The Dragon Isles

Chapter Eight

All movement on deck ceased, and many sailors stood and peered over the forward rails. Karista, Bok, and Ula went to the bow as well.

Mik shouted up to Trip. “Where away?”

“Five degrees to port!”

“But that’s not the course you’ve charted, captain,” Karista called.

“We’re on the course laid out by the stars,” Mik replied, testily.

“Will you believe an ancient prophecy, or the eyes of your lookout?” Ula asked. Mik shot her an angry glance, and she chuckled.

“The elf is right, captain,” Karista said. “If we can see the isles, we should steer straight for them.”

“You’re sure about the heading, Trip?”

“Positive, captain!”

“All right,” Mik said. “I trust Trip’s eyes more than I do writing on an old piece of paper. I’ll set our course by his sighting.”

He brought the helm around, and soon those on deck saw the tips of blue-green islands jutting out of the pale mist on the horizon. The Dragon Isles glittered like gems amid a turquoise sea.

The crew laughed and congratulated themselves. Trip continued to jump up and down excitedly atop the mast. Karista even kissed Bok on the lips. Only Ula stood quietly against the stem rail. A knowing smile played across the sea elf s beautiful face. Her odd demeanor worried Mik.

Tales of vast wealth, nearly within their reach, ran through the ship like wildfire. Soon, every hand not otherwise occupied had assembled on deck for a glimpse.

“The isles are exactly the way I remember them,” old Poul said. He wiped a tear from the comer of his eye with one wizened hand.

An occasional flash of brilliance high in the distant air caused the onlookers to gasp and point. Trip gave a whoop and nearly toppled out of the rigging.

“Dragons!” the crew whispered with a mixture of awe and fear.

“I thought the metallic dragons had left Krynn,” Bok said a bit nervously.

“Only the good dragons left,” Ula replied. “None of the dragons remaining in the isles are truly evil-but even metallic dragons have their share of rogues and renegades.”

Mik folded his arms over his chest. “Whether ‘good’ or evil,” he said, “I doubt that any of them have much regard for the affairs of men. We’ll steer clear of all dragons if we can.”

Karista leaned over the bow rail and grinned. “Look at them!” she beamed. “The isles are within our reach! Imagine the wonders when we get there. Imagine the wealth!”

All evening they sailed directly for the distant peaks. By nightfall they could make out the shapes of forests on the islands’ rocky shores and trace the silhouettes of the towering mountains.

“We’ll make landfall by morning!” Karista said.

Pamak finished pulling in Kingfisher’s depth cable, and frowned. He cast a puzzled look at Mik. “Shouldn’t the ocean be getting more shallow as we approach the isles?” he asked.

“It should,” Mik replied, “but maybe there’s a steep dropoff on this side of the archipelago,” Mik said.

“Aye,” Pamak said. “That could be.”

Secretly Mik doubted what he’d told the big deck hand. Kingfisher’s captain glanced at Ula, who was still leaning against the stern rail, smiling. Mik cursed silently and took the tiller once more.

All night, the storm brewing on the western horizon crept closer. It seemed of little import, though, since they were so close to shelter of land. Mik and his helmsmen kept Kingfisher’s course straight and true, though the darkness seemed to swallow the islands whole. Distinguishing the isles’ shapes from clouds and shadows proved difficult in the gloom, and they saw no lights upon the distant shores.

“What’s wrong?” Karista Meinor asked, as the sun rose the next morning. She pulled her silk dressing gown around her ample curves as she came up from her cabin. “Why haven’t we made anchor?”

“We haven’t made anchor because we haven’t reached the islands yet,” Mik replied. He sheltered his eyes from the morning glare and stared to the east. The sunrise obscured the isles’ rocky forms, making them flicker and dance among the waves.

Trip, perched on the rail at the front of the bridge, crinkled his nose. “How can they be to starboard? We steered straight at them all night.”

Meinor frowned. “Well?” she demanded of Mik.

