III. THE SEA AND THE LAKE

Ystrien leaned over the rail next to Vahaera. The black waters of the Moonsea churned as their vessel cut west. A strong, steady, cold autumn wind favored them. They were making good time.

“Would you call this seawater or lake water?” Vahaera asked.

“I know why you’re asking that question, but I’m not going to humor you.”

“Why not? It’s honest enough. Seawater? Lake water? Neither? Both? Is it one at one time and one at another?” she reached down. The water was too far to touch, of course, but she seemed to try. Her hands were elegant and slender, like the rest of her. The black of the water made them look gray-blue in the cloudy afternoon light.

Her question was silly because, despite its name, the Moonsea was a freshwater lake. No one called it a lake, though. Indeed, when you were in the middle of it, as they were right now, it might as well be the Trackless Sea. And then there were the stories–the Moonsea had no bottom; if you sank into it, you’d keep going forever; its depths overlapped with the Elemental Plane of Water. A sea without salt, a lake deeper than an ocean…

“Well, I know it’s cold and wet. Do you want me to throw you in?” asked Ystrien.

Vahaera laughed–a thrilling sound. She had an elven woman’s musical laugh with an edge that must come, Ystrien thought, from the human or the Drow side or both. Graddick joined them at the rail. The knight usually kept to himself, but Ystrien noticed that he never let the two talk without him for long. In truth, since the evening in Procampur when the “cousins” met her, she had never been far from either man’s thoughts. Ystrien frankly admitted to himself that he was smitten–but he had been smitten before and was wise enough not to let his heart rule him. Graddick’s feelings were intenser and more ill-defined. The night they met, the three had talked until they were the only people in the common room. More accurately, she talked, Ystrien laughed, and Graddick listened. What Graddick heard confused him. She said she hailed from Dambrath; she hinted that she grew up in Menzobarranzan; she didn’t know Procampur well; when the conversation turned to Graddick’s beard, she said she knew the purveyor of the most exquisite men’s grooming tools in all Procampur.

“He’s a friend of mine. I owe him,” she said.

“What do you owe him?” asked Graddick, mystified.

“I once had a great big beard, just like you, but then I bought an excellent razor from him and shaved it off. I owe him nothing less than all my beauty.”   

And so went all the conversation. Whenever Graddick pointed out a contradiction, she’d glibly qualify one side of it to match the other or turn the whole thing into a joke. They had been traveling together several weeks now. She said she’d like to join their quest, that she had reasons of her own for going to Melvaunt. If she did, neither man had any idea what they were. Graddick looked into the water. It showed nothing but the shadow of the boat.