Crossroads 04 - The Dragon Isles

by Sullivan, Stephen D (v1. 1)

  “The meaning of the rhymes is clear,” she said. “Following the course outline, steering by the constellations mentioned—Paladine, the Heavenly Palace, The Seven Cities, The Great Silver River—will lead to the Dragon Isles. Do any of you doubt this?”

  “Not so long as you’re paying us!” someone called from the back of the crowd assembled below the bridge.

  Marlian crossed her slender arms over her chest “I don’t doubt it, Lady Meinor, but I don’t understand this so-called prophecy, either.”

  The noblewoman-witch sighed and handed her map to Bok. The big bodyguard nodded deferentially as he took it and held it out before the crowd. Karista pointed at the route with a long fingernail as she spoke.

  “The first stanza instructs the reader to sail north beyond known waters to find the isles,” she explained. “The second says to follow the gaze of the constellation Palatine in midsummer to discover the ‘divine’ chart—the map laid out in the stars. The third and fourth indicate the isles he beyond the constellation of the Heavenly Palace, and that you can find them by following the great Silver River in the sky toward the Seven Cities. This evening, the stars of the Seven Cities will be clearly visible in the northeastern sky. When we make the right conjunction, we will be less than two days sail from the isles themselves!”

  The crew, even Marlian and Pamak, muttered appreciatively. Mik chuckled. Karista was a good saleswoman; he supposed the talent ran in her wealthy family.

  He advanced to the rail beside Lady Meinor and said, “Everyone back to work. Now that you understand our goals, I trust we’ll hear no more mutinous grumbling while we seek our fortunes.”

  “We’re with you, captain!” old Poul called out. “Aye!” others added. Marlian and Pamak went back to their business with the rest.

  Trip pushed close to study Karista’s star chart, but Bok rolled it up before the kender could get a good look. Trip frowned fiercely; Bok frowned back, fiercer.

  “Don’t worry,” Mik said to his small friend, “you’ll have a chance to study it, soon enough.” Then to Karista and Bok he added, “Bring the chart to the map room. I want to check our bearings before the sun sets. C’mon, Trip.” He turned and went down the short stairway from the bridge to the quarterdeck. Trip went with him. Karista and Bok followed.

  “I see no reason the kender should be included in this,” Bok said, as they entered the map room below the bridge.

  “No matter how he came aboard,” Mik replied, “Trip is part of our crew now. I know him well and can vouch for him, but Pm sure he’ll more than prove his worth to you before the voyage ends.”

  The big bodyguard frowned. “I’ll have to keep a careful watch on my pockets,” he said.

  Trip’s hazel eyes brightened. “Why? Is there something in them that I should know about?”

  Bok reddened and looked as though he might strike the kender. “Shut your hole, you little—”

  Mik stepped between them. “Karista,” he said smoothly, “if your man can’t control his temper, then perhaps he should go elsewhere.”

  Karista laid her long, tan fingers on Bok’s arm. “Don’t worry,” she purred. “Nothing the little one ‘borrows’ can wander very far. Where could a kender hide aboard ship?”

  Bok nodded and laid the star map on the table in the center of the open-walled room. Mik rolled it open and studied it. Trip crowded in near the captain’s elbow and peered intently at the lines, colors, and notations. He considered himself a map expert,

  “I see you’ve marked the passages from the Prophecy on the map,” Trip said appreciatively. “But there were a lot more lines on that scroll than the ones you read to the crew. What about the rest of it?”

  Bok glowered, and looked as though he might step in again, but a motion of Karista’s shapely hand kept him in place. “The remaining stanzas are of no importance to finding the isles,” she said calmly. “They deal with navigation within the archipelago to a specific destination. They are hard to fathom and seem of little import.”

  “I’m sure you’re correct,” Mik said, though that was the part of the prophecy that interested him most.

  Karista Meinor laughed—a low, sensual sound. “I know, captain, that you believe the remaining stanzas lead to a precious treasure,” she said. “No buried hoard, though, could match the wealth to be gained from opening the Dragon Isles to trade with the mainland. I’ve compensated you fairly, and I trust that you will be able to keep your mind focused on our mutual goal.”

