The Rose of Sarifal (forgotten realms:moonshae isles)

by Paulina Claiborne

  She paused, then continued: Captain, come with me. You and one other you, she said, pointing at Suka.

  The rest, wait for us beside the dock. You understand, I need some security. Someone to guarantee you won t just sail away with my gold.

  She gave the genasi a final appraising glance then turned away under an arched doorway. Lukas nodded, and the company drew back, except for Suka, who peered up at him. Your choice, he said.

  She shrugged as if to say there was no choice. The two of them followed the queen through the archway at the top of a flight of stairs, lit from below. Under the level of the port, the walls sweated and stank.

  And there were men here too, the first Lukas had seen, sallow Ffolk on unknown errands dressed in urine-colored rags, who sank to their knees as the queen passed. Behold the Claw, she said. The Winterglen Claw. Rebels. Warriors. Perhaps we should be quaking in our shoes.

  She was barefoot. Her high-arched soles left prints on the damp stones, as if she dried them just by touching them. The Ffolk squeezed their eyes shut and pressed their fists against their mouths. Doubtless they will kill us in our beds, she murmured.

  Two levels down, the stairs debouched onto a wide, low-ceilinged gallery, stinking of offal and slime, lit with torches. She paused.

  Captain, let me tell you a story.

  Again she came to stand in front of him, her lips close to his own, her cool breath on his face. Ten years ago, I had a sister, who was taken from me. A half sister. My mother s daughter, not my father s. She was younger. Much, much younger even than my own son.

  You know, she said, that things are different for us. You humans can have many children in your tiny lives. An eladrin woman one, perhaps two pregnancies, each one lasting several years. We give birth in pain, you understand. We live a long time, and because of it, it is the youngest who inherits. Always the youngest. My sister was nine years old when she disappeared.

  Where did she go?

  The queen shrugged. It was a mystery. A traitor stole her from her bedchamber in the high citadel. Suborned six members of my dragonborn guards. They took her to Crane Point on the lake, that much is known. There was a plot to kidnap her and take her to the castle of the Daressins on Snowdown she did not arrive. Though we do not visit these places, still we have eyes and ears. A hippogriff snatched her from the lakeshore we saw it. After that, nothing. Except a rider washed up on the west coast not far from here, at the entrance of the firth. A rider s corpse, burned from the fire. This was ten years ago.

  Maybe she drowned, Lukas said. I m sorry.

  Are you? But you re not listening. Snowdown is to the east.

  She turned abruptly, and he and the gnome had to hurry to catch up. Let me show you something.

  At the back of the gallery was a spiral stair, its stone steps slippery, choked with filth. Barefoot, the queen climbed down it, unconcerned. The room below was lit with a charcoal brazier, and the air was foul. Three large prison cells, lined with iron bars, stood in a row.

  The queen smiled. There, you see? she said to Suka, indicating the left-hand cell. One of your ancient masters from the Underdark. In fact much of the cell s space was occupied by a single bloated body, a purplish-gray, yellow-haired, hump-backed giantess with an iron mask locked over her head and half her face, to occlude her evil eye. She stank.

  The middle cell stood open. Please, my dear, indicated the queen. Suka stepped over to it and peered in.

  On the inside the cells were separated from each other, again, with rows of iron bars. Do you like it? asked the queen. It won t be for long. Or that depends on Captain Lukas, I suppose.

  Inquisitive as a mouse, Suka darted inside and made a circuit of the bars. Inside the left-hand cell, the fomorian turned her heavy head, and Suka wrinkled up her nose, then caressed the ring in her left nostril, as if by doing so she could affect the smell.

  Of course no weapons, said the queen. And captain, a sense of urgency. Every five days we will remove one of the bars between her and that. She nodded toward the giant.

  And perhaps one along the other side.

  A jailer waddled forward out of the shadows, a fat, flabby, bearded man with a ring of keys. Lukas nodded, and the gnome unstrapped her crossbow, unbuckled her short sword. What will you feed her? he asked.

  The queen laughed. Oh, chicken and wine. Snails in honey sauce. She s not a prisoner, after all. Rather a pledge, until you bring back what I m asking you.

