Evermeet

by Elaine Cunningham

  The dragon turtle changed tactics and went into a roll. Once, twice, the pale armor of its belly glinted in the moonlight as it tried to rid itself of the troublesome elf. The creature’s spin created twin surges of water that caught the elven vessel and carried it ever closer to the turbulent sea—and the rapidly approaching pirates.

  Anarzee wailed and swam all the faster, though she knew there was little she could do. Once Darthoridan was cast into the water, the sea creature could finish him off with a single snap.

  But when the turtle righted itself, the elven warrior clung to the center ridge of the shell, stubborn as a barnacle. He could not do so for long, however; a wash of bright blood mingled with the water that flowed down the slope of the creature’s shell. No warrior could ignore such wounds forever.

  Suddenly the sea around Anarzee went still. The unnatural winds eased off, and the surging, white-capped waves sank into the sea, sending small restless ripples skittering off. Anarzee heard the guttural shouts of surprise as pirates trimmed their sails to adjust for the diminishing wind. They no longer needed such wind, Anarzee noted, for they would soon be upon Darthoridan’s ship.

  For a moment the Sea elf knew despair. As she gazed out over the quieting sea, inspiration struck her, as clearly as if the voice of Deep Sashales whispered in her ear.

  Without the marker provided by the restless waves, the humans had no way of telling where the dangerous shields lay!

  The Sea-elven priestess began to chant a clerical spell, praying for an illusion that would turn the serene waters surrounding Evermeet into a mirror—a mirror that would reflect the still-choppy waves of Umberlee’s storm.

  Anarzee completed her spell and then dived deep—a heartbeat before one of the pirate ships blundered into the magical barrier.

  A flare of light transformed the dying night into midday, and turned the ship into a torch. The Sea elf plunged downward to escape the sudden heat, and to avoid the flailing limbs of the pirates who had survived the first blast and who had leaped—or been thrown—into the water.

  The boom and crackle of the fire, the bellowing of the angry dragon turtle, the thrashing of the wounded humans—these things filled Anarzee’s senses like a chorus of triumphant music. Too late she caught the vibrations that bespoke a new presence in the waters nearby. Instinctively she twisted to one side—just as a sleek gray form brushed past her.

  For a moment Anarzee thought the dolphin had returned to join the battle. But the rough hide that rasped painfully against her arm could belong to only one creature. The sharks, drawn by the commotion of battle and the scent of spilled blood, had come to feed.

  Anarzee drew a knife from her belt and dived deeper still. She slashed off a length of kelp and quickly bound the arm that had been abraded by the brush with the shark. There was not much blood, nor would there be, but even a few drops in the water around her could mean her death. At the moment, the sharks were driven to a frenzy by the abundance before them. They would be busy with the pirates for quite some time. But few sharks ever became so sated that they would forbear to hunt their favorite food: a wounded Sea elf.

  She placed the knife between her teeth and swam up to the enormous shapes silhouetted against the burning sky. The dragon turtle had turned its attention back to the elven ship, and was nudging it relentlessly toward the open sea—and the two ships that awaited the prize. A thin line of blood streamed into the water from behind the creature’s leg, diminishing even as Anarzee drew near. Darthoridan’s shot had done little more than nick the turtle’s hide. It fell to her to do better.

  The Sea elf lunged for the enormous tail. She caught hold of the tip, then pulled herself against the tail and wrapped her legs around it as tightly as she could. With one hand, she took her knife from between her teeth and drove it deep into the tail. She pulled it down with all her strength, tearing a gash in the hide.

  Again the dragon turtle roared, a terrible sound that reverberated through the water and even created a lull in the sharks’ grim feasting. Anarzee held on as the tail lashed fiercely back and forth through the water. When this method did not avail, the turtle raised the tail above the water and flicked it upward with one quick, hard motion. The Sea elf released her hold, letting the momentum throw her up onto the turtle’s spiked shell.

