by Mel Odom
“Then let’s be about it.” Bulokk turned and walked toward the anchored longboat.
Wick couldn’t make himself move. He was loath to leave the lighthouse and whatever treasures it might have inside.
“Perhaps we can get inside,” he said, thinking about Luttell’s Guide to Undersea Vessels in Fact and Fiction: Their Design, Construction, and Uses. Nearly all of those used magic in one form or another, though. Still, there had been a few workable designs, and dwarves were certainly most capable when it came to manufacturing things that—
“We’re a-leavin’,” Adranis declared. He yanked Wick and the little Librarian’s feet left the lighthouse as he skimmed through the waves like a fat-bellied merchant’s cog. Closing his eyes against the spray, Wick clapped a hand over his mouth and nose to protect himself from inhaling the ocean.
Hours later, Wick glumly sat in the prow of the longboat. In short order, proceeding on the information he remembered, they’d found Hullbreaker Reefs and managed to stay well clear of them, then Delid’s Circle. Both of those landmarks had been above the ocean’s surface.
Now, if everything was right, Wick felt they had to be closing in on—
“There!” Drinnick said, standing and pointing, which caused the longboat to tip precariously and take on a little water.
The rest of the dwarves set about cursing Drinnick’s thoughtless action, but he protested and said he’d never claimed to be a sailor. The imprecations and defense didn’t last long. The sight out in the middle of the ocean drew all of their attention.
For there, only a couple feet above the whitecaps rolling in from the sea toward the Cinder Clouds Islands, the very top of a blue dome could be seen. Wick’s heart leaped. He knew from Brojor’s Physical Laws of the Natural World that a dome often maintained air pressure in quite the same manner an empty tankard could be pushed to the bottom of a sink filled with water. In fact, that thought had been buzzing through Wick’s mind because he was thinking that one of the devices he could use to get inside Zubeck’s Hammer was similar in nature.
But the Trader’s Hall had windows. Only the top half of the dome might have maintained an air pocket. Surely nothing had been up there.
But it might have floated, Wick thought optimistically. Pots. Trunks. Kegs. Anything that might have an airtight seal.
“No one knows this is here?” Wick asked, having trouble believing that.
“These ain’t the primary trade routes,” Bulokk said. “We’re well away from them right now. Few comes through here, an’ them not often.” He looked at the blue dome. “Besides, what ye a-gonna do with somethin’ like that a-stickin’ up outta the water except make sure ye don’t hit it?”
Wick had to concede that the dwarf had a point. As they got closer, though, the little Librarian’s heart broke. Over the years, someone had broken through the dome, punching a big hole in the top. From his vantage point, he clearly saw the sea sloshing around inside.
He barely heard Bulokk asking him which way they were supposed to go. Despondent by the terrible realization that probably nothing inside Trader’s Hall yet remained, Wick took a moment to get his bearings, then pointed north.
The dwarves immediately set out on the new tack, pulling all the harder as if they were racing the sunset to the west.
Twilight draped the Rusting Sea as they came within sight of the island chain. The water turned muddy black with it, and the white curlers held a glow like glimmerworms.
Wick had grown tired with the passing of the day. He wasn’t used to having to spend whole days without something to distract his thoughts. He hated spending hours by himself with nothing but thinking to dwell on. Left to their own devices, his thoughts often chose to spin around and around like water gurgling through plumbing. Only he was unable to divest himself of those thoughts because he was afraid that he’d never rethink them. That was different when he had quill and paper at hand, because then he could jot down whatever was on his mind and trust that nothing would be forgotten.
It was terrible having a headful of thoughts with no proper place to put them. His mind and fingers cried out for the luxury of putting quill to paper, of transferring all that thinking to a more forgiving and permanent medium, then sorting through it to make it make sense.
“Is that it, halfer?” Bulokk asked in a quiet, reverential voice.
Wick studied the coastline, looking for landmarks that he could recognize from the maps he’d seen of the Cinder Clouds Islands. Although most Librarians were able to remember prodigious amounts of information, he was more able than most of his fellow Librarians.
