Crossroads 04 - The Dragon Isles

by Sullivan, Stephen D (v1. 1)

  Unable to think of anything else to do, he kicked hard, aiming at the creature’s groin. His soft boot met only the yielding serpent cloak. The cloak flapped up in the back and the sickly green light of the cave beamed in.

  Trip found himself staring eye to eye with a skeletal face. He smashed his forehead against the bridge of the things nose, then reeled back as sparks flew inside his head. “By all the gods, let go of me!” he shouted.

  He tried to roll to the other side, away from the undead face. This time, the cloak gave way and he tumbled out into the light of the pirates’ lair. He scrambled to his feet and backed against the wall, holding his pearl-handled daggers before him.

  The cloaked thing lay between Trip and the underwater passage—his only means of escape. It crouched in a heap on the damp cavern floor, waiting for him to try and pass. Panting, Trip held his ground.

  The thing didn’t move.

  Trip held his breath. The thing still didn’t move. A small breeze wafted through the cave, and the scales of the serpent-skin cloak glistened in the wan light.

  “Well? Come on!” Trip called to the undead creature.

  Still the thing in the cloak did not move.

  Slowly, a realization came to the kender. Mustering his curiosity, he strode over to the cloak and gave it a hard kick.

  “Maybe your family should have called you ‘Timberhead’ rather than Shellcracker,” Trip said to himself. “Because sometimes you’re as dense as a pylon.”

  He grabbed one edge of the serpent-skin cloak and gave it a good yank, like the kender magician he’d once seen pull a tablecloth out from under a dinner service. The cloak flew into his hands while the thing inside it clattered to the floor—which, come to think of it, was pretty much the same result the magician had obtained.

  Bones. Nothing but old bones with a curved knife sticking out of the ribs. The man must have died sitting in the comer of the cave with his cloak on. He’d been moldering there quietly until Trip yanked on the cloak—at which point the corpse tumbled on top of the startled kender.

  “Timberhead,” Trip said to himself. “Fighting a pile of old bones.” He laughed, but the laughter echoed eerily in the small cave, so he stopped.

  He held up the cloak and gave it a good looking over. “You’re lucky you didn’t cut it to ribbons, fighting imaginary spooks,” he said aloud. Then he smiled.

  The sea serpent cloak was quite beautiful, in a shabby sort of way—and in amazingly good condition for something that had been sitting in a dank cave for who-knew- how-long.

  Trip threw it around his shoulders and immediately felt both warmer and not so wet. “You must be sea serpent skin,” he said, “because regular lizard isn’t so warm.” Pleased with his find, he returned to poking around the pirates’ lair.

  Sadly, Trip had turned up all there was to see before his desperate fight with the dead pirate. After topping off a few pockets with the remaining coins, he looked for another way out. “They can’t have brought all this loot through the hole in the floor,” he reasoned.

  He found a passageway hidden behind a rotting tapestry and decided to give it a go. The tunnel wound steadily upward, and Trip soon smelled the fresh scent of sea air once more. The glowing lichens quickly died away, but light from the outside leaked down the passage, enabling him to see.

  He soon came to a cleverly concealed opening in the cliff face, about forty feet above the surging tide. The entryway was cut into the rock such that, from either direction, it appeared to be only a small crack in the surrounding stone. While enough to fool a human’s—or perhaps even a dragon’s—eye, the trick clearly had little effect on the bats whose droppings littered the cave entrance.

  Trip crinkled up his nose and tried not to get his boots too messy as he peered out into the daylight beyond. Even with the cloak’s hood pulled down nearly over his eyes, the light seemed unbearably bright.

  “If you wait until nightfall,” he thought, “you may have an easier time avoiding Kell and his men. On the other hand, if you do that, you’ll have no idea of where you’re going. Best to climb down now, have a look around, and then try to catch a boat to Darthalla.”

  He pulled the cloak’s hood back from his head to have a better look at the cliff face; the light immediately seemed less blinding and the air felt less oppressive.

