The Messenger it-1

by Douglas Niles

  The old shaman nodded and barked instructions to several children, who hastened to collect wood. Tildey was the only one who remained aboard. She had declared that she would sail back with him.

  They angled into the wind, Cutter pitching and rolling through the growing swell. Tildey offered to take the tiller so that Kerrick could get some rest, but he shook her off.

  The brief daylight dwindled before they were halfway back, but a few hours later the elf saw Moreen’s people had followed his instructions. The signal fire made a beacon that guided them back to Tall Cedar Bay, and by midnight he glided into the forest-fringed cove. The wind had calmed slightly, and he was easily able to pull up to the makeshift dock and load another twenty passengers. Once more he started on the crossing, noting with concern that the north wind had picked up.

  Dawn found him in the midst of the strait, the wind having swelled into a full gale. Each breaking crest cast spray across the deck, and the six sturdy Arktos women leaning on the high rail were soaked through with icy brine, as was Kerrick in the cockpit. Deftly he pulled the tiller, feeling the fatigue now with each gesture but guiding the bow between the worst waves.

  A surge suddenly rose right before him, and the keen prow sliced into a wall of gray water.

  “Hold on!” cried the elf, as the sea engulfed the bow. Clinging desperately to the tiller, he gasped for breath as the boat slowly struggled to right itself.

  “Mergat and Kestra-the sea took them!” cried one of the Arktos, pointing astern.

  Kerrick saw that only four women were now clutching the rail, and he wrenched the tiller around. “Come about!” he called to Tildey, who ducked below the swinging boom and anchored the line like a veteran sailor as the boat heeled through a sharp turn.

  Seeing one of the women, frantically splashing in the water, the elf steered beside her. Even without his orders the other Arktos had snatched up a rope. “Catch this, Mergat!” shouted one.

  As Cutter surged past they draped the line through the water, and the swimmer somehow managed to wrap it around her arms. The boat’s momentum pulled her through the water as her comrades strained to pull her aboard.

  “Come about again!” Kerrick shouted, knowing that another woman had fallen into the sea as well. Once again he and Tildey changed course, but when he scanned the surging sea he saw nothing except water.

  Mergat was stretched out on deck, coughing and wretching and being tended by one of her comrades. The rest of the women and Kerrick scanned the sea. The sailor knew that no one could survive more than five or ten minutes in that frigid water, but even so he searched for an hour until the tragedy was undeniable. Once more Kerrick set a course for the sheltered cove and its steamy cave.

  It was a grim and shaken party that at last escaped the storm’s fury. Guided through the night by the roaring fire, he finally debarked his passengers on the beach.

  “We lost Kestra,” he told the old shaman woman, his eyes cast downward.

  “Go!” she said angrily. “Don’t waste any more time talking.”

  Once more he and Tildey made the long, dark crossing. This time he returned to Tall Cedar Bay in the pale gray dawn, loading most of the rest of the tribe. He only left Moreen, together with the last dozen of her women-warriors. When he told her about Kestra, she was even angrier than Dinekki and refused to believe that it wasn’t his fault.

  Soon he would be rich, he consoled himself. Moreen and most of her tribe would be safe. Again he wondered: where was Coraltop Netfisher?

  “The Highlanders!” Little Mouse blurted excitedly. “And it looks like they brought their king!”

  “They can’t be here already. It’s too soon!” Moreen declared. She leaped to her feet and cast a glance across the bay. The waters, white-capped and restless in the dawn, showed no sign of the triangular sail that would mark the third return of the elven sailor. Her gamble was perilously close to failure.

  “Where are they?” she asked the youth, who was still catching his breath from the long run from his watchpost to the beach.

  “Up on the ridge, south of the valley,” he replied. “Some of their warriors came down to the trees, but they’re a mile inland of here. It didn’t look like any of them were coming toward the shore, at least not yet.”

  The chiefwoman looked around. In addition to Mouse and herself, there were ten women waiting here in the clearing. Her eyes locked upon Hilgrid’s. “When the boat comes back, get everyone aboard. Then wait for dark. If I’m not back by then, sail without me.”

