Crossroads 04 - The Dragon Isles (5 page)

 
          
“Four
keys, if I’m reading it right,” Mik said, “and where to discover them.”

 
          
“And
what happens when we locate these four keys?” Trip asked.

 
          
A
smile drew over Mikal Vardan’s bearded face. “Then we find the treasure,” he
replied.

 
          
As
the two old friends talked and looked over the artifact and the Prophecy, the
sun sank toward the horizon. The waves of the
Turbidus
Ocean
reached up, seeming to caress the golden
orb. As the water touched the sun, the sea burst into brilliant, flaming color.
The heavens turned crimson and the clouds pulled mantles of purple and orange
around themselves against the coming night.

 
          
The
first stars peeked out from under the sky’s cerulean blanket, winking at
Kingfisher
passing far below.

 
          
Mik
Vardan left his cabin, strode to the bridge, and took some bearings. Then he
took the helmsman’s place at the tiller and adjusted the ship’s heading. Trip
climbed atop the mast to the lookout post and gazed toward the silhouetted
horizon.

 
          
“Adjusting
our heading?” Karista asked, appearing unheralded beside Mik.

 
          
The
captain nodded. “Tomorrow,” he said, “or the day after at the latest, we should
be sailing the course set by the Prophecy.”

 
          
“May
the lost gods be with us,” Karista Meinor whispered.

 
          
“Or
if they’re not with us,” Mik said, “I hope they’ll at least stay out of the way.”

 
 
          
Mikal
Vardan did not sleep well that night His dreams were filled with storm-tossed
isles, drowned temples, and approaching typhoons. A blue-white diamond
glittered in the darkness, like a beckoning star—but it seemed not to shed any
light on the chaos surrounding him. Mik kept reaching for the gem, but it
darted away—ever just beyond his fingertips.

 
          
He
woke to find the hour before dawn bright and clear, the stars still beaming
down, painting
Kingfisher
with their
wan light. To the east, where the sky met the sea, a pale, greenish glow
presaged the coming of the day. A cool salt breeze greeted the captain as he
left his cabin. The scent of brine thrilled his nostrils, as the morning air
danced over his flesh, raising goosebumps on his tanned skin.

 
          
Trip
slept quietly in the rigging far above, his tiny form leaning against the
topmost reach of the main mast. Mik shook his head fondly; it was pointless to
try and stop the kender from sleeping aloft. Trip was as much at home clinging
to ropes overhead as he was free-diving in the sea below. The kender would
sooner roll off the spar and die of a bad dream than sleep on deck. Mik shook
his head again.

 
          
He
walked to the bridge and spoke with the night helmsman, checking that they
hadn’t deviated from the course he set. He took a brief tour of the caravel’s
small decks, making sure all was in order. Satisfied, he returned to his cabin
and broke his fast—dining on bread, cheese, preserved spiced apples, and a bit
of red wine.

 
          
Dawn
crept over the ship as he ate. As he was finishing, a commotion broke out on
deck; the sounds of the crew talking excitedly and feet stamping across the
planking echoed through Mik’s cabin.

 
          
Then
the kender’s clear voice rang out above the rest:

 
          
“Wreckage off the starboard bow!”
Trip called. “I think
there’s a body, too! It looks like a woman!”

The Castaway

 
         
Most
of
Kingfisher's
sleepy crew had
already gathered at the rail, as Mik pushed his way to the side of the ship,

 
          
“Where
away!” he shouted up to Trip.

 
          
The
kender shielded his eyes from the morning glare. “Fifteen degrees to
starboard,” he called down from the lookout perch.

 
          
Mik
peered into the glittering dawn sea and spotted a tiny black silhouette bobbing
over the waves.

 
          
“The
kender has the eyes of an eagle,” Bok said, looking in the same direction. “I
see nothing.”

 
          
“Adjust
heading fifteen degrees to starboard,” Mik called up to the helmsman.

 
          
“Aye,
aye, captain!”

 
          
Karista
Meinor pushed her way through the crowd to Mik’s side. “I trust,” she said,
“that this is only a momentary diversion from our course.”

