Once Around the Realms

Chapter 14

"What do you mean, we're going down?" said the on-the-verge-of panic Passepout, whose aforementioned fear of heights now seemed to have been replaced by a fear of vertical sudden impact.

"The balloon seems to be tearing at its seams," replied Curtis, whose bravery did not mask his realization of their possible doom. "The strain of maneuvering around those fireballs and the constant changes in air pressure are finally taking their toll."

"Well," replied Volo, fingering his beard while thinking out loud, "she wasn't really constructed to hold the ship aloft."

Curtis continued with the bad news at hand. "I also fear that we can no longer steer. The strain of the ropes pulling on it will only hasten the wearing of the inflated material."

"Well, then," Volo replied, "we seem to have only two choices. We can let the ship steer itself until eventually the balloon deflates or breaks, at which point we will surely crash, or we can try to continue to steer her, thus accelerating the damage to the balloon, and the resultant crash."

"Great," replied Passepout, rolling his eyes, and wondering why they were wasting time examining two equally lethal alternatives, "but what's the difference where we crash?"

"A plain is always better than a jagged mountainside, and a gradual descent is much better than a freely accelerating plummet. Remember, when falling it is much better to emulate a feather than a rock-unless, of course, you want to make a hole in the ground or to be a pancake."

"Mister Volo," Curtis interjected, "meaning no offense, of course, but I really don't think this is a good time for pithy epigraphs from some Kara-Tur fate biscuit."

"Point well taken, lad," the master traveler replied. "On to the course of action. We must control and delay our descent for as long as we can, or at least until our chances of surviving a landing have increased dramatically. First, we must find something either to patch the leaks or at least cushion the balloon's surface from the abrasion of the ropes during steering. Might I recommend using the thunder lizard's skin as a cushion against the ropes? Its value as sun reflector is now outweighed by the matters at hand. And we can use the remaining paste and paint as a temporary sealant on those areas where the balloon has already worn thin."

"Aye, aye, sir," replied Curtis, who immediately hopped to the task at hand.

"We must also reduce the strain on the balloon's buoyancy itself," Volo continued. "Therefore Passepout, you and I must get rid of anything that is not an absolute necessity, to lighten our load… and that includes food."

"Aye, aye sir," replied Passepout, who oddly enough also immediately hopped to the task at hand and set off for the food stores.

"Mister Volo," Curtis asked, while tending to the removal of the patch from the hull, "what next? I mean, this won't really solve the problem."

"No, lad," the master traveler replied, "but it will buy us time."

Volo left the lad to his task and followed Passepout's lead to the ship's stores, but instead of finding the thespian busy casting the supplies overboard, he instead found him gorging himself with all of the provisions at hand.

"Passepout, what are you doing?"

"Oonk, ooff, sputter, foo," the thespian replied, which Volo's keen ear easily translating as "getting rid of the food."

"That doesn't help us one bit," the master traveler scolded. "The food weighs the same inside you as it does inside the stores."

"But we can't just throw it overboard," the pudgy Passepout protested. "What will we do for supper?"

"Supper will only concern us if we survive that long," Volo corrected. "Now move it!"

The thespian's grumbling retort was interrupted by the arrival of Curtis, whose flustered manner seemed to indicate that his task was also not going as well as expected. "Mister Volo," he implored, "it won't work."

"What won't work?"

"The thunder lizard's skin. I got it up from the hull all right, but I can't cut it down to a manageable size to line the ropes. The skin is too tough, and now the hull seems to be cracking as well."

The two older travelers left the stores and accompanied the young beachcomber to the site of the former patch. The skin had been loosened and pushed to the side, now revealing two ever-widening cracks that reached out from both sides of the hole in the hull, threatening to bisect the ship lengthwise.

"The strain of dodging those fireballs must have been too much for her," the master traveler observed.

"Well, don't just stand there, Curtis," Passepout ordered. "Replace the patch! Put the skin back!"

"It's too late for that," Volo replied. "The hole's gotten too big."

Suddenly the ship lurched to the left, setting the deck askew.

"What happened?" the frantic Passepout demanded.

"The ropes holding the balloon to the boat must have shifted," Volo replied. "She's deflating faster than I thought."

"We have to do something," Curtis implored.