  “Any ambitions that I might harbor on my own,” Mik replied evenly, “are secondary to the goals of this voyage. My personal views will not interfere with how I run this ship.”

  Bok snorted skeptically and crossed his arms over his wide chest. He looked from Mik to Trip, and then frowned. Frowning, Trip thought, was what the big bodyguard did best.

  Mik scowled back. “I know from which direction the wind blows, milady, and I’ve no desire to sail any other course.”

  Karista nodded. “Good. I’ll leave you to your work then. Come, Bok.” She turned, left the map room, and went to the hatch amidships. Bok followed. With a final suspicious glance from Bok, the aristocrat and the bodyguard went below deck to Karista’s cabin.

  Mik strolled to the edge of the room and watched their retreat. Then he turned and gazed toward the golden sun, already sinking low in the west.

  “So we’re getting close,” Trip said, from near his elbow.

  “Very close,” Mik said, nodding. He went back to the map table, rolled up the star chart, and put it in its case. He then deposited the case in its slot below the table’s surface, next to the other maps they anticipated using during the voyage. “Ill make our final course adjustment after the stars come out tonight. By tomorrow, we’ll be well on our way to fulfilling the first part of the Prophecy.”

  “What about the rest of it, though?” Trip asked.

  Mik arched one black eyebrow. “What about it?” “Sounds kind of mysterious to me. I get the feeling that you’re more interested in it than you let on.” He grinned.

  Mik laughed. “C’mon,” he said. “I want to show you something.” He walked through the door leading into his cabin at the back of the map room.

  Trip closed the door behind them, and Mik knelt down to open his sea chest.

  “If you’re going to show me that nice piece of jewelry with the big black diamond in it,” Trip said, “I’ve already seen it.”

  Anger flashed over Mik’s tan face for a moment But the feeling quickly passed and he smiled. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “No. You shouldn’t,” Trip replied. “I stumbled across it when I was looking around the other day.”

  “Stumbled across it in a locked box.”

  The kender, nodded. “I noticed that you had it wrapped in a copy of Karista’s prophecy. What is it? Where did you find it?”

  “Very little escapes you,” Mik said.

  “That’s one of the reasons why I’m so useful to have around, I guess.”

  “I found the artifact a number of years ago, while diving the coral reefs north of Jotan.” As Mik spoke, the memories came flooding back: the clear blue waters, fingers of colorful coral stretching toward the shimmering surface above, sun- fish and spotted dominoes darting all around. And, amid the underwater glory, a strange wrecked galley—like none he’d ever seen before. The galley’s lines were long and curved—its sides covered with scale-like clinking. Its bow was formed in the shape of a golden dragon.

  The gold, though, was only paint on the wooden hull. The wreck yielded few treasures—mostly pottery, except for the looping artifact with the black diamond center. Mik had claimed it as his share for the voyage. The memory faded away.

  Mik pulled the artifact out of the box within his sea chest. “I suspect it came from the Dragon Isles,” he said to Trip. “I think it’s part of a key to finding our way in.”

  “Hey, that Prophecy says something about keys, doesn’t it?” Trip asked. He took the paper that
lined the artifact’s box and unfolded it. The writing on the vellum was a copy of the Prophecy Karista had read on deck earlier— including the parts she had omitted.

  “Four keys, if I’m reading it right,” Mik said, “and where to discover them.”

  “And what happens when we locate these four keys?” Trip asked.

  A smile drew over Mikal Vardan’s bearded face. “Then we find the treasure,” he replied.

  As the two old friends talked and looked over the artifact and the Prophecy, the sun sank toward the horizon. The waves of the Turbidus Ocean reached up, seeming to caress the golden orb. As the water touched the sun, the sea burst into brilliant, flaming color. The heavens turned crimson and the clouds pulled mantles of purple and orange around themselves against the coming night.

  The first stars peeked out from under the sky’s cerulean blanket, winking at Kingfisher passing far below.

  Mik Vardan left his cabin, strode to the bridge, and took some bearings. Then he took the helmsman’s place at the tiller and adjusted the ship’s heading. Trip climbed atop the mast to the lookout post and gazed toward the silhouetted horizon.

  “Adjusting our heading?” Karista asked, appearing unheralded beside Mik.

