place, then I'll help you in any way I may.' He couldn't turn down the anxious note in the old bard's voice, though he also didn't know why the man might think he needed him.
'Of course. Perhaps I could accompany you.'
' 'Tis a long walk down some powerful dark streets,' Khlinat said.
The old bard nodded. 'I've seen hardships in life. Surviving this night has not been easy.'
The dwarf harumphed as Jherek helped him to his feet. 'One as aged as ye, 111 wager ye have seen some bad times.'
The young sailor found aiding Khlinat in walking was an adventure in itself. The dwarf was too short to simply drape his arm across his shoulders, and too heavy to support easily.
'Well come on then,' Khlinat growled. 'I've a small place, but yer welcome to what I have. With Marthammor's sagacious blessing, mayhap there'll even be some victuals we can scrape together.'
VIII
4 Kytnorn, the Year of the Gauntlet
'Ye play a pretty tune on that thing.'
Pacys glanced up at Khlinat, who lounged across the small table in the modest quarters he kept at a rooming house on Windspell Street just west of the Wide, the name of Baldur's Gate's bustling marketplace. 'Thank you, my friend.' His fingers strummed the strings casually, picking out the notes, making them ring true. The song lived inside his head, adding to itself by leaps and bounds. He was already working on the song of the attack on Baldur's Gate and the words came so easily.
A beeswax taper burned on the table between them, throwing up a thin streamer of smoke and illuminating the carving board with a loaf of bread and cheese on it. Felogyr Sonshal had begged off as soon as they'd reached the dwelling safely. The dwarfs fare on hand had been simple, added to by small journeycakes smothered in honey he'd had put away, a clutch of apples, and a jug of cheap wine.
The old bard had eaten, picking at the offered food mostly, and he'd watched Jherek of Velen, trying to see some sign that the young sailor was the one Narros had told him to look for. As he surveyed the young man, he tried to figure out how he was going to tell Jherek of the destiny that lay before him. How could one so young, so vulnerable, be expected to shoulder such a heavy burden as facing the wrath of the Taker?
Khlinat had eaten with the relish of someone who had recently ended a long fast, drinking the wine with zest. He cut up another apple with a small carving knife, glanced briefly out the window as a Flaming Fist mercenary group went by carrying lamps. 'How came ye to know the swabbie?' he asked.
'I don't,' Pacys said.
'Yet ye came over to him like ye knowed him.' The dwarf's eyes narrowed in suspicion.
They spoke about Jherek because the young man had taken his leave of them only a few minutes ago. Pacys had been loathe to let him from his sight, but Jherek had been adamant about not leaving Khlinat to himself should something go wrong with the wounds. The young sailor had taken it upon himself to seek out an apothecary for balms to better treat and dress the wounds until a healer could be sent for.
Pacys put a hand over the yarting's strings, stilling their hum. 'I was sent to find him.'
Khlinat fisted the carving knife casually, but shifted in his chair to get into better position. 'The swabbie's not wanted for anything, is he? I'll not harbor anyone saying bad things about him. He laid his life on the line for people tonight, meself included, and didn't say one word about it.'
'I expect he wouldn't,' Pacys agreed. He'd noticed Jherek's calm demeanor as well. 'No, he's not wanted for anything.'
'Good, for ye had me worried a moment.' Khlinat stabbed the knife into the carving board. 'I've not had blood spilt in me room before, but I'd not hesitate.'
Pacys's fingers returned to the strings, playing the hero's tune that he identified with Jherek. 'How long have you known him?'
'I only met him tonight.'
Surprised lifted one of the old bard's eyebrows.
'He came up on a caravan from the south,' Khlinat said. 'I had that from him before them pirates sculled into the harbor and started their attack. He hails from Velen.'
'I know the place,' Pacys said.
'Lot of ghosts and such there,' Khlinat mused.
'What do you know about him?'
The dwarf shrugged and popped a piece of apple into his mouth. 'He's a sailor and a good man. Lot of sand in his craw, ye want my opinion. Not many would have stood up like he did tonight.'
'You did,' Pacys said. 'Driving a wagonload of smoke powder into the harbor was no trivial thing.'
'I had me reasons.'
Pacys changed tunes, finding the one he'd selected for the dwarf as he wove his song about the attack on Baldur's Gate. It was somewhat hard and unpolished, much like the little man himself. 'You mean the Harper pin you wear?' The old bard had spotted it on the other man earlier back at the docks. It was clipped inside his shirt, out of the way of the most casual glances. Harpers didn't readily identify themselves except to others of their group.
Khlinat didn't answer.
'It's all right,' Pacys said. 'I know about Those Who Harp.'
'Ye wear the pin yerself?'
Pacys shook his head. 'I was asked. I chose not to.' The Harpers were a group spead thinly across the face of Faerun that primarily worked for good. Individuals among the group also had their own agendas, though, and that was a problem at times and for some people.
'Being a Harper is an important thing,' Khlinat stated.
'Some would call your group meddlers,' Pacys pointed out.
'Mayhap, but we stand betwixt evil, them what would take away freedoms, and the common man.' Khlinat returned his gaze levelly, the candle flame wavering in his eyes. 'I can imagine no higher calling.'
Pacys reworked the tune in his head, bringing out the true sound of it through his fingertips. 'For myself, I can imagine no higher calling than my art. Belief is a harsh mistress, and you have to believe in one thing most of all in your life. Otherwise, you're compromised.'
'Aye. Now that's the right of it.' Khlinat drained the dregs of his wine cup. 'Ye never mentioned what ye wanted with the swabbie.'
Changing the melody again, going back to the piece he'd constructed about his visit with Narros the merman in Waterdeep harbor, Pacys told the tale in his best voice, trusting in the good nature of Those Who Harp, winning Khlinat over to his side. Also, he knew it would help to have Khlinat on his side if possible when he presented the story to Jherek. As he talked, the dwarf poured them both fresh cups of spiced wine.
'How can I help you, my son?'
Jherek looked into the priest's eyes and saw the fatigue there. 'I'm looking for a healing balm for a friend if you've any to spare.' He opened his coin purse. 'I'm willing to pay.'
The Rose Portal was a shrine to Lathander, also called Morninglord, who was god of the spring, dawn, birth, and renewal, of beginnings and hidden potentials. Like the other buildings along the north wall of Baldur's Gate, the temple was constructed primarily of stone but the windows inset in the walls were of the palest pink to reflect the dawn. Even the torch Jherek carried picked up the color in the night.
He'd tried the temple of Ilmater before coming here, but their resources had already been drained. He'd stayed long enough to say his prayers to the god and make his peace with the night's events. Remembering how well he'd been treated at Lathander's temple in Atkatla, he'd decided to try there when one of the people on the street he'd asked had mentioned it.
'Child,' the old priest said as he stepped back from the door, 'enter and we'll see what Lathander has seen fit to provide us. Even now new donations are being received to help with the victims.' He was short and broad,