Volo climbed up top to check the riggings, his two crew mates in tow. As he feared, the balloon was deflating, the ship descending at an ever-increasing rate. Volo was at a loss, but both of his crew mates were looking to him for guidance and inspiration.

"Well," he said out loud, trying to defuse their impending panic, "too bad Grumby cut out with the only available Chultian air support… wait! That's it! It just might work!"

Passepout and Curtis were shocked by the sudden change in the calm conduct of their airship captain, who was quickly undoing ropes and rushing around the deck like an ant on the edge of the abyss.

"Here!" their animated leader instructed. "Tie these ropes to each of the four corners of the lizard skin. Fast!"

"Why?" the two crewman replied, while simultaneously following orders.

"I remember reading in the papers of the explorer Artus Cimber on some of the obscure customs of some of tribes of Chult. I think it was the Tabaxi who had some sort of manhood ritual whereby the young males, upon reaching maturity, would have to throw themselves off a cliff with only an umbrella-shaped blanket to slow them down. You see, the warm air currents would slow their descent just like the geyser that inflated our balloon, thus allowing them to survive the fall. Supposedly it was done in honor of three Tabaxi who saved their king by helping him escape from the Batiri goblin tribes. I think their names were Gherri, Aahnnie, and Modesti."

"But how does this help us?" Passepout implored.

Volo pointed to the ground that they were approaching.

"There!" he instructed. "If we stay on board at our current rate of descent we will be bashed to our deaths on those rocky ridges. Ergo, we must abandon ship before we reach there."

"So we can be bashed to our deaths on the plains below?" Passepout asked.

"Maybe," Volo replied, "but hopefully not. Good, that should be secure enough. Curtis, pass me my pack."

The lad complied without thinking.

"Good," the master traveler responded, hoisting it into place on his back, with the shoulder straps. "Now quickly, take the other end of one of the ropes, and attach it to the front of your belt. On second thought, Passepout attach an end on each side."

Both complied, unaware of the rhyme or the reason for their actions, and ever aware of the approaching doom of the rocky mountain cliffs.

"Good, now one more rope, tied around us, holding us back to back to back," the master traveler continued. "Better make it twice around. Good."

"But I don't understand," Curtis queried, while still complying.

"We're all going to die," the thespian replied in resignation.

"I hope not," Volo responded, shifting their bound, three-person bulk toward the ship's bow. "If it works for the Tabaxi, it might work for us."

"What did you say those guys' names were?" Passepout asked.

Volo checked the security of the ropes and straightened out the unfurled thunder lizard's skin as he replied. "Gherri, Aahnnie, Mo…"

Once again the ship lurched. The hull cracked in two. The three bound travelers were thrown backward over the bow, the lizard skin following at a rope's length.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling… lurch upward.

The skin caught the wind and became inflated, slowing their descent drastically.

"It's working!" Curtis replied.

"We're going to die!" Passepout cried.

"Hold the ropes!" Volo shouted. "Use both hands! We should hit the plains in seconds."

True to his word, they did.

Volo managed to extricate himself first from beneath the lizard skin that had landed on top of them, and managed to catch one last look at the airship Minnow as it crashed into the rocky ridge and tumbled down the mountainside, breaking into unrecognizable splinters and shards of airbag and wood.

Under his breath, and unheard by his crew members, Volo breathed a sigh of relief, saying, "I honestly didn't think we'd make it. I guess I owe Artus Cimber one."

The master traveler then turned his attention back to Passepout and Curtis, who were having trouble extricating themselves from the rope-and-skin contraption that had saved their lives.

"My aching body," Passepout complained, "and we forgot the food."

"We made it!" Curtis announced in disbelief.

"Of course," Volo replied. "Was there ever any doubt? Let's make camp here. The sun is setting, and our makeshift sky sail will also make a perfect windbreak and blanket to protect us from the evening chill."

Few words were spoken, and the exhausted threesome were at rest before the sun had fully dipped below the horizon.

Fatigue had won out over caution, and the night passed uneventfully despite the lack of a guard on watch.

As the sun made its appearance on the opposite horizon, Curtis and Passepout awoke to muscles and joints that were now just beginning to make known their complaints about the activities of the previous day.