  Being extra cautious, Trip slowly climbed down the cliff face to the waterline. By the time he got there, the tide had receded somewhat, leaving a thin, rocky beach along the bottom of the bluff. Taking his bearings from the afternoon sun, he quickly figured out in which direction the town lay.

  He felt concerned about running into Kell again, but as the cliffs only grew steeper to the west, he had little choice. “It’s either back to town or twice the climb you just made,” he though.

  His mind made up, he hiked down the rocky shore back the way he’d originally come. He hadn’t gone far, though, when the sound of voices drifted to his ears.

  “Must be around here somewhere,” said a man.

  “Check up the shore again,” said a voice Trip recognized as belonging to Lord Kell.

  “A lot of work for one kender,” said the first voice.

  “I’m inclined to agree, milord,” said a voice belonging to Karista Meinor. “Why chase the kender when your sister is ailing?”

  “Aye,” Kell replied. “I did vow to take him to Alarl, though.”

  Trip smiled. They hadn’t realized that he’d reclaimed the black diamond artifact yet. Good! If they left, it would be easier for him to get off Jaentarth.

  Just as he decided to slink away and hide somewhere until they’d gone, though, the first voice shouted, “There he is!”

  Trip cursed himself. He’d been so lost in thought—a very un-kender thing to do—that his enemies had sneaked up on him. He turned, but saw no easy escape down the western beach.

  Kell and the others ran toward him, brandishing weapons. Trip’s only alternative was a rocky, fingerlike quay stretching out into the ocean. He dashed down the quay with no clear plan in his mind. Kell and the others ran close behind.

  “Perhaps I can find another underwater cave,” Trip hoped. “Maybe one of those passageways I didn’t take leads out here.” Glancing back the way he’d come, it seemed a reasonable prospect.

  An arrow whizzed by his head and shattered on the rocks in front of him. Another arrow clattered nearby. That made up his mind.

  Not waiting to reach the end of the quay, he dived into the crashing waves.

  * * * * *

  Lord Kell and Lady Meinor watched in frustration as the kender disappeared beneath the pounding surf. They raced to where they’d last seen Trip, and stood there watching for long minutes.

  “How long can he stay under?” Kell asked.

  Karista shrugged. “They said he’s a practiced diver. I wouldn’t rule out five minutes or more.”

  “We’ll wait,” Kell said, and turning to his men added, “Keep watch up and down the beach. I don’t know how he eluded us last time, but we don’t want him slipping ashore unnoticed.”

  They waited. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.

  “Could he have drowned?” Kell finally asked when they’d seen no sign of Trip for a half hour.

  “I don’t know,” Karista said with a shrug. “Probably he didn’t intend to drown himself, but got caught in some undertow.”

  Kell nodded. “Aye, perhaps. We’ve wasted enough time, in any case. Our healer must have what my sister requires by now. We sail for Berann.”

  “And then the treasure?” Karista asked hopefully.

  “If it exists, we’ll find it,” Kell replied, “ .. .For the glory of the Order. Then you’ll have your trade concession.” Karista Meinor smiled and her steel-blue eyes flashed at him. “Aye, milord.”

  * * * * *

  Trip had spent many years diving, and once he had even beaten a pearl diver to the bottom of a six fathom bay.

  Never before had he dived as he did when he leaped off th
e quay. The water surged around him; rocks, reefs, and seaweed flew past as though they had been shot out of a catapult. The water changed from clear, to hazy blue, to indigo in what seemed an instant.

  Disoriented and nearly out of breath, he shot back up to the surface. He breached like a dolphin, shooting high into the afternoon air before crashing back down into the waves.

  He sputtered and flailed for a moment before coming to rest, gently bobbing on the surface. Looking behind him, Trip saw Jaentarth and Lord Kell’s ship—nearly a half league away.

  Trip laughed and shook his fist in their direction, knowing they couldn’t see him, but half-wishing they could.

  Gazing at the distant island, he realized that this really was a sea serpent skin cloak—a magical one at that. That explained why the sunlight seemed so bright and the air oppressive when he had the hood on; the cloak was accustomed to the darkness of the deep sea.

