by Dragon Lance
Evenstar wallowed westward under renewed sail.
*
Vixa shed the last of her armor and dressed herself in a plain leather jerkin, baggy cavalry pants, and boots. Despite her highborn status, she had little use for fine clothes, expensive jewelry, and courtly manners. Her father, Lord Kemian Ambrodel, despaired of her ever becoming a refined princess. He had to content himself with the fact that at least his youngest daughter had inherited his love of learning. In her rooms in the palace, books and scrolls vied for space with swords, armor, maces, and bows. Vixa’s mother, Lady Verhanna, commander of the armies of Qualinost, wholeheartedly endorsed Vixa’s military bent. “There are thousands of delicate elfmaidens,” she was fond of saying, “but shockingly few good warriors.”
Verhanna had nicknamed her youngest child “the scholar.” She believed bookishness to be a waste of time for a warrior. However, as it didn’t diminish Vixa’s fighting skills or detract from her duties as a royal princess, Verhanna kept her views to herself. Most of the time. After all, she reasoned, the child’s father was also bookish and it hadn’t kept him from proving to be a fine general.
Vixa made her way forward between decks to the galley to collect her breakfast. The only open fire allowed on the wooden ship was kept in the brick oven abaft the mainmast. Evenstar’s cook was also her healer, a Kagonesti named Barbalthin. He greeted the princess cheerfully and gave her a trencher laden with griddlecakes and a cup of mulled nectar. She bit into the crispy cake. Ah! There were no bakers in the royal household who could match Barbalthin’s griddlecakes. Vixa raised the pewter cup of nectar to her lips —
— and suddenly the entire contents splashed in her face as the ship lurched sharply. The nectar stung her eyes as the deck canted beneath her feet. She and Barbalthin collided with the brick hearth, fell, and rolled to the starboard wall. Glowing coals spilled from the firebox onto the wooden deck. Barbalthin scrambled against the tilt, dousing the embers.
Evenstar held its starboard list. The stout hull groaned, and a distinct grinding sound filled the ship.
“Now what?” groaned Vixa.
A chorus of shouts and the sound of tramping feet resounded overhead. Vixa made for the ladder and climbed up. Sailors scrambled fore and aft, cursing every god in the heavens. Vixa slid down the deck on her hips and heels until she collided with a red-faced Captain Esquelamar.
“We’re aground!” he said fiercely. “A hundred leagues from land, and we’re aground!”
“Are we wrecked?” she wanted to know.
“Never fear, lady. Evenstar will not sink.”
A sailor popped out of the same hatch Vixa had emerged from. “She’s tight below, Captain! No water in the hold!”
“Thank the gods for that,” Esquelamar breathed.
The world heaved again as the ship rolled back upright. Esquelamar bounced to his feet like an acrobat. Vixa got up more slowly and saw Armantaro trying to stand, hampered by his armor. Vixa found herself wondering if the old colonel slept in his armor, too.
“On your feet, Colonel,” she said genially.
“Now I know why I never served in the Speaker’s navy,” Armantaro muttered. “At least land doesn’t trip a soldier at every opportunity.”
The ship appeared to be surrounded by yellow mud – land where nothing had been seconds before. To the southwest, the low peak of an island was just visible in the early morning light. Esquelamar ordered a sailor over the side to see if the bar they were on was shifting. As his fellows held his legs, the elf stabbed a boat hook into the swirling, muddy water. It was only ten inches deep.
“We’re fast aground,” Esquelamar reported, his expression grim. “This shoal is not on any of my charts!”
“Can we lower a boat?” asked Armantaro. “Kedge off the bar?”
“Nay, the water’s too shallow, even for the longboat.”
The sun rose higher, and the island to the southwest stood out more clearly. It was a large, flat expanse of sand, with a single high dune in the center.
Knowing elves have to eat even in the direst of situations, Barbalthin came on deck with some food. He brought griddlecakes for the landlubbers, kippers for the sailors. Armantaro picked up a flat cake and was about to bite into it when an idea struck him.
“What about a raft, Captain?”
“Eh?” said Esquelamar.
“Why not build a raft? We could pole it ashore,” said the colonel.
