The Messenger

somewhere out of sight a hundred miles to the north. The mainsail billowed overhead, angled sharply across the deck, filled with the canted forces of a northerly wind. The topsail and jib remained in the locker, at least for now.

Three days earlier, Kerrick had been borne by the Than-Thalas through the lofty Towers of El’i. He was blocked from returning to his homeland, but the moment he turned Cutter toward the east a strong tailwind had risen, and his boat fairly flew along. His aches and bruises were healing, and his broken rib too. He quickly fell into a comfortable routine with his boat. Now, surrounded by the freedom of the ocean, he had finally begun to feel a little bit like his old self again.

In this weather he wore his leather cloak, a good thing, too, as spray constantly blew over the gunwale. Throughout the long afternoon his course didn’t vary. He was navigating by compass since he could see little of the sun through the murk of clouds. Only the gradual darkening of his surroundings told him that evening approached. He decided to take in some sail for the night so that he could rest a little during the hours ahead.

He set the tiller in place and went forward. He hauled on the line, reducing the mainsail. The boat still made good headway but no longer such rocketing speed.

Pitch darkness had descended when he finally noticed a break in the overcast. He was sitting on the bench atop the cabin, sipping a small, scalding hot cup of Istarian tea, when he saw a single star, bright with a hazy shade of green, sparkling just above the bow. He knew then that Zivilyn Greentree had emerged from the heavens to guide his voyage.

Kerrick felt a sense of connection with that iridescent blur of emerald. Zivilyn was a wandering planet, unfixed in the heavens, and to spot it now, directly on his bearing, could only be an omen. That star had been the patron god of his clan since the dawn of elvenkind. Most of the Silvanesti elves saved their highest allegiance for the great E’li Paladine, but the Fallabrines and many other elves of House Mariner traditionally made their devotions to Zivilyn Greentree. It was an odd choice, in a way, for a clan of sailors. As a wanderer, the star Zivilyn was of little use in navigation, and its sporadic pattern meant that it was often absent from view for years, even decades, at a time.

As the sky cleared, his eyes swept the rest of the constellations-the great Draco Paladine, the five-headed serpent of Takhisis, Gilean and his open book, and the rest. Only at sea could the stars appear so bright. They were like familiar landmarks on a highway, symbols that told a sailor his bearing and the number of hours until dawn.

Far to the south another bright speck of light caught his eye. This was tinted yellow, and he recognized Chislev Wilder, the symbol of a nature goddess cherished by many humans, especially barbarians. As he watched that star drifted visibly lower until it was finally obscured in the mists lying close to the horizon.

He brought his bedroll into the cockpit and tied off the sail to steady his course while he slept. With the tiller planted easily under his arm, he leaned back, let the green light of Zivilyn spill across his face, and went to sleep with a prayer on his lips.

The hull smashed into something solid, and Kerrick was thrown forward. Cutter heeled crazily, and he heard the sound of a rough, solid surface scraping past the hull. Groggy and face down he tried to collect his thoughts-collision! With what?

“Hey, slow down there!”

The high-pitched voice was so childlike that the elf felt certain he was dreaming. Sometimes the solitude of sea gave him dazed visions.

“Wait for me!”

Now Kerrick forced himself to his knees, still hearing that awful grating against the hull. The boat had slowed, but was still moving. Gray light brightened the surroundings, and he knew that it was near dawn. He sat up, blinking, rubbing his forehead where he had banged it against the cabin bulkhead. Through blurred eyes he saw something fly through the air, then heard the sound of a body landing on deck.

“Thanks for nothing,” sniffed his visitor. “You could have at least circled around or something. I almost landed in the water! Do you know how long it takes to dry out this topknot?”

“Topknot?” Kerrick gaped at the diminutive person standing lightly on the cockpit bench. The elf’s head was still aching, and he couldn’t think-couldn’t even imagine-what he had collided with so far out to sea. Sure enough, though, a kender had somehow materialized aboard his sailboat.

“Coraltop Netfisher, at your service,” said the fellow with a deep bow, embellished with a wide flourish of both hands. The kender hopped down from the bench and sauntered over to the elf. “Say, you’re bleeding,” he observed with a cluck of his tongue. “Have an accident or something?”

Kerrick pulled his hand away and groaned at the slick redness he saw. “Who are you?” he demanded. “And what, by all the gods, did I hit?”

“Well, that, of course.” The kender pointed off the stern. “I should have thought it was obvious, but then you did get a nasty bump on the head. You’re probably still confused.”

The elf wasn’t listening any longer. Instead, he was staring at a great, barren mound rising from the placid ocean. The shape was much too broad to be the barnacle-encrusted hull of a capsized ship, which was the only possibility that entered the elf’s mind.

He suddenly became aware of the sound of rushing water. “We’ve been holed!” he cried, and threw open the hatch to the cabin. In there it was dry. “Farther forward!” he said, sprinting along the narrow catwalk, leaning out over the gunwale.

He quickly spotted the damage, several planks along the starboard side, scored with ugly cracks. Coraltop Netfisher had scrambled right behind him, stretching out far over the water for a good look.

“Say, that doesn’t look too healthy,” the kender said. “Do you think this boat will sink? That happened to the last boat I was on. Purely accidental of course, and I’d just as soon not have it happen again.”

“Here!” Kerrick threw open the small hatch in the prow. “Climb down there and have a look-if you see water coming in, take some of the canvas you find there and try to plug the hole.”

“That sounds like fun!” agreed the kender cheerfully. In an instant he dropped below, feet first.

Kerrick went back to the main hold and pulled open that hatch. Quickly the sound of gurgling water reached his ears, and he whispered a fervent prayer to Zivilyn Greentree, pleading with the god for enough time to patch the boat before it went under. He plunged into the darkness, reaching for the bucket of tar and a swath of spare canvas.

“That was sure exciting!” Coraltop Netfisher told him an hour later. Cutter wallowed in the thankfully gentle swell. All of her sails were furled, and the kender and elf had managed to reduce the water pouring in through several holes to a trickle.

Kerrick flopped on the deck, exhausted. “I’m not sure I could have done it without your help,” he admitted. “Now, we’ve got to pump for the rest of the day, and we might just find that we’re seaworthy again. Here, I’ll show you how to work the pump, while I make some caulk and try for a more permanent repair.”

For the time being he had to admit he didn’t mind the kender’s company, though he was sure he would have cause to regret that feeling. Among all the peoples of Krynn, there was no more vexing and troublesome race than the small, fearless, and eternally curious kender.

Kerrick finally had a moment to inspect “his kender,” who was smiling at him guilelessly. Coraltop’s long red hair was bundled into the typical knot in the middle of his scalp, with a glossy tail hanging loosely as far as his waist. He wore a green shirt of some kind of mesh, gathered in at the waist by a belt of the same material. His feet and legs were bare, and he bore no apparent possessions.

After a minute of coaching, Coraltop was cranking the pump handle with a look of real delight. He squinted at the bellows mechanism, and the tip of his tongue protruded slightly from his lips as he set himself to the work with a look of real concentration.

“Hey, look at the way the water comes shooting out this hose!” he cried in delight as, moments later, the contents of the bilge started spraying over the side. “But it’s all getting wasted into the ocean-here, we can use it for a shower.” Quickly he pulled the nozzle around so that cold water washed over the elf. “You can go first,” he said graciously.

“This is no time for joking around,” snapped Kerrick. “Do you want to stay afloat or not?”