Mary Herbert - Dragon's Bluff

Kethril glanced up at the half-elf. “So where are you off to? Patrols? A Thieves’ Guild meeting?”

“To see the sirine. I think she and her people might help Notwen and that boat of his. At least they won’t let him drown.”

“She’ll leave you, you know. They all do.”

The captain shrugged. “And I may die tomorrow. But in the meantime I have enjoyed the love of an exquisite woman.”

It was Kethril’s turn to chuckle. He slapped the half-elf on the arm. “I knew there was something I liked about you.”

Lysandros started to say something, changed his mind, then said it anyway. “What I don’t understand is how you managed to have a daughter like Lucy. She is incredible.”

Kethril stared down at his long, supple hands and absently twisted an ornate silver ring on his thumb. “She is, isn’t she?” he replied, his voice distant. “She’s her mother’s own.”

The boat was ready soon after the sun rose, a red-gold disk in the eastern sky. Ulin, Notwen, the blacksmith, and three dwarves who were friends of Notwen had worked all night to adapt the paddlewheel to an old blunt-sterned fishing boat and fit the steam engine into the hold. They loaded the boat with cords of wood, enough supplies for a few days, shovels, picks, ropes, and this time they brought a rowboat, oars, and an extra sail.

Kethril offered little help. He stood on the dock, his arms crossed, and watched the loading with a jaundiced eye. Why, in the name of Krynn, had he ever thought to steal from Flotsam, and why did this dump of a town have to have a council with some imagination and dogged determination? And why, after all these years, did his wife still love him enough to send their daughter after him? Numbers, odds, the fall of the cards … these he could understand. Emotions of the heart were incomprehensible to him.

“Are you ready to go?” Lucy asked behind him.

“No.” He didn’t move as she came up beside him and stood an arm’s length away. “Why did you come to Flotsam, Lucy?” He hadn’t planned to ask her, but the words blurted out before he could take them back.

“You know why,” she replied, her words deadpan.

“You could have said no. Most people would have.”

“Most people do not have you for a father.” She paused, and a hint of that smile teased her mouth. “Although there are more of your children around than I thought.”

“I never intended to involve you in any of this. I never thought you’d come to Flotsam.”

“The council did offer us a quarter of your estate.”

“Only a quarter? I’d have held out for at least a third.” He tried a smile, but the cold glint in his daughter’s eyes evaporated the expression. “That might have persuaded your mother, but you still haven’t answered my question. Why did you come?”

She cast an oblique glance in his direction, and for the first time she realized how old he looked. The image she remembered of him from ten years ago was of a vibrant young man with a smooth face, a strong body, and an exuberant, restless energy. This man who stood beside her had aged. His face had darkened and creased from years of travel. His light hair was more gray than blond. His charm was still evident, but the fiery energy of youth had faded to a cooler, more calculating ember. The only thing Lucy remembered about him that hadn’t changed at all was his perception. He still saw himself as the center of the universe.

Lucy tucked a strand of hair up under the turban and finally answered. “I spent years trying to decide if I loved you or hated you. I guess I came on this journey because I needed to prove to myself that I loved you, that in spite of everything I could travel halfway across Ansalon just to see my father’s body. I wanted to put an end to the debate so I don’t go into my own marriage with a burden of hate.”

Ulin hailed them at that moment and jumped onto the dock from the boat. He strode toward them, the wind ruffling his chestnut hair, his head thrown back, and his eyes on his beloved.

Her face lit with an answering joy. She turned to her father and winked. “I guess it worked,” she said, and ran to meet Ulin.

They had to make a quick farewell so the boat could catch the morning tide. Notwen, the blacksmith, the three dwarves, and five of Lysandros’s most trusted fighters waited for Ulin on the boat, and smoke was already puffing out of the new engine.

Lucy gripped Ulin’s elbows in her strong hands. “Nothing will go wrong. You have help this time and strong backs to dig or row or whatever you need. And if I’m not mistaken, my blue-skinned sister is waiting at the mouth of the harbor for your boat.” She hugged him tightly and moved back to let him go.

He nodded once. “You have the instructions Notwen left for you. Good luck.” He kissed her. “Keep that turban on. Come on, Kethril!”

With a face like a martyr, the gambler climbed into the boat. Dockhands cast off the ropes, and for the second time, Ulin and Notwen churned out of Flotsam harbor and headed for the east coast of Blood Bay.

That evening in the lingering sultry heat, the Flotsam Vigilance Committee called a town meeting and summoned a full muster of the resistance fighters. Except for a few drunkards, some visitors, and babies, the entire population of the town arrived in the large mess hall of the Dark Knights’ old barracks to find out what was going on. People from Ulin and Lucy’s dinner meeting had spread some chosen bits of the news, but rumors abounded, and meanings were often twisted. Everyone wanted to hear the facts for themselves. Several hundred people crammed into the room and sat on stools, pillows, or rugs they had brought. Those with nothing to sit on lined the walls three or four deep.

Aylesworthy, flanked by Saorsha and Mayor Efrim, explained in his calm bass voice what had happened with Kethril Torkay and what the council planned to do. As soon as he finished, an uproar burst the silence in the hall.

Twenty or thirty people—Lucy couldn’t tell exactly how many in the milling, gesticulating crowd—abruptly left the hall. She guessed they would probably pack their belongings and flee. Not that she blamed them. If she had an ounce of common sense and little less of her father’s blood, she would pack her gear on the bay horse, take Ulin, and show this rat-trap of a town her heels. Yet she couldn’t, and neither could the remaining people who had made this place their home and had stuck with it through fair weather and foul, Dark Knights and dragon attacks, and some of the toughest conditions on Ansalon. The people of Flotsam were tough, and they were about to be asked to prove their mettle again.

Lucy moved from her place by the empty fireplace and came to stand beside Saorsha. Challie went with her, and the Silver Fox, in his tan pants and tunic, seemed to materialize out of nowhere to join her. She held up her hands. The sight of such a united front gradually stilled the troubled voices, and everyone grew quiet.

On Lucy’s dark hair, the turban shifted to a shimmering silver like a polished helm. Its diamond eyes glittered in the torchlight.

“People of Flotsam,” she called, “you have been put in a dangerous situation!” Loud catcalls and shouts interrupted her until she chopped her hand down for silence. “That is hardly new to you.”

“Yeah, but a trap?” a storekeeper yelled. “And a gnome invention at that! It’ll never work!”

“Notwen is not like most gnomes,” Lucy responded. “I believe with his idea, our hard work, and some luck, we can succeed.”

“The festival will have to continue. We’ll want things to look as normal as possible,” Mayor Efrim said.

“But we should send quite a few of the youngsters, babes, elders, and sick ones into the hills,” Saorsha added. “We shouldn’t trust everyone to the tunnels.”