Chapter 8

Brightdawn stumbled sideways, grabbing the railing before her to keep from losing her footing on the ship’s pitching deck. Salt spray, surprisingly cold, splashed her as Brinestrider descended into a trough between waves. By the time it started to climb the next swell, Swiftraven was at her side, touching her arm with a steadying hand. With an embarrassed smile, she let him help her regain her balance.

“Lean on me, if you will,” he offered.

She did, clutching his arm as the ship rolled under their feet.

Brinestrider hadn’t been the largest or finest vessel in New Ports—it was a simple, square-sailed double-master—but her captain, a swarthy Ergothman named Kael Ar-Tam, had been the only man bound for the port of Ak-Thain who hadn’t refused outright to take kender aboard.

“As long as the little squeakers stay out o’ the way,” he’d declared sourly, “I’ll try to keep my boot out o’ their backsides.”

His misgivings, it turned out, had been misplaced—at least where Catt was concerned. The older kender had pitched in with the sailors from the start, proving particularly adept when it came to knot work. Catt knew more about ropes than even Captain Ar-Tam himself, and had taught the sailors several new, maddeningly complicated hitches that were strong as iron but could come apart at the slightest touch in the right place. That, and the vast number of sea chanteys she knew, had quickly endeared her to Brinestrider’s crew.

Which was the main reason they hadn’t yet killed Kronn.

If Catt was a boon to the sailors, her brother was the bane of their existence. They had scarcely cleared the harbor before he’d been caught poking around the hold, trying to see what was inside the great crates and barrels the ship was hauling. Only Riverwind and Catt’s pleas, and a few extra steel coins, had kept Captain Ar-Tam from heaving Kronn overboard. Since then, in the four days they had sailed the waves of the New Sea, Kronn had brought down two sails, taken the wheel when the helmsman wasn’t looking, and pulled countless ropes he shouldn’t have. Once, he’d uncleated a single halyard, and the ship had nearly capsized. Each time his excuse was the same. “I only wanted to see how it works.”

Brightdawn glanced up and down the deck, looking for the kender, but couldn’t see him anywhere. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

Brinestrider crested the wave and started to descend its other side. Brightdawn clutched Swiftraven, but the young warrior’s footing was no more sure than hers; he staggered as the deck shifted, and both of them nearly fell. A nearby sailor laughed as the Plainsfolk lurched about, and Swiftraven flushed with anger, glaring at the dusky-skinned mariner.

“Be easy,” Brightdawn murmured. “Mind your temper.” Shaking his head, Swiftraven jerked free of Brightdawn’s grasp. He continued to stare at the sailor, though the man had turned his back and blithely returned to his work. “I’d like to see him try to shoot a bow while riding at full gallop,” the young Plainsman growled.

“The horses are in the hold,” Brightdawn countered. “Shall I bring yours up so you can show off?”

He looked at her, then saw the sparkle in her eyes and laughed in spite of himself. He slid his arm about her waist. “I’m sorry.” he said, and kissed the nape of her neck. “I just miss having solid ground beneath my feet.”

“So do I,” Brightdawn agreed. “At least we’re not seasick, though, like Father is.” She nodded toward the stern of the ship, where Riverwind and Kael were talking together. The Plainsman was stooped and ashen-faced. He had been feeling ill since the second day of their voyage but had refused when the captain advised him to go below and lie down. Instead, though each sway of the deck brought a spasm of nausea to his face, Riverwind bore it out.

The deck shifted again, and again Brightdawn stumbled, knocking Swiftraven against the railing.

“Damn it,” the young warrior grunted irritably.

“Watch yourself there,” said a voice at their elbows.

The Plainsfolk looked down. Catt had come up, and was watching them seriously. She stood still, apparently unaffected by the pitching of the boat. Swiftraven scowled as he fought to regain his footing.

“Keep that up,” the kender observed, “and you’ll see the water much closer than you’d like.” She grinned, not unkindly. “I can tell you what you’re doing wrong, if you want.”

