[Meetings 06] - The Companions

by Tina Daniell - (ebook by Undead)

  Although he was a very intelligent minotaur, he couldn't for the life of him figure out how the human, who was being nurtured toward a glorious future as a gladiator, had escaped. Where could he go?

  He and his minotaur aide took out their frustration on the other human, the one called Sturm. They beat him bloody, demanding to know how his companion had gotten away. They may have beaten Sturm a little too hard, because the human's face became so swollen that he wouldn't have been able to say anything even if he wanted to. In any case, he couldn't have told much, because Sturm had absolutely no idea where Caramon had gone or how he had escaped.

  After beating him, the minotaur officer decided that the one called Sturm probably knew nothing or he would have talked, and that the best thing to do, considering, would be to nurse Sturm back to health all over again, favoring him with the best food and water.

  If they were lucky, they would still get one gladiator out of all this trouble.

  Then, heaving a deep sigh, the minotaur dictated a communiqué to his fawning human slave. The communiqué would be sent to the capital city of Lacynos, to the king himself. Unpleasant though it may be, it was his duty to report such an unusual occurrence as an escape from the prison of Atossa.

  Chapter 9

  Tanis Keeps A Log

  Captain Nugetre made his living hiring out the Castor to carry cargo, people—whatever he was asked, no questions asked—throughout the Eastern seas. Tanis, Raistlin, Flint, and Kirsig attracted little attention from the crew when they boarded that morning.

  Anticipating an eventful voyage, Tanis decided to keep a log, requesting and receiving paper for that purpose from the captain's supply.

  FIRST DAY

  Tempestuous winds and murky weather greeted us as soon as we lost sight of the shoreline. The reddish sea deepened in color to a muddy brown, a portent of dangers ahead.

  Captain Nugetre gathered myself, Flint, Raistlin, the half-ogre Kirsig, and his own first mate—a tall, broad-shouldered woman with a cap of straight blond hair, who goes by the name of Yuril (she reminds me of no one so much as Caramon, for she is a strapping physical specimen)—in his cabin for a look at his maps and a discussion of the route.

  Although Nugetre is an arrogant man, it seems from the attitude of his crew that he has earned their liking as well as respect. Certainly Kirsig speaks highly of him, mostly as a result of his contacts with her father. His cabin is a modest affair, containing a plain writing desk, a cabinet of charts and maps, and a small hammock.

  Once we were all present, Captain Nugetre began by warning us that there could be no guarantee that we would arrive safely at our destination, the far minotaur isles. "I have chanced the Blood Sea as often as any seafaring man," the captain declared, "but I never forget that it is a risk, a deadly one. Your reasons had better be worth gambling of your lives."

  Flint started to say something, but Raistlin cut him off. The dwarf's broken leg was bound in neat wrapping, but his face was green and had been ever since he was dragged aboard the ship. The choppy waves that we have experienced since setting sail have confirmed his misgivings about sea voyages and aggravated his suffering.

  Raistlin assured the captain that we had no intention of turning back. To emphasize his point, he set a bag of gems and coins on the captain's desk. Their value was substantial. Flint sat up, his eyes wide. "Double that," said Raistlin pointedly, "if we make the crossing within ten days."

  Kirsig had already told Nugetre that we needed to make all possible speed, and the captain outlined his unusual tactic for meeting Raistlin's deadline.

  Other ships' captains steer well clear of the Outer Reach of the Maelstrom at the center of the Blood Sea. It is the wisest course, for when a vessel is caught in its mighty undertow, it is sucked into the ever tightening rings of the whirlpool, and finally down into the dark red waters that churn feverishly where once stood the great city of Istar.

  Nugetre proposed to head directly for the outer ring of the Maelstrom, and to ride its current without giving in to the choking waters. Once it had carried us near enough to the minotaur isles—a distance of some three hundred miles—the Castor would fight free of the deadly pull,

  "That is the only way we can make the distance inside of ten days," the captain concluded. "Otherwise, because of the currents and the prevailing winds, it is a journey of several weeks. Safer, but slower by far."

