The Day Of The Tempest

by Jean Rabe

  “You know certain passages by heart. I have heard you recite them.”

  “Some of his works greatly interest me.” The Master held the book in front of him and ran his fingers over the cover, tracing the gold-inlaid letters. He opened it to the middle and studied a passage, his index finger out tracing the lines of text and his lips moving silently as he read the words.

  “Yes, I am certain of it.”

  “Certain of what?” The Master closed the tome, and turned to face the Shadow Sorcerer. “You are Raistlin.”

  The Master softly laughed. “I knew Raistlin Majere, knew him very well – perhaps better than even his own brother knew him. But I also knew a number of Krynn’s greatest sorcerers. Justarius of the Red Robes, Dalamar, Par-Salian, Rieve, Gadar, Ladonna, and more. Raistlin was perhaps the greatest. You flatter me by your accusations.”

  “Do you deny it?”

  “If I was Raistlin, what would I be doing in this tower with you and Palin Majere? Raistlin is gone. And for one thing, he always preferred solitude.”

  “There is solitude here. And Raistlin Majere would be interested enough in his nephew to —”

  “Do I look like Raistlin? I am not so frail as he.”

  The Shadow Sorcerer took a step closer. “You cleverly mask your appearance.”

  “As you mask yours.” The Master turned back to the shelf and replaced the tome. He selected the one next to it and tugged it down.

  Beneath his metallic mask, the Shadow Sorcerer smiled. “I take my leave of you to study the Red Terror – as the kender are calling Malystryx. Alert me if you find something of significance in Raistlin’s notes.” The Shadow Sorcerer glided from the room, quietly adding, “Your notes, I think, my colleague. You did not deny my charge.”

  The Master opened the volume to the last section, searched for a well-remembered heading, and began reading.

  Chapter 11

  TROUBLE ON THE DOCKS

  The blue dragon plummeted, taking Dhamon Grimwulf down in its deadly descent. Blood and scales fell, and Dhamon’s sword tumbled quietly tike a silver needle, small and insignificant. Dhamon looked like a discarded doll The storm howled all about, hammering savagely against the plunging bodies and against Feril, who stared helplessly at the grim scene. The dragon and Dhamon struck the take, sending a great shower of water up into the air. The two disappeared below the surface. There were ripples and bubbles at first, signs of life and hope. The Kagonesti’s heart beat wildly in sync with the thunder. “Dhamon!” she cried. But then the bubbles disappeared, and the storm stopped, and she woke up sweating.

  The same dream again – night after night. The only time she couldn’t remember having the nightmare was when she was in the desert with Palin and Rig. There’d been so much to do and think about then that when sleep came, it had been from sheer exhaustion.

  The Kagonesti lay in her bunk, listening to the waves lap against the hull, the gentle scraping sound the ship was making against the dock, and the gulls crying in the distance. She heard feet slapping against the deck above, someone hi a hurry to go some place. She glanced out the porthole. The sky was rosy, but filled with low, gray clouds. It was nearly dawn. She heard more feet scurrying above.

  They’d pulled into the Witdel port late last night It was a deep harbor, so they could moor the Anvil at the docks. Rig had decided they would off-load the last of the refugees in the morning. But he hadn’t said it would be this early.

  Then she heard other sounds, her keen elven senses coming into play and focusing on the pounding of feet. On the docks, people were running. A scream pierced the air, and Feril bolted out of bed and grabbed her tunic and boots. She sniffed. Something was burning. It wasn’t clouds she saw through the porthole. It was smoke.

  *

  A crash sounded behind Rig Mer-Krel as the rear mast toppled and rocked the ship. The sails were on fire, and as the mast struck the deck, flames streaked away in all directions.

  The mariner dashed amidships, darting around the fires and drawing his cutlass high above his head. He brought the blade down hard, sinking it into the collarbone of an advancing Knight of Takhisis. Rig heard the mail split, the crunch of bone, and the gurgled cry of his opponent, who was already falling to the deck. The knight’s sword clattered from his hand, and the mariner scrambled to pick it up.

