,” Usha said softly. “The Fist can’t change people’s minds or control their thoughts. But it can give them confidence.”

  “Yes. And it cannot force them to do something out of character,” the elf continued. “E’li would not have had that. He would not have wanted unwilling armies, followers who were no more than marionettes to be controlled by his thoughts.”

  The elven woman reached up and twirled a strand of Usha’s hair about a slender finger. “Some scholars say the Fist has other properties, too, Usha Majere: that it makes its wielder more confident, and that it can enhance the appearance of the wielder, making him more pleasing to the eye or more accepted by his audience perhaps. Or, perhaps it is merely the beauty of all the gems, making the wielder seem more attractive or stately.”

  “Stately,” Usha repeated. Her brow furrowed. “But if the Fist of E’li doesn’t change people’s minds or accomplish anything drastic, what makes it so powerful and valuable to my husband?”

  The elf’s eyes twinkled. “I suspect Palin Majere knows nothing of what the scepter can actually do. He simply thinks it is an ancient artifact that will help fulfill his quest. It does possess arcane power, Usha. For the Fist is also a weapon, and it can slay at command, provided the wielder concentrates on his foe and knows how to call upon its killing force. With one strike it can reduce enemies to cinders.”

  “Could it slay a dragon?”

  The elf stepped away, regarding Usha. “A dragon? Perhaps, perhaps not. I doubt it would do more than wound a great overlord such as Beryl. E’li would not have had such a foe in mind when the scepter was fashioned. Besides, an overlord such as the Green Peril would sense the magic in the scepter and would unleash her horrible breath, destroying the wielder and the Fist before the artifact could be used against her.”

  “We must tell Palin about the scepter’s powers. It is possible that he might find a way to —”

  “No. The powers of the Fist are like your isle of the Irda: a precious secret the two of us have shared. The secret belongs to me and my chosen followers, and with elven scholars. Palin might indeed wield the Fist capably as it was intended. But if he fails and it is stolen from him, the knowledge of its abilities will also be stolen, and the Fist could be turned into a force for evil. That will be his test. Secrecy is best, I think.”

  “Secrecy,” Usha repeated. “I understand secrets.”

  “You know nothing about the secrets of the Fist of E’li,” the elf said, her voice monotonic, spellbinding. “You will remember nothing of our conversation. You will remember none of these things, Usha Majere. You will only remember our forest and your vow about the Fist.”

  After a pause, the elf said softly, “You were telling me about your voyage to this forest.”

  Usha’s fingers fluttered across her temples, rubbing away a minor headache. “Yes,” she said haltingly. “A ship brought us here.”

  “What did you call it, this ship?”

  “Flint’s Anvil. Jasper named it, bought it with a gem his uncle Flint gave him.”

  “That uncle would be...”

  “Flint Fireforge. He was one of the Heroes of the Lance.”

  “The legendary dwarf.” The elf cocked her head. “Is something wrong, Usha?”

  “I remember.”

  Usha blinked and grasped Jasper’s hand.

  *

  “I have reached a decision, surface elf.” Nuqala floated in front of Feril in a small room devoid of furnishings. The building, Feril had learned, was called the Tower of the Sea. “The crown is a treasure,” Nuqala said. “It is part of our heritage, crucial to our defenses. It has been useful in deterring Brine.”

  Feril’s hopes sank.

  “I also realize that perhaps it could be more useful in helping to bring down all of the dragon overlords, not just the one that plagues us. The Crown of Tides is yours in return for a pledge. If you keep Takhisis from returning to Krynn, and then launch a plot against the dragon overlords, you must promise first to attempt to slay Bryndelsemir.”

  I can’t make such a promise, Feril thought. How can I guarantee that my friends will agree? Still, she said to herself, she could guarantee her own actions. Feril nodded to the woman. “I promise.”

  “I sent for the crown last night,” Nuqala continued. “We keep it elsewhere in this tower.” She reached into the folds of her robe, which fluttered like sea fronds about her slight frame, and retrieved a tall blue coral crown studded with pearls. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and the Kagonesti could sense the vibrations of power.

  Nuqala held it out to Feril. The Kagonesti’s fingers tentatively stretched forward, touched the crown.

  “The Crown of Tides,” the sea elf whispered. “The waters are yours to command with it.” Nuqala stepped aside, gestured toward the open oval doorway behind her. “Surface elf, inform Palin Majere of your promise to me. And make sure that you keep it.”

  *

  The mountains of Dimernesti grew small behind her as Feril hurried toward the ship graveyard, the first landmark that would bring her back to the Narwhal. She kept her scaly-elf form, and the Crown of Tides rested securely on her head.

