Under fallen stars

VII

4 Kythorn, the Year of the Gauntlet

Jherek braced himself as Khlinat drove the wagon team into the irregular line of sahuagin blocking the mouth of the alley that let out into Baldur's Gate harbor. They'd passed most of them already, but the sea devils had taken refuge up against the buildings on either side of the alley, fighting hand-to-hand with citizens predominantly dressed in the Flaming Fist's colors.

The sahuagin group at the end of the alley was wedged too tightly to scatter, and Jherek knew if the dwarf slowed they'd be overrun in heartbeats. The young sailor blocked trident thrusts with his hook and hacked at heads and limbs that got close enough. He'd left at least four sahuagin lying behind the wagon.

The dwarf squalled in anger as a sahuagin grabbed hold of the wagon and tried to pull aboard. Sonshal's arquebus banged as Jherek went to Khlinat's aid. The big bullet cored through the sahuagin's head, punching it back off the wagon.

The horses kept to their pace, urged on by the dwarf slapping leather across their rumps. Their headlong run pushed the sea devils down before them, and their iron-shod hooves dealt grievous and mortal injury. The sahuagin clicked and whistled in pain and surprise, but two of them reacted quickly enough to catch hold of the animals. They popped their claws out and set to their bloody work.

"Swabbie!" Khlinat yelled.

Jherek was already in motion. With sure-footed grace, he stepped out onto the horse's back like it was a deck pitching in a wild storm. He kept himself centered, then dropped onto the horse's back and locked his legs with the skill he'd acquired riding up from Athkatla with the caravan. He swung the sword, coming down and cleaving the sahuagin from crown to chin.

The body twitched and fell away, but the moonlight glinted on the blood streaming from the horse's neck. Jherek realized the animal was dead already and didn't know it. There was no way to staunch the blood flow.

The young sailor turned his attention to the other horse. He reached out with the hook and caught the sahuagin in the muscles that joined the head and shoulder, tearing the flesh cruelly as he found a hold. He yanked and twisted, pulling the sea devil from the horse. One webbed foot pushed against the ground, and the sahuagin sprang at the young sailor more quickly than he thought possible.

Reacting instinctively, Jherek whipped his other hand across and caught the sahuagin in the face with his fist. Pain shot up his arm, but the sea devil went down under the horses' hooves.

They broke through the sea devils at the harbor. Khlinat whipped the horses one last time, hauling them away from the dock, and the carcass of a small cargo ship that had burned nearly to the waterline. The horse beneath Jherek stumbled and almost fell, but fear drove the creature over the harbor's side.

The wagon followed, and Khlinat yelled hoarsely in rebellion and fear, covering over Sonshal's own shouts.

Laaqueel stared at the resurrected dead thing in the lime pit with revulsion so strong it nearly caused her to empty her stomach again. She stood through willpower alone.

Dead things weren't meant to walk. Sekolah's teachings were clear about that. Dead things were meant to be eaten as quickly as possible, whether they were from outside the sahuagin family or from in it. She'd heard stories about the dead being brought back to unlife, about vampires and ghouls, and she'd once been attacked by a group of drowned ones while scavenging shipwrecks with a band of humans she'd spied on and eventually handed over to Huaanton when he'd still been baron.

Iakhovas glared at her and gestured.

Instantly, the quill next to her heart twisted and the nausea went away. At least, the physical effects of it did, leaving her stomach resting quietly. Mentally, she still couldn't stand the sight of the thing waiting quietly in the pit. Surface dwelling priests and priestesses had the ability to turn the undead, as did the hated sea elves, but as a priestess for Sekolah, she had no such ability. The drowned ones had nearly killed her before one of the humans she'd been working with turned them back.

"I would have something from you," Iakhovas told the thing.

"I have nothing."

"It was yours at one time," Iakhovas argued. "I was told it still resided with your body."

The thing ran its misshapen hands over its body. "I was killed and robbed. I don't even remember being brought here."

"Your name," Iakhovas said, "was Cuthbert Drin and you were brother to Halbazzer Drin, the owner of Sorcerous Sundries here in Baldur's Gate."

"I'm in Baldur's Gate?"

"Yes."

The dead thing moved uncertainly. Its face took on features as the rest of it sharpened into shape as well. Laaqueel realized whatever magic Iakhovas had laid on it was continuing to work.

