The Eve of the Maelstrom

17 Rough Waters

“I don’t like this one bit.” Rig pressed the spyglass to his eye, looking out across the choppy water tinted pink by the dawn sun. “She should’ve been back by now. It’s been three days.”

Dhamon leaned against the railing nearby, his gazed fixed on a swell in the distance. “We have to wait for her.”

“I don’t intend to pull up the anchor... just yet,” the mariner returned. “So you don’t have to be all worried that I’ll leave her stranded—if she’s still alive. She’s a friend of mine, and I’m not one to abandon my friends. But waiting isn’t my style either. If Palin contacts Usha again tonight, I’ll see how much longer we can afford to stay here.” He thrust the glass at Dhamon. “I’m gonna wake up Fiona, and the two of us’ll fix some breakfast. Something edible. Something better than what Blister came up with last night.”

The mariner glided across the deck, silent as a cat. Dhamon held the glass to his eye and looked out over the water.

“Still lookin’ at that scepter?” Blister addressed Usha, who was sitting on a thick coil of rope. “I’ll admit it is pretty. And awfully valuable what with all those gems on it. But I’d get tired of looking at the same thing all the time. Of course, there isn’t much else to look at, I suppose. There’s water. Lots of water. You could count the panels of wood in the captain’s cabin. I already did that, though. So maybe we could—”

“Good morning, Blister!”

“Good morning to you, Jasper.” The kender turned her attention to the dwarf. “Usha’s lookin’ at the scepter again.”

“I can see that.”

“She’s still trying to remember something.”

“I think I’ve figured out a way to help her do just that.”

The kender’s eyes grew wide. “Really? What? How?”

The dwarf sniffed the air. “Mmmm. Breakfast. Rig and Fiona are in the galley, working on something tasty.”

The kender scurried toward the stairs. “I told Rig I’d cook breakfast! I wanted to use that jar of blue flour I found last night!”

“What did you have in mind?” Usha asked the dwarf.

“Something I should have thought of a long time ago, if I’d been thinking right. Remember when we were in Ak-Khurman, and I, uh,... made the spy a little more cooperative? The spell might work on you, too.”

Usha’s eyes sparkled as she set the scepter at her feet. “Please, Jasper. Anything to help me remember.”

The dwarf reached inside himself, felt for the spark, and coaxed it to grow. The sooner he accomplished this, he told himself, the sooner he could go back below deck where he didn’t have to watch the water pitch and roll and where his stomach didn’t seem to rise quite so high into his throat. He held a stubby hand out toward Usha, rested it on her leg and stared into her golden eyes.

“Friend,” the dwarf began.

“Friend,” Usha heard herself reply. She closed her eyes, and the blue of the Southern Courrain Ocean disappeared. Her world was filled, instead, with green.

Usha watched Palin leave, the forest of the Qualinesti swallowing him along with Feril and Jasper. The green filled her vision and made her feel suddenly empty and isolated, somehow frightening her a little. For several moments all she heard was her own uneasy breathing. She felt in her ears the beating of her heart, and faintly she heard the rustling of the leaves in the slight breeze.

Then the birds in the tall willows around her resumed singing, signaling to her that Palin was moving farther away, no longer worrying them. The chittering of chipmunks, chucks, and ground squirrels reached her, and she sagged against the thick trunk of a shaggybark, taking the myriad sounds of the tropical forest. She tried to relax. Had the circumstances been different, or had her husband been accompanying her, she might have enjoyed her surroundings or at the very least appreciated them. However, as it was, she couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable, a wary intruder in the elven woods.

Once again, as it had happened before, the elf stepped into view. Once more she heard her name as if it were a curse. The details were as vivid as if she were back in the Qualinesti Forest.

“It is called the Fist of E’li,” the Qualinesti woman was saying, “an ancient thing once wielded by Silvanos himself. Ornate, it is said, bejeweled and pulsing with power. Perhaps if we had the Fist, we could do something against the dragon’s minions.”

“If Palin gains it, you can’t take it away!” Usha surprised herself by the vehemence of her tone. “We need—”

“I’ll not take it, if he finds it—though I doubt that will happen. I’ll be glad enough to keep it away from the occupants of the tower. But I’ll accept a promise from you, provided your husband returns here with it.” The elf’s eyes glowed. “If the scepter is not consumed by whatever your husband has planned for its use, then you will do everything in your power, Usha Majere, to keep it safe and to return it to us. You will risk your very life for this scepter—the Fist of E’li—if need be. Do you understand?”

“Risk my life,” Usha murmured. “Keep it safe. I promise. But you must tell me what the Fist does. You owe that to me after stealing my memories.”

“I will tell you, Usha, but only because I do not believe Palin Majere will ever return from the tower. Legends claim Silvanos used the Fist of E’li, the Fist of Paladine, to rally the elves, to incite them, to inspire them, to urge them to champion his causes. Some say the Fist of E’li is a mind-controlling device. I prefer to believe those elven scholars, however, who insist the Fist only reinforces what people already believe or support. It simply lends them the courage to stand up for their convictions. The Fist, these scholars say, gives people the resolve to embrace with deeds what is harbored by their thoughts. I believe this, too. The Fist is not capable of corrupting people.”

