The Cerulean Storm by Troy Denning

Author:Troy Denning
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy - General, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fiction - Fantasy, Fiction, Fantasy, Fantastic fiction, General
ISBN: 9781560766421
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast (Mm)
Published: 2009-07-07T02:23:36.105000+00:00

Chapter Eleven: The Dhow

As the dhow left Samarah's harbor, a gust of wind skipped across the swells ahead. Silvery columns of dust swirled skyward, forming a chain of featherlike silhouettes against the yellow horizon. For a moment, they hung like clouds above the pearly sea, then the bluster died. The plumes slowly melted back toward the surface, forming a low-hanging dust curtain that shrouded Jo'orsh's distant figure in a mantle of gray.

Tithian braced his arm on the tiller and pulled himself upright, sitting squarely on the floater's dome. He peered out toward the open sea and cursed his lack of a king's eye. With Jo'orsh wading through chest-deep silt, it had been difficult enough to see him before the gust came up. Now, keeping the banshee's lumpy head in sight would be impossible.

The effort of sitting upright was almost too much for the king. His time in the well had reduced him to something of a skeleton. The pallid skin dangled from his sticklike arms in loose folds, and each time he exhaled, his breath filled the air with the stench of starvation. He had little desire for solid food, and the few morsels his former slaves had forced him to eat sat in his distended stomach like rocks. The king thought that Sacha's approach to helping him recover, trickling warm blood down his throat, had been much more sensible.

After a few moments of peering into the dust haze, the king let his elbow slip over the tiller and slumped back down. He was careful to keep his bare foot pressed against the Dark Lens, which lay in the open bilge in front of him. He was drawing the lens's energy through his body, using it to feed the dome and keep the ship afloat.

Tithian looked toward the top of the mast, where Sacha had positioned himself to serve as a lookout. "I've lost sight of the banshee," he called. "Can you see him?"

"Through this haze?" the head scoffed.

As Sacha replied, Neeva ducked under the low-hanging boom of the lateen sail and stepped back toward him. Since her days in the gladiator pits, her skin had grown darker and less sensitive to the sun, as demonstrated by the fact that she wore nothing but a leather breechcloth and halter to protect her from its blistering rays. To Tithian's eye, she also seemed more beautiful. Motherhood had given her a fuller figure, while her muscles were more sinuous and less manlike. Her emerald eyes, however, remained as fiery and angry as they had been when the king owned her-especially when they were looking at him.

Tithian met her glare. "What are you staring at?"

Without answering, Neeva picked her way toward the stern. It was not an easy task. They had just entered the open sea, and the dhow was pitching badly as it rode across the dust swells. To complicate matters, the small boat was crowded to overflowing. In the open bilge lay Caelum, crammed in next to a dozen kegs filled with chadnuts and water.

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