“What’s the meaning of this?” Yngvar demanded.
“We’re overloaded, that’s what, Vater!” the dwarven captain raved, on the verge of tearing out his beard. “It would have been easier to drag the seamoon behind us. We might as well. The blasted elves brought along everything else! See for yourself!”
The dwarves had taken care to build bunks for the elves, but the Elmas took one look at them and refused to sleep in anything so crude. They had then attempted to bring their own heavy, ornately carved wooden bed frames aboard, at which the dwarven captain told them there was either room for the beds or for the elves, take their pick.
“I was hoping for the beds,” said the dwarf dourly to Yngvar. “At least they don’t make any noise.”
The elves eventually agreed to sleep in the bunks, then proceeded to drag aboard goose-feather mattresses, lace-edged sheets, silk blankets, and down pillows. And this was only the beginning. Every elven family had valuable heirlooms that simply could not be left behind—everything from fanciful magical clocks to harps that played themselves. One elf arrived with a full-grown tree in a pot; another with twenty-seven songbirds in twenty-seven silver cages.
Finally, everyone and everything was stowed aboard. The elves were, for the most part, satisfied, though it was impossible to move through the sun-chaser without tripping over something or someone.
Then began the truly difficult part—leaving their homeland. The humans, accustomed to constant moving about, had been matter-of-fact. The dwarves, though giving up their beloved caves was a wrench, took the departure with stoic calm. The elves were shattered. One dwarf captain reported that with all the tears shed in his ship, he had more water on the inside than the out. At last, however, the huge fleet of sun-chasers was assembled and ready to sail to their new homeland. The heads of the royal households gathered on the deck of the flagship to lead the people in prayer, asking the One to grant them a safe journey and a peaceful landing.
Their prayers concluded, the dwarven sea captains began exchanging a flurry of signals and the submersibles sank beneath the waves.
They had only traveled a short distance when a first officer, face white and panicked, approached Yngvar, knuckled his forehead to the dwarven king, and said something to him in low tones.
Yngvar frowned, glanced at the others. “Dragon-snakes,” he reported. Haplo had been aware of the snakes’ presence a long time: the sigla on his skin itched and burned. He rubbed at it irritably; the runes on his hands glowed a faint blue.
“Let me talk to them,” he said.
“How can any of us ‘talk’ to them?” Yngvar demanded gruffly. “We’re underwater!”
“There are ways,” said Haplo and headed off for the bridge, accompanied—whether he wanted them or not—by the mensch royalty. The warning blue glow of the runes shone through his shirt, reflected in the wide eyes of the mensch, who’d heard this phenomenon described by their children, but who’d never witnessed it.
It was useless for Haplo to try to tell himself that the dragon-snakes did not present a threat. His body was reacting to them as centuries of instinct had trained it to react. The only thing he could do was ignore the warning and hope that over time, his body would come to understand.
He entered the steerage, found the dwarven crew huddled together, muttering among themselves. The captain pointed out to sea.
The dragon-snakes hung in the water, huge bodies undulating with sinuous grace, eyes red slits in the green water.
“They’re blocking our way, Vater. I say we turn back.”
“And go where?” Haplo asked. “Back to your homeland and sit waiting for the ice to come? I’ll talk to them.”
“How?” Yngvar asked again, but the word came out a gargle. A shimmering, ghostly image of a dragon-snake appeared on the bridge. Fear flowed from it like chill water. Those members of the dwarven crew who could still move did so, fleeing the bridge with loud cries. Those who were frozen in terror stood staring, shivering. The captain held his ground, though his beard quivered and he was forced to keep his hand on the wheel to steady himself.
The royal families remained, too, for which courage Haplo gave them grudging credit. His own instinct was to run, swim, tear the wooden planks apart with his bare hands in order to escape. He fought against his fear, and managed to subdue it, though he had to work to find saliva enough in his mouth to speak.
“The sun-chaser fleet is assembled, Royal One. We are sailing for Surunan as we planned. Why do you stand in our path?”
Slit eyes—merely a reflection of the real eyes—glowed red, gazed steadfastly at Haplo.
“The distance is far, the way is long. We have come to guide you, Master.”
“A trick!” breathed Yngvar, teeth clicking together.
“We can find our own way,” added Dumaka.
Delu raised her voice suddenly in a chant, held up some kind of rock she wore on a chain around her neck, probably some crude mensch form of protective magic.
The red eyes of the dragon-snake narrowed to slits.
“Shut up, all of you!” Haplo snarled. He kept his own gaze fixed on the dragon-snake. “We thank you for your offer, Royal One. And we will follow. Captain, keep your vessel in the dragon’s wake, order all the other sun-chasers to do likewise.”
The dwarf looked to his king for confirmation. Yngvar’s face was dark with anger and terror; he started to shake his head.
“Don’t be a fool,” Haplo warned him in a quiet undertone. “If they wanted to kill you, they would have done so long before now. Accept their offer. It’s no trick. I guarantee it ... with my life,” he added, seeing the dwarf king still hesitate.
“We have no choice, Yngvar,” said Eliason.
“And you, Dumaka?” the dwarf demanded, breathing heavily. “What do you say?” Husband and wife exchanged glances. Delu shrugged in bitter acquiescence. “We have our people to consider.”
“Go ahead, then.” Dumaka agreed, frowning.
“Very well,” stated Yngvar. “Do as he says.”
“Yes, Vater,” the captain answered, but he cast Haplo a sullen glance. “Tell the creature it must take itself off my bridge. I can’t run my ship without a crew.”
The dragon-snake was already starting to disappear, fading from view slowly, leaving behind the vague uneasiness and half-remembered fears that assail a sleeper waking suddenly from a bad dream.
The mensch breathed deep sighs of relief, though their dark looks did not brighten. The submersible’s crew and officers returned, shamefaced, avoiding their captain’s irate glare.
Haplo turned and left. On his way out, he nearly ran down Grundle, Alake, and Devon, emerging rather hastily from the shadows of a nearby doorway.
“You’re wrong!” Alake was saying to Devon.
“For your sake, I hope I—”
“Shush!” Grundle caught sight of Haplo.
The three fell silent. He had obviously interrupted an important conversation, and he had the feeling it was about him. The other two had heard the dolphins, too, apparently. Devon looked ashamed, kept his gaze averted. Grundle, however, stared at Haplo defiantly.
“Spying again?” he said. “I thought you’d learned your lesson.”
“Guess not,” muttered Grundle, as he passed.
The remainder of the voyage was peaceful. They didn’t see the dragon-snakes, their dread influence could no longer be felt. The submersible sailed along in the wake left by the huge bodies, swimming far ahead.
Life aboard ship was boring, claustrophobic, uneventful.
Haplo was certain that the three mensch were up to something. But, after a few days of keeping a close eye on them, he concluded he must be mistaken. Alake avoided him, devoted herself to her mother and her studies of magic, in which she had developed a renewed interest. Devon and a host of younger elves spent their time practicing shooting arrows at a target they had set up. Grundle was the only one who gave Haplo cause for concern, and then only as a minor annoyance, like a gnat.