Wrath of the Blue Lady

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The woman’s voice haunted Bayel Droust’s dreams as it had for weeks. Images of nightmarish creatures scurrying across the ocean floor moved to the sound of her words. Dangerous, merciless monstrosities twice as big as the ship he sailed on. The dead the sea had taken walked through a graveyard of sunken ships and prowled watches they’d walked above the surface on her orders. Other things, small and furtive, darted through trees and brush the likes of which Droust had never before seen.

The woman’s voice resonated in his mind. He still didn’t know what tongue she spoke, and Droust was conversational in five Inner Sea dialects, three human, one Dwarvish, and one Elvish. He could make his way through a dozen more, but not hers. Over the last few tendays, she had learned his language at an unbelievable speed

But her own inability to learn more than one at a time frustrated her. During those times, while kneeling before her and praying that she didn’t take his life, he had grown afraid of her anger. When the dream ended and he woke once more each day, he felt as though a death sentence had lifted.

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