  “But-” The woman bit back her words when she saw the expression in Moreen’s eyes. “All right.”

  Mouse led the chiefwoman to the edge of the forest, and she found herself looking up at the same rounded hill where she, Tildey, and Bruni had first discovered Tall Cedar Bay. Now a sparse fog had drifted in, obscuring the upper heights from view. If and when the elf returned, the Highlanders would have difficulty observing his arrival.

  “Some of them went into the woods over there,” the boy said, pointing to the left. “Most were still up on the hill when I came to get you.”

  “You did the right thing,” Moreen said. “Now, I want you to get back to Hilgrid and the rest. When the sailboat comes back, you climb aboard too.”

  “Shouldn’t I stay here-in case you need me?”

  “No!” She made her sternest face. “Do what I told you!”

  “All right.” Crestfallen, the lad made his way back into the forest. Moreen watched until he was out of sight, then started climbing the long hill. Wind lashed at her skin, and the snow stung. She knew that the Sturmfrost could not be many days away.

  By the time she was halfway up the hill, she could spot a crowd of Highlanders watching her approach. She saw the wolf cloak of Lars Redbeard, then the golden chains and white bearskin that could only mean Strongwind Whalebone himself was there.

  The king of the Highlanders stood, arms folded across his broad chest, watching her approach with a grim scowl. By the time she crested the rise she saw that he had more than a hundred men here, that they had established a camp with tents, pickets, and a large bonfire.

  Deciding she had best tread carefully, Moreen offered her most winning smile as she advanced to the royal party. “Strongwind Whalebone, king of the Highlanders, it is good that you have come and a pleasure to see you again.”

  “A pleasure you seemed anxious to postpone,” he snorted, though his scowl softened in the glow of her smile. “Or did my adviser Redbeard lie to me when he sent word that I should meet you in the valley, which happens to be a day’s march south of here?”

  “I am sorry about that misunderstanding,” she replied. “No, Lars Redbeard spoke the truth. It was only the discovery of these trees that brought my people northward, so that they could camp in comfort. I expected to see you here, though not for another day or two.”

  The king snorted. “As you can see, my warriors are capable of a very fast march. We Highlanders have been known to cover twenty miles a day, though the ground be snowed with drifts as high as our heads!”

  “Impressive,” Moreen noted. “I regret that I neglected to inform your adviser of our hasty change in plans.”

  “Regrettable, indeed. So you tell me that your tribe is down there?” The king looked across the valley. The trees at the bottom of the slope were visible, though the full extent of the grove was lost in the murky fog.

  “Yes, we needed to find some firewood and shelter from the wind for our elders.”

  “They will have excellent shelter in Guilderglow,” Strongwind declared. “You and your tribe will come with me, now. We must return to the city before the Sturmfrost.”

  “Yes, of course,” Moreen said, thinking fast. “I see that you have made yourself comfortable here. Perhaps you will permit me to go and bring them back.”

  She turned, ready to start back down the hill, when he stopped her with a word.

  “No! I do not trust you. You have spurned me once, lied to me once. I would be a fool to
let you go now.”

  Moreen’s eyes widened, an image-she hoped-of bemused innocence. “Where would I go? Undoubtedly you can see that the far side of the valley is a wall of cliff. How would I get away? Would I swim to join the walrus-men?”

  “Nonetheless I have no desire to wander around in those woods looking for you,” growled the king. “No, my men and I will accompany you to your tribe.”

  She shrugged casually, as if his decision made no difference to her. All the while her mind was racing, trying to evaluate risks, to form a plan. Fortunately, it took more than an hour for the Highlanders to break their camp, and that was enough time, she gambled, for Kerrick to have returned with Cutter. The scheme she conceived was utterly desperate but might, with luck, work.

  With the chiefwoman in the lead, the humans made their way down the hill and into the woods. Moreen led them, however, not directly toward the beach, but into the center of the grove, where they came to the deep ravine that divided the forest in two.