"Release me," the thing ordered, knotting its crooked fingers and hands into fists. "This hurts."

"No," Iakhovas said.

"The time bij-rns!" The dead thing suddenly broke into a frenzy of activity, pacing and scratching itself. In places, the fingers penetrated the lime-covered skin. Tendrils of old blood wormed out, marring the white luster of the lime in the glowing globe's glare.

"Of course it burns," Iakhovas said. "It's a struggle to keep you alive at all."

"You can't keep me like this."

"Yes," Iakhovas said. "I can."

The dead thing moved faster, almost up to a run in the small area. It clawed at the walls of the pit, seeking some way to get out. "What do you want?"

"The ship you had with you on the day you were killed," Iakhovas answered. "It's mine, and I've come to claim it."

"It was taken," the dead thing argued.

"No," Iakhovas replied. "I traced your steps, Cuthbert Drin, through the ordinary means of agents planted here at Baldur's Gate, and through scrying and divining into the past. After I had the facts, I found the moment in time you discovered the bottle high in the Orsraun Mountains near the Vilhon Reach. You and your brother, Halbazzer, found mention of the bottled ship in scrolls that came into your hands at the shop. Even twenty years ago, his rigorous adventuring days were behind him, robbed by the poisoned knife of an assassin hired to kill him. The damage was so great he never fully recovered from the attack. You had the bottled ship the day you died, and your murderers didn't find it."

"How do you know this?"

"I found two of your murderers," Iakhovas said. "I took the time to question them, and I made certain of the veracity of their stories as I stripped their lives from them one layer at a time. Both stories, in the end, were screamed out and agreed on the fact that the killers hadn't seen the bottled ship."

"You know the mystery of the bottle?" the dead thing asked, picking at the lime-encrusted shreds of flesh hanging off it. "Though I tried any number of ways, I never succeeded in opening it. Even the glass wouldn't shatter."

"I know the secret of the bottle," Iakhovas said. "I petitioned the elemental beings who created it, trading with them for their services." He narrowed his single eye and deepened his voice. "Now give it to me or I'll leave you there like that, unable to ever escape the fiery kiss of the lime that ate away your flesh and bones."

"No!" The dead thing slapped and massaged at itself, still walking, still uncomfortable.

"Then burn." Iakhovas started to walk away.

"Wait," the dead thing whined.

Laaqueel watched as the dead thing dug down into the lime ashes and found a small bottle. The dead thing tossed it up to Iakhovas.

Stretching out a hand, Iakhovas said a word. Instantly the lime-encrusted bottle stopped, hovering above and not quite touching his palm. He took out a cloth from his cloak with his other hand, then wrapped it around the bottle and put it away without getting burned.

"I've done what you asked of me, wizard," the dead thing said, wrapping its arms around itself and rocking with the pain. "Where is my release?"

Iakhovas gestured and spoke.

Immediately the dead thing disappeared in a cloud of whirling white lime.

Iakhovas replaced the stone slab that covered the hole. "Come, little malenti," he growled in anticipation, "we've tarried here long enough." He turned and strode back down the passageway in the direction they'd come, the glowing globe keeping pace with him.

Still unnerved by her experience and not wanting to confront any undead in the tight tunnel by herself, Laaqueel hurried after her master.

As the horses and wagon tumbled the eight or ten feet to the black harbor water, Jherek gathered himself and dived from the horse's back. He plummeted toward the water and hit it cleanly, going under at once. Kicking out, he swam for the thrashing horses, aware of the sahuagin and the other sea creatures filling the water around him. Some of them changed course and headed for him.

He shoved the hook in the sash around his waist and closed on the horses with his sword. Grabbing the traces, he dragged the heavy sword blade across them, parting the leather in seconds. One of the horses swam away, but the other gave in to the wounds the sahuagin had inflicted on it and went still in the water.

Turning his attention back to the wagon, Jherek gratefully saw that it was tight enough at the sideboards and light enough to float-at least for the moment. Still, if the powder kegs had gotten too wet, Khlinat's plan wouldn't work.

The young sailor kicked out and swam to the wagon ahead of a pair of sahuagin. He grabbed the side with his empty hand and expertly pulled his weight aboard without tipping the wagon over. Sonshal worked among the kegs, stuffing fuses into their lids. The slow match coiled over his shoulder glowed orange more brightly when he blew on it to get the coal at its hottest.

