Margaret Weis - Heroes And Fools

“How?” Dromel laughed. He took the necklace off and handed the spearhead to me.

I took the spearhead in my right hand. . and I instantly knew he was telling the truth.

Dromel saw the look on my face. He grinned in triumph. “You feel it,” he said.

I nodded dumbly. My broad right hand shivered with the power flowing out of the spearhead. My palm itched and burned, my clawed fingers twitched. It was Old Magic, from the days when there were real wizards and real priests, and magic was everywhere, like air. It was exactly as the old tale-tellers spoke of it, the ruined men mumbling in their cups, remembering a better and brighter time that had ended just before I was born. The weapon in my hand brought me a taste of all that I had missed. I thought I was awake and alive for the first time in my life. And the future I wanted was within my reach.

“By all the lost gods,” I whispered.

“It came from a footman’s dragonlance,” Dromel said. “We’re lucky there, as we’d never manage with one of the big lanceheads around our necks. Well, you could, but not me.” He paused, then went on in an urgent tone. “This will work, Red. It can’t fail. If there are shadow wights, they can’t possibly get close to us, as long as we have these relics. So, are you in?” His mad, green eyes searched my face for an answer.

Was I in? Perhaps Dromel was mad, but with the spearhead in my hand, I believed in everything. If his plan worked, our troubles would be gone forever.

If anything went wrong-if Dromel was wrong about the shadow wights-then we, like our troubles, would also be gone forever.

Day 1, late morning

My kind is not prone to literary pursuits, but I am an exception and proud of it (as a minotaur is proud of everything about himself, you see). Hence, I keep this diary. I am aware that documentation of adventures has great value to other adventurers, and the more incredible the exploits, the greater the value. Dromel hopes to find steel coins stacked like mountains in the treasure room of a dead lord’s manor on Enstar. If this whale of a dream turns out to be a little fish, perhaps this work will still bring me some acclaim and a modest income to salve my disappointment. Any steel is good steel.

I awoke at dawn to meet Dromel at Fenshal amp; Sons, a family-owned business that had once been a major shipbuilder in Merwick. The Chaos War and the coming of the great dragons broke the back of the sea trade, with so many ships and ports destroyed. Fenshal amp; Sons had barely survived, restricting the family talents to making fishing boats instead of being the excellent sea traders for which they were justly famed. I found Dromel outside a huge enclosed dry dock where once the labor had gone on even during bad weather and at night. I’d last heard the building was unused and deserted.

Dromel grinned the moment he saw me coming. “You’re a prince, Red,” he said warmly. “Ready to get down to work?”

I eyed the dry dock building. I clearly heard hammering and voices coming from inside it. “I did have a few questions,” I began, scratching my muzzle. “On the issue of the shadow wights, do you have any evidence that-”

Dromel waved the question off with an anxious look on his face. “Uh, let’s talk about all that later,” he said, glancing furtively around us. “First, let’s take a look at my ship. Say nothing to anyone about our destination.” He gave me a big smile that was meant to be reassuring, then led me to a side door, opened it, and showed me inside.

Dozens of skylights were open in the long, high roof of the dock building, though it was still largely dark inside. The dim light revealed about two dozen humans, adults and children alike, working on what I thought at first was a broad, nearly flat ship’s hull turned over. My eyes adjusted rapidly to the illumination, and I walked to the edge of the dry dock to get a better look at the object of the workers’ attention.

I looked at the object for a long time. The wild enthusiasm I had felt last night was rapidly dispelled. When the shock had worn off, I went to find Dromel. He was talking with old Fenshal himself, each man holding one side of a large sheet of ship’s construction plans. Dromel gave me a broad grin and a wave as I walked up.

“You are mad,” I growled at him. “You are madder than mad.”

“Red Horn!” said Dromel happily. “Berin Fenshal, this is my new first mate, Red Horn. He’s-”

“Have you ever tested such a thing as this?” I could not control my tongue. “Do you have even the vaguest idea of the difficulties involved in underwater travel? Is this some kind of secret suicide plot you’ve cooked up for us?”

“So you like it, then?” Dromel said in a hopeful tone, looking past me to the bizarre ship in the dry dock. “Sort of like a dragon turtle shell, isn’t it? I actually got the idea from thinking about dragon turtles a year ago. You know how they cruise along just below the water’s surface so you can barely see them, with that nice, huge, protective turtle shell all around. That sort of thing.”

Old Fenshal rolled his eyes as Dromel spoke. I snorted and walked off halfway through his patter, going back to the dry dock. The other Fenshals, working on the craft in the dry dock, tried to ignore me as they quietly went on with their work.

“I call it a deepswimmer,” Dromel called out. “That big X-shaped thing at the stern, that’s the propeller. It rotates when you turn a crank on the insi-”

“This is a monstrosity1.” I roared. All work instantly ceased. “It’s a nightmare! You want us to travel all the way to. .” With terrible effort, I bit off my words. I rubbed my eyes and snout vigorously with my hands, shutting out the world. Then I sighed and stared again at the ship, the deepswimmer. I had forgotten about this part of his plan after he had showed the dragon-lance to me.

Work slowly resumed as I looked on. Dromel’s undersea craft was not very large, certainly smaller than a merchantman. It had no masts or sails, just a smooth wooden surface over which a thin, gray substance, probably a waterproofing sealant, was being painted by a boy with a broad brush. Flat wooden panels like fish fins came out from the sides in several places, pointing in every direction. Strange objects poked up from the vessel’s top. I guessed there would be enough room inside for not more than a half dozen men, but it would be a cramped journey.

As I looked on, my harsh attitude softened. The design of the deepswimmer was not unreasonable, if it were to accomplish the task Dromel had set for it. It was as well crafted as anything Fenshal amp; Sons had ever made. Small portholes around the sides of the craft allowed for clear if limited vision. Piloting the craft would be a challenge, however. The things like fish fins must be steering rudders, I thought, but the vessel would surely be clumsy and slow to respond. There was the obvious problem of getting fresh air into the craft. Then, too, it might take weeks for it to get to Enstar, if that propeller was its only propulsion.

“We’ll have it towed,” said Dromel, as if reading my mind. He was just behind me, his voice barely audible. “That’s what the bow ring is for, right there. We’ll cut loose from the tow ship after we cross Thunder Bay, then we’ll move on to the island. The ship will wait for our return off Southern Ergoth. It’ll be fast and safe, and best of all, nobody will spot us. Not even,” he whispered, “shadow wights.”

“Air,” I said. “We’ll need fresh air.”

“That round thing toward the stern, on top there, that’s a floating air vent. We’ve created a flexible tube to go from the deepswimmer to the surface, to that. We’ll release that floating intake, eject any water that gets into the tube, then pump pure air into the cabin anytime we want. We’ll be only twenty feet under the surface at most. Storms won’t be able to touch us.”