"Good morning," greeted Volo, who had obviously been up since the first crack of sunlight had started to illuminate the shadow-ridden plains. He was contemplating the enchanted map, which he had luckily placed in his pack at the first sign of trouble with the Red Wizard. "As best I can estimate, we're somewhere around here, in the northern part of the Quoya Desert, around the Horse Plains."

"Huh?" Passepout replied, wiping the sands of slumber from his eyes and yawning.

"The Horse Plains, also called the Hordelands, or Taan as it's known in the native tongue," Volo elaborated. "Not too bad, considering the alternative."

"What alternative?" the thespian groaned, the complaints of his joints drowned out by the rumblings of his stomach.

"Death," the master traveler succinctly replied.

"Oh," the thespian acquiesced.

"But aren't the people of the Hordelands hostile?" Curtis asked. "And didn't King Azoun and his Purple Dragons defeat them and their savage and barbaric ways during the Horde Wars?"

Volo chuckled.

"Well, I guess we found an area that your alleged education is lacking in. Sure, Azoun and his boys managed to turn back the Horde invasion… but savage and barbaric ways? I don't think so, that is unless you happen to be one of the merchants whose caravans were plundered of their wealth and wares. From what I understand, Yamun Khahan, leader of the Tuigan (that's what they call themselves, the Horde is a western moniker) would even offer his captives the choice of joining him and his raiding party on their invasion westward."

"What if a prisoner declined the offer?" Curtis asked.

"If he or she was of value as a hostage, they were ransomed. If not, they were killed, not unlike any other civilized culture engaged in the uncivilized practice of making war. Savage and barbaric? No more than any other special interest group of our own fair Faerun."

"I'm hungry," Passepout grumbled to no one in particular.

"So I hear," Volo replied, pointing to the thespian's ample abdomen, whose rumblings were hard to miss. "As are we all."

"So what do we do now?" Curtis inquired.

"Just wait right here until that cloud of dust on the horizon catches up with us."

"Oh, great! A dust storm! Just what we need," commented the sarcastic thespian.

"Not a dust storm, my friends," Volo corrected. "That cloud is too self-contained to be a manifestation of nature's wrath. No, if I don't miss my guess, I'd say that's a Tuigan minghan-or, shall I say, raiding party-coming our way. No doubt they saw our rapid descent of yesterday and are on their way to lay claim to anything that has survived the crash. So the real question, gentlemen, is whether we prefer to be dead, new recruits, or hostages. Any questions?"

The horse-borne raiding party arrived within the hour and were shocked to find survivors from the ship that had fallen out of the sky. Volo, Passepout, and Curtis were taken prisoner, bound, and led on horseback back to the camp of the party's leader under armed guard, while the rest of the party proceeded to the mountainside to pick among the rubble of the Minnow for something of value.

The Tuigan camp was not far from the crash site, and in less than two hours, the three travelers found themselves in audience with the Horde leader Jamign, or as he preferred to be called, Aleekhan.

Aleekhan was a typical minor Horde warlord who had come to power after the western campaign. His minghan was composed of fewer than a thousand members, and his store of wealth was even less impressive. Like many other small-time warlords, he was just another tribal bully who managed to be in the right place at the right time to be named Khan. Dumb, maybe… but also dangerously lucky, as the numerous now-dead rivals for the khanship had found out.

"I am Aleekhan, Master of the Wastes, successor to the realms of Yamun Khahan, greatest of all Tuigan, and plunderer of the West," he bellowed in the common tongue used by most of the merchants of Faerun. "All who approach, cower in my wake. All who oppose me, die!"

Passepout, weakened from hunger, having not eaten in more than twelve hours, fainted as if on cue.

"We cower in your wake, O great Aleekhan," replied Volo in his most fawning tone, nudging Curtis to quickly drop to his knees. "We have traveled far to join the greatest of all minghans."

"You are the men who were dropped out of the sky?" the warlord inquired.

"Yes, O great Khan," Volo answered. "We have braved both air and sea to arrive in your presence."

"Well," replied the warlord, his ego fueled by Volo's blandishments, "you are now here. What do you have to offer your Khan?"

"Our undying gratitude, and our lifelong service!" Volo responded with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

Aleekhan stood up and approached the three travelers.

"What's the matter with him?" the Khan queried, poking the still unconscious Passepout with the toe of his slipper.

