Dragon's bluff c-3

by Mary H. Herbert

  The chaos in the cavern was slowly subsiding as the sea elves killed the ghagglers and pursued those few that fought their way free. A few corpses floated in the water. All the sharks had vanished.

  Ulin sat down on a rock near Kethril and tried not to shiver. He pointed to the prostrate sea lion and asked, “Is there some way to help him?”

  The sight of the pitiable sea lion clouded the sirine’s face with sadness. She approached the beast slowly, singing a song in some strange language that sounded to Ulin like a whale’s song. The sea lion lifted its head and glared at her, but it made no move toward her as she unlocked the metal fetter around its tail and tossed it aside.

  Just then a dolphin popped its head out of the water close by, its bottlenose sleek and gray. The sirine said something to it in her own language, and the dolphin replied in a laughing, low-pitched chitter. It swam back and forth near the sea lion as if assessing the situation, then it ducked under, emerged again, and squirted the lion in the face with a mouthful of water. The lion made an attempt to snarl, but it still did not move. Its mouth curved in a perpetual smile, the dolphin tried again. It had to repeat its squirts three times before the lion rallied enough strength to lumber toward the water. Growling at the persistent dolphin, it slid below the surface. For a minute or two, Ulin and Kethril could see the animal luxuriating in the healing comfort of its natural environment before it gave a deft twist of its massive tail and vanished into the black depths of the grotto.

  The sirine waved her thanks to the dolphin and came back. “The lion is weak, but it is free now. It should heal.”

  Two sea elves climbed onto the island at that moment and bowed to the two humans. The elves were both male, over five feet tall, elegantly built, with skin of greenish silver. Their blue hair was short-cropped against their heads, and their faces bore no trace of a beard.

  Ulin pushed himself to his feet and bowed. He greeted them in Elvish and offered his heartfelt gratitude.

  They studied him curiously from bare feet to matted, wet hair with no sign of arrogance or condescension, then they struck the butts of their tridents on the stone. “It is our pleasure to kill ghagglers,” one replied in heavily accented Common.

  “Is there some way out of this damp hole?” Kethril grumbled. “I have things to attend to.”

  “Yes, like meeting your other daughter,” Ulin snapped.

  A grimace passed over Kethril’s face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, not after the, ah, incident in Flotsam. The city council will not be happy to see me. I’m going back to Dead Pirate’s Cove to see if anyone is alive.”

  “On the contrary,” Ulin said, his voice like a steel blade. “The council will be delighted to see you.” Although he never considered himself to be much like his grandfather Caramon, in that instant his anger kindled the fire in his eyes and tempered the curves of his face into hard planes and angles set with adamant. It was the look many foes had seen on Caramon’s face before they died. Kethril read that look and inched back on his seat, but Ulin would not let him back away unscathed. “You took the taxes from Flotsam. You are the reason we traveled halfway across Ansalon. You put Flotsam in danger of being destroyed, and you are the reason your daughter is in a dangerous situation. Now you will go to Flotsam to help fix this mess, even if I have to tie you to my back and swim there!” Ulin’s voice sharpened with each word until his anger reverberated through the grotto.

  The elves watched him with interest. This was none of their affair, but they enjoyed the curious interaction of humans.

  The sirine looked worriedly from one man to the other. She sidled close to Kethril and put a hand on his shoulder.

  Kethril studied the younger man as if searching for some crack in Ulin’s fierce armor. There was none. At last he glanced at the sirine and the grotto beyond, then he said, “Ulin of Solace, if you give me your word that you will grant me safe conduct in Flotsam, I will go with you.”

  “What makes you think you can accept my word?”

  “You have something I have never had, but it is a quality I respect nonetheless. I will accept your word of honor.”

  The young Majere knew he had little choice. Stuck as he was in an underwater cavern surrounded by disinterested elves, he needed Kethril’s cooperation to get back to dry land. There was also the irritating consideration that Kethril Torkay was Flotsam’s last hope. “You have it. I will take you to Flotsam and try to convince them not to hang you. But if you try to escape or flee or hide, I will hunt you down and kill you myself.”

