Dragon's Bluff Read online

  This time was no different than countless other times. He formed his spell, focused on his magic, and felt it fade from his grasp like smoke. There was nothing he could do to stop it. He dropped the stool in disgust. Something tickled his neck, and he swatted at what felt like insects brushing by his neck. Probably mosquitoes, or maybe fleas from the bunk. He couldn’t tell in the dark. It seemed odd he hadn’t noticed fleas before.

  “I’ll find the carpenter’s store,” he said, his voice terse. “We’ll nail it in place.”

  Lucy nodded once and sank back on her soggy bed, too disappointed and seasick to stay upright.

  “Maybe this will help,” Challie offered. From under her wet pillow, she handed Ulin her small, perfectly balanced hand axe, beautifully wrought and sharpened to a deadly edge. A leather sheath protected the head of the axe, and finely woven strips of leather covered the handle.

  Ulin offered his thanks and hurried to his task. From previous explorations on the freighter, he knew where to find carpenter’s store just off the galley one deck below. The difficulty lay in making his way over the wet deck. Theirs was not the only porthole or hatch that had given way under the weight of the giant wave, and sailors struggled above and below decks to keep the bilge pumps working, to find and repair the damage, and to check the cargo. The ship’s carpenter was already in his small storeroom handing out iron nails, boards, rope, and caulking to the crew.

  He listened to Ulin’s tale of the porthole, then thrust a handful of nails in his direction. “Take these. Find something to nail over the hole. I’ll be along soon as I can—if we don’t sink first!”

  With the nails, a stool seat, and Challie’s axe, Ulin accomplished what he could not do with magic. The porthole was blocked and the relentless rain and seaspray pouring into their cabin dwindled to mere trickles.

  To everyone’s relief, the huge wave that broadsided the ship proved to be a rogue, and the rest of the waves that night were not enough to overwhelm the tough freighter. When dawn came, gray and wet, the storm moved on to the east and blew out its fury over Sable’s vast swamp. The ship was left in its wake, her crew battered, soggy, and thankful to be alive. By noon the sky was a serene sapphire.

  Ulin and Challie pried the seat cover off the porthole to let the sunshine and warm breeze pour into their wet cabin. Hours of mopping cleared out the water on the floor. They carried their soggy belongings and bedding outside and, with Captain Teflin’s permission, spread them out on ropes and the rigging. They carried a weak and shaky Lucy out on deck, too, and propped her in the sun. Her normally healthy complexion was a sickly shade of white, and her thick chestnut hair hung in lank strands, but she smiled at the sun and quickly fell asleep.

  With the ship now floating on a calm sea, the ship’s cook prepared hot food. His galley boy brought a tray out to Challie and Ulin on deck where they had settled down for a long-needed rest.

  Ulin took one look at the thick, steaming soup and groaned. “Chicken and dumpling,” he groaned. “The gods save me from chicken and dumpling.”

  Challie’s brown eyes lit with unexpected humor. “Be thankful, Ulin. They almost did. You nearly became seafood yourself.”

  He snorted, but he took the bowls from the puzzled boy and served Challie. With a look of resignation on his lean face, he dipped a spoon into the broth and took a long, suffering sip.

  Linsha was right, Ulin decided. Sanction was a beautiful city.

  From where he stood with Lucy and Challie at the rail of the freighter as it sailed into serene Sanction Bay, Ulin could see most of the broad valley of Sanction Vale set like a green gem in a half crown of towering volcanic peaks. The city’s tall towers, walls, and buildings of pale stone filled much of the valley and gleamed in the early morning sun like alabaster against the stark red flanks of the three Lords of Doom, the majestic, and still active, volcanoes that ringed the city with fire.

  Ulin’s sister, Linsha, had spent years in Sanction, and after her return to Solace had described its charms to him in long and admiring detail. She told him of the inns and taverns, the gardens and shops, the large Souk Bazaar where virtually everything that was for sale on Ansalon could be found. She described the City Guards in their scarlet uniforms and the Governor’s Palace set like a white fortress upon a northern hill. Her descriptions had been so complete that Ulin found his eyes searching the city and its harbor for landmarks he felt should be there.

