The Dragon Isles Page 2

  Sparks flashed from Karista’s fingertips. She concentrated. Her steely eyes narrowed and sweat beaded on her brow. The sparks coalesced into a small ball of purplish light.

  The crew regarded the unusual magical display with a mixture of skepticism and nervousness.

  “What’s she up to?” Trip whispered to Mik.

  “I’m not sure,” Mik replied, keeping a careful eye on the witch.

  Trip nodded and whispered, “I’ll figure out an escape route, just in case.”

  “Behold!” Karista said, and a flickering image of an archipelago with tall mountains appeared hovering above her hand. “This is our destination—the Dragon Isles.”

  A murmur of disbelief ran through the crew.

  “The Dragon Isles are mere legend,” the scar-faced man, Pamak, muttered.

  “Not legend,” Karista replied, “but a dream beyond the wealth of avarice.” She blinked and the image flickered again, like a candle struggling in the breeze—though the storm’s winds had died away. “This dream is within our grasp. This is why I have led you here—to the middle of the ocean.”

  “Even if the legend were true,” the lanky woman, Marlian, said, “how are we to find the isles? Only good dragons are supposedly allowed there—and the good dragons have left Krynn, haven’t they?”

  “Oh yes, good dragons are there,” Karista replied with a smile. She gasped, and the image of the island sputtered out She leaned heavily against the rail and gazed over the assembled crew. “But in my cabin, under magical lock and key, is a scroll that I have obtained, which will lead us to the isles.”

  “Prove it!” Marlian called up to her.

  Karista threw her head back and laughed. Gem-like rivulets splashed from her long, wavy hair. “Patience!” she cried exultantly. “You’ll have your proof when I am good and ready.”

  “How do we know this isn’t some witch’s trick?” Pamak said.

  A wizened sailor standing apart from the mutineers cleared his throat. His name was Poul and he was the oldest member of Kingfisher’s crew. His ancient bones could be seen clearly through his leathery skin. The rain had matted his thin white hair onto his head, and his face looked like a skull. His eyes, though, shown bright and green—like the eyes of a youth first put out to sea.

  “I seen the Dragon Isles once,” he said in a low voice, “when I was a young man. Beautiful, they was, like gems on the blue horizon. It was almost like you could stick out your hand and grab ’em—but they was always just out of reach. Back then, my captain said they was cursed.”

  “Aha!” Pamak said. “See? Cursed!”

  Mik glared at the scar-faced sailor. “Let Poul speak, Pamak,” he said.

  Pamak scowled at the captain, but Mik neither blinked nor turned away. Slowly the scar-faced man nodded. “All right,” he said. “I got respect for my elders. I’ll hear the old man out.”

  Mik nodded to the leathery Poul.

  “When you seen metallic dragons on the wing—even from ten leagues away—there ain’t nothin’ to compare to it,” Poul continued. “It’s somethin’ you’ll never forget—not in two lifetimes. I’d give anything to see those isles again. Anyone would be a fool to pass up the chance.

  “The Dragon Isles are real, I’ll vouch for that. I knows men that’s seen them in the years since the gods and the good dragons left Krynn. They’re as solid as you or me. A clever man—a clever ship—might find ’em—if one knew where to look.” Poul settled back, away from the crowd once more.

  “All of you respect Poul,” Mik said. “The Dragon Isles do exist. I’ve seen the scroll in Lady Meinor’s cabin. We’re on course to find these isles even now.”

  “That’s why I hired Captain Vardan,” Karista said from the bridge. Her magic had temporarily depleted her energy, but now the momentary interruption had allowed her to regain her strength. “There are no sailors more experienced in the deep, uncharted waters of the Turbidus Ocean.”

  The assembled crew muttered their assent. Overhead, the clouds parted slightly, and the rain began to die away.

  “You will all have a share in the profits of this voyage,” Karista continued. “Think of the wealth of the Dragon Isles! Think of the rewards of opening a trade route to such a place!” Sparks danced in her steely eyes. A ray of sunlight broke through the clouds and caressed the beautiful aristocrat’s form.