“I understand,” Usha said softly. “The Fist can’t change people’s minds or control their thoughts. But it can give them confidence.”

“Yes. And it cannot force them to do something out of character,” the elf continued. “E’li would not have had that. He would not have wanted unwilling armies, followers who were no more than marionettes to be controlled by his thoughts.”

The elven woman reached up and twirled a strand of Usha’s hair about a slender finger. “Some scholars say the Fist has other properties, too, Usha Majere: that it makes its wielder more confident, and that it can enhance the appearance of the wielder, making him more pleasing to the eye or more accepted by his audience perhaps. Or, perhaps it is merely the beauty of all the gems, making the wielder seem more attractive or stately.”

“Stately,” Usha repeated. Her brow furrowed. “But if the Fist of E’li doesn’t change people’s minds or accomplish anything drastic, what makes it so powerful and valuable to my husband?”

The elf’s eyes twinkled. “I suspect Palin Majere knows nothing of what the scepter can actually do. He simply thinks it is an ancient artifact that will help fulfill his quest. It does possess arcane power, Usha. For the Fist is also a weapon, and it can slay at command, provided the wielder concentrates on his foe and knows how to call upon its killing force. With one strike it can reduce enemies to cinders.”

“Could it slay a dragon?”

The elf stepped away, regarding Usha. “A dragon? Perhaps, perhaps not. I doubt it would do more than wound a great overlord such as Beryl. E’li would not have had such a foe in mind when the scepter was fashioned. Besides, an overlord such as the Green Peril would sense the magic in the scepter and would unleash her horrible breath, destroying the wielder and the Fist before the artifact could be used against her.”

“We must tell Palin about the scepter’s powers. It is possible that he might find a way to—”

“No. The powers of the Fist are like your isle of the Irda: a precious secret the two of us have shared. The secret belongs to me and my chosen followers, and with elven scholars. Palin might indeed wield the Fist capably as it was intended. But if he fails and it is stolen from him, the knowledge of its abilities will also be stolen, and the Fist could be turned into a force for evil. That will be his test. Secrecy is best, I think.”

“Secrecy,” Usha repeated. “I understand secrets.”

“You know nothing about the secrets of the Fist of E’li,” the elf said, her voice monotonic, spellbinding. “You will remember nothing of our conversation. You will remember none of these things, Usha Majere. You will only remember our forest and your vow about the Fist.”

After a pause, the elf said softly, “You were telling me about your voyage to this forest.”

Usha’s fingers fluttered across her temples, rubbing away a minor headache. “Yes,” she said haltingly. “A ship brought us here.”

“What did you call it, this ship?”

“Flint’s Anvil. Jasper named it, bought it with a gem his uncle Flint gave him.”

“That uncle would be...”

“Flint Fireforge. He was one of the Heroes of the Lance.”

“The legendary dwarf.” The elf cocked her head. “Is something wrong, Usha?”

“I remember.”

Usha blinked and grasped Jasper’s hand.

“I have reached a decision, surface elf.” Nuqala floated in front of Feril in a small room devoid of furnishings. The building, Feril had learned, was called the Tower of the Sea. “The crown is a treasure,” Nuqala said. “It is part of our heritage, crucial to our defenses. It has been useful in deterring Brine.”

Feril’s hopes sank.

“I also realize that perhaps it could be more useful in helping to bring down all of the dragon overlords, not just the one that plagues us. The Crown of Tides is yours in return for a pledge. If you keep Takhisis from returning to Krynn, and then launch a plot against the dragon overlords, you must promise first to attempt to slay Bryndelsemir.”

I can’t make such a promise, Feril thought. How can I guarantee that my friends will agree? Still, she said to herself, she could guarantee her own actions. Feril nodded to the woman. “I promise.”

“I sent for the crown last night,” Nuqala continued. “We keep it elsewhere in this tower.” She reached into the folds of her robe, which fluttered like sea fronds about her slight frame, and retrieved a tall blue coral crown studded with pearls. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and the Kagonesti could sense the vibrations of power.

Nuqala held it out to Feril. The Kagonesti’s fingers tentatively stretched forward, touched the crown.

“The Crown of Tides,” the sea elf whispered. “The waters are yours to command with it.” Nuqala stepped aside, gestured toward the open oval doorway behind her. “Surface elf, inform Palin Majere of your promise to me. And make sure that you keep it.”

The mountains of Dimernesti grew small behind her as Feril hurried toward the ship graveyard, the first landmark that would bring her back to the Narwhal. She kept her scaly-elf form, and the Crown of Tides rested securely on her head.

She kept close to the sand, swimming between the dark hulks, not wanting to attract the attention of the small sharks or any of the larger reef sharks that might be in the vicinity It was early in the morning, she could tell, and pale light was filtering down, painting the ships a murky green. Sanguine Lady, she mused, as she passed that ship. She would have to tell Rig of the fate of the vessel. She remembered he had once told her that he had sailed on it years ago.