  The gambler sighed and heaved himself to one foot. “I believe you would, young man. I guess we’d better go to Flotsam.” In a swift, mercurial change of mood, he slapped Ulin on the back and grinned. “Daughter, my lovely green girl,” he called to the sirine, “see if you can find my clothes in the ghagglers’ spoils. I’m going to need them if I am to see my oldest.”

  Notwen hammered away at the spikes holding the new mast to its framework. A few more nails here and there, and the thing just might stay upright-even if the wind blew. He’d been trying for several hours now to find the right configuration of rigging, spars, mast, and sail that would move his flat-bottomed boat. Unfortunately, all his books on sailing ships were on the shelves of his library in Flotsam, so he had to rig this sail from experimentation. He made a mental note to read those books when he returned home and make notes to bring on his next voyage. It was obvious he could not rely solely on his steam engine. It still needed a great deal more work to make it reliable.

  While he worked, the Second Thoughts drifted placidly westward on the current, warmed by the afternoon sun. The great bay seemed too empty to Notwen. There were no ships or boats in sight, no sign of anyone other than a few birds, a school of passing flying fish, and a curious dolphin who poked its head out of the water, chirped at him a few times, and ducked out of sight. He was so involved in his work that he paid no attention to the progress of the Second Thoughts or the time of day or the pod of dolphins that approached the boat toward late afternoon.

  The first sound that alerted him to boarders was the pleased greeting of a familiar voice. Things bumped against the side of the boat and the Second Thoughts rocked as people climbed over the railings. Notwen cried out in alarm and jumped to his feet, his hammer clutched in his hand. He saw a wet, nearly naked ghost come striding toward him, and terror overwhelmed his stunned mind. His eyes rolled up in his head, and his small body slumped to the deck.

  “He fainted?” Kethril said incredulously.

  Ulin gathered up the gnome and moved him into the shade of the cabin. “He probably thought we were dead.”

  The sirine and a group of sea elves climbed onboard and wandered around the small boat touching everything. They examined Notwen’s tools, stared at the motionless paddlewheel, and admired the strange little engine, but when they saw the mast and the sail, they gathered in a cluster and laughed uproariously.

  It was the sound of their hilarity that brought Notwen to his senses. He lifted his head, saw Ulin first, and grinned from ear to ear. “IamsopleasedtoseeyouUlinhowdidyouescapefromtheseasligsandwhatarethosecreaturesonmyboat?”

  “One word at a time, Notwen,” Ulin reminded him.

  The gnome didn’t answer. He bounced to his feet, his fear forgotten, and crowded in among the tall sea elves jabbering and laughing by his mast. “What’s so funny?” he demanded. “Hey! Leave that rope alone!”

  The elves were laughing too hard to respond. The sirine pointed to the mess of rigging and sail and cobbled-together mast. “They think your sail is a bit overdone.” She shook her green hair. “It is a nice try, but it won’t work.”

  He crossed his arms and scowled at the elves. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied with a giggle. “I don’t sail boats. That’s just what they are saying.”

  Ulin looked up at Notwen’s attempts and frowned. “Is something wrong with your engine?”

  The gnome gave up trying to reason with the elves
and came to join the young mage. “It’s broken,” he said glumly. “The cogs are cracked, the shaft is bent, and there’s a hole in the boiler. I can’t fix it without my forge and tools at home.”

  Two of the sea elves, the same two who had met them in the cavern, detached themselves from the noisy group and walked over to Ulin and Kethril. The elves looked so much alike that Ulin wondered if they were brothers. In the bright light of day, their skin and hair gleamed with the brilliance of sunlight on water, and their eyes shone a dazzling blue.

  “The sirine tells us you are in a hurry to return to the place you call Flotsam,” one said.

  Ulin nodded. Kethril shrugged.

  “You will not get there with this sail,” the second commented.

  Ulin elbowed Notwen before the gnome could sputter a retort.

  “If you are willing to trade, we could provide you with dolphins to pull you there,” said the first elf.

  “Trade what?” asked Ulin.

