Dragons of a New Age

19 Tempest

Groller’s big hands gripped the spokes of the wheel, and his eyes scanned the horizon to memorize the positions of the small icebergs that dotted the water. Jasper hovered near him, grumbling to himself about the possibility of the ship striking one and sinking, and alternately proclaiming Flint’s Anvil to be capable of withstanding anything. The dwarf knew Groller couldn’t hear him, but he prattled on anyway, as if the sound of his own voice gave him some measure of assurance against the rough water.

Both wore a few layers of clothes to help ward off the bitter wind that whipped across the sea from the White’s territory. The chill had reddened their faces, and each gust birthed new shivers.

The dwarf occasionally grabbed onto this or that protuberance to steady himself— especially when the half-ogre’s hard turns to port or starboard to avoid a block of ice sent the ship reeling. The breeze was strong, and the ship was rolling with the high waves. Jasper didn’t think the deck had been level since they pulled away from the Caergoth port. Nor did he think it had been dry. One wave after another poured sheets of water across it.

The dwarf was doing his best to keep the clam chowder and dark rum— the first meal he had been able to keep down since their encounter with the Gale— quiescent in his belly. To chase away the queasiness he decided to try a new tactic: keeping himself completely occupied. He vowed to teach himself more of the rudimentary sign language Groller employed.

So far Jasper had picked up a dozen gestures. And though he didn’t especially like the sea, the dwarf had mastered the sign for “sea” first. Holding his hand with the palm parallel to the deck, he made up and down movements with his wrist and short fingers to simulate a wave. When Jasper tugged on Groller’s vest, the half-ogre glanced down stoically. The dwarf pointed to his stomach, then made the wavy motion again— just as his cheeks puffed out. His stubby arms flung themselves around Groller’s leg for support.

“Jaz-pear sea sick,” Groller chuckled. The half-ogre proceeded to show him gestures for cloud, wind, and storm.

Jasper twirled his fingers in the air above his head. “Cloud,” he said proudly. He fluttered his hands back and forth in front of his chest to imitate the wind. Then he fluttered them faster and more pronounced and shifted back and forth on his feet, “Storm.”

Jasper glanced back at the storm brewing far behind them. The ship had outdistanced it.

The Anvil rose over a swell, and Jasper grabbed the half-ogre’s leg again. When his stomach—and the ship—settled, the dwarf released his hold and gazed up at Groller. The half-ogre’s attention was again fixed on the water.

“I wonder what it would be like,” Jasper mused, “not to be able to hear. I can’t imagine not being able to listen to the waves or the birds. Or people talking.” The dwarf thought that the gestures the half-ogre used, and that Rig and Shaon seemed reasonably versed in, were a remarkable form of communication, beautiful in a way and incredibly visual. But he didn’t consider them an adequate substitute for sound.

“When I know enough of these hand gestures,” Jasper said to himself, “I can ask him what it’s like to live behind walls of silence.”

Blister was asleep, curled up with a shawl near the capstan, her head nestled on a coil of rope. Fury had wrapped himself around her for a while, though he kept his eyes open. The wolf was restless, and later took to pacing the deck, eventually settling near the Kagonesti, who stood against the rail at midship.

“No one in Caergoth would listen to me.” Feril was saying to Dhamon, who stood a few feet behind her. She leaned against the rail and looked west across the waves, at the setting sun and her former homeland. “I couldn’t rally anyone. Not even those Knights of Takhisis would go after such a fearsome dragon. But I won’t give up.”

Her gaze fixed on the tallest mountain peaks. Like dripping watercolors, the sun’s fiery-orange glow spilled down the snow-covered summits. Somehow the added color only made the land look colder—empty and forbidding.

Feril shivered as Dhamon stepped closer. He reached out to put his arm around her shoulders, but stopped himself.

“I lived in Southern Ergoth when it snowed only in the winter,” the Kagonesti said softly. “I lived in the north, near the ruins of Hie, on the coast.”

“I didn’t think there were many people on the barrens,” Dhamon observed.

