He made no effort to conceal the fact that he was following the pair, one of whom stupidly glanced back several times. The dwarf thought they would confront him out in the street, with so many witnesses around, but to his surprise and delight, the pair slipped down a dark and narrow alleyway instead.
Grinning, he eagerly followed.
“Far enough,” said a voice from the darkness beyond. Following the sound, the dwarf made out a single silhouette standing by a pile of refuse. “I’m not liking yer staring, black-beard, and liking yer following even less.”
“Ye’re for calling Captain Taerl’s guards on me, I’m guessing,” the dwarf replied, and he saw the man shift uncomfortably at the reminder that he was not on his home turf.
“H-here on—on Rethnor’s invitation,” the man stammered.
“Here to eat, ye mean.”
“Aye, as invited.”
“Nay, friend,” the dwarf said. “Rethnor’s welcoming them looking for a Ship to crew, not them looking to come in, eat, and go home to tell th’ other high captains. Ye’re a man o’ Taerl, and good enough for ye.”
“Switching,” the man blurted.
“Bwahahaha,” the dwarf taunted. “Ye been here five times now, yerself and yer hiding friend. And five times ye been on the road back home. A lot o’ yer boys, too. Ye think we’re for feeding ye, do ye?”
“I–I’m paying well,” the man stammered.
“For what’s not for sale,” said the dwarf.
“If they’re for selling, then it’s for sale,” said the man, but the dwarf crossed his burly arms over his chest and shook his head slowly.
From the roof to the dwarf’s left came the man’s companion, leaping down from on high, dagger thrust before him as if he thought himself a human spear. He apparently figured that he had the dwarf by surprise, an easy kill.
So did his friend, down the alley, who started a whoop of victory, one that ended abruptly as the dwarf exploded into motion, throwing his arms forward and over his head and springing a backward somersault. As he went over, he deftly pulled out his twin morningstars, and he landed solidly on the balls of his feet, leaning forward so that he easily reversed his momentum and plowed forward.
With surprising agility, the diving man managed to adjust to his complete miss and tuck into a fairly nimble roll that brought him right back to his feet. He spun, slashing with his dagger to keep the dwarf at bay.
The spiked head of a morningstar met that extended hand, and if the blow wasn’t enough to shatter it, a coating on the ball exploded with magical power. The dagger, a misshapen and twisted thing, flew away, along with three fingers.
The man howled in agony and punched out with other hand as he brought the wounded one in close.
But again the dwarf was way ahead of him. As his first, right-hand morningstar swiped across to take the knife, his left arm went over his head, his second weapon spinning the same way as the first. Executing the block easily, the dwarf stepped forward and down. The punch went over his head as his second morningstar whipped around, the spiked head reaching out at the end of its black chain to take the man on the side of the knee.
The crack of bone drowned out the squeal of pain and the man’s leg buckled and he flopped down to the ground.
His charging friend nearly tripped over him, but somehow held his balance, brandishing sword and dagger at the low-crouched dwarf. He thrust and slashed wildly, trying to overwhelm the dwarf with sheer ferocity.
And he almost got through the clever parries, but only because the dwarf was laughing too hard to more properly defend.
Frantic, trying hard to block out the pitiful crying of his broken friend, the man stabbed again, rushing forward.
He hit nothing, for the dwarf, in perfect balance, slipped out to the side.
“Ye’re starting to try me patience,” the dwarf warned. “Ye might be leaving with just a beating.”
Too terrified to even comprehend that he had just been offered his life, the man spun and threw himself at the dwarf.
By the time the second morningstar ball smashed him on the side of his ribs, crunching them to dust, he realized his mistake. By the time that second ball smacked him again, in the head, he knew nothing at all.
His friend howled all the louder when the swordsman fell dead before him, his brains spilling out all over the cobblestones.
He was still howling when the dwarf grabbed him by the front of his shirt and with frightening strength stood him upright and smashed him against the wall.