  Which is?

  For an answer, she waved her hand to the last cage. In the dim light Lukas could see a figure huddled up against the back of the wall. The queen snapped her fingers, and the jailer held out a glass ball, oval in shape, which she grasped in her left hand. Soon, a milky light spread from her fist, the rays jutting out between her fingers.

  Look, she said.

  She thrust her hand between the bars. In the new light Lukas saw a naked creature lying motionless on its side. Its eyes were closed.

  Its form was roughly that of a human woman, with big shoulders and hips, fat breasts and a wide belly. She was covered in hair, thin and pale along her front, thicker and darker on her back, rising to a ridge along her spine. She had only two fingers on each hand and foot, thick, fleshy fingers over a wad of callous, fingers that were sharp and heavy, narrowing to curved, wicked points.

  The queen shifted her hand, and a single beam of light touched the animal, caressing her long jaw, showing the curved horns at the corners of her mouth, the predatory teeth, the small eyes, the wide, distorted nose with its upturned nostrils. Look, repeated the queen. She let the beam play along the creature s sinewy arm, and then she showed a bald place at her waist where the hair was thin or else shaved away, revealing a pattern that was artificial and deliberate, a tattoo of a climbing rose, a yellow rose etched in black and silver.

  The Rose of Sarifal, murmured Lukas.

  It was the royal symbol of the leShays. Do you think? If that were true, then I would wait, said Lady Ordalf, and with her right hand she pulled her black hair away from her neck, while with her right hand she turned the light, so he could see the elegant tattoo below her ear, this one tinted pink. My mother had a white rose inked on her backside because she was a whore, and died a whore s death. Yellow was my sister s color. But what is it doing here? Does this mean my sister?

  She clapped her hands together, loud as a thunderbolt. The animal started awake, and then immediately began to shift into a more human shape, her features shortening and softening, her hair receding or else falling away, her fingers dividing and growing longer. Embarrassed suddenly, she put one arm over her breasts, while she brought her thighs together and put her other hand into her lap. She bowed her head, and her pale hair hid her face.

  There exists no force or power, said the queen, that can transform one race of creature into another. Amaranth was a leShay, half of my own blood, heiress to a royal house. Perhaps she was bound for Snowdown and the court of the Daressins. But what if the wounded rider fell into the sea, perhaps in the channel between Gwynneth and Moray? What if he was lost as he made his turn, and left my nine-year-old half sister buckled in her seat? Tell me, what do you know of Moray Island? You must have seen the coast from your ship as you came down from Alaron.

  Lukas shook his head. I ve never set my foot on Oman or Moray. It s true, we saw the fires on the way, and at night you can see the signal fires back in the hills. Men used to live there. Maybe some still do. There were men in all these islands once upon a time.

  Yes, replied the queen, the fey remember. But we re not travelers like you. There are too few of us. You hate us, hunt us down if you find us away from home. It is your jealousy. You love to kill what lives so long, what is so much wiser and more beautiful. As for this creature, she s from Moray, we know. She was dressed in leather clothes made from the hide of those great animals who live there. We do not have such beasts. Even instead, the lycanthropes do not wear clothes or sail on boats. We found her drifting on a spar after a storm. She will not spe
ak to us. No pain was too great for her to bear. She spoke no words, either in Elvish or the Common tongue, which is all we know. Perhaps you would care to try.

  Lukas shrugged, then asked the lycanthrope her name in several languages, Chondathan, Damaran, Draconic, and Primordial. She raised her head, and he could see her porcine eyes shining in the dark. But she said nothing.

  Curious, the gnome cocked her head. Captain, she said in Damaran, you will not leave me here?

  No, Lukas told her in the same language. I promise.

  Suka smiled, showed her tongue. Fourteen days is all you have, before that creature she nodded toward the fomorian who, on her hands and doughy knees, had pressed the side of her face against the bars turns me into soup.

  When Lady Ordalf reached to grab Suka by the ear, the gnome ducked her head away and uttered a word of misdirection. Then, dignified as any queen, Suka stalked into the cage and let the jailer lock her in.

