Chris Pierson - Spirit of the Wind

“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.”

Above decks, it was as if Chaos himself bad returned. Brinestrider’s crew ran everywhere, securing everything that wasn’t already firmly tied down. Captain Ar-Tam and the helmsman, a young Solamnian lad, were both hauling on the wheel with all their might, muscles standing out on their necks as they fought to bring the broad, ungainly ship about. Brinestrider leaned over farther and farther as she came about.

“Mind your heads!” Kael roared.

Riverwind ducked as he emerged from the hold, and the beam swung wildly overhead, barely a hand’s-breadth above him. The ship’s blue sails fluttered for a moment, then snapped suddenly as the wind filled them. With a groan of straining timbers, Brinestrider lurched forward, running back the way it had come. Slowly, as if weary from the effort, it began to right itself.

As soon as the ship finished tacking, Captain Ar-Tam let go of the wheel and started forward from the helm. He glanced at the sails, swore viciously, then pointed at Swiftraven, who had come up the ladder with Brightdawn. “You, boy! Go help my men let out the mainsail! We need all the wind we can catch!”

Swiftraven took a step toward the sailors, then stopped and looked at Riverwind, his eyes questioning.

“Go,” Riverwind commanded, waving his hand. As Swiftraven ran to help the crew haul on the halyards, Riverwind turned to Kael. “What are you carrying that would interest a pirate ship?” he asked.

The captain shoved past him, snarling a curse, but Riverwind followed him toward the ship’s prow. Spray washed over the bow as Brinestrider leapt across the choppy waves.

“What’s your cargo?” Riverwind repeated.

Kael glared at him. “What business is that of your’n?”

“If there are pirates after us, I want to know why.” The old Plainsman caught Kael’s arm as the captain tried to walk away. “You need my people’s swords. Tell me what we’re defending.”

“Grain!” Kael snapped. “I’m not carrying silver or spices, Plainsman-just crates of grain and a few tuns of wine. The Reaver’s dogs might take the drink, but if they open those crates below and see nothing but bloody barley, they won’t be pleased. They’ll want something for their trouble, and they ain’t above taking a few prisoners to sell at the slave markets in Sanction. They’ll get a good price for my crew and the boy-but the real prize will be your daughter there.” He nodded toward Brightdawn, who had joined Swiftraven at his rope. “A lass as fair as her will fetch a pretty price on the block… provided the pirates don’t use her up first themselves, of course.”