What do you want with me?
To give you that which you seek.
Am I here, or am I still among the locathah?
You are safe among the locathah, Taleweaver. Only your mind journeys far at this moment. The locathah chieftain's herbs freed your thoughts. I merely captured them for a moment with my song.
You know I seek the boy, Pacys said.
Jherek. Yes, we know.
His name is Malorrie.
That is the name he gave you, Taleweaver, the whale replied. He is in hiding, from himself and from the fears that have chased him since childhood. He is not whole.
Pacys gazed into the great eye and saw the compassion there. I was told he would not be whole.
Your voice, your heart, Taleweaver, only these things can heal him.
Where is the boy? he asked.
He is far from here now, but he will be here soon.
Why?
It was foretold. The whales must help him forge his destiny.
Then I should be here.
No, the whale said. Your time will not be then. You must journey to Myth Nantar. Your destiny lies in that direction… for the time being. When everything is as it should be, you will find Jherek.
Wouldn't it be better if I found him earlier?
It would be easy to write a song in the heat of passion, but that should not be the only time you work on it. Passion and skill must both be applied to make it strong enough to stand in the hearts and minds of those who listen. Time is the glue that binds the two. When the time is right, you will find each other. The eye closed and reopened slowly. Our time here grows short. My song only transports your thoughts here for a few moments. Like you, I am a bard to my people. It is my duty to record our histories, and to talk to you at this moment.
You're a bard?
Yes. Who else do you think sang the first songs of Seros, then gave music to the people above and below that they might spread it across the dry lands?
There are many stories… the bard admitted.
Even now, the whale went on, my people gather along the Sharksbane Wall in an attempt to hold back the tide of sea devils overflowing into the Inner Sea. It is foretold that we will fail.
Then why try? Pacys's heart ached to hear the quiet acceptance in the whale's voice.
Because we must all play our parts. We must all follow our destinies.
Topside, Jherek looked at the carnage littering the slave ship's deck and felt his resolve weaken. Blood ran in rivulets across the wood, watered down by falling rain. Black Champion's crew formed a half-circle with Glawinn as their center. The paladin lunged forward, slamming his shield into one of the slavers, then running his sword through the body of a second.
With a cry of warning, unable to attack the men from the back without letting them know he was there, Jherek rushed the slaver crew. He caught one man's blade with the cutlass and stopped another with the hook. Striding forward, he kicked the first man, then used the cutlass to slit the throat of the second.
Bodies rolled on the slaver's deck, shifting with the pitch and yaw of the pirate ship tethered to her. The clang of metal on metal punctuated the sounds of screamed curses, prayers, and the wounded and dying. Footing became treacherous.
Arm aching with effort but never failing, Jherek fought on. Blood splashed into his face but he distanced himself from it, from all the death around him. Malorrie had trained him to think that way, to live past the moment.
Sabyna fought nearby, using twin long knives to turn attacks, then spinning inside an opponent's offense and delivering blows herself. She moved as gracefully as a dancer, sliding through the press of men around her and searching out opportunities. Skeins floated at her side, wrapped tightly into a whip that struck out men's eyes or tore their faces when they threatened its master.
'Fight, you dogs!' Azla screamed, urging her men on. 'The first of you who turns tail on me now I'll personally deliver to Umberlee!'
She fought in a two-handed style, her scimitar flashing in her right hand while a long-bladed dirk was held in her left. She blocked a thrust from a half-ogre with her scimitar, then stepped forward and ripped the dirk across the creature's throat.
Incredibly, the slaver crew backed away before the onslaught of the pirates, giving ground steadily as they retreated to the stern castle.
A tall man strode to the front of the stern castle railing, above the trapped slavers. He was deep chested and long-limbed, dressed in crimson and gray clothing, a dark red cloak riding the breeze behind him. Gold and silver gleamed at his wrists, neck, and chest-plain bands with runes carved into them.
'I am Tarmorock Hahn, son of Jakyr Hahn, and I am captain of this ship,' he declared. 'Who is captain of that floundering pirate?'
The fighting broke off, and the two groups formed lines of demarcation.
Azla stepped forward, and three of her pirates and Jherek stepped with her, keeping a protective ring about her.
'I am Azla, captain of Black Champion.'
Tarmorock grinned at her, gave her a cocky salute with the jeweled sword in his hand, and said, 'You'll not be captain for long from the looks of her.'
'I'm standing on my next ship,' Azla stated.
'Confidence!' the slaver roared. 'Gods, but I do admire that in a woman.'
'As captain of a slaver,' Azla retorted, 'I find you offer little to admire.'
'And a cutting tongue as well as good looks. Would that we had met under other circumstances, I'd have offered you a dinner by candlelight.'
'It's just as well,' Azla said. 'Offered aboard a slave ship with the stench you find here, dinner wouldn't have stayed down.'
Tarmorock glared at her, stung even more when Azla's crew hurled taunts at him. 'I offer you the opportunity to duel for my ship,' he said. 'Captain to captain. I offer this as a man of honor.'
'There's no honor in slavery,' Azla said, 'and I've no reason to fight you for anything. I've taken out your weapons, lashed my sinking ship to this one to drag about like a stone, killed over half your crew, and freed the slaves from the hold to fight against you as well. There's nothing here for me to fight for. Resist and we'll kill you anyway.'
'I offer you honor in battle.'
Jherek felt a response stir within him. Azla was correct in her assessment of the situation, but a need rose in him to recognize Tarmorock's challenge. He was barely able to still his tongue.
'I don't need honor,' Azla stated. 'Honor doesn't have sails nor cargo space. I have your ship in all but name. You offer me nothing I care for.'
'Captain,' Glawinn said, stepping forward. Blood stained his copper-colored armor and fresh dents and scratches showed. 'If you don't mind, I'll stand him to his battle of honor.'
'Ah, a true warrior among you,' Tarmorock said. 'You, sir, are a man of the blade?'
'Till the day I die,' Glawinn said.
Pride welled up in Jherek as he watched the knight stand tall in front of the slaver captain.
'No,' Azla said. 'There'll be no battle for this ship. I've won her, fair and square, and I'll take her if I have to gut you down to the last man.'
Tarmorock glanced at Glawinn and said, 'Pity. Apparently there's no prize to be won, but what say you to honor itself? Will you be part and party to a bandit's approach to stealing my ship? Become a thief yourself?'
Glawinn's cheeks reddened, but Jherek couldn't tell if it was from anger or embarrassment.
'I'm no thief,' the paladin said. 'Nor shall I ever be.'
'Those are harsh words that drip from your lips,' Azla said coldly. 'Especially from a man whose livelihood