  “My family is wealthy,” she said to her rapt audience. “That wealth bought and provisioned this ship and hired all of you. We Meinors didn’t get where we are by following wild rumors. You signed onto this trip because you believed it would be profitable for all of you—that your shares in the journey would outweigh the risks. Surely a few… accidents haven’t changed that.”

  A mutter of agreement ran through the formerly disgruntled crew.

  “All right,” Marlian said, brushing the rain from her short, blond hair. “That makes sense to me.”

  “Yeah. We’ll follow your plan for a while,” Pamak added. Others added their assent.

  Karista Meinor showed her straight, white teeth in a pleasing smile. “Then back to work, all of you,” she said.

  “Yes, back to work,” Mik called. “We’re lucky the storm didn’t scuttle us while we stood around jabbering.”

  As the rest of the crew went about their business, Mik stopped Pamak and Marlian.

  “Next time you two try to stir things up,” Mik whispered to them both, “I’ll deal with you one on one—or two on one, if those odds suit you better.”

  “Two on two!” Trip, close on his heels, interjected.

  “I meant no disrespect, captain,” Marlian said, sparing a frown, for the kender.

  A sly grin drew over Pamak’s scarred face. “Any odds you like, any time… captain. It will be my pleasure.” He gave a short, mocking bow before returning to his duties.

  “I don’t like them very much,” Trip said after they’d gone.

  “Marlian’s just excitable and misguided,” Mik replied. “Pamak, though, can be trouble. Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Nothing we can’t handle,” Trip repeated confidently.

  The waves began to settle as the sky cleared. Mik took a few bearings from the sun and applied it to his knowledge of this area of ocean, then gave a corrected course to the helmsman. Then he went to his cabin below the bridge to put some salve on his wounds. Trip went with him and helped with the bandaging.

  “Maybe Karista has some magical ointment we could use,” Trip said as he wound a piece of fresh linen around a cut on Mik’s right arm. “She seems to have lots of magic,” he added enviously.

  “I don’t think I’d trust it if she did,” Mik replied. “You remember how well her magical seaweed worked?”

  “I’m sure she didn’t mean for those two men to die,” Trip said sincerely. “I saw her use the seaweed to breathe underwater herself, once. It worked fine, then. And it’s worth a try in a pinch, I mean, if you’re going to drown anyway.”

  Mik’s brown eyes narrowed. “Trip… ?”

  “I found a tiny piece that somehow got in my rucksack,” Trip insisted. “Too bad I couldn’t reach it when the monster had me.”

  The captain laughed and rubbed some salve on a thumbsized welt on his calf, inflicted by one of the sea monster’s suckers. “We had a narrow escape,” he said. “Karista may have settled the crew for now, but we need to find those islands before a full-scale mutiny breaks out.”

  “This whole crew are mercenaries and cut-throats,” Trip said frowning.

  “Karista knew our usual crew wouldn’t venture this far out beyond charted waters,” Mik replied.

  “Well, I have to admit, I’m really enjoying myself,” Trip said, “but do you think she really knows where she’s going?”

  “That scroll is authentic,” Mik said, “I’d bet my teeth on it. She’s following an old prophecy, but most of it seems plain and simple to me. These waters are perilous, though.” He grinned. “But the potential reward far outweighs the peril. I don’t m
ind peril for a fat reward. Though stowing away wasn’t the best idea you’ve ever had.”

  “After all we’ve been through?” Trip said. “I didn’t want to miss out on the fun.”

  Mik cut a last bit of linen with his knife and finished bandaging Trip’s shoulder.

  “I think I’ll climb the mast,” the kender said. “It would be sleek to be the first to spot the Dragon Isles.”

  “It would at that,” Mik said, adding, “Try to stay out of trouble.”

  “Always,” Trip replied. He bowed curtly, then exited the cabin and walked through the map room onto the quarterdeck.

  Mik crossed to the sea chest in one comer of the small room and unlocked it. Lifting the heavy lid, he reached in and pulled out a small, intricately carved silver box.