“Ye’re not listening to me, boy,” the dwarf said several times, until the man finally shut up.
“Now ye get back to Setting Sun and ye tell Taerl’s boys that this ain’t yer place,” said the dwarf. “If ye’re with Taerl then ye ain’t with Rethnor, and if ye ain’t with Rethnor, then go and catch yerself some rats to eat.”
The man gasped for breath.
“Ye hear me?” the dwarf asked, giving him a rough shake, and though it was with just one hand, the man couldn’t have any more resisted it than he could the pull of a strong horse.
He nodded stupidly and the dwarf flung him down to the ground. “Crawl out o’ here, boy. And if ye’re meaning to crawl back, then do it with a pledge to Ship Rethnor.”
The man replied, “Yes, yes, yes, yes…” over and over again as the dwarf calmly walked out of the alleyway, tucking his twin morningstars diagonally into their respective sheaths on his back as he went, and seeming as if nothing at all had just happened.
“You don’t have to enjoy it so much,” Kensidan said to the dwarf a short while later.
“Then pay me more.”
Kensidan gave a little laugh. “I told you not to kill anyone.”
“And I telled yerself that if they’re drawing steel, I’m drawing blood,” the dwarf replied.
Kensidan continued to chuckle and waved his hand in concession.
“They’re getting’ desperate,” the dwarf said. “Not enough food in most quarters for Baram and Taerl.”
“Good. I wonder how fondly they look upon Captain Deudermont now?”
“Governor, ye mean.”
Kensidan rolled his eyes.
“Yer friend Suljack’s getting more than them other two,” said the dwarf. “If ye was to send him a bit o’ ours on top o’ what he’s getting from Deudermont, he might be climbing up behind yerself and Kurth.”
“Very astute,” Kensidan congratulated.
“Been playing politics since afore yer daddy’s daddy found his first breath,” the dwarf replied.
“Then I would think you smart enough to understand that it’s not in my interest to prop Suljack to new and greater heights.”
The dwarf looked at Kensidan curiously for just a moment, then nodded. “Ye’re making him Deudermont’s stooge.”
Kensidan nodded.
“But he’s to take it to heart,” the dwarf warned.
“My father has spent years protecting him, often from himself,” said Kensidan. “It’s past time for Suljack to prove he’s worthy of our efforts. If he can’t understand his true role beside Deudermont, then he’s beyond my aid.”
“Ye could tell him.”
“And I would likely be telling Baram and Taerl. I don’t think that’s a good thing.”
“How hard’re ye meaning to press them?” the dwarf asked. “Deudermont’s still formidable, and if they’re throwing in with him…”
“Baram hates Deudermont to his soul,” Kensidan assured the dwarf. “I count on you to gauge the level of discontent on the streets. We want to steal some of their men, but only enough to make sure that those two will understand their place when the arrows start flying. It’s not in my interest to weaken them to anarchy, or to chase them to Deudermont’s side for fear of their lives.”
The dwarf nodded.
“And no more killing,” Kensidan said. “Run the intruders out, show them a way to more and better food. Break a few noses. But no more killing.”
The dwarf p
ut his hands on his hips, thoroughly flustered by the painful command.
“You will have all the fighting you desire and more when Deudermont makes his move,” Kensidan promised.
“Ain’t no more fightin’ than I’m desiring.”
“The spring, early on,” Kensidan replied. “We keep Luskan alive through the winter, but just barely. When the ships and the caravans don’t arrive in the early spring, the city will disintegrate around the good capt—governor. His promises will ring as hollow as the bellies of his minions. He will be seen not as savior, but as a fraud, a flame without heat on a cold winter’s eve.”
And so it went through Luskan’s long winter night. Supplies reached out from Ship Rethnor to Closeguard Island and Kurth, to Suljack and even a bit to Deudermont’s new palace, fashioned from the former Red Dragon Inn, north of the river. From Deudermont, what little he had to spare, supplies went out to the two high captains in dire need, though never enough, of course, and to the Mirabarrans holed up in the Shield. And as the winter deepened, Suljack, prodded by Kensidan, came to spend more and more time by Deudermont’s side.