  Rig leapt forward to meet his next adversary and ducked just as a blade sliced through the air above his head. He thrust forward with his borrowed long sword, sinking it deep into the stomach of another knight. Rig twisted the blade as he tugged it free, and the knight pitched forward.

  The mariner paused only a heartbeat to survey his grim handiwork, then he bounded over the body and met the rush of two more knights. Smoke billowed all around him as the fire spread across more sections of the deck. His eyes watered and he coughed to clear his lungs. Cutlass in one hand and long sword in the other, he waved the blades to keep the two knights at bay until he could find an opening. They crouched side by side, their swords in front of them, weaving to keep away from Rig.

  Behind the pair, a black-robed man who was partially concealed by the smoke moved his fingers in front of his wrinkled face and mumbled unintelligible words. The mariner scowled and coughed again. The robed man wore the Knights of Takhisis emblem on his chest, but in place of the death lily was a crown dotted with thorns. “Stinking sorcerer,” Rig whispered.

  The mariner doubled over coughing, and the two knights moved in. Rig suddenly straightened up and impaled the knight on his right with the long sword. The man on his left dodged to the side, barely avoiding the mariner’s cutlass. Rig yanked the long sword free and rushed toward the sorcerer.

  “Barbarian,” the sorcerer spat as daggers of dark red light flew from his long nails and struck the mariner in the chest. Red hot as coals, the magical shards melted into his skin, and the heat quickly spread to his stomach and shoulders, then raced down his arms. Rig’s fingers twitched, and he had to concentrate to keep his hands locked about the pommels.

  “Stinking sorcerer,” the mariner repeated as his momentum carried him a few steps farther. He drove his cutlass into the belly of the black-robed man, who was in the midst of casting another spell. A look of surprise flashed across the man’s face. Rig followed with the long sword, making contact with the man’s leg. The sorcerer fell, and Rig tugged the cutlass loose, spun, and fell to a crouch when he spotted three more knights charging in his direction.

  Several yards away, amidst the rolling dark gray clouds of smoke, Groller was grappling with the knight-officer. The half-ogre gripped the knight’s upper arms and squeezed hard. The knight was yelling something, but the man’s words could not distract the fierce half-ogre who slid his fingers up to the man’s shoulders and toward his neck. At the same time, the knight leveled blow after blow against Groller’s stomach. The man’s lips continued to move, his face reddened and contorted, and bits of spittle flew from his mouth.

  Pain exploded in the half-ogre’s side as the knight-officer’s mailed fist landed hard against a rib. Groller raised his leg and slammed his foot down on the knight’s foot. Then the half-ogre pressed his attack by dropping to his knees and using his weight to pull the knight deeper into the growing smoke and heat. Coughs racked the knight-officer’s body, and the half-ogre’s meaty fingers found the man’s neck again. The knight tried desperately to pry Groller’s thick fingers loose. But the half-ogre held on, keeping the man from drawing any more of the hot, smoky air into his lungs. The knight-officer struggled feebly for a moment more, then fell limp. The half-ogre pushed himself up and rushed toward the rail, gasping for fresh air.

  *

  Feril nearly collided with Usha and Palin as they met at the top of the Anvil’s steps and looked across to the deck of the Knights of Takhisis’s moored schooner. Its hull was charcoal black. Smoke billowed from several places on the deck, and flames licked up the mainmast and the forward mast.

  “Palin!” Feril cried.

  “In the na
me of Paladine!” Palin breathed. The sorcerer wrapped his bed sheet tighter around him, took in the carnage, and began uttering the words to a spell.

  Usha, dressed in a sleeping gown and robe, hurried to his side. “Ulin?” she whispered. “What in the gods’ names is Ulin doing?”

  Ulin Majere stood in the center of the knight’s dragon-prowed ship, directing the fire. His hair was slick with sweat against the sides of his face, and his tunic and leggings were ashen and smeared with soot. He made a gesture, and a smoldering section of deck erupted into a bonfire, engulfing a quartet of knights. They thrashed about in the flames and rushed toward the rail, their tabards streaming fire as they plunged over the side. Their heavy mail quickly carried them below the surface.

