by Mel Odom
“As you wish.”
He released his hold and they dropped into the river.
XVII
9 Kythorn, the Year of the Gauntlet
The elf looked at the dwarf in obvious disdain, dismissing him in a glance. Upon closer inspection, Pacys realized the elf’s skin color wasn’t ebony as a drow’s was, but a very dark blue with infrequent white patches.
“You’re him, aren’t you?” the elf asked. “The one who will come to be called the Taleweaver?”
Pacys listened to the accent the elf used, finding it like none other he’d ever encountered. As a bard, he’d trained his ear for dialects and accents. They were part of the most colorful tools a bard had, able to carry emotion and character in a monologue. It was softer and more sibilant, as if used to carrying great distances with very little effort.
“I am Pacys the Bard,” he replied, “and I’ve been called many things.”
“But soon to be the Taleweaver.”
“Maybe. No man may know exactly what lies in his future.” Pacys played his cards close to his vest. Narros had also spoken of those who would try to prevent him from attaining his goals.
“No,” the elf replied, “but a few are sometimes chosen by the gods to get a glimpse of those possible futures.” He paused, then added, “You have no need for alarm.”
“Aye, and ye speak prettily,” Khlinat spat roughly, “but meself, I’ve found a man sometimes talks differently when he gets the chance to hold a knife to yer throat.”
“I heard your song,” the elf said. “I knew I had to come see you for myself—to discover if you were the one.”
“You knew me from my song?” Pacys asked.
The elf nodded. “I’m something of a minstrel myself, and I was brought up on the lore of my people. Your presence has been predicted in our histories.”
“Whose histories?” Pacys asked.
The elf smiled at him haughtily. “I am Taareen, of the alu’tel’quessir. More directly of late, I am of Faenasuor.”
Pacys laid a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “This is my good friend Khlinat Ironeater, a sailor and traveling companion on this journey.”
Taareen inclined his head slightly. “A pleasure to meet you, warrior.”
“Aye,” Khlinat replied gruffly. “I guess we’ll be after seeing the truth of that, eh?”
The elf took no offense. “May I come closer?”
Pacys gestured toward the campfire.
Taareen smiled. “Not too close. The flames can be hazardous to one who dwells in the embrace of Serôs.”
“Serôs?” Khlinat asked. “I thought ye said ye were of Faenasuor.”
“Serôs,” Pacys told him, digging into the lore he knew of the Sea of Fallen Stars, “is what they call the Inner Sea.”
“Actually, it’s the term for the world under the sea,” Taareen stated as he sat on the ground across the campfire from them. “It came into use after Aryselmalyr fell—over a thousand years ago. In our language it means ‘the embracing life.’ ”
“Aryselmalyr was the empire of the sea elves,” Pacys told Khlinat when the dwarf looked up at him with suspicion on his broad face. “Several of the elves took up the sea life after the Crown Wars.”
Harumphing in obvious displeasure, Khlinat sat apart from Pacys, giving himself a clear field of action should it become necessary. He laid his axes on the ground in front of him.
“Do you know of Faenasuor?” Taareen asked.
“I’ve heard of it,” Pacys replied. “The city was thought lost when Aryselmalyr was destroyed.”
He had heard songs of the elven empire’s destruction when an undersea plateau shoved up without warning from the sea bottom and killed nearly eighty thousand inhabitants. The city lay covered over at the bottom of the Sea of Fallen Stars for a thousand years, until it was excavated seventy years ago.
“I’ve never been there,” Pacys said.
“No,” Taareen replied. “As a culture, the sea elves are friendly enough to humans, but only relate to them when there is need.”
“Doesn’t sound much different than elves anywhere ye go,” Khlinat offered.
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never left Serôs.” Taareen’s eyes fell on Pacys’s yarting. “May I?”
Pacys nodded, then rose and passed the yarting over.
The sea elf took it gratefully. His hands searched out the strings a little unconfidently, then he fit his fingers into the frets and stroked the strings. Music filled the campsite, and it was clear and true. After a moment, evidently feeling more at home with the instrument, Taareen lifted his voice in song.
