the rough crowd, momentarily accepted as one of their own. He felt guilty too. The fight wasn't something to be proud of.
'Drink up, boy,' the old man said, slapping Jherek on the back. 'It'll wash the blood out of your mouth and prevent infection. Hell, you drink enough, you won't even feel the pain.'
The crowd laughed, yelling enthusiastically.
Jherek shook his head politely, then regretted it instantly when a new wave of pain fired through his skull. It felt like pieces of it were missing. 'Don't drink,' he said.
'What?' the old man asked.
'I said I don't drink,' Jherek replied.
The old man passed the knowledge on to his comrades flocked together at the bar. 'A fighting man always drinks,' the man said, turning back to Jherek.
'Can't,' Jherek said, thinking quickly, not wanting to offend his newfound friends. 'It's my belief.'
The old man drew back in wry surprise. 'Now there's a piss-poor god for you-one that doesn't allow a man an honest drink now and again.' He suddenly slammed his sword arm across his chest in benediction. 'May Tyr protect a warrior who speaks his own mind so carelessly.'
'No offense taken,' Jherek said.
'What will you drink?' the man asked.
'Water, please.'
Hrumphing in displeasure, the bartender said, 'I've got some I keep around here for cutting drinks I sell to the young Amman fops who come around wanting to talk it up later that they've been to this place.' He rummaged under the counter and brought up a bottle. 'Here it is.' He poured a quick tankard and sat it before Jherek.
'Thank you.' Jherek took up the tankard and drank, tasting the coppery salt of the blood in his mouth. His wounded arm throbbed dully. Glancing at it, he pulled the sliced cloth away.
'You're going to need a few gathers in that one, boy,' the old man said. 'I know a cleric who does such work out of his temple. He'll expect a few silver pieces to be donated to his god in return, and a couple gold if you want him to bless it.'
Jherek nodded and sipped his water again. Nausea swamped his stomach and he fought to keep its contents in place. He'd never felt that way when he'd fought the sahuagin, nor when he'd fought pirates out on the open seas, but Aysel wasn't as bluntly evil in his ways as they'd been. The big sailor had only been a man with an undisciplined tongue and low manner.
Standing there, swaying slightly, Jherek knew the fight could have easily ended with any one of them dead, and it would have been his fault.
Malorrie had always taught him never to strike in anger, and to fight only when fighting would save a life.
Jherek knew he could have walked out of the tavern, but he'd chosen not to. At the same time, though, he knew he couldn't allow Sabyna's honor to be bandied about so lightly. It would have offended him to stand there and let the comments be aired.
'Get out of my way!'
Recognizing the voice at once, Jherek turned and watched as Captain Tynnel strode through the tavern's double doors. He watched Tynnel survey the makeshift battlefield and felt even more uncomfortable about what he'd done. The serving wenches ceased looting the pockets of the unconscious men and backed hurriedly away, hiding the coins they'd taken in the pockets of their skirts.
'Who did this?' the captain roared. His fist knotted around the sword he wore. His gaze challenged every man in the tavern. A dozen Breezerunner crewmen stood behind him. All of them looked ready to fight.
The tavern crowd separated, revealing Jherek. The young sailor stepped forward on trembling legs. 'I did,' he answered.
XXVIII
8 Tarsakh, the Year of the Gauntlet
'The story was given to my people generations ago,' Narros said, 'at the same time we were given custody of the headband that was to be kept under our protection.'
'Headband? From whom?' Pacys asked. He sat on a pile of moss on the floor across from a low table made of gathered stones in the middle of the small underwater cave out in Waterdeep Harbor that the merman shaman made his home.
The cave was ten feet tall and only slightly wider than that. Mosaics of shells, stones, and bits of colored glass gleaned from trading with the merchants in Waterdeep and crafted into pictures of mermen fishing the depths occupied prominent places on the walls. Out of deference to the bard's weaker surface vision, a small glow lamp gleamed on the table.
Pacys was able to survive underwater due to the emerald bracelet he wore. The merman shaman had given it to him at the dock. The magical powers of the bracelet let him breathe the water as air, turned away most of the cold, and removed the pressure from the depths. If it hadn't been for the flotsam and jetsam that occasionally floated through his view and the inquisitive fish that came up to him, the bard would have noticed the difference between the submerged cave and the surface world even less.
'Our stories say that the first of our group was given the prophecy and the headband by Eadro the Deliverer, Lord of the Sunlit Shadows.'
The bard easily recognized the name of the mermen god. Eadro was also worshiped by the locathah, though the means of worshiping the god differed wildly among the races as well as the regions.
'There was a time,' Narros went on in his deep voice, 'generations and generations ago, when a great evil was inadvertently loosed upon the world.'
Unconsciously, Pacys's hands strayed to his yarting. The magic of the bracelet, he'd discovered, had extended to his clothing and his instrument. Delicately, his fingers plucked at the strings, sorting out the rhythm that came into his mind as the merman spoke. 'What was the nature of this great evil?'
Narros shook his head and his beard and hair floated through the currents that swept around him. The motion was disconcerting to Pacys even though he'd experienced the deep before.
All of the adult merfolk were engaged in helping with the salvaging efforts going on in Waterdeep Harbor and beyond. On their way down from the docks Narros had encountered half a dozen or more of his kin and sent each one away in turn with different orders. Some were asked to help with salvage, others to patrol for the many stray sharks still trapped in the harbor and feasting on Water-deep's dead. One, an impressive merman warrior named Thraxos, had come to Narros to tell the shaman he'd received his orders and was ready to go.
'Be off with you then, Thrax,' Narros had said, respect evident in his tone and expression. 'It's a long swim, my friend, and I fear we'll never see each other again.'
Thraxos had only nodded and turned, swimming away. It seemed that the City of Splendors was still sacrificing her finest in the war that had come upon them so suddenly.
Quick movement darted at one of the doors carved into this part of Waterdeep Isle. Narros had two small children in the house with him that he'd chased to rooms in the back of the dwelling. One of them was a little girl, scarcely longer than three feet from the top of her head to the bottom of her fins. The other was a boy old enough to wear an adult's knife strapped to his upper arm.
'I'm sorry for the interruption,' Narros said. 'Alyyx has her mother's curiosity.'
'It's quite all right,' Pacys said and gave the merchild a smile. 'I've always loved children. I don't mind them being here.'
'Well enough.' Narros spoke in his own tongue, then slapped his powerful tail fin gently on the floor.
The little merchild arced through the water, fast as a dolphin. In the blink of an eye she twisted and managed to come to a thumping rest tucked safely inside her father's arms. Contented, she thrust a thumb into her mouth and watched Pacys with wild-eyed innocence.
'I apologize,' Narros said. 'She's never seen a human this close before.'
'Don't apologize,' Pacys replied. 'I've made most of my living by my own curiosity, or teasing it out of
