“If you get sick one more time on my boat, I’m going to turn you into a mop and bucket,” the Archmage Havelock said. He then smiled in mirth and walked away, shaking his head. He left My‑re sitting and resting against the side railing of the Unsinkable III.
My‑re pulled her heavy blanket a little tighter against the cold. Logically, she thought it would be warmer this high in the air and closer to the sun, but it was the exact opposite. The Shagornan Elf crew went about their duties, unaffected by the elements, and went around her when necessary. The flying swordsman tri-master began to sail through another grey cloud in the morning sky. They were two weeks out from the Isle of the Eye and had crossed the borders into the Rirorni Empire two days ago. For those two days, the ship flew higher to avoid detection. Since then, she had spent a second sleepless night on the deck of the vessel, periodically heaving out her innards over the side. The entire insides of her body twisted like an angry Shewish giant wringing out a wet towel. Her stomach was so tight that if she even tried to take a sip of water, it would immediately come back up with whatever other fluids her body could find on the way out. The quest to find Araminth didn’t matter. Her role as a Rirorni interpreter didn’t matter. There was no thought of drinking. Comfort had left her a long time ago, and food was right out.
“So, this is what dying feels like,” My‑re groaned to herself.
The mere dragon called Koma sat near her. It raised its maroon-colored head and sleepily opened its eyes, glanced at her, almost as if checking on her, and rested its head back on its front paws. Havelock rotated the three creatures out of the hold, and after exploring the deck, Koma curled up next to her. At first, she thought it had sought her out as the weakest member of the crew and planned on eating her. If true, there wasn’t anything she could do. She doubted she could have fought off a big fat baby at this point. She really didn’t care because at least she’d be out of her misery.
A fresh breeze blew through her hair, and it felt good briefly before another wave of nausea swept through her body. She closed her eyes and laid her head on the deck.
“Good morning, My‑re,” came the voice of Vomarian.
“What’s good about it?” My‑re groaned and curled into a ball.
“By the nine hells, you look worse off than yesterday. Your color is a mixture between white and grey. It’s like I’m seeing the color of sadness,” Vomarian said.
My‑re opened one eye and glared, too sick even to raise a finger in a rude gesture.
“I’ve never seen sea sickness hit someone like this before. The ship isn’t even rocking, so I don’t know what’s going on,” Vomarian said, studying her. “Do you think you caught a disease?”
“It’s altitude sickness,” Havelock said, coming up and eating a sandwich.
“Is it contagious?”
“Yes and no. Anyone can get it, but it’s not contagious,” Havelock said. “There isn’t as much air this high as on the ground.”
“Would decreasing the ship’s elevation help?” Vomarian inquired.
“I would caution against that direction. It would be better if our approach is undetected by our Rirorni friends,” Havelock said, then added. “They’re a bit unpredictable and a mite skittish.”
Vomarian pondered Havelock’s statement. “I agree. It’s better that the Rirorni do not notice a flying ship entering their territory. I know My‑re is uncomfortable, but it’s not like she’s going to die.”
“Oh, her body is dying,” Havelock said.
“What?” Vomarian and My‑re asked simultaneously. However, she wasn’t surprised, considering how horrible she felt.
“Oh, not immediately,” Havelock said, waiving off the looks of concern. “Her body will probably go into shock from dehydration and lack of air sometime later tonight, so we can probably find a place to land when the sun goes down and allow her to recoup. So, that means another day in the air and further progress. We might even make it to the Storm Crags by then.”
“Can you last twelve more hours, My‑re?” Vomarian asked, bending down toward her.
My‑re moaned at the thought of another day of this sickness.
“Take us down!” Vomarian ordered. He turned to Havelock and said, “We’ll have to risk it.”
“I can make it,” My‑re said and tried to grin, but more queasiness swept through her body.
“No, you look like death warmed over. I’ve seen creatures hit by coaches that look better than you do right now,” Vomarian said, placing a lock of wild, blowing black hair behind her ear.
