3rd Day of Growfest, 565 CY

The Selintan River

Thrumb was right, Nesco thought grimly. We're not going to stop.

Their vessel was commencing a turn towards the northwest at the sharp bend in the Selintan where the river passed underneath the Wharf Gate of the great metropolis. The river was teeming with small craft, some coming dangerously close to their ship, despite numerous shouted warnings by those on board to keep clear, as they had no control over their vessel's heading. Fortunately, there had been no collisions yet.

On their right, through the light drizzle that had been their constant companion since the early morning, they could see the wooded bluff slowly slide past them. Above the trees, dimly visible through patchy fog, could be seen the massive stone walls of the Free City of Greyhawk. Some people were standing on the narrow strip of land that stood between the bluff and the riverbank, watching their passage. Adjacent to the city, at the river's bend could be seen the city's overflow, a large shantytown clustered around Barge End, where the barges of the seagoing gypsies called the Rhenee were moored. To their left, the river's bend formed a triangle of land on which was situated a smaller slum (the Far Bank, as Thrumb called it), which was also filled with onlookers gazing at this strange ship passing through.

On deck, things were getting ugly. The former slaves had gradually grown more and more depressed as each potential homeport; Elredd, Fax, Safeton and Hardby had one by one vanished as a possible destination for their autonomous vessel. With some (perhaps unwitting) encouragement from Elrohir and his friends, they had pinned all of their hopes that the ship might put in at Greyhawk. Now that hope had faded, and the passengers didn't want to stay onboard any longer. Despite the drizzle, they were all above decks now, looking wistfully at dry land so tantalizingly close.

Some had in fact threatened to jump overboard but had until now been dissuaded from doing so. The ex-slaves were, for the most part, women or the elderly, and might not survive such a plunge. While they were now closer to shore than they had been at any point since the beginning of their long journey, a brisk wind was making the Selintan's surface dangerous-looking. The heavy river traffic looked to offer more chance of colliding with a swimmer than of rescuing one.

Now Nesco turned back to the middle-aged man who had lost his daughter. His name was Cheriken, and he was currently engaged in a heated argument with Elrohir.

"We cannot wait any longer!" Cheriken shouted. The teenaged girl Ethily, who had been clinging closely to Cheriken since their rescue, stood meekly behind him, nodding in agreement.

Elrohir was clearly engaged in a losing battle to try and control his exasperation.

"What would you have me do, Cheriken?" the ranger shouted back. "How many times have I told you we have no control over this ship?"

"All the more reason for us leaving it now, while we have a chance!" the former slave yelled back, gesturing with his hands wildly at the vessel around them. "Who knows who built this ship? Who are they? What is their purpose? You say they are elves and are friendly, but what proof have you of that? And now we head towards the Lake of Unknown Depths! Pirates and monsters beyond description lurk there!"

"As does the Furyondan Navy!" cut in Elrohir. "They will protect us! I'm certain now that we are heading for Willip! It's our home city!"

"Yours perhaps, but not mine," Cheriken replied curtly. He swept his hands towards his fellow passengers. "Nor theirs." A swelled agreement rose up from the crowd, and their elected spokesman continued. "We all dwell from the Wild Coast, Hardby, or points south. Some of us are from Greyhawk," he added with a nod towards Captain Thrumb, who stood silently nearby, taking no part in the discussion, "but none from further north! And we are to stand by meekly while this ghost ship sails into the Nyr Dyv?"

The murmuring from the crowd grew louder. Several shouts of "No!" broke out.

"And what if we do not stop at Willip?" Cheriken pressed. "What if we continue to sail north, and up the Veng River or the Ritensa?" He glared hard at the ranger. "The lands of the Horned Society! Perhaps they would welcome a ship full of innocent men and women," he breathed hard, "and foolish, would-be heroes, as well!"

The crowd erupted in shouted protests.

"Perhaps you'd like it better back in Highport?" Elrohir spat at Cheriken, then whirled around and began to stalk off. "We can't stop this ship, so if you want to jump, be my guest!" he shouted over his shoulder.

The reply was swift. "Maybe you can't stop this vessel, but I can and will!"

The ranger stared. Cheriken had produced a hand axe and was now striding towards the main mast. "We'll cut the sails, and drift aground!" he yelled, as he lifted his hand back to swing.

The axe was abruptly yanked out of Cheriken's hand, and its owner shoved backwards. The ex-slave staggered into Ethily, who helped him keep his footing.

Argo Bigfellow stood by the mast, lazily tossing the weapon up and down, catching it each time.

"Caroline, cover the mizzenmast." he said quietly. His wife swiftly moved to obey.

There was a short silence, broken by Ethily's pleading voice. "After all we did for you?" the girl asked. She indicated Cheriken. "He risked his life to get the Slave Lord and bring him to you!"

"Thanks a lot," the aforementioned Slave Lord grumbled, staring up at Caroline from his seat by the mizzen.

"Shut up," Caroline snarled at him.

Nesco stepped forward. "Everyone. Please listen to me."

It didn't have the dramatic effect she was hoping for, but enough people turned to look at the ranger that she felt confident enough to continue.

"Please understand," she said to Cheriken and the others. "We are not mercenaries. We did not come to rescue you for money-"

"That's right," came the voice of the Slave Lord. "She only came to rescue her brother."

