Disclaimer: I do not own Record of Lodoss War, Ashram, Pirotess, Groder, etc. Although I wish I did. Sigh

Prologue

Land Ho!

Stench. That was the first thing one noticed now. After being out at sea for weeks, everything gave off a vile scent of rotting flesh and brine. Everything and everyone reeked like the pervasive liquid that dared to call itself water. It wasn't water. It was poison. And people were beginning to forget that now, in their thirst. The supplies of food had diminished weeks ago, and the fresh water had dried a few days ago, or something, no one quite remembered when; it seemed so long ago.

Decked out in heavy black armor and a thick cloak, Ashram was seriously considering shoving aside all decorum and stripping. He was sweating heavily, and his armor was hot to the touch. His long midnight hair was tangled and sticky; his long bangs were disheveled and stuck to his forehead. He leaned upon the wooden railing at the bow of the ship, gazing out at the vast sea in front of him. It had seemed full of promise, his idea, but now it seemed so wrong. Had he led his people to their deaths out here? He was sure they would find land away from Lodoss. He was sure. But not anymoreNow he was thinking it did not exist at all. That it never had existed.

He had set out for an imaginary continent. Ashram let out an exasperated yell and slammed his hands down on the railing. No one looked at him. They were all too weak. They were all too far-gone. All except Pirotess. She was sitting in the shade of the mast with her legs splayed out in front of her. Her amber eyes were heavy-lidded with exhaustion, but still retained a glimmer of their original sharpness. Dark Elves seemed to retain their sanity longer than humans. She stared at him, but his own cold gaze remained glue to the horizon. The goddamn forsaken horizon.

Why me? Why us? What did we ever do to deserve this? First we are given Marmo, that hellhole of an island. Then we are repulsed from Lodoss. Now we are floating in the middle of an unending sea, slowly going mad and dying of thirst. Thoughts like these buzzed like angry wasps within Ashram's blurred mind. He finally glanced over his shoulder at the Dark Elf hiding in the tiny shadows.

"Pirotess…?" his voice was quieter, yet harsher than he remembered it. The Dark Elf started, her bright eyes snapping open. She slowly pulled herself to her feet, before leaving the security of the shadows to join her King in the harsh sunlight.

"Yes, sire?" she whispered. Ashram swallowed and licked his lips, but his mouth was dry.

"The other ships, are they all within your sight?" he asked. Pirotess paused for a moment before turning and scanning the sea.

"No sire, I see only twenty-two," she responded.

"Only twenty-two… where are the other four?"

"I do not know sire."

Ashram put more weight on the railing. "I know, I was just… never mind," he sighed.

"Sire?" Pirotess braved a step forwards.

"I'm fine," that was a lie. The two at the bow lapsed into a tense silence as Ashram continued staring down the horizon with cold gray eyes. He heaved a heavy sigh and his armor creaked as he shifted. "How are the others faring?" he asked even quieter. Pirotess' eyes narrowed and she moved her gaze to the side.

"As best as possible, sire. We've had no food for two and a half weeks and no water for two days. Everyone is weak."

"How many dead?" he dreaded the answer even before he asked. Pirotess paused.

"From this boat? Thirty-four, as of yet, milord," she finally answered.

"Thirty-four? So many, so soon?" Ashram actually turned around to look at her this time. She seemed to resist shrinking back.

"Yes sire, mostly invalids and children," she reported softly. She watched the expression on her Master's face change from shock to defeat; neither expression suited him, she thought with a heavy weight of sadness clenching her chest.

"Yes… yes… I see…" he murmured as he turned back around. "You have heard nothing from the other ships?"

"No, sire. Not many are still… up and going about their jobs…"

"I see," was all Ashram said to that. He once again planted his hands upon the wooden railing and leaned much of his weight on it; the wood creaked in defiance. Pirotess wanted to reach out to him. She wanted to console him, to tell him they would find land soon. She wanted so many things, but they were all just out of her grasp. "You are dismissed," his cool voice broke through the maelstrom of her thoughts, and emotions, and here eyes widened. Habit took over as she snapped to attention and gave a small bow. He took no notice as she returned to her shaded spot near the mast.

Ashram took one hand off the railing and covered his face with it. Why? Why? Why, God, why? Was all he could think coherently as the unforgiving sun pounded down upon his shoulders. He debated throwing himself into the sea then and there. His armor would weigh him down, and he would be dozens of feet under by the time anyone even thought of a rescue attempt. He paused. Then again, no one might even try to save him. A wry smile played upon his lips. Yes, they must hate him now. They would probably celebrate his death after all he had put them through. Thoughts of these kind now swirled in his delirious mind as the ship pushed ever onward.

Pirotess watched her master's back. He was stock-still as he leaned on the railing, with the sun gleaming on his dark armor. He really shouldn't be wearing that, she thought, he's going to get heatstroke before this day is up. She did not like the way he looked now. The journey was taking its toll on him, physically and mentally. His eyes were no longer cool and sharp, but they were not tired, they were almost crazed. His voice almost sounded normal. Only those who really knew him would have been able to sense the uneasiness in his voice. She also did not like that he would not move from the railing. She would gladly give up her small amount of shade for him, but she had so far dared not ask him to sit. He was a strong man, and a stubborn one.

Groder was on another ship. Last time she had made contact with him was two days ago, via telepathy. Even though the council revoked his powers, he still managed some illegal gifts. His ship had not been faring any better than theirs. Hobb and that meadow sprite, what's his name, Pirotess could not remember, but it did not really matter, were on Ashram's ship, but they were below decks. The priest of Myrii had been doing his best to ease the pain of his fellow shipmates, but soon even he gave up as his energy depleted and his spells waned.

Pirotess' mind returned to Ashram, as it did so often, and she contemplated placing a sleeping spell on him in order to drag him into the shade without his knowledge. He would surely realize what she had done when he awoke, but he would be much better rested, and it would give him a few spare minutes where he was at peace. Peace was something Pirotess had never seen Ashram have. Pirotess slowly raised her hand and almost began reciting the spell when something caught her eye. She froze and her heavy-lidded eyes widened to their full capacity. She stood and took a few unsteady steps forwards.

"My Lord Ashram…" she started. He turned his head to her.

"What do you want?" he growled. His furrowed eyebrows eased and he straightened slightly as he turned around fully, catching her wide-eyed stare. "What is it?"

Pirotess resisted the urge to point, for she knew he could not see it. After all, he was so near sighted, all humans were. "Land," was all she could stutter.

Author's Note: Whee, I went to look for Record of Lodoss War Fanfiction and found that it was in short supply… so I thought, if I can't read it, I might as well write it. I hope you enjoy it!