“I didn’t live with people. I was born in the Vale, in a Kagonesti village at the foot of the mountains,” she continued. “I was happy there, at least, when I was young. But as I got older, I found myself preferring solitude to the company of my kinsmen.”

She sighed wistfully, reaching down to scratch Fury’s ears. “So I headed north and explored the mountains and the barrens near Hie, and my path crossed with a pack of red wolves—like this one. I studied them, from a distance at first, and I guess maybe they studied me. Ultimately the distance shrank, and one day I approached them. I dwelled with them for about five years.”

Dhamon stared at her in astonishment. The sun softly highlighted the edges of her blowing curls, creating a shifting, pale orange halo about her head. “You lived with wolves?”

Feril nodded. “I think I was closer to them than to the people I’d left behind. The wolves taught me a lot. I learned I had an affinity for nature magic during those years, and that influenced my choice of markings. Even though I’d left my people, I still considered myself a Kagonesti, and I wanted to be marked as one.”

“The oak leaf?”

“That represents my favorite season, fall, and it’s curled to symbolize that it has been long absent from the tree, just as I’ve been away from my tribe for some time. The jay feather symbolizes my tendency to wander, like a feather blown by the breeze, and it marks my love of birds.”

“And the lightning bolt?”

“It’s red to symbolize the color of the wolves I ran with. The pack moved fast when hunting, like a flash storm, and its prey had little if any warning.”

“So it hunted like a stroke of lightning?” Dhamon asked.

She laughed and nodded. “That’s right. I learned how to communicate with the wolves, and eventually with a lot of other wild creatures. Words—people have so many of them for the same thing. A ship isn’t just a ship. It’s a galleon or a carrack. The land isn’t just land. It’s plains or scrub or tundra. To the wolves, the concepts and the objects are important, not the words. I learned how to see through their eyes, and merge my senses with theirs—a frightening sensation at first, but wonderful. That kind of magic hasn’t faded from Krynn. It’s not easy to find, but it’s still around in abundance.”

Dhamon took a step closer. “Didn’t you miss your people?”

She shrugged. “I returned to the Vale from time to time, and traveled across other areas of Southern Ergoth—partly out of curiosity and partly to renew acquaintances with the few friends I’d left behind. My last trip was... well, it was spring, and the land had been changing, getting gradually colder. The wolves were nervous; they sensed something was wrong.”

Feril recalled that the trip to the village took more than two weeks, and the farther south she journeyed, the worse the weather became. Travel through the mountains was treacherous, as winter was hanging on with a vengeance. But at last she reached her destination—though it took her a few days to realize it.

“At first I couldn’t find the village. White stretched in all directions. The snow had drifted so high up the trees that it looked like they had no trunks. There were no signs of people, no homes, no tracks. But I searched,” she said. “And when I had moved enough of the snow away, I nearly went mad from what I found.”

She paused before a flood of memories brought the words rushing from her lips. “The ruins of the village lay beneath the blanket of snow; wood houses had been torn into pieces. Frozen parts of bodies were scattered beneath boards and broken furniture. There were great claw marks in the ground. I tried to backtrack and follow them to their point of origin.

“But it was hopeless. There was too much snow and ice covering everything. There were a few animals about—rabbits, badgers, elk—so I exhausted myself using my nature magic to see through their eyes, to find some trace of the creature responsible.”

“Did you?”

She turned to face Dhamon, and a lone tear rolled down her cheek, following the curve of the oak leaf. “I was able to contact an elk who had just cleared a rise more than a dozen miles south of the village. It sensed something, and I could feel the fear as it rose in its heart. It started to bolt, but my mind shared its body, and I convinced it to stay. At first all we saw was snow, high drifts that practically buried a small glade. But then we saw twin ice-blue pools, and stretching behind them a jagged ridge of ice. I wondered why the pools hadn’t frozen over. But then the pools blinked. They were eyes, and the jagged ridge of ice was the spine that ran down the behemoth’s neck and back. As the elk stared, the creature—a dragon—rose from the snow and charged.