  “It is so lovely,” Lucy said beside him. Her eyes were wide with curiosity. “Look at those volcanoes. They’re smoking!”

  “Yes,” Challie agreed. “It’s not bad, for a city under siege.”

  Sadly, Sanction had been a city under siege for a long time. The Knights of Neraka—the Knights who had, until recently, called themselves the Knights of Takhisis—had changed not only their commander and their name in the past year, they had also changed their strategy concerning Sanction. For years they had wanted control of the port city but had contented themselves with minor attacks and blockading the only two major land routes into the city while they studied the policies and activities of the powerful, magic-wielding lord governor, Hogan Bight. However, when magic began to fail all over Ansalon, the Dark Knights’ new leader, Morham Targonne, decided the chance to defeat Lord Bight had finally arrived. He launched a major offensive against the city’s fortifications that nearly overwhelmed the valiant City Guard, still weakened in numbers by the plague that decimated the city three years before. Only the fierce determination of Lord Bight and the courage of the Sanction defenders had kept the dark forces at bay. Eventually, even Lord Bight was forced to admit the city needed help. Against his better judgment, Lord Bight acquiesced to the demands of his frightened city council and made a pact with the Knights of Solamnia.

  As far as Ulin knew, little had changed in the city since the arrival of the Solamnic relief force. The Knights of Neraka still beat at the eastern gates, and the city’s defenders still held them to a stalemate. At least the harbor was still open. Although the Dark Knights tried to blockade Sanction Bay, Lord Bight’s forces and the Solamnic Knights managed to keep the seawall open. It was the only lifeline to the rest of Ansalon still remaining to the beleaguered city.

  Through this lifeline, Captain Tethlin had brought his ship into Sanction Bay under cover of early dawn. Now, as the sun rose over the mountains, he maneuvered her into the port.

  Rigged with only enough sail for guidance, the freighter slid through the crowded harbor and took her place at the largest of Sanction’s piers, the southernmost Long Dock. Dockhands caught the freighter’s ropes and pulled her snug against the pier for unloading. Immediately, the Harbormaster’s aide hurried on board to check Captain Tethlin’s manifest and cargo and give the crew permission to unload.

  The three travelers watched the bustling activity for a few more minutes then went to their cabin to collect their belongings. Ulin was about to close their door behind him on their way out when Captain Tethlin came bustling down the narrow corridor to see them off.

  A big man, he beamed down at Challie and tousled her hair. “Quite a cruise, eh?” He chuckled.

  Although Chalcedony was a head shorter than Lucy, she was older than Ulin and Lucy combined and she did not appreciate big people who treated her like a child. With quiet dignity she drew back from the captain’s reach and gave him a glare fierce enough to melt the brass on his buttons.

  Captain Tethlin never noticed. “So, Ulin, are you staying in Sanction? Do you plan to meet the lord governor?”

  Ulin had considered introducing himself to the city’s governor, Lord Bight, simply for curiosity’s sake. Linsha had described Hogan Bight in such glowing terms that Ulin had to admit he was intrigued by the man who had roused such loyal friendship in his sister. But while Linsha had told him about Sanction and its governor, she had never explained to his satisfaction what she was doing there for the Solamnic Knights or why she had had to leave Sanction so precipitously. Perhaps it would be better to leave that stone
unturned. He decided, too, to stay anonymous. Challie had told him they would have to travel to Flotsam with the Khurs, and the Majere name was well known and would not be welcome among the Khurish merchants and traders that ran their caravans to Khuri-Khan and Flotsam. The Khur tribes were known to deal with the Knights of Neraka and their ilk and would not hesitate to kidnap or murder.

  A brief shake of his head answered the captain’s question. “We’ll look for a caravan going east.”

  “That won’t be easy. Very few get out of Sanction past the Knights of Neraka. Their blockades are growing stronger by the day. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they close off this port within a week or two. We were lucky to get through this time.” He stroked his beard with a callused hand. “You ought to follow those bales of wool.” He pointed to where several sailors were hauling the bales of wool fleeces onto the dock. “They’re going to Garzan the rug maker in the Souk Bazaar. He has managed to send out caravans several times this year. If he can’t help you, maybe he’ll know someone who can.” Tethlin shook Ulin’s hand, bowed over Lucy’s, and waved to Challie. “Farewell and good luck to you!” he called, already hurrying back to work.

