Under fallen stars

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5 Kythorn, the Year of the Gauntlet

Stepping to the side and twisting to avoid Vurgrom's battle-axe, Jherek slid his sword and hook free of his waist sash. His clothing still remained wet from his earlier dip in the harbor and constricted his movement. His muscles flared in protest at being forced to perform again without rest.

Vurgrom's axe missed him by inches, biting deep into the cobblestones and shattering some of them as the other men closed in. For the moment their numbers worked against them, though Jherek was sure that wouldn't remain so.

The young sailor moved aggressively forward, slashing at Vurgrom. The blade crashed fire across the mail shirt without penetrating. For a big man, Vurgrom moved surprisingly fast, bringing the shield around as Jherek hammered at him again. The sword struck sparks from the shield. While the young sailor tried to recover after expecting the sword to find a home in flesh, Vurgrom stepped forward and body-blocked him with the shield.

The massive blow slammed Jherek from his feet and knocked him back almost three feet. Shaken, the young sailor stumbled back and set himself again. Vurgrom lashed out with the shield again, expecting Jherek to still be off-balance. Instead, the young sailor slammed into the shield at an angle, rolling off it toward Vurgrom's front. He brought the sword around again, but this time barely succeeded in getting it up in time to block the battle-axe.

The impact rang along Jherek's arm.

Vurgrom came for him with the shield again. Anticipating the move, recognizing it as a favored one, the young sailor ducked and went low. The shield raked against his chest but lacked the force to knock him away. Reaching with the hook, he snaked it under the shield and hooked Vurgrom in the back of the leg. The big man yowled in pain.

With the hold secured, Jherek yanked. For a moment he thought the man's sheer weight would keep him from succeeding. If it had been strength against strength, Vurgrom might have held, but the hook was firmly embedded in the big man's flesh with tearing pain.

Screaming curses, Vurgrom stopped fighting the hook's pull. The leg came up and he went down.

Jherek didn't have time to capitalize on his success. One of Vurgrom's men came at him with a short sword. The young sailor abandoned the hook, unable to tear it free of Vurgrom's leg. Swiveling, he met the man's attack in a fencer's pose that Malorrie had taught him.

Steel rang on steel as the man sought to tear through Jherek's defenses. The young sailor gave himself over to his training, keeping his arm loose but strong, defending then attacking. The sword became a live thing in his hand, compelled by countless hours spent under Malorrie's demanding tutelage. Jherek moved ceaselessly, small steps that kept them in a tight circle, using the man's own body and attack to keep the others from them.

A man staggered away, grasping futilely at the throwing knife protruding from his throat. Evidently Sabyna's skills with a knife were considerable.

"Skeins," the ship's mage called from behind Jherek when he'd deliberately tried to protect her. "Attack."

From the corner of his eye, Jherek watched as hundreds of scraps of cloth flew from the bag of holding the ship's mage held open. They whirled and flew as if trapped in the eye of a hurricane, stretching out and growing longer until they reached serpentine proportions.

Even though he'd seen it before, Jherek's first impulse was to get away from the creature, and it took a lot of control not to act on that impulse. It was a raggamoffyn, a sentient creature that could strike or simply wrap around a human and take over that person's thoughts. The young sailor had seen it in action before.

There were some who said raggamoffyns were a race unto themselves, while others said they'd been created by a wizard with only evil intentions. Sabyna had created this raggamoffyn to be her familiar, taking the scraps that made up its physical body from her dead brother's burial shroud.

The raggamoffyn rode the breeze, nearly nine feet long now, coiling restlessly. Its initial appearance startled the attackers, driving them back. Sabyna threw a second knife, piercing a man's leg and eliciting a sharp yell.

The noise of the battle attracted a nearby group of Flaming Fist mercenaries. The four warriors sprang into action, shouting to the pirate group to identify themselves as they ripped swords from scabbards.

The thin-shouldered man with Vurgrom turned and gestured at them, saying words Jherek couldn't understand. Three of the men staggered and fell limply to the ground. The fourth appeared disoriented but that lasted only until one of Vurgrom's men ran him through.

