by Jean Rabe
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 Narwal’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.