“We don’t need—” Swiftraven started to say.

Brightdawn dug her elbow into his stomach. “We’d like that very much,” she interrupted. She shot Swiftraven a look, and the young warrior rolled his eyes.

For a moment, Catt regarded Swiftraven, then she shrugged. “Well,” she said, “your big problem is you’re locking your knees. You’ll never get your sea legs that way. Watch Captain Ar-Tam.” She gestured down the deck. Kael was striding forward now, barking orders to his men. The sailors scrambled to obey. “See how he walks, like he’s bowlegged? That’s not just because the food on this tub’s so bad, you know. A sailor’s got to roll with the waves, not fight them like you’re doing, or he’ll spend as much time on his back as on his feet. Here—like this.” She demonstrated, shifting her weight as the deck rocked. “There. Now you try.”

Brightdawn followed Catt’s example, bending her knees and planting her feet apart. “How do you know so much about ships?” she asked.

“Oh, I served aboard a merchant ship for a few years when I was younger,” the kender answered. “Watch, now. Here it comes.”

When the ship pitched again Brightdawn still stumbled, but not as badly, and on the next sway she didn’t lose her balance at all. She grinned at the kender.

“That’s it!” Catt said, immensely pleased. “You’re getting it.”

Suddenly Brinestrider skipped over a series of low, choppy waves. Following the kender’s lead, Brightdawn rode them out. Swiftraven, however, finally lost his balance and fell on his rear. His face turned bright red as sailors all over the ship laughed and pointed.

Catt offered her hand. “Get up,” she said. “Try again—”

“Get away from me!” he snapped, his face twisting into a snarl. Catt pulled her hand back as if he’d stung her. With some difficulty, he pushed himself to his feet. “The only way you can help, kender, is to stay away from me.”

“Swiftraven!” Brightdawn exclaimed, reaching for his arm. He jerked away from her grasp and stomped down the deck, toward the stern.

Catt watched him go. “Grumpy sort of fellow.”

“He’s just proud,” Brightdawn replied.

Catt continued to frown at Swiftraven’s back as the young Plainsman stumbled toward Riverwind and Kael. “I don’t think he shares your father’s approval of kender.”

Brightdawn chewed her lip. “He doesn’t think we should be helping you. He wouldn’t say that in front of Father, of course,” she added quickly, “but he thinks it’s foolish to go to Kendermore.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” Brightdawn asked, startled. “I-I don’t—”

“That’s okay,” Cart cut in. “Many of our people thought it was foolish of Paxina to ask the help of humans. ‘Humans make a mess of everything,’ they said. Lucky thing we found someone like your father.”

Suddenly curses sounded above them—oaths so vile, only a sailor could utter them. Brightdawn followed Cart’s glance up the mainmast. Kronn had climbed high into the rigging and somehow gotten himself and the ship’s dwarven first mate snarled among the ropes. The dwarf was swearing at the top of his scratchy voice as he tried to untangle himself.

“Not again!” snapped Captain Ar-Tam, storming up the deck. “Get down from there, you little squeaker, or I swear I’ll cut your—”

“It’s all right, Captain,” Catt said. “I’ll get my brother down.” She scrambled nimbly up the rigging and quickly worked both her brother and the mate loose. The dwarf made a wild grab for Kronn, who jumped out of the way, leaping from one rope to another with glee, apparently unconcerned that he was thirty feet above the deck of a rocking boat. “Kronn!” Catt snapped. “Stop with this game!”

“Oh, we’ve got games he can play,” the red-faced dwarf growled as Kronn and Catt descended the ropes. “There’s keelhaul-the-kender, for one. And catch-the-anchor—and guess who gets to go first.”

“Who?” Kronn asked.

The dwarf made a rude gesture.

At length, the two kender made their way back to the deck. As soon as they were both down, Catt cuffed Kronn on the back of his head.

“Ow!” he exclaimed. “What did you do that for?”

“Listen to me, Kronn,” Catt said. “You’ve got to stay out of trouble. Captain Ar-Tam is tempted to throw you to the sharks.”