“Sail to the east,” Wick said. “We need to travel up the eastern coast for a bit.”
Bulokk gave the orders. “But is this the island where Master Oskarr’s forge was?”
Wick shrugged. “I don’t know. It could be. We need to be in closer.”
The skink slithered on his shoulder. “This is it,” Rohoh whispered. “And this is where this thing starts to really get dangerous.”
“Hug the coastline,” Bulokk ordered his warriors. “Keep a weather eye peeled.”
Later, when the full dark of the night had descended upon the Rusting Sea and the island as well, Wick spied campfires nestled in a cove that looked like the scar from an old axe blow. Steep cliffs forty and fifty feet tall soared above the ruins of a city. Alabaster rock showed signs of expert quarry work. Since no one had truly built like that among the Cinder Clouds Islands in a thousand years, Wick assumed the village was at least that old.
Thin wisps of fog floated through the chill breeze that continued from the north. The campfires filled the ruins with orange light. There was no mistaking the creatures that maintained watch over the area.
“Goblinkin,” Adranis whispered with real loathing. “Quite a mess of ’em, too.”
Wick silently agreed. The goblinkin encampment was spread throughout the ruins. It was easy to see that they had been there for some time. A stone pier made up of broken rocks thrust a short distance out into the Rusting Sea. Two ships, both of them ragged and worn, jostled against each other on the tide.
Most interesting, though, was the ship lying at anchor next to the pier. Lanterns lit her deck and dark figures that might have been human moved around onboard. Her sails were furled and her rigging rang against the masts and ’yards in the breeze.
If that’s not the black ship that tried to run us down, Wick thought, then it’s her sister. He didn’t think it was a coincidence.
“Slavers,” Drinnick growled. “They got halfers there.”
Shifting his attention from the buildings he could see, Wick spotted the slave pen tucked at the back of the canyon. Wire nets made up the enclosure. Skulls—most of them from dwellers but some from humans, dwarves, and elves—hung on the wire nets and picked up a warm cast-off glow from the campfires. Nearly a hundred slaves lay practically on top of each other on the stone floor. Goblinkin guards lounged around the slave pen.
“Are they a-sellin’ ’em then?” another dwarf asked.
Wick surveyed the rest of the city. Then he spotted a narrow trail that had been cut into the cliff wall. The trail zigzagged up the wall. A torch burned at the entrance to a cave mouth.
“They’re digging,” Wick said.
“Fer what?” Adranis asked.
“I don’t know.” Farther up the cliff, Wick made out the block-and-tackle assembly that he assumed was used to lower excavated rock to the ore cars on the ground. A worn path led from the ore cars to the stone pier.
“Are they a-diggin’ fer gems?” Bulokk asked. “Or fer gold?”
“Maybe it’s iron ore,” Wick said. “You mentioned that the goblinkin were mining iron ore and shipping it to the mainland.”
“This ain’t an iron mine,” Bulokk said.
“No,” Adranis agreed.
“How do you know?” Wick asked.
“Can’t smell any iron,” Bulokk said. He touched his nose.
Adranis and the other dwarv
es agreed.
“Was iron here once,” Adranis said, sniffing again. “But it’s been gone a long time.”
“Mayhap even a thousand years or more,” Bulokk conceded. “Master Oskarr an’ his forge smiths had to import iron ore even durin’ his day.” He paused. “Either way, we have to find out what they’re doin’ there. An’ this is the spot where ye said Master Oskarr’s forge was.”
Wick had been afraid the dwarves were going to come to that conclusion. Even though he was afraid, part of him was hypnotized by the possibilities the goblinkin presence presented. The goblinkin wouldn’t be there if no reason existed.
Neither would the mysterious black ship.
“Time to get moving, halfer,” Rohoh said. “This is what you’ve come all this way to find.”
“How do you know that?” Wick whispered back, knowing the sound of the sea would carry his words away before they reached dwarven ears.