The graveyard behind her, she swam faster toward the ravine and the reef beyond. Rather than focus on the riot of marine life all around her, she forced herself to concentrate on the crown. She felt the magic in the blue coral; it invigorated and emboldened her.

It controls water, she mused. The crown fairly hummed, and her eyes snapped wide. The crown was responding to her! Feril shot over the ravine, her legs kicking hard, the water jetting away from her. She focused on her fingers now, holding them before her face, and watching as water streamed away from her hands.

The Crown of Tides, she thought. Yes, I could control the very tides with this! But what will it do above water? How can it help Palin?

She kicked toward the reef, oblivious to the shadow that broke away from the ravine wall, following her.

The creature propelled itself after the Kagonesti, which it had mistaken in the murky water for an insolent sea elf. The great dragon didn’t like the Dimernesti elves straying outside in their underwater realm, and he ate those who tempted his anger.

As she crested the reef, Feril felt the sea growing hot. Puzzling at this new sensation, she thought perhaps it was a side effect of using the crown. Perhaps...

She gasped, as the hot water flowed in through her gills. No! Not the crown. Something else. She spun about, looking behind her, almost too late as her mouth fell open and the heat grew impossibly intense.

Brine, she thought.

The great dragon looked like a sea monster from children’s folk tales. Feril guessed he must be more than two hundred feet from pointed snout to barbed tail. His long, black body was legless and was closing the distance. Dark green scales covered his neck and head, while lighter green scales lined his lower jaw and belly.

As Brine opened his jaws, Feril felt a great surge in the current, the water churning all around her. She gasped, unable to breathe the overheated water, and doubled over from the excruciating pain. Her fingers reached for the crown and touched it as she felt herself slipping toward unconsciousness.

No! she screamed wordlessly. I can’t give in. I can’t be boiled alive before Palin has a chance to use the crown!

She thought of the water, boiling all around her, willing it to be cooler. And within the span of a few heartbeats it was so. The Crown of Tides had worked its wonders.

But the dragon was so close now, she could see his iridescent blue eyes. As the creature bore down on her, she imagined her reflection in the orbs. She kicked, concentrating on the crown, as the dragon loomed closer still. His undulating body pushed through the water, mouth wide, and snapped rapaciously. Jagged-looking mother-of-pearl teeth glistened in the light that spilled down from the surface.

She kicked harder, at the same time gesturing with her arms, sending a more intense jet of water Brine’s way. Feril risked a glance over her shoulder, saw to her surprise that the dragon had been pushed back a little by the increased force. She focused again on the jets of water she was creating, pushing the dragon back a little into a rocky outcropping near the reef.

A howl carried through the water, and Feril saw that the dragon’s tail was skewered on a spire of coral. Brine howled again, the water boiling all around, destroying the small creatures, the coral, and the living rock in the area and shooting a wave of unbearable heat Feril’s way.

The Kagonesti swam faster, drawing on the Crown of Tides to augment her strength, trying to put distance between herself and the dragon.

A moment later she felt a surge of renewed heat in the water around her and realized that Brine had extricated himself. Dark boiling blood colored the water. The dragon opened his mouth and roared, then shot forward, his tail whipping furiously.

Feril pumped her legs, concentrating on the crown to maintain the water jets. At the same time her mind reached out to the nearby plant life. She merged her senses with them, asking for their help. She’d used the enchantment numerous times on land and knew instinctively it would work here, too.

The turtle grass, fronds, kelp, and soft coral responded, stretching to wrap about the dragon’s tail. A dense patch of seaweed rose to entwine about the dragon’s sinewy neck.

The dragon howled in anger, thrashing wildly. He opened his mouth and released another boiling blast that Feril was barely able to cool. Then the Kagonesti stopped, floating and staring at the dragon, as she ran her fingers along the coral band and focused on the plants.

Grow, she willed.

Powered by the artifact, her spell came alive, and the effects were startling. The seaweed doubled in size, then doubled again. The soft coral multiplied and surrounded Brine. The kelp became thick, all but obscuring the dragon.

Grow, she continued. Tighter.

She heard the dragon’s scream clearly. It was painfully loud, even in the water. She sensed the grasses tightening around Brine’s neck, keeping him from taking in life-sustaining water.

Tighter. Grow.

The grass stretched, blotting out all traces of Brine now. Then in the span of a heartbeat it withered and died. Feril stared as her heart hammered. The dragon had found the strength for one more ferocious breath and wiped out all the plants around him.

The great dragon’s eyes narrowed, and again he shot toward her. Feril turned and cut toward what she believed was east, away from where she knew the Narwhal was. She couldn’t risk running to the ship for safety, not when the dragon would easily destroy the small ship.

She used the crown to force jets of water away from her legs and arms, working to buy time. Then she felt herself propelled forward, not by her own means, but by Brine. She was hurled, somersaulting through the water, toward a coral outcropping. Feril fought to slow herself, then struck the reef. Her eyes closed.

The dragon eyed the unconscious elf. Not blue, like the Dimernesti, but an elf, and a powerful one. One from the surface? From a ship?

