by Jean Rabe
Feril felt the water being displaced by something large. A trio of dolphins swam madly toward her. Then she saw only blackness. A stream of air bubbles surrounded her as the water seemed to thicken and become warmer. Blood! She pulled back from the site until she was beyond the darkness, until her senses could pinpoint a row of icicle shaped teeth. “The dragon!” she screamed inside her head. The words tumbled from her lips above deck, too. “The White is down there! Feasting in the storm!”
She watched it devour the dolphins, overtaking and swallowing them as a sea bass might swallow the smallest of minnows. The great beast spun about in the water, its giant tail lashing behind it and striking a rocky spire that went toppling to the sea floor. She felt her heart hammer inside her chest, frightened though she knew the dragon couldn’t see her – her body was safely on deck. Feril tried to calm herself, then saw the dragon look up. Its massive white head was aimed toward something above it. The Kagonesti followed its gaze and saw the bottom of the Anvil, being tossed in the water like mere flotsam. She shivered. The sea had grown terribly cold around the beast.
Then she watched in horror as the dragon tucked its wings against its sides and its thick leg muscles churned through the water and propelled it toward the ship. It opened its maw and a jet of ice shot out, striking the Anvil with such force that the ship burst out of the water.
The ship listed to the right as it came down hard, water spraying everywhere. Dhamon hugged the mast to keep from getting swept overboard, and Rig hovered near Feril. “What was that?” the Kagonesti heard him bellow.
“Left!” she screamed, as she sensed the dragon moving toward the right, following the ship.
Rig relayed the order to Shaon, and the ship lurched to the port side as the White passed beneath it. The beast’s spiky back cut above the water like a line of shark fins, then the dragon dove down and banked through the water for another pass.
The Anvil couldn’t outrace the dragon, Feril knew. It was only a matter of minutes before the ship was crushed. Still, she continued to shout directions to Rig. Again the dragon swept its huge body around, but this time it didn’t rise toward the surface. It dove deeper, as a surprised Kagonesti scoured the boiling sand of the sea floor. A giant octopus, cutting across the bottom, propelled itself quickly away. The dragon had decided to pursue it, suddenly interested in the flesh of a meal.
The White disappeared from view, lost in an eruption of sand and ink. On deck, Feril bit her lip so hard she felt the warmth of her blood spill into her mouth. Would the dragon return? Her senses roamed beneath the still-tossing Anvil. How much time passed, she couldn’t say. She spent the next two hours scrying through the water and directing the ship around underwater ridges, small islands, shoals, and waterspouts. The dragon did not reappear. And at last the storm subsided, and the sea calmed.
“Minimal damage,” Shaon huffed as she untied herself and stumbled toward Rig and Dhamon, who were inspecting the mainmast. “But we’re down two men.”
“They knew that there’d be risks where we were heading,” Rig growled. “I never made them any false promises. I just hope we can pick up one or two more in the next port. I don’t like being shorthanded.” The mariner inhaled sharply. Inwardly, he may have grieved for the men, but the code of the sea rejected shows of sentimentality, “Just be thankful we’re not all at the bottom. When that dragon surfaced, I thought we were finished.”
He grimaced and cast a glance at the sleeping Kagonesti. Feril had collapsed from exhaustion, after doing her job so well. The rope was still tied around her waist, her brown curls were plastered to the sides of her head, and her clothes were painted to her body. A trickle of blood escaped from her lip. Water still pooled around her. The waves hadn’t washed away the tattoos on her face or arm. She looked like a painted rag doll, discarded and laying in a heap.
“Could’ve been much worse,” he said, nodding toward Feril. “She kept us in one piece.”
Shaon balled her fists and set them on her hips. “I didn’t see her at the wheel!” she fumed. The dark-skinned woman glared at Rig, then strode by him and started down the stairs, stepping aside briefly to let Jasper pass as he climbed up. “I’m changing clothes,” she called. “I’ll be back in a while – unless you don’t need me.”
