it and I listened as I listened to his tales of sea dragons that swallow ships and women with the tails of fish instead of legs. But this—” The barbarian Plainsman shook his head, eyeing the blood-colored water uneasily.
“Do you suppose it’s true that this is the blood of all those who died in Istar when the fiery mountain struck the Kingpriest’s temple?” Goldmoon asked softly, coming to stand beside her husband.
“What nonsense!” Maquesta snorted. Walking across the deck to join them, her eyes flicked constantly around to make certain that she was getting the most out of her ship and her crew.
“You’ve been listening to Pig-faced William again!” She laughed. “He loves to frighten lubbers. The water gets its color from soil washed up from the bottom. Remember, this is not sand we’re sailing over, like the bottom of the ocean. This used to be dry land—the capital city of Istar and the rich countryside around it. When the fiery mountain fell, it split the land apart. The waters from the ocean rushed in, creating a new sea. Now the wealth of Istar lies far beneath the waves.”
Maquesta stared over the railing with dreamy eyes, as if she could penetrate the choppy water and see the rumored wealth of the glittering lost city below. She sighed longingly. Goldmoon glanced at the swarthy ship’s captain in disgust, her own eyes filled with sadness and horror at the thought of the terrible destruction and loss of life.
“What keeps the soil stirred up?” Riverwind asked, frowning down at the blood-red water. “Even with the motion of the waves and the tides, the heavy soil should settle more than it appears to have.”
“Truly spoken, barbarian.” Maquesta looked at the tall, handsome Plainsman with admiration. “But then, your people are farmers, or so I’ve heard, and know a lot about soil. If you put your hand into the water, you can feel the grit of the dirt. Supposedly there is a maelstrom in the center of the Blood Sea that whirls with such force it drags the soil up from the bottom. But whether that is true or another one of Pig-face’s stories, I cannot say.
I
have never seen it, nor have any I’ve sailed with and I’ve sailed these waters since I was a child, learning my craft from my father. No one I ever knew was foolish enough to sail into the storm that hangs over the center of the sea.”
“How do we get to Mithras, then?” Tanis growled. “It lies on the other side of the Blood Sea, if your charts are correct.”
“We can reach Mithras by sailing south, if we are pursued. If not, we can circle the western edge of the sea and sail up the coast north to Nordmaar. Don’t worry, Half-Elven.” Maq waved her hand grandly. “At least you can say you’ve seen the Blood Sea. One of the wonders of Krynn.”
Turning to walk aft, Maquesta was hailed from the crow’s nest.
“Deck ho! Sail to the west!” the lookout called.
Instantly Maquesta and Koraf both pulled out spyglasses and trained them upon the western horizon. The companions exchanged worried glances and drew together. Even Raistlin left his place beneath the shielding sail and walked across the deck, peering westward with his golden eyes.
“A ship?” Maquesta muttered to Koraf.
“No,” the minotaur grunted in his corrupt form of Common. “A cloud, mebbe. But it go fast, very fast. Faster any cloud I ever see.”
Now they all could make out the specks of darkness on the horizon, specks that grew larger even as they watched.
Then Tanis felt a wrenching pain inside of him, as if he’d been pierced by a sword. The pain was so swift and so real he gasped, clutching hold of Caramon to keep from falling. The rest stared at him in concern, Caramon wrapping his big arm around his friend to support him.
Tanis knew what flew toward them.
And he knew who led them.
3
Gathering darkness.
A flight of dragons,” said Raistlin, coming to stand beside his brother. “Five, I believe.”
“Dragons!” Maquesta