"He is the great warrior Passepout, bloodthirsty buccaneer of the Sea of Fallen Stars. No doubt you have heard of him," Volo replied.

"No doubt," replied the Khan in a noncommittal tone, "but why is he unconscious?"

"He was consumed by awe, almighty Khan, having never been in the presence of a warrior even mightier than himself."

"Quite," replied the Khan, returning to the makeshift throne upon which he had been seated before. "But enough about him. Tell me more about why you've come to join me on my quest for glory."

"Well," Volo replied, trying to think fast.

"No doubt, you have heard of my latest hostage," the Khan interrupted.

"But of course," Volo answered. "Further proof that you are indeed the heir to the glory of Yamun Khahan."

"But unlike him, I shall make the West cower at my feet. Even now, my name will inspire terror throughout Cormyr. What other warlord would have in his possession one of the most respected daughters of their greatest trading company, the Seven Suns?"

"You mean your hostage is the daughter of Lord Gruen Bleth of the Seven Suns Trading Company of Cormyr?" the master traveler answered. "I am in awe."

"But of course," the Khan replied. "Rouse your friend, and let us dine. Let it not be said that Aleekhan mistreats his minions."

With that, Aleekhan clapped his hands and was borne in his throne out of the reception tent, and into another even more tackily lavish tent, where a feast already seemed to be underway.

Volo and Curtis quickly roused Passepout with the promise of food and followed the Khan to the feast.

"Your friend the great warrior has the appetite of a dragon," commented the Khan.

"And the fearsome bravery to match, O great Khan," Volo replied.

Volo's fawning blandishments had secured himself and his companions places of honor at the great Khan's side during the afternoon's feast, which they learned was the daily occurrence that accounted for the Khan's massive bulk, which far exceeded that of Passepout, Curtis, and Volo combined.

"So how did you plan on serving me?" the Khan inquired. "What talents do you have to offer?"

"I am learned in the ways of many nations," Volo replied. "In addition to warfare, I can also advise you on politics, customs, cultures…"

"Can you help me get a better price on my hostage's ransom?" the Khan interrupted.

"Sure," Volo replied, "but…"

"Good," the Khan interrupted. "Then tomorrow we head westward to Cormyr."

"No!" Volo exclaimed, then adding quickly, "almighty Khan."

Aleekhan began to become enraged, his bloated body turning red in fury. "You dare to contradict your Khan?"

"No, almighty Khan," Volo obsequiously replied, trying to backpedal as fast as possible. At the same time, he plotted to discourage the Horde leader from causing him and Passepout to double back and risk the mortal consequences that had been promised. "What I meant to say was that perhaps you should consider another destination."

"Why?" the Khan demanded. "Would not her value be the greatest in her homeland?"

"In most cases, almighty Khan, yes," Volo conceded, adding, "but because she is a merchant's daughter, perhaps a higher price can be fetched by selling her to a rival merchant house, like those that exist beyond the Dragonwall in Kara-Tur."

"I know of no such rival merchant houses," Aleekhan interrupted.

"But I do," Volo countered, "and I am sure Lord Gruen Bleth's rivals would pay a handsome sum to keep him in check by holding his daughter ransom."

Aleekhan fingered his beard the way he had seen Volo do, in hopes that it would make him appear to be as intelligent as the quick-witted master traveler appeared to be.

"You may have a point," the Khan said. "Originally I had contemplated making her my consort, my Reeta. That is why I originally bought her from my cousin Sammhie."

"You bought her!" Curtis exclaimed in disbelief. "I thought you had…"

Volo gave Curtis a sharp elbow to the ribs that more than succeeded in hushing him.

"Of course I bought her, and at the time I thought it was a bargain. We had just seized a caravan laden with feed for horses. Sammhie's band had fallen on hard times. He lacks the necessary qualities to be a great Khan and busies himself with collecting tapestries and sculptures."

"Sort of a Khan artist you might say," Passepout offered before being encouraged to silence by the master traveler's inconspicuous pinching of his portly rump.

"Exactly!" the Khan agreed. "He was never much of a warlord, and now his mounts were starving, so I agreed to trade a supply of hay, which I now had in excess, for the lovely hostage he had picked up on one of his bazaar raids. I intended for her to be my bride. All were to know the price I paid for her. She was to be known as my Reeta-hayworth. Unfortunately, she turned out to be more trouble than she was worth. I mean who wants to lie down with a raging wildcat? You see these scars?"

