4 Kythorn, the Year of the Gauntlet
Glancing around the harbor, Jherek saw that most everyone nearby had spotted the black-sailed cargo ships. The vessels still ran dark, carrying no lanterns at all.
"Gives a man the shivers," Khlinat said, "them running in the black. Heard stories of the seas giving up their dead upon occasion, lifting ships up from the bottom and crewing them with corpses out to sacrifice them to dark gods thought long lost."
A crowd started to gather along the dock. Men brandished weapons. At the far end of the dock on the eastern side a barge towed across the huge chain that was used to block the harbor against unwelcome ship traffic. The massive links glinted in the moonlight and torchlight as they twisted and trailed through the water.
Even as the barge got the chain up across the mouth of the harbor and the watch ships closed on the black-sailed vessels, a gray cloud gathered suddenly and scudded in from the west like a heavy, fast-moving fog. The mass whirled and turned outward, continuing to spread as it came.
Jherek had seen plenty of fogs roll in from the sea while he'd lived in Velen, and he was certain this was no ordinary one. Before he could voice a warning, the sky exploded into harsh yellow flames that raced outward and dropped in sheets onto many of the ships in the harbor.
As the barge carrying the heavy harbor chain was about to reach the Seatower, a giant moray eel erupted from the water. Lantern light from the watch members aboard the barge illuminated the great creature. Nearly twenty feet long, though most of its body remained below the waterline, the moray eel was covered in thick, mottled, brown, leathery skin. Lighter spots showed along the broad chin under a mouthful of wicked incisors that overlapped its upper and lower lips in a cruel, merciless grin.
Despite its unexpected arrival, the moray eel still moved slowly. The watch members had a chance to ready their swords and get a few blows in as it lunged forward. The great jaws gaped open and seized a man's head and shoulders. Continuing its forward lunge, the moray eel overturned the barge then dived back below the surface with its prize.
Men flew into the water from the overturned barge. Some disappeared immediately beneath the black water. Others tried to swim but didn't get far as jaws or claws seized them and savagely yanked them under. Several screams drowned out in horrified gurgles.
Hoarse warning shouts rose all along the docks, but Jherek knew it was too little, too late. The invaders were even now closing the distance on the docks.
The sky flared again, spreading fire over the harbor. Some of it fell onto ships and set the sailcloth, rigging, and decks ablaze. More pools of fire fell into the harbor and floated on the water. A cluster of flames hit a small knot of people only ten feet from Jherek and fed on them greedily. Bystanders tried to beat out the flames but appeared to have little effect. Men died screaming in agony.
"Damned magery," Khlinat yelped, covering his face with one arm.
Another patch of flames hit the dock so close to Jherek that he felt the heat. He'd caught sight of the flames plummeting toward them out of his peripheral vision and shouted a warning. Khlinat had no problem getting out of the way, but the flames splashed across the lamp boy and caught his breeches on fire.
Panicked, the boy started to run back down the dock but the air only fed the flames. The deadly wreath climbed his pants.
Moving quickly, Jherek caught the boy, wrapping one arm around the youth. Wheeling, he threw both of them over the dock's side, making sure they had the necessary distance from the pilings.
They hit the water and went under. The dark water took only a moment to extinguish the flames that fought against the dousing brine. Jherek kept hold of the boy in case he couldn't swim. Still holding onto his sword, the young sailor kicked them back toward the surface.
Jherek whipped his head, slinging the water and hair out of his eyes. "Are you all right, boy?"
"Yes. I think so." His voice quivered.
Glancing up at the docks, Jherek watched the foggy cloud breaking up. The damage to the docks was already extensive, and the fires weren't being put out very quickly. The boy struggled in his grasp, pulling at his legs.
"Are you burned?" Jherek asked.
"I don't think so."
"If I let you go, can you swim?"
"Like a duck," the lamp boy promised.
Jherek let him go, watching for a moment as the boy kicked away and swam in a crude dog paddle that seemed serviceable enough.
The boy turned around, his face going pale and even more frightened. "Behind you!"
Jherek tried to turn, feeling the malignant darkness behind him as well as the water rippling against his back. Before he could do more than start the motion, he felt the scaly sahuagin arm snake around his neck and drag him under the water.
Even as he went down, Jherek heard a familiar roar that triggered a wash of fear that filled him. The loud scream of anger and challenge was artificial, but it sounded enough like a bunyip that there could be no mistake. The hoarse roar told him one of the black-sailed ships carried his father, Bloody Falkane, one of the most feared and vicious of the cold-blooded pirates of the Nelanther Isles.
Fear ran through the young sailor, not of the sahuagin who held him, but of the man who'd sired him. He bore his father's mark on his arm, indelibly put there with magic and ink, and carried the cursed fate that resulted from his father's sins.
The bunyip scream sounded again as the thickly muscled arm tightened around Jherek's neck and pulled him farther down.
Laaqueel tried in vain to shut out the keening roar of the bunyip. The malenti priestess stood in the stern of Bent Tankard, the cog the sahuagin had taken only two days ago under their new king's orders.
Wind whipped through the rigging and the sailcloth fluttered as the captain called out orders to his trimming crew while still others prepared to board the watch ships that had come to intercept them.
A few of the sahuagin weren't completely unversed in handling surface ships. They'd taken some and used them as decoys to attack other ships in the past.
The bunyip roar blared again.
Glancing across the distance separating them from the lead ship, Laaqueel made out Bloody Falkane's tall frame striding across the deck. The pirate captain was a striking man, tall and slender but packed with wiry muscle. Even now his oiled black hair was neatly combed back. He wore a mustache and goatee. Moonlight glinted from the silver hoop earrings he wore in both ears, as well as the other bits of jewelry. He wore a silk shirt of darkest blue and black breeches tucked into rolled boots that matched his shirt.
Laaqueel knew the bunyip roar came from a device Falkane had ordered made and carried on his own ship. The bunyip was a freshwater creature that was at first glance very sharklike in appearance, but the shaggy black hair that covered its body and the long, flowing mane set it apart.
The malenti didn't know why the pirate had chosen the bunyip as his standard, except for the keening roar that instilled fear into most people who heard it.
She watched the fires scattered around the harbor spread only slightly. Baldur's Gate was constructed mostly of stone and usually stayed damp because of the climate. This city wouldn't burn as Waterdeep had, but it had less chance of standing.