Jherek dripped on the wagon. Two inches of water swirled around his boots as the impromptu craft took on water like a sieve. "We don't have much time," he told Sonshal.

"I'm aware of that, boy," the man said, "but if these fuses aren't measured off properly and cut right, we're not going to get the effect your friend is wanting."

Jherek glanced around. "Where is he?" He had to shout over the screams and hoarse yells of sailors and the men on the docks.

"I don't know." Sonshal took a brief respite to boot a sahuagin who was trying to climb onto the wagon, knocking the sea devil back into the water. "I lost sight of him when we hit the water and barely managed to stay with the wagon myself." He poked another fuse into the next barrel.

Concerned, Jherek peered into the water, uncertain if he'd see the dwarf for sure. Too many warring shades of light and darkness overlapped the dark harbor water, turning it alternately into a bright, reflective surface or into a dark and depthless one. Men died quickly out there, on sahuagin claws or tridents, broken and torn apart by the great creatures that had been summoned from the river.

A hand broke the surface only a few feet away.

Jherek reached out and caught the hand, then balanced his weight on the wagon as he took on the dwarfs weight and pulled him from the water. Khlinat's face was masked with fresh blood mixed with water that ran quickly down his chin and throat. He blew his nose noisily and freed his hand axes. Bellowing curses, the peg-legged dwarf hurled himself at their foes.

Jherek defended the other side, keeping the sea devils from Sonshal's back and from the wagon. He ignored the fatigue that filled him, and the throbbing pain that came from the laceration by his eye. In his mind, he imagined Malorrie there, guiding his hand by voice control.

"It's done!" Sonshal roared in warning. "Get overboard!" He dived over himself, setting the example. Khlinat hit the water next.

Jherek took a final glance over his shoulder and watched the smoke streaming from the fuses tucked securely in the powder kegs. He didn't know if the dwarfs plan was going to work, but he knew nothing else that would either. He said a prayer to Ilmater and leaped as sahuagin pulled themselves up into the wagon where water was already halfway up the barrels.

Jherek went deep, swimming for the bottom of the harbor. Khlinat had said he'd seen men use small amounts of the smoke powder to fish with. With the explosions, the concussive force rippled through the water and overloaded the sensitive lateral lines that ran the length of a fish's body, stunning the creatures. Since sahuagin were reputed to have lateral lines as well, which made them so deadly in their home territory, the dwarf had hoped the blast would have the same effect.

Traveling through the water, the sound of the detonations came in rapid succession to Jherek's ears. He held his breath tightly, knowing the blast force would only be a second or two after.

A heartbeat later, it hit him like a brick wall. He struggled to hold onto his consciousness but everything went black.

Pulling back in the alley quickly, Pacys let the sahuagin's trident rip the air harmlessly in his face. The old bard moved with fluid economy, echoing the triumphant cadence of the song that echoed within his head.

Lifting the staff, he blocked the sea devil's second slash then slid the weapon to the side and slammed the iron-capped end into his opponent's face. While the sahuagin remained dazed, Pacys twisted the staff in the middle. Foot-long blades sprang out of either end. He took another step back, set himself, and rammed one blade into the creature's thorax, penetrating the heart.

Still, the sahuagin remained determined to get to its opponent. It raked the air with its claws as Pacys held it back with the staff. The oily black eyes eventually dimmed and the sahuagin draped over the weapon.

Pacys shoved the corpse to the alley floor, aware that other sahuagin already crowded forward. He used the staff with lethal efficiency, clearing a space around him and winning the respect of his savage adversaries. Still, he burned inside to be moving, to pursue the young man he'd spotted on the wagon.

During a brief lull, he knelt down quickly and pinched up some sand from the cobblestones. "Oghma, grant that my spell be strong." He flicked the sand out as he said the words. When he finished, he thought he saw a shimmer wash over the combatants in the alley.

In the next instant, nearly two thirds of their number stumbled and fell, asleep by the time they hit the cobblestones. With the way much clearer, Pacys ran toward the docks.

At the end of the alley, the old bard spotted the sahuagin standing at the dock's edge and peering down, but he didn't see the wagon with the young man in it. The old bard went forward, drawn by the music that grew still stronger inside his head. Fearful of what might have taken place, he told himself that nothing could have happened to the young man without causing the song in his heart and his head to go away.

