The Coral Kingdom tdt-2

by Douglas Niles

  Alicia could see that the Princess of Moonshae had at last passed the huge raft, breaking free to carve her course through the sea. Worriedly she looked ahead, remembering how the second raft had risen from the sea directly in their path. Now both craft of the aquatic attackers frothed through the water to the stern.

  That knowledge was minimal consolation, however, for the flailing paddles on the flat rafts propelled both of them along the longship's wake with shocking quickness. The second vessel took a little while to get up to speed, but soon it was planing across the waves, driving forward even a little faster than the first one.

  Still, the battle had ended for the moment. The oarsmen labored in the longship's hull, and the Princess moved with stately grace away from the attackers. Alicia's tree creature, still unable to gain its balance in the ship, settled in the hull, and she commanded it back into its staff form, irritated against her better judgement with her enchanted but clumsy ally.

  Robyn stood at the stern, watching the two vessels and their complements of screaming, scaled monstrosities. Then she turned back toward the bow, looking upward at the wide sail that caught the gentle breeze-but not enough to pull them away from their enemies.

  The High Queen closed her eyes and reached for the power of her goddess. The Earthmother heard and answered the call of her Great Druid.

  And the sail bulged outward with a freshening wind.

  The man awakened after a very long time. . years, or perhaps a lifetime.

  Perhaps even longer.

  He sat up and looked around, reaching toward his side, driven by instinct to grasp for something. But what? Whatever it had been, it wasn't there now. Nothing was there now, beyond his skin and a pale white tunic that barely covered his nakedness.

  A sword-that's what he reached for. He recalled an image now, indistinct but coming into focus. He saw a silvery blade, sensed its sharpness along both edges, felt the strength inherent in the gleaming steel.

  Where am I?

  The man looked around. His surroundings were dark, but not black. Long panels lined the ceiling, huge surfaces of opaque glass. From beyond, there issued a dull glow, like a distant lantern diffused through a mound of emeralds.

  He saw a surface … for sleeping, the hard slab where he had awakened. A bed-he recalled the term from somewhere. This one was made of a hard substance, like rock, but a little softer to the touch. He ground granules of the stuff away with the palm of his hand. Not rock-what was it?

  An image came to him of surf, of long white breakers pouring onto a beach, and blocky objects in the water-like this thing that made his bed.

  Coral. The word came to him, and he felt a small measure of pleasure.

  A noise sounded somewhere in the distance, and once again he reached reflexively for the sword. But something was strange in that motion, something beyond the fact that he had no weapon.

  He looked down, and his eyes widened in shock. The movement felt unnatural, he realized, because he had only one hand! His left arm ended at the wrist, in a clean, well-healed wound that was nevertheless none too old.

  Again the man looked around, at the strange canopy overhead and the walls of solid coral. He noticed a pool of still, dark water. There seemed to be no other way in or out of the chamber.

  And then a deeper question came, beyond the wheres and the whys. The man slumped to the coral bed with a groan, but he resisted the urge to lower his head. Instead, he raised his face to the ceiling and spoke.

  "Who am I?" he asked.

  But no one and nothing answered.

  Mastery of Caer Callidyrr was an idle pastime to Deirdre. The offices of her mother and father in truth required little attention during these summer days. Royal court was not in session, nor were there any pressing matters of diplomacy or war to concern her.

  Instead, she found time for the tasks that were dear to her-the study of her magic, and the contemplation of the world she saw in her mirror.

  It was to the latter that she found herself drawn more and more, as if she sensed that she could learn more from the glass than from any dense tome or musty volume.

  Shortly after she had teleported from Corwell to Callidyrr, she located the Princess of Moonshae in the mirror. The image, she learned, displayed an easy affinity for locating Deirdre's mother or her sister. As soon as she imagined the wide expanse of Corwell Firth-and, on later days, the Trackless Sea-the image of the sleek longship came into focus. As always, she could move closer, like a gull diving toward the wavetops, and steady her vision with as much detail as she desired.