The cog slid into the harbor, following Bloody Falkane's craft. Six other ships, all loaded with pirates from the Nelanther Isles, followed them. The deck didn't pitch much, but the movement was still foreign to her after spending nearly all her life working with the sea's currents instead of against them.
Sudden lightning flashed from the harbor, racing in a horizontal line until it touched the mainmast of Falkane's cog. Wood splintered with a thunderous crack and embers blew up in a flurry from the wood. Sheared, the mainmast started to topple toward the deck, then got caught up in the rigging and sailcloth.
"Cut that damned mast free!" Falkane roared, rushing up to the stern castle himself.
Sailors moved quickly to do his bidding, clambering into the rigging with long knives in their teeth. Leaping from the stern castle, the pirate captain caught hold of the rigging and climbed through it with the agility of a monkey.
Despite all the truly monstrous things Laaqueel had heard about Bloody Falkane, she had to admit the man was good at his chosen profession. She watched him hack at the rigging holding the mainmast, calling out directions to his crew. In seconds, the tall mast started toppling over the side, its descent controlled by the rigging the pirates cut expertly so that it didn't land on the deck.
An arrow thudded solidly into the railing, missing Laaqueel's hand by inches and drawing her attention back to her own affairs. She drew up the heavy sahuagin crossbow she held and sighted on the boatload of Baldur's Gate defenders bearing down on the ship she was on.
Carved out of whalebone and strung with braided gut, the weapon was cable of firing above or below the water. She gazed down the greenish-gray quarrel shaft that had been chipped from claw coral that grew in hard, straight lengths. Hard as the bronze the surface worlders used, it was also razor sharp even on the sides. The hollowed shark's tooth serving as the arrowhead was filled with poison and was designed to break off inside a target. Even if the sharp quarrel didn't hit a killing spot, the poison ensured the kill.
With the approaching boat less than thirty feet out, Laaqueel fired the crossbow. The quarrel flashed forward and filled a man's eyesocket. He screamed and went down, brushing at the blood gushing onto his face. When poison stilled his heart, his companions had to shove his dead, weight from them.
"To me!" Laaqueel cried to the sahuagin behind her.
They bounded forward at once. Only a few of them had crossbows. The claw coral quarrels embedded in the boat and the men, snapped off in shields, breaking the staggered ranks the defenders of Baldur's Gate had tried to form.
Laaqueel had enough time to reload and get one more shot off, striking a man and piercing his leather armor. The impact of the quarrel twisted him sideways and threw him from the boat. Instantly, a dorsal fin cut the water, zooming toward the flailing swimmer. The malenti priestess didn't know if the poison or the shark got the man first.
The boats collided with a shattering thump that brought the smaller one up out of the water. Some of the men were already in motion. They stabbed spears upward, tangling the sahuagin tridents.
Braced as she was and expecting the collision, Laaqueel nearly fell. She regained her footing with difficulty and tossed the crossbow aside. She also loosened the thigh quiver of quarrels and kicked it away. Taking her trident up, she turned to face the invaders.
One of the other pirate ships raced past. The archers aboard unleashed a brief volley at the men in the watch boat. Then it went on by, closing on the harbor. Even at eight ships, the pirates weren't strong enough to take apart the defenses of Baldur's Gate, but they weren't alone. Iakhovas's magery had seen to that.
Rubbery ropes of arms shot up from the water without warning, wrapped around the watch ship, and yanked it almost to a full stop. Men tumbled from the ship, pitched clear by the unexpected seizure. A mast-mounted lantern smashed against the ship's deck and splashed a long blaze of fire that ate into the wood. Before the ship's crew recovered, sahuagin surfaced and slit their throats with long claws. Most of the crew died without a chance to defend themselves.
On the docks, sahuagin slithered up from the port and ripped into the citizens gripped in the thrall of fear. In seconds they were walking over corpses, hunting out fresh kills. Their fierce cries of bloodlust and savage joy rang through the alleys of Baldur's Gate and over the port. Men raced forward trying to protect loved ones or friends, and died as sahuagin tridents knifed through their stomachs or ripped through their lungs. Other sahuagin threw fishhook-embedded nets over small groups, then pulled them into the water and beneath the surface to drown them like rats. Even as Laaqueel faced the men trying to swarm up the cog, the malenti was aware of the dozen or more giant crayfish that surfaced near the west docks around the Seatower and wreaked havoc among the Flaming Fist ships that tried to put out into the harbor. It was the mercenaries of the Flaming Fist who ran Baldur's Gate, and they were coming to the aid of the watch.
Fully eight feet long and equipped with huge pincers nearly a yard in length, the crayfish plucked men from the docks and the ships. Their hard, mottled brown, chitinous carapaces stood against sword blade, arrow, and spear. Their huge antennae whipped the air in a frenzy. The great pincers cut into their victims, sometimes sawing them in half. Other creatures Iakhovas controlled through arcane means swam beneath the river, working with the sahuagin to take the harbor.
Holding the trident in both hands, Laaqueel thrust the tines into a man's face, forcing him back off the side of the cog. Blood spilled across the deck from the man she wounded as well as sahuagin and other surface dwellers. The planks grew slippery.
A large man in chain mail armor and a thick helmet heaved himself over the railing. Scars decorated his arms and face. He carried a huge warhammer in one hand and a lighted lantern in the other. He scowled at the sahuagin, fixing his hateful gaze on Laaqueel.
"By the precious left hand of Tyr Grimjaws, I don't know how come you to be with all these deep devils, elf, but you're gonna regret it."
The warrior swung the lantern over his head, then brought it crashing down on the deck. The oil ran in a pool, and the flame from the burning wick chased it, starting a blaze that stood a foot high. Startled by the flame, already aware of the way it was quickly drying her skin, Laaqueel backed away. The other sahuagin did too, leaving enough room for seven other warriors to clamber onto the deck.
The big warrior took his hammer in both hands and said, "I'm Fyidler Tross, a sergeant of the Flaming Fist, and I'm gonna send you back into Umberlee's cold embrace myself!"
He came at her, the hammer raised high over his head.
Even as the water closed over his head and the darkness sucked him down, Jherek tried to get a grip on the sahuagin's arm. The creature's strength was incredible, but Malorrie's training had included ways to make joints work against their owners, and made the young sailor aware of the weaknesses of a hold.