Dhamon spotted another swell and trained the spyglass on it. Something about it was different. It was dark green, perhaps black. Maybe a whale. The swell flattened and he lost track of it. A whale, especially a large one, could pose problems if it got too close. It might even capsize the Narwhal.

“Where are you?” Dhamon whispered. “Where?”

The ship’s bow rose suddenly, riding up high until the ship was practically perched on its rear rudder. Dhamon grabbed onto the rail. His feet flew out behind him as a spray of incredibly hot water hit him in the face.

A handful of the freed slaves who were on the deck slid toward the rear of the ship, their hands scrabbling for anything to grab onto.

“No!” Jasper tumbled head over feet when the ship lurched. Usha, at midships, reached out to grab him and the scepter. At the last moment her fingers locked around the polished handle, while her other hand managed to catch the dwarf’s pant leg. But the material ripped, and Jasper fell headlong. Then Usha felt herself sliding, as well. She heard the ship’s timbers groan, heard startled cries from below deck. She careened after Jasper, and they both struck the capstan.

“I’ve got you!” the dwarf yelled. He wrapped one stubby arm around Usha’s waist, clamping the other one onto the capstan. “Don’t drop that scepter!”

She opened her mouth to reply, but instead gave a scream of surprise. The front end of the ship crashed down, slamming against the water and jarring her and Jasper loose, eliciting pitiable cries from the former slaves. The dwarf was on his feet first, helping Usha up.

“What was that?.” Usha asked.

“Don’t know.” He shrugged and clutched his stomach as a wave of nausea began to overwhelm him. “But I intend to find out.” The dwarf steadied himself against the capstan while looking about. “Dhamon!” Jasper glanced toward the bow, where a drenched Dhamon, his face red and blistered, was struggling to his feet.

Dhamon thrust the spyglass in his pocket and drew a long sword that was strapped to his waist—one of a dozen weapons he and Rig had unearthed below. He was edging backward, keeping wary eyes on the water. “Rig!” Dhamon hollered. “Rig get up here!”

“Untangle the rigging,” Jasper instructed the freed slaves, as he and Usha hurried toward Dhamon. “And brace yourselves. I think we’ve really found trouble this time.”

The dwarf took the scepter from her. “What is it?”

“I thought it was a whale,” Dhamon said. He brushed his free hand at his face, scowling when his fingers touched the blisters. “But I don’t think so. I think...”

“Dragon!” Usha shouted. She was pointing off the port side. “It’s a dragon!”

“What?” It was Rig’s voice. “A dragon?” Fiona was behind him, Groller towering next to her.

“What happened?” Blister scooted around them. The kender’s hair was blue. Her face was smudged with blue flour, and some gooey yellow mixture was evident on her tunic. “Did we hit something?”

“Dragon!” Usha repeated.

They all saw Brine then, as his head broke the waves. His jaws were longer than the Narwhal, his teeth as big around as the ship’s mainmast. His blue eyes locked onto the ship. The dragon rose higher.

His serpentine neck, shimmering green and black in the morning sun, looked oddly beautiful. He craned his head about, opened his mouth, and blasted the Narwhal with a gout of steam.

Fury howled. The wolf had just come on deck and was rushing to the rail when it caught the first of the steamy breath. It was knocked off its feet, howling, and tore free large clumps of hair.

“Brine!” Blister yelled as she pawed at her pockets, searching for her sling. “I said I wanted to see a Dimernesti, not a dragon,” she muttered to herself. “I didn’t want to see a dragon at all. No, no. Not at all.”

“If that thing gets close to this ship, we’re all done for!” Rig yelled. He plucked daggers from his waist, holding three in each hand. He steadied himself by the port rail, waiting until the dragon came within range.

Dhamon was at the mariner’s side, a leg thrown over the rail. “It’s going to try to take the ship down.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rig stared as Dhamon slipped his other leg over the rail.

“Taking the initiative and giving you a chance to get the ship under sail. I fought a dragon before, remember? Get the Narwhal out of here.” Then without another word, Dhamon dropped into the water and began to swim awkwardly toward the dragon, holding his sword in his hand. Rig was too astonished to say anything.

Dhamon had fought Gale, the great blue dragon which descended on the Anvil when it was moored in the Palanthas harbor. That was the battle that cost the life of Shaon, the mariner’s love. Rig had blamed Dhamon for Shaon’s death and had said that if Dhamon had stayed with the Knights of Takhisis and remained partnered with Gale, Shaon would still be alive. But Dhamon had indeed fought Gale. Rig had watched him battle the dragon over the Palanthas hills, had watched Dhamon and Gale plunge into a deep lake.

“These won’t do anything,” Rig muttered as he threw the daggers at the dragon. Only one of the six managed to lodge in the dragon’s neck, the rest falling into the water. The mariner suspected the small blade was no more than a pinprick to the beast. “Jasper! Up anchor! Fiona, drop the sails!” He called to the former slaves to watch the rudder, keep the rigging tight, and to warn the men in the hold.

The mariner dashed toward the bow, seeking the Narwhal’s lone ballista. He opened a chest affixed to the deck, and began pulling bolts from it. “Daggers didn’t hurt you, but these might,” he yelled.