 
          
“Naturally,”
Mik said, climbing up to the bridge. “But the law of the sea requires rescue of
shipwreck survivors.” He called up to Trip again. “You’re sure there’s someone
on that wreckage?”

 
          
“Positive, captain.
Or I’m a monkey’s cabin boy.”

 
          
Mik
glanced from Trip in the rigging to Karista, who had followed Mik up to the
bridge. She prowled the deck like an anxious cat.
Kingfisher
’s captain knew the aristocrat had little tolerance for
the kender.

 
          
“Bok
can come up,” Trip called down, reading his mind, “
if
he and Karista don’t believe me.”

 
          
Neither
the aristocrat nor her bodyguard accepted Trip’s offer.

 
          
It
took the ship just over an hour to reach the wreckage Trip had spotted. The
Northern
Turbidus
Ocean
rolled gently under
Kingfisher’s
keel as they sailed. The mild sea showed no signs of
the previous day’s storm. The sun stretched her fingers higher as they
traveled, and soon lit the whole sky with bright, golden light.

 
          
Mik
knew the fair weather wouldn’t last; at this time of year, the Turbidus could
change its character from seductive to violent in an instant.

 
          
A
cotillion of Turbidus dolphins arrived to watch
Kingfisher’s
passage. The aquatic mammals’ sleek black and white
forms raced beside the ship or danced in front of the bow. Trip climbed down
from the rigging and leaned over the gunwale to watch them. As they closed in
on their goal, though, the dolphins disappeared back into the deep.

 
          
Very
little debris floated on the surface as they drew near the wreckage. A single,
wide swath of planking bobbed on the ocean’s green-gray surface. Strapped atop
the wreckage, lay the prostrate body of a slender, beautiful woman. She was
clothed only in soaked gossamer fabric and delicate jewelry. Her long platinum
hair lay arrayed around her head like a sunburst, some of the delicate locks
trailing into the water. Her skin was as blue as the evening sky. Whether alive
or dead, none aboard
Kingfisher
could
tell from this distance.

 
          
“That’s
no wreckage,” Mik said, eyeing the castaway’s strange conveyance. “It’s a
raft.”

 
          
“Not
a very sturdy one either,” Trip added. He
squinted
his
hazel eyes and peered at the strange sight. The raft appeared to have been
cobbled together quickly from stray bits of wood the ship’s carpenter had lying
around. Very little craftsmanship was evident in its plank and rope
construction. The waterlogged deck was barely sufficient to keep its passenger
above the surface. “And why do you suppose she’s tied down?”

 
          
“To
weather yesterday’s storm, perhaps,” Karista suggested.

 
          
“She
couldn’t have tied herself like that,” Mik said.

 
          
“Maybe
someone stranded her like that for good reason,” Bok offered.

 
          
“Aye,”
agreed Pamak. “It’s a bad omen. We should abandon her to her fate.”

 
          
Mik
frowned at them. “Lower the ship’s boat and meet me at the raft,” he called to
the crew. He grabbed a full skin from near the water barrel and dived over the
side.

 
          
“I’m
coming, too,” Trip said, bounding over the rail after his friend.

 
          
The
captain and the kender swam quickly to the makeshift raft as
Kingfisher’s
crew unlashed the boat from
amidships and lowered it over the side.

 
          
Mik
and Trip reached the castaway quickly, and tread water at the raft’s perimeter.
“Scramble aboard and cut her ropes,” Mik said. “This flotsam won’t take my
weight.”

 
          
“Aye,
captain,” Trip replied. He pulled himself onto the small raft and began
severing the woman’s bonds with one of his pearl-handled daggers.

 
          
Mik
swam around near her head, careful not to topple her into the deep as he
skirted the perimeter of the rickety platform. The woman’s eyes were closed
tight and crusted over with dried salt. She didn’t move at all or make any
sound, and, at first, the captain thought they’d come too late.

 
          
As
Mik watched, though, he saw that her chest rose in a slow, shallow rhythm, and
a faint pulse throbbed in her smooth neck. “She’s alive,” he said. “Though not
for much longer if we hadn’t found her.”

 
          
“Good
thing I spotted her, then,” Trip replied. He finished cutting the last of the
victim’s bonds and slipped back into the water.