The many ships riding out the winter in port got their food from Kurth, as Kensidan ceded to him control of the quay.
The coldest months passed, and were not kind to battered Luskan, and the people looked with weary eyes and grumbling bellies to the lengthening days, too weary and too hungry to truly hope for reprieve.
“I won’t do it,” Maimun said, and Kurth’s eyes widened with surprise.
“A dozen ships, heavily laden and hardly guarded,” the high captain argued. “Could a pirate ask for more?”
“Luskan needs them,” said Maimun. “Your people fared well throughout the winter, but the folk on the mainland….”
“Your crew ate well.”
Maimun sighed, for indeed Kurth had been kind to the men and women of Thrice Lucky.
“You mean to drive Deudermont from power,” the perceptive young pirate captain said. “Luskan looks to the sea and to the south, praying for food, and grain to replant the fields. There is not enough livestock in the city to support a tenth of the people living here, though only half of what Luskan once was remains.”
“Luskan is not a farming community.”
“What, then?” Maimun asked, but he knew the answer well enough.
Kurth and Kensidan wanted a free port, a place of trade where no questions would ever be asked, where pirates could put in and answer only to other pirates, where highwaymen could fence jewels and hide kidnap victims until the ransom arrived. Something had happened over the winter, Maimun knew, some subtle shift. Before the onset of the northern winds, the two plotting high captains had been far more cautious in their approach. In their apparent plan, Deudermont would rule Luskan and they would find ways around him.
Now they seemed to want the town for their own, in full.
“I won’t do it,” the young pirate captain said again. “I cannot so punish Luskan, whatever the expected outcome.”
Kurth looked at him hard, and for a moment, Maimun expected that he would have to fight his way out of the tower.
“You are far too full of presumptions and assumptions,” Kurth said to him. “Deudermont has his Luskan, and it serves us well to keep him here.”
Maimun knew the lie for what it was, but he didn’t let on, of course.
“The food will arrive from Waterdeep’s fleet, but it will come through Closeguard and not through Deudermont’s palace,” Kurth explained. “And the ground caravans belong to Kensidan, again not to Deudermont. The people of Luskan will be grateful. Deudermont will be grateful, if we’re clever. I had thought you to be clever.”
Maimun had no answer to the high captain’s scenario. Maimun knew Deudermont as well as any who were not currently crewing Sea Sprite,and he doubted the captain would ever be so foolish as to think Kurth and Kensidan the saviors of Luskan. Stealing for the reward was the oldest and simplest of pirate tricks, after all.
“I offered Thrice Lucky the flagship role as a tribute,” Kurth said. “An offer, not an order.”
“Then I politely refuse.”
Kurth nodded slowly and Maimun’s hand slid down to his belted sword, with all expectation that he was about to be killed.
But the blow never came, and the young pirate captain left Closeguard Island a short while later, making all haste back to his ship.
Back in Kurth’s chamber, a globe of darkness appeared in a far corner, signaling that the high captain was not alone.
“He would have been a big help,” Kurth explained. “Thrice Lucky is swift enough to get inside the firing line of Waterdeep’s fleet.”
“The defeat of the Waterdhavian flotilla is well in hand,” the voice from the darkness assured him. “For the right price, of course.”
Kurth gave a sigh and rubbed his hand over his sharp features, considering the cost against the potential gain. He considered many times in those moments that Kensidan would certainly handle the land caravan, that Kensidan was walking ever more boldly and more powerfully in no small part because of the food those strangers in the darkness were providing.
“See to it,” he agreed.
CHAPTER 27
CIVILIZATION’S MELT
A tenday and a half,” Regis complained as he and Drizzt made their way down the trail south of Bryn Shander.