The words were alien to Pacys’s ears. He knew some of the elven dialects and languages, but this one wasn’t familiar to him. Still, the emotion of the song was raw and throbbing, speaking of loss and redemption, of brighter days ahead. He finished quietly, but the words still echoed through the trees, vanishing the way the bright orange embers from the campfire did when they tried to touch the sky.
“That was beautiful,” Pacys said.
“Aye,” Khlinat said, tears glittering in his beard. “I’ve not had the pleasure of hearing the like before. Ye may be an elf, Elf, but ye have the heart of a dwarf.”
Taareen bowed his head in thanks, then glanced up at Pacys. “That was your song, Bard Pacys. The song of the Taleweaver’s arrival in Serôs.”
“You just composed that?” Pacys asked in astonishment.
“No. I’ve but mean skills, and songcrafting takes me a long time. That song is ancient,” Taareen said. “It is one of the few things that was carried from Aryselmalyr when so much of our history was lost.”
A feathery chill touched Pacys between the shoulder blades. “How could they know all those years ago?”
“How could they not?” Taareen asked. “The Taker existed thousands of years before that. Knowledge of him has not come to us only recently, as it has to you.”
“You said you knew me by my song.” The thought troubled Pacys. “Does that mean the song is not new as I thought it to be?” The possibility of him simply rewriting a song that had already been in existence ate at his confidence.
“No, your song is new,” Taareen answered simply. “In our stories, it was said the Taleweaver would appear near reclaimed Faenasuor. Imagine the horror of those who lived then who realized that Faenasuor would first have to be lost in order to be reclaimed.”
Pacys did, and the weight was staggering.
“When the empire was lost, it was believed that by leaving Faenasuor buried beneath the rubble the Taker wouldn’t be allowed to return to the world.” Taareen shook his head and his fingers began to pick out a soft, low tune on the yarting. “As if that would seal him in whatever limbo he’d been in.”
“They realized in the end it was a false hope at best,” Khlinat said.
“Yes, but the Taker wasn’t the only reason they left Faenasuor buried. Part of it was because no one wanted to see what had been lost. They didn’t want to remember. After a thousand years, the realization that if Faenasuor didn’t exist, if the archives that were buried there weren’t reclaimed, the Taleweaver would never be able to arrive there.”
“But just hearing my song,” Pacys said, “that couldn’t be the only thing that led you to believe I was the one legend names as Taleweaver.”
“Do you have your doubts about who you are?” Taareen asked.
Pacys thought about the question. To answer no was almost egotistical, but to say yes was to acknowledge the possibility existed that Narros had been wrong. The song Taareen played echoed in his head, summoning up images of Waterdeep and Baldur’s Gate, and the young sailor he and Khlinat had only just met who’d had such considerable influence on their lives.
“No,” he answered finally. “I don’t doubt.”
“And neither do I,” the sea elf said, handing the yarting back across. “In the legends, we were told the Taleweaver could swim beneath the oceans as easily as he strode across the land. It was the only
way he could witness all the battles to come. I see that you’re a surface dweller.”
“I have a gift,” Pacys said, extending his arm and displaying the emerald bracelet Narros had given him back in Waterdeep. While wearing the bracelet, Pacys could breathe underwater, never feel the pressure of the depths, and move as easily as he would crossing a room.
“And your friend?”
“Has none,” Khlinat growled. “And why would something like that be necessary?”
“Because,” Taareen answered, “I must take you to Faenasuor that you may learn the legends of the Taker as we know them. It has been foretold.”
Excitement flared through Pacys. If there had been any humans ever to enter the city of Faenasuor, there had been precious few.
“We can take care of your friend,” Taareen offered. “Some of the things we trade with the surface world are potions which allow surface dwellers to breathe underwater. It would be our honor to aid you.”
“When could we go?” Pacys asked.