“To what end, sir? There’s nothing out there but a hill of sand.”
Armantaro pointed. “It is the tallest spot around, is it not? From there we should be able to spot open water.”
“Aye. I see your meaning. Perhaps we can lighten the ship and float free of this bar.” Esquelamar cupped a hand to his lips. “Manneto! Heronimas! Collect all free hands and assemble on the foredeck. And break out the carpenter’s tools. We’re going to build a raft!”
Empty water casks were dragged up from the hold, sawn in half, and lashed together. A makeshift deck of planks was hammered in place across their cut sides. Oars and oarlocks from the ship’s longboats were attached, and the crude raft was hoisted over the side.
Vixa looked down at the newly made raft. “Who else is coming?”
“Lady, you would be safer on the ship,” Armantaro ventured to suggest.
Vixa frowned. The obvious concern in the old colonel’s face caused her to swallow her sharp retort. Clapping him on the shoulder instead, she said lightly, “Fear not, old friend. I doubt if the mosquitoes on that island are very dangerous.”
A party of eight was chosen to explore the island: Captain Esquelamar and three of his sailors, Vixa, Armantaro, Harmanutis, and Vanthanoris. Manneto was left in charge of the ship, and Paladithel put in command of the remaining warrior contingent.
Although Armantaro and the other two warriors in the landing party had donned full battle dress, Vixa demurred, saying, “I’m only going to climb a hill, not fight a battle. Why should I wear armor in this heat?” She did, however, take along her fine Qualinesti sword.
A section of the ship’s rail was removed, and supplies for the landing party lowered by rope to the raft. Vanthanoris and two sailors went down first, holding the raft steady by its mooring lines. The others followed. Below the waterline the hull was studded with razor-sharp barnacles. Deprived of water, the creatures made eerie clicking sounds as they gasped in the air.
From the deck, Manneto called down, “How long will you be, Captain?”
Esquelamar shaded his eyes, checking the position of the sun. It was perhaps two hours after dawn. “We’ll be back before sundown,” he called back.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
With the captain at the raft’s plank rudder and the sailors and warriors on the oars, they set off for the unknown island that had risen from the bottom of the sea. And Vixa said a silent prayer to the Blue Phoenix, lord of the sea.
Chapter 3
MAROONED
The glare off the still water was harsh, though the sun was hours yet from its highest position. Gulls and other seabirds wheeled overhead, screeching in the steamy air. To shield her head, Vixa made a sort of short burnoose with her kerchief and a length of thong.
The going was slow, as almost every dip of the oars struck bottom. Lurching from side to side, the raft made its way. Twenty paces from the shoreline, the raft ran aground. Captain Esquelamar pulled in the steering oar and called, “From here on, mates, we walk.”
They piled out. The footing was firm. From their vantage point, they could see Evenstar high and dry, looking like a child’s toy left on the bank of a pond. Esquelamar shaded his eyes and scanned the low line of dunes left and right.
“From the look of these ridges, I’d say the water drains off from a central point. There, I think,” he said, indicating the highest point on the island.
They set off, Esquelamar and Vanthanoris leading. It was not a pleasant walk. The hollows between the sand ridges were full of stagnant pools, seaweed, and other d
ebris. A foul stench rose up from this soupy mess. There was no way around it, only through.
Vanthanoris drew farther and farther ahead of the rest of them. Suddenly, at the top of a ridge, he drew his sword and flung up his free hand.
“Hold!” Vixa ordered. She, the colonel, and Harmanutis each dropped to one knee. Confused, Esquelamar and the sailors stood and stared.
“Get down!” hissed Armantaro. They did so at last.
Vanthanoris disappeared over the hill, sunlight flashing off his naked blade. A few tense minutes passed, then he came jogging back to his worried companions.
“I saw movement,” he whispered. “To the northeast, yonder. Whatever it was, it disappeared behind some dunes. I ran forward, but all I found were tracks.”
“What kind of tracks?” Vixa demanded.
“Hard to tell. This ground doesn’t hold them well. Maybe a four-legged animal of some kind. Big, too,” Vanthanoris replied.
“How big were the tracks?” Esquelamar asked.