  A howl pierced the air as Fury leapt over the ship’s railing and onto the burning schooner. Feril scrambled down the Anvil’s plank and boarded the knights’ schooner where she found her way blocked by Groller. His clothes were smudged and tattered, and blood ran from several cuts on his arms. He gestured toward her as if shooing away a fly. “Purl, go ‘way! Ship burns. Parr everywhere!”

  She vehemently shook her head. “Behind you!” Feril shouted. “I’ve got to help Rig.”

  The desperate look on the Kagonesti’s face made his eyes follow the direction of her outstretched finger. A burly knight, his tabard on fire, was charging for the half-ogre, his sword high above his head. Groller spun to face him and tugged the belaying pin from his belt. As he crouched to meet the attack, a red-haired blur streaked past him.

  Fury’s front paws landed against the knight’s chest, toppling him. The wolf’s teeth closed on the man’s wrist, forcing him to drop the sword. Groller took advantage of the situation and slammed his belaying pin against the side of the man’s head.

  On the deck of Flint’s Anvil, Usha rested a gentle hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Palm, can you... oh, you’re doing something.” Usha watched as her husband finished his spell and the energy he’d been summoning was channeled through him, whipping up both the air and the water around them.

  The sorcerer stared at the mounting waves that had begun to toss both the Anvil and the dragon-prowed ship. He gestured with his hand, singling out a particular wave. Elsewhere the harbor was practically as smooth as glass. With a flick of his wrist and a few words, the sorcerer summoned the water from the wave and deposited it on the deck of the Knights of Takhisis’s ship. A second wave from the harbor followed it, and a third, each called upon by the sorcerer. The water doused some of the flames and succeeded in washing several knights over the railing.

  “Let me help,” Gilthanas said. He, Sageth (still clutching his tablet), and the remaining refugees who had been asleep in the hold were now gathered behind the Majeres. Gilthanas tucked his blond locks behind his pointed ears and spread his fingers across the rail. He took several deep breaths, then closed his eyes and concentrated on the air blowing gently all around him. “Faster,” he coaxed.

  “Ohmygoodness!” Blister sputtered. The kender squeezed between the refugees, poking and prodding with her elbows until she was next to Usha. “I thought the cook was burning breakfast! Hey, what’s Rig doing over there? And Groller? There’s Feril! And... Ulin!” The kender pushed the rest of her questions aside as she thrust her gloved hand into one of the many pouches at her waist and found her sling. She pulled it free and immediately set her aching fingers to find-ing stones and marbles. Within moments, she was pelting the Knights of Takhisis who were fighting the mariner.

  “Faster!” called the elf, his voice rising as the wind whipped about him. A gust caught another wave Patin was summoning and the water rose higher and crashed across the deck. “Again!” the elf shouted, and another wave was augmented by his enchantment.

  Her bare feet slipping on the wet deck, Feril dashed toward Rig. Not only did the mariner have three knights to contend with, but a fourth was headed his way. The Kagonesti barely managed to keep her balance as she darted toward the fourth knight, shoving her shoulder into his side and knocking him down.

  When the next wave struck the ship, Rig reached back and grabbed the rail to keep from being knocked over as two of the three knights he’d been fighting were washed over the side. Rig dropped prone as the remaining knight rushed forward, madly swinging. The blade passed harmlessly over the mariner’s head, and he rolled to the side to avoid another series of hurried thrusts. Rig retaliated by slashing upward with all of his remaining strength. The cutlass cleaved the knight’s wrist, sending his hand and his sword flying to the deck. The knight screamed and grabbed at his stump, and the mariner kicked the wounded man, sending him to the deck.

  Rig paused to take a deep breath and glance around the deck, catching Feril’s gaze and smiling. Beyond her, an aging knight – a knight-officer by the look of his insignia – was rushing toward them. Rig sheathed his cutlass, and reached into the V neck of his tunic to retrieve two daggers. The knight saw Rig’s intent and turned, running instead toward the far rail, the water washing across the deck threatening his balance.