As long as the tune lived, so did the young man. He felt that had to be true, but he wasn't certain. Staying down from the clustered sahuagin, he raced to the edge of the dark quay and peered down into the water as they were doing. With the wavering light from so many of the nearby buildings and ships that had been torched, to say nothing of the docks in places, it took him a moment to spot the wagon.

It floated, although the amount of water it was taking on as its weight dragged it down testified that it wouldn't float long. The sahuagin jumping after it from the docks made that time even less. The old bard barely made out the gray streamers of smoke curling up from the small barrels in the back.

In the next instant, though, the barrels detonated one by one. The series of explosions threw up geysers of water, smoke, wood chips, and a wave of force that blew Pacys from his feet.

Live, that you may serve.

The cold, powerful voice filled Jherek's mind, snapping him back from the black void where his senses had fled. He woke in the harbor water, his lungs burning with the need for air and the cold claws of a sahuagin wrapping his neck.

Somehow he'd managed to hang onto his weapons. He let his anger at the disembodied voice that had spoken to him fill his mind. All his life, since he'd been a small boy, that voice had been a part of him. He didn't know where it came from, or from whom, or what he was supposed to serve.

He'd struggled for years to find out, thinking at first that he'd simply imagined it. But he hadn't imagined the dolphins that had saved his life that first time, nor the last time aboard Finaren's Butterfly when the unknown power had set him free from a sahuagin net during battle. Even Madame litaar with her skill at divination and Malorrie with all his book learning and knowledge he'd picked up over the course of his life and death hadn't been able to tell him what it meant.

But there was no doubt how that voice had influenced and shaped his life.

The echoes of the voice and the command were still in his mind when he moved. Despite the water surrounding him he moved quickly, going through it as if it wasn't there to block the sahuagin before the creature could scissor the flesh of his throat. The move would have worked above water but shouldn't have now-only it did, and he guessed that it had to be because the sahuagin was partially stunned by the exploding powder kegs.

Pushing away from his attacker, seeing the evil glint in its oily black eyes, Jlierek shoved his sword into the sahuagin's throat with a quick flick, then twisted. Blood muddied up from the wound.

Jherek glanced up, aware of a number of sahuagin bodies floating limply in the water all around him. Several of them were slowly surfacing. Fire burned on top of the water where the wagon had been, and a spray of bright colors spread across the dark sky. He kicked past the dying sahuagin and stroked for the surface. Once his face was out of the water, he sucked in great breaths. He whipped the hair from his eyes and stared across the harbor.

The explosive force of the barrels had been considerable, greater than he'd expected, but he knew from Malorrie's teachings that water was denser and carried sounds more clearly. That was why a man swimming had to assume that anything in the water he tracked already knew he was there. The trick was to appear harmless. There was no slipping and hiding through the water unnoticed by one who lived there.

Sahuagin and sea creature bodies lay stretched across the harbor water, floating in islands of limp flesh. Some of them had been left conscious, though, and the ones on land hadn't been affected at all. However, those on the land suddenly experienced a lack of reinforcements and the Flaming Fist mercenaries noticed it. A rousing yell broke from the ranks of the citizens and the fighting began again in earnest as they recovered from the blast.

Not all of the concussive force had spread beneath the harbor. Several of the nearby buildings had only remnants of glass shards where windows had once been. Crates lay tumbled and scattered, and small boats used for servicing the cargo ships lay broken, overturned, or tossed out on the docks.

"Damn cure was almost worse than the disease," Sonshal growled from nearby. He gazed upward where the last of the fireworks spent themselves and winked out. "Couldn't resist that last touch. I've always prided myself on the quality of my fireworks."

"Where's Khlinat?" Jherek asked.

Sonshal shook his head. "Don't know, boy. I wasn't keeping track of things any too well there for a minute."

Jherek pushed past the limp body of a ten-foot long snake. He scanned the water hastily.

"Over here, swabbie." Khlinat sounded weak.

Tracking the voice, Jherek spotted the dwarf treading water with his face barely exposed. He swam to the little man. "What's wrong?"

"Can't feel me leg," Khlinat said hoarsely. "Marthammor Duin protect a silly old dwarf who's wandered so far from hearth and home to die alone." He cut his eyes to Jherek. "Swabbie, I think that blast done for me. I can't feel anything below me waist."

Jherek looked down at the water. The fires lighting the docks brought out scarlet highlights that floated on the surface. "What happened?"