  Kingfisher’s captain took a piece of parchment from the box and carefully unfolded it. In the ragged vellum lay an artifact fashioned in curving golden arcs and exquisite lines. It was roughly square, with soft edges, though it was asymmetrical—or perhaps incomplete. Amid the shimmering golden loops of the setting lay a large black diamond. The parchment was covered with writing, but Mik ignored the words and gently lifted the artifact from its resting place.

  The black diamond glittered in the cabin’s semi-darkness, shining with a faint bluish light.

  Mik gazed within the diamond’s cloudy facets, and an image formed in his mind: jewel-like islands dotting an azure sea, snow-capped peaks reaching for the clouds. High overhead, metallic shapes arced through the clear air.

  The Dragon Isles.

  He felt himself swept over the glorious landscape, the towering mountains, the lush glades, the verdant forests. Past the main isles and out to sea again, to a temple wreathed in fire and light. Within the temple, at the crest of land, sea, and sky shone a brilliant blue-white diamond—twice as large as a man’s skull.

  Mikal Vardan’s heart beat faster as he beheld it.

  Then he blinked, and the images faded from his eyes.

  “They’re real,” Mik whispered, unaware that he spoke at all. “The isles are real. The treasure is real. And I shall sail us to it.” He clutched the artifact tightly in his hand, and its pale light danced across his brown eyes.

  Chapter Three

  The Sea Dragon’s Servant

  Mog watched enviously as his mistress picked the remains of a ship from between her huge teeth. Mangier sharks, razorfish, and hideous kestel viperfins swarmed around the sea dragon, fighting over her leavings and attending her every whim. She paid them little heed. Only the Turbidus leeches, strange, twisted eel-like creatures fed on her own toxic blood, garnered any of the dragon’s attention.

  The leeches allowed Tempest to control her fishy minions. They connected the thralls to the immense sea dragon—sending her sights and sounds and smells from far distant places. To disobey Tempest was to court crippling, leech-inflicted pain. The lifespan of a bad servant was, naturally, very short.

  Mog was a good servant. Not as servile, perhaps, as the swarms of leeches that ringed the dragon’s neck like a living mane—but useful, and certainly powerful.

  The dragonspawn flexed his hulking muscles and chewed the last bit of flesh from the bones of a drowned sailor. His mistress had destroyed many ships recently. Her servants, Mog included, delighted at the charnel larder laid before them.

  Mog, though, knew that the mistress did not destroy ships in the Turbidus Ocean merely because she could—she did so because of the anger burning within her immense belly.

  The dragonspawn did not completely understand his mistress’ fury. He had seen the object of her desire many times, but he could not comprehend what fascinated her about those small hits of isolated rock. In the part of his reptilian brain that he shared with Tempest, Mog knew these islands as the Dragon Isles. He knew that she, Tempest the Great, somehow stood barred from entering the isles. He knew that the magic standing in her way was very ancient and that it was called The Veil.

  Mog had difficulty comprehending that anything could thwart his mistress. Yet when she or her minions tried to approach the isles, they found themselves confused and disoriented. Always the Dragon Isles slipped away, out of their grasp.

  Tempest lusted after the islands. Once, they had been home to many good dragons of Ansalon—gold, silver, brass, bronze, and copper. Now, however, many of the metallic dragons had fled, and the isles stood as mere shadows of their former selves.

  Tempest lusted after the islands and the genuine treasures they contained—not the sanguine, meaty treasures that thrilled Mog, but wealth and power and magic. Such things were the hoard of dragons.

  But The Veil kept her out. And so Tempest summoned storms and vented her rage upon ships passing through the Turbidus Ocean. Ships she feared might pierce the Veil and reach the Dragon Isles.

  Her servants grew strong and fat on the blood of her victims. Yet Tempest remained no closer to her goal.

  Her desire to reach the isles burned in her mind and, therefore, it burned in Mog as well.

  All of Tempest’s dragonspawn were strong, but Mog was the strongest. He was the first she had made, forming him out of the bodies of captured draconians as well as from her own blood and sinew and magic. He was, therefore, most closely connected to her, most clever, most powerful. He was the only one who could assume the shapes of both the sea’s denizens and his mistress’ two-legged enemies.

