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Authors: James V. Viscosi
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steaming piles of black rock.
Since Ponn had last taken the boat this way, a new peninsula of lava had grown, like a spiny, smoldering black finger jabbing into the sea. The water around its outermost edge bubbled like broth in a soup pot. Ponn looked over his shoulder at Gelt and the helmsman. "Stay well clear of that!" he shouted, pointing at the formation. "There will be shoals all around!" Gelt nodded; the helmsman guided them farther out in the water.
As they cleared the high promontory, the distant archipelago came into view, the volcanic islands eternally shrouded by a haze of smoke and fog. The seas were very active out there, bubbling and steaming with underwater heat. Ponn shaded his eyes from the sun, looking for dragons in the mist. He didn't see any, but that didn't mean they weren't there; they could be slumbering on a warm stretch of newly-born rock or playing in the hot water of a tidal pool.
It had been years since Ponn had set foot on any of those bleak and barren rocks; only the northernmost few were remotely habitable, with green plants and colorful birds and rich soil in which to grow crops. He'd been raised on one, a tiny pelagic island with a single village at the foot of an extinct volcano. The dragons didn't bother them; the monstrous beasts preferred to flit about the jagged, smoldering active craters, drawn by the heat and smoke and fire. But if they caught a man on one of their islands, they would surely make a meal of him.
Gelt appeared at his side. "Your map has worked flawlessly. Keep cooperating like this, innkeeper, and you'll have your daughter back soon."
Ponn didn't bother to reply. He knew better than to trust Gelt's word; and even if he did, the seas out here were treacherous, the weather fickle, the dragons intolerant of trespassers. There was a good chance that none of them would survive this madman's errand.
And if they did return, what would Gelt be bringing back with him?
Tolaria awoke with a sour taste like iron in her mouth and a fuzzy, unpleasant tingle in her head; but the mere fact that she had returned to consciousness was an unexpected blessing. After Tomari had botched the preparation of the vapors, her last conscious thought had been that she would never emerge from the ensuing trance with her mind intact. And her mind was intact.
Wasn't it?
"My name is Tolaria," she whispered. "I'm an oracle. I was born in Yttribia and taken to Flaurent as a child. I was at the Crosswaters for the last three months, before I came to this forsaken castle." Yes, that all sounded true and accurate; although if she had gone mad, she would surely believe all her delusions to be sterling fact.
She remembered being tied to a chair, but now she was in a bed. The matted straw shifted beneath her as she rolled over and sat up; the blankets fell away from her naked body, but her fire had been replenished and the air against her skin felt pleasantly warm. Who had removed her garments? The twins? She thought of Torrant's leer, Tomari's wandering hands, and wondered what liberties they may have taken while she was unconscious. She reached down, touched her sensitive areas. To her enormous relief, everything remained intact; they had raped her mind, but left her body alone. For now.
Her trunk stood on the floor beside the bed. She knelt in front of it, rummaging through her belongings. They had taken her oracular supplies, toiletries, everything but her clothing. She pulled out a tunic and breeches, suitable for traveling, although it seemed unlikely she would be leaving the castle any time soon.
As she dressed, she tried to recall what the twins had talked about while she'd been entranced. She couldn't remember much after the vapors had begun to fill the room. This was not unusual; oracles often came out of a fugue with no memory of what they had said or heard. The Crosswaters employed a number of scribes whose function
Since Ponn had last taken the boat this way, a new peninsula of lava had grown, like a spiny, smoldering black finger jabbing into the sea. The water around its outermost edge bubbled like broth in a soup pot. Ponn looked over his shoulder at Gelt and the helmsman. "Stay well clear of that!" he shouted, pointing at the formation. "There will be shoals all around!" Gelt nodded; the helmsman guided them farther out in the water.
As they cleared the high promontory, the distant archipelago came into view, the volcanic islands eternally shrouded by a haze of smoke and fog. The seas were very active out there, bubbling and steaming with underwater heat. Ponn shaded his eyes from the sun, looking for dragons in the mist. He didn't see any, but that didn't mean they weren't there; they could be slumbering on a warm stretch of newly-born rock or playing in the hot water of a tidal pool.
It had been years since Ponn had set foot on any of those bleak and barren rocks; only the northernmost few were remotely habitable, with green plants and colorful birds and rich soil in which to grow crops. He'd been raised on one, a tiny pelagic island with a single village at the foot of an extinct volcano. The dragons didn't bother them; the monstrous beasts preferred to flit about the jagged, smoldering active craters, drawn by the heat and smoke and fire. But if they caught a man on one of their islands, they would surely make a meal of him.
Gelt appeared at his side. "Your map has worked flawlessly. Keep cooperating like this, innkeeper, and you'll have your daughter back soon."
Ponn didn't bother to reply. He knew better than to trust Gelt's word; and even if he did, the seas out here were treacherous, the weather fickle, the dragons intolerant of trespassers. There was a good chance that none of them would survive this madman's errand.
And if they did return, what would Gelt be bringing back with him?
Tolaria awoke with a sour taste like iron in her mouth and a fuzzy, unpleasant tingle in her head; but the mere fact that she had returned to consciousness was an unexpected blessing. After Tomari had botched the preparation of the vapors, her last conscious thought had been that she would never emerge from the ensuing trance with her mind intact. And her mind was intact.
Wasn't it?
"My name is Tolaria," she whispered. "I'm an oracle. I was born in Yttribia and taken to Flaurent as a child. I was at the Crosswaters for the last three months, before I came to this forsaken castle." Yes, that all sounded true and accurate; although if she had gone mad, she would surely believe all her delusions to be sterling fact.
She remembered being tied to a chair, but now she was in a bed. The matted straw shifted beneath her as she rolled over and sat up; the blankets fell away from her naked body, but her fire had been replenished and the air against her skin felt pleasantly warm. Who had removed her garments? The twins? She thought of Torrant's leer, Tomari's wandering hands, and wondered what liberties they may have taken while she was unconscious. She reached down, touched her sensitive areas. To her enormous relief, everything remained intact; they had raped her mind, but left her body alone. For now.
Her trunk stood on the floor beside the bed. She knelt in front of it, rummaging through her belongings. They had taken her oracular supplies, toiletries, everything but her clothing. She pulled out a tunic and breeches, suitable for traveling, although it seemed unlikely she would be leaving the castle any time soon.
As she dressed, she tried to recall what the twins had talked about while she'd been entranced. She couldn't remember much after the vapors had begun to fill the room. This was not unusual; oracles often came out of a fugue with no memory of what they had said or heard. The Crosswaters employed a number of scribes whose function
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