At midships, Fiona unfurled the sails with Usha’s and the ex-slaves’ help. The ship budged, then caught, held by its anchor. The women glanced toward the stern, where Jasper and Groller were busy pulling at the anchor rope. “Hurry, Jasper,” Usha urged.

“Yes!” Fiona cheered, as she watched the anchor rise from the water. Then she shook her head. “No!” she called to the half-ogre, knowing he couldn’t hear her and that even if he could her words wouldn’t dissuade him. Sure enough, finished with the task, Groller did the unthinkable. He plunged into the water, his long arms taking him toward Dhamon and the dragon.

“What does he think he’s doing?” Usha gasped.

“Helping Dhamon,” Fiona solemnly replied, as her hand drifted to her sword. “He knows there’s only one ballista, and Rig’s using it.”

“But he’s committing suicide.”

The Solamnic knight nodded. “And I’ll be joining him in the great hereafter unless we can find something else to shoot at the dragon from a distance.”

“In the hold,” Usha urged. “There are spears.”

“Then let’s hurry.”

“Blister!” they heard Rig bellow as they made their way below. “Forget your sling. Useless! Get on the wheel! Get us some distance!”

The mariner was aiming the large crossbow, shooting bolts at the great sea dragon. He was unaccustomed to the weapon, but after a few shots he had already begun to aim it better.

Now, several dozen yards out from the retreating Narwhal, Dhamon trod water and held the sword above his head as the dragon rose above the surface, then slammed down. A spray of hot water coated Dhamon. He gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. The beast’s head rose again, his eyes fixed on the man in the water. His jaws opened and released another searing blast of steam.

Dhamon dove just in time to avoid the brunt of the blast. The water was achingly hot, and he fought to stay conscious and to keep hold of the weapon.

Determined, the knight held his breath and kicked forward. Closer! Dhamon screamed to himself. Closer! There! He jammed the sword into the dragon’s neck with all of his strength. The blade found its way between green-black scales and drew blood.

Stung by a man! Brine howled in astonishment. The sword hadn’t truly hurt; it was more of an annoyance. Yet the dragon howled in fury that something so puny would challenge him. Another man was swimming this way. This man was larger and would be eaten first.

Brine sank lower, even as the first man pulled the sword from his throat and stabbed again. The dragon angled his head, then his neck shot forward, jaws opened wide.

On the deck of the Narwhal, Blister worked the wheel, turning the bow of the ship away from the dragon, even as Rig swiveled the ballista in the mount for a better shot.

Jasper was behind her on the deck, grasping the Fist and staring at the dragon. “Can’t swim,” he said. “I’ll sink like a stone. Groller!”

The dwarf spotted the half-ogre. He was holding onto a spine on Brine’s back, sword in hand, stabbing at the beast. Rig saw Groller too and spun the ballista about.

“Blister!” Rig shouted. “Steer toward the dragon!”

“I thought you wanted us to get away!”

“Change in plans!” Rig shot back. “Get us closer.” Groller forced the change in plans, the mariner thought. Rig wouldn’t risk his life for Dhamon Grimwulf; he wouldn’t put the ship in jeopardy for that man. But Groller was another matter. “Closer!”

Usha and Fiona ran up from below deck, arms laden with spears from the armory. A dozen men followed, similarly burdened.

“The dragon,” Usha murmured in disbelief. “We’re heading toward it, not away.”

“Easier to hit if it’s closer,” the Solamnic said. She stood by the rail, her feet planted, hefting a spear in each hand. “One at a time,” she said to Usha. Then the spears flew from her hands toward the great sea dragon. Usha passed her two more spears, while readying another pair.

The others joined her, futilely trying to wound the beast. “Uh-oh,” Jasper said.

The dragon was rising up again in the water, preparing for another dive. Its massive form disappeared below the waves in a great rush that sent a shower of boiling water across the Narwhal’s deck.

Beneath the surface, the sea dragon’s body writhed, flinging the man away. The dragon roared, furious, turning his head and breathing a gout of steam in the half-ogre’s direction, just as Groller surfaced near the ship. Brine heard the small cry of the man, caught on the edge of the blast. He allowed himself a moment of anger that the man was not close enough to be killed by the heat, then felt another stab at his neck. The man with the black hair had returned. The dragon dove deeper.

Dhamon’s sword was lodged in Brine’s neck, his hands tight about the pommel.

The man would die now, Brine knew. He did not have the pointed ears of the Dimernesti and could not breathe water.

The dragon headed for the sea floor. Dhamon desperately hung onto the sword that was still buried in the creature’s neck.

On the surface, Rig, at the railing of the Narwhal, extended a pole to the battered half-ogre. Groller reached a hand up and grabbed it, allowed himself to be pulled back on board.

The mariner eyed his friend.

“I’m all ride,” the half-ogre told him. He was scalded and bruised and had come close to death, but he was alive. “Dried do help Day-mon.” He brushed the saltwater out of his eyes, then saw Fury and Jasper approaching. “Jaz-pear good healer. Jaz-pear, fix me again.”

