Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 5 - The Cerulean Storm (25 page)

The ship had hardly passed when the glow of another schooner's lantern stabbed through the
darkness overhead. Rikus heard his companions gasp, then the light illuminated a small
circle on the crest of the next dust swell. The yellow disk began to sweep slowly down the
slope, coming in their direction.

Rikus gripped the Scourge more tightly, preparing to leap up and fight. As his companions
tensed to do the same, he heard dust rustling all around him. “Stay still,” he whispered.
“Don't move unless I say to.”

The light continued to come toward them. Rikus guessed the beam would sweep across the
ship just about where he lay.

A loud hiss sounded from just in front of their dhow. An instant later, a huge bowsprit
drifted over the crest of the dust swell in which they had buried themselves. The spar was
as long as a tree, and it gleamed with the reflected rays of an oil lamp. It was passing
so dose that Rikus could have jumped off their tittle craft's bow and caught hold of it.

The schooner's lantern beam approached to arm's length of the dhow. At the same time, the
prow of the Balkan schooner burst through the dust swell, spraying a thick plume of silt
high into the air. Rikus closed his eyes and ducked down beneath the dhow's gunnel,
pulling himself toward the bottom of the bilge.

The mul felt the bow rise as the schooner's wake pushed their little craft aside. The dhow
spun toward the bottom of the swell and began to slip down the slope. It moved easily, for
it was still being levitated by Tithian. Fighting the urge to sit up, Rikus opened his
eyes to the burning silt. He saw yellow light illuminating the silt over his head. He
could do nothing except remind himself that this was the reason they had camouflaged their
boat, and to hope that his companions also remembered that.

An instant later, the amber glow vanished. The mul pushed himself up. He thrust his head
out of the dust, gasping for breath and expecting to hear an alarm cry rising from the
schooner.

Through a thick cloud of dust, Rikus saw the dark wall of an immense hull looming high
above them. The mul looked toward the schooner's bow and saw the beam of the lantern
sweeping away from their dhow. From his angle below the gunnel, he could not see the
lookouts. Nevertheless, he did not think they had seen the dhow. There was no sign that
anyone was attempting to shine a light in their direction, nor did he hear anyone shouting
an alarm. It seemed that their camouflage had kept the dhow concealed, at least for the
brief instant that the lantern had flashed over it.

Rikus saw the heads and shoulders of his companions showing above the dust around him.
Neeva was biting her finger to keep from coughing. Sadira and Caelum were both prepared to
cast spells, the sorceress holding the dark lump of a spell component in her hand, and the
dwarf touching his fingers to the sun-mark on his forehead. Only Tithian seemed calm,
leaning against the floater's dome and smirking at them with an air of condescension.

It took only a moment longer for the schooner's stern to hiss past and disappear behind
the next dust swell, leaving the dhow alone in the vast, inky darkness of the Sea of Silt.
They all breathed a sigh of relief and began to scoop the silt out of the Edge.

The chain of shoals stretched across the entire horizon. In the dusk light, they appeared
to be true islands, covered with tangles of water-loving ferns and vine-draped trees. From
every copse trilled the warbles of strange birds, underscored at regular intervals by the
chilling roar of some colossal reptile. Most of the flats even had a beach of sorts: a
broad expanse of crusty, sun-baked mud that ringed the fertile groves in the center.

In the past two weeks, however, the dhow had passed enough shoals for Neeva to know the
truth. The inviting isles ahead were little more than a chain of muddy swales, created by
water seeping up from springs buried deep beneath the dust. The ground beneath the trees
was a thin, sticky sludge only slightly less treacherous than the powdery loess filling
the Sea of Silt.

“There's no way the Balkans took their schooners through that,” growled Neeva. She leaned
over the gunnel and peered into the shadowy labyrinth of channels between the shoals.
“We've lost their course.”

“We haven't,” Caelum called back. The dwarf kneeled in the bow, his eye fixed on an arrow
of crimson flame gliding through the silt just ahead of the prow. “Our sun guide still
points straight ahead. Judging by how brightly it glows, I'd even say we're catching up to
the fleet.”

The dwarf cast the spell several times a day, alternately using it to track the Balicans
and Rkard. So far, the arrow always pointed in the same direction, though it always glowed
much more brightly when Caelum directed it at the fleet.