“I urged the elk to react with speed, but fear had locked its legs. The dragon was a mountain of white, taller at the shoulders than the great firs. When the creature opened its mouth, all the elk and I saw was a black cave filled with teeth that looked like icicles. The cave came closer, then there was blackness and pain. The elk died, and for an instant I felt as though I was being swallowed, too. I turned and ran.”

“How did you reach Caergoth?”

She turned back to the rail, staring at the water. “I swam—for a very long time. An enchantment I cast let me breathe water. I slept along the sea bottom, near coral ridges at night where I would be safe. Eventually, I reached the port. But no one in Caergoth would listen to me. I guess I can’t blame them. Dragons are formidable.”

Shortly after midnight, the storm suddenly caught up with Flint’s Anvil.

Shaon tied herself to the wheel, both to keep herself from being tossed over the side, and to make sure there would be someone steering. Rig worked the sails, which were alternately billowing and sagging from the erratic wind. The masts, groaning in protest from the constant battering, threatened to snap.

Dhamon and Blister were on the lines. Roused from below decks by the excessive yaw and pitch of the ship, they did their best to follow Rig’s instructions, but the howling wind often drowned out the mariner’s orders and they had to guess at his words.

The rain disguised Blister’s tears, as the kender closed her gloved hands about a broken line and tried to draw it taut. The rope, like everything and everyone else on deck, was slippery with salt water. It resisted her efforts. Needles of hot and cold pain pulsed into her wrists and up her arms, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Move! she commanded her fingers. No matter how much it hurts, please, please move! At last she was rewarded—and punished. An agonizing jolt shot from her fingertips into her spine, but her hands held firm—and she was able to tie off the errant line.

The waves surged high and encompassed the bow of the ship, threatening to pull the Anvil to the bottom. Blister wrapped her arms about the base of the capstan as another wave washed across the deck. She winced as she had to move her fingers to seek a better grip. She wished she could huddle below deck as she had done during their voyage through the Gale, but she knew she was needed.

Feril scrambled up to the deck just as a breaker cut across midship. The water struck her and sent her skidding to the port side. She flailed about, trying to find anything to grab onto, before her fingers closed about a length of rope. Another wave buffeted her, and the rope flew from her grasp and whipped her face. She felt herself being pushed across the deck, and her back slammed hard against the railing. Air rushed from her lungs, and a sensation of dizziness swept over her. She locked her arms around a spoke in the rail. Again the water pounded her, but she managed to hold on, barely conscious.

From somewhere ahead, toward the bow of the ship, she thought she heard a cry. It was so difficult to pick out the words amid the howling wind and snapping sails.

Then she felt the Anvil list, and she had to concentrate on her own survival. The ship lurched until it was nearly turned on its side, and the rail she was holding onto was practically riding on the water. She closed her eyes and coaxed a spell to mind—words that would trigger an enchantment to let her breathe water. But the waves lashing her broke her concentration, and she gagged on the salt water that filled her mouth.

The waves crashing against the ship were practically deafening now, as the storm’s intensity increased. Through a haze of salt water and tears, Feril wondered for a brief instant what Groller was experiencing—the cacophony of a raging storm would be nothing to him. Again the ship listed, this time to starboard. Feril felt herself buoyed upward, then a strong hand gripped her arm and pulled her to her feet.

Rig tugged her away from the rail. He was yelling at her, saying something she couldn’t understand, trying to make himself be heard above the din. Then he was shoving her toward the forward mast. Her fingers fumbled for a handhold, and she ended up grabbing a rope that was wrapped around the mast.

Then she heard another cry, faint, but certain this time it was a human sound. Rig heard it too, and she watched as the mariner closed his eyes and let out a long breath. Somehow he never lost his footing. He balanced himself like a cat, flexing his legs when the ship rocked, never losing his footing. “Stay here!” he yelled.

