The Day of the Tempest

Chapter 3 Blister’s pluck

The kender glared into the entrance of the cave and nervously wrung her aching hands. Palin, Feril, Rig—all down there at the mercy of the spawn! She had been spared, but not left unscathed. Her back stung horribly where she had been struck by one of their bolts.

“Wonder if my tunic is ruined?” she said to herself. “Wonder if I’m Weeding? Wonder if they’re all right?”

She cocked her head and listened, but heard only the prattling of the trapped wyverns, their grating voices echoing off of the cavern walls. There was no whoosh of wings or a crackle of lightning. And no sounds from her friends.

“I could go get help,” she said. “Sure, I could go back to the ship, get Jasper and Groller, Fury, Dhamon’s … er, Rig’s lance and then we could all come back here and rescue them. If they’re not dead by then. If they’re not dead already.”

She glanced up at the dark sky, then down at the sand that stretched away from her in all directions — it looked gray in the scant light from the stars. “Probably couldn’t find the Anvil anyway. Can’t tell which way’s north.” The kender sucked in her bottom lip and took a tentative step toward the cave. “Can’t see in there without Palin’s magic light. Can’t see in the dark.” She took another step and carefully touched the rock of the cave’s entrance. She couldn’t feel the stone through the heavy fabric.

“Somebody’s gotta help them. And I’m the only somebody here.” Blister gingerly pulled her gloves from her hands, revealing crippled, scarred fingers. She took another step forward and let the darkness envelop her. Then she raised her hand to the cave wall, and painfully started to feel her way down.

Shaon had been the only one Blister ever told about the mishap that caused the disfigurement of her hands. Years ago, curiosity had demanded that Blister open a merchant’s chest and its magical trap left her with pain in her hands and scars that she tried to hide beneath an ever-growing assortment of gloves. Maybe the fact that Buster had confided in Shaon and told her the tale was one of the things that had cursed the first mate. Blister didn’t want to lose any more friends.

The kender cringed as her fingers ran over a sharp outcropping. Her fingertips were so incredibly sensitive. They felt the air flowing in from the cave, the recirculating air flowing back out. And they felt the air stop when she approached an object that blocked its flow, like a rocky spire or the carcass of a camel.

As the gibbering of the wyverns grew louder, Blister took in a lungful of air, and determinedly plunged deeper into the dragon’s lair.

I should have gone with them, Jasper Fireforge thought. Not that I have any love for the desert, but if I was with them, I wouldn’t be worrying. He leaned against the Anvil's rail, stroked his short beard, and looked up at the stars. Feril, she can take care of herself. So can Rig. And Palin’s the most powerful sorcerer on Krynn. But taking the kender along. Well, that was certainly a double helping of foolishness. I should’ve objected, taken her place. After all, I promised Goldmoon I’d help Palin and his friends.

The dwarf heard the deck creak behind him, and he looked over his shoulder. “Evening, Groller,” he said. Jasper immediately pursed his lips and shook his head. “Sorry,” the dwarf mouthed, waggling the fingers of his right hand in a greeting.

The burly half-ogre grinned. “Jaz-pear not tard?”

The dwarf held up his hands, then whirled them in front of his face. “Worried, my friend. Can’t sleep.”

Groller nodded in understanding. “Rig strong, need dis trip. He be okay, need dis.” The half-ogre’s voice was thick and nasal, the words slurred together.

“Needs the dead dragon’s treasure you mean. Wants it anyway.” Jasper cupped his left palm then placed the back of his right hand in it. He raised his right hand several inches, turned it over and wriggled his fingers. It was a hand sign Groller had taught him. It meant money. Jasper pantomimed scooping up steel pieces and running them through his stubby dwarven fingers.

The half-ogre shook his head. “No. Rig need dis ‘cauz Rig loft Shaon. He hurd bad inside.”

“He loved her a lot from what I gathered,” the dwarf said to himself. He nodded in agreement with Groller.

“Hurd him bad inside dat Shaon’s dead,” Groller continued. “I link Rig wants dreasure ’cauz dragons luf dreasure. Dragon took Shaon. Rig take dragon’s dreasure “

“Sort of like a payback, even though the dragon’s dead?” Jasper sighed. “Well, I suppose that’s one way to look at it. I hope Rig finds what he’s looking for. But no amount of treasure will bring Shaon or Dhamon back. And no amount of treasure’s going to ease his loss. I know. I felt pretty empty for a long while after my Uncle Flint died.”

Groller raised his eyebrows and cocked his head.

“Sorry. I just don’t know enough of these gestures,” the dwarf grumbled. He made the sign for wealth again, then he pointed his index fingers at each other and circled them in front of his chest. It was the gesture for pain. Next, he shook his head furiously.

“I dno,” Groller said. There was a sadness in the half-ogre’s eyes that Jasper hadn’t noticed before. “Dreasure heals nothing. Dreasure can’t make you ferget”

“Hey, where’s your wolf?” the dwarf said, deciding to change the subject. He curved the fingers of his right hand, centered them over his chest, then flung them up violently—the sign for Fury, the name of Groller’s red-furred lupine.

Groller pointed at the deck and rested his head on his hand. “Sleep below,” he said. “Jaz-pear should too. Jaz-pear need rest. Morrow help me mend zails.”

“I’m not handy with a needle” the dwarf said. He balled his fist, raised it level with the side of his head, and shook it. He had accepted the task. “Yes,” he said. Then he pantomimed sewing. “I’ll help you in the morning. But I’m going to stay up a while longer.”

He returned his gaze to the shore of the Northern Wastes. “I think I’ll stand here and worry a little more. I should’ve gone with them. A double helping of foolishness, taking a kender along.”