The Messenger

“There you are!” the kender said, sounding rather vexed. “What in all Krynn kept you for so long?”

“This place will do nicely,” Strongwind Whalebone declared in satisfaction, examining the grotto in the light of the oil lamps two of his men had put in place. Another pair of his warriors held Moreen, who had exhausted herself by resisting them during the long walk through the cave. The king gestured to his men. “Leave us here. Stretch a bearskin across the door and wait without. Don’t worry if you hear a bit of a commotion-she’s a feisty wench!”

The men gave Moreen a hard shove away from the narrow entrance, before they retreated. Quickly a great white pelt was raised across the aperture. The two were shut off in a small chamber crowded with ornate rock formations studded all over with tiny crystals that sparked and twinkled in the light of the lamps. Shadows leaped and danced on the wall.

When the chiefwoman looked around, she noticed that the Highlander monarch was taking off the gold chains that dangled around his neck, and slipping out of his tall, metalbuckled boots. He slid the chains into the boots and stretched, looking at Moreen with an expression of amused contempt.

“You’d might as well make yourself comfortable,” he said. “We’re going to be here a while. The more you cooperate, the easier it will go for you.”

“I would die before I submit to you!” she spat.

“Did you consider that perhaps you don’t have a choice? I am stronger than you, and much bigger. My men are in control of your stronghold. For once, Moreen Chieftain’s Daughter, you would be wise to acknowledge the inevitable.”

It was her turn to laugh. “Do you know that, when you were showing me your citadel. I actually allowed myself to think that, perhaps, you were a great man, a great leader. How foolish I was. Now I see you are a mere beast. The ogres at least had the courage to fight our warriors. You Highlanders, it seems, would rather wait till the enemy’s warriors are gone, then come to force yourselves on the women. Perhaps you should call your two men back in here. If they held me down, you wouldn’t have to work so hard.”

The king glowered as he set his boots to the side. “You are rapidly destroying any intention I had of being gentle with you.

Moreen’s eyes cast around the grotto, seeking something, anything, she could use as a weapon. She saw the king of the Highlanders shrug out of his tunic. His body was muscular and huge.

Now she saw her chance.

“You’re looking somewhat worse for wear,” Coraltop Netfisher said with a scowl, “but your skin is getting kind of pink instead of all white and pasty like when I fished you out of the water.”

Kerrick wrapped his hands around the cup of tea, soaking up the warmth. At least he wasn’t shivering as much as before. He could hold the deep mug without flinging the contents all over the cabin.

“H-how did you find me … and w-where have you been?” he asked. “You didn’t spend the whole winter sleeping on the boat, did you?”

The kender shrugged. “It never got too cold. I think there’s a nice hot spring under here.”

“There is,” Kerrick agreed. “I came floating right out of it. But you-how? When we crashed … I saw you fall in the water … I looked-I looked everywhere.…” He shook his head in disbelief, trying not to doubt his good fortune at finding his shipmate alive. “Don’t tell me about that sleeping potion, again. I don’t know where you got it, but you didn’t have it with you when I found you!”

“Well, all right, I won’t tell you about it!” sniffed the kender. “Maybe you’d rather get back in the water then waste your time with me?”

Kerrick groaned and shook his head, but when he probed for more details, Coraltop was adamant in his refusal to offer an explanation. Finally the elf desisted, lacking the energy to continue.

By the time Coraltop, with a few twists of a little piece of wire, had freed the manacles from his wrists and helped the elf aboard the sailboat, Kerrick had slowly pieced together how he had come up in the spring-heated cove. The stream that vanished through the floor of the cave obviously carried a significant flowage into the sea, including some of the warm water that had kept this little patch of cove from freezing through the bitter winter. His makeshift raft had been borne by the current, through the deep channel, until it emerged in the cove where it had bobbed gently to the surface.

“So, are we going to go sailing again very soon?” Coraltop asked. “I mean, after you’ve had a bite to eat and a nap.”

Kerrick sighed. “We might be floating in water, but the last time I looked, this cove was still pretty well frozen in.”

“Well, you mean the sea, yes. That’s all ice and snowdrifts. But the whole cove is melted, now. We can float right over to the other side, where the road winds up the cliff. And the sun came out-why, it must have been up there for three or four hours today. Of course, I suppose it would be kind of boring, just sailing back and forth around here. Like my Grandmother Annatree used to say, ‘It’s not really a trip unless you go somewhere. Or fall down.’ ”

Kerrick chuckled. “I think we’re a long way from getting out to the sea, or the ocean. I’m going up on deck to have a look.”

Emerging from the cabin, Kerrick saw the sky was brightening from the midnight darkness. He noticed something else-people, big people, moving on the shore. They shuffled through the snow, cloaked in white, barely visible in the growing light. He saw a whole column of them, an army of warriors, larger and uglier even than the Highlanders. Several were gathered around Cutter’s anchor rope, and they pulled steadily on the line, hauling the sailboat toward shore.

“Stay right there!” growled a creature on shore that the shocked elf recognized as an ogre. He tried to think. The ogres were spread out along the shore, with several even now approaching the mouth of the cave where the Arktos and Highlanders were gathered.

“That’s it-don’t fight, and there’s no need to kill you. Not right away,” the ogre on shore said encouragingly.

The elf perceived that he had been mistaken about something-these were not all ogres. One squat figure pushed back his hood to reveal himself as a dwarf, a bristling-haired dark dwarf standing with the ogres who were drawing Cutter closer to shore. His breath steamed in the air as he snorted impatiently, and when the dwarf turned his face to look at the sailboat, the elf all but stumbled.

The last time he had seen that face, Baldruk Dinmaker had been looking over the transom of Silvanos Oak, as that mighty galley commenced her last departure from Silvanesti. His father Dimorian Fallabrine had been in command of the great ship, and this same bearded dwarf had served as second mate.

23

Wall of ice of blood

Sire! King Strongwind!”

The voice, from the other side of the bearskin, carried an unmistakable urgency.

“What is it?” demanded Strongwind Whalebone impatiently. He was just now glaring at Moreen, who held one of the oil lamps high over her head, ready to throw it at him. The other had just sailed past his head, and lay in shards on the floor of the cave, the oil still burning on one of the slick rocks. The king was out of breath, having spent several minutes chasing the woman around the small grotto.

“Ogres, Your Majesty! They’re attacking the cave!”

Strongwind blinked, scowled, shook his head, then squinted at the bearkskin-covered doorway. “What?” he demanded.

“Ogres, you numbskull!” Moreen shouted. “Does lust make you deaf?” She put down the lamp and started for the doorway. “Pull down this bearskin!” she demanded. “Let us out of here!”