Rig found Dhamon wrestling with a line that had pulled free from the main sail. The mariner grabbed him about the waist to keep him from washing away, and between the two of them they tied it off again. Dhamon turned to attend to another line threatening to pull loose, while Rig fought his way to the wheel, breathing a sigh of relief to discover that Shaon was still there.

“We lost two deck hands!” she called as she yanked the wheel hard to port. “They were near the bowsprit. I watched them go over. I couldn’t do anything. I think the wolf went over, too.”

“What about Groller?” Rig’s voice was hoarse from shouting so loud.

“Groller’s at the rear mast—at least he was!”

“The dwarf?”

“I’m not sure!” she shouted.

“If the weather doesn’t break, we’re done for! We’re free of the icebergs. But according to the charts, there are some tiny islands out here, and some shoals. We could end up smashing into them or beaching ourselves!”

“I can’t see anything,” Shaon gasped. She shook her head to clear the water from her eyes. Her clothes and hair were plastered against her body. She was shivering uncontrollably from fear and the cold.

Rig’s hand brushed her shoulder, then he was gone—making his way back to midship to check on Dhamon and Feril. Through the sheets of rain, he spied Groller’s big form at the mizzen sail and breathed another sigh of relief.

“Should’ve stayed in port!” Rig shouted to Dhamon as the mariner crept by him. “We can’t see where we’re going, and we’re liable to run aground! I’ve already lost two men!” Feril’s keen elven ears made out the words, and she realized that running aground would likely mean all of their deaths. I have to do something, she thought. Have to... She wrapped the rope around her waist and dropped to the deck. The water rushed over her as she placed her hands on the wood so her fingers could feel the water’s force.

She closed her eyes and murmured words that sounded like the susurration of peaceful waves against the hull. The Kagonesti’s head pounded from the effort to keep calm. She concentrated on the water, what it felt like, smelled like. The movement, the coolness of it.

At last she was rewarded. She sensed herself slip away, submerged, with the water flowing all about her, caressing her, urging her to come with it, be a part of it. She allowed herself to be drawn along with the waves—which were no longer threatening, but pleasurable. Power seemed to surge through her as the Anvil rolled and tossed. Then she concentrated on extending her vision beyond the ship, below the white caps and away from the hammering wind. The darkness didn’t bother her; she was water, and water didn’t need the sun or the moon. She reached out and touched coral ridges, her senses caressing the colorful growths, then stretched forward to locate a lone rock that jutted up from the sea, hidden by the high waves. The formation was as black as night, and Feril knew Shaon would not be able to spot it. And it lay directly in the Anvil’s path.

“To the right!” the Kagonesti screamed.

“What?” she heard Rig holler back.

“Take the ship fast to the right or we’ll crash! Do it now!” The mariner somehow trusted her and yelled to Dhamon, who in turn called to Shaon to swing the wheel hard to starboard. Within the space of a few heartbeats, the Anvil angled and missed the jutting rock by scant inches.

Feril breathed a sigh of relief and let her mind range farther ahead of the ship. Beyond the coral a school of dolphins swam nervously about. They were far enough below the waves not to be worried by the storm. Yet something was bothering them. The Kagonesti plunged deeper until she was in their midst and searching for the source of their distress. Sharks, perhaps? She reached out with her mind, trying to touch one of the dolphins, but in that instant the dolphins appeared to panic and began to swim in a dozen different directions. All around her the water churned.

Feril felt the water being displaced by something large. A trio of dolphins swam madly toward her. Then she saw only blackness. A stream of air bubbles surrounded her as the water seemed to thicken and become warmer. Blood! She pulled back from the site until she was beyond the darkness, until her senses could pinpoint a row of icicle shaped teeth. “The dragon!” she screamed inside her head. The words tumbled from her lips above deck, too. “The White is down there! Feasting in the storm!”