 
          
Mik
unstoppered the waterskin and poured a little over the blue-skinned woman’s
face, gently cleaning off the salty residue. She still didn’t stir, so he
dribbled a little onto her pale blue lips. Her tongue darted out and licked up
the moisture and her eyes flickered behind her eyelids; she didn’t wake,
though.

 
          
Just
then, the ship’s boat pulled alongside.

 
          
“Lift
her aboard,” Mik said to Marlian, standing in the skiff’s bow.
“Gently.”

 
          
“Aye,
captain,” Marlian replied.

 
          
Mik
and Trip helped the crew carefully maneuver the blue woman off the raft and
into the longboat. The captain and the kender then scrambled aboard, and they
all quickly returned to
Kingfisher.

 
          
Using
some spare sail cloth as a sling, they hoisted the castaway up to
Kingfisher’s
deck and gently laid her
down.

 
          
“She’s
blue!” Bok blurted.

 
          
“Well,
she’s a sea elf,” Mik replied. “They’re common enough in these waters—though
seldom seen.”

 
          
Karista
Meinor frowned. “She’s badly sunburned—almost purple,” the noblewoman said. “I
doubt she’ll survive.”

 
          
“I’ve
some sunburn oils in my cabin that may help,” Mik said. “If we can tend the
bums and get some water into her, she may make it. Elves are hard to kill.”

 
          
“Who
could have left her like that?” Bok asked rhetorically. “She’s so beautiful.”

 
          
“Bah!
You were right earlier, bodyguard,” Pamak said. “A sea elf, shipwrecked? Tied
to a raft? I repeat
,
she’s a bad omen. We should throw
her back to the fishes.” A number of other sailors grumbled their agreement.

 
          
“Whoever
did this to her, didn’t want her with the fishes,” Karista noted. “They wanted
her to die stretched out like a skinned animal.”

 
          
“We’ll
worry about how and why she came to be on the raft later,” Mik said. “For now,
take her to my cabin. I’ll tend her burns. Trip, bring more fresh water.”

 
          
“Aye,
captain,” the kender replied. Trip fetched several more waterskins while the
crew gingerly carried the castaway into Mik’s cabin below the bridge.

 
          
The
captain set up a canvas pallet in the comer opposite his hammock and they laid
the sea elf s unconscious body on it. Mik and Trip knelt down at her side.
Karista, Bok, and a number of other crew members waited at the doorway.

 
          
“Do
you have any magic that could help?” Mik asked Karista.

 
          
“I
have some remedies to relieve fever,” she replied. “I don’t know how effective
they’ll be, though. I’ll fetch the herbs I need from my cabin.”

 
          
“Have
the helmsman resume our previous course,” Mik said to Bok.

 
          
The
big bodyguard peeled his eyes away from the elf, nodded, and went to do as Mik
asked.

 
          
“Clear
the cabin,” Mik said, indicating everyone else should leave. The fascinated
crew members went back to their jobs as Mik and Trip tended to the castaway’s
injuries.

 
          
Mik
gently massaged fragrant oils into the elf s blue skin. When she finally
groaned slightly, Trip put the waterskin to her lips and made her drink. As she
did, the kender eyed the glittering jewelry holding her scant costume together.

 
          
“No
borrowing, Trip,” Mik cautioned. “We wouldn’t want her to forfeit her modesty.”

 
          
The
kender laughed, and reluctantly tore his eyes away from her jewelry.

 
          
Karista
returned shortly with a silver brazier filled with burning herbs. She chanted
and made passes with her hands over the injured woman—but none of them saw any
obvious effect.

           
The aristocrat shook her head. “The
magic does not work as reliably as it once did,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

 
          
Mik
stood and stretched. “You did your best,” he said. “We all have. There’s
nothing more we can do for her now. Undisturbed rest is probably her best
chance at recovery. Besides, we have work to do. Saving this poor girl cost us
valuable time. It’ll take keen sailing to reach the proper coordinates by the
time Paladine’s constellation rises tonight.”

 
          
“But
shouldn’t we change her sunburn salve?” Trip asked.

           
“Later,” Mik replied. “This evening
perhaps, before Paladine rises. We’ve a lot of ocean to cover before then.
Let’s get to it.”