Dave Smeds - The Schemes of Dragons

The fisherman cast an apprehensive eye at the horizon, as did Alemar. The Dragon's ships patrolled this coast with diligence. They saw no masts or sails.

"Time to go," the fisherman said.

Alemar nodded, slipped a pearl ring off his finger and whistled through it. He repeated it at intervals. Achird rose toward zenith and drew the dampness from their clothing. Alemar did not realize until then how chill the splashes and the fog had made him. He indulged in the change. It would be many days before he would be this dry again.

The dorsal fins of dolphins broke the surface in the distance, and Ebben cried out. Alemar lifted the ring again and whistled the tune that Obo had taught him years before. The princes of the sea heard and six of them surrounded the fishing boat.

The fisherman's sons released the sheets and their father pointed the boat directly into the wind. Sails fluttering uselessly, they coasted to a stop, then began slowly drifting backward-"in irons" as sailors termed it.

"My thanks," Alemar told the old sea man.

The fisherman doffed his wool cap. "Gut that dragon like a salmon. That's gratitude enough."

"We'll try," Alemar replied. He and the other five stripped off their fisherman's garb, revealing diving skins and vests. They took airmakers, weapons, and flasks of drinking water from a niche hidden beneath one of the benches. Alemar checked both Vanihr to be sure they were appropriately prepared, then slid rump first into the waves.

One by one the others followed. The bubbles cleared. They swam out of the path of the vessel's keel. The dolphins dutifully offered their fins. Each man grasped one and they were off, propelled by the creatures' powerful flukes. A thrill ran down Alemar's spine, recalling the first time he had travelled this way at the age of eight. The hull of the fishing boat disappeared behind them almost before the prince secured his grip. Elandris beckoned them southward.

The first night, Alemar remained awake for hours, though bone weary from the swim. Bright moonlight filtered through the waters of the Dragon Sea, all the way to the bottom. Even here, in the deeper northern region, the sea floor seldom dipped lower than a few dozen fathoms. A ridge poked up to one side, supporting a coral reef that stretched almost to the surface. Dim shapes of fish and squid darted past. Spectral limbs of kelp rose all around them, shifting in the current; the men had tied themselves to them to avoid drifting apart.

It had been too long since Alemar had slept at sea. It was the gentlest bed he could imagine, but he preferred firm support beneath him and blankets above, not steady, even pressure on every side. He resisted the urge to tie himself in a horizontal position. Though his vest grew more or less buoyant as needed, keeping him at a consistent depth without the need to move his limbs, he still felt the urge to tread water. Nearby Toren and Geim shifted restlessly, even less accustomed to the arrangement than he.

The one thing that Alemar did not suffer from was the common fear of Elandri divers that somehow he was breathing water and would suffocate. On the contrary, he relished the air filtering through the membrane of the airmaker. It was sweeter than the salty, fish-perfumed atmosphere above the waves.

He reminisced about the Eastern Deserts, thinking of the nights when he would lay, bedroll pressed firmly against the sands, and ache for the touch of water around his body. At last he drifted into sleep, dreaming of cacti and scorched salt plains.

At noon on the third day, they found a tiny islet. Alemar called a halt to take advantage of the chance to eat a meal on solid ground. The dolphins-the fifth set to haul them-splashed off in search of their own dinner, cavorting in their characteristic way. Ebben and Match found a variety of shellfish clinging to the coral in the tidewaters and showed Geim and Toren how to harvest them. Meanwhile, Alemar assembled his watermaker and began transmuting salt water into fresh, in order to refill their flasks.

As they ate, Toren came over and examined Alemar's apparatus. He stroked its rubbery membrane, fascinated.

"Another legacy of the Dragonslayer," Alemar said. "Like the airmakers and the vests."

"But not a talisman," the modhiv said in admiration. He waved his hands over it. "It needs no conscious guidance for its magic to work."

"No. But try making one without high sorcery and you'll face quite a challenge."

"I think I shall make one," Toren murmured.

Alemar raised an eyebrow. Why not? Far better that Toren use his power for such things than to kill dragons all the time. There were perhaps two living magicians who could successfully manufacture the devices. The prince wondered what sort of life the Vanihr would have once the mission ended, assuming its success. He buried the thought. It was not the time to look so far ahead.

Toren stared down at the raw flesh of the small clam he had just broken open.

"Don't like it raw?" Alemar asked. "We usually marinate them."

Toren shrugged and slid the meat down in one gulp. "I can eat anything," he bragged. Nearby, Geim guffawed.

Gigantic dolphin sharks wandered near on the fifth day, delighted to find six of their favorite prey slowed down by passengers. Match and Ebben released capsules of effluvium. As soon as the great fish smelled the oily substance they vanished into the murk.

As the sea bottom rose, marking the borders of Elandris, Alemar worried less about such natural perils and more about human enemies. He consulted the map often, steering their course away from undersea cities. They replaced their steeds four times a day instead of two, to be sure those with them were always fresh. Their luck lasted until they passed between the last two cities still between them and their destination, through a narrow gap of only a few leagues.

Ebben brought his dolphin close to Alemar and signalled to the prince. Sea dogs.

Alemar saw a forest of kelp to the right and pointed. The men abandoned their transport, slipping into the concealing growth as fast as possible. The dolphins streaked away.

Four sea dogs-sinuous creatures with bodies like giant eels and whiskers like catfish-glided slowly their way, in a formation that no wild denizens of the sea would adopt. Their whiskers twitched, ferreting out scents that did not belong-especially those of men. Their gift of smell was as acute as their eyes were poor. Small chance existed that they would fail to detect the traces left by Alemar and his party. If they did, they would hurry to the nearest city and guide one of the Dragon's patrols back with them.

Alemar signed to Toren. They focussed their sorcery on their trail, gathering the residue left behind and increasing the weight of each infinitesimal particle until they sank into the silt. Alemar's head rang with the strain of such subtle manipulation, but it was worth the pain. The sea dogs cruised past without the slightest deviation from their course. The other four men smiled at the magicworkers with relief.

After coming this far, nothing so ordinary as ocean bloodhounds were going to keep him from reaching his great enemy. They waited an hour, then Alemar summoned a fresh set of dolphins.

Dragonsdeep came into view quite suddenly, dome sprouting dramatically above the crest of the ridge ahead of them. It was leagues in the distance, but it was already difficult to take in in one glance. Alemar stared, momentarily awestruck. He had never seen any of the cities of Alemar Dragonslayer, much less this, his masterwork. He had thought Omril's memories would prepare him for the sight, but experiences shared secondhand did not convey the full impact.

Thousands of people lived under the glasslike ceiling, cultivating and harvesting the surrounding sea, creating crafts and handiworks prized throughout the civilized lands. The palace sprawled in the center, a lavish, architectural wonder-a small city in itself. It spread from a central nexus into eight twining wings, like the limbs of an octopus. The dynasty of Alemar had ruled from the site for many hundreds of years.