  The three stood in the corridor with their bags and packs and stared at each other. They had been so occupied after the storm they had not had time to discuss the details of making arrangements in Sanction.

  “Where to?” Ulin asked Challie.

  “His information is as good as mine,” replied the dwarf. “I talked to Garzan about a caravan when I was here last month. We will speak to him.”

  “Lunch first,” suggested Lucy. “After two days of keeping my head in a bucket, I’m starving.”

  Ulin agreed. “Lunch it is. We’ll find an inn, leave our bags, and go look for Challie’s rug merchant.”

  “And the Souk Bazaar,” added Challie. “We’ll need a tent, some clothes suitable for the desert, and provisions for the trip: weapons, probably horses …” She strode purposefully for the gangplank.

  Ulin and Lucy exchanged a humorous glance and hurried after her.

  From the Long Dock they were directed to Shipmaker’s Road, the main east-west road that bisected the city from the teeming harbor district to the huge guard camp on the eastern side. Along the road, they were told, they could find everything they needed, from inns and taverns to shops and the Souk Bazaar.

  Just outside the towering city wall they found a small inn named the Brimming Barrel that offered good beer, hot meals, and a few clean rooms. The innkeeper was a retired guardsman who kept the inn more for his pleasure than necessity and strove to ensure his customers were as comfortable as he. While Ulin, Lucy, and Challie ate their midday meal, the keeper answered their questions about Sanction and filled them in on the latest news about the siege.

  “The Solamnics,” he grumbled. He rubbed a towel over a clean tankard and slid it down the bar to join a line of others. “They’ve been here over six months now and damned all they’ve done so far. Lord Bight called ’em to help after the Knights of Neraka stepped up their attacks on the eastern fortifications. At first we thought they’d sweep in, kick the Dark Knights out of here, and save the day.” He made a rude noise. “All they want to do is sit on their armored backsides and ‘study the situation.’ Lord Bight must be ready to burst a blood vessel.”

  Ulin remembered something else his sister mentioned about Sanction. “Whatever happened to the bronze dragon that saved the city during the plague?”

  The innkeeper shook his grizzled head. “Haven’t seen it in a long time. Word around town is the dragon’s dead, probably killed by that black bitch, Sable.” He broke off to polish another tankard. “Too bad. We could really use that dragon about now.”

  After their meal the three travelers left their cloaks and bags behind and walked out onto Shipmaker’s Road. Sanction had one of the most diverse populations in Ansalon, and every one of its inhabitants seemed to be out in the streets. The paved thoroughfares thronged with carts, wagons, horses, and draft animals. Pedestrians and peddlers, hawkers and laborers crowded the wooden sidewalks. City Guards in their scarlet uniforms patrolled the docks and alleys and walked on the high city wall, while squads of Solamnic Knights marched through the busy streets.

  Following the innkeeper’s advice, Ulin and the women made their way through the traffic to the Souk Bazaar and the waymeet of the north-south road. There they turned onto the Street of Weavers that bordered the southern edge of the great square.

  Garzan the rug maker had a large shop at the Souk Bazaar and a warehouse on the south side of the city. He was a prosperous merchant, able to afford a warehouse on the inside of the city wall and a large contingent of laborers, haulers, drivers, and guards. What he lacked on that particular afternoon was a cook. His caravan was almost ready to depart, but the night before his cook had enjoyed one too many flagons of ale at his favorite tavern, tripped over a kender trying to “borrow” his purse, and fallen hard against the stone-flagged floor. His subsequent broken arm and concussion had left him unable to fulfill his duties.

  Garzan was livid.

  By the time the noon sun poured golden light across the smoking volcanoes, everyone in the Souk Bazaar knew Garzan was looking for an experienced cook who could leave the next day. Few thought he’d find one.

  Lucy, Ulin, and Challie heard the news shortly after they walked into the rug merchant’s shop. Garzan was there, talking to his overseer at the top of his substantial lungs.