The moonlight pooled silver against the harbor water overhead, allowing him to see the sahuagin's hand as the sea devil flicked out its claws. Clicking and whistling sounded in Jherek's ears, warring with the thumping of his own heart.
Two other shapes slid through the water, closing in.
The young sailor thrust his sword up, blocking the fierce sweep of claws at his face. The blade bit into the sea devil's forearm. Jherek brought the edge down, ripping into the flesh. Blood burst into the water.
The sahuagin whistled shrilly and clicked madly, giving voice to the agony that gripped it. Taking advantage of the moment, Jherek ran his empty hand down his side, then thrust up in the hollow inside the sea devil's restraining arm. The hold broke, allowing Jherek to go free.
The two approaching shapes glided into view, becoming trident-bearing sahuagin. They streaked for the dockside as they bore down on Jherek. One of them flipped in the water, making a full circle then coming down from above.
Jherek met the blow with his sword, angling it in between the trident's tines. He was aware of the second unwounded sahuagin streaking in for his stomach, intending to meet him if he avoided the attack of the first.
Holding the sword firmly, Jherek locked the blade against the trident and let the first sahuagin drive him down. The second sahuagin angled by overhead, moving quickly in his headlong rush. The trident missed Jherek by scarce inches.
At home in the water, twisting his body like a dolphin, the young sailor reached above and caught the passing sahuagin's harness. His fingers knotted in the woven seaweed strands. He kicked out as the sea devil's momentum carried him along, adding to his speed, disengaging his sword from the trident.
Before the sahuagin he'd caught hold of could turn, Jherek pulled on the harness and swam around behind the sea devil. He couldn't strike the sahuagin in the back, though. He couldn't bring himself to be so callous and so unfair. He waited for an opportunity.
His opponent clawed the water frantically, flipping over and stopping almost immediately. That turned out to be an even greater mistake. It allowed Jherek to plunge the sword into its stomach and rip upward. Still, as death claimed it, the sea devil managed to catch Jherek in the face with one foot.
The ebony claws raked fire along Jherek's face, narrowly missing his right eye. He recoiled, momentarily disoriented as blood swirled up and clouded his vision. The moon was nearly obscured by the dark water as it was, and the blood made it even harder to see.
The blood didn't blind the sahuagin, Jherek knew. They had the ability to sense movement. He kicked against the dead sea devil, pushing himself toward the surface. His lungs ached for air.
Past the blood cloud, Jherek spotted the wounded sahuagin trying fitfully to stop the flow of blood from its stump. The sea devil's shrieking whistles pealed through the water. The young sailor kicked out again, nearing the surface, glancing around to try to find the third sahuagin.
Only moonlight kissing the crystalline facets of the sea devil's chipped-coral trident saved Jherek's life. He spotted his attacker closing in from the right, shoving the trident forward. Knowing that grabbing the weapon would only lacerate his hand, the young sailor twisted violently in the water, knowing in his heart it was too late and he was about to feel the trident buried in his stomach.
The tines grazed his sodden leather armor, ripping through it and branding his stomach with cold pain. Jherek continued to move, wrapping himself around the sea devil in a wrestling hold with his legs twined around his opponent's. He looped his free hand under the sahuagin's arm and locked his palm behind the creature's head even as the sea devil locked his clawed fist around Jherek's sword wrist.
Instinctively, wanting to take advantage of the power it held in the water, the sahuagin dived, going deeper quickly.
Jherek's lungs burned from lack of air and everything in him cried out to let go of the sahuagin and swim for the surface. As fast a swimmer as he was, though, he was fairly certain he'd never make the distance before the sea devil overtook him. He bent to the task at hand, putting more pressure against the sahuagin's head. The neck bent slowly, like working iron, proof of the sahuagin's great strength.
The sahuagin's whistles became strained. Jherek felt his vision fading, knowing he didn't have much longer before the lack of air started draining his strength. He kept the pressure on, finally feeling the sahuagin's neck muscles give.
The sea devil's neck broke with a crack that echoed dully in the water.
Releasing the limp corpse, Jherek turned and swam for the surface. His vision closed in on itself, starting to blot out the patch of moonlight he aimed for. His hand broke through the water and he kicked himself after it.
Light swept toward him as soon as his face cleared the water. He had a brief impression of men standing along the dock, then a gaff pole shoved toward his head. He jerked away, letting the cruel gaff hook slice into the water near him.
"Umberlee take yer eyes, ye thickheaded mutton!" Khlinat roared.
Treading water, Jherek saw the dwarf push his way through the crowd.
A surly man with graying side whiskers shot the dwarf a nasty look and said, "I saw a sahuagin down there, I tell you."
"Mayhap ye did," the dwarf agreed vehemently, "but that there ain't no slithering sea beastie." He crouched, offering his hand to Jherek. "Come up here, swabbie, and let's be after having ye out of the drink now."
Jherek caught the dwarf's hand, then found himself almost lifted from the water by Khlinaf s strength alone. He scrambled, finding his footing on the dock with his water-filled boots.
"You did see a sahuagin," Jherek told the man. "There were three of them."
"Three, swabbie?" Khlinat said, peering into the water and fisting his axes. "And ye did say were."
The crowd along the dock drew back.
Jherek nodded, locking his hands behind his head to get his breath back more quickly. He glanced out in the harbor and saw the scattered fires. The pirate ships had invaded the harbor now, fanning out in a practiced move that put their onboard archers within range of other ships as well as the docks. Fire arrows blurred through the air, striking ships and occasionally breaking through building windows to land inside. Twisting clouds of smoke above several of the buildings showed that fires had started inside.
The surly man with the gaff hook shook his head and said, "That's a pretty tale you weave, boy, but I'm not going to believe a stripling like you could kill three sahuagin-and in the water yet."
"Only two," Jherek replied. "I cut the hand off another."
He took a fresh grip on his sword. Out in the harbor, a giant water spider clambered up from below and attacked a dock crew trying to cast off lines. Twelve feet across, the spider reared up on its four back legs and seized two victims with the front four. Before it had a chance to completely devour its screaming prey, ten more spiders bobbed to the surface and scurried over the docks.
A squad of sahuagin warriors rose up from the water and grabbed hold of the pilings. They pulled themselves up while others treaded water and threw javelins into the crowd. Propelled by the powerful sea devils' muscles, the slim, chipped-bone javelins often penetrated more than one victim. Still more sahuagin leaped up from the water long enough to throw their deadly nets. Over a dozen people were pulled into the water and sank without a trace. Two of the nearby water spiders dived after them.