“These storms can arrive anytime for the next two months,” Drizzt replied. “Neither of us wants another two months in Ten-Towns.” As he finished, he cast a sidelong glance at his companion to note the expected wistfulness in Regis’s large eyes. It had not been a bad winter in Ten-Towns for the two of them, though the snow fell deep and the wind blew hard all those months. Still, strong too were the fires in the common rooms, and the many friendly conversations overwhelmed the wintry wind.
But as the winter waned, Drizzt had grown increasingly impatient. His business with Wulfgar was done, and he was satisfied that he would see his barbarian friend again, in better times.
He wanted to go home. His heart ached for Catti-brie, and though the situation had seemed stable, he couldn’t help but fear for his friend Bruenor, living as he was under the shadow of twenty thousand orcs.
The drow ranger set a strong pace down the uneven trail, where mud had refrozen and melted many times over the past few days. Patches of snow had clung stubbornly to the ground, behind every rock and filling every crevice. It was indeed early to be making such a journey through the Spine of the World, but Drizzt knew that to wait was to walk through deeper and more stubborn mud.
Over the months, Icewind Dale had filled their sensibilities again, rekindling old memories and experiences, and bringing forth many of the lessons their years there had taught them. They wouldn’t lose their way among familiar landmarks. They wouldn’t be caught unaware by tundra yetis or bands of goblins.
As Regis had feared, they awoke the next morning to find the air filled with snow, but Drizzt didn’t lead the way to a cave.
“It will not be a strong storm,” he assured the halfling repeatedly as they trudged along, and through good instinct or simply good fortune, his prediction proved correct.
Within a few days, they had made the trail through the Spine of the World, and soon after they entered the pass, the wind diminished considerably and not even the long shadows of the tall mountains to either side of them could cover the signs that spring fast approached.
“Do you think we’ll meet the Luskar caravan?” Regis asked more than once, for his belt pouches bulged with scrimshaw and he was eager to get first pickings from the Luskar goods.
“Too early,” Drizzt always answered, but as they crossed the miles through the mountain range, every step bringing them closer to the warming breezes of spring, his tone became more hopeful with each response. After all, in addition to the welcome sound of new voices and the luxuries such a caravan might offer, a strong and early showing by Luskan in Icewind Dale would go a long way toward calming Drizzt’s anxieties about the
depth and endurance of Deudermont’s victory.
As they neared the southern end of the mountain pass, the trail widened and broke off in several directions.
“To Auckney, and Colson,” Drizzt explained to Regis as they crossed one trail climbing up to the west. “Two days of marching,” he answered in response to the halfling’s questioning gaze. “Two days there and two days back.”
“Straight to Luskan, then, for some sales and some food for the road east,” Regis replied. “Or is it possible that we might find a former Hosttower associate—or Robillard, yes Robillard! — to fly us home on a magical chariot?”
Drizzt chuckled in reply, and wished it were so. “We will arrive back at Mithral Hall in good time,” he said, “if you can stride longer with those short legs.”
On they went, down out of the foothills, and soon after breaking camp one brilliant morning, they came over a rocky rise in sight of the City of Sails.
Their hearts didn’t lift.
Smoke hung low and thick over Luskan, and even from a distance, the companions could see that large swaths of the city were still but blackened husks. It had not been a kind winter in Deudermont’s city, if indeed it remained Deudermont’s city.
Regis didn’t complain as Drizzt picked up their pace, almost trotting down the winding road. They passed many farms north of the city but noted surprisingly little activity, though the melt had progressed enough south of the Spine of the World for the early preparations of spring planting to begin. When it became apparent that they wouldn’t make the city that day, Drizzt veered off the road and led Regis to the door of one such farmhouse. He rapped loudly, and when the door swung open, the woman noted the black skin of her unexpected and hardly typical guest, and she jumped in surprise and gave a little yelp.
“Drizzt Do’Urden, at your service,” Drizzt said with a polite bow. “Back from Ten-Towns in Icewind Dale to visit my good friend Captain Deudermont.”
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