The Korinn Archipelago.
The name entered the creature's mind unbidden, and again he felt the hateful presence of Talos. But Gotha couldn't resist the compulsion in his master's instructions. His vow, made in good faith to the god more than two centuries ago, bound him to obey until he had performed the task commanded by Talos.
On some of these islets, Gotha saw houses, with chimneys that puffed smoke into the air and fields speckled with white dots-sheep! Every fiber of the great monster's being urged him to swoop down to ravage these settlements, destroying the houses, slaying the humans, and devouring the sheep.
But such was not the will of Talos, and reluctantly the flying creature veered away. It suited his master's will that Gotha remain undiscovered by the island's inhabitants. Now the dracolich swerved to the west, once again over gray open water.
Something disturbed the water's surface, arrogantly carving a course through the tossing waves, leaving a foaming wake in its path. A single tall mast stood in the center of the sleek, narrow vessel, and from that mast a proud sail billowed. A long, slender hull trailed from an elegantly curved figurehead of a blond-haired goddess. The sleek craft flew over the sea, running before the full power of the wind.
Here Gotha could fulfill his master's command and also slake his expanded thirst for blood, for he knew there would be no survivors to report his presence.
Diving, the dracolich swooped toward the ship. He saw humans scurrying about in the shallow hull, heard their screams and even saw them raise bows and swords and axes, mere stinging annoyances to the monstrous apparition that settled toward the stern of the vessel.
Gotha's wings expanded, and the dracolich settled his rear legs on the transom, feeling the ship rock and groan under the massive weight. Two brawny warriors wearing horned helms sprang at the creature's momentarily exposed belly.
The beast slashed out with a single forepaw, pitching the shredded remains of the two northmen over the side as bait for sharks … or worse. Massive jaws gaped, and Gotha belched a searing cloud of fire straight into the bulging pocket of the longship's sail.
The canvas flared briefly and then collapsed, still flaming, onto the sailors crowded amidships. But these men of the north now rushed at the horrific thing that pressed the stern of their vessel into the brine. Gray water roared over the gunwales, each wave carrying the craft a little lower in the heaving swells.
Gotha met the attackers with his foreclaws, ripping their heads away or tearing open great wounds in their chests and bellies. The hull filled with blood and water as more and more corpses joined their fellows among the planks along the keel. Flames, meanwhile, coursed down the mast and spread through the forequarters of the vessel, hissing upward and greedily consuming the seasoned timbers that held the ship together.
More of the fierce northmen hacked at the monster that threatened their ship. One veteran succeeded in reaching the beast, driving a gleaming battle-axe against the decaying chest, but the axe bit against one of the exposed ribs, and the keen blade shattered into a thousand shards. Gaping jaws closed about the head and torso of the axeman, lifting him from the hull. His exposed legs kicked madly for a second, until the monster bit down. The severed limbs toppled into the sea.
Gotha knew a fierce joy that he had all but forgotten. The smoke wafting past his nostrils, the taste of warm blood, the sounds of shrieks and screams of terror-all of these combined to vitalize his undead heart, to feed his evil soul.
Finally he sprang back into the air, the force of his upward leap shoving the flaming vessel's stern beneath the waves for the final time. The bow, with its elegant female figurehead, loomed in the air for a moment, and then, with a sizzling hiss, the once-sleek ship disappeared beneath the waves.
Gotha flew onward, fiercely exultant. His hatred for Talos remained, but now it was easier for the beast to hold the emotion in the background of his awareness. Indeed, he had already begun to serve his new master, and that service had given the monster pleasure.
Ahead, another block of land rose from the water, a larger island than those the beast had first encountered in the archipelago. This rocky shore was bleak, all but uninhabited, and here Gotha settled to earth.
He dove toward the breakers erupting against the shore, knowing that he had arrived at the place where he had been sent. Here finally his work could truly begin.
Musings of the Harpist
4
Rain swept across the town, forming rivulets down the few cobbled streets, turning the bulk of the avenues into morasses gummy with thick mud. Most of the inns and houses and shops huddled against these lanes and alleys, and here dwelt the populace of the city.
Paved roads ran through the grand center of Callidyrr, however. Here, in the heart of the largest city on the isles, a quadrangle of large stone merchant houses stood like gray blocks, solemn and aloof, as the humans scuttled about in their shadows. Vendors of gems and gold, of wools and iron and coal-each had his mercantile castle, with the stone avenue leading past its door.
Beyond these imposing edifices, the lowest portions of the city huddled against the shore of Whitefish Bay. A network of docks and breakwaters extended into the water, meshing the land with the sea. Long buildings of wood stretched beside the quay, stinking of fish. Narrow alleys twisted between shoddy buildings, where sailors visited and whores, alchemists, and smugglers plied their trades.
The harbor vanished into haze as the downpour drummed on the hulls of the sturdy curraghs and square- sterned cargo haulers at rest in the placid water. Against the wharf stood a ship that dwarfed all the others: a tall Calishite galleon, hired into the service of the High King.
Disdaining the royal coach, King Kendrick rode to the waterfront on horseback, accompanied by his wife and daughters, as well as their tutor Keane, and trailed by a score of his royal guard. The latter wore blue capes and feathered helms, and each was a master of the crossbow and longsword. Vigilant even in these times of peace, they rode behind their king while their eyes searched the buildings and alleys around him, seeking any hint of a threat.
No dangers appeared today-only the relative disinterest of a populace who had grown used to watching their monarch sail to the Sword Coast, bartering the gold and iron of the isles for the food that they must acquire in order to survive.
A collection of merchants gathered at the waterfront, awaiting the king's arrival beneath dripping awnings. They raised a listless cheer as the royal procession passed them at a slow trot. A dreary lethargy seemed to linger about them, gray Ffolk before gray buildings in a gray city.
Alicia felt a sense of dismal loneliness that had grown heavy during the long downhill ride from the castle. It was a mood uncharacteristic for her, and though she tried to blame it on the weather, combined with her father's imminent departure, she suspected that its true roots lay at a deeper, more unconscious level.
She looked at her mother, riding next to the king, the two of them leading the small procession. Think how