Pressing forward, Khlinat engaged the first sahuagin to place a webbed foot on the dock.
"Have at ye, then," the dwarf growled.
He whirled the hand axes before him, gripping them midway up the hafts. His furious onslaught battered through the sea devil's defenses and turned the trident aside. In another moment, he stretched up and buried one of the hand axes at the base of the sahuagin's throat. The lights dimmed in the oily black eyes, but there were plenty more to take that sahuagin's place.
Jherek joined Khlinat, lending his sword arm, feeling his wounds burn. Blood still flowed from the cut beside his eye, threatening to blind him. He wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve.
Khlinat kicked his peg leg up to the center of the dead sahuagin's chest, then pushed his opponent off the hand axe and back into the water.
"We can't hold this position," Jherek told him, blocking trident thrusts with his sword.
The motions came swiftly and certainly to him as they always did. Malorrie had trained him well, giving him one of the first instances of confidence he'd ever known.
"I know it, swabbie," the dwarf replied, "but we'll hold it long enough mayhap for them what's got heart to set up a skirmish line we can fall back to. Just don't go getting yerself killed afore we've got a chance to make our grand escape."
Jherek gave himself over to the battle, fighting past the homesickness and uncertainty. If the destiny he'd been given was to die here, this night, then he was going to see that it was done rightly and well. Malorrie had trained him to always sell his life dearly.
He batted a trident aside with a deft move of his wrist, setting himself up for a lightning riposte that spilled the sahuagin's life's blood from its throat. When the creature grabbed its throat, suddenly more interested in staying alive than in fighting, Jherek grabbed the dying sea devil and used it as a shield.
"Now, swabbie!" Khlinat yelled.
Taking a step back, getting a brief respite from the other sahuagin by hurling their dead comrade among them, Jherek glanced at the end of the dock where men had shoved cargo crates into a defensive line.
"Quick as you can!" Khlinat turned and followed his own advice, sprinting for the crates.
Jherek didn't hesitate. He deflected a pair of thrusts from two different tridents, took a step to the side, and cut the hamstrings of both legs on a third sea devil as the creature tried to turn and face him. Wheeling, drawing his blade back, he strode forward, putting a shoulder into the sahuagin's midriff and knocking it back into the others.
Slipping in the blood covering the dock for only a moment, Jherek got his feet under him and ran.
A dozen more sahuagin climbed over the railing behind him. Glancing down the quay, he saw the swarm of sea devils pulling up onto the docks. Weapons gleamed in the moonlight and from the fires that were spreading through the warehouses.
Praying to summon the power given her by obedience to Sekolah, Laaqueel held up her palm and thrust it toward the big surface dweller rushing at her with his upraised hammer. She felt the molten heat leave her hand. It only caused a slight visible ripple as it passed.
The spell struck Fyidler Tross with physical impact and dropped the big Flaming Fist mercenary to his knees. He screamed in pain, trying desperately to hang onto his warhammer. Huge blisters covered his flesh, bursting as they filled to capacity, then filling again the way the malenti had seen surface dwellers fry their eggs.
He called on his gods in a faltering voice, then crumpled to the deck, already dead. The other mercenaries gave his death no heed, absolutely fearless in their attack. They engaged the sahuagin with bloodthirsty enthusiasm, yelling curses and impugning their heritage.
Laaqueel set herself, regretting that the battle had to take place on the ship's deck. She was much more at home in the water where she had the opportunity to attack from above or below instead of merely in a horizontal line. Most surface dwellers never knew how truly intricate the act of battle could be.
Holding the trident in both hands, she blocked a swordsman's overhand sweep. The blade struck sparks from her trident haft while another man closed in from her left. He'd intended to take advantage of the diversion his comrade created. Instead, Laaqueel ducked under his sword swipe, tangled his legs with the trident haft, and pulled him from his feet unceremoniously. The first man thrust at her, putting all his weight behind his sword.
The malenti glided to the side, missing the familiar feel of the ocean around her. The sword slid through her hair. Before the man had a chance to protect himself, she spiked him with the trident, twisting viciously to tear the wounds open further.
Other mercenaries trampled over their fallen comrades in their zeal to get to her. Laaqueel retreated before them and reached into her harness pouch. She took out a straight piece of iron she kept there. She prayed over it as the men charged her, then released the energy through it. The iron dissolved, consumed by the spell.
Four of the attacking mercenaries froze in place, becoming a momentary blockade for their comrades. The four affected mercenaries fell like statues, their limbs locked around their weapons. Five mercenaries pushed over the other men, still not losing the courage they displayed.
They weren't like other humans, Laaqueel knew. After seeing the power she wielded, most other surface dwellers would have broken off the attack.
Those men you see before you are Flaming Fists, little malenti, Iakhovas said in her mind. Warriors tried and true. They make up fully a tenth of this city's population, and they'll give their life's blood to see Baldur's Gate stand. They'll gladly spill yours for the same reason.
Laaqueel blocked a sword slash, maneuvering to use the remaining five against each other so they couldn't all attack at once. She kept her trident before her in both hands, blocking rapidly, then burying it in one man's chest. Letting go of the trident, the malenti priestess popped her retractable claws from her fingers and toes. When it came to close-in fighting, few were naturally more dangerous than the sahuagin.
V
4 Kytnorrt, the Year of the Gauntlet
Dodging another sword thrust, a prayer to Sekolah already on her lips, Laaqueel reached into her pouch and removed a small portion of oak bark. As she finished the prayer, the bark was consumed in a small burst of heat. Instantly she felt the effects as her skin tingled. A sword she couldn't stop in time rattled against her side with the dulled thunk of an axe hitting a tree, but it didn't break her skin.
Confident of the new protection she'd summoned, secure in her belief in the Shark God, Laaqueel gave herself over to the blood frenzy that was her heritage as a sahuagin. She dived into the mass of surface dwellers, using their proximity to each other as a weapon. Hand and foot claws slashed at the five men, turning their flesh to ribbons. Daggers found her, and the occasional sword's edge, but none of them did any real damage to her.