  “The fool fell over a kender. A kender! Can you believe it? Drunk as a farmer on mushroom spirits. If he survives the blow to his head, I just might throttle him and finish the business.” Garzan stood behind the board that served as a display table and counter. Rolled rugs lay in stacks about him while others hung like tapestries on the walls or lay in piles on the tables around the big room. A second man stood beside him, his dark bearded face thunderous.

  “Where will I find another cook so quickly?” Garzan continued. He brought a meaty fist down on the board with a crash. Suddenly he saw Ulin and his companions, and anger evaporated from his face to be replaced by a large smile. A Khur by birth, Garzan was a stocky man with swarthy skin, black hair to his shoulders, and mustaches of impressive length. His mercurial temper was known to all who dealt with him, as was his habit to drive hard bargains.

  “A pleasant afternoon, good people. What may I do to help you? Would you like to see a rug?” he offered, waving an expansive hand at his wares.

  Challie bowed her head in greeting. “I am Chalcedony of Flotsam. It is not rugs that bring us to see your inestimable self, my good sir, but fleeces.”

  “Ah, yes! So you wish to inspect my fleeces. They are the finest Schallsea wool. Excellent texture, long fiber …” He went on at some length describing the qualities of the wool.

  Ulin and Challie let him talk in spite of their own impatience and Lucy’s increasing fidgets. Khurs loved to talk, to sing, to tell tales, and to bargain, often in extravagant tones and phrases. Even dwarves had learned the hard way that it was not polite to interrupt a Khurish merchant in the midst of establishing a deal.

  The merchant carried on for several minutes then asked the nature of their business with fleece.

  “In truth, good sir, we do not wish to purchase the fleece. We wish to travel with it.” Challie replied with a bland smile. “If you are kind enough to remember, I talked to you last month about a return journey to Flotsam.”

  Garzan’s left eyebrow rose upward. “Indeed. So, you inquire about my caravans? How far do you intend to go?”

  “We are traveling to Flotsam,” Challie replied, her words clipped with barely suppressed annoyance.

  “Ah.” A speculative light lit the merchant’s eyes. “Yes. Caravans are the only way to reach that fair port from Sanction without months of sea travel.”

  Ulin bowed in respect. “And we heard yours were the largest, the safest, and most prestigious.”

  Lucy fought to keep a grin off her face. They’d heard no
such thing, but she was beginning to understand the process of negotiation with a Khur.

  “It is unfortunate you did not hear that I no longer allow passengers on my caravans,” Garzan said with mock gravity. “You must understand, the trail we must take to bypass the siege forces is long, the way is dangerous, and the tribute we must pay to her Magnificence, Malystryx, is exorbitant. Every beast and wagon I send is fully laden, every driver and guard who attends the goods must work to their utmost to see to the safe arrival of the caravan. Passengers are a hindrance and a nuisance.”

  Undismayed by the Khur’s words, Ulin cut off Challie’s indignant exclamation with a chop of his hand. He said smoothly, “Even ones who pay well?”

  Garzan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps if there was something you could do …” he said, studying the trio before him.

  Ulin, Challie, and Lucy exchanged puzzled glances. Working for their passage had not occurred to any of them. What could they do for a caravan? Challie was short, even for a dwarf, and knew nothing useful about driving a freight wagon. Lucy was pleasant-looking and totally innocuous, and Ulin was lean and gawky. All of them were dressed in plain, travel-worn garments with nothing more than daggers and one small axe between them. Not one of them could pass as a guard, mercenary, or even wagon driver. Just what did the merchant have in mind?

  Garzan fastened his gaze on Lucy. “Can you cook?” he asked.

  Lucy chuckled. “I can barely boil water, but he can.” She pointed to Ulin. “He was raised in an inn.”

  Ulin blinked as pieces began to fall into place. Truthfully, he had not been raised at the Inn of the Last Home. He’d had his own home with his parents and sister, but he had learned many of his grandmother’s recipes and secrets, and he could boil water.

  “Is this true?” Garzan demanded, his excitement barely suppressed behind his sharp gaze.