Dragons of Spring Dawning Page 4

  Suffering from bouts of seasickness and torn by gnawing guilt, Tanis hunched miserably upon the deck, staring out to sea. Goldmoon’s healing powers had helped him recover somewhat, though there was apparently little even clerics could do for the turmoil in his stomach. But the turmoil in his soul was beyond her help.

  He sat upon the deck, staring out to sea, fearing always to see the sails of a ship on the horizon. The others, perhaps because they were better rested, were little affected by the erratic motion of the ship as it swooped through the choppy water, except that all were wet to the skin from an occasional high wave breaking over the side.

  Even Raistlin, Caramon was astonished to see, appeared quite comfortable. The mage sat apart from the others, crouched beneath a sail one of the sailors had rigged to help keep the passengers as dry as possible. The mage was not sick. He did not even cough much. He just seemed lost in thought, his golden eyes glittering brighter than the morning sun that flickered in and out of view behind the racing storm clouds.

  Maquesta shrugged when Tanis mentioned his fears of pursuit. The Perechon was faster than the Highlords’ massive ships. They’d been able to sneak out of the harbor safely, the only other ships aware of their going were pirate ships like themselves. In that brotherhood, no one asked questions.

  The seas grew calmer, flattening out beneath the steady breeze. All day, the storm clouds lowered threateningly, only to be finally blown to shreds by the freshening wind. The night was clear and starlit. Maquesta was able to add more sail. The ship flew over the water. By morning, the companions awakened to one of the most dreadful sights in all of Krynn.

  They were on the outer edge of the Blood Sea of Istar.

  The sun was a huge, golden ball balanced upon the eastern horizon when the Perechon first sailed into the water that was red as the robes the mage wore, red as the blood that flecked his lips when he coughed.

  “It is well-named,” Tanis said to Riverwind as they stood on deck, staring out into the red, murky water. They could not see far ahead. A perpetual storm hung from the sky, shrouding the water in a curtain of leaden gray.

  “I did not believe it,” Riverwind said solemnly, shaking his head. “I heard William tell of it and I listened as I listened to his tales of sea dragons that swallow ships and women with the tails of fish instead of legs. But this—” The barbarian Plainsman shook his head, eyeing the blood-colored water uneasily.

  “Do you suppose it’s true that this is the blood of all those who died in Istar when the fiery mountain struck the Kingpriest’s temple?” Goldmoon asked softly, coming to stand beside her husband.

  “What nonsense!” Maquesta snorted. Walking across the deck to join them, her eyes flicked constantly around to make certain that she was getting the most out of her ship and her crew.

  “You’ve been listening to Pig-faced William again!” She laughed. “He loves to frighten lubbers. The water gets its color from soil washed up from the bottom. Remember, this is not sand we’re sailing over, like the bottom of the ocean. This used to be dry land—the capital city of Istar and the rich countryside around it. When the fiery mountain fell, it split the land apart. The waters from the ocean rushed in, creating a new sea. Now the wealth of Istar lies far beneath the waves.”

  Maquesta stared over the railing with dreamy eyes, as if she could penetrate the choppy water and see the rumored wealth of the glittering lost city below. She sighed longingly. Goldmoon glanced at the swarthy ship’s captain in disgust, her own eyes filled with sadness and horror at the thought of the terrible destruction and loss of life.

  “What keeps the soil stirred up?” Riverwind asked, frowning down at the blood-red water. “Even with the motion of the waves and the tides, the heavy soil should settle more than it appears to have.”

  “Truly spoken, barbarian.” Maquesta looked at the tall, handsome Plainsman with admiration. “But then, your people are farmers, or so I’ve heard, and know a lot about soil. If you put your hand into the water, you can feel the grit of the dirt. Supposedly there is a maelstrom in the center of the Blood Sea that whirls with such force it drags the soil up from the bottom. But whether that is true or another one of Pig-face’s stories, I cannot say. I have never seen it, nor have any I’ve sailed with and I’ve sailed these waters since I was a child, learning my craft from my father. No one I ever knew was foolish enough to sail into the storm that hangs over the center of the sea.”

  “How do we get to Mithras, then?” Tanis growled. “It lies on the other side of the Blood Sea, if your charts are correct.”

