Ghaji glanced toward the starboard bow and pointed. “You mean ships like that one?”
Diran and Yvka looked in the direction Ghaji indicated. Off in the distance was a shape that appeared to be the partially submerged remains of a ship larger than the Zephyr-a two-master, perhaps, though it was difficult to tell since so much of it lay below the water’s surface.
“Yes,” Diran said dryly. “Precisely like that. Does it strike either of you as odd that we’re heading directly for it, almost as if we’re being guided there?”
Ghaji stretched out his arms then did a couple of torso twists to limber up. “Best get our weapons, eh?”
The half-orc didn’t sound displeased at the prospect that they might be approaching danger.
Ghaji was probably getting restless, Diran thought. It had been nearly an entire day since he’d had the opportunity to fight someone.
“Should I activate the elemental?” Yvka asked. “If we’re going toward the vessel anyway, perhaps we shouldn’t waste any time.”
The elf-woman’s meditation had restored her energy, and she was now wide awake and alert. Diran had no doubt she could summon and direct the elemental’s power, but he wasn’t certain it was a good idea.
“We don’t know how thick the seaweed truly is. It’s possible that the soarwood runners will be able to cut through the substance of the Mire without any difficulty, but it’s also possible that by sailing at our top speed, we might end up entangling ourselves. We’re making good progress at our current speed; I suggest saving the elemental for when we might truly need it.”
Yvka considered Diran’s words for a moment before nodding agreement. She returned to the tiller, and Diran and Ghaji armed themselves. The priest donned his cloak, though it was still damp from the rain, and retrieved his bow and arrows. Ghaji got his axe as well as a grappling hook. The points were sharp, and the rope looked strong.
The Zephyr continued sailing toward the half-submerged vessel, and before long they were within shouting distance of the derelict. Yvka locked the tiller once more and was about to prepare to put down anchor, when the wind died and the sloop began to slow down on her own. Diran peered over the side and saw that the seaweed was much thicker here, and instead of giving way before them, it now seemed to be pressing against the Zephyr’s hull, as if purposefully retarding the vessel’s progress.
When they’d come within a half dozen yards of the other ship, the Zephyr came to a halt.
This close, they could see that the partially submerged vessel was indeed a two-master, though the ship was tilted back so far the bow pointed skyward and the tip of the second mast barely extended past the water’s surface. The sails were still up, though the fabric was sodden and torn in numerous places, as if someone had repeatedly slashed it with a sword. There were no visible signs of damage on the hull, at least not from their vantage point, and the vessel’s name was clearly visible on the port bow, painted in faded black letters: Proud Pelican. The seaweed around the ship was so thick it resembled solid earth covered with wet green grass and a thin layer of water. It looked almost as if the plants were holding the Proud Pelican in place, and that the vessel would slip completely beneath the waves if they were to release her.
Evidently Ghaji was having similar thoughts, for he said, “Looks almost solid enough to stand on.”
“Be my guest,” Yvka said. “I’m not setting foot on that muck!”
“I don’t blame you, lady!”
Startled, the three of them turned toward the direction the new voice came from. Perched atop the tip of the bow, straddling it as if he were astride a horse, was a halfling. Diran judged him to be three feet tall, an average height for his kind. He had an athletic build, ruddy skin, dark eyes-brown, Diran guessed, though it was hard to tell from such a distance-and straight black hair tied into a ponytail. As was common for halflings, he had pointed ears, though not so sharply pointed as Yvka’s. He wore sailor’s garb: brown leggings, bare feet, an orange sash around his trim waist, a white shirt with billowy sleeves, and a red scarf covering the top of his head as protection against the sun. Tucked beneath the halfling’s sash was a long knife that, in his small hands, would look like a sword, and Diran guessed he wielded it as such. Though Diran had never spent a great deal of time around halflings, he judged this one to be a young adult in his early to mid-twenties.
“I guess we don’t have to hail the ship now,” Ghaji said.