In seconds it was over. She stood on the blood-spattered deck above the dead and the dying, her gills flaring as they tried to meet the increased demand of her body. She glanced around the deck, seeing that the other sahuagin had successfully beaten back the Flaming Fist attack. There were already other boats in the water streaking for that ship as well as the other pirate vessels. She saw their standards now, a red fist wreathed in yellow flames emblazoned against a red spearpoint.
The cog sailed on into the harbor, cutting through water filled with sahuagin, sharks, sea snakes, giant water spiders, dragonfish, giant gar, and smaller crustaceans that scurried across the ocean floor at Iakhovas's bidding.
"Where were you while we were fighting these men?" Laaqueel demanded, turning her gaze to the stern castle where the man stood looking out over the carnage spread before him.
Dressed in black and aquamarine, a long sable cloak drifting in the storm winds behind him, Iakhovas appeared pleased. The black sapphire circlet he wore had small shark figures chipped into it twining about each other. She knew it gave him the power he needed to control the sea creatures that had invaded Baldur's Grate.
Iakhovas turned his hard face toward her. A cruel, mirthless smile touched his lips and he said, "Little malenti, do not presume too much. I am and will be your master."
Deep within her, Laaqueel felt the black quill spin and prick her heart. Pain and nausea drove her to her knees and she voided her stomach.
"Favored one," a nearby sahuagin shouted, coming to her aid.
"No," Laaqueel said, holding up a hand to halt the warrior's attempt to reach her. She didn't know what Iakhovas would do to him for interfering. She regained her feet with difficulty, making herself remember that everything she was involved with was at Sekolah's bidding. She locked eyes with Iakhovas. "Forgive me. I spoke in haste."
The pain clutching her heart disappeared. She inhaled through her gills more easily.
"Never forget, little malenti," Iakhovas warned. "Too many things are coming together now for me to worry about you and your indiscretions. I am king of your people, and I suffer your presence only as long as it is in my favor."
"I understand."
"You will address me as Exalted One," Iakhovas commanded. "I am your king, and you will recognize that as well."
"Exalted One," Laaqueel said.
Arrows ripped through the rigging as archers at the Seatower of Balduran got the range. Sahuagin crossbowmen knelt and returned fire.
"Subservience in a menial is a good trait," Iakhovas said. "Don't forget it. As to helping you, remember that in helping you I am also helping myself. I've been giving aid in ways that will be known presently, and I've been inconvenienced over the last few tendays."
She knew he was talking about the injuries he'd suffered at Huaanton's hands when he'd become king of the sahuagin. Though he hadn't shown it at the time, Laaqueel learned it had taken more out of him than he would admit.
"I'm going," Iakhovas said.
"You're leaving the battle?" Laaqueel couldn't believe it. He'd done the same thing in Waterdeep, though, so it shouldn't have come as a surprise.
In the distance, a flaming warehouse collapsed in a rush of fire and smoke. People who'd taken shelter inside it from the invaders were crushed or burned to death. The high-pitched keening coming from the few survivors barely penetrated the agonized screams of fear that rolled over the docks.
"They don't need me here," Iakhovas said. "Man, dwarf, elf, sahuagin, and sea creature, they all know how to kill each other without any guidance on my part."
"But, Exalted One, you're their king. They'll notice your absence."
Iakhovas smiled. "I don't think so. Even should they look for me, little malenti, I am here for them."
He gestured, releasing something from his hand that suddenly swirled around on its own axis. In the blink of an eye, a huge, fierce looking sahuagin appeared beside Iakhovas.
Laaqueel understood immediately that the replica was how he looked in his sahuagin form to the rest of her community. Gazing at the harsh features, she realized Iakhovas had deliberately made himself handsome by sahuagin standards. He hadn't done that at Waterdeep, and Laaqueel thought it was mute testimony that his powers had dramatically increased since then.
"Now," Iakhovas said, "we can go."
"Where?"
"To pursue my own interests."
Iakhovas released a sea gull feather into the wind, then he leaped into the air and hung there for a moment. Fear ran like ice through Laaqueel's veins. If the sahuagin saw Iakhovas openly doing magic, he would lose their trust immediately. Even most warriors regarded a priestess's powers with suspicion.
"Don't panic," Iakhovas said. "I've taken precautions. None of those around you can see either of us anymore. Come."
He gestured again, pointing at a place near the malenti as he glided above the deck. He flicked his finger, and a silver blob was flung off. Laaqueel watched as the tiny silver blob sailed through the air, then splashed against an invisible surface three feet above the ground. It glimmered and disappeared, consumed by the spell.
"Get on, little malenti," Iakhovas ordered.
Hesitantly, Laaqueel moved in the direction of where the silvery blob had disappeared. Even though she guessed that it was there, she was surprised when she bumped into an invisible object. Running her hands around it, she discovered that it was circular in shape but only had two dimensions, curved slightly concave like a clamshell.
"Hurry," Iakhovas urged.
Only the fear of his disapproval made Laaqueel climb onto the magic platform. Her weight shifted it only a little as it floated, but it quickly righted itself.
Without another word, Iakhovas flew forward, staying low over the water as he aimed them northwest toward the city proper. Glancing below, she spotted another Flaming Fist ship as it was boarded by sahuagin. The ship's defenders held the line for a moment, then broke as the sahuagin grabbed them in claws and jaws.
Laaqueel stayed hunkered down on the platform, praying to Sekolah to guide her. She wasn't surprised that Iakhovas had his own agenda tonight-he always did-but Baldur's Gate hadn't been taken quite as much by surprise as Waterdeep had.
"We can make a stand here, damn ye!" Khlinat roared as he chopped at a sahuagin hand that reached across the crates blocking that section of the harbor. Sea devil fingers splattered to the dock.
Standing beside him, Jherek concentrated on his sword-play, batting aside the trident thrusts. Other men stood shoulder to shoulder with him, making a tight line to hold back the sahuagin attackers. So far they'd managed to hold their position despite the mass of sea devils on the other side.
Only now a bearded man in chain mail with the Flaming Fist standard on his tabard was trying to get them to break ranks. He carried a broadsword in one scarred fist.
"Stand down and fall back!" the man roared.
"Who the hell do ye think ye are to be giving us orders?" Khlinat demanded. Several other sailors echoed his sentiments, adding various curses.
"I'm Sergeant Hobias Churchstone," the grizzled man said, "of the Flaming Fist Mercenary Company."
Spotting a familiar shape at the base of the crates he defended, Jherek stooped and caught up the boat hook that had been abandoned there. It slid into his hand naturally, curving up from between his spread fingers.
