Chapter 12

The disappearance of the Starfinder from the harbor at Than-Khal had to Harfang a curious unreality about it. Although he knew, from what Ayshe had managed to whisper to him during their escape from the jail, that the ship had gone, he’d clung to some hope that either the dwarf was mistaken (highly unlikely) or that Tashara had returned under cover of night to find her missing crew members.

It appeared neither of those alternatives was the case. Harfang took no part in the babble of discussion among the rest of Dragonsbane, conducted in undertones to avoid attracting the attention of the night watch. He was struck, though, with the fact that away from their ship and without a notion of where it was moored, the elves appeared to be as lost as an ant separated from its nest, doomed to scurry to and fro with no direction.

He also noticed that Barbas listened carefully to the discussion without saying a word and with a sarcastic smile on his face.

Abruptly Harfang brought the talk to an end. “Tashara would never abandon members of Dragonsbane,” he declared decisively. “When she realized there was some problem with the shore party, common sense would have dictated that she secure the ship and sail it elsewhere—near enough that we can find it or she can find us.”

Part of his mind wondered if Tashara—with Malshaunt by her side advising her—would be willing to delay the quest by even a day. The dead Feystalen’s voice whispered in his ear that common sense was hardly something he would associate with the captain of the Starfinder. But Harfang pushed those negative thoughts away.

“But suppose, sir, the ship’s been captured?” Samustalen argued.

“In that case it would still be in the harbor and we would have seen or heard our friends in jail,” the mate replied. He turned to Barbas. “See here. Were there any other elves in that prison that you know of?”

Barbas shook his head. “No. You’re right. The captain has moved the ship. Probably behind one of the little islands in the bay. They’re called the Guardians, and no one goes there. Some people round here”—his voice was scornful—“say they’re haunted, and they keep off” He gestured to where dark dots rose from the sea. “If you ask my opinion…”

“We do,” the mate grunted wearily.

“You need to get away from the town here before making any move to rejoin your captain. Go along the coast to the east. There’s a few fishing villages along there. Steal a boat; sail out to the islands. That’s where you’ll find your ship. Plenty of places to hide out there if you know what you’re doing. Hey? That captain of yours is out there somewhere.”

“You seem awfully sure of that.” Harfang’s eyes narrowed, and he stared at the dwarf.

The other shrugged. “Take my advice—or don’t take it. All the same to me. In any case, I doubt you’ll find what you’re seeking.”

Harfang’s gaze shifted in an instant from Barbas to Ayshe.

The smith dropped his eyes. “I told him all, sir. When we were in the cell together. It didn’t seem to make much difference at that point.”

Harfang turned back to Barbas. “And what do you know about the White Wyrm? The storm dragon we seek?”

Barbas glanced about. “No,” he said decisively. “This isn’t the place for questions. Not here. Do you want your ship back or not? Hey?”

He slipped away in the darkness. After a moment’s hesitation, Harfang followed, quickly joined by the elves and Ayshe.

Under Barbas’s guidance, the journey out of Than-Khal went smoothly and without incident. Past the last houses of the town, the land rose in a series of low wooded hills that sloped down to sandy beaches.

The dwarf gestured to the sea, glinting in the early morning light. “There’s a fishing village along this path another five miles or so. I’d suggest you wait until dark and slip the moorings on one of the boats. Row out to the Guardians. Rejoin your friends out there.”

“What about the knights from Than-Khal?” asked one of the elves. “They’re sure to come after us as soon as they find we’re gone. Especially when they find the dead guard.”

Barbas grinned, his white teeth flashing in his grimy face. “Don’t you worry your pointy-eared heads about that! They’ll not come after you.”

“You seem very sure about that,” Harfang remarked. Again he looked suspiciously at the dwarf “How do you know?”

“Because I’m not an idiot! Pah! I told you before—folk here think those islands are haunted. The Knights of Neraka here are as superstitious as the next lot. If the boat was still in the harbor, they’d go after it. But if it’s hidden in those islands, even if they think it is there, they’ll let it be.” The dwarf spat in the path and turned away. “Now, I’ll be leaving.”

“Not so fast!” The mate shot out a hand and gripped Barbas’s shoulder. “You haven’t told us what you know about the White Wyrm.”

Barbas wriggled out of the big man’s grasp without effort. “You’ve searched for it a long time and not found it. Doesn’t that tell you something? Hey? You’re not meant to find it! Some things ain’t meant to be found. Some mysteries in this world should be let alone, not pried into by a lot of damn fools!”

Harfang glared at him. “If you know something of this beast, spit it out.” His hand strayed to his side, forgetting he no longer wore a sword. “Otherwise…”

Barbas looked at him then shifted his eyes to the rest of the company. “All right,” he said. “There’s talk of the White Wyrm up and down the coast. Few have seen it, and fewer still live to tell about it.”