The elf warrior held his hands apart about sixteen inches.
“Show us the trail,” Armantaro said, rising. In a flash, the agile Vanthanoris was loping up the hill. The others struggled through the sand after him.
On the lee side of the ridge, they saw a line of prints starting on the left, southeast, and moving in a curve, paralleling the contour of the ridge.
Harmanutis dropped on his stomach and sniffed the prints. “Saltwater,” he reported. “Whatever it is, it came out of the sea.”
“A sea turtle?” suggested one of the sailors in a hopeful tone.
“Nay,” Esquelamar said, dismissing the suggestion with a wave of his hand. “A turtle’s got flippers. This creature leaves a distinctive trail.”
“Well, it went that way,” Vanthanoris said and started off again. His long legs covered the ground rapidly. The rest of the party hurried along in his wake.
They headed right, following the gully’s curve. Vanthanoris, his hunting blood up, forged ahead. Vixa and Harmanutis jogged after him, panting with exertion. The fetid sea-stench grew stronger.
Suddenly, Harmanutis lost his footing and slid down the slope. Vixa, one hand on her sheathed sword, went after him. About the time she reached the bottom of the slope, a shout split the air. It was Vanthanoris from above – calling for help.
Vixa was still several steps away from Harmanutis. Struggling to his feet in the stinking bog, Harmanutis called to her, “Go, lady! I’m with you!”
The princess ran splashing along the bottom of the gully, scanning the landscape for sight of Vanthanoris. She caught a glimpse of movement at the top of the next ridge. Then she froze in place. Harmanutis, coming up behind her, likewise halted. A tall, upright figure was silhouetted against the bright sky. All she could make out was a dark figure. It was not shaped like the stocky, muscular Vanthanoris, but it seemed to be a person, definitely not a four-legged animal.
“You there!” she shouted. The dark figure turned away, disappeared over the hill.
“Go help Van!” Vixa ordered Harmanutis. Out came her sword. She charged up the slope.
By the time she reached the top of the hill, Vixa was puffing. Her labor went unrewarded. There was no sign of the dark figure, only more undulating ridges of sand. She stood for a moment, scanning left and right. Still nothing.
Vixa turned right, strode along the rim of this dune until she saw the rest of her group collected in the bottom of the gully. Esquelamar and the sailors had caught up at last. She called down to them, “Hello! How’s Van?”
Armantaro and Harmanutis moved apart, revealing the young warrior. Vanthanoris waved to the princess. Vixa skidded down the dune. When closer, she saw that Vanthanoris had a gash on his forehead.
“What happened, Van?” she asked.
“I was hard on the trail, lady. As I rounded the bend there, I caught a glimpse of something green moving. I challenged it, and it split in two!”
“Split in two?”
“Yes, Highness! What we thought was one four-legged animal turned out to be two two-legged people, walking in step together.”
Vixa looked back at the ridge top. “I saw one of them,” she said. “Did you get a close look?”
“No, my lady. I couldn’t see them well. But they were covered with this.” He held out a hand. In it was a swatch of green material. “They were lying in wait for me as I rounded the bend. When they attacked, I managed to tear this off one of them.”
Vixa took the green material from the warrior’s outstretched hand. It was damp. “Looks like seaweed.”
Esquelamar examined it. “The fisherfolk call it eelweed,” he told them. “Comes from the deepest parts of the ocean. Most people see it only when it gets caught in a fishing net.”
The stems of the weed were woven together, like cloth. There even appeared to be threadlike strands of green sewn through the seaweed, for all the world as though it were a square of cloth. This was no bit of camouflage picked up at random. Someone had taken time and trouble to fashion the fronds of seaweed into a leafy covering.
“Well, these two brigands were draped in it,” Vanthanoris stated. “They saw me, jumped apart, and one of them thrust a short spear at me. I ducked, but it grazed me. That’s when I gave the call. One ran over the hill, that way. The other one ran down the draw.”
Armantaro was nodding. “This changes everything,” he said. “If there are armed foes about, the ship may be in danger.”