  She kept close to the sand, swimming between the dark hulks, not wanting to attract the attention of the small sharks or any of the larger reef sharks that might be in the vicinity It was early in the morning, she could tell, and pale light was filtering down, painting the ships a murky green. Sanguine Lady, she mused, as she passed that ship. She would have to tell Rig of the fate of the vessel. She remembered he had once told her that he had sailed on it
years ago.

  The graveyard behind her, she swam faster toward the ravine and the reef beyond. Rather than focus on the riot of marine life all around her, she forced herself to concentrate on the crown. She felt the magic in the blue coral; it invigorated and emboldened her.

  It controls water, she mused. The crown fairly hummed, and her eyes snapped wide. The crown was responding to her! Feril shot over the ravine, her legs kicking hard, the water jetting away from her. She focused on her fingers now, holding them before her face, and watching as water streamed away from her hands.

  The Crown of Tides, she thought. Yes, I could control the very tides with this! But what will it do above water? How can it help Palin?

  She kicked toward the reef, oblivious to the shadow that broke away from the ravine wall, following her.

  The creature propelled itself after the Kagonesti, which it had mistaken in the murky water for an insolent sea elf. The great dragon didn’t like the Dimernesti elves straying outside in their underwater realm, and he ate those who tempted his anger.

  As she crested the reef, Feril felt the sea growing hot. Puzzling at this new sensation, she thought perhaps it was a side effect of using the crown. Perhaps...

  She gasped, as the hot water flowed in through her gills. No! Not the crown. Something else. She spun about, looking behind her, almost too late as her mouth fell open and the heat grew impossibly intense.

  Brine, she thought.

  The great dragon looked like a sea monster from children’s folk tales. Feril guessed he must be more than two hundred feet from pointed snout to barbed tail. His long, black body was legless and was closing the distance. Dark green scales covered his neck and head, while lighter green scales lined his lower jaw and belly.

  As Brine opened his jaws, Feril felt a great surge in the current, the water churning all around her. She gasped, unable to breathe the overheated water, and doubled over from the excruciating pain. Her fingers reached for the crown and touched it as she felt herself slipping toward unconsciousness.

  No! she screamed wordlessly. I can’t give in. I can’t be boiled alive before Palin has a chance to use the crown!

  She thought of the water, boiling all around her, willing it to be cooler. And within the span of a few heartbeats it was so. The Crown of Tides had worked its wonders.

  But the dragon was so close now, she could see his iridescent blue eyes. As the creature bore down on her, she imagined her reflection in the orbs. She kicked, concentrating on the crown, as the dragon loomed closer still. His undulating body pushed through the water, mouth wide, and snapped rapaciously. Jagged-looking mother-of-pearl teeth glistened in the light that spilled down from the surface.

  She kicked harder, at the same time gesturing with her arms, sending a more intense jet of water Brine’s way. Feril risked a glance over her shoulder, saw to her surprise that the dragon had been pushed back a little by the increased force. She focused again on the jets of water she was creating, pushing the dragon back a little into a rocky outcropping near the reef.

  A howl carried through the water, and Feril saw that the dragon’s tail was skewered on a spire of coral. Brine howled again, the water boiling all around, destroying the small creatures, the coral, and the living rock in the area and shooting a wave of unbearable heat Feril’s way.

  The Kagonesti swam faster, drawing on the Crown of Tides to augment her strength, trying to put distance between herself and the dragon.

  A moment later she felt a surge of renewed heat in the water around her and realized that Brine had extricated himself. Dark boiling blood colored the water. The dragon opened his mouth and roared, then shot forward, his tail whipping furiously.

  Feril pumped her legs, concentrating on the crown to maintain the water jets. At the same time her mind reached out to the nearby plant life. She merged her senses with them, asking for their help. She’d used the enchantment numerous times on land and knew instinctively it would work here, too.

  The turtle grass, fronds, kelp, and soft coral responded, stretching to wrap about the dragon’s tail. A dense patch of seaweed rose to entwine about the dragon’s sinewy neck.

  The dragon howled in anger, thrashing wildly. He opened his mouth and released another boiling blast that Feril was barely able to cool. Then the Kagonesti stopped, floating and staring at the dragon, as she ran her fingers along the coral band and focused on the plants.

  Grow, she willed.

  Powered by the artifact, her spell came alive, and the effects were startling. The seaweed doubled in size, then doubled again. The soft coral multiplied and surrounded Brine. The kelp became thick, all but obscuring the dragon.

  Grow, she continued. Tighter.

  She heard the dragon’s scream clearly. It was painfully loud, even in the water. She sensed the grasses tightening around Brine’s neck, keeping him from taking in life-sustaining water.