“That’s nothing we’ve not heard before, dwarf. What more?”

“Wait for it! Some say it dwells in the lands to the south.”

“In Icereach?” Harfang lifted up his eyes, as if they could pierce the miles across the water to the shore on the other side.

“That’s right. In Icereach. Ever been there? Hey? Not a place I’d go if I was you. But some say there’s three mountains in a circle, all alike, all pointing to the sky. They say one of ’em is black as night and one white with snow. And they say that in the morning’s light the other shines red. The Mountains of the Moons they call ’em. And they say that’s where the Great White hides.”

“The Mountains of the Moons,” Harfang repeated. “Where in Icereach can they be found?”

Barbas shook his head. “That I never heard.” His voice changed and became softer. “There’s an old verse,” he said, “among many who live in this land. Maybe it has meaning for you:

Harfang snorted. “That’s it? That’s supposed to mean something to us? We’ve chased this beast for a century—time enough to learn to ignore common doggerel.”

Barbas shrugged. “There’s more truth than you know in old folk rhymes. Only fools would lightly dismiss them.” He turned his gaze to the south. “In the reaches of the Utter South, folk say, a terrible creature of ice and snow, rain and fire. It cannot be slain by mortal hand, and it will destroy, in the end, all who pursue it.” He paused. “Destroy them all, body and soul,” he added slowly. “All except one. One alone will survive to bring the tale to the living.”

He shook himself and broke wind. “No concern of mine. Hey? I just don’t like to see folk go off on a quest you’ve got no hope of surviving.”

Harfang smiled faintly. “We’re accustomed to danger, Master Barbas.”

Barbas sat down on a boulder. He seemed suddenly fatigued. “Turn back,” he told them. “Turn back to the north. Hunt dragons if you must. But turn away from this one. It isn’t for you. That’s my advice. I’m a thief, and the first thing a thief learns is to only do the jobs that are sure things.”

The mate said sourly, “You don’t know my captain.”

Barbas took a deep breath and rose. “Well then, I take my leave of you and won’t expect to see any of you again. You know what to do? Hey? Where to go? Hey? Good! Brother”—this to Ayshe—“stay well. We may meet again some day.”

He turned and without another word walked back down the road in the direction from which they had come. A hazy mist that had drifted in from the sea obscured his stumpy figure, and he vanished.

Harfang looked after him in silence, as if mulling over his last words.

Jeannara touched his arm. “We’d best be on our way.”

The first part of the plan to rejoin the Starfinder proved easier than any of them thought. No one was yet stirring in the village when the group crept within sight of the tiny harbor. Three fishing boats floated serenely on the calm waters. Swiftly the party rowed a dinghy to the largest boat and took possession of it, casting nervous looks at the shore. They had raised the sail, hauled anchor, and were negotiating their way out of the harbor when they heard the first shout from land.

A man ran along the quay, shouting. His cries brought forth others from the houses that lined the harbor. In a short while, a dozen men armed with bows and spears were clambering into the other fishing vessels.

Harfang had a brisk wind behind him and superior seamanship, though his boat held more weight than those pursuing him. The commandeered vessel skimmed over the waves toward where the steep hills of the islands rose from the bay. From their vantage point, the elves caught a sight of the shorefront of Than-Khal and had time to wonder if their escape from jail had been detected.

Seeing their quarry gaining speed as the winds picked up, the townsfolk of the fishing village let loose a shower of arrows, but they were too far away for accuracy. One struck the side of the boat between Riadon’s fingers; others fell in the water.

“I hope that damned dwarf was right about the ship and what Captain Tashara decided to do,” Harfang muttered. “Otherwise we’ll have to run farther down the coast in this—thing.” He slapped the side of the boat, contemptuous of its clumsy, ungainly lines. Every board of the ship smelled of fish, which only served to remind the party that they couldn’t remember the last time they’d eaten.

The pursuit continued, the townsfolk dropping farther astern. The foremost of the isles loomed ahead. Harfang could hear the surf booming against the rocks that lined its coast. He marveled at the sight of the isles, which rose like spikes to guard Than-Khal’s harbor, blocking the town from great waves and storms. There were three of them, set in a rough triangle, with about a quarter mile of open water between each pair.

Harfang ordered his crew to turn to starboard and make their way around the isle. The shoreline slid by, and the mate, glancing astern, saw the foremost boat carrying their pursuers was making up lost ground.

“Sir! Look!” Ayshe cried, clutching at the mate’s arm.

“I see, I see!” Harfang growled. “Keep a sharp eye peeled for the Starfinder.”