“I steered true all night,” Mik replied. “And the helmsman did the same on his watch. Maybe there’s some kind of current or strange tide here that’s pushing us off our mark.”

Ula mounted the bridge and stood beside the captain. “Having trouble?” she asked coyly.

Mik frowned at her. “I’ll re-set our course,” he said to Karista. “We should still make landfall in early afternoon.”

Karista glanced from the captain to Ula, and then to the isles. “Very well,” she said. “Keep me appraised of the situation.” She turned and went below.

“Mik…” Trip said from his forward perch.

“Yes, Trip?”

“The sky was red this morning. And that storm in the west is blowing in very fast. If we don’t reach harbor by sunset…”

“I know,” Mik said, “the sea elf will be the only comfortable person aboard.”

Ula, leaning against the stem rail, laughed.

The captain and the kender both cast a wary glance aft. Storm clouds stretched long, dark fingers toward them and lightning licked the sky.

“We’re close enough to the isles now,” Mik replied. “The storm shouldn’t be a problem. Get aloft and help keep us on course.”

Trip nodded. “Aye.”

By late afternoon, though, they’d drawn no nearer than they had the previous night.

Mik pounded his fist on the rail and cursed. “They never get any closer! How can that be? First they were north of us, then they were east, now they’re north again.”

Ula, perched on the stem rail, smiled but said nothing. She looked westward, toward the approaching storm. Distant echoes of thunder rolled across Kingfisher’s deck.

“The depth readings are the same as last night, captain,” Pamak reported.

Karista Meinor, who had been watching from the bridge for the past two hours, scowled. “Perhaps, another tack is warranted, captain,” she said. The aristocrat cast a glance toward the sea elf. “I did not believe her story the other night, but perhaps she does know the secret to reaching the isles.”

“Don’t trust her!” interjected Bok. “She’s a sea-witch, that one.”

“I don’t trust her,” Mik replied. “But it seems we need her. Ula… ?”

Ula lowered herself to the deck and walked to the tiller, her jewel-bedecked body shimmering in the waning light. “My price?” she asked.

“I won’t give up my trade concession,” Karista hissed.

“I’m not interested in that,” Ula said. “You’ll find it’s harder to establish trade with the isles than you’d like. I want something more… substantial.”

“A share in the treasure of the Prophecy” Mik said.

“Aye. A share equal to the highest share-which I’d warrant is the captain’s.”

“If there is a treasure,” he added.

“I’ll take that chance,” she replied.

“I don’t seem to have much choice. Okay. Done.”

Ula smiled. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Here’s the secret: only a metallic dragon may enter the isles unbidden,” she said. “Everyone else needs permission-or there is one other way.”

Karista cursed. “Riddles!” she said.

The sea elf smiled. “You have an artifact… but I know how to use it.”

“Well, don’t be coy about it. Tell us.” Mik’s eyes narrowed.

Ula nodded. “Dragon Isles privateers use crystals-in many ways similar to your black diamond-to find their way back to the isles. I believe your artifact serves the same purpose.”

“I’ll fetch it from my cabin,” Mik said, handing the tiller to Bok.

He went below and retrieved the golden artifact from his sea chest. As the black diamond brushed his hand, a vision of a temple filled with glittering diamonds flashed through his mind. He pushed aside the images and raced back to the bridge.

Karista’s steely eyes focused on the golden looping key as Mik held the artifact out toward Ula. The wind lashed at his hair, and large drops of rain began to spatter the deck. An odd feeling made the hairs on the back of Mik’s neck stand up.

“So, how do I use it?” he asked.

“Hold the diamond out before you,” Ula said. “Turn until it glows. When it glows brightest, that’s the true direction of the isles. Follow the glow.”

Mik did as she said, turning slowly, starting with the heading they were following. The black diamond began to glow-dimly at first, but with increasing brightness as he revolved. Mik frowned.

“It’s nearly fifteen degrees starboard of our present heading,” he said.

