The creature, Tristan realized, was a merman.
For six days, the men of Gnarhelm labored on the hull of the longship, and gradually her bruises disappeared, her scuffs and scrapes vanished beneath fresh timber and tar. The Princess of Moonshae seemed to sit taller, prouder on the sandy base of the drydock.
Though the rudimentary forge belched out clouds of black smoke while Brandon supervised his men's making of nails and brackets, a constantly fresh breeze whisked through the grotto, clearing the air of fumes and soot. For the most part, the voyagers had taken little note of their splendorous surroundings once the equipment for repairs had been delivered. Good news had come as soon as the drydock was fully drained; Brandon's inspection showed that the longship's stout keel remained undamaged.
Alicia and Robyn both worked with unspoken urgency, knowing that their quest had a greater chance of success than they had previously dared to hope. Now they hauled firewood, stirred tar in large vats, and helped with other tasks wherever they could. Of course, the actual work on the ship was left to Brandon, Knaff, and a few experienced shipwrights among the crew. The prince would settle for nothing less than perfection.
The two women worked to the point of exhaustion, but even then they found it difficult to sleep. Memories of Tristan, imagined pictures of his current peril, drove them to restlessness. While they were sailing, there had been nothing that either of them could do to speed up their progress. Now, however, it seemed that each extra hour of work might bring them that much closer to departure.
Eventually, however, they realized that no matter how fast they piled up fuel or stoked the forge, the work on the vessel would proceed at a careful and methodical pace. Thus it was that one afternoon late in the week, with plenty of firewood stacked beside the fires and a surplus of heated tar available for the hull, Trillhalla prevailed upon the females-Alicia, Robyn, Brigit, and Tavish-to accompany her for a swim. They splashed through the narrow grotto to a secluded, sandy cove where they could enjoy a few hours of relaxation.
Alicia found that her concerns and fears seemed to fade as she lay in the soothing sun or splashed about in the coral shallows of the grotto, chasing schools of multicolored fish.
"Your captain tells us that the repairs are nearly completed," Trillhalla announced. "Soon Palentor will bring you the Helm of Zulae, the artifact that will enable your vessel to survive underwater. Then I suppose you will be on your way."
The notion of departing sounded the familiar note of guilt to Alicia, and her mother nodded seriously. "Yes. It becomes urgent that we sail. Tristan, I sense, is in terrible danger."
"Even worse than before?" asked Alicia.
"I don't know…" the queen replied, shaking her head as if to disparage the remark. Alicia, however, saw an expression of grave concern, even fear, hidden in the depths of her mother's eyes.
"I am glad for Evermeet that you have come," said Trillhalla bluntly after a few seconds pause. "There are too many of us who group the humans in with scrags and sahuagin. It is good that they see you are different."
"Too many like Palentor, you mean?" Alicia couldn't resist asking.
Trillhalla allowed herself a slight smile. "My poor compatriot has been thrown into a bit of a quandary by your arrival. You see, you've forced him to rethink a few notions about humans that he's held for more centuries than I've been alive."
"I'm glad!" Alicia declared.
"Such learning can flow in two directions." It was Queen Robyn who spoke, and her words were directed to her daughter. "It would be well for us to remember the acts that have driven elves like Palentor to believe as he does. Humanity is not blameless in this strife."
"No-I didn't mean. ." the princess stammered, embarrassed. Of course her mother was right, but in the Moonshaes, the elves were safe in the sanctity of Synnoria. What did her mother's statement have to do with Alicia?
They heard shouts of greeting from the dockside, hidden from their shallow beach by a small outcrop of forest. Curious, they dressed quickly and started over to see what was happening.
"The helm!" Brandon cried as he saw the women. "Palentor's bringing it to the dock!"
They hurried forward and saw the by now familiar cargo canoe easing to wharfside. The taciturn sea elf was in the water, swimming toward the dock to emerge with a smooth, fluid motion. In the center of the craft was a surprisingly small object, covered beneath a well-padded blanket. Several elves of Evermeet lifted the thing from the vessel and placed it on the dock where Palentor waited.
"I hope you appreciate the value of this gift," began Palentor, speaking to Brandon and Robyn.
"Aye, that we do," replied the northman, with a frank look at the elf. "Even as we're surprised that you give it to us."
Palentor regarded Brandon quizzically. Then he bent down and swiftly unwrapped the blanket that had cloaked the Helm of Zulae.
The humans saw a larger than normal silver battle helmet with a full-face visor-so full, in fact, that it was even devoid of eyeholes! A sleek, ribbed fin jutted from the center of the object, sweeping from front to back like the dorsal fin of a fish. The sea elf nodded toward the Princess of Moonshae, with the proud female figurehead rising from the bow.
"Place this over the head of that carved figure," he explained, "and your ship will descend through the surface of the water. A pocket of air will remain over your crew, in the inverted shape of your hull."
"How does she move?" inquired the captain.
"The helm will propel her, although at much slower speeds than on the surface. You'll have to rig a second rudder to guide the ship up and down. Also, you must furl your sail before you submerge, or water pressure will tear it away quickly."
"Slower speeds, you say. How much slower?" asked the Prince of Gnarhelm.
"You'll make perhaps five knots."
"Does it have a time limit?" inquired Keane, staring in obvious fascination at the silver object.
"Indeed. It varies based upon the number of elves-I should say, people-in your crew. For a complement such as yours, I estimate that you will be comfortable for perhaps twelve underwater hours and capable of surviving for another twelve. Beyond that, though the mask will maintain the bubble around your ship, the air becomes stale and useless. Suffocation inevitably results."
Palentor looked them over, ready to challenge anyone to argue with him. None did. The picture he painted created a graphic image in the minds of all his listeners.
"When we're down there, then, we'd best pay attention to the time," Hanrald murmured dryly.
"I think we'll notice when the air starts to go bad!" Brigit affirmed.
The sister knight stood beside the earl, and it occurred to Alicia that they had been together a lot during the stay in Evermeet-at least, when Hanrald wasn't working with the men on the ship repairs.
Alicia's attention drifted to Keane, and she saw that the mage looked peaked, with dark circles under his eyes. He clutched several large tomes to his chest, as if he had been reading, and parted only reluctantly from his texts. Five days ago Trillhalla had brought him some books, and these he had perused ever since with obvious eagerness. Indeed, of all the men, he had been the only one who hadn't worked on the repairs. Instead, he spent his time reading in a secluded part of the grotto. Now, however, he listened carefully to the words of the sea elf.
"I–I feel I should warn you of something," Palentor said, as if he forced himself to speak despite great reluctance. "My scouts have reported a massing of the fishmen armies. Sahuagin and scrags, plus huge schools of sharks, which they use as their scouts, have collected just beyond the cyclone barrier."