“Shark,” spat the beast, the voice a guttural growl full of scorn. “I killed fish-it swallowed my knife hand, and I kill it.”
The elf grimaced. “Why were you here, so far from land? Are these waters claimed by your tribe?”
“Who can claim water?” asked the walrus-man. “No, I was on my way across the sea, to the dark island.”
“Dark island? What’s that?” Kerrick asked.
“Dracoheim. I work for the Alchemist.” These words meant little to Kerrick. The grotesque creature looked at the terrible wounds on its flank, the missing arm. “I will not return, this time, but I thank you for sparing my life, even for just a few hours longer.”
The elf nodded, solemnly. “Can I give you something to comfort you, food… water?”
The walrus-man blinked eyes that looked very old, very tired. “Yes, water.”
Kerrick fetched a ladleful as the thanoi pushed himself upright on the bench.
“I am called Long-Swim Greatfin. I thank you for mercy, strange as it be. No ogre nor human would show such care.”
For the first time Kerrick noticed the manlike features of the thanoi. True, the nostrils were broad, the upper lip split into two overhanging lobes. A pair of tusks, sharp and upturned, grew from the upper jaw. But there was also real intelligence in the brown eyes, and the chin was square and possessed a certain dignity. The musculature of the walrus-man’s chest rippled in an approximation of a man’s, and the thanoi had arms and legs-sort of-with webbed feet and fingers broad and flat. Kerrick noticed a tusk suspended by a leather strap from around the creature’s neck.
“How far away is this Dracoheim?” Kerrick asked.
Long-Swim shrugged. “A swim for many risings of the sun. In the direction of the sunset.”
“Why made you come so far?”
The thanoi closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the gunwale. Kerrick wasn’t sure the creature had understood the question and was about to repeat himself when the walrus-man opened his eyes and shrugged. “Took a message to the ogre king,” he said tonelessly. “Got a taste of warqat, and now I swim back.”
With that, he slumped backward again, and his chest rose and fell in a rhythmic pattern of slumber.
7
Alarm
The thanoi called Long-Swim Greatfin died during the short, ghostly night, not with a sudden collapse but with a gradual slumping along the cockpit bench. He uttered no distinguishable sound, made no dramatic final gestures. Indeed Kerrick didn’t at first notice that the soft, sonorous breathing had ceased.
The elf had fully raised his three sails and marked a course along the Icereach coast, still heading west. The winds were strong from the north-the night had brought the first real rush of summer air-and Cutter heeled hard against the pressure, fairly flying over the waves, bumping rhythmically into the crests before lunging into every trough. With water slapping against the hull, and clouds often obscuring the waxing moon, the elf failed to notice his passenger’s lifeless state until the first predawn light suffused the sky.
The walrus-man’s eyes stared dully in death. Gently Kerrick closed them. He removed the golden collar and set it in the cabin. After a pause, he lifted the tusk on the leather strap from around the creature’s neck, setting the surprisingly lightweight object on the cockpit bench. Then he covered the body with a tarp, wrapped it tightly, and slowly eased it over the side. He shivered, even though the sun had appeared above the horizon, spilling rays that warmed the elf, his boat, and the sea. From the depths of his memory came a short prayer for the sea-dead, a chant from the early days of the Fallabrine clan:
From the waters to the waters, Ending and beginning, There is always the ocean. There is only the ocean.@@
The watery burial site quickly fell behind as the boat surged eagerly forward. Kerrick stayed at the tiller, clenching the wooden shaft far more tightly than he needed to.
“What’s in there?”
The elf looked up in shock as Coraltop Netfisher ambled around the cabin to join him in the cockpit. The kender’s hair was tied in a long topknot, and he was clad in the green tunic and leggings that had-eight years earlier-been his standard outfit. It had been that long since Kerrick had seen his old shipmate, and the elf found the sudden appearance stunning and disconcerting.
“Coraltop?” blurted the elf. “Is it you!” He paused, shaking his head against a sudden, disorienting sense of dizziness. “Or did I fall and knock my head?”
With a sudden lunge Kerrick reached out and seized the kender by his wrist. The elf squeezed hard, feeling the most astonishing thing he could imagine-flesh and bone beneath his grip. He stared into Coraltop’s face, saw his old companion scowl angrily, squirming and pulling away with startling strength and energy.
“Hey-that hurts! Let go of me!”
Only then did Kerrick realize that he was still clutching the thin but wiry arm. “Sorry,” he said, released his grip. “I just… had to see if you were real.”
How could he be real? But if he wasn’t real, what was he? Looking at him, Kerrick found himself chuckling in amazement, for whatever was the explanation he felt himself pleased at the sight of his old shipmate.
“It’s good to see you, old friend,” he said.
Coraltop breezed past, sat down, and kicked his feet against the locker under the bench. “So, what is in that tusk?” he asked. “Did you look yet? Are you going to look? Cuz I’ll look if you don’t want to, but I think one of us should take a look-”
“Yes, I was going to take a look… eventually.”
“It’s hollow, isn’t it?” Coraltop asked enthusiastically. Yes, Kerrick realized, it was hollow, some kind of storage tube that seemed tightly sealed. A glance revealed the cap at one end, which he promptly unscrewed, while Coraltop hopped to his feet, stood at his side, and danced from foot to foot trying to see.
“Look! A piece of paper! Is it a map-maybe a treasure map? I wonder if there’s diamonds! You know, I’ve always wanted to have a nice diamond or two. I hope it’s a map to diamonds! If it’s a map, can we go there-will you take me?”
“It looks more like a letter,” Kerrick interrupted, having removed and unrolled the piece of parchment while the kender prattled on.
“A letter, not a map?” Coraltop said with an exaggerated pout. He plopped down on the bench, crossed his arms, then brightened. “Well, what does it say?”
“I’m trying to figure it out,” replied the elf, squinting at a script that was exceptionally ornate, apparently inscribed by a rather clumsy hand using a very blunt pen. The words were vaguely legible. It was a struggle to recognize the symbols and the words.
“Read it out loud!” insisted his companion, and Kerrick obliged. Even though the missive was short, deciphering the fancy script made his progress somewhat halting.
“‘My Dear Queen Mother,’ it begins. Let’s see, mmm… ‘Thank you for the treasure you sent, in the hands of this loyal thanoi-’”
“I told you it was about treasure!” the kender proclaimed with glee. “Does it mention diamonds? Does it say how many there are?”
The elf ignored the questions, speaking slowly, concentrating. “‘We now have the means to our end, as you are no doubt aware. I cannot tell you exactly when we will act. My wife and I are in some disagreement on this point. However, I assure you that we will take action. When we do so, our objective will be accomplished. Brackenrock will be utterly and completely destroyed.’” Kerrick felt a chill. His hand was shaking as he finished. “It’s signed by Grimwar Bane, King of Suderhold.”
“It doesn’t say where the treasure is?” Coraltop pressed. “Or even if there’s diamonds? I really really hoped there’d be diamonds….”