“Because,” Rohoh said, “this is what Craugh sent me here to help you find. Now you just have to stay alive long enough to find it.”
And what about after I find it? Wick wondered. What then? But he was afraid to ask.
12
A Daring Plan Is Made
“I think the halfer should stay here,” Adranis said. “He’ll just be underfoot.”
“So do I,” Wick piped up. “I think the halfer should stay here, too.”
All of the dwarves shot the little Librarian a glance of annoyance.
“Or not,” Wick whispered.
“You can’t stay here,” the skink told him. “Your place is down there. Either you can go with them, or you’ll have to go alone.”
Wick didn’t want to go alone. “Of course,” he added swiftly, “if you think I can help …”
Bulokk had given the order to set up camp on the other side of the island. A half mile of crooked rock and ridges separated their camp from the ruins of the city where the goblinkin had set up base. A hidden reef lay only a few feet below the ocean surface where they’d tied up. The longboat had negotiated the area with difficulty, so they knew the black ship couldn’t close in on them without risking its hull.
The main focus of the mission, though, was not to get caught observing in the first place.
“He’s goin’ with us,” Bulokk declared, “an’ that’s that.”
“Why?” Adranis asked.
So I can be the slow one if we get caught, Wick was certain. The sacrificial lamb. By the time the goblinkin get through tearing me to pieces, you’ll all have made your escape.
“Do ye know anyone else who might know his way around them ruins?” Bulokk demanded. “We get down in them ruins a-runnin’ fer our lives, might be a good idea to have a guide.”
“Ummmm,” Adranis said. “Hadn’t thought about that.”
Oh, Wick thought, and realized that he hadn’t considered that either. Upon reflection, Bulokk’s reasoning was without fault. Wick was of mixed emotions, though. He didn’t like the idea of potentially ending up in slaver’s chains (or dead!), but he knew that Bulokk and his men wouldn’t recognize a book if they saw one.
If any of the books Master Oskarr used, or—and the hope left Wick giddy with anticipation—wrote himself, that knowledge would be worth every risk he took.
As long as I don’t die, Wick told himself.
Wick’s back and feet hurt by the time they reached the ruins. The dwarves acted like the rocky climbs and journey over the rugged terrain was something they did every day. Given that they lived on an island a lot like this one, though, Wick had to admit that they probably did.
They came to a stop on the side of the canyon across from the block-and-tackle. No goblinkin guarded the boom arm or the mine entrance. Since the coast was clear, they went to the other side and soon grouped under the block-and-tackle assembly.
Bulokk quickly divided the dwarves into two groups. One was assigned to stay by the boom arm to manage a retreat. The other was descending down into the goblinkin camp to assess the possibility of freeing the slaves.
Wick didn’t even have to be told which group he was going with. Heart in his throat, he crept along behind Bulokk and the other dwarves as they sneaked down into the goblinkin camp.
The stone steps tracking up the cliff were so narrow Bulokk almost had to go down while turned sideways. Of course, carrying his battle-axe in both hands made the effort even more difficult. But he managed. The steps were uneven and sometimes poorly placed. Dwarves hadn’t made those steps and Wick had the feeling that dweller or human slaves had.
But why? Despite the terror that never stopped vibrating through him, Wick couldn’t let go of the question. If Bulokk and the others said there was no iron ore coming out of the mine, he believed them. So why would the goblinkin be interested in a mine that didn’t promise gold or gems or some other wealth? And what relationship did the ship have with the goblinkin?
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to Wick, he reached the ground level and stood in hiding with Bulokk. But that just meant that although he was no longer in fear of falling over the edge of the narrow steps, it was now a long way back up to safety. He would have felt better if there had been a few elven warders with longbows posted among the dwarves.
Craugh, he thought miserably. Surely the crew of the pirate ship could see where he was and how much trouble he was potentially in.
“It’s here.”
Wick clapped a hand over his mouth automatically. Glancing back over his broad shoulder, Bulokk glared at him.