  Mog was well-suited to the job of killing. Iron-like scales covered his humanoid body and limbs. The tips of his fingers and toes ended in sharp spikes. His webbed talons propelled him swiftly through the brine. His blood-red eyes easily pierced the gloom of the deep. Mog’s rasp-like mouth could rip the flesh from any enemy he encountered.

  Yet all this was still not enough to penetrate The Veil.

  Tempest’s unholy desire burned within him.

  Mog groomed the blood from his scales and waited impatiently for the next ship.

  Chapter Four

  The Prophecy

  “To seven cities’ light

  By silver water course

  Before the second night

  Discover then the source.”

  Karista Meinor looked around the assembled crew as she read the ancient parchment. A contagious fervor gleamed in her steely eyes. The sailors before her stood in rapt attention.

  There was more to the prophecy, Mik knew, but Karista didn’t read it all to the anxious crew of Kingfisher. She had, in fact, left out the most interesting parts—the sections about the temple and treasure, and the ways to find the hidden riches. The crew didn’t need to know those details.

  Mik remained unsure, in fact, if Lady Meinor believed in the prophecy. Possessing the parchment and finding the isles seemed goal enough for her. Perhaps gaining a treasure cache and a huge diamond seemed insignificant to her, at least compared with a trade route to one of the most wealthy lands on Krynn. To Mik, though, the treasure and jewel beckoned… the stuff of dreams.

  Karista Meinor rolled up the prophecy scroll and returned it to its watertight case. Then she unfurled a map of the northern ocean, overlaid with a star chart.

  “The meaning of the rhymes is clear,” she said. “Following the course outline, steering by the constellations mentioned—Paladine, the Heavenly Palace, The Seven Cities, The Great Silver River—will lead to the Dragon Isles. Do any of you doubt this?”

  “Not so long as you’re paying us!” someone called from the back of the crowd assembled below the bridge.

  Marlian crossed her slender arms over her chest “I don’t doubt it, Lady Meinor, but I don’t understand this so-called prophecy, either.”

  The noblewoman-witch sighed and handed her map to Bok. The big bodyguard nodded deferentially as he took it and held it out before the crowd. Karista pointed at the route with a long fingernail as she spoke.

  “The first stanza instructs the reader to sail north beyond known waters to find the isles,” she explained. “The second says to follow the gaze of the constella
tion Palatine in midsummer to discover the ‘divine’ chart—the map laid out in the stars. The third and fourth indicate the isles he beyond the constellation of the Heavenly Palace, and that you can find them by following the great Silver River in the sky toward the Seven Cities. This evening, the stars of the Seven Cities will be clearly visible in the northeastern sky. When we make the right conjunction, we will be less than two days sail from the isles themselves!”

  The crew, even Marlian and Pamak, muttered appreciatively. Mik chuckled. Karista was a good saleswoman; he supposed the talent ran in her wealthy family.

  He advanced to the rail beside Lady Meinor and said, “Everyone back to work. Now that you understand our goals, I trust we’ll hear no more mutinous grumbling while we seek our fortunes.”

  “We’re with you, captain!” old Poul called out. “Aye!” others added. Marlian and Pamak went back to their business with the rest.

  Trip pushed close to study Karista’s star chart, but Bok rolled it up before the kender could get a good look. Trip frowned fiercely; Bok frowned back, fiercer.

  “Don’t worry,” Mik said to his small friend, “you’ll have a chance to study it, soon enough.” Then to Karista and Bok he added, “Bring the chart to the map room. I want to check our bearings before the sun sets. C’mon, Trip.” He turned and went down the short stairway from the bridge to the quarterdeck. Trip went with him. Karista and Bok followed.

  “I see no reason the kender should be included in this,” Bok said, as they entered the map room below the bridge.

  “No matter how he came aboard,” Mik replied, “Trip is part of our crew now. I know him well and can vouch for him, but Pm sure he’ll more than prove his worth to you before the voyage ends.”

  The big bodyguard frowned. “I’ll have to keep a careful watch on my pockets,” he said.

  Trip’s hazel eyes brightened. “Why? Is there something in them that I should know about?”

  Bok reddened and looked as though he might strike the kender. “Shut your hole, you little—”