  That thought triggered another one. He pulled the cloak’s hood up over his head once more and—carefully—dived under water. As he did, he felt a familiar tingling in his mouth, nose, and chest.

  Cautiously, he took a breath.

  Trip found himself greatly relieved not to be drowning. He breathed the water as naturally as if he had been born to it.

  “Sleek!” he said aloud—and was happy to hear the words come out clear and undistorted.

  Being careful not to go deep enough to lose his way, Trip swam underwater away from the island. To his delight, he found himself whizzing through the brine at speeds that would have made a razorfish envious.

  He crashed out of the water and soared high into the air like a leaping manta ray. He cavorted with dolphins and porpoises, ran circles around sea turtles, and played “tag the fin” against a school of redtip sharks; fortunately, none of the sharks tagged him back.

  As the sun touched the thunderheads clogging the western horizon, more practical matters seeped into Trip’s mind—such as how he could find his friends.

  Swimming to Darthalla seemed out of the question; he didn’t know the way. Asking directions would be difficult, as there wasn’t anyone around to ask, and he didn’t know whom to trust, either.

  He finally decided that his best course was to follow a ship into port and, once there, ask for directions. With the coins he’d found, perhaps he could even hire a ship to take him to Darthalla.

  Being hungry, the kender grabbed some raw fish for dinner—a snap using the cloak—and thought the plan over while he ate.

  No better ideas came to him, so he set out to find a likely boat to hitch up with. Spotting a white sail on the horizon, he dived under the surface once more. Trip reached the white-sailed galleon well before dark and—unknown to the captain or crew—hitched a ride.

  Twenty-Five

  The Wrath of the Sea

  A gentle current tugged at the sage’s seaweed body, making the undersea titan sway slowly from side to side. Her monstrous form seemed to flow out of the coral grotto. Her leafy feet stood rooted to the sand at the cave’s entrance. The creature’s green eyes blazed in the deep blue shadows.

  “Wayward Ula Drakenvaal,” the Sea Sage intoned, “we foresaw that you might deign to visit us.”

  Ula bowed low and laid her spear in the sand before the weedy giant. “Great Sage ...” she began.

  “Insult us not with your false piety!” the sage snapped. Her seaweed form writhed threateningly, like a thousand angry snakes. “We see your mind, Landwalker. Your ambition— left unchecked—will bring ruin to all.”

  “I come because I have seen the Prophecy,” Ula continued, trying to appear unperturbed. “I seek the green key.”

  “Care you nothing for your kith and kin?” the sage hissed. “Care you nothing for the Dragon Isles? Weak the Veil is already. The fortune you seek lies at the cornerstone. Would you sunder all the Dargonesti have wrought?” The giant swayed back and forth like an angry cobra.

  “So the treasure does exist,” Ula said, her green eyes flashing. “Where can I find the green key? Do you have it?”

  “Care you nothing for our people?” the sage bellowed, rattling her fronds.

  Ula’s eyes narrowed. “Our people cast me out and shunned me.”

  “All Dargonesti and the sea are one,” the sage replied. “There is but one ocean—every drop of water touches every other.”

  “Which is one reason I walk on land,” Ula said.

  The sage’s voice grew louder, like the rushing of a waterfall. “The ruin of one can bring the ruin of all. Will you be that one, Ula Drakenvaal?”

  “I’ve no desire to be,” Ula said. “I just want the treasure. The Prophecy says you hold the green key.”

  The sage roared her displeasure. “The key you speak of is dross! If the Veil falls, the sea dragon will be but the vanguard of evil. The Dragon Isles will succumb to the power of the overlords. I see fire, death, destruction, the boiling of the seas! I see the end of Darthalla and the Dargonesti.”

  Mik put his hand on Ula’s shoulder. “This isn’t helping,” he whispered. “Try to calm her down and ask again. Tell her we’re not going to destroy the isles.”

  The Sea Sage turned her blazing eyes upon the sailor, as if noticing him for the first time.

  “Defiler!” the oracle shrieked. “You will bring ruin upon us all!”