  “Metal. Weapons. Tools.” The elf held up Notwen’s hammer and winked at the small gnome. “Master Tinker, your work is commendable, but ill-informed. Perhaps we could discuss sails and boats in the time it takes to get you back.”

  The offer of knowledge evaporated all of Notwen’s resentment and won his immediate approval. “I have lots of tools at the laboratory,” he whispered to Ulin. “Let them have what they want.”

  Ulin hesitated before he spoke. There was one more thing he wanted to ask the sea elves, but the thought was not a firm conviction in his mind. He’d had too many failures, too few successes. The small light in the cave had been the first spell to work for him for months, yet somehow he doubted it was the beginning of the return of his magic. The power was gone from his grasp, gone from his imagination. The spell in the cave had worked, but it had not given him the thrill of success that wielding magic once had. Maybe, he thought, his time with magic was over. He tilted his head slightly and rubbed the stubble on his chin. Perhaps if the elves were willing to trade for one or two magical artifacts with him, he could test the efficacy of his power and analyze the results without the emotions of previous failures. It was worth a try. Sea elves loved to delve through sunken ships and old ruins, and they were known for collecting artifacts, trinkets, and treasures from the sea. If nothing else, he could give the artifacts to Palin.

  When he mentioned his desire to trade for a few magic artifacts, the two elves exchanged looks and talked together for several minutes.

  “It has become dangerous to wield the power of the Istar relics,” one elf told Ulin. “The red dragon has hunted our people for years to force us to relinquish our collections. If she learns you have even one magic object, she will send her minions after you.”

  Ulin met his direct gaze eye for eye. “I know. I am-was-a dragonmage. In the past year my ability to wield magic has disappeared for reasons I do not understand. My father is seeking to learn the truth and to test every possible door still open to us, but we have few left.”

  The second elf nodded. “We have heard of the failure of magic. There may be one or two small items we could allow you to have.” He suddenly brightened and added, “We found a fine Khurish sword among the spoils of the sea-sligs. Was that yours?” At Ulin’s nod, the elf grinned. “We will keep that and see what my chieftain might be willing to part with. Meanwhile, for the use of the dolphins …”

  He waved a slim hand at Notwen’s scattered tools.

  While the sirine bandaged Kethril’s foot, Ulin, Notwen and the elves finalized their trade of tools for the use of a pod of dolphins willing to pull the Second Thoughts back to Flotsam. When they were finished, the sea elves happily collected their tools and called in the dolphins. They rigged half a dozen ropes with loops at the end and tied them to the bow of the boat. Chittering and squealing, the dolphins took the loops over their noses, thrust deep with their powerful tails, and turned the boat toward Flotsam. The Second Thoughts gained momentum.

  All but two of the sea elves waved good-bye and dived into the sea. In a flash of shining water they were gone into the blue deep. The sirine called a farewell to the elves and made herself comfortable on the bow to watch the dolphins. Ulin watched her, wondering if she planned to go all the way to Flotsam with them. Did she intend to meet her half-sister, Lucy?

  Ulin went into the cabin, hung up their wet clothes salvaged from the cavern, and rummaged through his gear until he found two reasonably clean tunics and two pairs of loose fitting pants that might fit Lucy’s father, then he took them to the gambler. Kethril was sitting on the deck, leaning back against the cabin wall. His skin was tanned a golden brown from days in the sun, and his muscles were well developed. Ulin wondered what sort of work the man did when he was not stealing from towns or playing at a gaming table.

  Kethril’s eyes were closed, but he opened one as Ulin tossed a tunic and a pair of pants into his lap. He eyed the younger man for a moment, then closed his eye. “If I look like you, we’d both better get dressed so we don’t scare Lucy.”

  Ulin glanced down at his arms and chest and realized what Kethril meant. Dark bruises, lacerations, and ugly scrapes covered his wrists, arms, chest, and legs. The ghagglers had not been gentle in the transportation or imprisonment of their prisoners. He pulled the clothes on and sat down on the deck beside Kethril. The older man did not move.

  Ulin did not mince words or waste time with pleasantries. “What made you change your mind about going to Flotsam?” he wanted to know. “You could have convinced the sirine to help you.”