"Get some oil!" one of the sailors yelled. "We'll get us a proper bonfire going."
Out in the harbor, the distinctive bunyip roar sounded again. A thousand fear-filled memories charged through Jherek's mind, whipping by like a school of startled fish, shaking him to his very core. Everything he remembered about his father scared him, from the memories he actually had of the man to what he'd later learned of him in stories.
He'd been four when his father had lashed a man to the mainmast then made Jherek stand by while he whipped him to death. The man had stolen from his bunkmate, a crime that Bloody Falkane didn't put up with. Steal from anyone else and it was all right, but never from Bunyip's crew. The only blood spilled aboard Bunyip had been with Bloody Falkane's blessings.
After the man had died, the pirate captain ordered the body hung from the mast by its feet, a grim reminder to all the crew about where their loyalties lay. It had taken weeks for the carrion birds that regularly followed ships at sea to finish stripping the meat from the corpse.
A sahuagin thrust at Jherek again, shoving a trident across the stacked crates. Jherek twisted and slipped the blow, then captured the trident's haft behind the fork with his hook. Yanking the sahuagin off-balance, he swung his sword, cleaving his opponent's skull.
"Fall back!" Churchstone ordered. "You can hold this position for only a few minutes more. They're starting to close in from the sides."
Glancing over his shoulders in both directions, Jherek knew the pronouncement was true. The sahuagin had battled across other boats and sections of the docks, climbing onto the mainland in front of the shops and warehouses that lined the harbor district. Fire claimed the interiors of more buildings.
"Where would ye be after leading us?" Khlinat roared.
"To the warehouse behind you," Churchstone said. "We're better prepared for them there."
Jherek risked a glance at the warehouse, noting its disheveled appearance and the open bay doors. The interior was dark and immense. He turned to the dwarf, knowing Khlinat had fallen into the leadership role for the group of dockworkers surrounding them through his prowess and loud voice. The Flaming Fist sergeant had recognized it as well.
"Khlinat," Jherek said, blocking another trident thrust and pinning the weapon against the crate. Before the sahuagin had a chance of pulling the trident back, the young sailor flicked the hook out and caught his opponent through the gills. Jherek gave a twist and a yank that tore the sahuagin's throat out. "Retreating does make sense. We made this line and we held them. Now it's time to fall back and meet them again."
The dwarf fought gamely, avoiding a thrown javelin, then batting aside a trident thrust and slamming home another hand axe into the sahuagin's thorax. "Aye, swab, ye have the right of it." He blocked another blow and missed one of his own. "At times, I'm a prideful man. I don't like backing away from no fight."
"By Tymora's favored smile and grace, you sawed-off runt!" Churchstone roared. "You're not retreating from a damned fight. You're moving to better wage it."
"Have a care as to how ye address me," the dwarf roared back. "Else, if ye should survive the blades of these sea devils, ye will soon have another fight on yer hands."
"Khlinat," Jherek said, wanting desperately for the dwarf to listen to him. Even though they'd fought the arriving sahuagin to a standstill, they were losing men.
The dwarf nodded. "Aye, swab, and I hear ye." He raised his voice from a roar to a bellow. "To the warehouse, damn ye lazybones! Regroup and let's show these beasties the color of their gizzards!"
Jherek hung the hook from the sash at his waist and reached out for a lantern hanging from a nearby pole. Holding it by the wire handle, he smashed it against the crates.
At his side, Khlinat did the same. Flames twisted up with a liquid whoosh. "Them what owns them crates," the dwarf said as they gave ground together, "ain't going to be any too happy seeing how we treated their goods."
"If they live after tonight," Jherek grimly pointed out.
"Aye, swab, and ye have the right of it."
Jherek turned and ran, spotting the two groups of sahuagin closing in from the sides. Another moment and their position would have been overrun.
They fled into the warehouse, going all the way to the back of the cavernous structure. The warehouse was two stories tall. Crates occupied space on either side, leaving the middle section clear. The scarcity of crates offered mute testimony about the way shipping had slowed since the attacks on Waterdeep and the sea lanes. On either side at the back, steeply angled wooden steps led up to the second floor.
"Don't stop till you reach the back!" Churchstone ordered.
Jherek and Khlinat ran at the back of the group with the Flaming Fist sergeant. The young soldier couldn't help noticing the grin on Churchstone's face. Glancing back over his shoulder, Jherek saw that the sahuagin had no compunctions at all about following them into the building. At least thirty-five or forty sea devil warriors ran after them.
Churchstone wheeled suddenly and lifted his sword. "Now!" he shouted.
Jherek only caught the flash of movement overhead, then a huge cargo net dropped down, snaring the sahuagin. Several of them dropped to the warehouse floor, hammered by the great weight of the thick hawser ropes. The sea devils struggled to get up. A few of them sawed at the ropes with bone knives fashioned with chipped edges. The ropes slid away greasily, twisting from the sahuagin's grip as well as against the knife edges.
Then a pair of flaming torches dropped from the overhead floor as well. From the way the cargo netting caught fire, running in rivulets as it greedily consumed everything it touched, Jherek knew it had been soaked in oil. The sahuagin whistled shrilly in pain.
It was a hard way to die, Jherek knew, and he felt bad for the creatures. It wasn't a way he'd have killed them. Malorrie had trained him to be a warrior, to fight the right fights for the right reasons. This was more like extermination. He felt the warmth of the flames against his cheeks as the men around him hooted in triumph and pleasure.
Jherek glanced away, catching Khlinat's eye.
"A bad bit of business," the dwarf commented. "But 'twixt a rock and a hard place, a wise man makes do and lives for the morrow."
"I know," Jherek replied.
Khlinat slapped him on the shoulder. "Buck up, swabbie, we've a city yet to save should the gods prove willing."
Out in the harbor, the bunyip roar pealed again.
The chill of dread raced through Jherek when he heard the sound. Resolutely, he steeled himself. Come what may, he knew he had unfinished business with his father. He followed the dwarf, skirting around the dead and dying among the sahuagin as they cooked. Archers on the floor above feathered any that appeared on the verge of escaping.
Out in the fresh air and clear of the smoke trapped inside the warehouse, Jherek stared across Baldur's Gate harbor. The battle ravaged the city along the docks. Flames twisted up through the roofs of buildings that would be nothing but ash by morning.