  But that proved rather a mundane activity. There was little variance, as the days passed, in the activities of the crew or passengers on the long voyage. Even the weather remained fixed in its clear sky and light, favorable wind.

  Deirdre had quickly thought of using the mirror to seek her father, but she found no such link as with her female kin. Instead, she probed the depths of the ocean, but saw only vast seas, giant fish, and a dark, featureless floor.

  There was one more whom Deirdre desired to seek through the glass, yet thus far she had lacked the courage. Still, she remembered the tingle of recognition when she had spied him at the Corwell festival. This was the one she had called Malawar. There had been a powerful affinity in that sensation, as well as very real fear.

  Deirdre felt nothing romantic nor even vaguely affectionate in that attraction. Rather, she thought of Malawar as a mighty source of power, a source that she had barely mastered once, and then only to send it away. But now her mind had begun to think more ambitious thoughts: If she could but capture that power, channel it to her own ends. .

  The possibilities seemed unlimited.

  The being that so occupied Deirdre's thoughts remained in the seas below the Princess of Moonshae. Sinioth lurked in the depths, awaiting the progress of the Mantaships with growing impatience. The gap narrowed, but too slowly for the avatar's desires. Sythissal, king of the sahuagin, remained below the sea with his master, while Krell-Bane commanded the attacking force on the surface.

  It was the power of the accursed goddess, he knew, that sustained the unnatural wind. Normally the sleek rafts of the scrags should have overtaken the longship by now. But instead, he was forced to endure this crawling chase.

  But the longship had sailed far from the Moonshaes now, and the great druid drew her strength from the very localized presence of the Earthmother. Surely she could not maintain this magic forever!

  Seething with the impatience of his hatred, Coss-Axell-Sinioth tried to settle down and wait.

  11

  Goddesswind

  "A week out from Corwell and they find us!" stormed Brandon, pacing back and forth in the Princess of Moonshae's forehull.

  In the stern, Robyn still stood like a statue, facing the sail, the canvas sheet billowed taut as ever, propelling the longship through the waters at a churning pace. Far behind now but still clinging to the long white trail of the vessel's wake came the two broad rafts and their clamoring passengers.

  "Terrible luck, I know, but at least-" Alicia started to speak.

  "Luck? There's no luck about it!" Brandon snapped, whirling toward her and interrupting. "They found us, somehow-here, eight hundred miles from the Moonshaes, in the middle of the Trackless Sea!"

  Alicia glowered at him, but her anger was rooted in embarrassment. He was right, of course.

  "There are ways a skilled sorcerer could locate us wherever we were," pointed out Keane.

  "Did you see any sign of magic in that attack?" shot back the Prince of Gnarhelm.

  "No."

  "It's not like the sea creatures to use magic." Brandon's tone modulated somewhat, as if he suddenly remembered that he was surrounded by friends, not enemies. "And if they don't use it to attack, I can't imagine they've got wizards sitting around spying on us."

  "What do you suspect, then?" demanded Alicia.

  "I don't know," the captain admitted with a shrug. He looked around, at the casks and crates and
seabags that lined the center of the longship's hull. "It's possible they might have placed something on board, some object that draws them like a beacon. I don't know how big it would be or even what it would look like, but it's all that I can think of at the moment."

  They spent the next six hours tearing the Princess of Moonshae's contents apart while the rafts drifted farther to the rear, never quite disappearing over the horizon. Every crate, every container of any kind was opened and examined. Crew members sifted flour from barrel to barrel and drained each water cask into another through a fine screen mesh. As to the search of individual crewmen, of course, every man was left to his own possessions-all the northmen and the Ffolk accompanying the expedition had been selected with loyalty as the top consideration.

  All this time Robyn stood in rapt concentration, and the wind summoned by the goddess propelled the longship forward. The druid queen resisted any attempts to support her, shrugging off the few hands that came close. Her eyes were open, staring at the sail but focused on something much farther away.