  "Have you ever attempted this before?" asked Raistlin intently.

  "No," answered the captain flatly.

  A heavy silence thickened the air after his reply. "But it can be done," spoke up Yuril unexpectedly. "I sailed with a captain once who did it. The voyage was terrible. Not only did we have to battle the current, but also the perpetual storm that reigns over the Maelstrom. Death beckoned at every instant. We lost several good sailors in the heavy squalls. But the captain was determined to ride it out. He turned the ship at precisely the right instant, and we broke free. The strategy did indeed save time."

  Curious, I asked her what had happened to that captain. Why did she now sail with Captain Nugetre?

  "Pah," Yuril replied. "My former captain lost his life on land, in Bloodwatch. He was a genius aboard ship, a dolt in other respects. Imagine besting the Blood Sea, only to be stabbed to death in a common barroom brawl." She paused and squared her shoulders, staring at each of us in turn. "I have been sailing with Captain Nugetre for two years now. He has the skill and courage necessary. With these, it can be done."

  She stabbed her finger at the map laid out on the desk, showing where the ship would enter the Maelstrom, and where, if luck was with us, we would be expelled.

  Yuril said the Outer Reach of the Blood Sea was approximately three days away, assuming steady breezes and no problems.

  "How long will we be in this . . . Maelstrom?" asked Kirsig a bit plaintively.

  "Two days and two nights," replied Yuril, "if we stay on course."

  Raistlin seemed to be pondering the map. I waited for him to make the decision.

  A woeful-faced Flint whispered to me, "Don't you think we should consider the slower and safer method? We really have no proof that Sturm, Caramon, and Tas are in imminent danger."

  Raistlin shot him a reproachful glance. Flint looked down, tugging at his beard.

  I knew my old friend was no less concerned about the others than Raistlin and I were. I patted him on the back, whispering, "It will get us off this ship sooner." Then I spoke up in favor of the plan.

  Raistlin nodded agreement, and Kirsig surprised me with a hug. I didn't dare look at Flint again, for I knew that the dwarf, embarrassed at his earlier remark and annoyed to be stuck in the middle of a sea voyage—with a broken leg to boot—would be glowering at me.

  By nightfall, strong gales buffeted the Castor. Darkness blanketed the waters. The sea was cold and black and roiling. No stars graced the night sky. We are three days away from the suction of the Maelstrom, so it may have been my imagination already to feel the gradual, quickening pull.

  SECOND AND THIRD DAYS

  Frequent strange calms broken by heavy winds, hail and rain. We have sighted no other ships in this section of the sea. Even during the calms, our ship is being drawn in a northerly direction.

  Did I describe the Castor?

  A two-masted pentare, it is, with two sails and oar ports that are left unmanned except during calms. The crew numbers about two dozen, at least half of whom are female. They are all human and regard Flint and Kirsig, particularly, with some wonderment, even though I believe they have seen ogres before in their travels.

  Some of the sailors are black-skinned, from remote northern islands, and I peer at them with equal curiosity. The women, especially, for they are beautiful to look at, yet well muscled and obviously seaworthy. They dress in leather and sandals and can climb the masts and rig the sails as well as any seaman.

  They speak mostly in their own harsh-sounding vernacular, although almost all of them also speak Common.

  None of t
he crew carry weapons, and so far we have had no cause to resort to any. There is a small armory aft, in which are stored swords, crossbows, ballista bolts, oil, some armor, and the ship's supply of brandy.

  Yuril moves among the crew easily, barking commands that they hasten to carry out. She oversaw the building of four extra side rudders, crude in their design, shaped almost like giant flippers. According to Captain Nugetre's plan, they were attached to either end of the ship just below sea level. When we enter the treacherous perimeter of the Blood Sea, they will act to steady the Castor and, we hope, guide it during the worst of the buffeting it will surely receive from the Malelstrom.

  With the extra rudders come an elaborate system of ropes and gears fastened to blocks of wood hammered into the deck. Two sailors volunteered to dangle off the side of the boat, plunging their heads below crashing waves in order to securely attach the additional rudders. They received extra rations that night and the cheers of their comrades.

