Twilight Falling

CHAPTER 13

Brine covered Cale's clothes in powdery patches, but he didn't care. The clean smell of the Dragonmere and the brisk westward wind made him smile. He stood with his hands on the aft rail of Foamrider and watched the deep blue of the sea trail behind them. He had lingered there most of the trip, listening to the crying gulls, the drone of the waves, and the snap of the ship's sail. To his right, barely visible above the line of the horizon, rose the grassy plains of the Dragon Coast. Behind them, only a dark line on the horizon, stood the pines and cedars of the Gulthmere Forest. The merchant cog Foamrider and her captain, Mres Liis, had carried them all the way across the Inner Sea.

Looking thoughtfully at the calm sea, Cale realized that he had probably sailed over those very same waters over a decade before, when he had fled Westgate for Selgaunt. While Foamrider hadn't sailed far enough west for Cale to have caught sight of the Dragon Coast's largest city, seeing those seas and thinking of his time there brought back a host of memories-some good, some bad. Literally and figuratively, he felt that he was returning to his roots.

It felt surprisingly good. It felt honest. And the truth was, Cale enjoyed being aboard ship. He remembered a favorite saying among Inner Sea sailors: A wild sea calls only wild souls. He supposed that he must possess a wild soul, because despite the open-sea squall of three days before, the sea spoke to him.

Not so for Jak, he thought with a smile. Or if the sea did speak to the halfling, it didn't say anything the halfling wanted to hear. Jak had spent the first five days of the journey sending puke over the railing. The squall had made the seasickness worse. Only when their journey was near its end did he seem to have found his sea legs at last. That, or his stomach simply had nothing more to offer Umberlee and her waves.

Unlike Jak, the voyage hadn't bothered Riven. Cale thought that he probably had been aboard ship before. The assassin had spoken little during the journey. Instead, he had daily donned his aloof sneer and his holy symbol, and practiced his bladework on deck. The challenge of maintaining his combat balance on a listing deck seemed to interest him. Cale and he had sparred twice, both to a draw. Even the hard-bitten sailors had watched those combats with admiration. They had hung from the rigging and hollered encouragement to one or the other. Other than that, though, the crew had kept their distance from the three comrades and asked no questions.

Exactly as Cale wanted it.

"Starmantle to fore!" shouted the boy from the crow's nest above.

Reluctantly, Cale turned from the sea and made his way off the aft deck to forward. From there, even without a spyglass, he could see Starmantle's spires and towers rising above the horizon line. The features of the cityscape grew clearer as Foamrider drew closer.

It was far smaller than Selgaunt, Cale saw, but seemed to have a lot of temples. Strange for a city with Starmantle's reputation.

Jak must have heard the call of the sailor announcing Starmantle. He emerged from below deck, hopped up on the foredeck, and followed Cale's gaze across the sea.

"So that's Starmantle, eh?"

"That's it," Cale said. He looked at the halfling sidelong. "You look better. Eat anything?"

Jak grimaced and replied, "I'll wait until we've got earth under our feet, thank you. When I was a boy, my father had a dwarf friend-Uncle Korik, we called him. Well, Uncle Korik said that a man could only keep his feet and his sense if he was standing on something solid. He'd never set foot on a ship. That's wisdom, Cale."

Cale grinned.

Jak chuckled and added, "Besides, these sailors have got nothing but saltpork and dried fruit. I need a piping hot stew." He snapped his fingers. "And speaking of pipes." He pulled out his ivory-bowled pipe, tamped, and lit with a tindertwig. After a time, he blew smoke at Starmantle and said, "I haven't heard good things about that city."

"You've heard right."

Though Starmantle had a reputation as one of the least violent cities along the Dragon Coast, it still made Selgaunt look as peaceful as a hamlet of halfling matrons. Thieves, pirates, orcs, and worse were as common in Starmantle as the rats.

"I've seen worse," Riven said, suddenly beside them. He spat over the railing and into the sea.

Cale had not even heard the assassin approach. Dark, but he was good! Almost as good as Cale.

"I don't doubt it," Jak said as he blew smoke rings into the air.

Riven sneered but said nothing.

In silence, the three watched the city approach. The marble facades of the many temples gleamed in the afternoon sun. Ships of all kinds, from galleys to caravels to longboats, filled the harbor.

The voyage had taken nine days. They had only three days to get into the Gulthmere, find the Fane, and stop Vraggen.

"We'll need to find a guide who knows the forest," Cale said.

"Shouldn't be a problem to find a guide," Jak observed, and he blew another smoke ring. "Just a problem to find one we can trust."

