he'd courted Haela Brightaxe, also called the Lady of the Fray, and goddess of dwarven warriors. She'd spurned his love, he said, and he was ready to greet death. He sang of how much he would love to die and how pleased he was to see them. Meaning that he wouldn't have to die alone.'
The bard's plucked notes flowed through the room.
'And the strength of his song was such that the ogres believed him and grew afraid. When he finished and took up his great battle-axe, the ogres left. See, they believed him about him being ready to up and die, and they didn't want to get taken with him.'
'It's a good tale,' Pacys agreed, 'and it's exactly what I was talking about. I've been chasing this song for fourteen years. I came across part of it the night Narros and the other mermen came to Waterdeep after the Taker destroyed their city. Since that time I've wandered what seems like all of Faerun pursuing it, never able to get more than a few scraps of it here and there.'
'But now there's more.'
'Every day,' Pacys agreed. 'It led me to Narros, and it led me here, to the boy.'
Khlinat shook his head. 'It's a powerful lot for a man to think on, but have ye given any thought to what if yer wrong?'
'No.' Pacys, who was never at a loss for words because it was those words that kept food on the table, tried to find the right ones.
'The swabbie's just a boy,' Khlinat said. 'If he's to go up against this thing ye call the Taker as ye say, he's got a lot of growing up to do.'
'I know,' Pacys admitted, 'but this search for him, and finding him here at a time when this attack happened, and him being part of the effort that turned the tide of battle, it all sounds right.'
Khlinat's tired eyes sparkled with merriment. 'Ye mean to say old Khlinat Ironeater's going to be in yer song?'
Pacys smiled gently back at him. 'My friend, you're going to live forever.'
'Hopefully well and handsome in them verses, singer.' Khlinat raised his cup in a toast.
Pacys toasted him and they drank. He put his cup down and searched the yarting for any new chords for the song.
At that moment, the candle guttered, reaching the end of the wick and drowning in the pool of melted beeswax. Pacys thought again of the long time that Jherek had been gone and wondered if something had happened to the boy. Then, for the first time that night, he hit a discordant note. A chill settled over the old bard as he put a hand over the strings to quiet them.
'What is it?' Khlinat asked.
Pacys pushed up from the table and settled his yarting over his shoulder. He picked his cloak up from the peg on the wall. 'I have to go find the boy. Something's happened.'
The dwarf tried to get up, but the pain drove him back to his seat. 'Damn me for a weakling. I'd go with ye, but I can't. Let me know, will ye?'
Pacys nodded and let himself outside, hurrying down the stairs. He paid attention to the sounds around him. If a person only listened to the noises around him, he'd know music was being made all the time.
Now, beyond the street noise made by the wagons and Flaming Fist mercenaries filling the city, a discordant resonance hung over all of Baldur's Gate. The old bard knew he was probably the only person who heard it, but it told him that no matter what efforts he made, he was already too late.
He felt the rift between himself and the younger man, but he quickened his steps anyway, trying to find the direction, frustrated because the young sailor's tune seemed lost to him, a distant whisper of what it had been.
XI
7 Kythorn, the Year of the Gauntlet
'Have a care there, lad. You took a pretty good knock to your melon.'
Rough hands steadied Jherek, holding him down. He knew from the weakness filling him that it didn't take much effort. The liquid motion beneath him told him he was on a ship, though that motion was somehow off. The movements were too quick and sharp. The stink of stale sweat and sickness filled the air he breathed. His stomach rolled and rumbled in protest.
'Easy there,' the deep voice advised. 'Else you'll be throwing up everything we've managed to put down you the last day or so.'
The back of Jherek's throat was raw. He cracked his eyelids open, feeling a sticky and gummy substance binding them. Sunlight stabbed into his eyes and exploded with the ferocity of smoke powder, blinding him. He groaned and his stomach rolled again.
'You still live, lad, and Selune willing, that's a good sign. Come on around and let me see if you've still got your wits about you.' A big, callused hand patted his cheek sharply enough to sting without jarring his head. 'I've seen such blows as you've taken leave a man addled for the rest of his life, not knowing much more than a child.'
Jherek tried his eyes again, squinting against the harsh light. Tears ran down his face but he kept them open. He quickly discovered he was on a ship, but he was in the cargo hold, in a portion that had obviously been set up as a makeshift brig. Iron bars above let the sunlight in but he couldn't tell if it was morning or afternoon. The sound of rigging creaking in the wind and someone calling out sharp orders reached his ears.
'Don't know if you remember me, lad, but the name's Hullyn.' He was a short man, but nearly as broad as a dwarf, with thick sloping shoulders heavy with muscle. His skin carried a permanent windburn red from weathering the elements. He wore his graying blond hair tied back, letting his great beard and mustache roam free.
'I remember you,' Jherek said. Hullyn was part of Breeze-runner's crew. That gave the young sailor some hope. 'Where's Sabyna?' He sat up with assistance, putting his back against the bulwark for support.
Hullyn scowled. 'She's topside with those thrice-damned pirates what's got our ship. They're using her as blackmail to keep us in line.' He reached to a small bowl and took out a damp cloth, then pressed it against Jherek's head.
Jherek winced in pain, but he looked around the brig. From his previous experience aboard her, he knew Breeze-runner carried a crew of twenty men. All of them appeared to be there, including Captain Tynnel.
The captain stood leaning against the iron bars that separated them from the empty ship's hold. His arms crossed his chest and he looked disapprovingly at Jherek. He was short and had a small stature, but fierceness showed in every inch. Blond hair the color of bleached bone was tied back from his hatchet face. Bright blue eyes held the cutting edge of diamond. For the first time ever, his clothing appeared disheveled.
'You going to live?' Tynnel asked.
Jherek nodded, then regretted it immediately when pain shot down his neck and back. 'Aye sir.'
'You're a lucky man,' Tynnel commented. 'Vurgrom and his people were going to kill you, but Sabyna talked them out of it.'
'They came looking for her.'
'I know. From what I've gathered, they were in Baldur's Gate on bad business. Perhaps they even had something to do with the sahuagin raid as Vurgrom claims. I'm not certain.'
'They took the ship?'
Tynnel blew out a short breath. 'Would have been nine or ten of them against us, but they had Sabyna. If we hadn't cooperated, Vurgrom told me he would kill her. I believed him.'
'Bastards like as not will kill us all afore it's over with. We'll have just put our necks in the executioner's noose for nothing.'
Jherek turned his head slightly, spotting Aysel against the left side of the brig. Large and hairy, Aysel resembled an ape trying to pass itself off as a sailor. He was broad shouldered and heavy bellied, covered in scars. His shaggy black hair hung to his shoulders, almost covering the finger-length daggers that hung from ear hoops. He held his hands one on top of the other, two digits missing from his left hand. A soft leather shoe encased his right foot.
