was nearly human in appearance, though she was pale blue from head to toe with short, darker blue hair, and she sported gills along each side of her torso, at both collarbone and ribs. Her only adornments were necklaces and bracelets of sea shells and a belt made from the skin of some creature, possibly an eel. A knife made of what Vambran surmised must be coral was tucked into that belt at one hip.
A sea elf, he realized, and for a moment, Vambran was dazzled.
When he tried to sigh, though, the mouthful of water he got for his troubles reminded him that he was drowning, and he began to thrash and kick desperately. He struggled to swim up, to follow the trail of bubbles he was making, but his breastplate was too heavy, pulling him down into the depths.
Hands found his shoulders, and at first, Vambran grabbed at them and tried to pull himself upward, fighting against the tug of the deep. But the hands were strong and forceful, jerking Vambran around so that he was once more face to face with the beautiful sea elf, who gave him a stern look before locking him in another kiss.
It was only then that the lieutenant realized she was helping him to breathe.
The sea elf began to swim then, pulling Vambran along with her and occasionally blowing air into his lungs, keeping him alive. Together, they moved through the water like that, gliding down into the depths. He wondered where she was taking him, but he did not care, so long as he could remain close to her.
No! Vambran realized. The ship! Uncle Kovrim!
The lieutenant jerked himself free of the sea elf's embrace. She drew up in the water, reaching for him again. He began to sink, but he ignored it for a moment, holding up his hands to stave off her attempt to catch him. He smiled and gently shook his head, hoping that the expression conveyed both his appreciation and his denial.
The sea elf cocked her head to one side quizzically, but before she could try to approach him again, Vambran reached into a pouch at his belt and produced a small vial. He drew the vial out, thrusting the end toward his mouth. He pulled the stopper free just as he rammed the end against his lips, closing down tight to seal the opening from the water outside.
In one quick gulp, Vambran sucked the contents of the potion into his mouth and swallowed it, trying to ignore the strange mixed flavor of honey and olive oil. Almost immediately, he felt a shift as the magic of the potion took effect. The weight of his breastplate shifted, began to drag in the opposite direction. He was rising to the surface.
As he rose, Vambran looked again at the sea elf. There was a smile on her face as well, a look of goodwill mixed with a touch of sadness. She raised one hand in salute to him, and he returned the gesture then began to pull himself toward the surface, helping the magic, for he was beginning to feel the pressure in his lungs again.
The pain of needing to breathe was just growing severe when Vambran found himself bobbing like a cork atop the pitching sea. He leaned his head back and sucked in a great gulp of salty air, thankful to be on the surface again. In the near distance ahead of him, not far from where he stood, the lieutenant could hear men shouting and screaming.
Vambran looked that way and surveyed the carnage. Everywhere he looked, men floundered in the water, sailors among Za'hure's crew who were either swimming and begging for aid or trying to scramble atop the remains of
The Crescents were scattered everywhere in the general vicinity of the destroyed craft. Some of them were trying to help sailors scamper aboard drifting bits of ship. Others were forming up to defend themselves against the attacks of the corsairs, who had drawn their ships close enough to begin firing arrows at everyone in the water. It was hardly a fair fight, and one that would cost so many brave soldiers their lives if they stood their ground.
Vambran made a quick and desperate scan of the men in sight, looking for Kovrim, but his survey was cut short by an arrow clanking off the middle of the back of his breastplate. Cursing, he spun around to see one of the ships only a stone's throw away and closing fast. Already, half a dozen more archers were drawing a bead on him. He lunged to the side as two more missiles sliced into the water near his feet.
Enraged at his own helplessness to do anything else, Vambran turned and ran, sprinting as fast as he could across the open water. He heard the hissing sound of more arrows zipping into the waves behind and to either side of him, but he dared not stop.
Got to get the men to safety, he realized. Only chance is to run for shore.
Vambran scrambled in the direction of a small cluster of mercenaries, one of whom was Horial. 'To the shore!' he shouted, motioning in the direction of the coast, which appeared to be a little more than a mile away. 'Pass the word, and make for the shore! Horial! Sound the retreat!'
The sergeant nodded, drew his small curved horn from somewhere in his belt, and began to blow the familiar tune signaling the men to fall back. All around, Vambran began to hear the call.
'Retreat! Retreat!' the Crescents shouted, and coolly, like the disciplined troops they were, the mercenaries began to move away from the wreckage of the destroyed ship, making their way toward the shoreline as fast as they could.
Vambran cringed at the wails of despair the other men, the sailors in the water, sent up. There would be no rescue for them, and they knew their doom was upon them. Silently, as he ran, Vambran asked in a prayer for forgiveness from Waukeen for abandoning men on the field of battle. But he did not have the resources to stay and fight to save them, nor could he carry even a single one of them with him atop the water. And if the kraken returned…
The lieutenant did not head for the shore straightaway, but rather, he made a quick circle, hoping to find other Crescents who needed his aid. Hoping, and yet not hoping, to find Kovrim. As he passed one particularly large section of ruined ship, he spied Captain Za'hure, stretched out along a bit of decking, sprawled on his back, and staring at the sky.
No, Vambran realized, seeing the large gash across the other side of the captain's neck. Those eyes are not looking at anything.
Vambran lurched as two stinging darts of pain slammed into his side. He staggered and turned to see what had hit him. Most of the pirate ships had gathered in close by then, and several of them had set smaller boats down into the water. One such craft was coming directly toward the lieutenant, and standing in the very prow, a callous smirk upon his face, was the man in the blue coat and red hat. He held a wand in his hand, which he still pointed in Vambran's general direction.
Snarling, Vambran turned toward the fellow, yanking his crossbow up off his hip. But when he reached for a bolt, he found that his quiver was empty.
They all must have floated away, he realized dismally.
The wand-wielding adversary had initially flinched away at the sight of Vambran preparing to line up his weapon, but when he realized he was in no immediate danger, the fellow barked a short laugh and raised his wand again.
Cursing his ill luck, Vambran turned and sprinted away as fast as he possibly could. He staggered again as two more of the magical missiles struck him from behind, arching his back and nearly falling over, but he kept on running, knowing that he had to put some distance between himself and the mage attacking him.
Reaching into his shirt, Vambran pulled his holy coin, which he wore on a chain around his neck, free. He sighed in relief that it was still there and not lying at the bottom of the Reach. Then he offered a quick prayer to Waukeen and cast a spell. Instantly he felt the surge of speed he had prayed for, and he shot forward. Sprinting in strides easily twice as large as would normally be possible, Vambran rushed away from the devastation of
As he ran, he considered what had just happened. Such an attack was more than just mindless cruelty and brutality, the lieutenant realized. Nine ships was a number for sinking, not boarding and pillaging. And the appearance of a kraken could not have been coincidence. It was all a well-measured attempt to kill every man on board that ship. Someone had wanted them all to die. He had a pretty good idea who that might be.
CHAPTER 5
'Blast that lucky son of a bullywug!' Grozier growled, standing behind Bartimus and staring into the image