The mariner sighed. “I better go unruffle her feathers.” Rig started to follow her, but paused when he spied Groller at the rear mast. The half-ogre was still untangling the rope from the mizzen sail. The mariner clenched his hands, held them at shoulder height, then alternately moved them in an arc. The half-ogre nodded.
“Groller’ll take the wheel,” Rig told Dhamon. “See if you can clear the rope on the mizzen sail. Then untie Feril. I’ll be back topside in a while.” He quietly disappeared below deck. Meanwhile, Blister eased herself away from the capstan.
Her soaked gloves were no longer warm and they were spotted with blood. She thrust her aching hands into her pockets so no one would see, and she skittered below to find another pair to put on.
Chapter 20
TO PALANTHAS
“What’s the matter?” Feril spotted Dhamon near the bow, scowling and looking out over the small whitecaps.
He shook his head. “Nothing. I was just thinking about... things.” He was, in fact, thinking about Feril. She’d been occupying most of his thoughts lately.
“Thinking about the dragons?”
He nodded.
“Some say there’s only a few dozen dragons left,” she said. “At least, that was the talk in the Caergoth harbor. There were hundreds just a few decades ago. I talked to an old sailor who said the bigger dragons have killed off the smaller ones. The big ones that remain have territories, like the great Red that rules the east, or the Black down by the New Sea.” She paused and looked down into the water. “And then there’s the White.”
“Dragons seem every bit as strong, maybe stronger, than before. The White magically altered Southern Ergoth. They have most of the magic now.
“I’ve never put much trust in magic,” Dhamon stated. “I prefer to put my faith in something substantial, like my sword. Magic is gone, for the most part.”
Feril frowned. “Pity you believe that,” she said softly. “Magic is still very important to some.”
Dhamon felt the red rising to his cheeks. He hadn’t meant to upset her. That was the last thing he wanted to do. He opened his mouth to apologize, but her words came faster. “How long before we reach Palanthas?”
“A few weeks. We only just passed Starport yesterday.”
Rig had gone ashore to conduct some business. He didn’t want a repeat of the altercation at Caergoth and instructed everyone else to wait on board ship. Several hours later he had returned with two hired mates, some supplies and several colorful shirts for Dhamon.
“Red looks good on you,” Feril said, fingering his shirt and laughing as she whirled away.
She found Rig at the wheel nearby. “I overheard you talking about magic,” the mariner told her. His deep voice cut across the deck. “Magic fascinates me.”
I’ll bet it does, Dhamon said to himself. He was looking over his shoulder at Feril standing next to the big sea barbarian.
“The magic I prefer to use lets me assume the form of an animal,” Feril said. “But it’s very tiring, and afterward I feel as though I’ve run for miles. I can also just look through their eyes.”
“How do you take an animal’s form?” The mariner seemed genuinely interested.
Feril grinned, reaching for a small leather pouch at her side. Tugging on the drawstring, she slipped her slender fingers inside and retrieved a lump of clay. “Like this,” she explained as she worked the clay with her thumbs. Overhead a gull cried and she worked the clay faster, forming the crude shape of a bird with a thin tail and a dully pointed beak. She used her thumbnail to give the piece the semblance of eyes and wings tucked against its body. It wasn’t an especially artistic rendering, but it seemed to satisfy her. “The gull,” she said.
The Kagonesti held the clay image in the palm of her right hand and closed her eyes. She began humming, a melody that the bird overhead echoed with its cries. The distance between her and the bird evaporated, as her mind soared toward it, the air rushing all around her. Suddenly, she stiffened, and a smile played across her face.
She was looking down at herself and the mariner. “I’m high above the ship,” she whispered. “I see the lump of clay in my hand. And I see Dhamon watching us, moving toward us. Jasper is back by the capstan. He’s frowning and shaking his head. Shaon is watching him. I see the flag fluttering at the top of the sail. The bird likes to watch the sails.”
“Do you know what the bird’s thinking?”
Again she nodded. “It’s like I’m inside his head. He’s curious about us, about ships. He likes to follow fishing boats, and he wonders why we’re not fishing. He likes to dart to the decks and snatch something to eat. It’s a game with him, and he doesn’t understand why we’re not playing along.”