  “This way,” she said, scrambling down the steep slope, stepping across the stones in the shallow streambed. Strongwind Whalebone might have been her shadow, so closely did he hover by her side.

  They followed her along the gully floor. “Good forest, here,” Strongwind Whalebone said conversationally. “You found it because you saw it on my map?”

  “Oh, yes-of course,” Moreen replied, remembering the patches of green tiles-flint or jade-on the mosaic. Unfortunately, she had neglected to ask what they signified, but now she knew.

  They made their way to the place where she had watched the elf emerge from the ravine on his hunting expedition. As she had hoped, the knobby pine trunk was still there, leaning against the cliff, and she started to climb up to the top.

  “Wait,” declared the king, putting a strong hand on her leg as she hoisted herself higher. “One of my men will go first.”

  This she could not allow. Keeping her tone light, she replied gaily, “I’m a very good climber! Here, you’ll see it’s no trouble at all.”

  With a smooth gesture she pulled away, smiling down to see the king glowering upward. “When you are my wife, you will learn to curb that rebellious nature!” he snapped, though he let her climb. Quickly she made fifteen feet to the top of the ravine.

  She turned and took the trunk in her hands. With a sudden gesture she pushed it to the side, watching as Strongwind leaped out of the way when it crashed to the ground. “May you find a wife with such little backbone as you require!” she snapped. “Know that she will never be me!”

  She raced through the woods, hearing the cries of shock and outrage from the Highlanders gathered in the ravine.

  She didn’t have much time, but she knew where she was going. Branches slapped her face, and she twisted and turned, making for the beach. Soon she heard shouts and footsteps pounding behind her, branches breaking, but straight ahead was the cove. Even in the dark light the cove shimmered, lashed by wind and snow.

  There it was! That beautiful boat with her warriors, and the elven sailor, aboard, looking toward shore and the sounds of commotion. Moreen broke from the woods at a full sprint, hearing the snapping and cracking of branches behind her, the roars of enraged Highlanders lumbering in pursuit.

  “Push off!” she shouted, racing toward the rock. “Get away!”

  Immediately Hilgrid, Little Mouse, and the elf responded, shoving against the boulder. The floating hull drifted away, two, six, nine feet. Moreen jumped onto the rock and leaped through the air, tumbling into the arms of the tribeswomen on the deck. Somehow the elf had hoisted the sail, and the offshore breeze instantly took hold, nudging Cutter into deeper water. Snow pelted her skin, and the wind whipped her short hair.

  In moments the shore was lined with cursing Highlanders, brutal men shaking their weapons and shouting at her. For a moment she feared a volley of spears but saw the boat was moving too fast and was already safely out of range. She saw Strongwind Whalebone, arms crossed again, standing impassively in the midst of his agitated men.

  For a moment she met his cold blue eyes with a sensation both elated and terrified. Unable to help herself, she sent him a jaunty wave and turned to watch the sailboat make for the open sea.

  15

  Brackenrock

  Cutter emerged from Tall Cedar Bay onto ocean waters that were surprisingly, ominously calm. The band of enraged men-Moreen had called them Highlanders-had mercifully been swallowed by the darkness and the weather. A light snow was falling, and there was just enough breeze to keep the boat moving west, across the dark strait. Checking his astrolabe, Kerrick aligned the boat toward the Signpost rock and the bay where he had debarked the rest of the Arktos on his three previous crossings. He went forward to set the jib and made sure his passengers were safely arrayed on deck.

  Making his way back to the cockpit, Kerrick finally sat on the bench beside Moreen, who clung to the tiller with the ferocity she had shown when she threatened him with death. Her teeth were clenched, and snowflakes speckled her bronzed skin and collected in the thick tangle of her black hair. There was no trace of fear in her expression, just that grim determination to meet and vanquish the challenge raised by the ocean.

  The elf was content for the moment to let her steer while he stood and studied the lines of his boat. Tildey still sat atop the cabin. Bruni crouched with several other Arktos amidships, while Little Mouse stood in the bow, clinging to the forward line and shouting gleefully at the snowflakes-at least, until one of the women shouted something, and he reluctantly joined the huddle before the cabin.