  “We can reach Mithras by sailing south, if we are pursued. If not, we can circle the western edge of the sea and sail up the coast north to Nordmaar. Don’t worry, Half-Elven.” Maq waved her hand grandly. “At least you can say you’ve seen the Blood Sea. One of the wonders of Krynn.”

  Turning to walk aft, Maquesta was hailed from the crow’s nest.

  “Deck ho! Sail to the west!” the lookout called.

  Instantly Maquesta and Koraf both pulled out spyglasses and trained them upon the western horizon. The companions exchanged worried glances and drew together. Even Raistlin left his place beneath the shielding sail and walked across the deck, peering westward with his golden eyes.

  “A ship?” Maquesta muttered to Koraf.

  “No,” the minotaur grunted in his corrupt form of Common. “A cloud, mebbe. But it go fast, very fast. Faster any cloud I ever see.”

  Now they all could make out the specks of darkness on the horizon, specks that grew larger even as they watched.

  Then Tanis felt a wrenching pain inside of him, as if he’d been pierced by a sword. The pain was so swift and so real he gasped, clutching hold of Caramon to keep from falling. The rest stared at him in concern, Caramon wrapping his big arm around his friend to support him.

  Tanis knew what flew toward them.

  And he knew who led them.

  3

  Gathering darkness.

  A flight of dragons,” said Raistlin, coming to stand beside his brother. “Five, I believe.”

  “Dragons!” Maquesta breathed. For a moment, she clutched the rail with trembling hands, then she whirled around. “Set all sail!” she commanded.

  The crew stared westward, their eyes and minds locked onto the approaching terror. Maquesta raised her voice and shouted her order again, her only thoughts on her beloved ship. The strength and calmness in her voice penetrated the first faint feelings of dragonfear creeping over the crew. Instinctively a few sprang to carry out their orders, then more followed. Koraf with his whip helped as well, striking briskly at any man who didn’t move quickly enough to suit him. Within moments, the great sails billowed out. Lines creaked ominously, the rigging sang a whining tune.

  “Keep her near the edge of the storm!” Maq yelled to Berem. The man nodded slowly, but it was hard to tell from the vacant expression on his face if he heard or not.

  Apparently he did, for the Perechon hovered close to the perpetual storm that shrouded the Blood Sea, skimming along on the surface of the waves, propelled by the storm’s fog-gray wind.

  It was reckless sailing, and Maq knew it. Let a spar be blown away, a sail split, a line break, and they would be helpless. But she had to take the risk.

  “Useless,” Raistlin remarked coolly. “You cannot outsail dragons. Look, see how fast they gain on us. You were followed, Half-Elf.” He turned to Tanis. “You were followed when you left the camp … either that”—the mage’s voice hissed—“or you led them to us!”

  “No! I swear—” Tanis stopped.

  The drunken draconian! … Tanis shut his eyes, cursing himself. Of course, Kit would have had him watched! She didn’t trust him any more than she trusted the other men who shared her bed. What a damn egotistical fool he was! Believing he was something special to her, believing she loved him! She loved no one. She was incapable of loving—

  “I was followed!” Tanis said through clenched teeth. “You must believe me. I—I may have bee
n a fool. I didn’t think they’d follow me in that storm. But I didn’t betray you! I swear!”

  “We believe you, Tanis,” Goldmoon said, coming to stand beside him, glancing at Raistlin angrily out of the corner of her eyes.

  Raistlin said nothing, but his lip curled in a sneer. Tanis avoided his gaze, turning instead to watch the dragons. They could see the creatures clearly now. They could see the enormous wingspans, the long tails snaking out behind, the cruel taloned feet hanging beneath the huge blue bodies.

  “One has a rider,” Maquesta reported grimly, the spyglass to her eye. “A rider with a horned mask.”

  “A Dragon Highlord,” Caramon stated unnecessarily, all of them knowing well enough what that description meant. The big man turned a somber gaze to Tanis. “You better tell us what’s going on, Tanis. If this Highlord thought you were a soldier under his own command, why has he taken the trouble to have you followed and come out after you?”