Kronn’s eyebrows shot up excitedly. “Sharks? In these waters?”

Catt nodded gravely. “Bull sharks, to be exact. Big enough to swallow you whole—if you’re lucky.”

“I’d love to catch a glimpse of one,” Kronn said, his brow furrowed with thought. “Father told me once that Uncle Trapspringer got attacked by sharks, you know. Or maybe it was a giant squid. Anyway, it happened when he was on his way back home after winning the minotaurs’ arena tourney on Kothas.”

Catt raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Attacked by sharks?”

“Or a giant squid, I said,” Kronn noted. “Anyway, he couldn’t use his hoopak underwater, but fortunately he had a brainstorm…

“Let’s go talk to Father,” Brightdawn interjected. “He’ll be wanting to plan our route after we reach Ak-Thain.”

Kronn gave his sister a look.

She nodded. “Let’s.”

“Great!” Kronn exclaimed. “Come on. I’ve been looking for a chance to show off my maps.”

He ran off toward the stern, where Riverwind stood with Kael and Swiftraven. Catt watched him go, then looked up at Brightdawn, her mouth crooking into a wry half-grin. “Boys,” she said.

Laughing, Brightdawn started aft with the kender to join the others. The boat rolled under their feet as they walked, but no longer did she notice.

“Oh, no,” Swiftraven groaned softly.

Riverwind had been looking back over the rail, at Brinestrider’s foam-speckled wake, which stretched out behind them toward the sea-gray horizon. Abruptly he straightened and turned, following the young warrior’s gaze. He frowned when his eyes fell upon Kronn, who was walking cheerily toward them. Glancing at Swiftraven, he saw the young man’s lip curl. Riverwind’s brow furrowed. “Is something wrong, boy?” he asked.

Swiftraven started, then quickly shook his head, his cheeks burning red. “No, my chief.”

It was a lie, and Riverwind knew it, but he let it pass. Swiftraven was uncomfortable around the kender, but now wasn’t the time to confront him about it. He watched Kronn approach, Catt and Brightdawn coming up behind him.

“Kronn’s come back here to help you, Riverwind. Haven’t you, Kronn?” said Catt.

Kronn beamed at the old Plainsman. “That’s right,” he declared. “I’ve come to show you my maps. It’s a long way to Kendermore, even after we reach Ak-Thain.”

“Kendermore?” Captain Ar-Tam asked, incredulous. “You’re going there? What in Habbakuk’s name for?”

“We’re having some problems with a dragon back home,” Kronn replied.

Kael barked a harsh laugh, then checked himself, glancing at the old Plainsman. “Don’t tell me he’s serious,” he said.

“He is,” Riverwind stated, drawing himself up proudly so he towered over the captain. His face, though still pale from nausea, grew stern and severe. “We’re going east to help the kender.”

“You’re mad, then,” Kael said firmly. “No sane man would leave his home and kin and travel across Ansalon, just to help a bunch of bloody kender.”

“No offense intended, I’m sure,” Catt interjected, bristling.

Kael said nothing, smiling unpleasantly.

“What I choose to do is of no concern to you, Captain,” Riverwind said. He turned away, striding purposefully toward the hatch that led down into Brinestrider’s hold. “Come on, Kronn. We have the rest of our journey to plan.”

The hold was dim, lit by a single lantern that swung from the ceiling, in time with the creaking of the hull. A strange smell hung in the air, mixing salt and stale sweat with the scents of spices and wine, remnants of cargoes the ship had carried before.

Riverwind paused at the lamp, twisting its key until its light was bright enough to read by, then led the way to a broad table near the fore of the ship. He shoved aside the dirty bowls and playing cards the sailors had left on it.

The kender unslung a large, overstuffed pack from his shoulder. As Catt, Brightdawn, and Swiftraven gathered around the table, Kronn plopped the pouch down and began to root through it. It was stuffed almost to bursting with maps of all shapes and sizes, from vellum charts illuminated in gold leaf and precious inks to tattered scraps of rag paper whose markings were almost unreadable.