"Don't know. Felt a powerful lot of pain after that explosion-then nothing at all." The dwarf's eyes rolled feverishly. "Getting awful cold, swabbie."

Sonshal swam up beside them, "Let's get him to shore."

"I've got him," Jherek said. He thrust his sword through the sash at his waist, then hooked an arm under the dwarfs chin from behind and swam for the docks. Khlinat's ragged pulse beat against his forearm. "Just hold steady, Khlinat. We're not going to let you go."

"Ye may not be given a choice," the dwarf croaked.

Reaching the dock, Jherek was challenged at once by the Flaming Fist mercenaries who'd established a beachhead and were in the process of beating the sahuagin back. More mercenaries arrived, and still others were putting out into the harbor in small boats and slitting the throats of the helpless sahuagin and other creatures that had been stunned by the blast.

Some of them helped Jherek and Sonshal get Khlinat up onto the dock and laid out. Jherek seized a torch from a nearby man and held it to study the dwarf.

Khlinat held his hands over his lower abdomen. Blood spilled between his fingers. "Got me betwixt wind and water, swabbie. Unless we can get a healer damned quick, I ain't going to live to see the morrow."

Jherek knew it was true. He turned to the Flaming Fist mercenaries. "I need a healer."

A grizzled old warrior with blood soaking up through his right arm and dripping from his bared blade crossed over to them. He looked down at the dwarf and shook his head. "You'd have to be one of Tymora's most favored this night to find one, boy, but I'll put the word out."

" 'Tis no good, swabbie," Khlinat whispered. "Ye did yer best, and there's no complaints about that." He managed a smile that looked terrible against his graying complexion. "We gave them damned sea devils what-for, didn't we?"

"Yes," Sonshal said, kneeling beside the dwarf. He'd seized a cloak from one of the passing mercenaries who still had dry clothes and spread it over the little man. "That was a piece of risky business you did there, friend, and I'll not begrudge the tale in the telling. I'm proud to have been at your side."

"Ah, 'twas ye," Khlinat said. "Ye stood there and lit them fuses while them sahuagin were about climbing yer backside. Takes a brave man to do that."

Gently, Jherek pried the dwarf's hands from his wound, finding it much easier than he'd thought. Tears burned at the back of his eyes for the little man, though he'd known him for only a short time. The innate bravery and honor Khlinat had shown touched him deeply.

The wound was two or three inches across on Khlinat's abdomen, and there was an exit wound on the other side just as large. Khlinat's breathing slowed and grew shallower.

"Looks like he had a spear rammed through him," Sonshal whispered.

"A spear didn't do that," Jherek said. He guessed that it had been a shard from the wagon, ripped loose and propelled through the water by the smoke powder blast. The wound seemed clear. "We need to get the bleeding stopped. That way he'll have a chance of lasting till a healer gets here." He felt panicked and responsible for the dwarfs situation though he didn't know why. He'd been as much at risk as Khlinat had.

Yet nothing had happened to him even when he'd woke with a sahuagin's claws at his throat.

Live, that you may serve.

Tears coursed down Jherek's face, released by the pent-up pain of watching the dwarf die, the frustration of not being able to do anything about it, and the anger at all that he didn't understand. He pressed his hands to the dwarf's wounds, stemming the blood flow. "Go find a healer," he told Sonshal.

"There's not one to be had," the old man said gruffly. He rested a hand on Jherek's shoulder. "You've done what you could for him. Sometimes all that remains to be done is to be with them when the passing comes. No man should be alone when that happens."

"No!" Jherek said hoarsely. "He's not going to die!"

"There's nothing you can do about that," Sonshal said. "A man's life runs the course his gods direct it on, and no man may stay the hand of death when it arrives."

"No! I won't accept that!" It wasn't right that the dwarf should save so many, yet lose his life in the attempt.

Live, that you may serve.

Jherek reached for that voice, wondering where it came from and how it dared seem to choose him when there were so many others to pick from. He willed the dwarf not to die. "Pray," he told the dwarf, "pray to your Marthammor Duin that you live, Khlinat, then believe with all your might."

Jherek knew that he didn't believe that strongly himself. He'd chosen Hmater as his god because he most understood the religion. The Crying God based his ethos on enduring and persevering, things that the young sailor understood intimately. His whole life had been about those things.