“A Veil of deceptive magic surrounds the isles,” Ula said. “It’s like steering toward a mirage-when you get there, you find the mirage is gone. You can chase a mirage forever and never find it The isles are the same way. Some mariners call the effect The Maze. Only the blessed or the very lucky can find their way through the enchantment without a key.”

Karista’s eyes glittered with reflected lightning. “Set the course! The storm is approaching!”

“I don’t trust the sea-witch’s magic,” Bok grumbled. “There’s something unnatural about it.”

“It’s either follow the magic,” Mik noted, “or sail around in circles until the storm catches up with us.”

Mik altered Kingfisher’s course, swinging the bow around until it matched where the light from the diamond key shone most brightly.

The air before them wavered, like heat above a rock on a blazing summer day. The captain felt suddenly hot. Looking around, he saw that the others were sweating as well-all save Ula, who looked as cool as ever. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, leaning calmly against the rail, the wind pulling at her long, platinum hair.

The crew working the decks below moved about agitatedly. The sailors grumbled, and some of them trembled. Mik ordered a ration of rum for everyone, and that seemed to calm things down for a while.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the Dragon Isles crept closer.

Karista Meinor paced across the short expanse of Kingfisher’s bow, wringing her slender fingers together, and occasionally stopping to mop the sweat from her brow with a silk handkerchief.

Behind her stood Bok, perspiration running down his body from the tip of his shaved head to his bare feet. He kept a wary eye on both his mistress and the approaching islands.

Trip clung to the rigging near the top of the mast, refusing to come down even as the rainstorm broke in earnest. He kept his hazel eyes fixed on the distant islands, hoping to catch a glimpse of flying dragons or something even more wondrous.

The wind howled like demons, and many crew members wrapped scarves around their heads, or covered their ears with their hands-as much as they could-while they worked.

Thunder crashed and, before they knew it, a sailor had leaped overboard into the surging waves. He screamed an incoherent warning as he went, but there was no trace of him by the time a rescue crew reached the rail.

“Turn back!” Pamak said.

“We can’t!” Mik replied. “Our only chance to survive the storm is to keep going!”

Thunderheads rolled up the sky behind Kingfisher, and lightning crashed into the ocean with frightening regularity. The seas mounted ever higher before the wind, and soon the water behind them looked like green-gray mountains. The storm’s breath whipped the tops of the waves into froth; white mist danced high into the air.

“Come down, Trip!” Mik shouted up to the kender. “Before you’re struck by lightning!”

“Aye, captain!” the kender called back. He swung around the mast and felt with his foot for the rigging. As he did, something in the breakers off the stem caught his attention. Trip put a hand over his eyes and peered into the storm.

“Crazy minnow!” Ula yelled up to him. “What are you waiting for?”

“I see something!”

“What?” asked Mik.

“Sharks! Sharks running before the storm! Hundreds, thousands of them!”

“He must mean porpoises,” Karista called from the bow. “Sharks do not run before storms-not on the surface anyway.”

“I mean sharks!” Trip called back, pointing. “Look for yourselves!”

The aristocrat and the captain peered in the direction the kender indicated. The wind whipped stinging spray into their eyes, and they had to blink away the brine to see.

The sea behind Kingfisher boiled angrily, and not just with wind and waves. Tall dorsal fins broke the whitecaps as schools of sharks swarmed forward: redtips, swordbeaks, manglers. Many leaped from the breakers, their toothy maws snapping at the salty air.

“What’s happening?” Karista called from the bow.

Astern on the bridge, Mik shrugged and shook his head. “Maybe they’re chasing something.”

“Or perhaps something is chasing them,” Ula suggested. Her green eyes went wide as she gazed at the foaming sea.

“What is it, girl?” Karista shouted.

“Can’t you feel it?” Ula called back. She turned her head from side to side, as though seeking the cause of the feeling.

“I feel it,” Mik replied. The sensation was like a large knot twisting within his stomach. He tightened his grip on the tiller; his brown eyes flashed, questing, across the whitecaps.

“I feel nothing!” Karista shouted, annoyed. “I…”

As she spoke, the waves behind them erupted, and the dragon burst from the deep.