The Day of the Tempest

Chapter 20

“Thinking about her, aren’t you?” Blister stood at the ship’s railing, looked up at Dhamon, and repeated the question more loudly. She gave him a pouty face when she received no reply. “Well, I’d certainly be thinking about her if I were you. She’s beautiful and smart, can talk to all sorts of animals. She has tattoos, and she obviously is in love with you. I’d be thinking a lot about her, especially after the past few days.”

He finally nodded. “Yes, I am thinking about her” He was staring at the coast of Abanasinia, at a city called Zaradene that they were swiftly approaching. Rig planned to stop there for the better part of the day to have the mizzen sail replaced and to pick up some fresh water and fruit before heading on to the Silver Stair on Schallsea.

The mariner slowly steered the ship toward one of the deep-water docks. It was a sizeable town that obviously relied heavily on sea trade. The docks were nearly full of ships— two- and three-masted schooners primarily, and several caravels. It took big ships to brave the treacherous waters between Southern Ergoth and Abanasinia. A couple of massive merchant galleys were anchored out in the harbor, their longboats in the process of transporting some of the crews ashore.

The smaller docks were filled with local fishing vessels that ran the gamut from large boats in good repair, newly painted and with several hands on board, to scows with warped wood that seemed to barely stay afloat.

The shore was busy this late afternoon. Fishermen sold their wares to all manner of customers, from men and women picking out a fish or two that would be their evening’s main course, to inn owners buying barrels full of them. Young women in multicolored dresses danced, entertaining the sailors for a few coins. And the street was thick with urchins looking for handouts from sympathetic travelers and keeping an eye out for bulging purses that could be easily snatched.

This would be a fair place to live, Dhamon thought to himself. Perhaps he and Feril could find a measure of happiness in a cozy stone cottage in a town like this, he mused—after they made their stand against the dragons. And if they lived through such foolhardiness.

Spaced evenly along the city’s shore and along its southeastern boundary were numerous towers, atop which stood men with spyglasses pressed to their eyes. Some scanned across the water to Southern Ergoth, Frost’s realm. Others looked to the far south where Beryl held sway. So far the White had stayed put on his icy domain, and Beryl’s forest hadn’t grown any farther north in the past decade, hinting that the Green was content to lord over the Qualinesti homeland.

Rig said he’d heard from sailors in the last port that seers here were constantly asked to consult their bones and tea leaves in an effort to learn what the dragons were doing, and that occasionally patrols were sent to Ankatavaka and the forest beyond to learn what the Green was up to. The patrols never went too deep into the forest—at least not the ones that were lucky enough to come back.

Zaradene’s waterfront businesses looked like they were thriving. Most were one- and two-level stone buildings with gaily painted trim and placards advertising the specials of the day. A few were made of wood with thatched roofs, and these appeared to be of newer construction. One sizeable wood building, painted light brown with ivory and pale blue trim, had a large glass window. It caught Dhamon’s eye. He squinted to make out a few dresses on display.

“I bet you’re thinking they’d look pretty on Feril,” Blister said, following Dhamon’s gaze. “But I don’t think she likes long skirts. I could help you pick something out for her. She seems to favor green. Maybe she’d wear a dress if it was green and—”

“I don’t have enough steel left,” he replied. He’d spent most of the coins the mariner gave him on clothes and boots for himself.

“Well, I’ve a few coins, and an old friend’s collection of silver spoons,” she offered. “We could guess at her size and…”

He shook his head.

“So you’re not going into town with me and Rig?”

“Not this time.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re worried about her, I bet.” Blister fussed with her braid. She had on a pair of pale blue gloves this morning that matched her shirt and the trim on her dark blue leggings. She was wearing the gloves because she was going into town and didn’t want strangers staring at her scarred hands. The kender hadn’t been wearing any on the ship, and had explained to everyone at least three times that a vision of Goldmoon made her realize she could move her fingers without pain. “I guess I’d worry too if I was in love with—”

“No reason to worry. Feril can take care of herself.” The voice was Rig Mer-Krel’s. He’d turned the wheel over to one of his mates and had moved silently up behind the pair. He laughed and patted the top of Blister’s head. His eyes narrowed when he looked at Dhamon. “Feril will probably end up taking care of Palin and Usha—and Jasper, too.”

The kender smiled. “You never worry about anything, Rig”

“That’s not true,” he said. The ship eased up to the dock, and he frowned when the hull scraped softly against a piling. “I worry about the Anvil. And I worry about the dragonlance. Dhamon said I could keep it for now, and I went and loaned it to that elf. Gilthanas better bring it back to me—without a scratch on it.”

While Blister and Rig busied themselves in port, Dhamon turned his attention to Sageth. Sitting by the capstan and earnestly consulting his tablet, the old man clucked to himself.

“I’ve decided,” he said when he finally acknowledged Dhamon’s presence.

“Decided what?” Dhamon knelt next to him and tried to make some sense of the scratchings on the clay.

The old man rubbed his bald head and seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then he drummed a finger in the center of the tablet. “See, it’s very clear,” he said. “The ancient magic. The best time to destroy the items would be at night— with the one moon in full view, low on the horizon. And in a barren place. The earth could well shake as the deed is done. Don’t want people to get hurt. Or buildings.”

Dhamon followed the man’s ringer across the scratches. He could read well enough, but not whatever language was on the clay. “Why at night? Why does it make a difference?”

“It might not,” the old man tsk-tsked. “But then again it might. Don’t you understand? It’s probably not the night, it’s probably the moon. It was left by the gods—in place of the three we used to have, Lunitari, Nuitari, and Solinari. So there is a bit of god magic in the single moon, as there is still a bit of god magic in Krynn. But until the ancient artifacts are destroyed and their magic released, well… perhaps even the three moons will return. Oh, to bring such magic back to Ansalon.” Sageth pursed his lips, staring into Dhamon’s eyes. “I know you don’t understand all this magic prattle. Most warriors don’t. But your elf lady does. She knows magic. She knows it’s important.”

“I know it’s important,” Dhamon replied testily. “With more magic, the sorcerers would have a better chance against the overlords.” He rubbed his leg, feeling the hardness of the scale beneath his pants and shivering involuntarily.

“So it’s all up to your friends,” Sageth continued. “I certainly hope they’re successful, and can gain the pieces before the dragons can. Now, this medallion we seek, on Schallsea?”

“Goldmoon’s.”

“Yes. Well, it won’t be enough. Must have four, I think. Four should do it. See my notes here? Three might do it, might. But four to be certain. We must be certain because there might not be time for a second attempt.”

“My friends will be successful,” Dhamon said. “Or they will die trying.”