“Can he see ahead of us? Are there other ships out on the water?”
Feril started humming again, and Rig glanced up in time to see the bird bank away. “I’m sending him north,” she said.
“You’re controlling the bird?”
I won’t do that again, not after the elk, she thought. “I’m asking nicely,” she answered. “And he’s agreeable. There is a ship in the distance. Three masts. And there’s another. There are other dots of white farther away – perhaps sails, perhaps white caps. And there’s a smaller ship. They’re all a long way off. The bird sees very far. One is a fishing boat. He wants to go closer.”
The Kagonesti opened her eyes with a grin. “I guess he found someone who’ll play his game,” she sighed. Balling her fist, she squashed the lump of clay into a misshapen blob and returned it to her pouch.
“Perhaps you could teach me to do that,” Rig ventured.
“Perhaps tomorrow,” she answered.
*
Several weeks passed and Flint’s Anvil eased around the tip of Tanith. The Gates of Paladine, the opening of the wide, deep Bay of Branchala, lay before them. Beyond that stretched the country and city of Palanthas.
The coastline was striking, and Dhamon found himself in Feril’s company admiring the shore. The Kagonesti pointed toward the west.
“Sand,” she whispered. “So much of it. White like snow.”
“I didn’t know the desert ran this far,” Dhamon said. “But I’ve never been in these parts before.”
“It looks like the only thing keeping the sky and sea apart is that thin strip of sand,” Feril said. “I think I’d like to sail so far that I couldn’t see any land. To be where the sky and sea meet, and to sail on toward an infinity of blue...”
The bright blue of the morning sky reached down to touch the white sand of Palanthas, making it look like a white ribbon waving slowing in the breeze. The sapphire water of the bay extended to the horizon, slowly rocking the ship.
“It is beautiful,” Dhamon said.
“There’s always beauty in nature,” Feril agreed. “Even in Southern Ergoth. The snow was beautiful, cold and endless and quiet. The sheets of ice mirrored the sky. It wasn’t natural, but it was difficult not to appreciate its beauty.”
Dhamon stared at the horizon. And you’re beautiful too, he thought. “I’d like to hear more about Southern Ergoth,” he said. Actually, he just wanted to hear her talk.
“Feril!” boomed Rig’s voice. “There are birds all around. Maybe I could try some of that magic again!”
Feril grinned and hurried off toward the mariner.
“Magic,” Dhamon grumbled.
Shortly before dawn the next day, they eased into the city of Palanthas’s deep harbor.
Chapter 21
SAPPHIRE SCHEMES
The blue spawn stood on a ridge above Khellendros’s underground lair. Its stubby tail twitched, miniature bolts of lightning danced between its clawed fingers, and its head slowly turned to take in the barren expanse.
Sand spread away from it in all directions. It was fine, white sand, not the coarse brown grains that covered the ground a few months ago. The white sand contrasted sharply with the color of the spawn, and with the Blue. Rich sapphire against glistening white.
A pale, cloudless blue sky reached overhead, and the sun hung suspended in the center of it, white-hot and merciless heat. Blessed heat, the spawn thought. Like its creator, it reveled in the blazing warmth.
Khellendros had been sculpting his land, as the other dragon overlords had been doing. But he didn’t create any mountains or lakes or coax plants to grow in such great profusion. And he didn’t make the desert much bigger than it was before. He left the terrain largely as it was – he had little inclination to significantly alter the physical features of the Northern Wastes. The dragon liked his home the way it was. He had simply changed the color and texture of the sand.
Khellendros believed the white grains stored the heat better. He loved to feel the intense warmth beneath the pads of his massive feet or beneath his belly when he stretched out in the middle of the day – the hottest time in the desert – as he was stretching out now. The warmth permeated every scale, soaked into his thick muscles, and massaged the ridge that ran along his back.
The white sand held the water better when he unleashed a storm to wet his hide and soak his domain. The dragon needed to be cooled off on occasion, if only because when the water dissipated and the heat returned he could more appreciate it, bask in it anew.