Neeva looked across the boat to Rikus. “What do you think? Could the Balican schooners
squeeze through those channels?”

The mul shrugged. “There's enough space between the trees,” he said. “But the shipfloaters
would have to lift their hulls high enough to clear the mud crusts at the shoal edges. It
wouldn't be easy.”

“Or the sorcerer-kings might know of a hidden passage,” said Sadira. The sorceress sat in
the stern, using her magic to fly the dhow. “If not, their magic is certainly powerful
enough to see them through.”

When Neeva did not respond, Sadira added, “We'll catch up to Borys and your son.”

“How?” Neeva snapped. “We don't know the way through there. It could take days to find a
passage.”

“We don't have to go through the shoals,” suggested Rikus. “We could fly over them.”

“No!” Caelum objected. “The Balican fleet is too near. Their lookouts might see us.”

Sadira glanced over her shoulder at the setting sun. “Besides, it'll be dark soon,” she
said. “My powers will fade before we travel far.”

Neeva cursed. “We've got to do something,” she said. “The last time Caelum's sun guide
pointed at Rkard, it was so faint we could hardly see it.”

Rikus stepped over Tithian, who was sleeping in the bilge, and took Neeva by the
shoulders. "You're right,

Neeva,“ the mul said. ”We don't know how far away the Dragon and your son are, but we're
doing everything we can to catch them."

“What if that's not enough, Rikus?” she demanded. “We've already seen that the Dragon's
magic is just as powerful as Sadira's. And if he knows we have the Dark Lens, he's
probably trying to hide Rkard from us.”

“Maybe,” the mul allowed, his black eyes holding hers steady. “But you know we won't stop
searching.”

“Like Borys hasn't stopped searching for the Dark Lens?” she asked. “My son won't live a
thousand years. He might even be dead now.”

“Yes, he could be dead,” Rikus allowed. “But should we do anything different because of
it?”

Neeva shook her head, folding herself into the mul's arms. “Damn you,” she whispered. “You
always were too honest with me.”

She had only been there an instant when she felt her husband's hands prying her away. “Are
you cruel, or just stupid, Rikus?” the dwarf demanded, interposing himself between her and
the mul. “The last thing she needs to hear right now is that Rkard might be dead.”

Rikus scowled, more confused than angry. “How do you know he's not?”

“That's not the point,” Caelum fumed.

“Then what is?” demanded Neeva. “Do you think I'm stupid enough to believe anything else?”

“Of course not,” the dwarf said. “But don't you see what he's doing?”

“What?” demanded Neeva.

“Now that Sadira's spurned him, he wants you back,” said Caelum, his red eyes burning with
anger. “And he's preying on your emotions.”

“I was only trying to calm her down!” Rikus shook his head in disbelief.

Caelum stepped toward him. “I know what you were doing!” The dwarf turned his palm toward
the sun.

“And if you try it again-”

Neeva slapped her husband's arm down. “That blow to your head must have shaken your brains
loose.” She jerked him away from the mul. “Apologize to Rikus.”

“He's the one who should apologize,” Caelum said. “He's already come between us, whether
you admit it or not. You think I haven't noticed how distant you've been?”

Neeva released her husband's arm. “This has nothing to do with Rikus, except that I keep
thinking Rkard should have been with him instead of you,” she said. Her throat suddenly
felt as dry as silt. “I can't help blaming you for what's happened to our son. It's
unfair, but I just can't get over the fact that Borys took Rkard from you. I'm sorry.”

Caelum's face paled from bronze to ivory. Even his eyes seemed to fade from red to pink.
“Don't apologize. I feel the same way,” he said. “I've gone over the fight a hundred
times, and I still don't know how I could have stopped Borys. I just wish he had finished
the job and killed me.”

“The fault is more mine than yours,” said Sadira. “When I used my magic to move you and
Rkard to the well, I played right into Borys's plans.”

The dwarf shook his head. “You moved both of us so I'd be there to protect him if anything
went wrong,” Caelum replied. “But I couldn't. What good is a man who can't defend his own
son?”

Neeva felt sorry for her husband, but could not bring herself to offer him consolation.
The simple fact was that she could not answer his question. What good was a man who
couldn't protect his own son?