  The captain nodded. “Tomorrow,” he said, “or the day after at the latest, we should be sailing the course set by the Prophecy.”

  “May the lost gods be with us,” Karista Meinor whispered.

  “Or if they’re not with us,” Mik said, “I hope they’ll at least stay out of the way.”

  Mikal Vardan did not sleep well that night His dreams were filled with storm-tossed isles, drowned temples, and approaching typhoons. A blue-white diamond glittered in the darkness, like a beckoning star—but it seemed not to shed any light on the chaos surrounding him. Mik kept reaching for the gem, but it darted away—ever just beyond his fingertips.

  He woke to find the hour before dawn bright and clear, the stars still beaming down, painting Kingfisher with their wan light. To the east, where the sky met the sea, a pale, greenish glow presaged the coming of the day. A cool salt breeze greeted the captain as he left his cabin. The scent of brine thrilled his nostrils, as the morning air danced over his flesh, raising goosebumps on his tanned skin.

  Trip slept quietly in the rigging far above, his tiny form leaning against the topmost reach of the main mast. Mik shook his head fondly; it was pointless to try and stop the kender from sleeping aloft. Trip was as much at home clinging to ropes overhead as he was free-diving in the sea below. The kender would sooner roll off the spar and die of a bad dream than sleep on deck. Mik shook his head again.

  He walked to the bridge and spoke with the night helmsman, checking that they hadn’t deviated from the course he set. He took a brief tour of the caravel’s small decks, making sure all was in order. Satisfied, he returned to his cabin and broke his fast—dining on bread, cheese, preserved spiced apples, and a bit of red wine.

  Dawn crept over the ship as he ate. As he was finishing, a commotion broke out on deck; the sounds of the crew talking excitedly and feet stamping across the planking echoed through Mik’s cabin.

  Then the kender’s clear voice rang out above the rest:

  “Wreckage off the starboard bow!” Trip called. “I think there’s a body, too! It looks like a woman!”

  Five

  The Castaway

  Most of Kingfisher's sleepy crew had already gathered at the rail, as Mik pushed his way to the side of the ship,

  “Where away!” he shouted up to Trip.

  The kender shielded his eyes from the morning glare. “Fifteen degrees to starboard,” he called down from the lookout perch.

  Mik peered into the glittering dawn sea and spotted a tiny black silhouette bobbing over the waves.

  “The kender has the eyes of an eagle,” Bok said, looking in the same direction. “I see nothing.”

  “Adjust heading fifteen degrees to starboard,” Mik called up to the helmsman.

  “Aye, aye, captain!”

  Karista Meinor pushed her way through the crowd to Mik’s side. “I trust,” she said, “that this is only a momentary diversion from our course.”

  “Naturally,” Mik said, climbing up to the bridge. “But the law of the sea requires rescue of shipwreck survivors.” He called up to Trip again. “You’re sure there’s someone on that wreckage?”

  “Positive, captain. Or I’m a monkey’s cabin boy.”

  Mik glanced from Trip in the rigging to Karista, who had followed Mik up to the bridge. She prowled the deck like an anxious cat. Kingfisher’s captain knew the aristocrat had little tolerance for the kender.

  “Bok can come up,” Trip called down, reading his mind, “if he and Karista don’t believe me.”

  Neither the aristocrat nor her bodyguard accepted Trip’s offer.

  It took the ship just over an hour to reach the wreckage Trip had spotted. The Northern Turbidus Ocean rolled gently under Kingfisher’s keel as they sailed. The mild sea showed no signs of the previous day’s storm. The sun stretched her fingers higher as they traveled, and soon lit the whole sky with bright, golden light.

  Mik knew the fair weather wouldn’t last; at this time of year, the Turbidus could change its character from seductive to violent in an instant.

  A cotillion of Turbidus dolphins arrived to watch Kingfisher’s passage. The aquatic mammals’ sleek black and white forms raced beside the ship or danced in front of the bow. Trip climbed down from the rigging and leaned over the gunwale to watch them. As they closed in on their goal, though, the dolphins disappeared back into the deep.