My‑re nodded and laid back down on the deck. She could feel the craft descend. The ship moved through the clouds and covered in fog. A few moments later, they appeared above her.
“All clear on the plains below!” shouted a Shagornan Elf from the crow’s nest.
About twenty minutes later, she started to feel better. The Shewish Giant had stopped twisting her guts and instead traveled to her brain and began beating on it like a drum—a fair trade.
“Your color is starting to return,” Vomarian commented, walking by and, before leaving, said, “Let me know when you are ready to eat or drink.”
Nodding in appreciation, she pulled herself up using the railing and glanced at the Rirorni plains below. The lush countryside of Alastari had changed. Tired grass covered the sparse landscape, and the land seemed fit to produce only rocks, many of which jutted at odd angles. A weak sun muted by thin, grey clouds revealed a dark and decrepit place.
“Keep her close to the ground! I aim to be flying right above the tallest piece of grass! Stay behind the hills as much as possible!” Vomarian shouted to the navigator.
As the hours passed, and after a small meal of bread, fruit, and cheese with sips of water, My‑re’s head started to feel better. She also noted that the landscape began to become hillier. In the south, vast peaks were starting to form.
“What are those? My‑re asked Vomarian, pointing in the distance.
“Those are the Storm Crags. Impenetrable by foot or hoof. We need to stay clear of that. A simple shower can quickly become a tempest caught between the jagged crags and the vortex of the winds trapping it within.”
“Large knoll approaching!” a Shagornan Elf called out from the crow’s nest.
The Unsinkable III’s bow rose. Most of the crew, including My‑re, grabbed support from the railing. After a minute, the ship began to rise over the hill. She noted the mere dragon Koma raise its maroon head and sniff around. It rose to all four feet, and a menacing growl emanated from its throat. She watched its green-striped body turn to the ship's bow. Its long whip-like tail thrashed about in agitation. Its heavy claws gripped the deck.
“Don’t proceed over the hill!” My‑re shouted. “Turn!”
Vomarian looked at her in confusion. The navigator at the wheel looked to Vomarian for orders while Havelock patted Koma, trying to calm the mere dragon.
The Unsinkable III crested the hill and began to accelerate downward. An enormous Rirorni encampment appeared on the other side. A maze of similar-looking bivouacs and cooking fires dotted the landscape. Mounted patrols stopped at the sight of the flying ship and turned their direction. The center housed a gigantic marquee seemingly made from thick rugs with a ring of heavily armored guards in ceremonial garb, each decorated with the appearance of an angry demon. Motionless, each carried a short spear and a small shield.
“Pull up! Pull up! Pull up!” shouted a panicked Shagornan Elf in the crow’s nest.
The ship began to rise. A loud crash followed along with the snapping of wood. The din grew.
My‑re ran to the aft of the ship and saw a trail of destroyed tents and their wooden support poles in the Unsinkable III’s wake. Rirorni swarmed like mad fire ants from the camp and cursed venomously in Rathiri, the Rirorni native tongue. She cringed at the harsh language and even picked up a few new Rirorni curses she hadn’t heard before, which roughly translated to questioning the virtuous nature of one’s mother.
Like rain falling on a roof, the ‘thunking’ sound of arrows hitting the ship's underside began. All the perimeter scouts sped in their direction.
“Get us out of here!” Vomarian shouted. “We have to get higher and outrun them!”
The arrow fire waned as the ship gained altitude, but the mounted Rirorni easily kept pace with the flying vessel. My‑re also noted some speeding away in different directions. She suspected they were going to get help or warn other nearby encampments.
My‑re said, “We aren’t going to lose them. Those Rirorni ponies don’t tire easily, and the troops will rely on fresh ones as needed. There’s too many to fight and too many to flee from.”
“Turn the ship south!” Vomarian ordered. “Set course for the Storm Crags.”