by Jeremy Marr
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The water sprayed over the bow of the ‘Sinta-Tarson’ as it tacked its course South and East, straight in line with the hot, stormy breeze that bellowed sails and carried the craft forward at a swift pace. Though the boat had been made for speed, as most thieves’ boats are, it just barely kept ahead of the black storm clouds that pursued. Almost as if it, or what was carried within it, was being hunted.
The sailors onboard were a flurry of activity with the orders that the Captain’s mate bellowed into the wind. Though most of crew could not make out the words, they had been through similar drills more then once, and they knew what needed to be done. Bodies ran this way and that way, tightening down lines, rolling up sails and lowering others. There were only three figures on deck not moving. They were standing as still as death, gazing in the direction they travelled. Ahead, off to the starboard side, the first view of the large water-port city of Bek’noni came into focus.
“Even from here I can taste the rot and hatred of that place,” muttered one of the three unmoving silhouettes in High Elfin tongue. His name was Cintell and he spoke to his two younger companions as he leaned on his ornate staff. Other then not following the Captain’s first mate’s orders, their drab, tan and brown clothing that were better suited for the woodlands then on a ship at sea, their height and demeanor had set them apart from the crew in a way that unsettled the sailors. The three disturbed the gang to such a degree that the ship’s hands had ignored the three passengers altogether from the on start of their journey in the elfin city known as Ferlaymin. From first glance back there, the men decided they preferred to rub elbows with their own kind, tattered clothes or not.
The outcast three stuck together throughout the long trip, never leaving the bow. Though Cintell carried only his staff, the other two carried long, thin swords at their hips, daggers at their belts, and bows with quivers over their backs. All three were graceful enough on deck, even with the bad waters the boat sailed through, to where the sailors never thought of trying to toss them overboard as they may have been known to do for any booty they may have been able to collect.
Cintell spoke again, “This storm is not natural, even the wind is hot with evil and a taint of deceit that could sway lesser souls. Let us hope that we can get to Brystal Silverhand before things get out of control. I can feel him there,” he continued while pointing his staff towards Bek’noni. “And the others we seek are not far from him. Pray to Everon that we arrive in time. There will be blood shed this night, and we must do what we can to keep Brystal from loosing any of his. Timing will be tight. For that reason, I hereby give you the right and the permission to do what you must to protect Silverhand.
This night has a chance of seeing all lost.” Cintell lowered his staff and leaned back upon it. He then said in a voice low enough that his wards almost did not hear. “I fear this day as I have not feared another in six hundred years.”
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CHAPTER ONE
BRYSTAL SILVERHAND
