Qualinost, wholeheartedly endorsed Vixa’s military bent. “There are thousands of delicate elfmaidens,” she was fond of saying, “but shockingly few good warriors.”
Verhanna had nicknamed her youngest child “the scholar.” She believed bookishness to be a waste of time for a warrior. However, as it didn’t diminish Vixa’s fighting skills or detract from her duties as a royal princess, Verhanna kept her views to herself. Most of the time. After all, she reasoned, the child’s father was also bookish and it hadn’t kept him from proving to be a fine general.
Vixa made her way forward between decks to the galley to collect her breakfast. The only open fire allowed on the wooden ship was kept in the brick oven abaft the mainmast.
— and suddenly the entire contents splashed in her face as the ship lurched sharply. The nectar stung her eyes as the deck canted beneath her feet. She and Barbalthin collided with the brick hearth, fell, and rolled to the starboard wall. Glowing coals spilled from the firebox onto the wooden deck. Barbalthin scrambled against the tilt, dousing the embers.
“Now what?” groaned Vixa.
A chorus of shouts and the sound of tramping feet resounded overhead. Vixa made for the ladder and climbed up. Sailors scrambled fore and aft, cursing every god in the heavens. Vixa slid down the deck on her hips and heels until she collided with a red-faced Captain Esquelamar.
“We’re aground!” he said fiercely. “A hundred leagues from land, and we’re aground!”
“Are we wrecked?” she wanted to know.
“Never fear, lady.
A sailor popped out of the same hatch Vixa had emerged from. “She’s tight below, Captain! No water in the hold!”
“Thank the gods for that,” Esquelamar breathed.
The world heaved again as the ship rolled back upright. Esquelamar bounced to his feet like an acrobat. Vixa got up more slowly and saw Armantaro trying to stand, hampered by his armor. Vixa found herself wondering if the old colonel slept in his armor, too.
“On your feet, Colonel,” she said genially.
“Now I know why I never served in the Speaker’s navy,” Armantaro muttered. “At least land doesn’t trip a soldier at every opportunity.”
The ship appeared to be surrounded by yellow mud-land where nothing had been seconds before. To the southwest, the low peak of an island was just visible in the early morning light. Esquelamar ordered a sailor over the side to see if the bar they were on was shifting. As his fellows held his legs, the elf stabbed a boat hook into the swirling, muddy water. It was only ten inches deep.
“We’re fast aground,” Esquelamar reported, his expression grim. “This shoal is not on any of my charts!”
“Can we lower a boat?” asked Armantaro. “Kedge off the bar?”
“Nay, the water’s too shallow, even for the longboat.”
The sun rose higher, and the island to the southwest stood out more clearly. It was a large, flat expanse of sand, with a single high dune in the center.
Knowing elves have to eat even in the direst of situations, Barbalthin came on deck with some food. He brought griddlecakes for the landlubbers, kippers for the sailors. Armantaro picked up a flat cake and was about to bite into it when an idea struck him.
“What about a raft, Captain?”
“Eh?” said Esquelamar.
“Why not build a raft? We could pole it ashore,” said the colonel.
“To what end, sir? There’s nothing out there but a hill of sand.”
Armantaro pointed. “It is the tallest spot around, is it not? From there we should be able to spot open water.”
“Aye. I see your meaning. Perhaps we can lighten the ship and float free of this bar.” Esquelamar cupped a hand to his lips. “Manneto! Heronimas! Collect all free hands and assemble on the foredeck. And break out the carpenter’s tools. We’re going to build a raft!”
Empty water casks were dragged up from the hold, sawn in half, and lashed together. A makeshift deck of planks was hammered in place across their cut sides. Oars and oarlocks from the ship’s longboats were attached, and the crude raft was hoisted over the side.
Vixa looked down at the newly made raft. “Who else is coming?”
“Lady, you would be safer on the ship,” Armantaro ventured to suggest.
Vixa frowned. The obvious concern in the old colonel’s face caused her to swallow her sharp retort. Clapping him on the shoulder instead, she said lightly, “Fear not, old friend. I doubt if the mosquitoes on that island are very dangerous.”
A party of eight was chosen to explore the island: Captain Esquelamar and three of his sailors, Vixa, Armantaro, Harmanutis, and Vanthanoris. Manneto was left in charge of the ship, and Paladithel put in command of the remaining warrior contingent.
Although Armantaro and the other two warriors in the landing party had donned full battle dress, Vixa demurred, saying, “I’m only going to climb a hill, not fight a battle. Why should I wear armor in this heat?” She did, however, take along her fine Qualinesti sword.
A section of the ship’s rail was removed, and supplies for the landing party lowered by rope to the raft. Vanthanoris and two sailors went down first, holding the raft steady by its mooring lines. The others followed. Below the waterline the hull was studded with razor-sharp barnacles. Deprived of water, the creatures made eerie clicking sounds as they gasped in the air.
From the deck, Manneto called down, “How long will you be, Captain?”
Esquelamar shaded his eyes, checking the position of the sun. It was perhaps two hours after dawn. “We’ll be back before sundown,” he called back.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
With the captain at the raft’s plank rudder and the sailors and warriors on the oars, they set off for the unknown island that had risen from the bottom of the sea. And Vixa said a silent prayer to the Blue Phoenix, lord of the sea.
Chapter 3
The glare off the still water was harsh, though the sun was hours yet from its highest position. Gulls and other seabirds wheeled overhead, screeching in the steamy air. To shield her head, Vixa made a sort of short burnoose with her kerchief and a length of thong.
The going was slow, as almost every dip of the oars struck bottom. Lurching from side to side, the raft made its way. Twenty paces from the shoreline, the raft ran aground. Captain Esquelamar pulled in the steering oar and called, “From here on, mates, we walk.”
They piled out. The footing was firm. From their vantage point, they could see
“From the look of these ridges, I’d say the water drains off from a central point. There, I think,” he said,
