The voyage had set him to brooding. Sturm's life had once taken a dramatic turn on a ship. As an infant, he, his mother, and her retinue had fled the family's ancient castle in Solamnia, leaving his father behind to deal with the angry populace that had risen against the knighthood.
Although he had been too young at the time to remember the tale himself, Sturm felt the experience keenly imprinted on his consciousness because his mother had often recounted the story. The image of his father banishing them from their home, though it was for their own safety, was burned into his soul. At an early age, Sturm had learned about the painful price of honor. Few in the world held the Solamnic order in high esteem these days, but Sturm was committed to living up to his father's noble ideals and to following the Oath and the Measure.
As if reflecting his dark thoughts, a canopy of clouds towered on the horizon. A sharp, cool wind came up, rousing Sturm from his contemplation. He noticed the cloud mass immediately but with no particular interest, thinking idly, as a child might, that it appeared to have a shape like some great, flying creature with outspread wings and groping talons. The cloud seemed to roil the waters before it. As he continued to gaze in its direction, Sturm became aware that the cloud mass was building ominously. It was approaching rapidly and would be upon the ship in mere minutes.
Sturm stirred himself, stepped back from the railing, and glanced toward the rear deck, which still echoed with the boisterous laughter of the crew. He ought to find Captain Murloch and make sure the ship was ready for a blow. Then he ought to check on Caramon and Tas.
* * * * *
Back belowdecks, Tas had been very, very busy, carefully phrasing his magic letter to Raistlin Majere, Caramon's twin brother. Wouldn't Raistlin be thrilled! Tas had been eagerly anticipating this occasion for a long time—well, at least since the night they had boarded the Venora, when the contents of one of his pouches had shifted and the magic message bottle had poked him in the side, reminding him of its existence.
That's when he remembered the magic bottle he had obtained some years ago in exchange for beads and perfume from a shop dealer in Sanction. Or maybe it had been from a cousin in Kendermore. It was so-o-o long ago.
At any rate, Tas had been assured that the bottle could be tossed into the widest ocean and would carry a message to anyone, anywhere on the entire continent of Ansalon. That was just the sort of mind-boggling feat that figured prominently in the stories Uncle Trapspringer used to tell him, and this was the perfect opportunity to use the magical device. Raistlin, practically a mage himself—he hadn't taken the Test yet, but he would someday soon—would be sure to enjoy such a special method of communication. Who knows? The young mage might even pass on a good word about Tas's creativity and general reliability to that grouchy old dwarf, Flint Fireforge.
But you had to be extremely judicious about what you wrote—or said—to Raistlin, Tas thought as he sat with the quill pen poised over his piece of wrinkled parchment. Raistlin had a tendency to be ill-humored, even downright dour at times. A message in a magic bottle might be the very thing to coax a smile to his lips, providing it was a well-scribed message.
For many minutes, Tas pondered the blank paper before him, his brow furrowed, his topknot uncommonly still. Finally Tas had begun writing:
Dear Raistlin,
Isn't this amazing? I'm writing to you on board the good ship Venora . . .at least it's been a good ship so far (about two nights and two days). Caramon is upstairs . . .
Tas crossed that out.
Caramon is up on deck, having a good time with his new friends, the sailors, and Sturm is probably wandering around up there, too, thinking serious thoughts. You know Sturm. Well, I guess you know Caramon, too. Hi, Tanis!
The point of this letter is to tell you what happened after we arrived in Southern Ergoth. We made the two-day journey down the coast without any incident. Our little errand was successful. Asa was correct as to the whereabouts of the minotaur herbalist who sold the crushed jalopwort needed for the rare spell you are researching. I never had any doubts, since, like all kender, Asa is an expert with maps, and besides, he's my good friend of many years standing and certainly knows his herbal business. Don't worry. I have the crushed jalopwort safely tucked away in one of my pouches.
At this, Tas jumped up and patted one of the pouches on the bunk just to be sure, then slung the sack across his back, his eyes darting around vigilantly. Tas neither saw nor heard anything peculiar. No sound reached his ears other than the peaceful creaking of the ship and the padding of his own movements. Reassured, he sat back down at the makeshift desk under the porthole and resumed his magical missive.
You may already have guessed that this bottle is a magical one. I acquired it by shrewd and honest means during my period of wanderlust (I think), and when I noticed it a couple of days ago, I thought I would compose a letter to you and Tanis and Flint. Hi, Flint! Bet you thought I'd forgotten you!
If all goes well, this letter will be plucked out of the sea by some deserving fisherman who will cannily discern its significance and bring it to you in Solace for ample reward. The bottle will actually speak its message—my voice—to whoever uncorks it. Can you imagine that? Well, I guess you can by now.
Anyway, we're returning to