“Where’s Dhamon?” Rig muttered. “Where’s the damn dragon?”

Below the waves, Dhamon struggled to stay conscious. His lungs ached and his head throbbed, but he forced his hands to pull the sword free one more time, to stab the sea dragon again. Brine was larger than Gale, his skin much thicker, but Dhamon had been hammering at the same spot over and over. He had pierced the scales and finally drawn a significant amount of blood. Black like the shadow dragon’s blood, it pooled about him, clouding his vision.

He drove the blade in deeper, and the dragon recoiled. He raised his neck, then slammed it down against a coral ledge, pressing Dhamon between its body and the coral. The last bit of air rushed from the knight’s lungs, and his hands lost their grip.

Brine raised his neck and felt pain where the sword was lodged. The man lay unmoving, ready to be devoured. First the dragon would sink the ship. Then he would return to deal with this man— and the vexing woman with the crown.

He’d destroy the ship first, before it could sail away. The dragon would kill all of those on the ship, devour them one by one, savor the taste of their insolent flesh. Brine pushed off and shot toward the surface, clearing the waves several yards from the Narwhal.

“There’s the dragon!” Rig bellowed. “Hard to port, Blister. Now! Hard to port!”

The kender complied.

“Good healer,” the half-ogre said. He was propped against the base of the ballista.

The dwarf had used his healing magic to ease the pain of the blisters on Groller’s skin. The wolf hovered over the half-ogre, pawing at the deck and glancing from Groller to the dragon.

“No,” the half-ogre told the wolf. “Won’t go zwimming again.”

“We might all be going swimming!” Rig shouted. “Unless Blister can get us farther away! Port!”

“Trying!” the kender called in as loud a voice as she could muster. “But the dragon’s pretty darn fast!”

Brine reached the side of the Narwhal and raised his head above the deck to eye the men crawling about. Fiona and the others continued hurling spears at the beast, but nearly all of them bounced off the creature’s thick hide.

“The dragon’s much too fast! And much too big!” Blister squealed when she got a closer look at the wyrm.

The dragon’s tail curled up over the railing, gripping it and tipping the Narwhal. The move threatened to spill Fiona, Usha, and the crew into the water.

“The mast!” the Solamnic knight called to Usha and the others. “Climb to it! Hang onto it.” Before Usha and the others could reply, Fiona reached for her sword and began slashing at the section of the dragon’s tail that was within her reach.

“Come on!” one of the former slaves urged Usha. He helped her climb up the steeply tilting deck, where she accepted a hand from Jasper. The dwarf and Groller were holding to the rigging and helping the others find things to grab onto.

Fury did his best to keep on his feet, but he was sliding toward the rail. Usha grabbed at the wolf and lost her own footing, just as Groller pulled her and Fury to safety. The wolf rubbed against her side, and all of them watched the dragon.

“I didn’t think it would end like this,” Usha whispered, “so far from Palin.”

“It’s not finished yet,” Jasper said. “Time for me to join the fight.” The dwarf swallowed hard and released the rope he’d been holding. He slid toward the rail, the Fist of E’li gripped firmly in one hand.

The dwarf reached Fiona’s side just as Brine’s head once again reared above the mast, his jaws open. A gout of steam erupted, and the fringe of the blast struck the dwarf and Solamnic knight and Rig.

The dwarf was wracked with pain. It felt as if he was on fire. He felt his skin blister, his eyes burn, and he knew if the dragon released another breath, they’d all be finished. The scepter in his hand grew incredibly hot, the inlaid bands of precious metal branding his skin. But he refused to drop the Fist, refused to give into the pain.

Black water hit the deck. Blood, the dwarf realized when he noticed the long sword protruding from the dragon’s neck.

“So you can bleed,” Jasper muttered. “That means you can die.”

To his right, Fiona swung at Brine’s tail. Her skin was blistered, too, though she didn’t appear to be slowed by the pain.

“You can die,” Jasper repeated, as he glared at the dragon. The dwarf concentrated on the Fist, remembered Usha’s words about its powers. Find the slaying power, he told himself. Then he closed his eyes so he wouldn’t be distracted by looking at the beast that was looming closer. The rancid smell was bad enough. Find that power! Find that...

Suddenly the dwarf’s fingers felt chilled and the icy cold traveled up his arms. His teeth chattered. He was shivering uncontrollably now, as his fingers loosened their grip ever so slightly on the scepter. And the icy feeling started to fade.

“The power!” Jasper cried out as he raised the Fist of E’li. He was terribly cold, but he managed to slam the scepter down against the dragon’s jaw just as Brine bore down on him to swallow him.

The dragon reared back, trembled and roared, an almost human scream that drowned out the shouts of everyone on board. Brine’s eyes narrowed at the dwarf. He opened his jaws again and lashed his tail against the deck, striking Fiona over the side. Then he dove toward Jasper.

“Again!” Jasper swung the scepter once more. The dwarf felt overwhelmed by cold now. He feared he would pass out from the sensation. His limbs felt thick, and the cold dazed him; yet at the same time he felt strong. Silvanos the elven king wielded this weapon, he thought. If an elf could endure this cold, certainly a dwarf can.