  Tanis started to speak, but his faltering words were submerged in an agonized, inarticulate roar; a roar of mingled fear and terror and rage that was so beastlike, it wrenched everyone’s thoughts from the dragons. It came from near the ship’s helm. Hands on their weapons, the companions turned. The crew members halted their frantic labors, Koraf came to a dead stop, his bestial face twisted in amazement as the roaring sound grew louder and more fearful.

  Only Maq kept her senses. “Berem,” she called, starting to run across the deck, her fear giving her sudden horrifying insight into his mind. She leaped across the deck, but it was too late.

  A look of insane terror on his face, Berem fell silent, staring at the approaching dragons. Then he roared again, a garbled howl of fear that chilled even the minotaur’s blood. Above him, the sails were tight in the wind, the rigging stretched taut. The ship, under all the sail it could bear, seemed to leap over the waves, leaving a trail of white foam behind. But still the dragons gained.

  Maq had nearly reached him when, shaking his head like a wounded animal, Berem spun the wheel.

  “No! Berem!” Maquesta shrieked.

  Berem’s sudden move brought the small ship around so fast he nearly sent it under. The mizzenmast snapped with the strain as the ship heeled. Rigging, shrouds, sails, and men plummeted to the deck or fell into the Blood Sea.

  Grabbing hold of Maq, Koraf dragged her clear of the falling mast. Caramon caught his brother in his arms and hurled him to the deck, covering Raistlin’s frail body with his own as the tangle of rope and splintered wood crashed over them. Sailors tumbled to the deck or slammed up against the bulkheads. From down below, they could hear the sound of cargo breaking free. The companions clung to the ropes or whatever they could grab, hanging on desperately as it seemed Berem would run the ship under. Sails flapped horribly, like dead bird’s wings, the rigging went slack, the ship floundered helplessly.

  But the skilled helmsman, though seemingly mad with panic, was a sailor still. Instinctively, he held the wheel in a firm grip when it would have spun free. Slowly, he nursed the ship back into the wind with the care of a mother hovering over a deathly sick child. Slowly the Perechon righted herself. Sails that had been limp and lifeless caught the wind and filled. The Perechon came about and headed on her new course.

  It was only then that everyone on board realized that sinking into the sea might have been a quicker and easier death as a gray shroud of wind-swept mist engulfed the ship.

  “He’s mad! He’s steering us into the storm over the Blood Sea!” Maquesta said in a cracked, nearly inaudible voice as she pulled herself to her feet. Koraf started toward Berem, his face twisted in a snarl, a belaying pin in his hand.

  “No! Koraf!” Maquesta gasped, grabbing hold of him. “Maybe Berem’s right! This could be our only chance! The dragons won’t dare follow us into the storm. Berem got us into this, he’s the only helmsman we’ve got with a chance of getting us out! If we can just keep on the outskirts—”

  A jagged flash of lightning tore through the gray curtain. The mists parted, revealing a gruesome sight. Black clouds swirled in the roaring wind, green lightning cracked, charging the air with the acrid smell of sulphur. The red water heaved and tossed. Whitecaps bubbled on the surface, like froth on the mouth of a dying man. No one could move for an instant. They could only stare, feeling petty and small against the awesome forces of nature. Then the wind hit them. The ship pitched and tossed, dragged over by the trailing, broken mast. Sudden rain slashed down, hail clattered on the wooden deck, the gray curtain closed around them once more.

  Under Maquesta’s orders, men scrambled aloft to reef the remaining sails. Another party worked desperately to clear the broken mast that was swinging around wildly. The sailors attacked it with axes, cutting away the ropes, letting it fall into the blood-red water. Free of the mast’s dragging weight, the ship slowly righted itself. Though still tossed by the wind, under shortened sail, the Perechon seemed capable of riding out the storm, even with one mast gone.

  The immediate peril had nearly driven all thoughts of dragons from their minds. Now that it seemed they might live a few moments longer, the companions turned to stare through the driving, leaden gray rain.

  “Do you think we’ve lost them?” Caramon asked. The big warrior was bleeding from a savage cut on his head. His eyes showed the pain. But his concern was all for his brother. Raistlin staggered beside him, uninjured, but coughing so he could barely stand.