Caelum turned toward the bow, then paused and faced Rikus. “Please accept my apologies, my
friend,” he said. “What I said to you was terrible.”

The color rose to the mul's cheeks. “Think nothing of it.” He tried to shrug in a
good-natured manner, but succeeded only in looking uncomfortable. “We've all been touchy
for the past few days. Tithian must be using some mind trick to make us argue.”

As if he really believed what he suggested, the mul planted a sharp kick in the sleeping
king's ribs.

* * * * *

Rkard woke, gagging on the rotten stench of sulfur fumes and faintly aware that the Dragon
still held him. They had stopped flying. Borys stood on a broken hillock of basalt
overlooking a vast valley of dust and fire. Before them lay a plain of loose cinders and
black stone, laced with yellow channels of molten rock. Scattered geysers spewed ash and
viscous fire high into the sky, while cascades of lava poured from the steaming fissures
of distant cliffs. A cloud of red ash boiled overhead, and the air tasted as hot as fire.

“Where are we?” Rkard croaked. “Inside the sun?”

“No, Rkard,” answered a familiar voice. “Borys has carried you into the heart of the Sea
of Silt-his personal lands.”

Jo'orsh appeared at the Dragon's side. As always, the banshee arrived instantaneously, as
if he had emerged from the vacant air itself.

“Jo'orsh!” Rkard cried. He twisted around to face his friend, fighting against the
Dragon's incredibly tight grip. “You found me!”

“I never lost you,” replied the banshee. “Why haven't you killed the Dragon yet?”

Feeling guilty that he had not, Rkard tried to pull his arms free. He was too weak. The
Dragon had not allowed him any water in almost a whole day, and it had been three times
that long since the boy had eaten. Still, the young mul did not think his thirst or hunger
made much difference. Borys's grip was as powerful as that of a giant.

Rkard lowered his gaze. “Borys is too strong,” he admitted. “I don't know how to kill him.”

“That is for you to decide.” said Jo'orsh. “After all, it is
your
destiny.”

“His destiny?” scoffed Borys. He snorted in amusement, shooting wisps of red-glowing sand
from his nostrils. “There is no such thing as destiny-except what a being chooses for
himself.”

“And Rkard has chosen to slay you,” said Jo'orsh.

Rkard frowned. As he remembered it, he had been given no choice in the matter. The
banshees had
told
him that he would kill the Dragon.

“Then perhaps I should kill the child now,” hissed the Dragon. “Before he makes good on
his threat.”

Borys's grip tightened, and Rkard heard a crack deep inside himself. A sharp pain shot
through his flank, then he could not breathe.

Jo'orsh's orange eyes grew cool and narrow. “Release the boy!”

“Give me the Dark Lens,” came the reply.

“If
you wish,” replied the banshee.

Borys's grip relaxed, and Rkard could breathe again. The effort filled his lungs with
fire, confirming that his captor had broken a rib. Taking advantage of the Dragon's
preoccupation with the banshee, the young mul pulled his hand free and raised it toward
the boiling sky. As he summoned the energy to heal himself, a spout of glowing red ash
shot down to lick at his palm. The Dragon paid no more attention to the whirling jet than
when Rkard had assailed him earlier with kicks and bites.

Borys kept his beady eyes fixed on Jo'orsh's gnarled form. “After a thousand years, you're
going to give me the Dark Lens?”

“Let me have the boy,” Jo'orsh answered.

Borys held Rkard out.

Jo'orsh advanced to within a few paces of the Dragon.

He glanced down at a patch of broken basalt in front of him, then stopped. From between
the cracked stones shone the orange glow of a submerged lava channel, dappled here and
there with flecks of green fire.

“Don't come any closer, Jo'orsh,” Rkard said. He was almost ready to cast his healing
spell, for his hand now glowed fiery red and smoked from the fingertips. “If you let Borys
have the Dark Lens, what happens to me doesn't matter.”

“Silence, child!” ordered Borys. His grip tightened around Rkard's injured ribs.

The burning embers beneath Jo'orsh's brow flared yellow, shooting a pair of fiery bolts
straight into Borys's beady eyes. In the same instant, he leaped the submerged lava
channel and landed face-to-face with Rkard's captor. The banshee drove the jagged nub of
his bony arm into the Dragon's wrist.

The claw opened and Rkard fell free.