Page 50 of Queen's Griffon

At least much more so than Griffon.

The water lapping against the hull had the dark blue hue of deep water. A glance past the prow gave her the first sight of the mist. It hung above the water, a thick wall of white that went up high enough she couldn’t see anything of the continent. For all she knew, nothing existed in that foggy expanse, and yet she had no choice but to enter it.

“The skiff is over there.” The captain pointed to the railing on her left.

“I’ll need a weapon.”

“Whatever for?”

“To defend myself.”

“I’ve got six of my best fighters waiting in the boat. You’ll be fine.”

“Is six plus you enough?” she asked even as she recalled Griffon stating he wanted it to be just the two of them to attract less attention.

“I’m not going.”

“Why not?” she asked with a frown.

“A captain’s duty is to his ship.”

“Sounds more like a coward’s excuse to me,” she muttered as she headed for the rail.

A glance over showed a small craft sitting in the water with the promised burly sailors—five of whom looked terrified. Only one didn’t have the wide eyes and pallor of a man frightened, rather he scowled.

Avera thanked the fact she wore trousers as she had to climb down a swaying rope ladder to the skiff. No one helped her, not to descend or even embark. She landed on her two feet with a little hop and almost fell over as the small boat swayed side to side.

Her stomach clenched and the scowling sailor barked, “Puke over the side.”

She pursed her lips instead and sat on the one bench not occupied. At least she didn’t have to row. Four of the men took up oars while the other pair, one at the front and one in back, appeared to be watching for danger.

As they headed for the mist, she heard the captain call out, “Remember, I’m your only hope of escaping Verlora.”

So he assumed. She had to wonder if any ships might have survived. Most likely not. And even if they had, how would she sail one?

“Row faster,” whispered the man at the rear of the boat.

“What’s wrong, Kenny?” queried the mustachioed fellow at the front.

“Something in the water.”

“Yeah, they’re called fish.”

“Something big,” Kenny murmured.

“I thought nothing lived in these parts,” Mustachio stated.

Avera kept her gaze trained on the blue, barely moving surface and saw the shadow as it passed under them.

“He’s not lying. Whatever is swimming below us is huge,” she exclaimed.

The rowers doubled down, stroking, their paddles lifting and sluicing and pulling. A nudge on the keel had their skiff rocking and one of the rowers blubbered, “It’s madness to come here. Everyone knows this place is cursed.”

“Cursed because the Verlorians eschewed their god,” exclaimed the guy across from him. “Don’t forget, Ron, we aretrue believers. We serve our god, the emperor, every day. He watches over us.”

“Do you really think so?” was Kenny’s small reply. Some brave, big fighter he was. Afraid of?—

It happened so fast, no one screamed. Or blinked, for that matter.

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