His destiny, he thought grimly, was supposed to be found somewhere in the chaotic debris, but he had no idea how he was going to find it.
"Pacys! It's happening-Baldur's Gate is under attack!"
Snarled in the layers of bedding, Pacys strove to come awake. As always, the bard reached first for his yarting. It lay on the floor beside the bed, barely fitting the hollow between the furniture and the wall in the small room. Until late, the yarting was the only thing of real value he'd carried in years. His fingers slid over the strings and the smooth wood out of habit, then he opened his eyes.
"What?" he croaked.
"We're being attacked by the sahuagin." Delahnane Kubha stood on the other side of the small bedroom and peered out the single open window. The flimsy pale green drapes blew over her naked body, illuminated by the lone taper on the small nearby table.
She was forty and still lushly curved, bursting with womanly charms that had warmed the old bard's bed for nearly a tenday. Her blond hair had strands of gray in it now, but her confidence in herself kept her from coloring it. She worked as a serving wench in the Blushing Mermaid tavern only a few streets back of the room she kept here. Pacys had enjoyed a friendship that was more than friendship with her the last twenty years whenever he was in the city.
Holding onto the yarting, not bothering to cover his nakedness, Pacys rushed to the window. His hard life was mapped across his lean body in scars and wrinkles, creating highlights on his nut-brown skin. He kept his head shaved, and went whiskerless as well. Jutting silver eyebrows arched over his light hazel eyes. He was thin, his long bones overlaid with stringy muscle.
Pacys had been in Baldur's Gate almost two tendays since arriving by ship. After the attack on Waterdeep and his talk with the merman Narros, he'd come to the city hoping to find more mention of the prophecy he'd been told of, more of the song he was chasing.
Since arriving in Baldur's Gate, he'd only experienced a few times when the song he searched so desperately for- had been promised-had come to him. They'd been troubling pieces, crammed with trepidation and the iron smell of blood.
Now, as he gazed out over the battling groups below and out in the harbor, the song filled his head. It was an extension of the piece he'd unconsciously played in Narros's home after having been invited to the merman shaman's dwelling. Pacys knew it was the piece concerning the hero of the tale.
The music was strong, vibrant, but there was a trilling uncertainty about it, a tremor that didn't ring quite true. Relieved and excited, he fit his hands to the yarting, then guided his callused thumb across the strings. The resonance between what he heard in his mind and what he produced on the yarting was perfect. The sleep fog that clung to him from too many late nights and too much wine lifted instantly.
"He's here," Pacys declared, smiling. The music filled the tiny room.
Delahnane glanced at him, light glinting in her eyes. "The hero you've been charged with seeking?" She wasn't as happy about the situation as the old bard was. There was every chance that someone she knew from the tavern, perhaps even someone she called a friend, would be dead before morning.
"Yes." The certainty that rilled him surprised Pacys. At his age, there seemed to be so many doubtful things. He'd seen seventy-six years come and go, and had learned much in his unceasing travels across Faerun as a wandering bard, not all of it good, but it all had fed his talent in one way or another. Every emotion he'd ever experienced had burned through his mind and into his fingers in thousands of bars, taverns, inns, and castles across Faerun.
He closed his eyes, concentrating on the music. His fingers moved fluidly across the strings, seeking the notes now without hesitation. He added to the small store he'd brought with him from Waterdeep. No matter what song he'd played or how long it had been since he'd last played it, the old bard had never forgotten a tune he'd written or borrowed.
He gave voice to the song, his smooth baritone filling the room.
"He stood with the men of Baldur's Gate,
"This boy not yet become a man.
"He followed his heart, not knowing the plan,
"Of his destiny to stand before the Taker's hate.
"With naked sword steel tight in his hand,
"And fear filling his belly as he eyed
"The black-hearted sahuagin warrior pride,
"The Champion fought to keep the defenses manned.
"Steel rang and sparked as blood ran from wounds untended,
"As the Taker took up the malevolent war that had not ended."
The words stopped coming, but the music didn't. It became repetitive. Unable to stand idly by while the city fought back against the invaders, or to miss the chance to meet the young man Narros had said it was his destiny to find, the old bard hurried back to the bed.
He pulled his plain brown breeches from the chest where Delahnane kept her personal things and quickly stepped into them. As a raconteur of duels, battles, and wars, he'd learned to keep clothing close to hand and to dress in a hurry. During a war, the battle lines moved even while men slept.
"What are you doing?" Delahnane turned from the window and faced him.
"Only what needs be done, fair lady," Pacys replied. "I'm no man to lay abed when there's fighting to be done." He pulled on the faded green doublet, then stepped into his boots. His feet slid into them comfortably. He hung the yarting by its strap over his back and picked up the wooden staff he'd carried with him almost as long as the instrument.
"You're going out there?"
"I have no choice."
"Men are dying out there," Delahnane said.
"Yes, and my place is with them."
"You're an old man."
The statement, even though it was true, hurt Pacys. He was well aware of his advanced age. Elves, mayhap, had all the time in the world, but not him. He crossed to the woman and took her by the arms, staring into her green eyes. "Ah, and if I had my choice of deaths, O vision, I'd choose to die by your hand, knowing your willing love and your tender caress upon my brow as you urged me to greater rapture."
A small smile lighted her face, followed by an instant blush.
"But, dear lady," Pacys went on, "I fear I don't have my choice of deaths, and I must follow my nature."
Delahnane pulled him to her and hugged him fiercely. Her bare skin brushed against his hand. "I know, dear Pacys, and even should that nature of yours damn you to die this night, I know it has ever made you the man I've loved when happy occasion permitted us to be together."
Pacys stroked her face with the back of his fingers. He felt a pang in his heart. He didn't think he would die, though he knew it was possible, but he did know that the loving times they'd shared, and the quiet hours he'd spent reciting poetry to her, thrilling to the way she'd responded to every verse, were over.
"Should we not see each other again this night-" he began.
She swiftly covered his mouth with her hand. "No," she whispered. "Do not speak of dying."
After a moment, Pacys gave her a nod. It hadn't been his intention, but he felt she knew he was about to tell her he wouldn't be back. It was her way of avoiding that. He'd left her many times in the past, and both of them knew that with his station in life what it was, there could only be pleasant interludes between them.
She removed her hand. "Do you really think the boy you're searching for could be out there?"