  Captain Nugetre presides over everything, his head held high. He says very little, and it is almost as if Yuril is in command. But he chides her when she is slow and laughs loudly when she barks an insult in reply.

  Apart from the main deck and the captain's cabin, the Castor has a small galley with fresh water and food supplies, an aft and bow castle, the oar bay and lower deck, crew quarters (which the crew uses in shifts) and a cargo hold. As far as I can tell, we are carrying no cargo other than food, repair supplies, and the array of weapons already mentioned.

  Near the cargo hold is a one-room brig, which has been empty of occupants since we left Ogrebond, and a small mate's cabin where Yuril sleeps—if and when she sleeps. She seems to stalk the deck at all hours. When the captain himself sleeps, she is his eyes and ears.

  Fortunately, four small cabins serve for passengers—one each for Raistlin, Flint, Kirsig, and myself. They are spare, with a hammock, bench, window chest, and table in each.

  By choice, Raistlin has been spending much of his time in his cabin alone. I suspect young Majere is collecting his strength for the ordeal ahead. The few times that I have seen him on deck he has seemed preoccupied. Surely he is worried about Caramon's well-being.

  Flint has spent most of the first three days in his cabin as well, but not by choice, for he is somewhat immobilized by his bad leg. I'm not sure, what with his dislike of bodies of water, that he isn't happy to be so restrained, but it is hard to tell with Flint. Even in the happiest of states, he is perpetually grumbling.

  Kirsig has cared well for Flint's leg. The swelling has gone down, the discoloration faded. It turns out that she does know some useful healing skills. I think my friend will be walking again by the time we reach the Outer Reach of the Maelstrom.

  Kirsig refuses to leave Flint's side, doting on him shamelessly. She strokes his hair and beard, calling him her "pretty dwarf." The more firmly he tries to cast her off, the more tightly she clings to him.

  Others on board are not so harsh in their attitude toward the half-ogre. Yesterday (day two) one of the sailors fell from a high turret and opened a nasty wound. Blood gushed from his side. Kirsig was summoned on deck, and she went to work with naught but a stitching needle, neatly closing the wound. Up till then, I'd say that Yuril had regarded the female half-ogre with amused indifference. Now I notice that she goes out of her way to greet Kirsig in the morning, addressing her with respect.

  FOURTH DAY

  The water has turned as foreboding as the skies. Dark blood-red is its color here in the OuterReach of the Blood Sea. The waves heave in great swells.

  Raistlin explained that the color of the water stems from the reddish soils of the fertile fields that once surrounded the city of Istar. Since Istar was destroyed in the Cataclysm, the Maelstrom that flows in its place constantly churns up those soils, coloring the water red, giving the Blood Sea its name, and reminding all of the fate of the fabled city entombed beneath it.

  Overhearing him, Captain Nugetre scoffed and said the color of the sea came from the blood of the thousands trapped and drowned when the gods wreaked their will on the city of Istar.

  Flint is up and hobbling about now; his leg is getting stronger. He joined us on deck at midday when a commotion spread over the ship. Sailors stood in clusters, pointing excitedly, arguing about the omens of the sea and sky.

  One of the crew, a stout, manly veteran, insisted that dragons have been spotted in the skies over the Blood Sea in this vicinity. Challenged by his fellows, he admitted that he never sailed this close to the Outer Reach before and that these were stories he heard in taverns in Bloodwatch.

  The others jeered at his admission, but I noticed that Raistlin had listened to him carefully, a thoughtful expression on his tense face. "Dragons!" snorted Flint. "Next we'll be hearing about genies who grant three wishes!"

  By midafternoon, we found ourselves in the grip of a strong current that pulled us northwesterly. Captain Nugetre's instructions were to lay off any drag, take the sails down, and glide with the current. The first shift of crew took positions along the rails, in small groups assigned to one of the anchors or the oars or the extra rudders. But they were under orders to do nothing for the time being, to let the ship be sucked along the Outer Reach.

