Маргарет Уэйс - Dragons of Spring Dawning

Apoletta glanced at her husband, treading water easily beside her. “You will swim,” she said. “Didn’t you wonder how we brought you down here? Our magic arts, and those of my husband, will give you the ability to breathe water as easily as you now breathe air.”

“You’re going to turn us into fish?” Caramon asked, horrified.

“I suppose you could look at it that way,” Apoletta replied. “We will come for you at the ebb tide.”

Tika clasped Caramon’s hand. He held onto her tightly, and Tanis, seeing them share a secret look between them, suddenly felt his burden lighten. Whatever turmoil surged in Caramon’s soul, he had found a strong anchor to keep him from being swept out into dark waters.

“We’ll never forget this beautiful place,” Tika said softly.

Apoletta only smiled.

“Papa! Papa!”

“What is it, Little Rogar?” The fisherman, accustomed to the excited cries of his small son, who was just big enough to begin discovering the wonders of the world, did not raise his head from his work. Expecting to hear about anything from a starfish stranded on the bank to a lost shoe found stuck in the sand, the fisherman kept on restringing his net as the little boy dashed up to him.

“Papa,” said the tow-haired child, eagerly grabbing his father’s knee and getting himself entangled in the net in the process, “a pretty lady. Drown dead.”

“Eh?” the fisherman asked absently.

“A pretty lady. Drown dead,” the little boy said solemnly, pointing with a chubby finger behind him.

The fisherman stopped his work now to stare at his son. This was something new.

“A pretty lady? Drowned?”

The child nodded and pointed again, down the beach.

The fisherman squinted his eyes against the blazing noon sun and peered down the shoreline. Then he looked back at his son and his brows came together in a stern expression.

“Is this more of Little Rogar’s stories?” he asked severely. “Because if it is, you’ll be taking yer dinner standing up.”

The child shook his head, his eyes wide. “No,” he said, rubbing his small bottom in memory. “I promised.”

The fisherman frowned, looking out to sea. There’d been a storm last night, but he hadn’t heard anything that sounded like a ship smashing up on the rocks. Perhaps some of the town’s people with their fool pleasure boats had been out yesterday and been stranded after dark. Or worse, murder. This wouldn’t be the first body washed up ashore with a knife in its heart.

Hailing his oldest son, who was sluicing out the bottom of the dinghy, the fisherman put his work aside and stood up. He started to send the small boy in to his mother, then remembered he needed the child to guide them.

“Take us to the pretty lady,” the fisherman said in a heavy voice, giving his other son a meaningful glance.

Tugging his father along eagerly. Little Rogar headed back down the beach while his parent and his older brother followed more slowly, fearing what they might find.

They had gone only a short distance before the fisherman saw a sight that caused him to break into a run, his older son pounding along behind.

“A shipwreck. No doubt!” the fisherman puffed. “Blasted landlubbers! Got no business going out in those eggshell boats.”

There was not just one pretty lady lying on the beach, but two. Near them were four men. All were dressed in fine clothes. Broken timbers lay scattered around, obviously the remains of a small pleasure craft.

“Drown dead,” said the little boy, bending to pat one of the pretty ladies.

“No, they’re not!” grunted the fisherman, feeling for the life-beat in the woman’s neck. One of the men was already beginning to stir—an older man, seemingly about fifty, he sat up and stared around in confusion. Seeing the fisherman, he started in terror and crawled over on his hands and knees to shake one of his unconscious companions.

“Tanis, Tanis!” the man cried, rousing a bearded man, who sat up suddenly.

“Don’t be afraid,” the fisherman said, seeing the bearded man’s alarm. “We’re going to help, if we can. Davey, run back and get yer ma. Tell her to bring blankets and that bottle of brandy I saved from Yuletide. Here, mistress,” he said gently, helping one of the women to sit up. “Take it easy. You’ll be all right. Strange sort of business—” the fisherman muttered to himself, holding the woman in his arms and patting her soothingly. “For being near drowned, none of them seems to have swallowed any water...”

Wrapped in blankets, the castaways were escorted back to the fisherman’s small house near the beach. Here they were given douses of brandy and every other remedy the fisherman’s wife could think of for drowning. Little Rogar regarded them all with pride, knowing that his “catch” would be the talk of the village for the next week.

“Thank you again for your help,” Tanis said gratefully.

“Glad to be there,” the man said gruffly. “Just be wary. Next time you go out in one of them small boats, head for shore the first sign of a storm.”

“Err, yes, I’ll—we’ll do that,” Tanis said in some confusion. “Now, if you could just tell us where we are...”

“Yer north of the city,” the fisherman said, waving a hand. “About two-three miles. Davey can give ye a lift in the cart.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Tanis said, hesitating and glancing at the others. They returned his look, Caramon shrugging. “Uh, I know this sounds strange, but we—we were blown off course. What city are we north of?”

“Why, Kalaman, to be sure,” the fisherman said, eyeing them suspiciously.

“Oh!” said Tanis. Laughing weakly, he turned to Caramon. What did I tell you? We—uh—weren’t blown as far off course as you thought.”

“We weren’t?” Caramon said, his eyes open wide. “Oh, we weren’t,” he amended hastily as Tika dug her elbow into his ribs. “Yeah, I guess I was wrong, as usual. You know me, Tanis, never could get my bearings—”

“Don’t overdo it!” Riverwind muttered, and Caramon fell silent.

The fisherman gave them all a dark look. “Yer a strange bunch, no doubt,” he said. “You can’t remember how you came to smash up. Now you don’t even know where you are. I reckon you was all drunk, but that’s not my concern. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll none of you set foot in a boat again, drunk or sober. Davey, bring round the cart.”

Giving them a final, disgusted glance, the fisherman lifted his small son on his shoulder and went back to work. His older son disappeared, presumably going to fetch the cart.

Tanis sighed, looking around at his friends.

“Do any of you know how we got here?” he asked quietly. “Or why we’re dressed like this?”

One by one, they all shook their heads.

“I remember the Blood Sea and the maelstrom,” Goldmoon said. “But then the rest seems like something I dreamed.”

“I remember Raist...” Caramon said softly, his face grave. Then, feeling Tika’s hand slip through his, he looked down at her. His expression softened. “And I remember—”

“Hush,” Tika said, blushing, laying her cheek against his arm. Caramon kissed her red curls. “It wasn’t a dream,” she murmured.

“I remember a few things, too,” Tanis said grimly, looking at Berem. “But it’s disjointed, fragmented. None of it seems to go together right in my mind. Well, it’s no good looking back. We’ve got to look forward. We’ll go to Kalaman and find out what’s been happening. I don’t even know what day it is! Or month for that matter. Then—”

“Palanthas,” Caramon said. “We’ll go to Palanthas.”