Jean Rabe - The Silver Stair

One of the bolts of lightning had struck the mainmast. It stood teetering, the wood wailing a final protest. It seemed to dangle like a marionette on invisible strings, then toppled toward R'vagho, the first mate, and the wheel.

The creature leapt to the port side, where the rail was still intact. His arms circled the posts just as the mast struck the deck, splintering the timbers. The creature held on as a wave surged above The Hope of Kothas and engulfed the deck, threatening to capsize the now mastless ship. As the water receded, R'vagho shook the saltwater from his eyes.

The first mate dangled lifelessly from what remained of the wheel. The wheel itself was broken, a tangled mess of spokes. Part of the mast was sticking out of a hole in the deck, and two of R'vagho's fellows were desperately hanging on to it.

The brute skirted the hole. He had somehow managed to get out of his chains, and he was stuffing swords into a belt he'd appropriated. His jowls were red with blood, and he threw back his head and howled in victory. Caught up in the blood frenzy of the slaughter, he leapt onto the sterncastle and grabbed a fistful of the sorcerer's robes. The human uttered a string of unintelligible words that somehow cut through the bedlam of the storm. Miniature red lightning bolts shot from the sorcerer's fingers and struck the brute, dropping him to his knees. The brute somehow survived the magical attack and pulled the sorcerer down with him. Clawed fingers found their way to the human's throat and squeezed with savage force.

The sorcerer was dying, and the ship seemed to shudder in response. The groan of the timbers was louder now, drowning out the sound of the wind and the driving rain. The waves continued to batter the ship, and the hole caused by the broken mainmast widened as the ship listed to port.

The brute cast the sorcerer's body from the sterncastle and howled in triumph, though his cry was a whisper amid the rush of the waves and the wind. R'vagho caught his attention and gestured toward the longboats. There were two on the starboard side that had miraculously escaped heavy damage. The brute roared and slammed his fists against his seared chest and nodded.

The creatures hurriedly gathered clothes and weapons-belaying pins, swords, daggers, and anything else that might prove useful-as they lumbered toward the longboats. Eight occupied the first longboat, which was quickly lowered into the water and was propelled away from the ship by a swelling wave. R'vagho scampered into the crowded second boat just as the brute joined him and sliced through the ropes that held it to the cog.

Wave after wave threatened to overturn the tiny longboat. There was no food left in R'vagho's stomach, but the nausea persisted and burgeoned. His head pounded in time with his heart, and he tried to occupy himself by levering a dagger into the fastenings of his manacles. Others copied him, with varying degrees of success, as the brute continued to howl in victory.

The storm broke shortly before dawn. In an impossibly short time, the sea was like blue glass, mirroring the sky and hiding the evidence of its recent fury. There was no sign of the other longboat or the crippled cog. There was no sign of anything but sky and water.

For days the creatures drifted, seeing no other ship and no other life other than an occasional seagull. Their bellies grumbling loudly for food, their skin blistering and cracking from the pitiless sun, they drank what little rain fell into the bottom of the boat and hungrily eyed the smallest among them who could put up little fight against the brute's claws. After several days of incredible suffering, they spotted land to the south. They awkwardly headed toward it, not knowing how to use the oars in concert, but they lost sight of the shore as darkness fell. In the morning, they spotted land again-closer, but still miles away, and the current seemed to be sweeping them beyond it. The brute stood on the narrow longboat seat and stared longingly at the land. He growled softly, then dived over the side and started swimming toward the distant land. One by one, the other creatures followed.

Swimming such a distance was a daunting task at best, but it was made worse by the chill fall air and the cold water. It took them the better part of a day-those who survived-to reach land. The sun was starting to set by the time they pulled themselves up onto the beach. The sand was coarse, and the air that coursed over their tired, aching bodies nipped cruelly at them. Trees beckoned several yards away, green pines and maples that sported a riot of color made more intense by the last of the sun's rays.

The brute crawled toward the pines, nose quivering in search of food, legs moving sluggishly and begging for rest. The others trailed behind him, their limbs like lead from the cold water and the long swim. They plodded slowly but relentlessly, deeper into the forested grove. As they traveled, the woods darkened around them with the gathering shadows of twilight. The mature trees cut the brunt of the wind and hid all trace of the accursed sea. The brute leaned against a thick trunk and grunted as he caught his breath. His nose continued to quiver, bringing a myriad of scents to him-the headiness of the loam, a trace of game. He took another deep breath and gestured with a shaggy arm, staggering forward, the rest of the creatures shuffling after him.

The stars were out by the time they neared a clearing, and he motioned for them to stop. A small herd of deer was grazing beyond the thinning line of trees. The brute crouched as the others moved closer, their jaws slavering with the prospect of food. They crept around the bushes and toward the edge of the clearing and the oblivious deer, crept silently… and froze. The wind rustled the branches, revealing something near the deer, a thin, glowing construction that twisted upward from the ground, climbed into the wispy clouds far overhead, and disappeared from view. Nothing supported it, and it reeked of magic. Unnerved, the hairs raising on the backs of the creatures' necks, they plunged headlong away from the clearing and deeper into another section of the woods, not stopping until they were far out of sight of the unnatural thing.

"These insects! For each one I swat, a hundred arrive to take revenge!"

The dwarf chuckled at his companion as he tromped clumsily through a tangle of tall grass. "So what d'ya expect, Gair? It's summer, an' we're in the woods, miles and miles from any city or village or anythin' else for that matter. Out in the middle of nowhere. "Sides, I'd think you'd like it."

"Like insects?"

"The woods. Elves're supposed to like the woods, ain't they?" The dwarf's voice was deep and craggy, but not unpleasant. He paused and pretended to tug thoughtfully at his short russet beard before he repeated a little louder, "Well, ain't they?"

"And dwarves are supposed to like the mountains, or so I've heard. There's not a single mountain on this island." Despite his gruffness, the elf's words sounded silky and musical and soft, like the faint rustling of the leaves.

"Ah, by Reorx's beard, I do like the mountains, but the woods are just fine."

The elf sighed and batted futilely at a swarm of gnats wreathing his head. "I like the woods 'just fine,' too, Jasper, when there is enough of a breeze to keep the insects-and this appalling heat-at bay, that is. It's hours after sunset, and it's still insufferably hot. My clothes are drenched with sweat."

The dwarf chuckled again and resumed his tromping. "We could stop for the night. Tired?"

"No." The elf grimaced as he flicked a large shiny beetle off his shirt. "We might be close, if we're not lost."

"Close? Do you really think so?" There was hope in the craggy voice.