  Tighter. Grow.

  The grass stretched, blotting out all traces of Brine now. Then in the span of a heartbeat it withered and died. Feril stared as her heart hammered. The dragon had found the strength for one more ferocious breath and wiped out all the plants around him.

  The great dragon’s eyes narrowed, and again he shot toward her. Feril turned and cut toward what she believed was east, away from where she knew the Narwhal was. She couldn’t risk running to the ship for safety, not when the dragon would easily destroy the small ship.

  She used the crown to force jets of water away from her legs and arms, working to buy time. Then she felt herself propelled forward, not by her own means, but by Brine. She was hurled, somersaulting through the water, toward a coral outcropping. Feril fought to slow herself, then struck the reef. Her eyes closed.

  The dragon eyed the unconscious elf. Not blue, like the Dimernesti, but an elf, and a powerful one. One from the surface? From a ship?

  *

  Dhamon spotted another swell and trained the spyglass on it. Something about it was different. It was dark green, perhaps black. Maybe a whale. The swell flattened and he lost track of it. A whale, especially a large one, could pose problems if it got too close. It might even capsize the Narwhal.

  “Where are you?” Dhamon whispered. “Where?”

  The ship’s bow rose suddenly, riding up high until the ship was practically perched on its rear rudder. Dhamon grabbed onto the rail. His feet flew out behind him as a spray of incredibly hot water hit him in the face.

  A handful of the freed slaves who were on the deck slid toward the rear of the ship, their hands scrabbling for anything to grab onto.

  “No!” Jasper tumbled head over feet when the ship lurched. Usha, at midships, reached out to grab him and the scepter. At the last moment her fingers locked around the polished handle, while her other hand managed to catch the dwarf’s pant leg. But the material ripped, and Jasper fell headlong. Then Usha felt herself sliding, as well. She heard the ship’s timbers groan, heard startled cries from below deck. She careened after Jasper, and they both struck the capstan.

  “I’ve got you!” the dwarf yelled. He wrapped one stubby arm around Usha’s waist, clamping the other one onto the capstan. “Don’t drop that scepter!”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but instead gave a scream of surprise. The front end of the ship crashed down, slamming against the water and jarring her and Jasper loose, eliciting pitiable cries from the former slaves. The dwarf was on his feet first, helping Usha up.

  “What was that?.” Usha asked.

  “Don’t know.” He shrugged and clutched his stomach as a wave of nausea began to overwhelm him. “But I intend to find out.” The dwarf steadied himself against the capstan while looking about. “Dhamon!” Jasper glanced toward the bow, where a drenched Dhamon, his face red and blistered, was struggling to his feet.

  Dhamon thrust the spyglass in his pocket and drew a long sword that was strapped to his waist – one of a dozen weapons he and Rig had unearthed below. He was edging backward, keeping wary eyes on the water. “Rig!” Dha
mon hollered. “Rig get up here!”

  “Untangle the rigging,” Jasper instructed the freed slaves, as he and Usha hurried toward Dhamon. “And brace yourselves. I think we’ve really found trouble this time.”

  The dwarf took the scepter from her. “What is it?”

  “I thought it was a whale,” Dhamon said. He brushed his free hand at his face, scowling when his fingers touched the blisters. “But I don’t think so. I think...”

  “Dragon!” Usha shouted. She was pointing off the port side. “It’s a dragon!”

  “What?” It was Rig’s voice. “A dragon?” Fiona was behind him, Groller towering next to her.

  “What happened?” Blister scooted around them. The kender’s hair was blue. Her face was smudged with blue flour, and some gooey yellow mixture was evident on her tunic. “Did we hit something?”

  “Dragon!” Usha repeated.

  They all saw Brine then, as his head broke the waves. His jaws were longer than the Narwhal, his teeth as big around as the ship’s mainmast. His blue eyes locked onto the ship. The dragon rose higher.

  His serpentine neck, shimmering green and black in the morning sun, looked oddly beautiful. He craned his head about, opened his mouth, and blasted the Narwhal with a gout of steam.

  Fury howled. The wolf had just come on deck and was rushing to the rail when it caught the first of the steamy breath. It was knocked off its feet, howling, and tore free large clumps of hair.

  “Brine!” Blister yelled as she pawed at her pockets, searching for her sling. “I said I wanted to see a Dimernesti, not a dragon,” she muttered to herself. “I didn’t want to see a dragon at all. No, no. Not at all.”

  “If that thing gets close to this ship, we’re all done for!” Rig yelled. He plucked daggers from his waist, holding three in each hand. He steadied himself by the port rail, waiting until the dragon came within range.