It wasn’t me, Wick thought desperately. Of course, at first he’d thought it had been him who had spoken. Then he’d realized that the voice was tiny, not a whisper or an inadvertent slip.
“Oskarr’s axe is here,” the tiny voice said.
The skink, Wick realized. Keeping one hand over his mouth to show Bulokk that he wasn’t talking, Wick frantically searched for Rohoh with the other. Then he figured he probably looked like he was patting himself on the back.
“Should have slit his throat when we found him a-cookin’ fer them goblinkin,” Hodnes growled.
“It ain’t too late to do it now,” Drinnick whispered.
“If you two keep talking, maybe you’ll wake the goblinkin and they’ll come after us,” Rohoh said. The skink crawled out from hiding and stood on Wick’s shoulder waving an angry, curled-up claw at the dwarves.
“Ye got a talkin’ lizard?” Drinnick asked.
Now he decides to talk. Anxious, Wick peered around the goblinkin camp amid the ruins. So far none of the goblinkin appeared to have heard them.
“It dances, too,” Hodnes reminded. “We saw it dancing when we found the halfer a-cookin’ fer the goblinkin.” He smiled. “A dancin’ lizard what knows how to talk. Now that could fetch a pretty price.”
Rohoh crossed his forelegs and stood up on his hind legs. “You two are idiots.”
“’Course,” Drinnick said, “he could have him a better disposition.”
“Don’t you think the important thing is figuring out why he chose now to speak?” Wick asked.
“Quiet!” Bulokk commanded.
All of them quieted.
“Lizard!” Bulokk pointed at the skink.
“Yes,” Rohoh said.
“Why do ye talk?”
“Because I have something to say, you ninny.”
“Enough to get all our throats slit?” Bulokk demanded.
“Look,” the skink said, “I was sent here by a powerful wizard to make sure this numbskull—”
Numbskull! Wick thought indignantly.
“—managed to find Oskarr’s battle-axe,” Rohoh went on.
“Why?”
“Because the wizard wants to find out the truth of what happened at the Battle of Fell’s Keep in the Painted Canyon.”
“Why does he want to know that?” Bulokk demanded.
“It’s time everyone knew what happened in those days,” Rohoh stated.
Glowering, Bulokk leaned in close. “Does he th
ink Master Oskarr betrayed them warriors?”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t talk to me about things like that.”
Nor me, Wick thought glumly.
Bulokk ran his fingers through his beard thoughtfully. He clearly wasn’t happy about the turn of events. “So why did this wizard—”
“Craugh,” Rohoh said.
That does it, Wick thought, and prepared to run for his life. Craugh had a large reputation, but those who’d heard of him either liked him or hated him. The wizard tended to divide people into those two camps immediately. Generally the ones who didn’t care for him had a relative who had been turned into a toad.
“Aye,” Bulokk said. “I’ve heard of Craugh.”
Wick’s legs quivered. He thought if Bulokk chose to vent his anger on the skink he might gain a step on the certain pursuit. Of course, he’d be running straight into the arms of the goblinkin and the mysterious humans.
Of course, there existed the possibility that Bulokk would choose to take off Wick’s head and cut the skink in twain in one fell swoop.
“Craugh’s been around for a long time,” Bulokk said. “There’s some even say he was around for the Cataclysm and fought against Lord Kharrion.”
Wick knew it was true. He’d read journals and books of the Cataclysm, and Craugh had been featured prominently in them.
“Why is Craugh interested in this?” Bulokk asked.
“He wants to know the truth,” Rohoh said.
“Why?”
Wick couldn’t keep quiet any longer. He stepped forward on trembling knees. “Bulokk.”
The dwarf turned his harsh gaze on the little Librarian.
“I really think this is neither the time nor the place to discuss this at length,” Wick said. “We’ve already been longer at it than we should have. What matters is that we’re all here to recover Master Oskarr’s axe.”
Bulokk wanted to argue. That showed in every hard line of his body. Finally, he sighed. “Ye’re right. But we’re not even sure if the axe survived—”