"I know one," Riven said. "Or did, if he's still alive. Magadon Kest. He knew the southern Dragon Coast well."

"A Zhent," Jak said, and managed to make the word not sound like an expletive.

"No," Riven said, and nothing else.

Cale looked the assassin in his one good eye and asked, "You trust him?"

"No," Riven said, and spat. "But he's a guide. And a good one."

Well enough, Cale thought, and looked back out to sea. At least they had a lead.

Jak blew smoke into the sky.

Riven turned to Cale and said, "You know that if the mage has spies in the city, he'll know when we arrive. These sailors will sell us for coppers."

Cale knew that, but there was nothing for it.

"It's a big city," he said, and left it at that.

They would have to hope that the crowds would make them anonymous.

Riven cleared his throat and drummed his fingers on the rail.

"We could kill them all," said the assassin, "scuttle this tub, and take a dinghy in."

Cale and Jak both eyed him in shock, and the assassin's sneer gave way to a grin.

"I'm jesting, Fleet. Close your mouth before a gull drops a turd down your gullet."

It took a moment for that to register. When it did, Cale couldn't help but smile. Even Jak chuckled, after he'd recovered himself.

"Drasek Riven making a joke," the halfling said, shaking his head and looking at Cale wide-eyed. "That, I thought I'd never see."

"You'll see everything if you live long enough," Riven said.

"Let's make sure we do, then," Cale said, turning the mood back to serious. "Gear up. We debark the moment we dock. First me, then Jak, then you."

He didn't want them getting off the ship as a group. If Vraggen did have spies watching incoming ships, they would be looking for a trio.

He turned back to the sea and watched as a four-man guide boat separated from the mass of ships in the harbor and oared for Foamrider. It would direct her to a pier. Behind them, Mres started barking orders. Above them, the sailors in the rigging began to furl the mainsail. Foamrider would float into dock under only the foresail.

Cale watched as the city grew larger and larger in his sight. He knew that beyond it were the Gulthmere Forest, the Lightless Lake, and Vraggen.

All they could do was hope that Brandobaris and Mask favored them with some luck.

"This place is a pit," Azriim said.

Vraggen wasn't sure if the half-drow meant their room at the Bent Chalice Inn or the city of Starmantle in general. Either way, he had little patience for Azriim's complaints. Time was short.

"Silence," he ordered. Though healing the hurt given him by the halfling had been a trifling thing, his wounded pride left him irritable.

He whispered the words to a scrying spell as he poured a ewer of water into the shallow silver basin he'd brought with him from Selgaunt. The surface of the water began to shimmer with color. Vraggen willed the scrying basin to show him the Lightless Lake, and an image formed in the water.

"There," he said. "Observe, Azriim."

The half-drow stepped forward and stared into the basin. Dolgan too crowded in to see.

The basin showed a still lake, its waters the color of slate, set in the midst of a reed-filled lowland. Cypress trees loomed on all sides. That was where the Fane would appear.

Vraggen willed the image to move eastward until it fixed upon a simple settlement.

Sod huts with woven reed roofs surrounded a communal fire pit. Goggle-eyed, froglike humanoids about the size of a large man, hopped about the settlement. Their smooth, green skin glistened with slime. The warriors among them wore reptilian scale armor and bore wooden spears with fire-tempered tips. Their females wore nothing and probably lived their lives in service to the males.

"Bullywugs," Azriim observed with distaste.

Vraggen nodded. He had scried the bullywug tribe several times before. They lived in the lowland swamp surrounding the Lightless Lake and numbered about eighty or so. The tribal chief and his shaman aide commanded obedience through a combination of physical strength and religious awe. Central to that religion was the Lightless Lake, which the bullywugs believed to be a manifestation of the mouth of their frog god, Ramenos.

Vraggen smiled. The lake was holy, but not for the reasons the bullywugs believed.

Vraggen continued to scan the settlement until he located the chief-a towering bullywug, grossly fat, dressed in scale armor and adorned with a crown of polished turtleshell.

"They're near the lake," Azriim said. "They'll interfere with the ritual."

Vraggen nodded. He knew.

"You'll obliterate them, I assume?" asked the half-drow.

Beside Azriim, Dolgan grinned and licked his lips.

Vraggen turned to look upon both of his lieutenants with measured contempt.

"Violence is a tool to be used sparingly," the mage said. "These are simple creatures. It's unnecessary to destroy them. Instead, I will turn them into our allies."

Dolgan's crestfallen expression evidenced his disappointment. Azriim pursed his lips.

"Fine," said the half-drow. "As long as they don't touch my clothes."