The raggamoffyn streaked through the air and broke into its myriad pieces. It plastered itself to the man, covering him from the waist up in seconds, each piece locking into place securely. The man's mouth opened as he tried to scream but no sound came out. He dropped to his knees, letting go his sword as he struggled to tear the cloth away.

More knives glinted in Sabyna's hands as she avoided an attacker and partially turned the blade aimed at her head with one of the knives. Razored steel edges whispered together for a heartbeat.

Beyond the battle, Jherek saw men standing in the shadows, unwilling to take part in any fight that wasn't their own or where they couldn't tell immediately who was in the right. The young sailor fought deliberately, parrying, blocking, then riposting quickly, escalating the speed until he went from the defensive to the offensive. The sword was a blur before him and he stared through it, concentrating on the man across from him. He beat the man's shield down, knocking it from his numbed hands and causing him to step back.

"Damn you, Pharan!" Vurgrom roared as he pushed himself to his feet. He threw the blood-covered hook away. "I told you I wanted that woman alive. If you hurt her, 111 kill you myself!"

Pharan drew back. Taking advantage of his withdrawal, Sabyna lashed out with one of her knives, scoring a bloody line on his face.

"Zensil," Vurgrom shouted. "I want this ended now."

The thin-shouldered man nodded. Arcane words spewed from his lips, and his hands traced curious designs in the air. He drew a long length of small-linked chain from a pouch at his waist, stringing it out with quick movements.

Pressing his own advantage, Jherek slapped his opponent's sword aside a final time, then put a foot of steel through the leather armor and into the pirate's heart. The dead man started to fall, taking the young sailor's sword as well. Jherek faced the mage, not knowing what the man planned to do with the chain. Placing his foot on the corpse, the young sailor yanked his sword free. He breathed heavily, perspiring from his efforts in spite of the wet clothes.

The pirates drew back as the mage worked his magic. Even Vurgrom hesitated.

Jherek stomped on the abandoned shield at his feet, flipping it up in a trick Malorrie had taught him. He caught the shield, managing to run his hand through one of the leather straps on the back. Pulling it over his arm, he ran for the ship's mage.

Jherek caught her around the waist with his sword arm, pulling her into the crook of his elbow and into a run. He lifted the shield to block the man who swung at them. The sword crashed into the shield, almost coming free of his grip. He asked Ilmater's blessing as he powered forward, knocking the man down. Then no one stood in their way. Breeze-runner remained before them.

"Run!" he told Sabyna. He gave her a final push to get her started, then turned to face Vurgrom and his men in order to buy her more time. He felt the weight of the pearl disk in his pouch and experienced a momentary pride. He might not have been the one the disk had been intended for, no hero with a lofty destiny awaiting his arrival, but he could sell his life with honor to protect the ship's mage if it came to that.

"Malorrie!" Sabyna called behind him.

"Go!"

"I'm not leaving you."

Jherek heard her shifting behind him, the leather soles of her boots grazing the cobblestones. "You've got a sinking ship here, lady, and naught but storm-tossed seas about you. Get clear while you're able."

The wizard wound the length of chain over his head, then threw it at Jherek.

The young sailor lifted the shield to block the mass of coiled links, thinking the chain was meant as a diversion more than anything. It clanked against the shield's metal surface. Instead of falling to the ground, however, the chain snaked over the shield and lunged at Jherek. It wound around him quickly, twisting and weaving to avoid the shield and the sword as he tried to block it.

The chain wrapped his chest twice, holding tight enough to squeeze the air from him, then it wound out and captured his arms, threading down to encircle his ankles as well, pulling them tight. Off-balance, Jherek fell. He watched helplessly as Vurgrom closed in and swung the battle-axe. His last thought was that he'd failed to protect Sabyna. Then the battle-axe hit him.

By the time Pacys had finished recounting to Khlinat Ironeater details of the battle of Waterdeep and his own meeting with Narros, the shaman of the mermen living in Waterdeep Harbor, the beeswax taper had burned down to its final inch.

