The Dragon Isles

Chapter Forty

As the sea dragon broke the surface, her dragonspawn troops swarmed up the sides of the volcano and into the Temple of the Sky. Though not as clever or powerful as Mog, these six creatures still possessed sharp fangs and claws, as well as cunningly crafted weapons. In each of them burned their mistress’ unquenchable thirst for blood.

Trip didn’t spot the dragonspawn until they were almost upon him. With a startled cry, he hopped away from the temple’s perimeter, keeping his daggers between himself and the new menace. The Trip didn’t notice as Mog rose behind him and aimed his spear at the kender’s back.

Mikal Vardan scrambled to his feet and raced to his friend’s side. He turned aside Mog’s thrust barely in time, then batted aside a sword-cut from a second dragonspawn that had meant to disembowel him.

Mik surged forward, slashing with his scimitar, driving the enemy back. The dragonspawn scrabbled across the wet flagstones, slipping and cursing. Mik smiled; these new dragonspawn were clumsy on land.

Then he noticed the dragon rising from the sea below the temple.

Tempest towered above the waves, gazing down at the brass-armored lord and the aristocrat. The Turbidus leeches ringing her neck wriggled like obscene snakes waiting to be fed. Slime and gore fell from the dragon’s scaly lips. The reflected glory of the Temple Key flashed in her baleful yellow eyes.

Benthor Kell drew his short sword. “Sell your life dearly,” he whispered to Karista.

“I will,” Lady Meinor replied.

The aristocrat pulled her dagger and plunged it into Kell’s breast, just below his brief armor.

The brass lord spun, stunned horror on his face.

Karista pulled out the knife and pushed him away. As Kell toppled backward, she snatched the bejeweled key from the shocked lord’s grasp.

Lord Kell tumbled down the stairs and came to rest at the edge of the surf. Waves washed over his prostrate form, staining the sea with his blood.

Karista Meinor held the key to the Temple of the Sky high above her head. Slowly, she climbed the steps toward the Temple above. The dragon kept her yellow eyes fixed upon the blood-spattered aristocrat.

“S-see, my mistress?” Karista cried. “Even without the leech, I still do your will.”

Ula’s tears mingled with the brine as she searched the dark waters for the body of her friend.

Was Shimmer dead?

If so, she would avenge him.

She spotted his body on a plaza below, nearly at the bottom of the silver stair. He lay unmoving, the coral lance still protruding from his side.

“Shimmer!” she cried, swimming down to him and kneeling on the coral flagstones.

His orange eyes flickered open. “It’s a good thing,” he gasped, “that Lady Meinor is no warrior.”

“She’s near enough to have killed you,” Ula said, examining his wound. It was deep, possibly fatal.

“Pull out the lance,” he said.

Ula shook her head. “It could do you more harm that good.”

“You must,” Shimmer replied. “It is powerful. Not a dragonlance, but perhaps enough… to wound a sea dragon.” He shuddered and struggled for breath. “Tempest is here; I feel her presence. Karista called her. Tanalish and the other dragons are too far away. You must stop Tempest.” He winced again, and his orange eyes dimmed. “Pull out the lance!” he gasped.

Ula gritted her teeth and took hold of the weapon’s long shaft. “Ready?” she asked.

“Never… readier.”

With a swift jerk, she pulled the lance from Shimanloreth’s side.

Shimmer groaned and clamped his armored hands over the bleeding wound. His blood turned the water around them black.

“I’ll get some seaweed to bind that,” Ula said.

“No time,” he replied. “Go!”

Ula nodded once, then turned and swam for the surface, not daring to look back lest she lose the will to leave her old friend behind.

The sea elf rose from the raging surf at the foot of the long staircase. She fought against being toppled by the crashing waves and sucked back into the deep by the undertow. With a final desperate heave, she pulled herself onto the silver stairway.

The sea dragon towered out of the ocean nearby, poised like a serpent ready to strike. Ula hunched down, fearing that Tempest might see her. The monster’s attention was fixed, though, on the stairs below the temple, where Karista Meinor held up the glowing key.

Ula noticed people fighting within the temple, though she could not identify the combatants through the rain and stormy darkness.

She spotted the bloody form of Lord Kell, lying prostrate on the stairs nearby. She knelt beside him, and was surprised when his eyes flickered open.

“Help me… !” he gasped, fumbling to remove his enchanted helmet.

Ula reached up and unfastened the brass and crystal headpiece from Kell’s armor. He was pale-deathly so-and blood trickled from his lips.

“Thank… you,” he murmured.

“Did Karista do this?” she asked.

Kell nodded. “The dragon controlled her at first, but-even after… her lust for wealth and power… her fear of death… was too great. Too late for me… I’m afraid,” Kell gasped. “You must… protect the isles.”

Ula nodded grimly. “Karista and the monster will pay for what they’ve done. I’ll see to that.”

He nodded at her weakly, but said nothing.

Ula stalked away from him up the stairs toward where Karista Meinor stood trying to supplicate the dragon. The sea elf kept to the shadows as best she could she could, to avoid attracting the dragon’s attention.

A moment later, Benthor Kell rose and shambled after her.

Mik turned, slashing and darting, trying not to slip on the wet marble flagstones of the temple, trying to protect Trip’s back. Seven against two was not good odds, even without the dragon waiting below.

He tried not to think about the fate of his friends. Kell and Shimmer were gone, Kell’s guards dead, and the lost gods only knew where Ula was.

Anger festered within Mik’s belly for all that this treasure quest had cost him. He parried a blow aimed at Trip’s back and gutted the dragonspawn attacking his friend. Stinging rain washed the gore from the sailor’s skin. The roaring thunder and the crashing surf echoed the blood pounding in his ears.

A slimy talon sneaked in under Mik’s guard, shredded his sopping shirt, and traced a long gash across his ribs. Mik spun and sliced the offending claw from its owner’s arm. The wounded dragonspawn screamed and tumbled off the temple courtyard, over the cliff-like face of the volcano and into the whitecaps.

Trip fought valiantly, but his sea serpent cloak slowed him out of the water. More than once, he barely avoided being skewered on a dragonspawn’s spear.

“We have to get the key from Karista before the dragon does!” Mik yelled.

“Too late!” said Trip.

As he spoke, Tempest spewed a huge gout of boiling steam upon the aristocrat. Karista’s skin blistered and peeled away from her flesh in long ribbons. Her eyeballs exploded, and she toppled to the ground, the meat sloughing from her bones. The temple key landed with a soft plop in the middle of the pool of bubbling ooze that had once been the most powerful merchant in Jotan.

Tempest laughed, her booming voice shaking the heavens. She began to dwindle and change, shrinking-as Shimmer and Tanalish had done-until she stood only a foot or two larger than a man.

Her skin was pale, greenish, and slightly scaly. Writhing Turbidus leeches and dark green seaweed dangled from her head-living hair, covering the decrepit curves of her body. Her yellow eyes blazed with hatred. She sprang from the raging sea and settled gently onto the steps below the temple.

Tempest reached down, and her clawlike hand seized the key to the Temple of the Sky.