  "Nothing," Alicia concluded disgustedly after the search of the longship's bow was completed. She and Brigit had coordinated that scrutiny, and now the pair leaned on the rail, watching the gray-green water slip past a few feet below.

  "I heard the captain talking," the elfwoman noted. "He said that if we can make it to nightfall, we should be able to slip away from them-and your mother can rest, as long as there's any breeze at all."

  "I hope so," replied the princess, with a look at the sun. It was early evening, but the yellow orb was at least a couple of hours away from the horizon. And here, on the flat northern sea, she remembered that the daylight lasted for an hour or more after sunset. For a while, they stood in silence, unconsciously looking to the west-toward Evermeet, or least to where they imagined the elvenhome to be.

  "Brigit. ." Alicia looked down, wondering about the future, wanting to plan a known course to her father's rescue, though of course this was impossible. "I've been wondering about Evermeet. What's it like? Who rules there?"

  "It is a wondrously beautiful place, dotted with clear lakes, covered with broad stretches of forest. It is also the largest, most populous nation of elves in all the Realms." Brigit turned to Alicia to make her point. "In fact, while elven realms in the outer lands are usually ruled by matriarchs or lords, Evermeet is ruled by a queen, the only true monarch in elvendom."

  "Does she rule alone?"

  "For the most part. She has many councilors, it is said, and a council of matrons acts as her advisers. I have heard that she is not afraid, however, to ignore their advice and make a decision on her own."

  "When we get there, what will you say? Do you think the elves of Evermeet will help us?" Alicia wondered. "Or are there too many who feel as Erashanoor, that we humans are the enemy?"

  "There are others more. . open-minded," Brigit allowed, and then she laughed. "And there's no telling what your mother will accomplish, if she has the chance to talk to the queen."

  "How can we be sure she'll get that chance?"

  Brigit smiled, her face sympathetic. "With the determination of humans like you and Hanrald to back her up, I wouldn't be surprised to see it," the elfwoman said.

  "I wonder if we can persuade them to help us-for the elves' own interests," Alicia questioned.

  "I've been thinking about what your mother said-in the Argen-Tellirynd," replied the sister knight, almost as if she were musing to herself. "Doesn't it seem possible-even likely-that the same forces are at work against both of our peoples? That the dark powers commanding the scrags are the same that unleashed the Elf-Eater and closed the Synnorian Gate?"

  "It does! I've wondered about that myself-but we have no proof. Can you be sure?"

  "Can we be sure that isn't the case?" wondered Brigit. "And based on that premise, perhaps the only way to open the Fey-Alamtine is to defeat the forces that hold your father prisoner."

  Alicia was forced to smile at the elfwoman's determination. "I wish you luck!"

  "I believe that I can make the case," Brigit replied. "But I'm not sure that I'll find anyone impartial enough to listen-if we get there at all!"

  "We'll get there!" declared the princess, more vehemently than she had intended. Trying to conceal her concern from Brigit, she looked aft.

  She saw her mother standing as if carved from stone, with the proud sail billowing overhead. Beyond, past the transom and far down the foam-flecked line of the longship's wake, two black smudges lay against the horizon. These were the flat-ships of the sea creatures, and they remained well back.

  Then her eyes were drawn back to the ship with a shock as Robyn groaned and staggered on the afterdeck. Immediately Tavish reached her side, holding Robyn's elbows and gently lowering her to the deck. Keane knelt beside the queen in another instant as Alicia raced down the center of the hull.

  "I'm all right!" Robyn insisted as her daughter got there. Robyn sat up and brushed away the hands supporting her. "You'd think I was an old woman!"

  "Are you really okay?" inquired Alicia, kneeling before her mother. For a moment, Robyn's eyes softened, and the younger woman saw a terrible exhaustion there.

  "I… I just need to rest," the queen assured her.

  For the first time since her mother's collapse, Alicia looked overhead. The once proud sail hung slack, undisturbed by any breath of wind, as if the real breeze had abandoned them at the same time as did the enchanted one.

