Kalen stared at him seriously. “You’ve seen her tendency to get into trouble.”
“Like getting kidnapped and becoming a crimelord of Luskan?”
“Exactly like that.”
“She isn’t naïve as you think,” Rhett said. “She told me she had a plan.”
“And she told you no details of this plan, I expect.”
Rhett shrugged. “Only that I should trust her. Perhaps you should too.”
“Ay!” Toytere called from below. “Are we going or no?”
Kalen was glad of the interruption. He hadn’t been sure how to answer that. He clapped Rhett on the shoulder. “Don’t take your eyes from Sithe.”
“Good luck, master.”
Kalen hesitated, considering whether to correct him, then shook his head. He joined the halfling, who was giving his enforcer instructions of her own. Kalen could get no hint as to their nature from watching her blank face. She nodded and the halfling chuckled.
As Kalen approached, Sithe walked past him, sparing him not a single glance.
“Bidding your squire a fond farewell, no?” Toytere asked.
“He’s not my squire,” Kalen said. “And I thought our business between us alone.”
The halfling smiled and his sharpened teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “Where’s the trust in an old friend, Little Dren?”
“You were never my friend, Toytere—Cellica was.”
“And she was my sister,” Toytere said. “But, let us be agreed. There be no point in dragging the innocent betwixt our blades.”
“Not Myrin either,” Kalen said.
“What of me?” Myrin appeared between them, her arms crossed. “Are we to compare our blades all night, or are you coming?”
“I do so love me queen.” Toytere’s smile widened. “Away, then.”
Rhett turned to Sithe, his companion on watch atop the aftcastle. “Hail, Dark Lady!”
The genasi glanced in his direction, as though at a gnat, then away.
“Gods, this will go well,” Rhett murmured.
Myrin’s insides leaped when Kalen said he would be coming below, but he didn’t even look at her. Instead, he focused on Toytere, as though he expected the halfling to turn on him at any moment.
She couldn’t really blame Kalen for being upset. After all, she had stolen aboard the skiff without his knowledge or approval. But he’d tried to leave her behind in the first place, so it seemed fair. What was he so afraid of, that he wouldn’t trust her to come along?
It made her angry.
The first obstacle proved to be the door to the aftcastle, which was stuck. Toytere indicated it with a sweep of his hand. “If you will, Little Dren,” he said. “Mother Chauntea did not see fit to bless her littlest children with strength.”
“I should turn my back so you can stab it?” Kalen said.
“Oh! I’ll do it.” Myrin stalked over to them, raised her wand, and blasted the door open with a crack of thunder. It always made her feel better to destroy things when Kalen upset her, which was basically every time she saw him.
She looked to Kalen. “Well?”
“I’m sure no one in Luskan heard that,” Kalen said.
“Of course you’d say that.” She rolled her eyes and swept into the aftcastle.
The chamber was empty of bodies just like the main deck, but it showed evidence of occupancy. The shelves had held dozens of books and curios—mementos from a long shipping campaign. Now, they lay smashed, ruined, and heaped in a corner. The central desk was overturned and shattered, and scraps of mostly burned paper littered the chamber. The captain’s bed was also ruined—blankets torn into strips and covered in black stains.
Myrin noted a heap of gray dust, about two paces in length and one in width. “Hmm.”
Kalen scraped his dagger through the ash, sending particles into the air. “I’ve seen something like this before,” he said.
“What is it?” Myrin asked. Then, turning her head to avoid Kalen’s eye: “Not that I’m curious.”
Kalen hadn’t noted the gesture. “Can you clear the ash?” he asked.
Myrin waved her hand, igniting magic in the air. Wind gusted, blowing aside the ash to reveal a humanoid outline burned into the floor.
“Firesoul genasi,” Kalen said. “I’ve seen this before; burned from the inside.” Toytere’s face darkened. “Aye, that isn’t unnecessarily horrible.”
“It wouldn’t be such a bad fate, to return to your element,” Myrin said. “Dust to dust, fire to fire.” She saw that the two men were staring at her. “Or something like.”
“Genasi don’t usually die like this,” Kalen said. “It could be magic. Or plague.”