"I have to believe," Pacys answered. "All my life I've felt I was destined for greatness, to pen and sing a song that will forever be known as mine, to take my place among the bards whose works achieve immortality. That has never happened. Until now. Oghma's blessing upon me and my craft has seen fit to put me on that path now. I can't step away from that."
"I know." With genuine effort, she released him and took a step back.
Pacys leaned in for a final kiss, tasting the wine yet lingering on her lips. Of all the women he'd known in his long life, she was a favorite, but settling down and leaving the traveling bard's life was as unthinkable as taking a wife to travel with him who wasn't a bard herself. The road was home only to those who could call no other place home.
He reached inside his doublet and took out the coin pouch he'd been saving. Deftly, with all the skill of a thief, he placed it in her hand and curled her fingers up over it before she saw it.
Delahnane didn't say anything. She already knew how generous he was from past times he'd stayed with her.
Whenever he spent time with Delahnane, he always filled his own coin purse and one for her from the fees collected in the taverns he visited. With the caravans bringing men into the city as well as the needed laborers for the shipyards and the usual sailors, the old bard had done well during his stay. Both coin purses held a lot of copper and silver pieces, as well as the occasional gold piece. He'd learned long ago never to get too attached to coin. Oghma had always found a way to pry it out of him by some means.
"Take care," she told him.
"And you." Pacys went through the door, memorizing the image of her standing there with only the candlelight blazing over her. His heart was heavy with the thought of leaving. At the same time, he was excited. The song played in his mind, nothing new yet, but he knew there would be something more.
Outside, he bolted and ran by the other apartment doors to the stairs leading down to the alley. He raced around the building and out toward the docks. The song thrummed in his head, growing stronger as he moved to the battle.
The tide of sahuagin flooding into the city seemed unbreakable.
Jherek stayed with Khlinat, aware that the dwarf knew the streets and alleys of Baldur's Gate much better than he did. If there was a stand to make somewhere, he trusted Khlinat to make it and to choose the proper place.
They raced down Bindle Street till it crossed Stormshore Street, then kept going. Few of the sahuagin had penetrated this far back the city as yet.
The peg leg coupled with his short stature helped Jherek easily keep up with Khlinat, but they moved quickly. Armed men, most of them evidently with the Flaming Fist, hailed citizens in the streets, urging them to join the efforts in the harbor. The young sailor guessed that less than half the efforts were successful. Men with families concentrated on getting those families to safety, not trusting that the sea devil invaders could be held.
The blood weeping from the cut beside Jherek's eye had finally ceased, leaving a hard crust that partially obscured his vision. It bothered him that they appeared to be running from the battle.
"Where are we going?" Jherek asked.
"Patience, swabbie, I've got a plan. Never ye fear." The dwarf's breath came in ragged gasps and he flailed his arms to keep up the pace. Two alleys further up, he pointed at a large building. "There."
The building stood three stories tall with a stone exterior. The bottom two floors contained what appeared to be a warehouse because there were no windows, while the third floor held personal living quarters with a large widow's walk facing the River Chionthar. A hand-painted sign stuck out from the building but it was too dark for Jherek to make it out.
Huffing and puffing from the run, Khlinat pounded the back of a hand axe against the door near the cargo bay. Hollow thumps sounded inside. The dwarf repeated his effort twice more, gaining intensity and frustration.
Suddenly a deep male voice called down from above. "What the hell do you want?"
Khlinat stepped back from the building and gazed up. "Yer city's under attack, Felogyr Sonshal, and there ye stand instead of taking up arms against them what attacks."
Sonshal stood in the shadows of the widow's walk, but Jherek could tell he was a big warrior who'd evidently enjoyed the successes of his life. Judging from his girth, he'd had several successes. Fierce mustaches stuck out from his lower face and dangled below his chin. He dressed well, but the thing that drew the young sailor's attention most was the long shape in the man's arms. It was pointed directly at Khlinat. Moonlight glinted from the dark metal.
During his time in Velen, Jherek had only seen a few weapons like the one Sonshal carried. It was an arquebus, a weapon as rare as the most arcane magic that took advantage of the explosive nature of the smoke powder made by the Lantans. The arquebus fired round bullets much like those a sling threw, but with far more destruction than either a sling or a bow. Also, the bullets weren't as easy for a healer to take out as an arrow or quarrel.
The dim glow of a slow match burned orange across Sonshal's face. "I'm on my way to help. I only just woke."
"Pulled yerself out of yer cups, ye mean."
Consternation covered Sonshal's face. "Do I know you?"
"Khlinat Ironeater. Aye, ye know me. From a time or two a round was bought at the Blushing Mermaid or the Three Old Kegs. Stories was swapped and lies was told, but I've never done business with ye. That blasted smoke powder ye sell is much too uncertain for a one-legged dwarf who's learned the value of the sure-footed path."
"Then what are you doing here?" Sonshal demanded. "Unless you're beating on doors and raising help."
"More than that," Khlinat roared. "That harbor yonder's filled with all manner of foul beasties, including no few sea devils. I've got me a plan, desperate, aye, and mayhap a trifle foolhardy, but Marthammor Duin keeps foolish wanderers ever in his blessed sight."
"Get to the point."
"Ye sell smoke powder," Khlinat said.
"I sell fireworks," Sonshal argued. "And torches, lanterns, and beacon pots. Things a man determined to go adventuring needs."
"Aye," the dwarf agreed, "and ye stock smoke powder that the Lantans make. The reason the four Grand Dukes don't run ye out of business here is because yer choosy about who ye sell to, and the fact that yer a rich man in these parts. Makes ye a good taxpayer, I'm told."
"What do you want? Do you figure an arquebus is going to serve you better than those hand axes you carry?"
Jherek listened politely to the conversation, staying out of it because he trusted the dwarf, but every instinct in the young sailor cried out to him to be at the harbor, helping where he could. Fighting men died while they stood there.
"No," Khlinat said. "I need that smoke powder ye have put away in the warehouse." He glanced at Jherek. "Steady, swabbie."
Jherek gave him a tight nod. Glancing at the harbor, he saw flaming catapult loads streak through the sky.
"I don't sell smoke powder to just anyone," Sonshal stated. "If you've heard anything, I know you've heard that about me."
"I wasn't intending to buy it," Khlinat said. "Just use it."
"For what?" Sonshal asked.
A broad grin split the dwarfs face. "Goin' fishing."