Jean Rabe: The Eve of the Maelstrom

“The rations are a little more tasty as far as I’m concerned,” Rig muttered half under his breath. “Though not by much. Lizard. Yuck.” He kept his eyes on the Solamnic as she continued rummaging, moving farther away from them. “By the way, it’s just Rig, remember?”

“And Jasper,” added the dwarf. “Nobody calls me Master Fireforge. I don’t think anybody even called my Uncle Flint that.”

Fiona glanced over her shoulder, smiled, and resumed her search.

“Keep poking around all you want, but you’re not going to find anything worthwhile,” Rig called to her, “When the black dragon moved in, most of the sensible people picked up what they could— their children, valuables, mementos— and moved out.”

“I’m just browsing while we wait for dinner. Something to do. I just can’t sit around.”

“You like her, don’t you?” Jasper winked at Rig, keeping his voice low. “You’ve been watching her like a hawk since Schallsea.”

The mariner grunted in reply.

“Hmmm, there’s something here,” Fiona said. “Something solid under this mud.”

“She’s got spunk.” The dwarf nudged Rig. “She’s lovely for a human, polite, brave too, according to Ulin. He said she didn’t run when Frost attacked them in Southern Ergoth. Stood her ground and was ready to fight, even though it looked like certain death. She can handle that sword she totes, and...”

“And she’s a knight,” Rig said in a voice the dwarf had to strain to hear. “Dhamon was a knight, is a knight, of Takhisis. I’ve had my fill of knights. All their talk of honor. Just a shallow word.”

“I’m betting there’s nothing shallow about her.”

“Look at this!” Fiona’s arms were buried halfway to her elbows in muck. She tugged at a small wooden chest. The ground grudgingly released it with a loud slurp. She grinned and held it up for them to see. A cloud of mosquitos immediately formed around her.

Fiona batted the insects away and carried the chest toward Rig and Jasper. Banded in thin iron, a tiny lock dangling from its front, the chest was thickly rusted and covered with slime.

Jasper wriggled his nose, but Rig was instantly interested. Fiona placed it on the ground in front of them, knelt, and drew her sword. “I’m going to need a bath after this,” she said. Muck dripped from her arms and fingers onto the pommel of her sword. She thrust the tip at the small lock, which quickly gave way.

Rig reached for the chest, but she stayed his hand with a wry smile. “Ladies first. Besides, I went to all the trouble of digging it up. I’m hoping there’s a book or papers inside, something that might tell me more about the inhabitants of this place. Maybe some information about the dragon.” She eased the lid open and frowned. Brackish water had seeped in, filling it to the brim and ruining the velvet lining. She drained it out and let out a deep sigh, holding up a long strand of large pearls. She scowled and dropped the necklace back in the chest, where a matching bracelet and earrings rested.

“Careful! That’s valuable!” Rig said.

Fiona shrugged. “Riches never much interested me, Rig Mer-Krel. Any coins I earned, I gave to the Order.”

“Then I’ll hang onto those,” the mariner advised, as he snatched up the pearls. “We’re probably gonna need money—more than we’ve got—before this is all done. Clothes. We’re wearing all we have, and they won’t last forever either.”

“Food,” the dwarf offered.

“Renting a ship to get to Dimernesti—provided we can figure out where Dimernesti is,” Rig continued.

“And that’s provided we can make it through this swamp,” Jasper added as he looked up at the giant trees draped with moss and vines. “Provided the black dragon doesn’t find us and...”

“I wonder if there’s more treasure,” the mariner speculated aloud as he pushed himself off the log and tucked the pearls in his pants pocket. “No way to tell unless we look. I might as well do a little digging myself. Dinner’s not here yet.” He took off his shirt and arranged it on the lowest branch of a palm-leaved sweetbay tree. Leaning his sword against the trunk, he started scooping through the muck near where Fiona had discovered the chest. “Join us, Jasper?”

The dwarf shook his head. He stared into the sack, fixated by the Fist of E’li. “Wonder how much longer Feril will be?”

The Kagonesti breathed deep, inhaling the intoxicating scents of the swamp as she strolled farther away from where she’d left Rig, Jasper, and Fiona. She moved barefoot—agile as a cat—through the dense foliage, never tripping among the thick roots or making the branches rustle, pausing only to smell a large orchid or watch a lazy insect. Her short leather tunic, fashioned from a garment Ulin had surrendered to her, didn’t hinder her movements.

The half-ogre, who followed a few yards behind, picked up all the scents as well, though he did not appreciate them as much. Nor was he fond of the branches that tried to snag his long brown hair and claw at his broad face.

Deprived of his hearing, Groller knew his other senses were far more acute. Rotting vegetation, wet earth, the cloying fragrance of the dark red blooms of the water hickories, the sweet scent of the tiny white flowers that hung from the veils of lianas; he noticed them all. There was a dead animal nearby, the acrid odor of its decaying flesh unmistakable.

He could not smell the snakes that were wrapped like ribbons around the low branches of practically every tree, nor could he smell the small broad-tailed lizards and shrews that scampered about the soddened ground. Their scents were overpowered by the loam. But he could smell Fury, his loyal wolf companion. The red-haired wolf was trailing behind him, ears standing straight up and head twisting from side to side, panting from the heat. The wolf was listening, as Feril was listening, as the half-ogre could not.

Groller wondered what this place sounded like. He tried to imagine the sounds of the birds and insects. He remembered them from years ago, but the memory was elusive. Perhaps later he would ask Feril to describe the forest sounds.

Feril was so caught up in this place, Groller thought. And she was “talking” to many of the snakes and lizards she passed—all of them too small for dinner. The half-ogre suspected she was immersing herself in the swamp as a way to forget what had happened to Goldmoon at the hands of Dhamon Grimwulf. She was sad, Groller knew, confused and out of her element except in places like this—the wilderness. She was more relaxed here, seemingly content. How much longer would she stay one of the companions? he wondered. How long would it be before she decided to leave their fractious company in favor of an appealing forest?

When he had hunted with her two days ago, they had not roamed so far from the others or dallied as long, and she had not chatted with nearly so many animals. Then they had gone straight to the business of getting meat—snaring the fat lizard that didn’t put up much of a fight. Yesterday, they had walked deeper into the swamp, and the elf had paused often before deciding on a large lizard the size of a cayman and stalking it for dinner.

Today was the worst yet. Feril was lingering longer here and there, walking farther away from the others, becoming ever more distracted, talking to birds and frogs. She was happier in one respect, the half-ogre knew. But her behavior worried him.

Time to focus on food, he decided. If Feril was too preoccupied, he would let the task fall entirely on his broad shoulders and let her escape into daydreams for a while. The half-ogre had been collecting handfuls of the fist-sized purple fruit that grew in profusion on the giant silk bay trees. The fruits were sweet and juicy, richly fragrant, and he intended to gather enough for tonight and for breakfast tomorrow. They were safe to eat—he had watched the tiny monkeys pick at the fruit. Groller popped a piece into his mouth and let the juice dribble down his throat and over his lips. The fruit would have to do if he could not find meat. He dropped his gaze to the ground, looking for tracks, hoofed ones preferably. They’d spotted a deer earlier, but it was too far away and had moved away too swiftly. Deer would be delicious—if he could kill one before the Kagonesti decided to befriend it. She wouldn’t kill anything she first conversed with.