“But certainly you must know the truth,” Brightdawn ventured. “You’re his son, after all.”
“You know, that would make sense, especially to a human,” Kronn agreed. “Unfortunately, I happened to be away from home when it all happened. I-we… Catt was with me-had gone to the slave markets at Trigol-”
“It was Ak-Krol,” Catt interrupted. “Trigol was earlier in the war.”
Kronn hesitated in mid-rustle, frowning. “Was it? I thought we went to Ak-Krol first, then Trigol. Remember, at Ak-Krol we had that little problem when the lighthouse mirror fell into my pouch, and that dragonarmy galleon crashed and sank? All because the lighthouse-keeper couldn’t keep better track of his things…”
“That was Trigol,” Catt said. “Ak-Krol was toward the end of the war.”
Kronn’s frown deepened. “I don’t think so.”
“Anyway,” Swiftraven cut in impatiently, “wherever it was, you were there for some reason.”
“Eh? Oh. Right,” Kronn said. “Well, I suppose the ‘reason’ was to organize a revolt. Although it all just kind of happened. That was quite a bit of fun, wasn’t it, Catt?”
Catt nodded. “We couldn’t wait to hear what that lump Toede would say about us freeing all those slaves.”
“When we got home, though, Toede was already dead,” Kronn said. “Which was a bit of a disappointment. My father told us all about it. Of course we had our own heroic story to tell. So maybe we didn’t pay as much attention as we should have. I forget the details.”
“He told it various ways,” Catt offered.
“So did other folk, not only kender. Bards and such.”
“After a while, all the versions just melted together in my mind,” said Kronn. “I sure remember Trigol, though.”
“Ak-Krol,” insisted Catt.
The Plainsfolk nodded patiently. After a moment Kronn pulled out a map scrawled on what looked like lizard skin and turned it this way and that, trying to make it out in the lamplight. Then he tucked it away again, flipped past a few more maps, and stopped.
“Ah! Here we go.”
With a flourish, he produced a sheaf of brittle, yellowed parchment from his pouch. He unfolded it with great care and spread it out across the table. Scrawled on it in smudged charcoal was a crude map of the eastern half of Ansalon.
“Is this accurate?” Riverwind asked, leaning forward.
Kronn shrugged. “More or less.”
“It looks kind of old,” Brightdawn noted. “I can’t even find Ak-Thain on it.”
“Oh, that’s because it wasn’t called Ak-Thain when the map was made,” Kronn said. “It used to be an ogre town called Thulkorr. Here it is.” He stabbed a finger down on a river mouth on the eastern coast of the New Sea. “The ogres there were all wiped out during the Chaos War-daemon warriors got them, from what I gather. Men from Khur took it over afterward and changed the name. Darned nuisance from a map-lover’s point of view.”
Riverwind squinted at the map, then shook his head. “This is old. It says the area we’re heading toward is rife with the Green Dragonarmy. It’s been years since anywhere’s been rife with the dragonarmies.”
“Hmmm.” Kronn stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose you’re right.”
“So where do we go from Ak-Thain?” Brightdawn asked, peering at the map.
“Oh, we just follow the Spice Road,” Kronn said.
“I don’t see that here,” Riverwind said.
“That’s because it’s not on the map. It’s new. The Khurmen set it up as a trade route to the west when they took over Thulkorr.” Kronn peered at the Plainsman, his brow furrowing. “Don’t worry, all the new roads are in my head.”
Swiftraven groaned and began to rub his forehead.
“Where does this, uh, Spice Road lead?” Riverwind asked.
“Here,” Kronn replied. He traced a snaking path east from Ak-Thain across the desert land of Khur. “If I remember right, and I very nearly always do, it should come out right here at Ak-Khurman. Strange, how so many Khurrish towns are Ak-Something, isn’t it? I wonder what Ak- means?”
Riverwind examined Ak-Khurman, which was perched on the tip of a peninsula on the western coast of the Bay of Balifor. “Then our direction is clear enough,” he said. “We’ll cross the desert, then take another boat from Ak-Khurman across the bay to Port Balifor. From there, we can ride straight on to Kendermore. We should arrive in less than a month, well before winter.”
“I hope that’s in time,” Catt said ruefully.
Kronn folded the map and clamped it in his teeth as he leafed through his map pouch, looking for its place. “Solamnia,” he muttered around the parchment, “Estwilde, Qualinesti, Icewall, Thorbardin, Nordmaar, Balifor, Tarsis… ah, here it is. Ansalon, East.” Smiling in satisfaction, he slid the map back into the case.
Brightdawn, having watched him sort through the maps, frowned in confusion. “Is there some sort of system to that?” she asked, nodding toward the pouch.
Kronn looked at her. “Of course there’s a system,” he said, a bit put out. “You don’t think I’d keep my maps all willy-nilly, do you? I’d never find anything. I’ve sorted them alphabetically, I’ll have you know.”
“But,” Brightdawn protested, “you’ve got Solamnia before Estwilde, and Nordmaar before Balifor. It’s all out of order.”
“I organized them by the last letter,” Kronn said. “That way, I know where everything is, but someone who rifles through my bag when I’m not looking won’t find what they’re looking for very easily. You can’t be too careful, with all the pickpockets out there, you know.”
Swiftraven’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Beside him, Riverwind chuckled, but his laughter quickly turned into a hacking cough, and soon the Plainsman was doubled over, fighting for breath.
“Father?” Brightdawn asked, concerned. She rested a hand on his heaving back. “Are you all right?”
Riverwind nodded. “Seasickness,” he wheezed when he could find his voice. “That’s all.” He straightened up and swept his gaze across the others, all of whom were staring at him.
“Sure, seasickness,” Catt said, smiling. “I have a little cough too.” She coughed to demonstrate. Then, suddenly, she cocked an ear. “What’s that?”
The others froze.
They heard it then. The sound of feet pounding on the deck had grown frantic. There was shouting, too, though it was impossible to make out what was being said.
Reflexively Swiftraven reached for his sabre and loosened it in its scabbard. The shouts were getting louder now. The ship began to lean, timbers groaning as it tacked sharply. A few copper coins, forgotten stakes from the sailors’ card game, rolled off the table and clattered across the floor.
Riverwind moved first, dashing toward the ladder that led up to the ship’s deck. The hatch above him flew open before he could step on the first rung, though, and a spear of daylight stabbed down into the hold. “Out of the way!” shouted a voice. Riverwind leapt aside, and a sailor slid down the ladder, landing beside him with a thump.
“What’s going on?” Brightdawn asked.
The sailor didn’t stop to answer; pale with fear, he fumbled with a ring of keys as he ran toward a locked chest near the door to the officers’ cabins.
“What is it?” Catt demanded. “Why are we turning?”
“Pirates! It’s Red Reaver,” the man answered. He had the chest open now, and the others could see it was a weapons locker. He started pulling out cutlasses and cudgels. “Just sighted her dead ahead, making straight for us. Cap’n Ar-Tam wants the lot o’ ye and your swords up on deck.”
Chapter 9
Above decks, it was as if Chaos himself bad returned. Brinestrider’s crew ran everywhere, securing everything that wasn’t already firmly tied down. Captain Ar-Tam and the helmsman, a young Solamnian lad, were both hauling on the wheel with all their might, muscles standing out on their necks as they fought to bring the broad, ungainly ship about. Brinestrider leaned over farther and farther as she came about.