War of the Words/Chapter 22

Darin was direct in his directions, but the journey still was taking longer than he would like. They had been at sea for nearly ten days and the best that Darin could discern, they were less than quarter of the way between Deren and Sentar. At this rate, they would still not reach the city by the end of the month. It was not that Darin's directions were bad or that the crew was inefficient, but Darin was NOT a sailor and the crew was unfamiliar with these waters.

"How much longer will we be at sea?" Tralin asked.

"How the hell should I know? We are moving at a snail's pace," Darin snapped, his patience with the Drakel at its limit.

"I see," Tralin responded. "I will speak with the captain."

"There's probably nothing you..." Darin began, but Tralin had already left the cabin. Why had all of this happened? Two months ago, he had been on top of the world, a chief agent of the Water Lord enacting his plans to bring victory in the elemental war. Today, he was sharing a cabin with one he had considered among his chief adversaries, going to rescue the enemy army, and likely wandering into a horde of bloodthirsty undead instead. Twice Darin had heard that odd music since the trek began, and it was not until the second time that Tralin informed him of what it probably meant. By this time, the entire continent was probably a wasteland of death and destruction. Why were they running this foolhardy mission?

Tralin reentered the cabin quietly. "The captain has promised to speed things along. He, and I, only hope that your directions are very precise; should we run aground on a hidden reef or meet some water hazard, we shall not have to worry about the wandering undead."

"Great," Darin moaned. 'More responsibility heaped on my head.'