  "Swing out the oars! Clear those benches!" barked Brandon, and his crewmen scrambled to obey. He turned to Alicia, her own concern mirrored in his eyes. "We'll try to keep ahead of them until nightfall. Then we'll lose them in the dark and turn back to the west."

  "Will that work?" asked Alicia, hating the sound of the question. Her faith was wavering, but she didn't want that fact to show.

  "It's all we've got," replied Brandon with a shrug and a quizzical look at her.

  Alicia rose from her knees and looked over the transom. Already, it seemed, the black dots had begun to grow.

  In the darkest hours of the night, the longship Princess of Moonshae advanced across the black sea to the muffled strokes of oars, but no other sounds. For hours, the vessel slipped across the placid sea. The men labored at the oars. Even the Ffolk took turns wielding the heavy oaken poles, but they had no way of knowing whether or not the sea beasts on their great rafts were closing the distance.

  Past midnight, the crew shuffled places once more. Those who had been resting took places on the rowing benches, while the exhausted sailors from the earlier shift tried to catch a little rest.

  It was after this adjustment that the sailor, Luge, found himself at an oar, seated beside the gunwale of the longship. On each night of the voyage, he had performed his task faithfully, dropping one of the tiny bells over the side, plainly marking the longship's course for the pursuing hordes of the Underdeep.

  Yet tonight he found himself with a problem. For the first time, the crew remained active through the hours of darkness, and Luge had yet to perform his duty. Not understanding why, he grew more and more agitated as time passed. Now he tried to maintain the pace of his oar while slipping a hand into his tunic, fumbling at the concealed pocket.

  "Careful, by Tempus!" snarled a fellow sailor as Luge's oar collided with his neighbor's.

  "Sorry," he grunted, turning to nod at the grumbling northman. At the same time, he placed his hand on the gunwale and allowed the tiny bell to drop into the water.

  Immediately it began to ring.

  The wind had abandoned them completely, Alicia told herself when she awakened to the pale blue light of predawn. An utterly still expanse of water surrounded them. It was too dark to see very far, but she had to wonder about the presence of the twin rafts.

  Diffused light gave way to a banner of sunrise on the horizon, and details became apparent up to a mile away, and then two, except that there were no details, save for the eternal calm of the sea.

  Then they could see three mile
s, and at the same time, they discovered the rafts. No one had to announce the observation; it was silently shared by every person on the ship. The two flat slabs came at them like huge, implacable sharks. They were close enough for the crew to hear the snapping of wide, fishlike jaws, and the slicing noise of the two massive rafts' passage over the water.

  Not a breath of wind stirred the flat, seemingly endless sea. The only waves were the twin plumes cast by the Princess of Moonshae. The vessel, despite the efforts of the straining oarsmen, seemed to labor only with great reluctance through the water. In the hush, the rhythmic cadence of the sea beasts' paddling came to them, a dull pulsing that moved through the sea, sounding a beat of approaching doom.

  "Stroke, you miserable lubbers!" shouted Brandon, but men could not increase their effort when it was already strained to the maximum. A martial chord suddenly rang through the air as Tavish again raised her harp, the need for stealth past. The playing of that enchanted weapon filled the weary sailors with strength, and once again the longship moved with a feeling approaching speed.

  Yet it was not enough. After a few minutes of watching, it became apparent that the monsters still closed the gap between them.

  "How did those devils find us?" spat the Prince of Gnarhelm, glaring to the rear as if his anger alone could incinerate the bizarre rafts.

  "Through the dark of the night, no less," Alicia agreed. Subconsciously she looked for Keane. It seemed that now, with disaster so near at hand, the wizard was the only one who could offer them a chance of escape.

  But he wasn't even paying attention. The princess saw him in the prow, peering before them, studying the flat water in their path. The mage's posture, his whole attitude, depicted raw tension. Abruptly he pulled a small vial of dust from a pouch of his robe and pinched a small portion of it between a finger and thumb. Then he let the dust fly, at the same time chanting the command words for a spell.