Under fallen stars

XXVI

1 Flamerule, the Year of the Gauntlet

Pacys the Bard sat in the small sea elf tavern down in the heart of Telvanlu and almost felt at home. The sea elves, he'd found, were a quieter lot than he was used to, but as it turned out they appreciated his music.

The bar was like a lot he'd played in on the surface world and the crowd wasn't that much different, but none of the sounds were the same. Voices echoed through the water much more easily so the listeners had to be more polite, and there was no shuffling sound of feet across a sawdust-covered floor. After having been in the water for so long he was getting accustomed to feeling the currents change around him, and how someone passing nearby could affect them.

He sat, at the owner's invitation, at the end of the bar. The bartender passed out drinks packaged in fish bladders treated so they were clear enough to see the contents. A patron drank from the bladder by squeezing the bottom and opening the seal at the top. It had taken some getting used to when he'd first arrived in Faenasuor, but now the bard drank quite easily. Learning not to lick his lips afterward still took concentration, though.

Telvanlu was the capital of Naramyr, the sea elven lands in the Lake of Dragons in Serds, and was located two hundred feet down and forty miles southwest of Suzail. The city was moderately sized as elven dwellings went, but the architecture was definitely inspired by the sea.

Clamshell-like buildings hugged the silt, deliberately low to avoid the shipping that took place constantly between the coastal cities overhead. The architecture hadn't been all that agreeable to the elves. Some of them wanted taller buildings so they wouldn't have to be spread out. Many of them didn't like the fact that they had to live more or less two-dimensionally as the surface dwellers did. The trade with the surface dwellers was good, so though a lot of complaining was done, none of the buildings went any taller.

One of the things that surprised Pacys most had been the laws regarding weapons and armor. None were allowed in the elven city, and it was strictly enforced. Aravae Daudil, Coronal of Telvanlu, made sure her guards carried out her orders to the letter.

Pacys tapped the crystals of the saceddar, picking out the notes for "Lady Who Shed Golden Tears," an old elven song about the flight from Cormanthyr after the fall of Myth Drannor. Despite whatever cultural differences now separated the surface elves from their aquatic cousins, the song found favorable response among the listeners by tying into their common history.

As the last note faded away, passing through the open windows cut into the coral walls, they hooted their appreciation. Clapping took up too much energy to fight the water and stirred up currents that moved wildly within a contained area.

"Another song, Taleweaver," someone called from one of the tables.

"Nay," the bartender interrupted. He was pale and thin, with only a scattering of blue speckles across his body. His silver-white hair floated around his face, kept back by a band chipped from pink quartz. "The man has sung long and strong, and he's entertained you layabouts for free long past time enough. Now I'm going to stand him to a drink that he may rest his voice. What will you have, Taleweaver?"

"An ale, my kind friend," Pacys answered, stripping the saceddar from his body. "Nothing heavy, for I'll not be early to bed tonight."

Since Taareen had accompanied Khlinat and him there after leaving Faenasuor, the old bard had stayed busy with Telvanlu's lore-keepers, learning as many of their legends of the Taker as he could. He was only taking a short break now to rest his mind and gain some perspective on what he'd learned.

He took the ale bladder to a back table where Khlinat had camped out. From where he sat, the dwarf had a full view of the tavern and the street outside. The streets, Pacys had discovered, were there primarily for the surface dwelling traders that visited and didn't feel comfortable with a three-dimensional world.

"Ye sang well," Khlinat greeted. "Hard to see any of 'em crying in this watery deep, but ye could see the painful joy in their faces as ye called up the ghost of Cormanthyr past."

"It's a favored song," Pacys said.

"To yer health," Khlinat said, hoisting his ale bladder.

Pacys unsealed his own ale bladder, fixed his lips over the opening, blew the remnants of salt water from his mouth, and squeezed. The ale tasted bitter and strong, a Cormyrean brew that he was readily familiar with. Evidently the balance of trade included beverages.

He swallowed, then nearly choked as a convulsion tightened his body. Harsh music created a cacophony of strident songs in his mind, making his head feel like it was about to split open. The refrain remained steady in his mind, hammering as viciously as a dwarven blacksmith marking out the preliminary shaping on a hard piece of metal. The song gave form to the smell of rankest sulfur and savage heat.

"Pacys?" Khlinat asked worriedly.

Understanding what the song meant, the old bard looked at his friend and said, "He's here, Khlinat. The Taker has arrived in the Sea of Fallen Stars!"

The wind kicked into Black Champion's sails, driving the caravel into motion. Her prow slammed into the white-capped waves, burying down, then moving to rise again over the next trough.

Jherek clung to the rigging in frustration, unable to bring the spyglass into use when the ship was fighting the ocean so much. At his side, Azla continued to yell orders, putting up some sails and trimming others.

Vurgrom said Maelstrom, accompanied by the other pirate vessels, sailed at them. Jherek was beginning to believe that the pirates weren't chasing after them so much as they were fleeing something else. The tarps pulled tight across their decks still intrigued him.