“Best be careful what we touch then, no?” Toytere asked.
They left the aftcastle, back onto the main deck. Toytere crossed immediately to a locked trapdoor leading down to the hold. He retrieved a set of well-used picks from his belt and set to work. He began to hum and his eyes glazed over. Myrin recognized signs of the Sight, so she knew he wouldn’t be listening for a moment at least.
It gave her a chance to be alone with Kalen for the first time in a year.
Kalen stood two paces away, craning his neck to see Rhett and Sithe. Here they were, alone while Toytere worked on the lock, and he was more interested in the others.
Not that Myrin herself knew quite what to say. Ultimately, she stepped closer to him and spoke softly. “There’s no need to worry,” she said. “I’m sure he’s quite well.”
“Vindicator should protect him.” He fixed her with his light gray eyes, which seemed almost white in the moonlight.
Words fought in Myrin’s throat. “You … you’re well?” she asked. “I mean, you aren’t hurt or anything?”
“I’ll manage,” he said, looking away.
The silence drew out between them, punctuated by the lap of the tainted waves of Luskan’s bay and the click of Toytere’s picks in the lock.
There was so much Myrin wanted to say to Kalen. She wanted to know what he’d done for the last year, to know about his new scars, to know why he looked at Rhett with such ambivalence. She wanted him to ask after her—godsdammit, she wanted him to look at her. But an impenetrable barrier lay between them: that awful moment a year ago in a rain-drenched alley in Waterdeep, where a helpless man lay under Kalen’s sword and, as now, he wouldn’t even look at Myrin, much less listen to her pleas for mercy.
“Rhett said you had a plan—about the Dead Rats.” Kalen’s sudden whisper surprised her. “Will you tell me what it is?”
“Other than trying to teach them to do the right thing?”
Kalen shook his head. “You prefer me to think you a naïve fool.”
“Of course I don’t,” Myrin said. “You’ll just have to trust that I’m not.”
Kalen did look at her now. “Myrin, I—”
She drew a tentative step closer to him. “Yes?”
At that moment, a click sounded and Toytere put away his picks. Kalen looked away—the moment passed.
“Captain must have locked this hatch before shutting himself in that cabin,” he said. “Good news it still be locked—means the scum-dogs that hit this boat couldn’t pick it.”
“So there might be survivors below?” Myrin suggested.
Toytere looked profoundly doubtful.
The men opened the hatch, expelling a cloud of dust and the smell of age. “Hmm,” Toytere said. “I be expecting something a bit … fresher.” He stared blankly down for a moment, then shook his head. “Tread soft, no? I See danger awaiting.”
“Does this danger involve your blade in our backs?” Kalen accused.
In the darkness, Toytere’s eyes glittered, and his features, as the shadow fell across them, seemed very sharp.
“Oh, stop it, both of you,” Myrin said. “Toy, lead the way. Kalen, take up the rear.”
They climbed down a set of creaking, dust-covered steps. The hold was no more populated than the deck or the captain’s chambers and w
as just as much in ruin. Boxes were little more than wood shards and ropes lay scattered like dead snakes. Every step set something to crackling.
“Where are all the bodies?” Kalen asked.
“Bodies?” Myrin said.
Kalen nodded. “It looks like a warzone down here—shouldn’t there be victims?”
“Little Dren be right.” Toytere dug through the detritus, not unlike a rat scavenging for scraps. “And I think I may have the answer.” He held aloft something small, curved, and gleaming white.
“Is that what I think it is?” Myrin asked.
Kalen nodded. “More over here.” He pushed aside pieces of a broken barrel to reveal an entire rib cage, attached to a skeleton with a battered skull. The bones were perfectly white and clean. “The skeleton looks perfect.”
“And fresh,” Toytere said, lifting the skull. “Hapless fool be breathing not a month gone.” He patted the bleached skull sympathetically. “Nary a hint of rot, neither.”
“The Fury,” Kalen said. “It was here.”
“Dancing gods on high!” Toytere spat. “What burns flesh but leaves bones?”
“Magic,” Myrin said without hesitation.
“You sound quite sure,” Kalen said.