  You will not speak these foreign words, said the eladrin queen. Not in my presence. You will not plot against me or conspire. And you, she said, turning to Lukas. You will take your ship to Moray Island. You will find my sister there she is alive. My only sister is alive against all odds, and after these ten years. I know it and I feel it. You will find her and bring her

  Lukas shrugged, assuming a nonchalance he did not feel. If she s alive, he said, I ll bring her back.

  The queen stared at him. A smile touched her lips. You misunderstand, she said. One part of her is all that interests me. Bring me her head. That s what I want to buy.

  Chapter Two — Landfall

  Behind the breakwater there was a stretch of sand near where the Sphinx was moored, and there they had pitched their tents. In the morning the city was deserted, as before. Nor could they find the street that led down to the prison where they had left Suka in her cage. That whole section of the port was different in the morning light, full of low, collapsed buildings and crumbling alleyways.

  Now, four days later, the wind blew from the northeast. The tea sloshed from Lukas s cup as he tacked back and forth. The Sphinx was a sturdy boat, broad-beamed, and he had to struggle to keep it close to the wind. He was running on the fore- and mainsails only, not too much canvas because of the rocky pinnacles that made the straits treacherous this close inshore. Moray was out of sight to the west, but still he hugged the Gwynneth coast, heading for the narrows where he could make his crossing.

  Up at the bowsprit the genasi lay on his stomach, one arm dangling down. Always he was there when the ship was under sail, reaching to the water that reached back to him, rising and surrounding him with glowing spray. Marikke tended the foresail. The boy, Kip, was in the cockpit. I don t understand, he said.

  How could we leave her? We didn t even fight.

  These were the first words he had spoken since they d left Caer Corwell, which meant he was feeling better. On the boat his cat nature had all but disappeared, he hated water so much. Any spray or drop of water, it was as if it burned his skin. An oilskin hat covered his short, calico hair. He wore his oilskin coat, too, as if they ran a gale or were expecting squalls. It was a clear, cold, bright spring day.

  Tell him, said Lukas. The golden elf was clambering aft, and now he slipped into the cockpit. As always he was dressed in black black boots, black breeches, and a soft black shirt, a mixture of silk and linen, buttoned carefully to his throat. He wore a gold ring on each of his dark fingers, and his long yellow hair was fastened in a golden clasp.

  The Savage was the name he had adopted when he escaped his family. Many elves kept battle names his real name he told no one. He scratched under his long ear. That was the leShay High Lady Ordalf of Sarifal, he said, queen of the fey, ruler of Gwynneth Island. We couldn t fight her, not there.

  I don t understand. Why not? continued the shifter. She had no weapons I saw. Not in that dress. If she had underpants, I d be surprised. Eladrin die like anyone else, I ve seen it. If we d fought together That s what we do.

  Not this time, Lukas said.

  The Savage nodded. That s the point. Each one would have been alone, struggling in darkness against forces we couldn t see. Or she would have had us fight each other, thinking we were fighting her. Or she could have turned any one of us, and had him cut the others throats.

  I could have beaten her, murmured the shifter.

  We could have. Marikke and me.

  But the Savage continued as if he hadn t heard. Weapons we d have been her weapons. She wouldn t have raised a finger. He turned toward Lukas. It s your fault. You were the one who bound us to that idiot, he said, meaning Kendrick.

  Lukas frowned. He hired us. And I gave my word. You knew the risks.

  It wasn t his coin.

  Not as it turned out. Would you have preferred to rot in jail? They were talking about hanging you in Callidyrr. I made the best deal I could.

  It was no one s coin, the elf insisted.

  There was no coin. Just a worthless promise from the procurator in Alaron there s coin now. The bitch loaded us up with it, he said, meaning Lady Ordalf. He touched the tattoo on his cheek where the lines ran like golden wires under his dark skin. Blood gold. If the gnome dies, I won t spend a copper.

  They came about onto a starboard tack. Lukas s tea was cold. He watched the headland, half hidden in the shining spray that rose from the genasi before the mast. That will console her, he said. Besides, you ll spend it. Remember why you were in prison in the first place. Of all of them, the elf had the most expensive tastes.

