“I know where Dimernesti is—at least if the Master gave me the right directions.” Rig was admiring himself in the mirror that hung on a maple frame between the two beds. He glanced at his surroundings. The wood trim was lacquered, polished to a soft shine, and the furniture that was nailed to the floor was expensive and inlaid with brass. They were in the second mate’s or bosun’s quarters, he guessed.
Jasper pointed toward a table in the far corner. A beveled glass-door cabinet over it was filled with rolled parchments. “Nautical maps,” the dwarf said. “Fiona found one with the Khur coast, has it laid out and ready.”
“She okay?” Rig gave the dwarf a worried look.
“A few cuts, but I healed them. Lots of bruises, but they’ll have to heal on their own. Feril and Usha are in good shape, too—now. I tended to them this morning. They had to wait. The three of you took all my energy last night. Blister didn’t even suffer a scratch.”
“Now why would they put all the maps in the bosun’s quarters? Why not the captain’s?”
This is the captain’s, Jasper observed.
Rig strode over to the table, glanced at the map. “How long’ve I been out? How long’ve we been sailing? Did you pick up some Legion of Steel knights in town to help man her?”
“One question at a time,” the dwarf answered. “We’ve been sailing since late last night. The women got us underway right after they brought you down here. The former slaves from the galley—all three dozen—are taking turns manning the ship and sleeping in the hold. They demanded to come along as payment for their freedom.”
“Three dozen. Not nearly enough for a carrack. We’ll need at least twice that many.”
“Actually,” Jasper said softly, “that’s about twice as many as we need.”
The mariner hadn’t heard him. “I better get up top quick. The ship needs a real captain.”
“As a matter of fact,” Jasper said a little louder, “Blister was at the wheel when I looked a few minutes ago.”
Rig groaned and went to the door, catching himself as the ship rose and rocked. He stepped out into the hall. Teakwood panels gleamed in the light of a lantern that burned scented oil. It was a narrow hallway, with only four other doors. There must be another way into the rest of the ship, the mariner decided as he walked toward the ladder that led up top. Groller and Dhamon followed him.
At the base of the steps, the mariner turned to Dhamon. “I don’t remember much after the Dark Queen’s men took care of me last night,” he said in a voice a little above a whisper. “But I recall Fiona saying that you kept them from finishing me off. You saved Groller, too.” It was as close to a thank you as Rig was going to offer Dhamon.
The dwarf closed the door. “Well, don’t everyone thank me all at once for tending to them,” Jasper chuckled. “At least the ladies were much more polite.” The dwarf yawned and scratched at his own bandages. He eyed the beds, picked out the softer-looking one that Rig had vacated, and settled himself into it. He closed his eyes, feeling the ship rise and fall with the waves, and quickly fell asleep.
On deck, Rig took a deep breath, pulling the welcome sea air into his lungs. He spotted Fiona first. She was near the wheel, wearing baggy black leggings and a crisp white shirt that was a couple of sizes too big. It snapped and billowed about her like a sail. Her red hair fluttered in the breeze. Blister was in front of her, standing on a crate and steering. The kender, dressed in a bright yellow cutoff shirt that was belted at the waist and hung to her ankles, was doing a pretty good job of keeping the ship on course. He decided to let her continue a while longer.
Dhamon brushed by Rig, walking toward Feril at the bow. The Kagonesti was leaning into the wind, her hair fanning out around her head. She was humming something, and Dhamon stood quietly for several moments and listened. She was clad in a pale green shirt the color of sea foam. She had torn out the sleeves. She also wore darker green leggings she’d cut off just above her knees. A bandage was wrapped around her arm, and another was around her ankle, which looked badly swollen. She turned to face him.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
Dhamon nodded. “I’ll survive.”
“I’m grateful—and surprised,” Feril said. “But then, I’m surprised we all lived through that.” She stepped aside, making room for him. They looked over a bowsprit that reminded Dhamon of a lance. “She’s called the Narwhal. I don’t think she belonged to the Knights of Takhisis. Fiona thinks she’s a coastal ship, a small merchant trader. She’s beautiful. The knights probably took her because she’s obviously got some value to her. Someone put a lot of steel into this ship.”
“She’s a little small for the ocean,” Dhamon observed. He stood next to her, the wind whipping his black tresses.
“She’s cozy,” Feril argued. “I’ve been thinking, Dhamon, and talking to Jasper. About forgiveness. About a lot of things.” She leaned into him, and he raised his arm as if to drape it around her shoulder, then dropped it to his side.
I killed Goldmoon, he thought to himself. I don’t deserve happiness.
After Rig said his good mornings to Fiona, he took a good look around the deck. Usha was sitting against the mainmast—the only mast—mending a spare sail. She looked up, waved, and smiled.
One mast, Rig said to himself. “This isn’t one of the carracks,” he said aloud, the size of the ship sinking in.
“No. All of them caught fire.” Fiona came up behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her head into his neck. “But you probably weren’t awake to see them burn. They lit up the sky for miles and miles.”
“One mast. Twenty-five feet long at the most,” he said. “The cog.”
“Twenty-two. Blister paced it off.”
“Wonderful.”
“At least we got a ship,” Fiona consoled him. “The one ship that didn’t catch fire. And she is awfully pretty.”
“No,” Rig softly grumbled. He shook his head then closed his eyes. “We don’t have a ship, Fiona. We have a boat.”
16
Dimernesti
Feril stood poised on the railing, near the port side of the Narwhal’s bowsprit. She gazed at the rolling water as it captured glimmering shards of the late morning sun. The light sparkled like stars glittering in a night sky. In the distance she spotted a darker patch of blue that indicated the presence of a reef. And at the very edge of her vision was a rocky ridge she knew was dotted with sea caves, where ships had moored and traded with the Dimernesti before the great sea dragon came to rule the area.
The sunken land of the sea elves was said to rest somewhere between the reef and ridge.
“Wish I could go with you.” Blister stood a few feet behind her. “I’ve never been under the water before. Well, other than swimming a little bit, and that doesn’t count. I mean, I’ve never seen a whole underwater country and elves and everything. Do you think someday you could teach me how to do your magic so I could go under the water too?”
Feril didn’t answer. To say “no” would hurt Blister’s feelings and probably elicit a dozen “whys” and “how comes.” And to say “yes” was out of the question. As soon as she made a stand with Palin against the Dark Queen, the Kagonesti intended to return to Southern Ergoth and direct her efforts against Gellidus, or Frost as men called the white overlord. And if that dragon could someday be driven off, Feril intended to settle in either Onysablet’s swamp or Beryllinthranox’s forest.
Her future plans, however, did not depend on the others in the party. She felt close to Blister and the others, to Dhamon especially. But that closeness couldn’t substitute for her need to be alone and in the wilderness.