  Kethril grunted. His face had relaxed and his breathing was beginning to slow. “Lucy,” he mumbled. “She shouldn’t have come.”

  The sun seeped into Ulin’s sore muscles like a warm draught. A spreading lassitude wrapped itself gently around him. He thought he should be angry at Kethril’s answer, but he could not summon the energy. His own eyelids were becoming very heavy. “She came for you, you know,” he said, letting his body slump down against the wall. It had been so long since he had been able to sleep. Somewhere, faintly, he could hear Notwen deep in conversation with the sea elf, and the sirine was singing. He could hear her voice like a soothing continuous sound, as soft as rainfall, as rhythmic as the waves. His eyelids drifted closed, and he heard nothing more.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Although the holiday was still twelve days away, the preparations for Flotsam’s Visiting Day were well underway. For weeks, the town’s kender population had been busy finishing the spring ale, pickling eggs for the traditional snack, and baking goodies to share with friends. Pease explained to Lucy that the kender tradition of “Hiyahowareya” in Flotsam had evolved from the old Visiting Day festival once celebrated in Kendermore before the coming of Malystryx. Everyone cleaned their houses on Visiting Day, then instead of visiting friends and neighbors-and often missing them because they were visiting, too-everyone met in the town commonland for a big picnic. That way, no one was missed. Gifts of food and drink were exchanged, borrowed items were returned, and everyone had a good time.

  The human population planned to participate as well. Although everyone worried about the dragon and the missing taxes, a spirit of optimism buoyed the citizens of Flotsam. They had their lady sheriff to handle the crisis, so something would work out.

  Only the councilmembers seemed subdued. Saorsha, Aylesworthy, and old Mayor Efrim walked around town looking like doomsayers. Lucy watched them worriedly and tried several times to talk to them, but they avoided her more and more, and when she could corner one or more, they never stayed on the same subject for long. She didn’t even have the Silver Fox to talk to. He had vanished completely without a word.

  Lucy worried about him. She worried about the elders and the probable return of the Dark Knights. Most of all, she worried about Ulin. He and Notwen had been gone for seven days-days that felt like an eternity. She realized she probably shouldn’t worry yet. The trip there and back in the boat would have taken three or four days, and they still had to find her fa
ther. It could be another three or four days before she could hope to see them. She yearned for Ulin with every fiber of her being, and she was losing patience rapidly. Why had she agreed to his leaving? Please Ulin, hurry home, she pleaded silently.

  Unknowingly, she increased the pressure of her legs against her horse’s sides, and he obediently broke into a rough trot. Challie jounced on the horse’s broad rump behind her.

  “Lucy … please … slow down … there’s nothing … to hold!” she gasped between bumps.

  Lucy quickly slowed the big bay back to a walk. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I was thinking of something else.”

  “Ulin,” Challie said. It was not a question. She had seen the worry shadow Lucy’s face day by day.

  Lucy’s shoulders shifted under her blue tunic. “Ever since that strange feeling I had the other day, all I want to do is see his face and know he is safe.”

  So did Challie. She liked Ulin and respected his abilities. She also admired him for his willingness to help Lucy find her father. Although she would not mention it to Lucy, she thought this business of finding the thief and hauling him back to Flotsam was impossible and a waste of time. The man and the money were long gone. With only twelve days left until tax day, she thought the people of Flotsam should be busy packing to flee, not preparing for a holiday.

  Each busy with her own thoughts, Lucy and Challie continued their ride out of the northern hills and down the road toward Flotsam’s city hall. They had been visiting the local farms to exchange the news and collect what taxes they could for the dreaded tax collector, and now tired and full of “just a little something before you go” snacks, they rode leisurely through the warmth of the late afternoon sun. A few drowsy flies followed them around and made the horse switch his tail occasionally.

  Mayor Efrim was waiting for them when Lucy rode the horse into the back courtyard and tethered him in the shade. The old man’s hands shook as he took the small bags she brought. The lines in his face crumpled together like wadded paper, and his rhuemy eyes twitched nervously. “It’s not enough,” he murmured. His gaze went up to the sky. “Not nearly enough.”