Whisper of Waves

40

24 Hammer, the Year of the Wyvern (1363 DR)

ON THE SHORE OF THE LAKE OF STEAM

Hrothgar hated being so close to the water, and it wasn’t just because of the smell. Growing up in the Great Rift, among the forges and smelters, he’d lived with sulfur and worse fumes all his life. The Lake of Steam smelled bad to be sure, but it was the water itself he didn’t like.

He’d heard the jokes and petty insults over and over again in the time he’d spent living among humans. They had strange ideas about dwarves, not the least of which was that he and his kind should for some reason resent being shorter than humans, dislike having beards, hate working hard, and so on. Humans always thought everyone wanted to be like them. It was the most irritating of all their many and varied irritating qualities.

Also he’d heard the jokes about dwarves not being able to swim, of them sinking like stones and drowning in even the shallowest water. What offended Hrothgar most about that was that it was true, at least in Hrothgar’s case.

“Come, Ivar,” he growled at his human companion. “Let’s get to a decent pub.”

Devorast continued to walk at a slow, steady, distracted pace on the smoothly rounded stones at the shore of the great lake. The night air was cold and the wind whipped at Hrothgar’s beard and made his eyes water. Devorast didn’t seem to notice it at all. The thick layer of clouds hid the stars and the moon, and that at least made Hrothgar feel a bit better. It almost felt as if they were underground.

“Come on, lad,” the dwarf said. “Why are we here? Why do you insist on these walks?”

Devorast shook his head and it looked to Hrothgar as if he was searching for words. There was something about that reaction that unsettled the dwarf; it was so unlike Ivar Devorast.

“You’re bored,” Hrothgar guessed. “You finished that ship for the Shou lass and you’ve nothing to do. You’ve nothing to occupy your mind.”

Devorast smiled at that, and the dwarf started to see some hope.

“Get one of those gangly, beardless girls of yours,” Hrothgar suggested. “That’ll give you plenty to-”

“You’re right,” Devorast interrupted, much to the dwarf’s surprise. “I don’t have anything to do, but my mind is occupied.”

“Is it?” the dwarf asked. “Another ship, then? Is there someone needs a ship built?”

“No,” Devorast replied. “I’ve finished with ships.”

The dwarf couldn’t help but laugh-a good, loud, healthy guffaw.

“I mean it, Hrothgar.”

“Do you, now?” asked the dwarf. “No more ships then. Perhaps another try at a keep?”

The dwarf laughed some more, but Devorast said, “There was something Ran Ai Yu said just before she set sail.”

“While I was waiting to drown in that damnable little boat?” Hrothgar said.

“Do you know what a canal is?”

“Do you know that I’m not the village idiot?” Hrothgar growled.

Devorast smiled.

“So what?” the dwarf went on. “Now you want to build a canal?”

Before Devorast could reply the both of them were engulfed in water. The force of the wave hit Hrothgar so hard the air was forced from his lungs. It felt as if he’d fallen from a great height-a dozen feet or more-onto solid rock. He wanted to pull a breath into his already burning chest but knew if he did, he’d get nothing but water.

Someone-it must have been Devorast-kicked him in the side. Gravel bit into his face and he was dragged along. The moment he realized he was upside down, he’d already spun back around. He kicked and kicked, but his boots found no solid ground. The water leeched all the heat from his muscles and his limbs stiffened and cramped. He couldn’t force himself to open his eyes so everything was utter blackness.

The muscles in Hrothgar’s broad chest pulsed, so great was his physical need to draw a breath. The cold water finally found its way up his nose. His whole head burned and the dwarf was afraid his eyes were going to launch from his skull. His ears popped. Someone grabbed his ankle.

Hrothgar felt his right hand come out of the water. The air was cold.

The hand came off his ankle, and he felt as though he’d changed direction. He thought he was being pulled out into the lake-deeper, deeper into the black, polluted water. He gasped, and water spilled into his lungs. He tried to cough but drew in more water instead. His chest exploded with pain, and his shoulders and stomach spasmed.

Someone-could it have been Devorast? — grabbed him by the forearm.

Flashes of light assailed his vision, though his eyes were still closed. His head spun. He felt himself throw up but from such a detached perspective that it seemed unreal, like a distant memory.

Hrothgar’s hearing had been instantly overwhelmed by the roar of the wave, but he was sure he heard someone calling his name, far away and as if through a maze of intervening walls.

He must have blacked out for some time because to him there was no transition between being in the water tail over teacups, and being on his back out in the cold open air.

The crushing weight on his chest grew steadily more intense and water poured out over his already drenched beard. His eyes were still tightly shut and try as he might, Hrothgar couldn’t open them.

“Hrothgar!” Devorast shouted. He sounded close. Inches away, maybe. “Come on, damn it.”

Hrothgar choked and coughed and more water came out. He took a breath.

I can breathe, he thought.

He tried to speak but only coughed some more. The water rattled in his chest, bubbling up his throat and sputtering out past his swollen tongue.

Hrothgar opened his eyes and was greeted to a too-close view of a drenched, disheveled Devorast. The human looked as frantic as Hrothgar thought it was possible for him to be.

“Hrothgar!”

Hrothgar forced his way up to a sitting position, coughing out more and more water along the way.

“Damn it all,” the dwarf choked out. It hurt him to speak, but he spoke anyway. “What … Wave?”

“It happens,” Devorast, winded, replied while he slapped the dwarf hard on the back. “They call them sneaker waves. It’s just something that happens.”

Hrothgar coughed some more and brushed Devorast away. It might have been helping, but the human slapping his back was starting to make him angry.

Angier, anyway.

“Damn …” the dwarf wheezed, “water …”

Hrothgar rubbed the water out of his eyes and shook his head to dry his beard, but all it did was make him dizzy.

“You’ll live,” Devorast said, sitting next to him on the cold, wet rocks.

The two of them sat there, shivering, coughing, breathing, for a long time, looking out at the unpredictable waters of the Lake of Steam. The deafening roar had returned to the incessant hiss of the waves playing on the stony shore.

“Hear that?” Devorast asked.

“What?” the dwarf grunted. “Me choking?”

“No,” the human replied with a smile. “The whisper of waves.”

Hrothgar resisted the urge to punch his friend in the face and instead struggled to his feet, shivering and coughing, and in every way feeling awful.

“You are a case for the priests, my friend,” the dwarf said, offering his hand to help Devorast up. “They could puzzle over what’s wrong with your brain until even their gods give up on a cure.”

Devorast let Hrothgar help him to his feet, then he clapped the dwarf on his back again.

“Can we go to a gods bedamned pub now?” Hrothgar asked.

Devorast nodded and they both looked back in the direction of Innarlith. A signal fire burned from the top of the tall guard tower at the northwest corner of the city, where the huge curtain wall ended at the lakeshore.

“It’s a mile back to the city,” Devorast said.

“We’ll freeze to death before we get a sip of ale,” grumbled the dwarf.

“Not to worry,” Devorast replied, and he started off in the direction of the city, his strides long and steady. “Another wave will get us before then.”

Hrothgar stared at his receding back for the space of a dozen deep, rattling breaths. Devorast never broke stride. He knew the dwarf would follow him.

And Hrothgar did just that.