  She was not so fortunate as Darthoridan. Waves of agony swept through her as she slammed facedown onto the bony ridge. But she tore herself upright, off the short spike that grated against her hip bone, and came up onto her hands and knees. Ignoring as best she could the searing, numbing pain, she forced herself to look at the wound. There was blood, far too much of it. In a shark-infested sea, such a wound would prove mortal—of that she had no doubt. But perhaps she could survive long enough to complete the task before her.

  Still on her knees, the Sea elf made her way over to where Darthoridan lay. He was hurt worse than she had first thought, and near to losing consciousness. She slapped and shouted and pleaded until at last his eyes focused on her.

  “Anarzee,” he whispered. “Oh, my poor, lost love. There are so many things I must say …”

  “No time,” she told him grimly. With one torn hand, she gestured toward the elven ship. It had passed the barrier, and pirates swarmed up onto its crystal decks. “The humans must not have this ship! You know what use will be made of it.”

  A female’s scream, shrill with pain and terror, rang out over the sounds of battle. Darthoridan swore bitterly as two of the humans dragged a struggling elf woman up from the hold. The elf woman’s bright gown, the circlet of summer flowers hanging askew in her tangled hair, left little doubt in Anarzee’s mind as to her identity.

  Darthoridan struggled to his feet, but he did not immediately go to his new wife’s aid. He seized the harpoon and thrust a second spear into the metal tube. As clearly as if he spoke his thoughts aloud, Anarzee knew what was in his mind. His first task was to keep the ship in elven hands. As long as the dragon turtle lived, the ship was lost.

  The Sea elf looked down into the churning sea, where the sharks were still avidly feeding. No land-dwelling elf was nimble enough in water to avoid them. If Darthoridan tried again to stop the dragon turtle, he would surely be dead, and his efforts would be for nothing.

  Anarzee seized the harpoon with her one good hand. “Go,” she demanded, nodding toward the rope ladder that the pirates had draped down the ship’s crystal hull.

  “You are hurt,” he protested, noting at last the blood that stained her mottled skin.

  “I am dying,” she said simply. “Go, and let me die well. You must save the ship, and the People upon it.”

  Before Darthoridan could respond, the Sea elf scrambled down the turtle’s shell and dived into the water. The Moon elf took a long, shuddering breath and made his way up to the shell just behind the turtle’s head. Although the creature’s task was done—the elven ship had been herded beyond the magical shields—it remained nearby, circling the ship like a waiting shark.

  Darthoridan waited until the creature circled back around to the place where the pirates’ boarding ladder hung. He leaped, catching the lower rungs as he fell. The pain as he slammed into the crystal hull was nearly overwhelming, as was the dull throb in his torn shoulder. But he pulled himself up and rolled over the rail onto the ship.

  Battle, bloody and fierce, raged all around him. As the elves fought for their lives. But Darthoridan’s comrades were no army—just a few friends and kindred who had accompanied the newly wed couple on the northward trip.

  The ship lurched suddenly as a rolling wave caught it. Darthoridan seized the rail to steady himself, and suddenly found he was eye-to-eye with the dragon turtle. The creature’s eyes were frantic, and its gigantic mouth was flung wide, held open by the harpoon imbedded in the roof of its mouth. It could not shut its jaws without driving the weapon up and into its brain.

  Even as he took note of this, Darthoridan saw the slender, webbed hands clutching at the base of the spear. Anarzee had not gotten
off a killing shot, but the determined Sea elf would bring down her quarry even if that meant swimming into its mouth! For a moment he knew hope—Anarzee had wedged the spear in securely, and perhaps she would consider her task done and escape into the water. Even as the thought formed, a cloud of steam puffed from the dragon’s mouth, turning crimson as it caught the light of the rising sun. The dragon turtle let out a garbled roar and tossed its head high. Anarzee’s limp hands slid from the spear, disappeared down into the crimson mist.

  Darthoridan dashed a hand across his tear-blinded eyes and turned to face the battle before him. One of the pirate ships had emptied its human cargo onto the deck of Sea-Riven, and another was closing in. The elves would soon be overwhelmed.