“You can die!” He raised the scepter again, swinging it once more and this time landing a solid blow against the beast’s throat.

Then the dragon rose above the ship again, rose, teetered—and fell backward, away from the Narwhal.

“Die!” Jasper screamed again.

“Blister, hard to starboard!” Jasper heard Rig’s voice. “Ram the dragon, Blister! Ram it before it goes under!”

“First port then starboard, then port, then starboard,” the kender muttered as she pulled hard on the wheel. “Make up your mind or come steer the ship yourself.”

The Narwhal’s timbers groaned.

“Hold onto something!” Rig instructed everyone on deck. “We’re going to...”

The rest of the mariner’s words were drowned out as the bowsprit struck the dragon, penetrating his underbelly like a lance.

Groller, scrambling toward the bow, was the first to be showered by the spray of dragon blood. He pawed at his eyes, wiping it away.

The great sea dragon threw back his head, then flung it forward like a whip, striking the ship. His jaws snapped at the mast, shearing it in two and sending Usha and Fury and several of the others scrambling toward the rear of the ship.

The dragon reared again, but his body jerked spasmodically, his tail twitching. Blood poured from the wound caused by the Narwhal. It spouted from the gash on the dragon’s neck where the sword was still lodged. Chills raced up and down Brine’s body, thanks to the scepter.

Brine’s neck hit the water, the impact threatening to take the Narwhal under.

Then the sea dragon felt himself sinking, and his first conscious thought was relief to be under the water again and free of the ship. Brine grew colder. His tail grew still. The sea dragon’s eyes fluttered closed as his spiny back touched the sand. His chest rose and fell once more, then stopped.

“Fuhree!” Groller motioned the wolf near. His long arms wrapped around the wolf. Fury’s side was bloody from where the mainmast spar had struck him. “Jaz-pear fix,” Groller told his animal companion. “Jaz-pear fix.”

Jasper was at midships, where Usha was heading. The dwarf threw a rope to Fiona, who had narrowly avoided being hit by the dragon’s falling body.

“Dhamon!” the dwarf exclaimed, as he and Usha tugged the Solamnic on board. “Did you see Dhamon in the water?”

Fiona shook her head.

“I think we got the dragon!” Rig shouted. He was at the ballista, with a bolt notched, ready to fire. “I think we killed it!”

“And it got us,” Fiona observed, as she glanced around the deck. “It crippled us.”

“And ate Dhamon,” Blister added glumly. She climbed off the crate behind the wheel. She wasn’t needed there at the moment, especially not with the ship’s mast ruined.

The bowsprit had gone under with Brine. Most of the railing that wrapped around the front of the ship was gone, too. Lines lay across midships, tangled in the sail that shrouded the broken mast.

Usha was wrapping a blanket around Fiona, despite the knight’s protests that she was all right.

“I never would’ve picked a one-masted ship,” Rig muttered. He backed away from the ballista and looked at Fiona, his expression instantly softening. “No mast. No oars. We’re stuck.”

“At least we don’t have to worry about the sea dragon anymore,” Blister said.

The mariner gave her a slight smile. “Maybe Palin can wiggle his fingers and whisk us away,” he said. “Maybe he’ll even...”

“Rig!” Jasper, leaning over the port side of the ship, was calling to him.

“Now what?” The mariner tromped over.

“Who are you? What are you?” Rig stared over the railing into a pale blue face that was peering back at him. It was framed by glistening silver white hair that fanned out in the water. “And how did you find Dhamon Grimwulf?” The mariner watched as the sea elf hoisted an unconscious Dhamon into Jasper’s hands.

“Veylona,” she said. “Found Day-mon Grimwulf on coral shelf.” The pale blue elf spoke haltingly. “Near death. Might die. Watched Brine... squeeze... Day-mon against coral.”

Quickly, in her broken speech, she recounted the tale of Dhamon caught beneath Brine. Occasionally, in frustration with the unfamiliar language, she slipped into her sea elven dialect.

Rig asked her more questions, which she brushed aside.

“Please to wait,” she said. Then she disappeared below the surface of the water.

“Wait. Ha! We’re not able to go anywhere,” the mariner muttered as he looked over Dhamon. “Lots of broken ribs. Lots of blood. He feels cold. Looks pale. You don’t need to be a healer to tell he’s dying.”

Fiona, Groller, and Fury joined them at the rail. The Solamnic took the blanket from around her shoulders and draped it over Dhamon.

“Can you help him?” Usha asked as she glided up behind Jasper.

“I have faith,” the dwarf said, as he bent and searched for his inner spark. The dwarf paused to pick up the scepter. “But this’ll help. I don’t have much of my own energy left,” he added.

“Jaz-pear fix?” Groller asked, oblivious to the conversation around him.

The dwarf nodded. “Yes, I can fix him again. Hobby of mine. Fixing.” He grinned as the spark grew.

“Feril,” Dhamon mumbled. “Feril...”

“Feril?” It was Rig’s voice this time. The mariner was still looking over the side at where the sea elf had disappeared. She resurfaced in almost the same spot, this time with the Kagonesti at her side.