  The Castor was swept along in a gradually accelerating curve. The skies above had darkened so that it was difficult to say whether it was night or day, based on the evidence of our eyes. Thunder exploded in the air, lightning flashed, and a stinging rain attacked us intermittently.

  Captain Nugetre manned the helm of the ship. We all watched him as he stood in the aft castle, tossing the wheel back and forth violently, trying to correct the movement of the ship and keep it from being drawn into the Tightening Ring. Whatever else the crew was supposed to be doing, we all stole glances at the captain, knowing that beyond the Tightening Ring lay the Nightmare Sea and the place where Istar slept beneath the vengeful Blood Sea, the Heart of Darkness. No seafarer is known ever to have ventured beyond the Tightening Ring and made it back to tell his story.

  I noticed that Kirsig ran to assist Yuril, whose job it was to move from post to post, calming the sailors. The half-ogre bounced alongside the taller, more muscular and handsome woman, making for an odd contrast. She amused the sailors with her half-comical presence yet did as much as Yuril to maintain discipline.

  Flint and I dashed to vacant oar ports, ready to lend our muscle if the need arose. I have to say that Flint has bravely swallowed his fear of the sea and, although his face turned white in this instance, he stood ready to help in whatever way he could.

  Raistlin clung to a center mast, buffeted by the growing winds but determined to stay and watch whatever developed.

  FOURTH DAY: EVENING

  A deepening of the darkness let us know night had fallen, and with it came the full horror. The skies erupted with thunder, the sea seemed afire with bolts of lightning, and the heavens poured icy, slanting rain. The waves rose to a towering height, then dashed violently over the decks. At one point we heard screams, and later we learned that one unlucky sailor had been swept overboard.

  The ship listed crazily, and in the blackness of the night, there was no sure way to steer the Castor's course. The wind howled behind us, in front of us, all around us, impossible to reckon with. Yuril had relieved the captain and was at the helm when the worst began. She was soon joined by Nugetre; the two of them strained to keep the wheel from spinning dizzily. They shouted and cursed at each other and at the elements, linking arms around the wheel, desperate to steady the ship.

  The continuous gusts of wind drove icy sprays into the ship fore and aft. Some bailing was necessary. The worst of it was that with the storm, the bailing, and the uncertainty, no real rest or food was possible all night. Both shifts worked alongside one another, weary, chilled to the bone, and filled with dread.

  I argued with Raistlin, insisting that our goal would be better served if he were safe below deck. He refused to listen. However, in the early morning, when the storm
abated somewhat and several of us hurried to catch some sleep, I saw that he was slumped at his post.

  Kirsig hastened to help the young mage to his cabin below. Flint and I followed not long after, shivering in the wind and spray. From my cabin, I could hear Raistlin muttering and tossing in a restless sleep.

  We all slept fitfully, cognizant of the ship's erratic movement and our own building fear.

  FIFTH DAY

  Day and night the weather worsens, and our peril increases. After a brief respite, the storm returned in full fury. Huge waves crashed into the ship, and violent rain soaked us to the skin. We were deluged by water. We had to shout into each other's ears in order to be heard over the deafening thunder. Though Nugetre remained at the helm, I couldn't imagine his efforts had any effect. The Castor seemed lifted and flung like a cork in the surf. We lurched drunkenly from the attack of the Blood Sea.

  The seething chaos did not let up. In the late afternoon, Captain Nugetre, his red-rimmed eyes burning, announced that we had crossed over into the Tightening Ring. Now, he said, it was mandatory that we break the grip of the current and somehow lead the Castor east and north, back to the Outer Reach.

  Otherwise we would be sucked into the Maelstrom.

  Nugetre banished Yuril from the deck, sending her below to get some rest. Until then, she had refused to let anyone spell her in her duties. Alone, he held the tiller until full evening. I shall always remember how, while he was steering that day, he sang out some lusty sailor's song that I had never heard out of anyone else's mouth. His brazen confidence as he struggled with the ship seemed to infect the other sailors, who didn't flinch from their posts despite the brutal elements.