Under fallen stars

IX

5 Kythorn, the Year of the Gauntlet

The streets of Baldur's Gate remained busy as wagons went to and fro. Crews gathered the dead and piled them in community graves so sickness wouldn't spread from the corpses. Other groups concentrated on clearing the debris. The forlorn cries of women and children, and even some men, filled the streets. Clerics walked at the head of the death wagons, speaking prayers and waving censers filled with strong-smelling herbs.

Jherek couldn't keep his thoughts from the carved pearl disk in his fist. Everything it represented hung in his mind. Madame litaar and Malorrie had both felt his future had lain in Baldur's Gate, but he'd been offered no clue as to what it might be. He didn't even know where to go from here.

How was destiny found, or even pursued?

He had no clue, but holding the disk made him feel like achieving that was possible. He passed a group of men standing around a rose-red torch at a corner where the street he followed wound back toward the Wide. They talked quickly among themselves, voices high with emotion.

Earlier, he'd noticed the groups around the rose-red torches gathered for what seemed to be casual conversation. Cobble parties, Frauk had called them in a voice that gave no doubt how he felt about them. The caravan master wasn't a man to waste time.

The men had no light bantering of conversation between them now. Their voices reeked of angry frustration and pain. Jherek clung to the pearl disk a little more tightly, silently willing it to give up its secrets. Even though he knew he wasn't the one it was intended for, and that impression was very strong in him, he wanted to experience part of what it must feel like to be given something so important.

Instead, he remembered how Bunyip had looked out in the harbor. The lines remained as he'd remembered them, clean and tight except for the missing mast, and she'd looked defiant as ever.

Jherek wondered if his father would even recognize him now without seeing the tattoo on the inside of his left bicep. He became angry and frustrated with himself for even considering such a thing. His father had never cared about him, only about his own dark desires.

Black depression settled over Jherek, robbing him of even the small comfort the pearl disk had lent him. How could he dare to think even for a moment that such a thing might be intended for him, knowing where he'd come from?

No, what tonight had proven was that even the gods liked their cruel jokes. They'd placed the pearl disk before him, given him a hint of the legacy that lay ahead of someone more deserving, only to taunt him and make him recognize again the low station he'd been given in his life.

Despite the priest's words, the young sailor knew there was no escaping the past. His unmasking in Velen had proven that. He had been marked by fate as surely as Bloody Falkane had marked him with the sorcerous tattoo.

Jherek had been so deep in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed when the slim-hipped figure had walked by him, but he was aware when the person turned around. Jherek took a step to the side and his hand drifted down to the sword hung in his sash. Cold air chilled him through his wet clothing. He waited.

"Malorrie?" a feminine voice called out. Hands reached up and took away her cloak's hood, revealing the short copper tresses and wide-set eyes that he recognized at once.

In spite of the darkness that gripped him, Jherek's spirits lifted. A smile filled his face. "Sabyna?"

For a moment, Laaqueel was paralyzed by Falkane's sudden kiss. Nothing like that had ever happened to her. She felt the heat of him against her and her senses swirled, giving over to the otherness that had crept in with her deformity. Then she recovered, opening her mouth and intending to bite his lips, perhaps even chew them off before he could back away.

She felt the whisper of cold steel at her throat and knew he'd drawn one of his throwing knives. "No," he told her quietly. "Don't even try it."

She froze, knowing he could take her life between heartbeats. She closed her mouth, horrified to find only now that some instinct had compelled her to return his kiss. She breathed out, locking eyes with him. "From this day forward, watch your back, Bloody Falkane." Her voice sounded hoarse and uncertain.

He kissed her again, allowing her to flinch away but giving her no chance to escape. "From this day forward, lady, you'll think of me. I promise you that, and I keep my promises." He called over his shoulder, "Targ."

"Sir." Targ" s brutish features, gray-green skin tone, sour odor, and nearly eight feet in height marked him as a half-ogre. The malenti priestess had noticed him around Falkane earlier, always hovering like a bodyguard. He wore a chain mail shirt over a leather rough-out vest and leather pants tucked into fishskin boots. Shells hung knotted in his stringy black hair. The hafts of the crossed short swords he wore on his back rose over his shoulders.

"Watch her," Falkane ordered.

"Aye sir."Targ's face split suddenly, revealing a mouth full of crooked yellow fangs. "Want her dead if she tries anything?" He raised a crossbow and aimed it at Laaqueel.