  Very little debris floated on the surface as they drew near the wreckage. A single, wide swath of planking bobbed on the ocean’s green-gray surface. Strapped atop the wreckage, lay the prostrate body of a slender, beautiful woman. She was clothed only in soaked gossamer fabric and delicate jewelry. Her long platinum hair lay arrayed around her head like a sunburst, some of the delicate locks trailing into the water. Her skin was as blue as the evening sky. Whether alive or dead, none aboard Kingfisher could tell from this distance.

  “That’s no wreckage,” Mik said, eyeing the castaway’s strange conveyance. “It’s a raft.”

  “Not a very sturdy one either,” Trip added. He squinted his hazel eyes and peered at the strange sight. The raft appeared to have been cobbled together quickly from stray bits of wood the ship’s carpenter had lying around. Very little craftsmanship was evident in its plank and rope construction. The waterlogged deck was barely sufficient to keep its passenger above the surface. “And why do you suppose she’s tied down?”

  “To weather yesterday’s storm, perhaps,” Karista suggested.

  “She couldn’t have tied herself like that,” Mik said.

  “Maybe someone stranded her like that for good reason,” Bok offered.

  “Aye,” agreed Pamak. “It’s a bad omen. We should abandon her to her fate.”

  Mik frowned at them. “Lower the ship’s boat and meet me at the raft,” he called to the crew. He grabbed a full skin from near the water barrel and dived over the side.

  “I’m coming, too,” Trip said, bounding over the rail after his friend.

  The captain and the kender swam quickly to the makeshift raft as Kingfisher’s crew unlashed the boat from amidships and lowered it over the side.

  Mik and Trip reached the castaway quickly, and tread water at the raft’s perimeter. “Scramble aboard and cut her ropes,” Mik said. “This flotsam won’t take my weight.”

  “Aye, captain,” Trip replied. He pulled himself onto the small raft and began severing the woman’s bonds with one of his pearl-handled daggers.

  Mik swam around near her head, careful not to topple her into the deep as he skirted the perimeter of the rickety platform. The woman’s eyes were closed tight and crusted over with dried salt. She didn’t move at all or make any sound, and, at first, the captain thought they’d come too late.

  As Mik watched, though, he saw that her chest rose in
a slow, shallow rhythm, and a faint pulse throbbed in her smooth neck. “She’s alive,” he said. “Though not for much longer if we hadn’t found her.”

  “Good thing I spotted her, then,” Trip replied. He finished cutting the last of the victim’s bonds and slipped back into the water.

  Mik unstoppered the waterskin and poured a little over the blue-skinned woman’s face, gently cleaning off the salty residue. She still didn’t stir, so he dribbled a little onto her pale blue lips. Her tongue darted out and licked up the moisture and her eyes flickered behind her eyelids; she didn’t wake, though.

  Just then, the ship’s boat pulled alongside.

  “Lift her aboard,” Mik said to Marlian, standing in the skiff’s bow. “Gently.”

  “Aye, captain,” Marlian replied.

  Mik and Trip helped the crew carefully maneuver the blue woman off the raft and into the longboat. The captain and the kender then scrambled aboard, and they all quickly returned to Kingfisher.

  Using some spare sail cloth as a sling, they hoisted the castaway up to Kingfisher’s deck and gently laid her down.

  “She’s blue!” Bok blurted.

  “Well, she’s a sea elf,” Mik replied. “They’re common enough in these waters—though seldom seen.”

  Karista Meinor frowned. “She’s badly sunburned—almost purple,” the noblewoman said. “I doubt she’ll survive.”

  “I’ve some sunburn oils in my cabin that may help,” Mik said. “If we can tend the bums and get some water into her, she may make it. Elves are hard to kill.”

  “Who could have left her like that?” Bok asked rhetorically. “She’s so beautiful.”

  “Bah! You were right earlier, bodyguard,” Pamak said. “A sea elf, shipwrecked? Tied to a raft? I repeat, she’s a bad omen. We should throw her back to the fishes.” A number of other sailors grumbled their agreement.

  “Whoever did this to her, didn’t want her with the fishes,” Karista noted. “They wanted her to die stretched out like a skinned animal.”

  “We’ll worry about how and why she came to be on the raft later,” Mik said. “For now, take her to my cabin. I’ll tend her burns. Trip, bring more fresh water.”