“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!”
Chapter Five
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.