Khlinat shifted uneasily, obviously not happy about the thought of visiting an undersea city.
“We can continue on to Starmantle by land,” Taareen said. “I know a man there who deals in such potions. It won’t be hard to strike a deal for one. After we are in Faenasuor it won’t be a problem to keep your friend well supplied.”
“Then let’s break camp,” Pacys said. “I know I won’t be getting any more sleep tonight anyway, and dawn can’t be more than an hour away.”
He was left with the feeling that time was running out. How much difference did days, weeks, or months make when faced with an opponent who had thousands of years to plan?
XVIII
9 Kythorn, the Year of the Gauntlet
Jherek kept his eyes on Sabyna when they hit the water. Both of them went under at once. The current wasn’t overly strong and wasn’t a real challenge that would keep them from the riverbank. He knew the ship’s mage was a strong swimmer, but the possibility remained that Breezerunner might rip free of the sandbar and become a danger.
Despite the fatigue and dizziness that filled him, he waited underwater until she had her bearings, then followed her up. He broke the river surface little more than an arm’s reach from her. “Lady, are you all right?”
“Aye,” she replied, blinking water from her eyes. “A little worse for the wear, but I’m holding my own.”
Treading water, Jherek glanced around, seeking out Breezerunner’s crew and the pirates. Men scrambled through the water like rats trying to escape drowning. A lot of ship’s crews, the young sailor knew, had few men who could swim well, and even a good number of them that couldn’t swim at all.
He spotted one man flailing nearly twenty yards away. The young sailor struck out at once, slicing through the water like a fish. He grabbed the man from behind, sliding his arm under his chin. “Lie still,” Jherek ordered. “I have you.”
The man choked and spat, and clung desperately to Jherek. “Don’t let Umberlee take me, lad.” He kicked frantically, spitting automatically whenever water touched his chin.
“Save your breath,” Jherek advised. Fighting the current and the man was difficult. The young sailor swam backward, pulling the man after him toward the riverbank. In a short time, he could touch bottom. He got the man on his feet, then turned to survey the river again.
“Those that made it are already here,” Captain Tynnel said as he walked up to Jherek. “The others washed down the damned river. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll make their way back to us by morning, and maybe they’ll wash all the way out to the Sea of Swords.” He turned on Jherek. “Didn’t you see that damned sandbar out there? It’s as big as an island.”
Jherek looked at Breezerunner tilted over nearly sideways on the huge sandbar. White-capped water rushed around her. From here, the sandbar did look impossible to miss.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t see it.” He knew it was his own ill birth at work again. He had a chance—for a moment—of being the hero, but it had been stripped from his fingers.
“Never sign onto a ship to be a pilot, boy,” Tynnel advised coldly. “Takes too long to build a ship for them to be sunk so quickly.”
The words bit into Jherek, but he didn’t argue. He deserved them.
“It wasn’t his fault, Tynnel.”
Jherek turned, surprised that Sabyna had approached in his defense.
The captain gave her a dark look and shook his head. “I should have guessed you’d be taking up for him.”
“Taking up for him?” Sabyna looked about to explode. “He almost gave his life hanging onto that rudder. Two pirates were practically on top of him when I got there, and he hadn’t turned loose of the rudder.”
“She’s right, Cap’n,” Mornis, Breezerunner’s first mate, said. “I saw the lad standing there myself. Tried to get to him, but there wasn’t anything I could do. If Sabyna hadn’t reached him, I think he would have died holding onto that stick.”
A muscle worked in Tynnel’s jaw, but arguing with both his ship’s mage and first mate didn’t appear profitable enough for him to continue. He said nothing further and turned away sharply.
“You didn’t have to do that, lady,” Jherek said quietly after Tynnel had gone. “What the captain said was true. I should have seen that sandbar.”
“No one could have seen that sandbar from back there,” she replied angrily. “I didn’t. Or are you going to tell me I should have seen it too?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Then don’t do it to yourself.”