“These aren’t all mine, in case you’re interested,” Kronn declared. “That is, they’re mine now, but a lot of them used to belong to my father. This isn’t even his whole collection, either. You see, the strangest thing happened in Kendermore at the reading of the will. A bunch of his maps just sort of disappeared. So did a lot of his other possessions. It was most peculiar.”

Swiftraven snorted derisively, but Brightdawn cut in before Kronn could respond. “I’ve heard stories about Kronin,” she said. “Your father sounded like quite a fighter.”

“He was,” Kronn agreed proudly.

“There’s something I always wanted to know, though,” Brightdawn continued. “There’s all sorts of stories about how he killed Lord Toede, back during the War of the Lance. Which one of them is true?”

Kronn exchanged glances with Catt, then shrugged and returned to rustling through his pouch. “Beats me.”

“But certainly you must know the truth,” Brightdawn ventured. “You’re his son, after all.”

“You know, that would make sense, especially to a human,” Kronn agreed. “Unfortunately, I happened to be away from home when it all happened. I—we… Catt was with me—had gone to the slave markets at Trigol—”

“It was Ak-Krol,” Catt interrupted. “Trigol was earlier in the war.”

Kronn hesitated in mid-rustle, frowning. “Was it? I thought we went to Ak-Krol first, then Trigol. Remember, at Ak-Krol we had that little problem when the lighthouse mirror fell into my pouch, and that dragonarmy galleon crashed and sank? All because the lighthouse-keeper couldn’t keep better track of his things…”

“That was Trigol,” Catt said. “Ak-Krol was toward the end of the war.”

Kronn’s frown deepened. “I don’t think so.”

“Anyway,” Swiftraven cut in impatiently, “wherever it was, you were there for some reason.”

“Eh? Oh. Right,” Kronn said. “Well, I suppose the ‘reason’ was to organize a revolt. Although it all just kind of happened. That was quite a bit of fun, wasn’t it, Catt?”

Catt nodded. “We couldn’t wait to hear what that lump Toede would say about us freeing all those slaves.”

“When we got home, though, Toede was already dead,” Kronn said. “Which was a bit of a disappointment. My father told us all about it. Of course we had our own heroic story to tell. So maybe we didn’t pay as much attention as we should have. I forget the details.”

“He told it various ways,” Catt offered.

“So did other folk, not only kender. Bards and such.”

“After a while, all the versions just melted together in my mind,” said Kronn. “I sure remember Trigol, though.”

“Ak-Krol,” insisted Catt.

The Plainsfolk nodded patiently. After a moment Kronn pulled out a map scrawled on what looked like lizard skin and turned it this way and that, trying to make it out in the lamplight. Then he tucked it away again, flipped past a few more maps, and stopped.

“Ah! Here we go.”

With a flourish, he produced a sheaf of brittle, yellowed parchment from his pouch. He unfolded it with great care and spread it out across the table. Scrawled on it in smudged charcoal was a crude map of the eastern half of Ansalon.

“Is this accurate?” Riverwind asked, leaning forward.

Kronn shrugged. “More or less.”

“It looks kind of old,” Brightdawn noted. “I can’t even find Ak-Thain on it.”

“Oh, that’s because it wasn’t called Ak-Thain when the map was made,” Kronn said. “It used to be an ogre town called Thulkorr. Here it is.” He stabbed a finger down on a river mouth on the eastern coast of the New Sea. “The ogres there were all wiped out during the Chaos War—daemon warriors got them, from what I gather. Men from Khur took it over afterward and changed the name. Darned nuisance from a map-lover’s point of view.”

Riverwind squinted at the map, then shook his head. “This is old. It says the area we’re heading toward is rife with the Green Dragonarmy. It’s been years since anywhere’s been rife with the dragonarmies.”

“Hmmm.” Kronn stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose you’re right.”

“So where do we go from Ak-Thain?” Brightdawn asked, peering at the map.