"No, but pain is just fine. She can always get a godspeaker and get it fixed." Falkane brought the tip of his knife to his forehead and saluted the malenti priestess. "Another time, beautiful."

Praying quickly, Laaqueel readied her power. When she loosed it, the air around Falkane would thicken and grow heavy, crushing him in seconds. She felt certain she could be over the railing before the half-ogre would know what was going on or could hit her with a quarrel.

No.

The quiet affirmation of power knifed through Laaqueel's mind, breaking the concentration necessary to launch the attack. It was echoed by movement of the black quill lying so near her heart. She looked to the cargo hold and saw Iakhovas come up the stairs onto the deck. You-you saw what he did! She wanted to spit the taste of Falkane from her mouth but she knew the pirate captain would only laugh at her.

Yes, but Falkane is necessary to me.

I will not be handled so by such filth! she told him.

My dear malenti, I know that part of you found that encounter quite stimulating. Iakhovas's dry chuckle rattled in her mind. I find it quite fascinating, actually, because I've never thought of you that way myself. It opens up whole new concepts.

Falkane walked by Iakhovas without even looking at the man, as if nothing had happened at all. The pirate captain moved confidently, as though he thought he was invulnerable. He called out orders to his crew in a loud, stern voice.

Targ gave a snuffling and disdainful laugh, then lifted his crossbow from her, turned, and walked away.

Laaqueel felt her gills flare in indignation.

You, Iakhovas told her, will do exactly as I tell you to do. Would you deny the wishes of Sekolah as he seeks to lead his chosen children into greater power over the seas of Toril?

Laaqueel had no answer. She had to believe that Iakhovas's way lay with the Shark God. It had been through Sekolah's direction after years of prayer that she'd been guided to the books that had given flesh to the legend of One Who Swims With Sekolah. If she stopped believing in Iakhovas, where would the disbelief end? What would be left?

With great effort, she turned and faced back in the direction where Baldur's Gate lay smoldering. Her belief was all she had. If that was lost, she was lost.

Good, little malenti, Iakhovas told her. I need no further hindrances your lack of control might cause. I'll have enough problems justifying the loss of men and ships to these pirates. The Flaming Fist mercenaries got organized and held much more quickly than I'd thought they could.

Laaqueel remained silent in her shame. Her way had to be hard. She knew the Shark God would demand no less. Even now she'd risen much higher in her station than she'd ever believed possible, thanks to throwing in her lot with Iakhovas.

She bent her head and prayed, knowing by her belief that the prayers she gave voice to fell ultimately on deaf ears. Sahuagin priestesses she'd known had consorted with other dark gods as well as Sekolah to get their powers, always holding the Shark God in a position of prominence. She had never done that, never entertained the possibility of worshiping another. Sekolah was the only god she'd ever followed. She'd been more true than anyone she'd known. Since her earliest days she'd been taught that only the inadequate failed.

Don't be so hard on yourself, little malenti, Iakhovas said. You found me when no one else could, and I had been there thousands of years. Look at all we have wrought. The sahuagin are more feared than they ever have been.

More hated.

Ah, little malenti, you forget that hate is merely an investment of power. Even the surface dwellers have to respect power. Measure their hate and you measure their respect- and in turn you measure our power. They wouldn't fear the inadequate-only the successful.

She lifted her head, knowing he was right. They had been successful. It remained to be seen how respected, and how feared, the sahuagin were going to be.

"Captain Tynnel only told me that you'd decided to stay in Athkatla," Sabyna Truesail said.

Jherek walked at her side, accompanying her down Dock Street to the harbor. He still couldn't believe Breezerunner's ship's mage had ended up in the city at the same time he had. In a way, he supposed it was more a part of the cruel injustice the gods were determined to swing his way this night. There was no way Captain Tynnel would allow him back aboard the ship after the fight he'd had with some of the crewmen in Athkatla.

Though he had expected Tynnel to carry through on his offer to tell the ship's mage and let her see him briefly if she wished, a tightness centered in his chest when he thought he might never see her again after tonight.

The night's darkness wreathed the city and drew dense shadows through the street. She'd told him she'd been out searching for goods she needed to make repairs to Breeze-runner. The cargo ship had been at anchor when the sahuagin and pirates had attacked. They hadn't been able to get their sails up in time to do much because most of the crew had been ashore on leave. Luckily the damage the ship had suffered had been minimal.