“She’s right,” Mornis said. “Cap’n’s just not himself right now with everything that’s going on. He’ll be better come morning when he gets a chance to look at Breezerunner and know she’s not hurt as bad as she could be. If you hadn’t straightened her up like you did and we’d hit that sandbar side-on, like as not that ship would be kindling by now, and us down the drink with it.” He laid a hand on Jherek’s shoulder. “You did a fine job of it, a job to be proud of.”
Jherek listened to their words, but the voice in the back of his head that he’d fought with all his life didn’t let up on him. Guilt filled him. He’d grounded Breezerunner and he’d lost the pearl disk.
When memory of the disk slid into his mind, he glanced around the riverbank. “Where are the pirates?”
“Ran off into the forest,” Mornis rumbled. “We got numbers on them. While you was pulling Torrigh from the drink, they took to nose-counting and realized they’d come up short in a free-for-all. They hit the brush like a covey of quail.”
“We’ve got to go after them,” Jherek said. Maybe Vurgrom’s lead wasn’t too extensive yet.
“No,” Sabyna said. “There’s nothing to be had in that.” She glanced out at the river. “Our job now is to get Breezerunner secure before she tries to drift off that sandbar and ends up smashed somewhere farther down the river, then we need to fix any damage that’s been done to her.”
Jherek scanned the dark forest, feeling the pull in him to go after Vurgrom and the stolen pearl disk. Guilt filled him to the bursting point. The disk had to be returned to Lathander’s church in Baldur’s Gate.
“It’s too dark, lad,” Mornis said quietly. “If those pirates don’t set up and take you down somewhere, there are things out in that forest stalking the night that will. It’ll be a lucky man who gets through that of a piece.”
Quietly, Jherek let go of any hope of finding and overtaking Vurgrom. He joined the others as they gathered around Tynnel and listened to the plans the captain had for securing Breezerunner.
* * * * *
“Lad, that’s some rough country you’ve got ahead of you.”
Jherek gathered the ends of the cloth he’d been given, tucked the rations he’d been parceled out from Breezerunner’s stores, and tied them together to fashion a crude pack. “Aye, but I’ve got it to do.”
Mornis looked uncomfortable. “I feel guilty about letting you g
o on alone.”
“I lost something that wasn’t mine to lose, my friend, and I’ve got to return it if I can.”
“Like as not,” Mornis warned, “you may be spending your life foolishly.”
“Dying with honor isn’t a foolish death.” Jherek told him sternly.
“No, lad, but any kind of dying is still dying. Myself, I’d rather keep both oars in the water as long as I’m able. A man going with the sea stays afloat a lot longer than a man going against it.”
“I was told,” Jherek said, “that it always matters how you go against it.”
Mornis nodded. “Mayhap, but if you ever find yourself around Breezerunner again and in need of a berth, come see me. If the Cap’n won’t take you on, I’ll help you find a ship.”
Jherek smiled and took the man’s arm in a strong grip. “Till we meet again.”
“Aye,” Mornis said. “And may Selûne always favor you with her good graces.”
Jherek took a final look around. Most of the ship’s crew were aboard Breezerunner already working on the broken rigging and ripped sails. A few others stood in the river filling water barrels. It had been a hard, full day’s work getting the ship off the sandbar and secure in the water again. Jherek’s hands still burned from the work he’d done with shovels and picks, both freeing the ship and burying her dead. His legs were dotted with the red welts left by leeches.
He noticed Sabyna striding purposefully toward him down the riverbank, the early morning sun shining from her hair. Tynnel walked at her side, his jaw working fiercely.
The ship’s captain turned his hard gaze on Jherek. “Talk her out of it.”
The young sailor looked at them both. “Talk her out of what?”
“I’m coming with you,” Sabyna said calmly.
Jherek glanced at her, noticing she’d changed clothes. She had no pack, but he knew she had a bag of holding she kept the raggamoffyn in. “Lady, you can’t come with me.”
Sabyna’s eyebrows shot up. “I can’t? So now you’re going to try to tell me what to do?”