“There are spells,” Myrin said.
“Spells you be knowing?” Toytere asked.
She shrugged, a gesture neither of the men apparently found encouraging.
The halfling crept into the shadowy interior of the lower deck, prodding at the piles of rubbish with his cane. Myrin watched as he uncovered skeleton after skeleton much like the first. All lay contorted as though in terrible fear. Myrin sniffed but could smell only dust and the sharp tang of animal dung. No sign of rot or putrescence.
Across the way, the halfling bent to inspect each skeleton in turn, and each time he came up with jewelry gleaming in his hands: rings, earrings, necklaces, and the like.
“Pardon,” Myrin said, “but how do pilfered riches help us investigate the plague?”
“Me lady, they do not,” Toytere said. “But more coin means more the Rats can do … for Luskan, no?”
“Oh.” That made sense. “Kalen, are you—?”
Kalen was staring at a space roughly in the middle of the destruction. There, Myrin saw a small furry creature about the length of her forearm: a rat. It peeked up from a mess of matted, oily fur, its eyes gleaming red.
“Myrin,” Kalen said. “Back away.”
“Aw,” Myrin said. “It’s adorable! Look at its little eyes!”
A second rat had joined the first. Together, they looked up at Myrin and Kalen with something like curiosity in their eyes. Myrin couldn’t help but wonder if they might be useful for certain magical experiments. She chose not to share this observation.
Then, as they watched, greenish spittle leaked from the rats’ mouths. Sickness.
“I’ve seen one like that before,” Kalen said. “Trapped in a closet with a skeleton.”
“Oh,” Myrin said. “No sudden movements, right?”
Kalen nodded slowly and they began to back away.
More rats were appearing out of holes in the floorboards and from among the skeletons. They gathered in a mass in the center of the room—a teeming swarm, all of them looking at the two humans. Hungrily.
“What you all be about?” Toytere burst into their midst, carrying a sack full of gold and jewelry. “I can—the dead walk!” He faced the horde of rats, dropped the bag, and grasped his cane in both hands.
As one, the rats drew back and hissed. Kalen raised his blades.
“They’ve stopped being adorable,” Myrin said. “Bit scary now, actually.”
The rats surged toward them.
For the first time, Kalen regretted parting with Vindicator. He had two daggers—one that was Waterdeep Guard issue, the other of fine dwarven steel—but they hardly seemed adequate against a horde of rats.
Nonetheless, he stepped in front of Myrin, his blades ready. Three rats leaped at them and he sliced them to pieces. “Go,” he said over his shoulder. “Get back to the deck.”
“Hardly.” Myrin snapped her wand at the swarm, sending a fan of flames into the thick of the rushing creatures. Rats burst into crackling flames, falling away from Kalen. “You run, if you’re afraid.”
Kalen couldn’t quite suppress a smile. “Good,” he said.
“Good,” she agreed.
He defended Myrin as she slashed her wand at the rats again and again, sending them sailing back with bursts of flame and thunder. He kept them at bay with blade and boot, killing rat after rat as it surged through the deadly swath of Myrin’s magic. Finally, the creatures fell back, unwilling to launch themselves into certain death.
They made a fine team, Myrin blasting the swarm, Kalen slaying the stragglers. For a moment, he thought they would win—until he saw rats mustering in the hundreds. He braced himself and opened his mouth to tell Myrin to flee.
Then the halfling joined the fight.
Hissing in challenge, Toytere leaped in front of them both, a slim rapier scraping from his cane. The blade whistled as it cut through the air. Bolstered by the sound, Toytere slashed into the oncoming horde. His momentum diverted the rats, sending dozens rippling back along their path. Ugly things of more bone and fur than flesh, they chattered madly as they scrabbled. But more boiled up to take their places, and the halfling staggered back. The wave of rats overwhelmed him, scrabbling all over his body. A loud hiss emerged from Toytere’s mouth, or perhaps that came from the rats. Toytere slavered, his eyes wild.
“Toy!” Myrin cried. Rather than a fan of flames or crack of thunder, she summoned forth an arrow of magical force—the same spell she’d cast at Sithe on the deck—which blasted a huge rat away from Toytere’s leg, allowing him to stagger free of the swarm’s clutches.
