“Rumors!” Suljack insisted, pounding his fist on the table, a display that brought a knowing smile to Kensidan’s face. The perceptive son of Rethnor realized then where Baram and Kurth had heard the rumor. Suljack was not the most discreet of men, nor the most intelligent.
“These rumors are no doubt due to my father’s—” Kensidan began, but such an outcry came at him as to stop him short.
“Ye’re not for talking here, Crow!” Baram cried.
“Ye come and ye sit quiet, and be glad that we’re letting ye do that!” Taerl, the third of the five, agreed, his large head bobbing stupidly at the end of his long, skinny neck—a neck possessed of the largest Adam’s apple Kensidan had ever seen. Standing beside Taerl, Suljack wore an expression of absolute horror and rubbed his face nervously.
“Have you lost your voice, Rethnor?” High Captain Kurth added. “I’ve been told that you’ve turned your Ship over to the boy, all but formally. If you’re wishing him to speak for you here, then mayhaps it’s time for you to abdicate.”
Rethnor’s laugh was full of phlegm, a clear reminder of the man’s failing health, and it did more to heighten the tension than to alleviate it. “My son speaks for Ship Rethnor, because his words come from me,” he said, seemingly with great difficulty. “If he utters a word that I don’t like, I will say so.”
“High captains alone may speak at our gathering,” Baram insisted. “Am I to bring all my brats and have them blabber at all of Taerl’s brats? Or maybe our street captains, or might that Kurth could bring a few of his island whores….”
Kensidan and Rethnor exchanged looks, the son nodding for his father to take the lead.
“No,” Rethnor said to the others, “I have not yet surrendered my Ship to Kensidan, though the day be fast approaching.” He began to cough and hock and continued for a long while—long enough for more than one of the others to roll his eyes at the not-so-subtle reminder that they might have been able to listen to a young, strong voice instead of all that ridiculous wheezing.
“It’s not my war,” Rethnor said at last. “I did nothing to Deudermont or for him. The archmage arcane has brought this on himself. In his supreme confidence, he has overreached—his work with the pirates has become too great an annoyance for the lords of Waterdeep. Solid information tells that he has made no friend of Mirabar, either. It’s all perfectly reasonable, a pattern that has played out time and again through history, all across Faerûn.”
A long pause ensued, where the old man seemed to be working hard to catch his breath. After another coughing session, he continued, “What is more amazing are the faces of my fellow high captains.”
“It’s a startling turn-around!” Baram protested. “The south spire of the Hosttower is burning. There is smoke rising from the northern section of the city. Powerful wizards lay dead in our streets.”
“Good. A cleansing leaves opportunity, a truth not reflected in these long and frightened faces.”
Rethnor’s remark left three of the others, including Suljack, staring wide-eyed. Kurth, though, just folded his hands on his lap and stared hard at old Rethnor, ever his most formidable opponent. Even back in their sailing days, the two had often tangled, and none of that had changed when they traded their waterborne ships for their respective “Ships” of state.
“My bilge rats—” Baram protested.
“Will grump and complain, and in the end accept what is offered to them,” said Rethnor. “They have no other choice.”
“They could rise up.”
“And you would slaughter them until the survivors sat back down,” said Rethnor. “View this as an opportunity, my friends. Too long have we sat on our hands while Arklem Greeth reaps and rapes the wealth of Luskan. He pays us well, indeed, but our gains are a mere pittance beside his own.”
“Better the archmage arcane, who knows and lives for Luskan…” Baram started, but stopped as a few others began to chuckle at his curious choice of words.
“He knows Luskan,” Baram corrected, joining in the mirth with a grin of his own. “Better him than some Waterdhavian lord.”
“This Brambleberry idiot has no designs on Luskan,” said Rethnor. “He is a young lord, borne to riches, who fancies himself a hero, and nothing more. I doubt he will survive his folly, and even should he, he will take his thousand bows and seek ten thousand more cheers in Waterdeep.”
“Which is leaving us with Deudermont,” said Taerl. “He fancies nothing, and already has a greater reputation than Brambleberry’d ever imagine.”
“True, but not to our loss,” Rethnor explained. “Should Deudermont prevail, the people of Luskan would all but worship him.”
“Some already do that,” said Baram.
“Many do, if the numbers o’ his swelling ranks are to be told,” Taerl corrected. “I’d not’ve thought folks would dare follow anyone against the likes o’ Arklem Greeth, but they are.”
“And at no cost to us,” said Rethnor.
“You would want Deudermont as ruler above us five, then?” asked Baram.