"I suppose it's true that I decided to stay," Jherek said cautiously. He found he couldn't tell her that the fight in Athkatla had been over the coarse words Aysel had said about her. He would have been ashamed, and he'd given up much that she not ever hear about the incident or the caustic things Aysel had said. It would be self-defeating and braggartly to tell her now.

"Why?"

"Why what?" The rapidity with which she changed tacks in a conversation confused him. Partly, though, he had to admit it was her beauty that he found so distracting. During every night the caravan had trekked for Baldur's Gate, his thoughts had been drawn to her. It would have shamed him to admit that too, and probably shame her as well.

Ship's mage she might be, and self-admittedly no highborn lady, but she was far beyond the reach of a man who was no more than a pirate's-get. Especially the son of Bloody Falkane, who'd, killed her brother when Sabyna had been only a girl.

"Why did you stay behind?" Quick-witted and gregarious by nature, Sabyna never seemed to lack the ability to speak her mind.

However, that ability was now creating problems. When he'd first met her aboard Breezerunner he'd given her his name as Malorrie. It had been only the first lie. He'd lied about staying behind at Athkatla, and things seemed to get more convoluted the longer he knew her.

"I ran into a cousin," he answered.

"And you decided to stay and talk to him instead of voyaging on to Baldur's Gate with us?" Sabyna cut around a wagonload of burned planks, walking faster than the tired team could pull.

Jherek stepped up his pace to follow her. "He needed help. My help." He tried not to notice how tightly her blue breeches hugged her slim, womanly hips as her cloak flared. The sight made thinking hard, but he was aware that he made no real effort to draw even with her and lose that view.

"You could have come and told me," she said.

"He was sick." Oh Ilmater, this was turning out worse than he thought it could. Each lie piled more uncertainly on the other, all of them waiting to come tumbling down.

"So sick that you couldn't come tell me?" She glanced over her shoulder and caught his eye.

Luckily he hadn't been watching beneath the cloak's edge. "Aye. He had no one to stay with him."

Sabyna gave a very unladylike curse. "You're lying."

"Lady?" Jherek thought frantically, wondering which lie she'd caught him in.

"I live aboard a ship, Malorrie," she said, coming to a stop. "That makes for a very small world."

Breezerunner sat in the harbor over her shoulder. The sails were trimmed and men scurried about in the rigging with lanterns, repairing damage where they found it. They looked like busy fireflies moving through the upper sections of the ship. Jherek heard Captain Tynnel's voice crack orders.

"How long did you think I would go before I found out the truth?" she demanded.

Jherek wished he knew which truth she was talking about.

"Not long after we'd sailed from Athkatla," she went on, "I was told about the fight you had with Aysel-and why."

A burn of embarrassment spread across Jherek's face and he had to break the eye contact by pretending to check his pouch.

"What frustrates me," Sabyna went on, "is that you were taken from Breezerunner instead of Aysel."

"He's crew," Jherek said. "I wasn't." As ship's mage, she should have known that.

"You would have been crew once we made Baldur's Gate," she said. "You as good as had the job."

The thought pleased and excited Jherek. Traveling overland wasn't something he wished to do again. He shrugged. The fact still remained that Tynnel had made his choice.

"You also could have talked to me," she went on.

"I was told that wouldn't be possible," Jherek said.

"By who?"

Jherek hesitated, realizing that he'd said more than he intended. Evidently whoever had spoken to the ship's mage hadn't told her everything.

"Captain Tynnel told you that, didn't he?" she demanded.

Jherek considered his options. Lying again was something he was determined not to do. He stood close enough to her to smell the delicate lilac scent she wore. Most of it was gone, worn away by time and the smoke that wreathed the air, but enough of it remained that it stirred memories of dining on meals she'd prepared for them in her cabin.

"Never mind," she went on before he could reply. "I can answer that one myself. Tynnel did tell you to stay away."

She muttered another oath, more virulent and descriptive than the last.

It wasn't that Jherek had never heard the curses before, though they weren't casual ones most seafarers would know, but rather the fact that Sabyna had called them out that stunned him.

"Look," she said, looking at him levelly, "first of all, I want to get a couple things straight with you. Then I'm going to see to Tynnel." She paused. "Don't get me wrong, I think the idea of you defending my honor is flattering, but I live at sea, a place where few women actually stay for long. When I became a ship's mage, my father protested, as did my mother. They both knew the coarse laxity of men at sea, and they knew how hard it would be to be the only woman on board a ship. Did you think Aysel's comments were the first of that kind that had ever been made?"