For the next few hours, Vraggen studied the bullywug chieftain, waiting for him to be alone in his hut. When he was, Vraggen quickly prepared a series of spells. First, enchantments that allowed him to speak and understand the bullywugs' croaking tongue. Second, a spell that rendered him invisible.

When he was ready, he pulled his teleportation rod from his cloak.

"I will return apace," he said to Azriim and Dolgan.

Vraggen turned the dials of his teleportation rod, felt a brief wave of nausea, and found himself standing in the hut of the bullywug chieftain.

The stink was abominable. A mixture of organic decay and fish. From outside the hut, Vraggen could hear the steady chirp of insects and the irregular croaks of the bullywugs. Several guards stood just outside the doors, he knew. The chieftain sat in a woven-reed chair-a throne of sorts-with his arms crossed over his belly, snoring.

Vraggen wasted no time. He whispered the words to an enchantment that would make the chieftain believe him a trusted friend and ally. He became visible the moment he began to cast. The bullywug slept throughout.

When Vraggen finished the spell, he cast another minor spell that allowed him to see dweomers. The bullywug chieftain glowed in his sight. Good. The charm had taken effect. Vraggen laid a hand on the slimy skin of his "friend."

The chieftain's goggle eyes flew open. He reached for his spear, saw Vraggen, and croaked a greeting. His fat jiggled when he moved.

"Indeed it is me, my friend," Vraggen said in a low croak, so as not to alarm the guards standing outside, "Vraggen. And I bring news. Ramenos the Sleeping Maw wishes to show the tribe favor. But first, he must feed upon a sacrifice."

The chieftain's eyes clouded. His long tongue swiped across his lips nervously.

"Feed?" he chieftain asked. "How came you to this news?"

Vraggen looked suitably mysterious and answered, "Signs and portents, mighty chieftain."

The bullywug, implicitly trusting Vraggen's words due to the enchantment, seemed to accept that explanation.

"What does the Maw demand?"

Vraggen smiled and said, "He is to accept me and two other manlings into his jaws. Three days from now, when the Lightless Lake glows with his presence."

The bullywug grinned with relief and patted his fat stomach.

"He demands manling, of course!" the bullywug said. "It has been too long. After that, the maw will be sated for many seasons. The fish will be plentiful!" He thumped Vraggen on the shoulder, unable to contain his glee. "To be food for the maw is an honor indeed."

Vraggen accepted the compliment with a humble nod of his head. He wondered how such a stupid creature had risen to the top of the tribe.

"I will return with the other manlings in several days," Vraggen went on. "We shall stand before the maw until the sign is given. You must prepare the tribe. To earn the favor of Ramenos, you and your warriors must prevent any interference with the offering."

The chief nodded eagerly, his chins wobbling hither and yon.

"Eglos should know of this."

Vraggen assumed the chieftain was speaking of the tribal shaman.

"Indeed, my friend," the mage said. "Please bring Eglos here, to me, and I will deliver Ramenos's message to him directly."

Vraggen sank into the shadows while the chieftain shouted orders to the guards outside. They poked their heads in, received confirmation to retrieve Eglos, and hurried out. In a short while, Eglos appeared.

The shaman stood a head shorter than the chieftain, and his widely spaced eyes looked slightly to the side of whatever he was looking upon. He wore a brace of humanoid skulls as a sign of his office.

The moment Eglos walked into the hut, Vraggen surreptitiously cast a spell similar to that which had enthralled the chieftain. Eglos greeted him cheerfully and raptly listened to his explanation of Ramenos's plan for the tribe.

"May the maw devour you painlessly," Eglos croaked.

Again, Vraggen humbly accepted the blessing.

"Prepare the tribe for my return," he said, then he teleported out as the chieftain and shaman watched in awe.

Back in his room at the Bent Chalice, Vraggen smiled at Azriim and Dolgan.

"A quarter hour of subtlety and deception has won us over thirty bullywug warriors as allies. Force has its place," he said, enjoying the lecture, "but it is not always the answer."

Azriim stared at the ceiling and said, "I can smell you from here. Perhaps you should bathe?"

Dolgan guffawed.

Vraggen, in a generous mood, let the insult pass.

"Azriim and I will journey to the Lightless Lake," the mage said. "Dolgan, you remain in Starmantle. If Cale somehow manages to track us, kill him. We'll leave Elura to watch the road."

His lieutenants nodded, though Vraggen could see the distaste in Azriim's expression. The half-drow did not relish the thought of spending any time with bullywugs in a fetid swamp. Vraggen smiled.

All of the pieces were in place. He needed only to wait for a new moon, and the appearance of the Fane of Shadows.