The rogue suddenly cried out in pain as Caroline slammed his head back into the mizzenmast. The Slave Lord put his head down on the deck, whimpering and holding his head in his hands.

Argo raised his hand.

"Don't hit him, love."

Caroline looked at her husband questioningly.

Argo indicated the crowd. "I don't want them to think that we have anything to fear from that one," he said. "The one responsible for torturing and killing their friends and families."

While the former slaves considered those words, Nesco again attempted to keep a dialogue going. "We're all tired of being at sea. Now I do think Elrohir is right, and this ship is indeed heading for Willip. However, I think we may be able to find a way to drop anyone who wants to off here at Greyhawk."

Aslan turned to the ranger; his face hard. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Nesco."

Lady Cynewine smiled at the paladin. "I'm sure we can find a way Aslan. Certainly with the abilities of someone as Talented as yourself."

The subject of her statement shook his head while looking down. "I knew you were going to say that, Nesco." He sighed and returned his gaze to her. "We're being scryed upon more and more lately. Teleporting these people off would take days and leave me, and by extension us, far more vulnerable than I'm willing to risk."

Nesco's smile didn't waver. She only spoke one further word.

"Pegasus."

Aslan considered, then gave an embarrassed smile, indicating he had not thought of that.

"Hmm," he mused, peering off at the shore through the light rain. "That should work, and the expenditure would be relatively minimal." He turned back to the others. "All right, everyone who wants to go ashore here, listen up…"

As preparations were made, Talass sidled over to Cygnus.

"I'm happy for these people," she said quietly, "but some of them are going to have a terrible time trying to pick up the pieces of their former lives." The cleric shook her head sadly. "I wish we had The Rock with us here now. I'd give every one of them a piece to use. That would be an unselfish way to use up its remaining magic."

Cygnus pursed his lips together, not meeting Talass' gaze. "That's not an option anymore."

The mage knew the cleric's eyes were on him, but he still waited several seconds to compose himself before meeting her inquiring look. He didn't know how she, or any of the others, were going to take this.

"Before we left the Brass Dragon, I destroyed the chest with a fireball. Everything within, including The Rock, is destroyed."

Unable to help himself, Cygnus quickly looked away. He really didn't want to face one of Talass' legendary rages, or worse, one of her moralizing lectures, now.

When he did hear the voice of the priestess beside him again, Cygnus was surprised. Talass maintained a level, even tone, with none of its usual frostiness.

"Still worried about Nodyath, I presume?"

The wizard nodded. "Yes."

The cleric's next comment surprised Cygnus even more. "What about the iron flask?"

He shrugged. "Destroyed, along with everything else."

"Really?" came the response. There was a slight pause. "Hmm… I would have thought destroying the flask would have set loose the devil within."

Cygnus shrugged again. "Apparently not."

There was nothing further from Talass. Cygnus became agitated. What was she thinking? What was she going to say next? He was torn between just turning to the cleric and blurting everything out about his sleepwalking experience and just walking away when he heard her voice again.

"That's odd. My detect lie prayer says you're telling the truth."

Cygnus whirled around, the astonishment plain to see on his face. "What?"

Talass was smiling at him, but her expression was cold. Her holy symbol was still hung around her neck. It occurred to Cygnus too late that he had not heard any incantation.

"Look at those eyes," the cleric said. "You walked right into that one, didn't you, Cygnus?"

Ashamed, a little angry, but still unable to formulate a suitable reply, Cygnus looked away again, staring as a pegasus took off from the ship's deck, carrying two riders.

"The Rock was no loss," he mumbled. "It never took us to Nodyath. I don't think it worked anymore, anyway."

The wizard heard Talass' voice retreat as she walked away.

"I sure hope you and Aslan know what you're doing, Cygnus."

Another image of Tad flashed through Cygnus' mind.

And then one of Thorin.

"So do I, Talass," he whispered. "So do I."

"Captain Thrumb! Are you all right?"

Elrohir had been the first to notice the elderly man put his hand to his chest and lean against the mast, wincing in pain. When the old man had looked up again, Elrohir, Argo, Caroline, Nesco and Zantac were standing by him with concerned expressions. Talass, just coming up, put her hand on his shoulder.

"I can aid you, good Thrumb, if you-"

The seadog removed the priestess' hand and shook his head at all of them. "By The Isles of Woe, woman! This old heart o' mine been a' thumpin' for years now! I ain't ready to take that plunge yet!" He regarded them all contemptuously. "Don't you all be all standin' there slack-jawed, now! By Osprem, if this were a right proper ship, you'd all be keelhauled for derelictin' yer duties!"

Argo chuckled, and smiled at the ferryman. "Well then, Captain?" the ranger asked. "Aren't you leaving with the others? This is your home, after all."

Thrumb stared hard at Bigfellow. "You lubbers," he said, then ran his hand up and down the carved legs of the mast, while gazing up its length. "Captain don't leave his ship while she's still afloat." He took in another deep breath. "Where she goes, that's where I go, too." He shrugged. "No sense cryin' about what's goin' to happen, or where you might end up. You see," Thrumb expounded, always glad to have an audience, "Lubbers think bein' a sea captain is like bein' master o' yer fate or somethin'."

The old salt shook his head with a bitter smile. "It's not about controllin' yer destiny. It's about acceptin' it, and bein' at peace wit it, even if it be a bad one." He looked from one face to another.

"You all should know that."