“I was afraid you were dead,” the mariner said, as he extended a hand and helped Feril on board. His eyes opened wide as he noticed she wore no clothes, only a crown on her head.

“I thought I was dead, too,” she said, as she rubbed at a spot on the back of her head. “Veylona saved me.”

“Dragon more interest for ship,” the sea elf said, as she scrambled over the side.

“A Dimernesti!” Blister squealed. The kender skittered to the sea elf’s side and stretched up a gnarled hand in a greeting. “A real, living sea elf!” The kender raised an eyebrow at Feril’s lack of attire, then gave her attention to Veylona.

Rig shoved the kender’s questions to Veylona to the back of his mind and stared at Feril another moment, then felt the flush of embarrassment rise to his face. He quickly removed his shirt and handed it to her.

“Veylona,” Feril said by way of introduction, interrupting Blister’s prattle. The others joined the gathering. “She’s a Dimernesti healer,” Feril explained. “I owe her my life, and she saved Dhamon.”

“Tried,” the sea elf said. “Day-mon.” Her smooth face showed concern as she peered over the dwarf’s shoulders as he cared for Dhamon. “Student of Nuqala.”

“Nuqala will be happy to know that Brine is dead,” Feril added.

“Most glad,” Veylona replied. Her eyes studied the dwarf, watching his fingers and the way his brow furrowed as he worked his healing magic.

Dhamon gasped, his eyes fluttered open, and his hand reached up to grab at the dwarf’s. He coughed, water rushing from his mouth. Jasper helped him up, pounding his back. Dhamon coughed deeply several more times.

“You’ll be sore for a while,” the dwarf said, “and you’ll have a few bruises. You’d better rest.”

“Thank you,” Dhamon said to the dwarf. “Again.”

Jasper smiled, but his eyes were riveted on the comely sea elf. “Always happy to help people who appreciate me.” He shook his head, as if clearing his senses, sighed, then turned his attention back toward Dhamon. He helped him to his feet and frowned when Dhamon clutched his side.

“I guess a little rest wouldn’t hurt,” Dhamon told him. “Veylona, thank you, too.” He met Feril’s gaze; his expression showed relief that the Kagonesti was all right. She nodded to him and watched Jasper lead him toward the ladder, Blister’s questions following them down the stairs.

Then the air buzzed with voices around Feril and Veylona. “Stay here time,” Veylona announced. “Nuqala say stay. Help.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Rig offered. “Since we aren’t going anywhere.” He gestured at the broken mast. “Unless Palin can magic us someplace.”

Veylona and Feril exchanged glances. The elves smiled as Feril’s fingers brushed the coral crown on her head.

“What?” Rig asked, wondering what had passed between the two women.

“Give me a few minutes,” Feril answered. “Let me find something else to wear. I’ll let Veylona explain.”

“Explain what?” the mariner continued. Fiona had moved up beside him, her fingers enfolding his.

“Maybe you should find something for Veylona to wear, too,” Fiona called to Feril as the Kagonesti slipped below deck.

“Zea elf.” Groller finally spoke. He was staring at Veylona, at her shimmering hair that hung to her waist and at the slight silver tunic that clung to her body. His mouth was agape. He didn’t hear Rig chuckle when the half-ogre proffered a big hand to shake hers. “Bootiful blue zea elf.”

Veylona’s cheeks darkened slightly. She smiled and listened to Rig explain Groller’s deafness. “But he’s definitely not blind,” the mariner whispered into Fiona’s ear.

“And neither are you,” she answered. “I think I’ll help Feril find Veylona something a little warmer for her to wear.”

It was shortly after noon that the Narwhal got underway, heading back toward the Khur coast, but avoiding the Ak-Khurman harbor. Rig decided not to chance running into any more Knights of Takhisis ships that might have found their way there.

Groller was at the wheel, with the wolf curled comfortably about his feet. Rig and Fiona sat with Veylona near the capstan. The sea elf was now garbed in a voluminous dark green tunic, belted at the waist and hanging halfway down her thighs. Though her command of their language was limited, she did her best to regale the pair with stories about life in Dimernost and the horrors the people there suffered because of the dragon.

Jasper was below deck, fretting over Dhamon and trying to heal the blisters on his skin.

The kender was below deck, too, rummaging around in the small galley to find foodstuffs that hadn’t been spilled during the ordeal with the dragon. She had promised something “tasty and interesting” for dinner to celebrate the death of the sea dragon overlord. And she had found a bottle of something purple that might pass for wine.

Feril sat by the ship’s rudder, watching the water as it jetted toward the Narwhal. She had helped create the narrow, powerful wave, which was guiding the ship. The Narwhal was moving as fast as if it was under full sail. Veylona had volunteered to relieve the Kagonesti from time to time.

A week and a half, Rig guessed the journey would take them, three fewer days than it had taken to get them to the kingdom of the Dimernesti. Then where to? he wondered. And if Palin knew where to go, would there be time to stop Takhisis?

Had Palin found out where the Dark Queen was to appear?