Behind them, the Ship of the Gods increased the volume of smoke pouring out of the volcano. Thunder rent the air, slamming hammer-like blows that took away all other sounds. The concussions reached Jherek, rocking him in the rigging.

In the next instant, the volcano spat flames and burning rock into the air. They spread like fireworks, coloring the blue sky and blue-green water with reds and yellows. The sky faded, quickly lost in the thick black smoke that streamed from the volcano. Around the island where it projected above the waterline, the ocean boiled.

Even as another explosion rocked the area, throwing more burning debris skyward, the first of it started descending. Huge chunks of flaming rock slammed against the ocean, sending up twisting spirals of water. Other rocks hammered against Black Champion's deck, shattering and skittering crazily when they didn't penetrate. More of the barrage knocked holes in the deck.

The falling rock smashed through the sails and set them afire in places. Two men went down, battered by the rock and sprawling out dead or unconscious.

Sabyna went to the aid of one sailor, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him to the relative safety provided by the prow castle. Glawinn joined her, holding his shield up over them and protecting her and the sailor. A large rock rolling in yellow flames and trailing smoke struck the shield but the paladin's strength held and it flew away in fragments.

Black Champion wallowed through another trough, but her gait wasn't as sure. She turned crossways, leaning hard over to port. She stuttered as she went over, loose and not working with the pull of the wind powering her.

Jherek glanced back at the wheel. The pilot lay stretched out on the deck, blood staining the wood around him and a gaping hole in his chest. Without a steady hand at the wheel, the young sailor knew Black Champion would be at the mercy of the cruel sea stirred by the raging volcano. He considered dropping to the deck and trying to get back to the wheel but he knew he'd never get there in time.

While he hung in the upper rigging, one of the large flaming boulders rolled into view without warning. He heard the sizzling heat of the boulder as it passed ponderously by.

Tumbling end over end, the boulder slammed into the mainmast only three or four feet up from the deck. The treated wood, hardened by processing and spells, shrieked as it exploded from the impact. The boulder sunk into the deck, burying itself in the wood and smoldering.

Sheared in two, the mast fell heavily to starboard, tangling itself in the suddenly slack lines of the rigging. Jherek fell with the slack, his fingers still hooked in the rigging. He hung on, watching the deck come up, knowing if he fell all the way and hit he'd be gravely injured if not killed outright. Even trying to angle for the sea beyond the sides of Black Champion would only leave him either in the water or at the mercy of Vurgrom's cutthroat pack.

When he hit the end of the slack hard enough to almost wrench his shoulders from their sockets, the young sailor said a brief prayer of thanks that he'd had the strength to hold on. He got his bearings quickly and started climbing through the rigging again, aiming for another section as the mainmast continued to roll around, threatening the other sails and rigging. He already felt Black Champion slowing, losing speed as readily as she lost her sails.

"Cut away!" Azla ordered from below.

Glancing down, his fingers cramped from the agony of keeping his hold and from the drop, Jherek saw the ship's crew lurch across the deck to follow their captain's command. Knives glinted in their fists as they sawed at the ropes holding the rigging. A small group of men lifted the broken end of the mast and guided it toward the port side of the ship, intending to slip it over the side.

The rigging Jherek had hold of alternately tightened and loosened as the crew cut the mast away. He kept climbing, knowing Azla wouldn't order them to stop while he got clear. Every heartbeat the broken mast stayed tangled up with the rest of the sails and rigging put Black Champion at risk.

He knew there wasn't enough time to go down, and the nearest rigging was still too far away to make the jump possible. Even as he realized he was running out of options, he spotted one of the smaller pirate ships racing up on them from starboard.

" 'Ware the ship!" Jherek called out in warning, listening as Black Champion's surviving crew rapidly took up the cry.

But the warning came too late. Pirate bowmen let fly and arrows found targets among Azla's crew. The second volley that raked the deck had fire arrows among them that started blazes in a handful of areas in the deck and in the surviving sails.

Jherek positioned himself at the edge of the sagging rigging, feeling Black Champion foundering beneath him. The ship turned sideways, floating loosely with no hand at the wheel. In the next instant, the ship heeled over the top of a deep trough stirred up by the exploding volcano. Her masts dipped, raking the tips through the advancing wave curling over to replace the trough.

Water swamped Black Champion's deck, washing away at least two screaming sailors. Jherek felt certain the ship was going to disappear beneath the waves as well.

T'Kalah stood on the ridge overlooking Vahaxtyl and stared in disbelief as heat washed over him. Red-hot lava burst from the Ship of the Gods to consume the city where he'd been born, fought, and lived. It flowed, a heavier liquid than the sea around it, and settled over the city. The lava was tens of feet thick, perhaps even hundreds.

The extrusion kept coming, piling deeper. As the chill of the sea settled into the lava, it cooled and turned solid, becoming gray. Still more flowed from the broken mouth.

Currents whipped across the seabed, ripping kelp free of the silt and sending it rushing away. T'Kalah stood against it, battered unmercifully, seeing if it meant to take his life as well. He embraced it, knowing if it didn't kill him it would only make him stronger.