Rethnor shrugged. “Do you really think him as formidable as Arklem Greeth?”
“He has the numbers—growing numbers—and so he might prove to be,” Taerl replied.
“In this fight, perhaps, but Arklem Greeth has the resources to see where Deudermont cannot see, and to kill quickly where Deudermont would need to send an army,” said Rethnor, again after a long pause. It was obvious that the man was nearing the limit of his stamina. “For our purposes, we wouldn’t be worse off with Deudermont at the head of Luskan, even openly, as Arklem Greeth is secretly.”
He ended with a fit of coughing as the other high captains exchanged curious glances, some seeming intrigued, others obviously simmering.
Kensidan stood up and moved to his father. “The meeting is ended,” he announced, and he called a Ship Rethnor guard over to thump his ailing father on the back in the hopes that they could extract some of that choking phlegm.
“We haven’t even answered the question we came to discuss,” Baram protested. “What are we to do with the city guard? They’re getting eager, and they don’t rightly know which side to join. They sat in their barracks on Blood Island and let Deudermont march through, and the northern span of the Harbor Cross fell into the water!”
“We do nothing with them,” Kensidan replied, and Taerl shot him an angry look then turned to Kurth for support. Kurth, though, just sat there, hands folded, expression hidden behind his dark cloud.
“My father will not allow those guards who heed Ship Rethnor’s call, at least, to act,” the Crow explained. “Let Deudermont and Arklem Greeth have their fight, and we will join in as it decisively turns.”
“For the winner, of course,” Taerl reasoned in sarcastic tones.
“It’s not our fight, but that does not mean that it cannot be our spoils,” Suljack said. He looked at Kensidan, seeming quite proud of his contribution.
“The archmage arcane will turn the whole of the guard against Deudermont,” Kurth warned.
“And against us for not doing just that!” Taerl added.
“Then…why…hasn’t he?” Rethnor shouted between gasps and coughs.
“Because they won’t listen to him,” Suljack added at Kensidan’s silent prompting. “They won’t fight against Deudermont.”
“Just what Luskan needs,” Kurth replied with a heavy sigh. “A hero.”
“Unexpected allies from every front,” Deudermont announced to Robillard, Drizzt, and Regis. Lord Brambleberry had just left them, heading for a meeting with Arabeth Raurym and the Mirabarran dwarves and humans who had unexpectedly thrown in with Brambleberry and Deudermont in their fight against Arklem Greeth. “The first battles have been waged in the Hosttower and we have not even crossed to Closeguard Isle yet.”
“It’s going better than we might have hoped,” Drizzt agreed, “but these are wizards, my friend, and never to be underestimated.”
“Arklem Greeth has a trick or ten ready fo
r us, I don’t doubt,” said Deudermont. “But with an overwizard and her minions now on our side, we can better anticipate and so better defeat such tricks. Unless, of course, this Arabeth Raurym is the first of those very deceptions….”
He said it in jest, but his glance at Robillard showed anything but levity.
“She isn’t,” the wizard assured him. “Her betrayal of the Hosttower is genuine, and not unexpected. It was she, I’m sure—and so is Arklem Greeth—who betrayed the Arcane Brotherhood’s advances into the Silver Marches. No, her survival depends upon Arklem Greeth losing, and losing everything.”
“She has put everything on the line for our cause.”
“Or for her own,” Robillard replied.
“So be it,” said Deudermont. “In any case, her defection brings us needed strength to ensure the destruction of the Hosttower’s perverse leader.”
“And then what?” Regis asked.
Deudermont stared hard at Regis and replied, “What do you mean? You cannot support the rule of Arklem Greeth, who is not even alive. His very existence is a perversion!”
Regis nodded. “All true, I expect,” he replied. “I only wonder…” He looked to Drizzt for support, but then just shook his head, not believing himself qualified to get into such a debate with Captain Deudermont.
Deudermont smiled at him then moved to pour wine into four tallglasses, handing them around.
“Follow your heart and do what is good and just, and the world will be aright,” Deudermont said, and lifted his glass in toast.
The others joined in, though the tapping of glasses was not enthusiastic.
“Enough time has passed,” Deudermont said after a sip. He referred to Lord Brambleberry’s bidding that he should go and join Brambleberry with Arabeth and the Mirabarrans. His intentional delay in going was a calculated stutter in bringing in the leadership, to keep the balance of power on Brambleberry’s side. He and Deudermont were more impressive introduced separately than together.
Drizzt motioned to Regis to go with the captain. “The Mirabarrans will not yet understand my new relationship with their marchion,” Drizzt said. “Go and represent Bruenor’s interests at this meeting.”