  “It will be another long night,” Kerrick said, returning to the bench. “I haven’t used my hourglass, but I swear the sun hasn’t stayed up for two hours these past few days-that is, if we could have seen it behind the clouds.”

  “In a few more days we’ll bid it farewell, for three months,” Moreen noted.

  “Really?” In fact, Kerrick had wondered if the days could keep getting so short that they vanished altogether, but he had discarded the notion as ludicrous.

  “You didn’t know?” Moreen looked at him curiously. “That doesn’t happen in your part of the world?” She blinked in astonishment, then asked, “Do you know about the Sturmfrost?”

  “What’s that?”

  “It comes every year, right after we have seen the last of the sun. From the south, like a wall of wind and ice and freezing cold, it washes over land and sea. It will not be long now-a matter of a few days.”

  The elf felt a premonition of that awful chill as he considered this. “How long does it last?”

  She shrugged. “A month. Five or six weeks, some years. When it passes, the world is frozen, buried under snow piled higher than your-or even Bruni’s-head. It’s still dark for another month or two, though after the Sturmfrost is gone you can see stars like Chislev Wilder, the goddess of my people.”

  “Even the ocean freezes, is covered by snow?” That possibility had never occurred to him, though the lapse in imagination now made him feel a little foolish.

  “You can’t see where the water ends and the land begins,” she confirmed. “The gulf is like a flat plain, with great drifts of snow everywhere.”

  “Sometimes in Silvanesti the winter gets cold enough to freeze fresh water,” he said, “though I’ve never known it to happen on the ocean, or the coastal harbors.” His mind was racing faster than his words. He knew that boats had to be pulled out of lakes and streams before the pressure of the ice would inevitably snap wooden hulls into kindling.

  “You say this Sturmfrost is coming in a few days. Do you know exactly when?”

  “Dinekki will know. I could only tell you if I had seen the sun, and, well, the clouds haven’t broken in weeks.”

  Kerrick made up his mind on the spot. He had enough gold in his cabin to make him a rich man, but it seemed that his boat faced certain doom if he remained here. As soon as he dropped off his passengers, he would set a course for the north, relying on seamanship and good fortune to outr
un the imminent storm. Since there was nothing like the Sturmfrost known in Silvanesti or Ansalon, he had to assume that it dissipated over the Courrain Ocean. It would just be a matter of sailing far enough to get out of its path.

  “You know, we owe you our freedom-our very survival,” Moreen said. “By carrying us across the strait, you’ve given us the chance for a new life.”

  Kerrick thought of the chest of gold, felt an uncomfortable flush at her words. “The crossing wasn’t without cost … I still feel terrible about Kestra.”

  Moreen sighed and suddenly looked smaller as she huddled on the bench. Then she looked at him, then put a hand on his arm. “I’m sure you did everything you could. Again, we can only thank you.”

  “I … I hope things are good for you on the western shore,” he said. “Your tribe has found shelter in a cave, with a lot of firewood nearby.”

  Moreen was silent for a long time, and Kerrick fell into the easy routine of steering his boat. “What do you know of dragons?” she asked suddenly. “Are there such creatures in your world?”

  He shook his head with fervent conviction. “They were banished from the world when my father was but a lad, some four hundred years ago. It was after a great dragon war, the third such conflict, when the serpents of good and evil battled and came close to destroying all Krynn.”

  “That’s what I thought,” she said. “There was a great hero, a man called Huma, was there not?”

  Kerrick was surprised that Moreen knew of this conflict, isolated as her people were from the rest of Krynn, but he nodded. “Yes, the humans played some role, but it was mainly the elves and the good dragons who won the victory.”

  “Good. I am glad the dragons are gone,” she said with relief.

  “As are most people,” the elf agreed.

  “I see the fire!” Little Mouse called from the bow.

  Kerrick was surprised. The crossing had passed very quickly, considering the light wind. He stood and took a bearing on the signal, saw that his reckoning had carried them on a direct line toward the mouth of the sheltered bay.