“The name’s Hinto,” the halfling called, “and you can bet I’m glad to see you three! Tell me something, is your ship really made out of soarwood, or have I been alone too long and am starting to imagine things?” An alarmed looked came over the halfling’s face. “Maybe I’m imagining this whole thing! The ship and you three!”
“Calm yourself,” Diran said before the halfling could get too worked up. “We’re real enough, though I fear we’ve wandered into the same trap that ensnared your vessel. You said you’re alone, so I assume there are no other survivors.”
“That’s right, I’m the last one. That’s because I know how to hide. When I put my mind to it, I can hide so good I can’t even find myself!” Hinto chuckled at his own joke, then sobered. His eyes darted back and forth nervously, as if he were expecting to be attacked any moment from any direction. “I’ve been alone for days now, or maybe it’s been weeks.” He looked at them and smiled apologetically. “I’ve track of time out here.”
“I don’t think that’s the only thing he’s lost,” Ghaji muttered, then he let out an oof! as Yvka elbowed him in the side.
“I’m Diran Bastiaan, priest of the Silver Flame. These are my companions, Ghaji and Yvka. Can you tell us what happened to your vessel and crew?” . “You mean can I tell you what’s going to happen to you,” the halfling said, an hysterical edge to his voice.
Diran was beginning to think Ghaji had been right: Hinto’s mind was somewhat the worse for wear after being trapped alone in the Mire.
“It’s this place…” Hinto began. “The Mire… though it’s not really the Mire, not like the stories say it is. Oh, it looks like a mess of seaweed, but that’s what it wants you to think. It’s something else, something worse. Something… hungry.”
Diran, Ghaji, and Yvka looked down at the seaweed between the Zephyr and Proud Pelican.
The half-orc shrugged. “Still looks like seaweed to me.”
“Of course it does!” Hinto said. “Haven’t you been listening to me? Don’t you get it?”
Ghaji gripped his axe and bared his lower incisors.
Diran lay a hand on his friend’s arm to calm him. “Can you throw that grappling hook so it catches on the Pelicans bow?”
“I think so,” Ghaji said.
Diran turned back to Hinto and explained their plan.
“Why don’t I just climb over there?” Hinto asked. “Not that it’s going to make any difference since you’re all going to die.”
“I’m afraid you may be too weak to hold onto the rope after being trapped here for so long.” This was true enough, but Diran was also worried that Hinto’s mental state made him so unpredictable that the halfling might well let go of the rope of his own accord for some reason before he reached the Zephyr.
“I appreciate the thought,” Hinto said, “but I wouldn’t try coming over if I were you. It won’t like it, if you know what I mean.”
“No, we don’t know what you mean!” Ghaji shouted. “You don’t make any sense! Now get out of the way unless you want me to bounce this thing off your head.”
Hinto rose from his perch on the bow and scampered out of sight.
Diran and Yvka stepped back to give Ghaji room. The half-orc held the grappling hook in his right hand and the rope it was tied to in his left. He took a moment to gauge the distance and the direction of the wind, then he drew back his arm and threw the hook. The barbed metal object soared through the air, the rope trailing out behind it. The hook passed over the upraised bow of the Pelican and landed on the other side with a thunk against the ship’s hull. Ghaji slowly pulled the rope until the hook caught on something. From the angle at which the Pelican was jutting out of the water, they couldn’t see what the hook had taken hold of and whether that hold was strong.
“Hinto!” Diran called. “Can you check the hook to make sure it’s holding fast?”
There was no reply for a moment, and Diran started to wonder if the mysterious // of which the halfling had spoken had snatched him when he was out of their view. Then Hinto, from wherever he was hiding, shouted, “It’s caught tight against the bow roller! It’s not going anywhere!”
The bow roller was the fitting over which the chain of the forward anchor ran. Good enough.
Ghaji tied the other end of the rope to the Zephyr’s guardrail. He then turned to Diran. “Which one of us goes