  Suddenly, the creature changed. She straightened and grew taller. Her leafy fronds wound more tightly around each other, forming into knotted muscles. Huge chitenous thorns sprouted from the tips of her fingers, and foot-long fangs sprang from her jaws. The sage’s eyes blazed red, and the water around her swirled angrily.

  She swung one huge hand at Ula and Mik. They ducked aside—barely in time.

  The monstrous sea hag lumbered forward, tearing her roots from the sand. Her eyes were burning coals in the semi-darkness of the deep, and her weedy body writhed like a thousand serpents. A bright green spark flashed within the cave and billows of sand whirled up around the hag’s footsteps. Powerful currents surged around her, hissing and gurgling with her fury. “Death to the unbelievers!”

  Mik instinctively drew his sword and swung at the creature; the sword bit, but did no damage to the leafy form. The thing swatted him aside with the back of its hand. The sailor flew through the water and smashed into the sea-bed, kicking up a huge cloud of silt.

  Ula ducked under the monster’s follow-up blow. She darted forward and scooped up her spear off the sand.

  The sea hag lowered one huge leafy foot at the elf, intending to crush her. Ula rolled aside, but not quite quick enough. Her long, platinum hair caught under the monster’s clawed toes. Ula’s head snapped back and she yelped in pain.

  She swung her spear at the sacred column and batted the pearl-encrusted starfish off the top. The golden offering sailed through the water and skidded to a halt in the sand nearby. As it settled, the hag wobbled and her weedy muscles unraveled slightly.

  Ula yanked her hair out from beneath the giant foot and turned to swim away. Before she could escape, though, the hag, with a roar like a typhoon, grabbed the sea elf by her ankle. Ula tried to kick free, but the monster held her in a grip like iron.

  “The pearl!” Ula screamed. “Destroy the pearl!”

  Mik blinked the dust from his eyes and rose from the sea floor. He lunged for the golden starfish and scooped it off the sand just as the hag threw Ula at him.

  The sea elf hit the sailor full in the chest. Their bodies tangled together, and they both tumbled down into the muck.

  The weedy hag lumbered forward, hissing and crackling as she came. “Death to the defilers!”

  Mik dug the golden starfish out from under Ula’s shapely leg and smashed the pommel of his scimitar down onto the central gem. The pearl erupted into a shower of blue sparks and the golden icon shattered into a hundred pieces.

  Instantly, strong currents swirled around them, building into an maelstrom of angry water. The whirlpool tugged mercilessly at the leafy form of the sea hag. She began to unravel,
like a great tangled skein being undone by an invisible weaver. The hag’s huge body pulled tight, her form becoming thinner every moment. Knotted muscles, woody bones, and thorny fingers attenuated into loose strands of seaweed once more. The currents tugged at the thing’s hair, quickly unraveling her whole face. The fire in her eyes became a dim spark, quickly extinguished by the dark waters. The rest of the body followed, swept up like stacked hay caught in a cyclone.

  “Landwalker, you... shall destroy... us all!” the creature wailed as it dissipated. A few seconds later, only the empty cave and the gently swaying beds of seaweed remained.

  Ula sighed with relief. She untangled herself from Mik and hovered in the water just above the sailor.

  Mik picked himself up again. “That went well,” he said.

  Ula frowned. “And she didn’t tell us where to find the key,” she said.

  “I think I know,” Mik replied. “To root Green key awaits He walked into the small cave and began to dig amid the weeds where the sage had first taken shape. Ula swam in beside him and dug as well.

  Sifting through the sand, their questing hands discovered a hard, metallic object. Together, they wrestled it out of the muck and weeds and lifted it into the dim light.

  The green key shimmered in the semi-darkness. Its looping golden whorls were similar to those of the black diamond key. The setting was rounder than the first key, and—like its companion—asymmetrical. At the center of the golden jewelry, rested a flawless emerald.

  “Clever figuring out the ‘root’ was the root of the sage,” Ula said.

  “A bit of brainpower, a bit of luck,” Mik replied. “I saw a reflection flash off something in the cave when the creature uprooted herself.”

  Ula puffed out her cheeks and blew off the fine sediment covering the artifact.