The sailors were all for turning back right away. Esquelamar glared at them until they subsided into silence. “There’s no need to panic,” he said calmly. “Some other boat has fetched up on this unforeseen land, that’s all. Vanthanoris ran into another scouting party. He startled them, so they attacked and ran away. There were two of them – if they’d wanted to kill him, why didn’t they?”
“But the seaweed —” objected Harmanutis.
“There’s probably several hundredweight of eelweed lying around here. This sand heap rose up from the depths, did it not? It must have brought the eelweed with it,” was the captain’s reasonable response.
“I agree with the captain,” Vixa said. She tucked the swatch of eelweed into her belt. Esquelamar was probably right in his reading of events, but the woven eelweed was certainly one more peculiar detail in an increasingly odd situation. “We should finish what we came here for.”
A bandage was tied around Vanthanoris’s head. With Harmanutis in the lead, the small band continued their march toward the center of the island. The hills got higher, and the ravines between them got deeper. Here and there were more tracks in the sand, pairs of deep indentations, but they saw no more figures, weed-draped or otherwise. They plodded up hill and down dale, sweat-drenched, until Harmanutis topped the final rise and cried out, “I see smoke!”
The rest of the party slogged up the ridge to join the corporal. “Smoke means people,” Esquelamar said.
One of his sailors muttered, “What is there to burn on this sand pile?”
Standing alongside Harmanutis, they saw the white smoke soaring skyward from a distant point. The smoke did not rise in long plumes, but in distinct, rolling puffs.
“How odd,” Vixa said. “Is someone signaling?”
“That’s not smoke,” said Armantaro. “See how it disperses so quickly? That’s steam, by Astra! There must be a geyser behind that hill.” The old colonel allowed himself a smile. “No wonder this island is not on the charts. It must have been created by a recent upheaval of the subterranean regions.”
The elves hurried on. Vixa and the younger soldiers arrived first at the pinnacle. As they had hoped, the view was spectacular. Looking back the way they had come, they could see Evenstar, surrounded by muddy water. A considerable distance to the west, a strip of brilliant blue revealed open water. However, it was a long, long way from the stranded ship.
A fresh billow of steam erupted below them. As the wind whipped the steam away, the source of the eruptions was revealed. Two large openi
ngs marred the hillside below.
“This I must see,” announced the captain. He started down the hill.
“Keep clear, Captain,” Armantaro called. “The steam can scald you.” The master of Evenstar, acknowledging the warning with a wave of his hand, kept going, followed by his crew.
The warriors lingered atop the sandy hill, discussing how best to move the ship to that tantalizing stretch of blue ocean. A flurry of action interrupted their debate. Just as Esquelamar and the three sailors reached the closest steam vent, three large, weed-draped figures burst out of the cavelike hole, brandishing short-handled spears.
“Out swords!” Vixa ordered. “Charge!”
The elves ran down the hill, shouting Qualinesti war cries. The attackers had seized Esquelamar. His sailors tried to free him, and one received a spear in the chest.
Vixa raised her blade in a high overhand swing and brought it down on the closest foe. Keen elven steel sliced through the eelweed cape, and a broad section fell away, revealing some type of shiny green armor.
The attacker let go of Esquelamar and turned to face Vixa. He towered over her by at least a foot, though she herself was six feet tall. He jabbed his short spear at her. She batted it away with her sword. The head of the spear was a reddish, glassy material, barbed like a fishing hook.
The other Qualinesti warriors poured into the fight. Vanthanoris ran up behind the enemy and grabbed one of them, spinning him around and slashing hard across his opponent’s chest. Eelweed fell away, revealing a cuirass of bright green. The elf dodged a spear thrust, lunged, and felt his sword tip strike home. His moment of triumph was short-lived, though. His tall opponent grasped the blade and wrenched it from Vanthanoris’s grip. He then brought up his own spear, willing to continue the battle with a sword in his side. The now weaponless Vanthanoris hastily withdrew from this display of fortitude.
The other two weed-robed figures were retreating. They had abandoned Esquelamar and dashed back into the steam vent, bowling over Harmanutis, who tried to block their way. The third antagonist staggered toward the other steam vent. After wrenching Vanthanoris’s blade from his body, he plunged into the cave.