"Ye have an incredible task ahead of ye, Pacys," the dwarf acknowledged, "but are ye sure there's no mistake about the young swab? Oh now, and he's a brave one, and some skilled at weapons. I've seen him in action this night, and I know how deadly he can be. I question whether ye have the right person even in spite of all the good qualities the swabbie exhibits. He's hardly more than a boy."

"I know," Pacys agreed. He glanced at the stub of the candle, the hot melted wax spilling over the sides of the holder. He turned and peered out the window, seeing the streets filled with people who were returning cautiously to their homes. Occasionally during their conversation there'd been cries of warning about sahuagin, pirates, or some foul creature lurking in the shadows. The old bard hadn't known if those really existed, or were the product of overactive imaginations. They hadn't seen any on the trek back to Khlinat's home. "How far away is the apothecary?"

"Not far," Khlinat said, "but I'll wager me good boot that the swabbie hasn't found anything there. The Flaming Fist would have descended on all them places and taken what they needed already. Maybe he's giving a look 'round and seeing what he can turn up. Betwixt ye and me, I think he needed some time to himself to think."

Pacys nodded. Still, the creeping feeling that something might have happened took root in his mind. He'd come so far to find the boy, and had so much riding on the finding of him.

"So why do ye seek the swabbie?" Khlinat stuffed the bowl of his pipe with pipeweed and set fire to it. "Them mermen could have found anyone to deliver the message."

Pacys deliberately hadn't revealed his own part in the prophecy. "You mean someone younger." His fingers continued to stroke the yarting's strings, and to his great joy, he found additional chords as he sought them out. They were notes and measures that normally signaled traveling. It was confusing.

"If ye insist on being so indelicate," the dwarf said with an unabashed nod, "then aye."

Pacys smiled, showing he took no offense at the suggestion. "I don't know. All I can say is that I was told this was meant for me. Tell me, friend Khlinat, have you heard of Thoreyo?"

"Him who sang 'Short-Hafted Hammer and the Wizard's Tall Black Tower?'"

"Yes." Pacys had chosen the song deliberately.

"As a dwarf, how could I not know of that song? It is one of the most popular dwarven brawling songs-barkening back to the days when the dwarves warred with one another to build their empires across the Far Hills."

"What about Yhitmon?"

There was no hesitation in the dwarf. "Ah, 'Strangled Leaves of Lily-Grass and the Goblin-King's Betrothal.' I've hoisted a few pints of bitters and sang along with that one meself." He grabbed his cup and held it high.

"And would-be noble, himself a worthy warrior among goblinkin,

"In his own eyes,

"Did take upon himself to find a wife.

"So sword to hips

"And prayer to lips,

"He did ride, so boldly ride,

"To the House of the Rising Sin."

At the end of the stanza, the dwarf burst into laughter that turned into a coughing fit.

Pacys waited patiently till it passed.

"Now there, by Marthammor Duin's watchful eyes," Khlinat swore, "is a drinking song made for men who love the taverns."

"Yes," Pacys said, "and when you think of Pacys the Bard, what songs come to mind?"

Khlinat looked embarrassed. "Ye have caught me at a bad time, singer, otherwise I'm sure I would know of one."

"No," Pacys said quietly. "I've written songs, and good songs at that, but never a song that has captured the hearts of Faerun the way the ones we've mentioned have. I was drawn to the music early. Now I am in the winter of my years and I find I have no legacy to leave."

"Ye believe the story of the Taker is yer legacy?"

For a moment, Pacys felt uncomfortable. Part of him felt embarrassed ^about making something so grandiose about his part in the dark war rising from the seas of Faerun, and part of him felt silly for believing so easily. But the song had existed, so he believed.

"I've been told that it will be."

"And ye believe?"

Pacys hesitated only a moment before saying, "Yes."

Khlinat nodded. "Belief is a strong thing. And song, by the gods, there's something to forge a man's belief to his dream, make him reach for something that he never thought would be bis. There's such power in songs."