She watched it devour the dolphins, overtaking and swallowing them as a sea bass might swallow the smallest of minnows. The great beast spun about in the water, its giant tail lashing behind it and striking a rocky spire that went toppling to the sea floor. She felt her heart hammer inside her chest, frightened though she knew the dragon couldn’t see her—her body was safely on deck. Feril tried to calm herself, then saw the dragon look up. Its massive white head was aimed toward something above it. The Kagonesti followed its gaze and saw the bottom of the Anvil, being tossed in the water like mere flotsam. She shivered. The sea had grown terribly cold around the beast.

Then she watched in horror as the dragon tucked its wings against its sides and its thick leg muscles churned through the water and propelled it toward the ship. It opened its maw and a jet of ice shot out, striking the Anvil with such force that the ship burst out of the water.

The ship listed to the right as it came down hard, water spraying everywhere. Dhamon hugged the mast to keep from getting swept overboard, and Rig hovered near Feril. “What was that?” the Kagonesti heard him bellow.

“Left!” she screamed, as she sensed the dragon moving toward the right, following the ship.

Rig relayed the order to Shaon, and the ship lurched to the port side as the White passed beneath it. The beast’s spiky back cut above the water like a line of shark fins, then the dragon dove down and banked through the water for another pass.

The Anvil couldn’t outrace the dragon, Feril knew. It was only a matter of minutes before the ship was crushed. Still, she continued to shout directions to Rig. Again the dragon swept its huge body around, but this time it didn’t rise toward the surface. It dove deeper, as a surprised Kagonesti scoured the boiling sand of the sea floor. A giant octopus, cutting across the bottom, propelled itself quickly away. The dragon had decided to pursue it, suddenly interested in the flesh of a meal.

The White disappeared from view, lost in an eruption of sand and ink. On deck, Feril bit her lip so hard she felt the warmth of her blood spill into her mouth. Would the dragon return? Her senses roamed beneath the still-tossing Anvil. How much time passed, she couldn’t say. She spent the next two hours scrying through the water and directing the ship around underwater ridges, small islands, shoals, and waterspouts. The dragon did not reappear. And at last the storm subsided, and the sea calmed.

“Minimal damage,” Shaon huffed as she untied herself and stumbled toward Rig and Dhamon, who were inspecting the mainmast. “But we’re down two men.”

“They knew that there’d be risks where we were heading,” Rig growled. “I never made them any false promises. I just hope we can pick up one or two more in the next port. I don’t like being shorthanded.” The mariner inhaled sharply. Inwardly, he may have grieved for the men, but the code of the sea rejected shows of sentimentality, “Just be thankful we’re not all at the bottom. When that dragon surfaced, I thought we were finished.”

He grimaced and cast a glance at the sleeping Kagonesti. Feril had collapsed from exhaustion, after doing her job so well. The rope was still tied around her waist, her brown curls were plastered to the sides of her head, and her clothes were painted to her body. A trickle of blood escaped from her lip. Water still pooled around her. The waves hadn’t washed away the tattoos on her face or arm. She looked like a painted rag doll, discarded and laying in a heap.

“Could’ve been much worse,” he said, nodding toward Feril. “She kept us in one piece.”

Shaon balled her fists and set them on her hips. “I didn’t see her at the wheel!” she fumed. The dark-skinned woman glared at Rig, then strode by him and started down the stairs, stepping aside briefly to let Jasper pass as he climbed up. “I’m changing clothes,” she called. “I’ll be back in a while—unless you don’t need me.”

The mariner sighed. “I better go unruffle her feathers.” Rig started to follow her, but paused when he spied Groller at the rear mast. The half-ogre was still untangling the rope from the mizzen sail. The mariner clenched his hands, held them at shoulder height, then alternately moved them in an arc. The half-ogre nodded.

“Groller’ll take the wheel,” Rig told Dhamon. “See if you can clear the rope on the mizzen sail. Then untie Feril. I’ll be back topside in a while.” He quietly disappeared below deck. Meanwhile, Blister eased herself away from the capstan.

Her soaked gloves were no longer warm and they were spotted with blood. She thrust her aching hands into her pockets so no one would see, and she skittered below to find another pair to put on.