The isle ended in a rocky promontory, from which seabirds rose, screaming at their approach. The fishing boat rounded it, and the elves gave a shout of relief. There, remarkably, as Barbas had promised, the Starfinder rode at anchor. The fishing vessel bumped alongside her, and someone from above threw down a rope ladder. Quickly the elves climbed the hull and with great relief fell onto the familiar deck.

The boats chasing them had halted just out of bowshot. Evidently, the Starfinder, though she might be small for a seagoing ship, was more than they had bargained for. That combined with the rumors of ghosts on the islands was enough, and the villagers dropped back and turned around.

Tashara stood on deck, listening as Harfang gave a brief account of their adventures ashore. At his conclusion, she nodded.

“Yes, the knights tried to board the ship. We repelled them but thought it better to retreat and find a way to get word to you of where we had gone.”

“Well, the dwarf thief guessed rightly, thank the stars.”

Tashara said lightly, “It would seem, Master Ayshe, your race is skilled in many things; fortunately lockpicking without hands is one of them.”

Harfang nodded. He had not yet mentioned the information about the White Wyrm supplied by Barbas, and Ayshe did not voice it either.

“Well,” Tashara said finally, “we must be grateful for his help, however unlooked for. Now, loose your stolen boat so it can be returned to yon fishermen.”

“What about the repairs to the ship?” Harfang asked. “We’re still badly in need of them.”

Tashara came as close to smiling as Ayshe had ever seen her. “Mayhap, Harfang,”, she observed, “when we’ve returned their fishing boat, we can persuade these folk to aid us. At least they can supply us with food and water for the next stage of our journey.”

“What stage is that, ma’am?”

“We shall proceed down Ice Mountain Bay. We will make landfall at Donatta.”

“In the Plains of Dust?” Ayshe was startled. “Why there, ma’am?”

Tashara looked calmly at him. “From what rumors I have heard, the Knights of Neraka have overrun these lands to the north. Elves are unlikely to find assistance here, but among the Plainsfolk we may find help and perhaps. further rumors of our prey.”

On Tashara’s instructions, the elves cast loose the fishing boat with a small bag of steel pieces and a note explaining their plight and asking for assistance. The fishermen debated it hotly—the elves could see them, though they could not hear the argument—but in the end self-interest won out over anger, and the villagers escorted them back to the hamlet. They were well out of sight of Than-Khal, and the townsfolk informed them the knights never came there because there was little or nothing to steal. For that reason, the crew of the Starfinder felt safe in remaining for two or three days while the worst of the ship’s hurts were mended and they took on board dried fish, fruit, and fresh water to last them to Donatta.

Harfang questioned the villagers concerning the White Wyrm, but beyond vague rumors of a beast living far to the south, none contributed anything more than was already known to Dragonsbane. Ayshe spent his time helping with the repairs as well as doing some small jobs for the villagers by way of payment for their help. The elves for the most part kept aloof from the villagers, while Tashara and Malshaunt did not show themselves at all.

On the third day, Harfang inspected the repairs and declared the Starfinder seaworthy. A new mast had been cut and installed to replace the old one, the sails had been mended, the stern of the ship had been partially rebuilt and resheathed. Even Tashara’s nest had been replaced, the villagers doing a better job with fresh wood than the crew had done with the remnants they’d had. Though the Starfinder still showed signs of her brutal encounter with the White Wyrm, she was far from the battered hulk that had limped into Than-Khal.

At last they moved into open waters and sailed east.

As the sun sank behind the western horizon and Solinari and Lunitari rose in the star-dappled sky, Harfang sought out Ayshe.

“Come!” the mate said. He led the way to Tashara’s cabin, where they found Malshaunt waiting. Harfang rapped on the door, and the captain’s voice bade them enter.

Ayshe had never before been in Tashara’s quarters, and he looked around with curiosity. He was struck by the sparse furnishings. A wooden bunk, neatly made, was built into the wall. A large chest, bound in iron, presumably contained the captain’s personal effects, which were nowhere else in evidence. A small table and chair were the cabin’s only other embellishments. A chart was pinned to the table, and other charts, rolled in great cylinders, rested on a shelf. A porthole looked back over the ship’s wake, glowing white and red in the moonlight.

The captain, seated at the table, received them without rising. The three visitors grouped before her in the cramped space, and Harfang cleared his throat.

“While we were ashore at Than-Khal, ma’am, we heard some things relevant to our quest for the White Wyrm.”

Tashara’s face did not change. “Go on.”

Briefly, and with impressive thoroughness of recall, Harfang reported their conversation with Barbas, not omitting the dwarf’s strange verse.

Tashara listened to it all in silence. When Harfang had finished, she sat motionless for a time then turned to Ayshe. “So, Master Dwarf—what think you of your fellow?”

