moonlight, and the inn where she had left Morik many yards away. She didn't understand, for hadn't she been walking inside just a moment ago? And in an upstairs hallway? Delly merely shrugged. For this woman, not understanding something was not so uncommon an occurrence. She shook her head, figured that Morik had really set her thoughts to spinning that night, and headed back for the Cutlass.
On the other side of the dimensional door that had transported the woman out of the inn, Kimmuriel Oblodra almost laughed aloud at the bumbling spectacle. Glad of his camouflaging piwafwi cloak, for Jarlaxle had insisted that he leave no traces of his ever being in Luskan, and Jarlaxle considered murdered humans as traces, the drow turned the corner in the hallway and lined up his next spatial leap.
He winced at the notion, reminding himself that he had to handle this one delicately; he and Rai'gy had done some fine spying on Morik the Rogue, and Kimmuriel knew the man to be dangerous, for a human, at least. He brought up his kinetic
barrier, focused all his thoughts on it, then enacted the dimensional path down the corridor and beyond Morik's door.
There lay the man on his bed, bathed in the soft glow of his pipe and the embers from the hearth across the room. Morik sat up immediately, obviously sensing the disturbance, and Kimmuriel went through the portal, focusing his thoughts more strongly on the kinetic barrier. If the disorientation of the spatial walk defeated his concentration, he would likely be dead before his thoughts ever unscrambled.
Indeed, the drow felt Morik come into him hard, felt the jab of a dagger against his belly. But the kinetic barrier held, and he absorbed the blow. As he found again his conscious focus and took two more hits, he pushed back against the man and wriggled out to the side, standing facing Morik and laughing at him.
'You can not hurt me,' he said haltingly, his command of the common tongue less than perfect, even with the magics Rai'gy had bestowed upon him.
Morik's eyes widened considerably as he recognized the truth of the intruder, as his mind came to grips with the fact that a drow elf had come into his room. He glanced about, apparently seeking an escape route.
'I come to talk, Morik,' Kimmuriel explained, not wanting to have to chase this one all across Luskan. 'Not to hurt you.'
Morik hardly seemed to relax at the assurance of a dark elf.
'I bring gifts,' Kimmuriel went on, and he tossed a small box onto the bed, its contents jingling. 'Belaern, and pipeweed from the great cavern of Yoganith. Very good. You must answer questions.'
'Questions about what?' the still nervous thief asked, remaining in his defensive crouch, one hand turning his dagger over repeatedly. 'Who are you?'
'My master is…' Kimmuriel paused, searching for the right word. 'Generous,' he decided. 'And my master is merciless. You deal with us.' He stopped there and held up his hand to halt any reply before Morik could respond. Kimmuriel felt the energy tingling within him, and holding it had become a drain he could ill afford. He focused on a small chair, sending his thoughts into it, animating it and having it walk right past him.
He touched it as it crossed before him, releasing all the energy of Morik's hits, shattering the wooden chair completely.
Morik eyed him skeptically, without comprehension. 'A warning?' he asked.
Kimmuriel only smiled.
'You did not like my chair?'
'My master wishes to hire you,' Kimmuriel explained. 'He needs eyes in Luskan.'
'Eyes and a sword?' Morik asked, his own eyes narrowing.
'Eyes and no more,' Kimmuriel came back. 'You tell me of the one called Wulfgar now, and then you will watch him closely and tell me about him when occasions have me return to you.'
'Wulfgar?' Morik muttered under his breath, fast growing
tired of the name.
'Wulfgar,' answered Kimmuriel, who shouldn't have been able to hear, but of course, with his keen drow ears, certainly did. 'You watch him.'
'I would rather kill him,' Morik remarked. 'If he is trouble-' He stopped abruptly as murderous intent flashed across Kimmuriel's dark eyes.
'Not that,' the drow explained. 'Kyorlin … watch him. Quietly. I return with more belaern for more answers.' He motioned to the box on the bed and repeated the drow word, 'Belaern,' with great emphasis.
Before Morik could ask anything else the room darkened utterly, a blackness so complete that the man couldn't see his hand if he had waved it an inch before his eyes. Fearing an attack, he went lower and skittered forward, dagger slashing.
But the dark elf was long gone, was back through his dimensional door into the hallway, then through that onto the street, then back through Rai'gy's teleportation gate, walking all that way back to Calimport before the globe of darkness even dissipated in Morik's room. Rai'gy and Jarlaxle, both of whom had watched the exchange, nodded their approval.
Jarlaxle's grasp on the surface world widened.
Morik came out from under his bed tentatively when the embers of the hearth at last reappeared. What a strange night it had been! he thought. First with Delly, though that was not so unexpected, since she obviously loved Wulfgar and knew that Morik could easily kill him.
But now … a drow elf! Coming to Morik to talk about Wulfgar! Was everything on Luskan's street suddenly about Wulfgar? Who was this man, and why did he attract such amazing attention?
Morik looked at the blasted chair-an impressive feat-then, frustrated, threw his dagger across the room so that it sank deep into the opposite wall. Then he went to the bed.
'Belaern,' he said quietly, wondering what that might mean. Hadn't the dark elf said something about pipeweed?
He gingerly inspected the unremarkable box, looking for any traps. Finding none and reasoning that the dark elf could have used a more straightforward method of killing him if that had been the drow's intent, he set the box solidly on a night table and gently pulled its latch back and opened the lid.
Gems and gold stared back at him, and packets of a dark weed.
'Belaern,' Morik said again, his smile gleaming as did the treasure before him. So he was to watch Wulfgar, something he had planned to do anyway, and he would be rewarded handsomely for his efforts.
He thought of Delly Curtie; he looked at the contents of the opened box and the rumpled sheets.
Not a bad night.
Life at the Cutlass remained quiet and peaceful for
several days, with no one coming in to challenge Wulfgar after the demise of the legendary Tree Block Breaker. But when the peace finally broke, it did so in grand fashion. A new ship put in to Luskan harbor with a crew too long on the water and looking for a good row.
And they found one in the form of Wulfgar, in a tavern they nearly pulled down around them.
Finally, after many minutes of brawling, Wulfgar lifted the last squirming sailor over his head and tossed the man out through the hole in the wall created by the four previous men the barbarian had thrown out. Another stubborn sea dog tried to rush back in through the hole, and Wulfgar hit him in the face with a bottle.
Then the big man wiped a bloody forearm across his bloody face, took up another bottle-this one fall-and staggered to the nearest intact table. Falling into a chair and taking a deep swig, Wulfgar grimaced as he drank, as the alcohol washed over his torn lip.
At the bar, Josi and Arumn sat exhausted and also beaten. Wulfgar had taken the brunt of it, though; these two had minor cuts and bruises only.
'He's hurt pretty bad,' Josi remarked, motioning to the big man-to his leg in particular, for Wulfgar's pants were soaked in blood. One of the sailors had struck him hard with a plank. The board had split apart and torn fabric and skin, leaving many large slivers deeply embedded in the barbarian's leg.
Even as Arumn and Josi regarded him, Delly moved beside him, falling to her knees and wrapping a clean cloth about the leg. She pushed hard on the deep slivers and made Wulfgar growl in agony. He took another deep drink of the pain-killing liquor.
'Delly will see to him again,' Arumn remarked. 'That's become her lot in life.'
'A busy lot, then,' Josi agreed, his tone solemn. 'I'm thinking that the last crew Wulfgar dumped, Rossie Doone and his thugs, probably pointed this bunch in our direction. There'll always be another to challenge the