The Khan pointed to a series of scabbed rake marks on his cheeks.

"I thought they were a sign of bravery," Volo answered.

Aleekhan laughed. "No," the Khan retorted, "they are the sign of an uncooperative consort. That's when I decided to ransom her."

Volo sensed that the feast was coming to an end, and decided to make his move.

"O great Aleekhan, I and my companions are at your disposal. Why don't you let us proceed to Kara-Tur to make the arrangements for the ransom? With four of your best-fed steeds at our disposal, we will be back in no time, with arrangements made and booty in hand. Then both east and west will know of the great exploits of Aleekhan, the Khan who dared to ransom the daughter of Lord Gruen Bleth, causing all of Cormyr to quake in his wake."

"Catchy," Passepout commented to his former master, adding, "and don't forget to ask for food."

"All we will require is provisions for two weeks, and the horses."

The Khan briskly rubbed his hands together in anticipation of his upcoming booty.

"So let it be said, so let it be done," the Khan replied. "You will leave at first light."

The Khan then clapped his hands, and the banquet was over.

For the rest of the afternoon, the three travelers went about putting together the provisions for their trip eastward. At sunset they convened at the outskirts of the camp.

"Once the camp is asleep, we will leave," Volo instructed.

"Do we have enough supplies?" Passepout asked.

"The four fastest stallions of the tribe, each packed with provisions," Curtis replied.

"Perfect," Volo commended, adding, "but did you say four?"

"Of course," Passepout answered. "One's just for my lunch, right?"

"Wrong," Curtis replied. "I just assumed that we would also rescue the daughter of Lord Gruen Bleth. Right, Mister Volo?"

Volo shrugged. "Why not?" he agreed. "And now that I think of it, I have a plan in mind, too."

"But why do we have to?" Passepout whined.

"We are just following orders," Volo replied.

The three travelers had arrived at the tent where the Bleth heiress was being held captive.

"She'll just slow us down," Curtis interjected. "Couldn't you talk the Khan out of it?"

"The Khan's will is our command," Volo replied, then turning to the guard who stood at the tent's entrance, added, asking for corroboration, "Right?"

"Khan's will be done," the guard replied in the high voice that bespoke a eunuch.

"Uh, right," Volo replied. "You see the Khan instructed us to take the hostage with us so that we could get a better price for her." The master traveler then elbowed the guard in the ribs. "I think he also wants to be rid of her as soon as possible. I understand that they didn't really get along."

"Khan's will be done," the guard replied.

"Uh, right," Volo answered. "Now, if you will just fetch her for us, we will be on our way."

"No," the guard replied.

Okay, now what? Volo thought. The ruse hadn't worked.

"… I have no desire to dance with that wildcat," the guard continued. "Fetch her yourselves. I'll watch your horses."

"Of course," Volo answered, and the three travelers entered the tent.

The young woman was the perfect synthesis of eastern and western beauty. Dark eyes, auburn hair, and ample curves and calves, she was bedecked in the silks of a Tuigan princess, which did little to conceal her obviously pampered beauty.

Her full and luscious lips were interrupted by a silken gag, and she was bound both hand and foot.

"We've come to rescue you," Curtis said, as he undid the scarf that bound her mouth.

"Well, it's about time!" she scolded in none too discreet a tone. "Do you know who I am? I've been-"

"Quick! The gag!" Volo ordered, and Curtis immediately complied.

"Mmphgh!" she protested indignantly.

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Passepout inquired. "I mean, ticking off an heiress and all. What if she tells her father, and he gets mad, and decides not to give us a reward…"

"Later," Volo instructed, silencing the thespian. "Curtis, escort the lady out."

"Aye, aye, sir," Curtis replied absently, forgetting that they were now off the ship. With that, he hoisted the young woman over his shoulder as if she were an extremely well-proportioned sack of potatoes and carried her out of the tent.

"Good luck," the guard bade them as they bound their burden to one of the fleet-footed steeds.

Volo mounted his horse, and replied, "Khan's will be done!"

The three travelers and their "guest" headed eastward under the cover of night.