Dave Smeds - The Schemes of Dragons

Dalih accompanied them, though he was not going to Elandris. Elenya had simply felt it efficient to teach him to use airmakers and vests as well.

Her head broke the surface. Hot, invigorating sunshine pummeled her back as she waded into the shallows, doffing her airmaker. She sighed gratefully at the warm rays; Achird had finally burned back the persistent layer of fog rolling in from the Dragon Sea.

Alemar stood on the bluff, high above the crashing surf, shading his eyes against the glare. She waved a signal of all's well.

The others joined her on the beach, clambering onto a pitted outcropping of rock to rescue their feet from the scorching white sand. Dalih helped her remove her vest and weights.

"Well? Do you like it better yet?" she asked the Surudainese.

"The sands I know are dry," he declared, "and water is meant for drinking."

She chuckled. "Perhaps I should show you how to fence underwater."

"Then it might be worth it," he stated.

She stepped over to a nearby tidepool to stow her gear in the net that waited there, so that the dry air would not hurt the devices. Toren and Geim passed theirs to her as well. She nodded approvingly to them.

"You're quick learners. One can never know too much, of course, but you've grasped the basics. You've a hundred leagues during which to become proficient. There's no need to delay the mission any longer."

Toren glanced down at the gauntlets. Wet and cleansed by the swim, the mail cast scintillations of gold toward the sky. "Good," he said simply.

The two Vanihr rejoined the others in order to hear Ebben and Match's critique. Elenya, body dried by the ocean winds, slid into the tunic she had left on the beach and started up the switchbacks and ledges to Alemar's vantage point. As she left she heard Dalih ask Ebben a question in High Speech. She smiled at his butchery of Calinin syntax.

Her face was solemn by the time she reached her brother. "That's it," she said. "You can leave in the morning."

Alemar stared into the fog bank hovering offshore. She knew it was not the fog he saw, but Elandris far beyond. How ironic that she, who relished new sights and sea travel, should be the one to stay. At the same time, she was not complaining.

"I imagined I saw the Dragon's fleet out there," he said. "But it was only the mists."

She bowed her head, thinking of the work ahead of her while he was gone. "It won't be long until they really do appear," she said. And when they did, she would struggle to keep the resistance alive. For the moment the populace dreamed they could shake off the Dragon's yoke, but an invasion in force could dampen their enthusiasm very quickly. "Gods, I wish you weren't leaving."

"Nor I," Alemar muttered. He raised his right hand and stretched his fingers. The hand was still not as tan as the left, but its color had deepened in the week since Toren had arrived. He glanced down at the beach.

"What do you think of him?" he asked, indicating Toren.

"Sometimes he speaks of his abilities as if they were facts. Other times he doubts himself. Let's hope you reach Dragonsdeep on one of his good days."

"The rythni like him."

She tapped him meaningfully on the top of his head. "You're wasting energy. It's not as if we have a choice about who to send."

Alemar sighed. "I wish I had Treynaf's globe here now. Toren could probably use it, you know, if he's that closely matched with the Dragonslayer."

"The globe works when it wants to. Ask what will happen on this quest and it will show you your great-grandson climbing a tree."

"At least that would be something," he said. "I would know that either I will survive, or my unborn child will, and that my descendant will live where there are trees."

A cold gust curled up off the ocean. Alemar took her hand and led her away from the bluff, into the edge of the great forest. "If I don't come back, try to get Wynneth and my son out of Cilendrodel," he said pensively. "Send them to Lord Dran in Aleoth."

"You'll come back," she said firmly. They both knew she had no reason to sound so confident.

They embraced, arms wrapped tight, chins draped over each other's shoulders. He shook in her grip. Their mindlink opened, but all Elenya received was a gush of fear, no words.

She held him until the salt of his tears dried on her collar. Finally she drifted out of his grip. She readjusted her tunic. A sore, bruised spot ached inside her chest, just behind the heart.

"I'll let you deal with the final preparations," he said. "I'll be with Wynneth tonight."

PRE-DAWN. Alemar, Toren, Geim, and the rest of the raiding party shuffled through a dense bank of fog to a tiny private dock. Their transport, a small fishing vessel, did not loom out of the mist until they were almost beside it. The craft's owner, his beard prematurely grey at the edges from years of exposure to the weather, waited at the tiller while his two grown sons readied the oars. The tide beckoned them to be outward bound.

Tregay, Match, Ebben, and Geim boarded. Alemar and Toren paused on the creaking planks. Elenya, Wynneth, and Deena stood solemnly at the juncture of dock and shore, wan figures in the lantern glow. All others had given their farewells the night before.

Toren kissed Deena. She smiled, tears welling. "Your totem is not yet passed," she said, barely managing not to choke. "Don't you dare die yet."

"I don't plan to," Toren said, and parted with a lingering brush of fingers on fingers. He stepped awkwardly into the boat and sat down on a pile of netting.

Alemar sighed, glad that the mists concealed the forest. He imagined he heard a mournful rythni song coming from the trees. A minuscule crab scuttled over his foot and into a crack between the planks.

"Hold your head up," Elenya said, chiding him. "Gloroc would laugh if he could see you now."

He met her gaze. To his surprise, tears trickled down her cheeks, too. She had changed a great deal in the past month. Their amulets flashed, and suddenly they were speaking mind to mind.

"I want one of the Dragon's teeth to put above my hearth," she bespoke. "Think you can get one without skewering yourself on it?"

"I'll bring you two," he answered with a buoyancy he did not feel. "Just find a hearth to hold them, and keep it safe until I return."

"A bargain," she said aloud, and turned away, fading quickly into the murk, leaving Wynneth alone with him.

His wife said nothing, nor did she come forward. Finally he stepped over to her. He held her, and slowly, she returned the embrace, as if she wanted to withhold it but could not bring herself to retreat completely.

"I'll return," he promised her. "And when I do, I'll never leave you again."

She frowned, skepticism blatant. Then she kissed him fiercely and virtually ran after her sister-in-law. Her lantern's glow lingered on the edge of visibility for the count of three heartbeats.

Alemar bowed his head again and hopped into the boat. The fisherman grunted and ordered his sons to cast off. They cleared the dock and as soon as the fisherman's brawny offspring gave three heaves on the oars, the dock and the coast vanished behind them.

Morning came. The mist brightened from shades of charcoal dust to light ash. A breeze awakened, died, and awakened again. The crew set aside the oars and hoisted their sail. Heavily loaded, the craft rode low. Occasional gusts drenched the occupants. The swells lured bile up their throats.

Alemar hunkered near the prow, ignoring the salty spray, thinking of Wynneth.

Toren looked ill. Geim seemed better off, but of all the party, only Match and Ebben, veterans of the sea, seemed comfortable, if anyone could be in such weather.

They cleared the fog bank two hours after sunrise, emerging into bright, late summer heat and light as suddenly as if a curtain had been drawn back. Behind them the grey mass brooded, daring the sun to burn it off the coast.