  “Honor is for fools,” Rig muttered as he loosed the first dagger. It caught the man between the shoulder blades. He paused, and threw his second dagger at a knight who was closing on Ulin. The blade pierced the man’s throat, and he fell dead at the young sorcerer’s feet

  Feril stepped back and held on as one of Palin’s waves, coaxed by a magical gust of wind, crashed over the starboard side and drenched her. There were few flames visible now, and most of the smoke had cleared. The Kagonesti took stock of the rest of her friends as the mariner slid beside her and put an arm around her shoulder, hugging her gently.

  “A brisk morning exercise,” he said. “Nothing like it to keep your sword arm in shape.”

  They spotted Fury and Groller, and Feril eased away from Rig and moved toward the pair. The wolf was trying futilely to shake the wetness from his coat. The half-ogre was driving his fist into the face of the last knight still standing. The knight refused to fall, until the half-ogre jammed his fist against the man’s sternum. The blow cracked the bone and the man collapsed.

  Rig looked across to Flint’s Anvil, saw Palin, and grinned. “Interrupt your sleep?” Rig called, pointing at Palin’s attire.

  Palin felt the red of embarrassment rise to his face. “I’m going to get dressed,” he told Usha. “Then we can talk about what happened here.” The sorcerer headed below deck, just as Jasper Fireforge was climbing up.

  The dwarf yawned. “What’s all the noise? It’s impossible to get any rest on a ship.”

  *

  By the time Palin had dressed and returned to the deck, he found Jasper tending to the wounded. Rig was sitting against the Anvil’s mainmast as Jasper applied a padded bandage that wrapped around the mariner’s waist. Groller surveyed the dwarf’s handiwork and then held still as Jasper poked and examined the half-ogre’s ribs. “You should wear armor,” Jasper grumbled, well aware the half-ogre couldn’t hear him.

  “Seems Rig started it” Blister announced to Palin.

  “Started it?” the mariner blurted. “They started it. I just helped finish it.”

  Palin glared at the dark-skinned man. “What happened?”

  “I was up early. Me and Groller were watching the knights. Seems their ship pulled in sometime after we did last night Your son joined us, said he couldn’t sleep. So we talked a bit. I wasn’t that interested in the schooner until I saw a few knights leading all those people from town toward the dock. Nice and early in the morning, when the rest of the town was still sleeping.”

  “And?” Palin prompted.

  “And I asked them what they were doing.” Rig stopped to gently adjust his bandage. “They wouldn’t say, but I figured they were capturing more people so the Blue could make spawn out of them.”

  “So you attacked the knights?”

  “Not exactly.” It was clear the mariner didn’t like Palin’s questioning. He rose, brushed by the sorcerer, and strode down the plank to the docks where Feril,
Gilthanas, Usha, and Ulin were already talking to the former prisoners.

  “Then what exactly?”

  Rig didn’t answer. Palin sighed, then followed the mariner onto the crowded dock. “Rig didn’t start the fight,” Ulin said as his father approached. “I did.”

  “You?”

  “Rig asked them to release the prisoners, and the knights threatened to add us to the lot instead. So I threatened to destroy their ship. They didn’t believe I could. Fools.”

  Palin sighed.

  “Remember the simple fire spell you taught me a few years ago? Well, I’ve been working on it, and I tested an improved version on their sails.”

  “Of course, the knights were none too happy about it,” Rig added with a chuckle. “And when they started drawing their swords, I thought I’d oblige them.” He patted the pommel of his cutlass. “I only worked up a sweat on a couple of them.”

  “Couldn’t you have woke us before things got out of hand?” Feril asked. “I could’ve helped. Maybe all those knights wouldn’t have had to die.”

  “Well, things got out of hand a little too quickly for us to call anyone,” Ulin said. He grinned at his father.

  “You were lucky,” Palin told his son. “The fire could have spread to Flint’s Anvil. One of you could have been killed if —”

  “But it didn’t,” Ulin cut in. “And we weren’t. And we managed to save a lot of people who were destined to become dragon food or spawn.”

  “Let’s see to the last of our refugees and be on our way. We’re in a hurry and we haven’t any more time to waste on —”

  “You’re Palin Majere, the famous sorcerer!” A young man with an unruly shock of red hair stepped forward, nudging his way through the front rank of the freed prisoners. “Yes I am, but —”