“Can you get to him?” Myrin asked.
Kalen thrust his blades into a rat and looked. The vermin flowed like a living river between him and the halfling. “Yes,” he said. “But if I do, you’ll be on your own.”
“Don’t worry,” Myrin said. “Get to him and get down.”
Kalen looked to her quizzically, his eyes widening as burning runes spread out across her face and down her arms. Fire surged around her hands.
He ran and leaped, his boots flashing with fire. The magic sent him sailing over the stream of rats, and he slammed into Toytere, knocking them both to the floor. He covered the small body with his cloak.
Fire flared from Myrin in an arc that slashed through the air barely a hand’s breadth over their heads. A hundred voices screeched as the flames cut through the swarm like a scythe. The magical force spun across to cleave two of the support beams of the main deck before finally bursting out the far wall to soar heedlessly over the sea. Smoldering bits of rat corpses rained down in the scythe’s wake.
Kalen had never seen Myrin do anything quite like that before. It filled him with trepidation and excitement. Gone was the timid girl he’d known a year ago.
Toytere wriggled out from under Kalen. “Me thanks, Little Dren.”
A few paces away, Myrin stood tall, her hair drifting on the hot winds of her magic, her eyes blazing. Her mouth curled into an unsettling smirk, as though inflicting that sort of destruction pleased her considerably. She saw them looking and her dangerous look went away, replaced by a beaming smile.
The swarm roiled, half its number twitching and dying on the floor. The surviving rats milled aimlessly, hissing and wailing. Kalen thought their voices sounded entirely too human. That chilled him.
“Er,” said Toytere. “Perhaps we be running, no?”
Suddenly, all around them, creatures rose from the rubbish-strewn hold. Rats streamed from holes in the deck, from fallen barrels and shattered boxes, from ceiling beams. They dwarfed the first swarm—if Myrin had slain a hundred rats, a thousand now surrounded them, creeping from all sides.
The three of them ran.
As Kalen made for the stairs, he slipped on a blo
ody rat corpse and staggered. When his knee hit the floor, a cough rose up in his chest and stayed him. Toytere reached back to grasp his wrist. He flashed a grin full of sharpened teeth.
Teeth.
Kalen looked over his shoulder. The rats gnashed at him, looking to bite and savage and infect. He remembered his first day in Luskan and the Dustclaw who’d gone insane. He saw again the welts on the man’s back in the alley.
That was it. That was how the Fury spread.
“We have to warn—” Kalen winced when Toytere clasped his wrist hard. The halfling’s eyes were wild. Kalen understood. “No,” he said.
“Oh, aye,” Toytere said. “This be for Cellica.”
He pulled Kalen forward and planted his left fist—weighted with an iron knuckle duster—into Kalen’s face.
The world shattered into darkness.
23 KYTHORN (MIDNIGHT)
UP ON THE DECK, RHETT HAWKWINTER AGAIN TRIED TO speak to Sithe. The genasi seemed like a patch of deeper darkness against the night—a blur in his eye. He kept trying to break the silence, but words failed.
Finally, the eighth time, Sithe turned her face a fraction toward him. “Speak.”
“A question, Lady of Darkness,” he said. “Since we’re just sitting here.”
She nodded slightly.
“What are you doing with my master?” he asked. “In the duels, I mean. I can fake sleep as well as the next man. I know he takes Vindicator and meets you on the roof.”
Sithe stared out into the darkness, as though Rhett didn’t exist. Abruptly her lips parted. “He had an apprentice.”
Her voice came so suddenly that Rhett jumped up from where he’d been sitting and readied Vindicator. The significance of the words hit him then. “What do you mean?”
“I can see it in the way he treats you—the way he fights,” Sithe said. “He hesitates to take you for a squire, because he had one and failed him. Recently.”
“You must be mistaken,” Rhett said. “Saer Shadowbane would have told me.”
“You remind him of a past he tries to forget, as does she,” Sithe said, nodding toward the cargo hold. “He is drawn to you both—the woman especially—and yet he flees. He uses me as a means to escape.”
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