  Tanis shook his head grimly. Glancing around quickly to see if anyone was hurt, he motioned the group to keep together. One by one, they stumbled through the rain, clinging to the ropes until they were gathered around the half-elf. All of them stared back out over the tossing seas.

  At first they saw nothing; it was hard to see the bow of the ship through the rain and wind-tossed seas. Some of the sailors even raised a ragged cheer, thinking they had lost them.

  But Tanis, his eyes looking to the west, knew that nothing short of death itself would stop the Highlord’s pursuit. Sure enough, the sailor’s cheers changed to cries of shock when the head of a blue dragon suddenly cleaved the gray clouds, its fiery eyes blazing red with hatred, its fanged mouth gaping open.

  The dragon flew closer still, its great wings holding steady even though buffeted by gusts of wind and rain and hail. A Dragon Highlord sat upon the blue dragon’s back. The Highlord held no weapon, Tanis saw bitterly. She needed no weapon. She would take Berem, then her dragon would destroy the rest of them. Tanis bowed his head, sick with the knowledge of what would come, sick with the knowledge that he was responsible.

  Then he looked up. There was a chance, he thought frantically. Maybe she won’t recognize Berem … and she wouldn’t dare destroy them all for fear of harming him. Turning to look at the helmsman, Tanis’s wild hope died at birth. It seemed the gods were conspiring against them.

  The wind had blown Berem’s shirt open. Even through the gray curtain of rain, Tanis could see the green jewel embedded in the man’s chest glow more brilliantly than the green lightning, a terrible beacon shining through the storm. Berem did not notice. He did not even see the dragon. His eyes stared with fixed intensity into the storm as he steered the ship farther and farther into the Blood Sea of Istar.

  Only two people saw that glittering jewel. Everyone else was held in thrall by the dragonfear, unable to look away from the huge blue creature soaring above them. Tanis saw the gemstone, as he had seen it before, months ago. And the Dragon Highlord saw it. The eyes behind the metal mask were drawn to the glowing jewel, then the Highlord’s eyes met Tanis’s eyes as the half-elf stood upon the storm-tossed deck.

  A sudden gust of wind caught the blue dragon. It veered slightly, but the Highlord’s gaze never wavered. Tanis saw the horrifying future in those brown eyes. The dragon would swoop down upon them and snatch Berem up in its claws. The Highlord would exult in her victory for a long agonizing moment, then she would order the dragon to destroy them all.…

  Tanis saw this in her eyes as clearly as he had seen the p
assion in them only days before when he held her in his arms.

  Never taking her eyes from him, the Dragon Highlord raised a gloved hand. It might have been a signal to the dragon to dive down upon them; it might have been a farewell to Tanis. He never knew, because at that moment a shattered voice shouted above the roar of the storm with unbelievable power.

  “Kitiara!” Raistlin cried.

  Shoving Caramon aside, the mage ran toward the dragon. Slipping on the wet deck, his red robes whipped about him in the wind that was blowing stronger every moment. A sudden gust tore the hood from his head. Rain glistened on his metallic-colored skin, his hourglass eyes gleamed golden through the gathering darkness of the storm.

  The Dragon Highlord grabbed her mount by the spiky mane along his blue neck, pulling the dragon up so sharply that Skie roared in protest. She stiffened in shock, her brown eyes grew wide behind the dragonhelm as she stared down at the frail half-brother she had raised from a baby. Her gaze shifted slightly as Caramon came to stand beside his twin.

  “Kitiara?” Caramon whispered in a strangled voice, his face pale with horror as he watched the dragon hovering above them, riding the winds of the storm.

  The Highlord turned the masked head once more to look at Tanis, then her eyes went to Berem. Tanis caught his breath. He saw the turmoil in her soul reflected in those eyes.

  To get Berem, she would have to kill the little brother who had learned all of what he knew about swordsmanship from her. She would have to kill his frail twin. She would have to kill a man she had, once—loved. Then Tanis saw her eyes grow cold, and he shook his head in despair. It didn’t matter. She would kill her brothers, she would kill him. Tanis remembered her words: “Capture Berem and we will have all Krynn at our feet. The Dark Queen will reward us beyond anything we ever dreamed!”