“Oh, we just follow the Spice Road,” Kronn said.

“I don’t see that here,” Riverwind said.

“That’s because it’s not on the map. It’s new. The Khurmen set it up as a trade route to the west when they took over Thulkorr.” Kronn peered at the Plainsman, his brow furrowing. “Don’t worry, all the new roads are in my head.”

Swiftraven groaned and began to rub his forehead.

“Where does this, uh, Spice Road lead?” Riverwind asked.

“Here,” Kronn replied. He traced a snaking path east from Ak-Thain across the desert land of Khur. “If I remember right, and I very nearly always do, it should come out right here at Ak-Khurman. Strange, how so many Khurrish towns are Ak-Something, isn’t it? I wonder what Ak- means?”

Riverwind examined Ak-Khurman, which was perched on the tip of a peninsula on the western coast of the Bay of Balifor. “Then our direction is clear enough,” he said. “We’ll cross the desert, then take another boat from Ak-Khurman across the bay to Port Balifor. From there, we can ride straight on to Kendermore. We should arrive in less than a month, well before winter.”

“I hope that’s in time,” Catt said ruefully.

Kronn folded the map and clamped it in his teeth as he leafed through his map pouch, looking for its place. “Solamnia,” he muttered around the parchment, “Estwilde, Qualinesti, Icewall, Thorbardin, Nordmaar, Balifor, Tarsis… ah, here it is. Ansalon, East.” Smiling in satisfaction, he slid the map back into the case.

Brightdawn, having watched him sort through the maps, frowned in confusion. “Is there some sort of system to that?” she asked, nodding toward the pouch.

Kronn looked at her. “Of course there’s a system,” he said, a bit put out. “You don’t think I’d keep my maps all willy-nilly, do you? I’d never find anything. I’ve sorted them alphabetically, I’ll have you know.”

“But,” Brightdawn protested, “you’ve got Solamnia before Estwilde, and Nordmaar before Balifor. It’s all out of order.”

“I organized them by the last letter,” Kronn said. “That way, I know where everything is, but someone who rifles through my bag when I’m not looking won’t find what they’re looking for very easily. You can’t be too careful, with all the pickpockets out there, you know.”

Swiftraven’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Beside him, Riverwind chuckled, but his laughter quickly turned into a hacking cough, and soon the Plainsman was doubled over, fighting for breath.

“Father?” Brightdawn asked, concerned. She rested a hand on his heaving back. “Are you all right?”

Riverwind nodded. “Seasickness,” he wheezed when he could find his voice. “That’s all.” He straightened up and swept his gaze across the others, all of whom were staring at him.

“Sure, seasickness,” Catt said, smiling. “I have a little cough too.” She coughed to demonstrate. Then, suddenly, she cocked an ear. “What’s that?”

The others froze.

They heard it then. The sound of feet pounding on the deck had grown frantic. There was shouting, too, though it was impossible to make out what was being said.

Reflexively Swiftraven reached for his sabre and loosened it in its scabbard. The shouts were getting louder now. The ship began to lean, timbers groaning as it tacked sharply. A few copper coins, forgotten stakes from the sailors’ card game, rolled off the table and clattered across the floor.

Riverwind moved first, dashing toward the ladder that led up to the ship’s deck. The hatch above him flew open before he could step on the first rung, though, and a spear of daylight stabbed down into the hold. “Out of the way!” shouted a voice. Riverwind leapt aside, and a sailor slid down the ladder, landing beside him with a thump.

“What’s going on?” Brightdawn asked.

The sailor didn’t stop to answer; pale with fear, he fumbled with a ring of keys as he ran toward a locked chest near the door to the officers’ cabins.

“What is it?” Catt demanded. “Why are we turning?”

“Pirates! It’s Red Reaver,” the man answered. He had the chest open now, and the others could see it was a weapons locker. He started pulling out cutlasses and cudgels. “Just sighted her dead ahead, making straight for us. Cap’n Ar-Tam wants the lot o’ ye and your swords up on deck.”