  The Savage reached under his shirt. He drew out a gold thaler and made as if to fling it away into the water or else peg one of the gulls that followed them once, twice, three times. His green eyes shone in his dark face. Then he grimaced, and replaced the coin in the pouch under his armpit. What do we know about Moray Island? he asked.

  No one knows anything, answered the shifter.

  Only rumors. But here s another thing I don t understand it s not far. Lady Ordalf s got no reason to trust us. If she s so tough, why not do this job herself?

  Lukas watched the headland, the pinnacles that marked the entrance to the narrows, a line of rock spires like chimney stacks, or the spines of a dragon. On this tack they would avoid the last of them.

  The fey don t like to travel. Every step they take from home, their power drains away. He smiled. With humans it s the opposite.

  He was joking but if that were truly so, he thought, then he would be the strongest man alive. Certainly he d been all over the Moonshaes in the past few years. He had set himself the task to learn the secrets of these islands. What were rumors to Kip, to him were truths brighter than facts: Moray was cursed. Its gentle shores and harbors were the blight of any captain so foolish as to steer his ship too close.

  In another few hours, at sunset, he would turn the Sphinx to the west. And he would crowd on sail, raise the fore- and staysails, and the topsails too. He d built the ship himself, and if he were to lose her, he d rather see her die as she was running hard. And he had chosen a night crossing for two reasons, only one of which made sense. The other was personal. But if the stories were true and the ship were to catch fire, he d rather you could see it from far away, racing before the wind, a fire ship with every shroud alight.

  Up by the raked foremast, Marikke sat by herself. She had called upon the great Earthmother of Toril to freshen their sails and bring them safe to Moray across the straits. Now she had ceased her incantations, the nineteen formal prayers and the twenty-one codicils, two hours of labor that had left her exhausted. Yet she was happy even so, and not just happy to be done evening prayers would start soon, after all. But she was glad as she looked up at the straining sail. She imagined her body now possessed by the goddess, as if the wind that drove the boat flowed through her, or as if the sinking light that warmed them fell from her. She felt light and heavy at the same time, relaxed and alert, as the wind whipped her yellow hair over her face, and the cold spray rose around her; the genasi at the bow had raised his
own kind of exultation.

  There were as many ways to speak to the goddess as there were creatures in the world, she thought, because the goddess took many forms. She had heard priestesses of Chauntea claim that all the deities of the pantheon good and evil, light and dark were really aspects of the same god. Not everyone thought so. In many places of the world, these priestesses would have been put to death, their bodies hoisted onto gibbets to make food for flying rats. But here in the private temple of Marikke s mind, she found it brave to think so, brave also to think the opposite, that some gods disappeared and died as the world changed, and so were gone forever. Since the Spellplague, many evil demigods had disappeared, as the world shed its need of them. Marikke had heard a story when she was young, how a seven-masted ship had sailed the straits between Gwynneth and Moray. Wherever it passed, a gigantic shrouded figure stood on deck shouting, Malar is dead. Great Malar is dead. And on the cliffsides, and from the mountain peaks, and in the deep forests of Moray rose such a wailing of lamentation that it seemed the land itself was crying out. Malar was dead, cruel exarch of the hunt, tracked down, it was said, by his own beasts. Marikke hoped that it was so. But what did it mean to kill a god, if there was still a creature who believed in him?

  Back in the cockpit, the golden elf was complaining. It s not true. I left home when I was scarcely grown. Sometimes you forget that I m a fey.

  Lukas laughed. You re the one who forgets it, which was true. The Savage had a taste for human women. On Alaron he had seduced the wife of a high official, convinced her to rob her husband, which was the reason they found themselves in their current predicament. A bad situation, which Lukas had swapped out several times for a worse one. Moray was cursed didn t everyone know it? Perhaps, but they didn t know the particulars. Lukas considered whether to tell them what kind of danger they faced. He d want to know if his last hours had come, if their positions were reversed. On the other hand, why steal the surprise? The knowledge wouldn t change anything. He still had to weigh the certainty of Suka s death against the likelihood of theirs. Nothing had changed. He had no choice. It was too bad about the boat.