After a moment, he raked his fierce gaze over the enlisted men and civilians. 'I am Piergeiron!' he roared in a loud voice that echoed from the buildings and over the water. 'Called Paladinson and Known Lord of Water-deep.' He drew his great sword Halcyon and held it aloft so it gleamed. 'As long as I can fight, this city will remain standing and be free!' He lifted the sword, and as if in answer, a salvo of flaming rock seared across the sky from Castle Waterdeep's catapults. They splashed down in the harbor around the bloodworms and dragon turtles, the biggest targets immediately available.
A frenzy ripped through the crowd of soldiers and townspeople alike. Pacys wasn't immune to it himself, feeling lifted immediately by the presence of the Waterdhavian lord.
The war-horse Dreadnought stamped restlessly, causing its full plate barding to ring. Piergeiron kept the animal under control. 'I came here tonight to take the battle to those who dare raise arms against this, our city, our home! Now who stands with me?'
A triumphant cheer sounded around the guild hall and must have carried down Dock Street. In seconds, men down at Ship Street picked up the rallying cheer as well. Piergeiron Paladinson's name quickly became a battle cry.
The big man clamped his helm on his head and put spurs to his horse as his men cleared the way to Dock Street. Dreadnought reared as lightning split the sky asunder, casting livid purple light over the silver armor of man and horse. Then he was off, and the crowd of soldiers and townspeople followed in his wake, an army raised where only fearful men had stood before.
Gasping and in pain, Pacys followed. His nimble mind pushed and pulled at words, jerking them into the order and cadence he wanted, smithing them into his song, polishing the ones that felt right. He knew Piergeiron had chosen his means of appearance, and the salvo of catapult loads that had followed. If they lived, if Waterdeep survived, Oghma be merciful and just, but what a song the bard would have to leave as his legacy.
XVII
12 Mirtul, the Year of the Gauntlet
'Live, that you may serve,' Jherek said in frustration. 'Madame litaar, I don't understand.'
He sat at her table, finishing up the meal she'd prepared. As she'd promised, the venison stew was thick and hearty, filled with vegetables cut up fresh from the garden she and the household cook maintained.
Located in the front of the house, the dining room looked seaward. The ships in the harbor were visible from the height up Widow's Hill. Jherek knew which one was Butterfly even from this distance, and he caught himself looking wistfully at the ship more than he was comfortable with.
As with the rest of the house, the dining room kept mementos of its mistress's long and involved life. Jherek only knew a few of the stories behind the many objects that lined the shelves or occupied wall space. Madame litaar rarely talked about them, and he wasn't ill-mannered enough to ask. The table was round, hand-carved by her late husband from a great tree he'd felled. That same tree had also given him the lumber he'd needed to build the eight chairs for the table, her bed, and her bedroom suite. All of those, Jherek knew, had been wedding gifts he'd made for her before they married.
Madame litaar looked at him from where she sat at the head of the table. 'Jherek, there's a reason for you being here.'
'In your house?' the young sailor asked bitterly, thinking of his traveling kit packed outside. He felt good again, thanks to the healing potion and the hot meal. 'That seems to have come to an end tonight.'
She shook her head. 'No. We've been through a lot together these past years. This will not break us. As long as I have a home, you'll have a home. That I swear to you on my husband's grave.'
That, Jherek knew, was her firmest promise, and there was no arguing with it. 'What am I supposed to do?'
'Live,' she answered simply, 'which is why I've arranged to send you on Breezerunner tonight. You must take it to Baldur's Gate. The vision I've had recently indicates that you'll find more of your destiny there. That ship is new to these waters, so no one aboard her will know you. Possibly they've heard of you while they've been in port, but they don't know you by sight.'
'Running off in the middle of the night isn't being the kind of man I want to be,' Jherek said stubbornly.
'You go so that you may see more clearly,' the woman said. 'That's something about you I've seen in my dreams of late. In order to grow, you must first leave Velen.'
Her words struck a chord within the young sailor, and he remembered the dream of the mermaid in the clam. She had said something along the same lines, but with that memory came the image of the great shark, and that left him feeling cold.
'How many challengers do you think you'll find in Velen when the cock crows on the morrow?' Malorrie demanded.
As usual, the phantom leaned against the window overlooking the harbor, his arms crossed over his chest.
Jherek paused, knowing Malorrie was right. 'I don't know.' He used a knife to cut a hunk off the bread loaf on the wooden platter in the middle of the table, then used the bread to sop up the soup from his bowl. He guessed the incredible hunger he felt was one of the side-effects of the potion.
'Well, boy, there'll be plenty of them, I can assure you.'
'I could fight.'
'And be killed, perhaps,' the phantom agreed. He looked at Jherek sternly. 'I know that's unfair to say, but who's to say you'll only face one foe, or that they'll come at you where you can see them?' He shook his head. 'Perhaps you'll kill one of those boys you've grown up with since you've been here. Would that be better?'
'No,' he admitted, 'but I don't want to be driven from home.'
'I'm glad you feel that way,' Madame litaar said with a small smile. 'I guessed that was the way you felt, but you've never said so, not in so many words.'
'This is your home,' Jherek said, hastening because he felt like he'd overstepped his bounds, 'but I've enjoyed the time I've spent here.'
'Good, but you need to realize this isn't the only home you'll know,' the woman said. 'Your home was also Butterfly and the sea. That will always be your true home, Jherek. I've seen it in the castings I've done concerning you. In the future, you're never far from the oceans.'
'Everything now seems destined to keep me from the sea,' Jherek said. 'I couldn't sail with-' His voice faltered. He couldn't bring himself to say the word 'father.' '-with the crew of Bunyip.'
'The river always finds its way out to sea eventually,' Madame litaar stated. 'The ties that bind you to the sea are as strong as any of those in nature.'
' 'Live, that you may serve.' But serve who?' he asked. 'For what reason?'
She looked at him and shook her head. 'I don't know, but I know I've had a part in this. In all the years I've lived here, my home has never been harmed by the weather. Some thought it was because of the location, and others thought I managed a weather control spell. The same year the wind ripped the shingles from my roof, I'd also learned about a young boy who worked for Shipwright Makim who was good with wood and his hands. As you know, I went to Shipwright Makim and made a bid for your time since all the other roofers in Velen were busy, too busy even for me. It wasn't long after that I found out you were renting space in a stable for a bed and asked you to move in here. That's not behavior I'm accustomed to.'
'Then why did you do it?' Jherek demanded.
'After I saw you, I was given a dream that you would be the one to repair the roof on my house. As you know, I never ignore my dreams. They all come true.'
Jherek put sweet butter on another piece of bread. He didn't really feel like eating, but his survival instinct made him eat. When he'd first come to Velen as a homeless boy, before he'd gotten the job with Shipwright Makim, there'd been several hungry nights. He'd learned to eat his fill whenever he could since he didn't know when the next opportunity would occur. Thinking of leaving Velen inspired the same kind of fear in him, especially when he remembered how the wages Finaren had given him had been taken.
'Whoever-whatever-I am to serve, is it good or evil?' he asked.