"I never considered it," Jherek said. Then he realized Sabyna must not have been told that Aysel was commenting on his feelings for her. He was quietly thankful.

"You should have," she said flatly.

A small group of Flaming Fist mercenaries approached them with drawn swords. The sergeant of the guard asked for their papers.

Before Jherek could explain that he had none, Sabyna produced hers, unfolding them with a flourish. "Read it and hit the cobblestones," she told the sergeant. "I don't have time for delays."

The sergeant held his lantern close to the papers as he read. Evidently he was chastised enough that he didn't bother asking for Jherek's. He thanked the ship's mage for her time and moved his group on.

"That wasn't the first time something like that has happened," Sabyna said. "I handle it when it does. That's how I maintain the respect of this crew. I won't put up with it, and I've got the means to make my displeasure known. If a sharp tongue won't get the message across, I have my magic. You stepping in like you did undermined that to a degree. By fighting you, Aysel now considers himself deserving of my attentions."

"I hadn't considered that." Jherek felt bad. He should have known the ship's mage could take care of herself. She'd faced pirates and storms at sea, and he'd discounted her independence. "I apologize."

"No," Sabyna stopped him. "There's no need to apologize. As I said, I found your defense of me to be very flattering. I wish I could have thanked you."

Jherek thought about that, feeling a little better. "You have a curious way of showing it." He'd seen Madame litaar go through mood changes that had confused him. Even Malorrie hadn't been able to understand them. The phantom's only words of advice were to remain as quiet as possible and offer only a small target till it passed.

"That was then. Now I'm mad." A small smile twisted her lips. "I was afraid I wasn't going to see you again. Faerun is a big place, and so much is going on now."

Jherek played her words back in his ears again. She'd been afraid she wouldn't see him again. He worked hard to keep the smile from his own face. Unconsciously, he twisted the pearl disk in his hand, barely aware of it.

He was also unaware of the figures that had closed in on them until it was too late. He glanced up, noticing that Sabyna had seen them as well.

The ship's mage shifted, putting the dock and the harbor to her back as she moved to Jherek's left, leaving his sword arm free.

A dozen men surrounded them, all thick-bodied from indulgences in drink and food as well as hard work. Jherek marked them as sailors because of their dress, weapons, and the rolling gait that showed in their movements.

None of the Flaming Fist mercenaries were anywhere to be seen.

The leader was a huge man with fiery red hair that caught highlights from torches in the distance. He carried a battle-axe in one hand and wore a small shield on his other arm. The shield was featureless except for a score of scars from previous battles.

A smaller man stood at his side, cloaked and hooded, his narrow shoulders pinched and rounded together. He kept his hands in the voluminous sleeves of his cloak.

"Sabyna Truesail," the big man rumbled. "Ship's mage of Breezerunner."

"I don't know you," Sabyna said.

Jherek kept his hand away from his sword hilt, hoping he was overreacting. Still, he noticed Sabyna's hands moving, readying her spells.

The big man grinned. "I'm Captain Vurgrom, of Maelstrom."

"I don't know your ship either."

Vurgrom shrugged, the smile never leaving his lips and never quite touching his eyes. "It doesn't matter, lassie. It's a long way from here."

"What do you want with me?"

Jherek glanced around, but no one seemed to be paying them any attention.

"It's not you," Vurgrom said. "It's your ship I'm after. Piece of business turned nasty on us tonight, and we want to get out of Baldur's Gate before morning. Unfortunately, the ship we'd borrowed took a lot of damage. My crew noticed your craft fared better. Took a little bit of doing, but we found out about you. Figured your captain might be wishful of keeping you in one piece. I guess I intend to find out."

Leather hissed at Jherek's side. In the next instant, Sabyna held long-bladed knives in both hands. The young sailor hadn't made a move yet.

Vurgrom grinned. "You can come easy or you can come hard. If I have to, I can chop some pieces off and take your captain what's left. I'm still going to wager he'll be ready to deal."

"No," Sabyna answered.

Vurgrom waited just a moment, then nodded. He didn't wait for his men. He brought the battle-axe forward, holding well down on the haft so he'd get a full stroke.

The axe blade whistled as it cleaved the air and sped for Jherek's head.