Pacys felt pride at the dwarf's description.

"I remember a tale," Khlinat said, "told me by me old grandda, and it twice-told at least a thousandfold ere he ever gave it to me. About Twahrm Kettlebuster, a hidden dwarf of the Far Hills."

"I've heard of it," Pacys said, remembering the little known song. He didn't play it much except in front of a select dwarven audience, and there had been few of those in recent years.

"Now mind ye," Khlinat went on, "old Twahrm weren't no trained bard, nor was he gifted in any way. Them what heard him sing said it was punishment should be set for only the most black-hearted of folks. But one day while wandering, scouting for a new vein of metal for his village where he smithed, he come upon a hunting party of ogres."

Unconsciously, Pacys's fingers found the yarting's strings and played an accompaniment to Khlinat's words. The dwarf picked up on the rhythm, became trapped by it, and fell into cadence with it.

"They had him outnumbered, and surrounded in a trice. So Twahrm hit his knees and began singing of how he'd courted Haela Brightaxe, also called the Lady of the Fray, and goddess of dwarven warriors. She'd spurned his love, he said, and he was ready to greet death. He sang of how much he would love to die and how pleased he was to see them. Meaning that he wouldn't have to die alone."

The bard's plucked notes flowed through the room.

"And the strength of his song was such that the ogres believed him and grew afraid. When he finished and took up his great battle-axe, the ogres left. See, they believed him about him being ready to up and die, and they didn't want to get taken with him."

"It's a good tale," Pacys agreed, "and it's exactly what I was talking about. I've been chasing this song for fourteen years. I came across part of it the night Narros and the other mermen came to Waterdeep after the Taker destroyed their city. Since that time I've wandered what seems like all of Faerun pursuing it, never able to get more than a few scraps of it here and there."

"But now there's more."

"Every day," Pacys agreed. "It led me to Narros, and it led me here, to the boy."

Khlinat shook his head. "It's a powerful lot for a man to think on, but have ye given any thought to what if yer wrong?"

"No." Pacys, who was never at a loss for words because it was those words that kept food on the table, tried to find the right ones.

"The swabbie's just a boy," Khlinat said. "If he's to go up against this thing ye call the Taker as ye say, he's got a lot of growing up to do."

"I know," Pacys admitted, "but this search for him, and finding him here at a time when this attack happened, and him being part of the effort that turned the tide of battle, it all sounds right."

Khlinat's tired eyes sparkled with merriment. "Ye mean to say old Khlinat Ironeater's going to be in yer song?"

Pacys smiled gently back at him. "My friend, you're going to live forever."

"Hopefully well and handsome in them verses, singer." Khlinat raised his cup in a toast.

Pacys toasted him and they drank. He put his cup down and searched the yarting for any new chords for the song.

At that moment, the candle guttered, reaching the end of the wick and drowning in the pool of melted beeswax. Pacys thought again of the long time that Jherek had been gone and wondered if something had happened to the boy. Then, for the first time that night, he hit a discordant note. A chill settled over the old bard as he put a hand over the strings to quiet them.

"What is it?" Khlinat asked.

Pacys pushed up from the table and settled his yarting over his shoulder. He picked his cloak up from the peg on the wall. "I have to go find the boy. Something's happened."

The dwarf tried to get up, but the pain drove him back to his seat. "Damn me for a weakling. I'd go with ye, but I can't. Let me know, will ye?"

Pacys nodded and let himself outside, hurrying down the stairs. He paid attention to the sounds around him. If a person only listened to the noises around him, he'd know music was being made all the time.

Now, beyond the street noise made by the wagons and Flaming Fist mercenaries filling the city, a discordant resonance hung over all of Baldur's Gate. The old bard knew he was probably the only person who heard it, but it told him that no matter what efforts he made, he was already too late.

He felt the rift between himself and the younger man, but he quickened his steps anyway, trying to find the direction, frustrated because the young sailor's tune seemed lost to him, a distant whisper of what it had been.