Khlinat coughed and groaned in pain. Blood bubbled from his lips and ran down his cheek. Blue light dawned at his throat, partially obscured by his matted beard.

Without warning, Jherek felt a low buzz in his hands, like he'd brushed up against an electric eel. Smoky blue blazed under his palms pressed against the dwarf's side. He felt the changes taking place against his hands, but he couldn't move them.

The buzzing finished, and the blue light at Khlinat's throat winked out.

The dwarf's lungs filled in a rush, and he flicked his eyes open. "Swabbie, what have you done?" His voice sounded stronger, more certain.

"Nothing," Jherek said, as puzzled as the dwarf. He felt drained by the events of the last few minutes. His eyelids dragged as he scanned the little man.

Khlinat coughed. "Only if yer calling saving me life nothing, and I ain't ready to call it that. Whatever ye did, I feel better."

"It wasn't him," Sonshal said. "It was something at your throat."

Khlinat reached up and took up the shark tooth pendent at his throat, stretching it the length of the leather thong that held it. "This?" He shook his head. "This is nothing. A trinket left over from the shark what took my leg. Them teeth come out regular, and the healer what fixed me up found it in what was left of me leg. I've been carrying it as a good luck charm, nothing more."

"What else could be the answer?" Sonshal asked.

The dwarf looked at Jherek. "I don't know, but I do know I feel better. Let's have a look at me side."

Hesitantly, Jherek drew his hands away, afraid that the torrent of blood would begin again.

It didn't. Instead, the flesh appeared to have closed in both places. It remained raw and ragged looking, but it was obviously healing, reconnecting.

"Marthammor Duin save a wandering fool," the dwarf cried in astonishment. "Outside of a heal potion, or a healer's hands, I've never seen the like."

Jherek gave him a smile and settled back tiredly on his haunches. The blood was drying tight on his hands. "If I were you, I wouldn't loose that shark's tooth."

Khlinat reverently kissed the pendant. "I'll never feel as angry about that shark, I tell ye."

Glancing out at the harbor, Jherek saw that a rout of the sahuagin and their aquatic accomplices was in full swing. He had no wish in him to be one of the parties responsible for slitting the throats of the stunned sahuagin. Now that they were organized, the Flaming Fist mercenaries appeared to have things well in hand. He looked for his father's ship, but Bunyip was nowhere to be seen.

It was too late to save many lives, too late to save nearly all of the boats and much of the docks and some of the warehouses and buildings near them, but the docks thronged with men and women who fought enemies as well as fires.

He considered the battle. Madame litaar had sent him to Baldur's Gate after his heritage to Bloody Falkane's pirates was discovered on Butterfly. She'd had a vision that his destiny lay here in the city, but where?

He studied the narrow stone buildings and homes and tried to divine what he was supposed to find here. Dark thoughts intruded, and he had to wonder if it hadn't all been some kind of mistake. His life had never been simple or easy. He thought this could be a set of circumstances deliberately fashioned to lead him here and make an even bigger fool of him.

But who would do such a thing? And why?

He didn't know, but the voice he heard in his mind at such times was real. He had to believe at least that much because thinking himself mad was no option at all.

He heard someone come to a stop behind him and looked up to find a skinny old man with a bald head peering down at him with more interest than the young sailor had ever felt before. Carefully, he got to his feet.

"Can I help you?" Jherek asked.

"Mayhap we can help each other," the old man said. "My name is Pacys. I'm a bard. I wonder if I might have a moment of your time."

Jherek studied the old man but didn't feel in any way threatened by him. "Let me help my friend to a safe place, then I'll help you in any way I may." He couldn't turn down the anxious note in the old bard's voice, though he also didn't know why the man might think he needed him.

"Of course. Perhaps I could accompany you."

" 'Tis a long walk down some powerful dark streets," Khlinat said.

The old bard nodded. "I've seen hardships in life. Surviving this night has not been easy."

The dwarf harumphed as Jherek helped him to his feet. "One as aged as ye, 111 wager ye have seen some bad times."

The young sailor found aiding Khlinat in walking was an adventure in itself. The dwarf was too short to simply drape his arm across his shoulders, and too heavy to support easily.

"Well come on then," Khlinat growled. "I've a small place, but yer welcome to what I have. With Marthammor's sagacious blessing, mayhap there'll even be some victuals we can scrape together."