Flint had to admit that Raistlin possessed grit. The young mage didn't complain.
Only once did Raistlin weaken and slip. Ahead of him, Tanis was alert enough to pull the rope taut, breaking the young mage's fall, while with his other hand, he gripped the link to Flint above. Raistlin managed to pull himself up and grab hold of the rock face. Fluttering his hand, he signaled Flint to continue. The dwarf had been right in thinking that his sinewy friend Tanis would have no trouble safeguarding Raistlin.
After nearly two hours of hard climbing, the three of them attained the summit of the precipice. They slumped on the ledge, out of breath, before turning their eyes to behold what lay beyond. The shelf was just large enough for the three of them. As the precipice rounded to the east, it revealed massive mountains with dramatic escarpments and snowcapped domes.
Directly below them was a deep, jagged gorge. Steam from fissures in the rock obscured its bottom. A plunge down that craggy face would mean certain death.
As Flint stood on wobbly legs, he realized that the strong gusts of wind were coming at him from two directions, east and west, the ledge caught in a crossfire of physical forces.
The strong winds tore at him. He motioned for the other two to wait and crawled unsteadily to the far side of the ledge, where he pitted one of his iron stakes. While Tanis and Raistlin watched, he pitted several more, and then rigged his rope so that they might all stand, anchored to the crag, without being blown off into space.
They stared below.
'Is that where the portal is supposed to be?' asked Tanis skeptically. He had to repeat his question more loudly before it was heard over the rushing cry of the wind.
'Yes,' shouted Raistlin, his voice hoarse.
'I wouldn't want to trust in it,' said Flint. The other two said nothing in reply, because they would rather not depend on it either. But what choice did they have?
Flint picked up a loose rock and held it over the side. Tanis nodded. He let it drop.
They waited for several minutes, straining against the noise of the wind to hear it hit bottom. Finally Flint thought he heard a ping off the rocks below.
'No portal,' said Flint disgustedly.
'Inanimate object,' disagreed Raistlin, shouting again. 'The portal won't accept an inanimate object unaccompanied by a mortal being, and in any case, it won't open until I cast the proper spell!'
After a long pause, Tanis asked, 'How can we be sure?'
Raistlin didn't reply immediately. The three of them stood on the rock ledge, high atop the crag, leaning out over the craggy gorge that extended hundreds of feet below. The wind blasted around them, tearing at their hair and clothing. Flint's ropes kept them from toppling off, but even so, they had to struggle to maintain their balance.
'We don't know,' yelled Flint finally.
'Is that right?' Tanis asked, turning toward Raistlin.
'Yes.'
Tanis and Flint looked at each other. Flint rolled his eyes. Tanis unsheathed a knife.
'Then say the spell,' the half-elf said.
Raistlin closed his eyes briefly, concentrating, then opened them. He murmured some ancient words that sounded incomprehensible to Flint. Then, in common language that both of them understood, he shouted, 'Open portal!'
With his knife, Tanis slashed at the ropes that held them to the stakes. Swiftly he jammed it back in its sheath. As he did, the three of them moved forward, leaping off, Flint and Raistlin linking arms with Tanis in the middle. An unintelligible shriek escaped their lips.
Whether because of the wind or their lack of coordination, the three companions got all tangled up as they plunged, heads first and feet splaying, toward the jagged rocks below.
Chapter 6
For days they drifted. Since Sturm and Caramon had no idea where they were, it didn't make sense to try to swim in any particular direction. Besides, the ropes that bound them to the splintered mast were shrunk by the salt water. It was all they could do to keep their chins above the waves and kick out with their legs.
The sky remained gray and leaden, and a haze blanketed everything. The shroud was impenetrable. They could see nothing.
Although the sun never shone, a diffuse light permeated the haze, and it was hotter than deep summer in Solace. The heat smothered them like a sodden blanket, burning their skin and eyes, relentless in its constancy.
Night offered only slight improvement. They would have welcomed nightfall and relief from the heat, except it plunged them into utter darkness. They could barely discern each other, much less the twin moons, Lunitari and Solinari. In this part of the world, wherever it was, the sky was monolithic, oppressive.
The water itself offered little comfort. Brackish and brown, almost muddy, the sea remained uncomfortably warm even at night, carrying a pungent smell. The waves heaved and roiled, though there was little wind. It was almost as if some turbulence beneath perpetually agitated the surface.
For two days, they saw no signs of life, no ships on the horizon, no sea birds, no fish. For two days, they had nothing to eat or drink, nor any sleep. For two days, they kicked and paddled as best they could, draped over the mast, gradually losing strength and willpower.
'It could be worse,' Caramon had said the first day.
'How?' questioned Sturm.
'It could be Flint instead of me,' replied Caramon. He managed to force a grin. 'He's the only poorer swimmer I know.'
Sturm returned the grin. He was determined not to think about his body, weakened by hunger and pain. In spite of that, he began to doubt how much longer either of them could survive.
'I wonder…' began Sturm.
'What?' asked Caramon.
'Where are we?'
On the third day, the haze gradually grew even thicker, so that by midday, they could hardly see a dozen feet beyond where they floated. Sturm and Caramon glanced at each other nervously as they began to hear creaking and groaning. High-pitched shrieks rent the air. Broken beams and pieces of planking and heavy, waterlogged clumps of kelp materialized, bumping up against them in the water.
Sturm leaned away from the mast and was able to snatch some of the seaweed in his mouth.
'What are you doing?' asked Caramon, aghast.
'It's quite edible,' Sturm said in a bare whisper as he chewed arduously. It was edible, though its raw and gummy texture made it worse than tasteless. 'Who knows where our next meal is coming from?'
Caramon thought about that for a moment, then lunged as best he could for the next patch that floated by, catching some of the purple-brown vegetation, spotted with grime. Trying not to think about it, the twin chewed determinedly, but he couldn't bear it. With a flash of disgust, Caramon spat the mouthful out.
His brown eyes leveled at Caramon sternly, Sturm chewed on.
After a moment's consideration, Caramon lunged for the kelp again but missed. The vegetation washed by.
The groaning and cries intensified, followed by the booming and splitting sounds of… what? It sounded like a ship's crash, the noise of wood breaking up, a hull tearing on some unseen reef. The cacophony of sounds rose and fell, echoing spookily.
The haze mingled with drops of rain and seemed to rub up against their faces. The waves diminished so that the sea was eerily calm. All around them was a ghostly gray-white void.
'What can you see?' asked Caramon, his voice hoarse and cracked.