  A silver streak shot down from the clouds toward the approaching ship. Darthoridan gaped as a ballista bolt struck and splintered the ship’s single mast. The beam fell, smashing one side of the wooden ship and covering the pirates in a shroud of canvas.

  The elf looked up in the direction of the attack. Incredibly, their rescuer was an airborne ship, a glittering elven vessel that swooped down upon the pirates like a vengeful butterfly.

  Mariona Leafbower let out a whoop as the ballista bolt struck home. The frustrating years on Sumbrar fell away as the captain’s blood sang anew with the wonder of flight, and the joy of battle.

  “Well shot,” commented a too-familiar voice behind her.

  The captain whirled to see Vhoori Durothil, watching the battle with calm detachment and cradling in his arms a staff that was crowned with a glowing, golden gem.

  “Who’s on the helm?” she snapped.

  “Chandrelle is quite capable,” the mage replied. “No one could have brought this ship to battle more swiftly than I, but at this moment, my skills are best employed elsewhere.”

  “I can handle the fighting!”

  “Can you also handle that?” he said, pointing with the staff toward the enraged dragon turtle. “When facing two foes, is it not best to pit one against the other?”

  “But—”

  “Enough!” Vhoori thundered. “I will do as I must. See to the battle as you will, but do not hinder me.”

  Mariona fell back a step, startled by the vehemence, the sheer power in the Gold elf’s voice. For once, she had no inclination to argue.

  The mage pointed the staff at the sea creature and began to chant. As he spoke, the light in the gem began to intensify. To Mariona’s surprise, the Gold elf chanted a powerful spell of summoning and binding, using the magic as a frame for soothing words of friendship and promise—words spoken to the dragon turtle!

  The sky-borne ship was closer now, and Mariona could see the spear lodged in the gigantic turtle’s mouth. The creature was not an immediate threat to the elves, but neither was he of much good as an ally. What did Vhoori have in mind?

  She did not have time to ponder the matter. Although the pirate ship she’d hit was badly damaged and taking on water fast, a number of pirates had managed to cut their way through the canvas. The last, undamaged ship was swinging around to come to their aid. Soon the elven fighters would be overwhelmed.

  Mariona leaned down to the speaking tube. “Helmsman, set us down on the water, as close to the elven ship as you dare!”

  She spun, ready to shout orders to the crew. They were already about their business—hauling up the lower wings of the sails, readying boarding pikes and ropes, gathering weapons. A fleeting moment of regret touched Mariona—what adventures she might share with elves such as these in wildspace! But the thought was hard to hold, chased as it was by the prospect of the battle ahead.

  By now the water was spinning up to meet them. The captain braced her feet wide, accepted the surprisingly small jolt of impact when the ship touched down. She went to the rail. Seizing a coiled rope, she twirled it briefly and then let fly. The three-pronged hook at the end caught the side of the embattled ship. Other lines flew, and most of her Gold elf crew threw themselves against the ropes, leaning back hard and pulling in hand over hand as they brought the elven ships together.

  Mariona did not wait for the two crystal hulls to touch. As soon as she dared, she leaped over the watery divide and threw herself into the melee.

  Crimson and gold spilled into the sea as the sun broke over the horizon. The night was gone, and with it, the last of his strength. Darthoridan could fight no more. He was utterly spent, drained not only by wounds and exhaustion, but by the crushing sense of guilt and grief. Anarzee had remained constant, while he had given thought only to increasing his clan and his personal power. For these reasons he’d taken a new wife—a lady of high family and many accomplishments. Her beauty and her skill at harp and verse made her an ornament to his castle, and to the court. She would help increase the Craulnober lines, for she was young—younger even than his own son—and would bear many children to the clan. Already her belly was slightly rounded under her bedraggled finery.

  Darthoridan’s eyes sought her now. The elf woman stood with her back against the mast, her eyes frantic as she watched the battle rage around her, and her hands pressed to her mouth as if to hold back cries of horror. No warrior, she.

  As if from a distance, Darthoridan heard the clatter of a falling sword, then a dull, echoing thud. Dimly he realized that his sword had fallen from his hand, and that he had dropped to his knees.