Ah, this glorious heat!
The dragon rumbled, purring like a cat, and the spawn turned to glance at him. Khellendros stared at his sapphire creation, and, as usual, found that he was staring at a miniature doppleganger of himself.
“Master? You wish something of me?”
“No,” Khellendros growled, as he continued to stare. He cocked his head. “I wish to sleep. Wake me if you spy trespassers.”
The blue spawn turned its head, and the dragon saw the scene shift away from himself and to the south. Khellendros was still getting used to this ability to see what any designated spawn saw – to see, hear, and feel. This spawn, and the others below in his lair, were extensions of himself. He closed his eyes and thought of the hot sand, and as he did so his senses pulled away from the blue spawn.
“Two-legged trespassers,” the dragon softly added.
The spawn had previously – and needlessly – woken him when a wild camel plodded by. Trespassers, to the young, mentally-childish creation, seemed to mean anything that wasn’t itself or Khellendros. The dragon knew the spawn would learn. The creature had the capacity for genius. Khellendros simply had to fill its mind and give it direction.
The blue spawn continued to survey its master’s domain. It glanced at each cactus, every patch of scrub grass, ignored the large scorpions that skittered about, and paid little attention to the thin, brown snakes that worked their way across the land, leaving curved shapes behind them. The spawn knew when its master awoke, he would erase the S-shaped designs and restore the desert to blankness once again. It watched the air shimmer, the currents of heat rising from the master’s bed of white. And it watched the tiny, two-legged trespasser approach. Khellendros was not allowed to sleep long.
“Master?”
The dragon rumbled. He irately rose on his haunches and looked past the spawn. Another camel? A giant scorpion perhaps? Maybe a small sandstorm? For an instant the dragon wondered if he had made an error in designating this blue spawn a sentry before it had been thoroughly educated. The dragon had been promised other sentries, suitable guards so that his spawn could remain a secret while he taught them. But the huldrefolk’s promise of sentries remained unfulfilled, and Khellendros was constantly being awakened from his needed sleep.
The dragon’s misgivings were quickly set aside. “I am pleased with you, blue spawn,” he said. “You are serving me well.”
The diminutive gray-skinned man, who a moment before was only a speck
on the horizon, strode persistently forward, apparently unbothered by the heat.
“Fissure,” Khellendros hissed. He opened his maw, just enough so his tongue could edge out.
Away from the shadows of his lair and the black skies of Nightlund, the dark huldrefolk’s features were revealed in all their blandness. Though Fissure had no ears, Khellendros could see small holes in the sides of his smooth, hairless head. In their earlier meetings, the dragon had thought the huldrefolk’s eyes had no pupils. But now the sun exposed small black pupils set into deep violet eyes. And the weird eyes returned Khellendros’s stare.
“Could you make the sand any color you wanted?” Fissure asked.
Khellendros raised a scaly eyebrow and growled. His tongue ran across his bottom lip. The huldrefolk would be an insignificant speck in the dragon’s massive belly, but the thought of swallowing the impudent faerie gave him some satisfaction.
“Could you make it green or blue or purple? After all, I can make myself any color I choose.”
“You came here to bother me about sand?” Khellendros slid forward, noiselessly.
“Actually, I came here to bother you about colors.”
Khellendros snarled and the sky rumbled. Fissure looked up and noticed a cloud overhead, where none had been a heartbeat before.
“One color in particular,” the huldrefolk continued.
The rumbling grew louder, and suddenly the light blue sky was darkening, becoming instantly overcast. Fissure thought he saw a flicker of lightning amid the gathering multitude of clouds. He certainly saw lightning crackle around the dragon’s teeth.
“Gray,” he continued unperturbed and unworried. “The Gray to be specific.”
The rumbling lessened, though the sky remained ominous. The huldrefolk reached a reed-thin finger to his chin. “Interested?”
The rumbling stopped. Fissure padded forward, slipping by the spawn, which bared its razor teeth at the small man. He stopped about a dozen feet in front of Khellendros.