Ayshe found his voice trembling slightly as he replied, “I think he was trustworthy—is trustworthy. He had no reason to help me escape. It’s odd he seemed to know so much about us—knew where you’d taken the ship, but I suppose he guessed well. Or he might have heard rumors among the guards—”

Tashara interrupted. “And concerning the White Wyrm? How did he know of that? And how should we take his advice?”

“I myself told him something of our search, ma’am, when we were imprisoned. But as to what he told us afterwards… well, ma’am…” Ayshe hesitated then blurted out, “Perhaps you should heed his advice. A century is a long time to chase something. We lost Feystalen in the fight with the beast, and you said that was a blood sacrifice. How many more of those will we be obliged to make?”

The captain turned back to Harfang. “And you? What is your advice?”

Harfang seemed to have some difficulty speaking. When at last he did, his words, like Ayshe’s, came in a rush. “How long, Captain? How long? How many miles must we sail; how many seas must we cross? And for what? For a wyrm that appears and disappears like a phantom. In all our years of chasing this phantom wyrm, most of the crew have seen it only once—this last fight. How many of us must die running after a shadow in the sky?”

He paused, and Ayshe could feel the silence in the cabin grow heavier, as if an invisible hand were pressing down upon them.

The mate continued, “We’re nearing the ends of the world, Captain. The wyrm is running south, probably to Icewall. Let it stay there. Give up the chase. Let us return Dragonsbane to what has been our purpose all these long years.”

Tashara’s voice came in a dull monotone. “No, we must hunt the White Wyrm,” she said. “We must hunt it until we kill it. That is our fate. Those are my orders.”

“With respect, Captain,” Harfang said, “Dragonsbane is an ancient, honorable sect, which was founded centuries ago to protect the people of Krynn.”

“Well?” Tashara’s query was cold as ice.

“It was—is—dedicated to ridding the land of the scourge of dragons. That is for the good, and I accept its mission. But Dragonsbane was never intended as,” he hesitated, fumbling for words, “as an instrument of personal vengeance.”

Before Tashara could reply, Malshaunt spoke for the first time. “And do you think that is what the captain has made it?” he muttered softly.

Harfang swallowed once or twice. When he spoke, he spoke to Tashara, answering the mage’s question as if she had asked it. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

Malshaunt stepped from behind Tashara’s seat. His hand moved quickly. Harfang fell back against the door, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He recovered in an instant, and his dirk was in his hand when Ayshe stepped in front of him. Malshaunt’s hands were poised, his lips ready to spit out the words to a spell.

The tableau remained for a moment of tense silence. Then Tashara’s voice came, low and furious. “Dismissed. All of you.”

Slowly Harfang and Ayshe turned. Malshaunt remained standing next to Tashara. She said, without a trace of emotion in her voice, All of you.”

The mage’s face drained of blood. He opened his mouth once or twice as if to speak then bowed and followed the mate and the dwarf.

Outside Harfang wiped his mouth with a rag. Malshaunt whirled away in a rush of robes. The mate stared after him, his face working. Then he turned to Ayshe and slammed a hand against the rail.

“So it goes on!” He gazed south, where a thin white line showed at the edge of sight.

Ayshe shrugged. “Maybe she’ll change her mind.”

The mate gave a short, harsh bark of laughter.

The dwarf knew, in his heart, Harfang was right. As Tashara had spoken, so they would go on.

The captain’s table that evening was completely silent during the sparse meal. Malshaunt and Harfang sat at either end of the table, looking daggers at one another. Tashara, in the middle of the two warring crewmates, said nothing but ate her food with the disinterest she always reserved for food. At the end of the meal, she pushed back her chair from the table and turned her face to her lieutenants. Her expression was grim.

“We are on the last stage of our long journey,” she said, her voice flat and expressionless. “I feel it. I see it in my mind. The White Wyrm has set out for its lair, and now we have a clue as to the location. This is the moment for which I have sought my entire life.”

She paused then continued. “I have no intention of letting victory slip from my grasp because you do not see eye to eye. Rather than imperil my victory, one or both of you will leave my ship if necessary.”

Harfang did not speak, but his hand closed tight on the table until his fingers were white. Malshaunt, too, was silent, his drawn in a thin line, his lips, bloodless.

“Everything I do,” Tashara said, “I do for a reason. Those reasons are best known to me and to me alone. I alone among you have been touched by the gods themselves to destroy this bane. You will not interfere with that charge.” She turned her blind eyes from one to the other. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Aye, ma’am.” Harfang’s voice was rough. His breath came in fast, thick pants, and his face was red.

Malshaunt bent his head and said, in a voice so cold it might have been fashioned of an ice floe, “Aye, ma’am.”

“Very good. Let nothing more be said concerning my decisions. They are what they are. You will accept them and know there are good reasons for them.” She stood abruptly, and the two—elf and man—filed out of the cabin. Neither spoke again, nor did they break their silence before another day and night had passed.