  The elf heard his wife’s voice screaming out his name. He managed to look up as a curved sword slashed toward his neck. It was not in him to do more.

  The shriek of metal against metal sang out over the clatter of battle. A rangy, silver-haired elf woman had darted in just in time to catch the pirate’s blade with her own. She flung the enjoined swords high. Before the pirate could recover from the parry, she barreled in, driving her forehead into his face and then bringing her knee up hard. She danced back. The man folded, bleating out a strangled oath.

  The elven warrior lifted her sword high, swept it down viciously at the back of the pirate’s neck. Even as she brought the bloody sword back up, she kicked the rolling, bearded approaching pirate. The man stumbled, his arms windmilling as he sought his balance. Before he could get his feet firmly beneath him and his weapon into guard position, the elf woman whirled in a tight, precise circle. Darthoridan did not actually see her sword’s stroke, but he saw the man fall, his throat sliced cleanly across.

  The fierce elf woman took off at a run in search of another fight. But there was none to be found. By now the rescuers—all Gold elves, wearing the uniform of the Sumbrar guard—were tossing the last of the humans into the sea.

  The fight was over, and at last Darthoridan allowed himself to yield to the seductive darkness. As it swept over him, he felt small, cool hands stroking his face.

  “Anarzee,” he murmured.

  The hands stilled abruptly. “Anarzee is dead, my lord,” his new wife said. “Slain by the dragon turtle. It was horrible to see!”

  Darthoridan remembered all. Grief would come later. Even the darkness would have to wait, for there was one more battle to fight. “Help me up,” he rasped. “We must rally the fighters and finish off the creature!”

  “Take ease, Lord Craulnober,” said a familiar voice. “The creature, as you call it, is alive and well, and now an ally of the People.” As if to give evidence, Vhoori Durothil held out the two broken pieces of the harpoon that Anarzee had planted at such cost.

  Darthoridan stared with disbelief at the calm, golden face of Sumbrar’s ruling mage. “The monster killed Anarzee Moonflower, your own kinswoman!”

  “That is a great loss, and I will join the many who will mourn her passing. But we have need of such allies as this dragon turtle, and cannot allow grief to overtake reason. If you will excuse me, I have yet to solidify our alliance.”

  The mage walked over to the rail. “One question yet remains, great Zhorntar,” he called out. “What did the sea goddess offer, in return for your help? It might be that the People can do as well for you and better.”

  “Umbe
rlee promised a rich domain to rule as I wish,” the dragon turtle said in a deep, sonorous voice. Steam rose from the water with each word. “All passing ships would give tribute, and great would be the sport when I chose to hunt!”

  “That you will have, and more,” the mage promised. “The seas surrounding Evermeet will be yours to patrol, and every vessel that does not bear elven runes carved onto the bottom of its hull will be your rightful prey. All treasure that you take from would-be invaders is yours. This domain will be yours, and you will pass it down to your heirs. You shall have fame if you wish, or secrecy if that is your preference. Agreed?”

  “You are mad,” Darthoridan said hotly. “Will you invite the fox to bed down among the hens? The creature will follow its nature, and elven ships will fall prey!”

  “Zhorntar will not touch an elven ship,” the mage said confidently.

  “How can you know this?”

  In response, Vhoori reached out and plucked an ancient, jeweled dagger from Darthoridan’s belt. He murmured a few arcane words, and then hurled the blade into the sea.

  Darthoridan squinted out over the water. There paddled the dragon turtle. The knife was embedded deep in the turtle’s shell—only the glowing hilt, its gems pulsing with magic, was still visible.

  “I will now be able to observe the creature,” Vhoori said. “And rest assured, even if my eyes are averted, the blade will sink down and find its way to Zhorntar’s heart if ever he gives in to the temptation to hunt elves.”

  “A fine ornament,” the turtle admitted, craning his head around to admire the gems. “But what of my heirs?”

  “They can pluck it from your shell upon your death. It is ensorcelled, and will release itself to your chosen successor.”

  “Well done. It is agreed,” the turtle said, and sank down into the ocean.