“I don’t know Bruenor’s interests,” Regis quipped.
Drizzt tossed a wink at Deudermont. “He trusts the good captain,” the drow said.
“Trusting the good captain’s heart and trusting his judgment might be two entirely different matters, wouldn’t you agree?” Robillard said to Drizzt when the other two had gone. He dumped his remaining wine into the hearth and moved to a different bottle, a stronger liquor, to refill his glass, and to fill another one for Drizzt, who gingerly accepted it.
“You don’t trust his judgment?” the drow asked.
“I fear his enthusiasm.”
“You loathe Arklem Greeth.”
“More so because I know him,” Robillard agreed. “But I know Luskan, too, and recognize that she is not a town predisposed to peace and law.”
“What will we have when the smothering mantle of the Hosttower is removed?” asked Drizzt.
“Five high captains of questionable demeanor—men Captain Deudermont would have gladly killed at sea had he caught them in their swaggering days of piracy. Perhaps they have settled into reasonable and capable leaders, but…”
“Perhaps not,” Drizzt offered, and Robillard lifted his glass in solemn agreement.
“I know the devil who rules Luskan, and the limits of his demands and depravations. I know his thievery, his piracy, his murder. I know the sad injustice of Prisoner’s Carnival, and how Greeth cynically uses it to keep the peasants terrified even as they’re entertained. What I don’t know is what devil will come after Greeth.”
“So believe in Captain Deudermont’s premise,” the drow offered. “Do what is good and just, and trust that the world will be aright.”
“I like the open seas,” Robillard replied. “Out there, I find clear demarcations of right and wrong. There is no real twilight out there, and no dawn light filtered by mountains and trees. There is light and there is darkness.”
“To simplicity,” Drizzt said with another tip of his glass.
Robillard looked out the window to the late afternoon skyline. Smoke rose from several locations, adding to the gloom.
“So much gray out there,” the wizard remarked. “So many shades of gray….”
“I didn’t think you would have the courage to come here,” High Captain Kurth said when Kensidan, seeming so much the Crow, walked unescorted into his private parlor. “You could disappear….”
“And how would that benefit you?”
“Perhaps I just don’t like you.”
Kensidan laughed. “But you like what I have allowed to take place.”
“What you have allowed? You speak for Ship Rethnor now?”
“My father accepts my advice.”
“I should kill you for simply admitting that. It’s not your prerogative to so alter the course of my life, whatever promise of better things you might expect.”
“This need not affect you,” Kensidan said.
Kurth snorted. “To get to the Hosttower, Brambleberry’s forces will have to cross Closeguard. By allowing that, I’m taking sides. You and the others can hide and wait, but you—or your father—have forced a choice upon me that threatens my security. I don’t like your presumption.”
“Don’t allow them passage,” Kensidan replied. “Closeguard is your domain. If you tell Deudermont and Brambleberry that they cannot pass, then they will have to sail to the Hosttower’s courtyard.”
“And if they win?”
“You have my assurance—the assurance of Ship Rethnor—that we will speak on your behalf with Captain Deudermont should he ascend to lead Luskan. There will be no residual acrimony toward Ship Kurth for your reasonable decision.”
“In other words, you expect me to be in your debt.”
“No…”
“Do not play me for a fool, young man,” said Kurth. “I was indenturing would-be leaders before your mother spread her legs. I know the price of your loyalty.”
“You misjudge me, and my Ship,” said Kensidan. “When Arklem Greeth is no more, the high captains will find a new division of spoils. There is only one among that group, outside of Ship Rethnor, who is truly formidable, and who will be able seize the right opportunity.”
“Flattery…” Kurth said with a derisive snort.
“Truth, and you know it.”
“I know that you said ‘outside of Ship Rethnor’ and not ‘other than Rethnor,’” Kurth remarked. “It’s official then, though secret, that Kensidan captains that Ship.”
Kensidan shook his head. “My father is a great man.”
“Was,” Kurth corrected. “Oh, take no offense at a statement you know to be true,” he added when Kensidan bristled, like a Crow ruffling the feathers of its black wings. “Rethnor recognizes it, as well. He is wise to know when it’s time to pass along the reins of power. Whether or not he chose wisely is another matter entirely.”
“Flattery…” Kensidan said, mocking Kurth’s earlier tone.
Kurth cracked a smile at that.
“How long has Suljack suckled at your teat, boy?” Kurth asked. “You should coach him to stop looking at you for approval whenever he makes a suggestion or statement favorable to your position.”
“He sees the potential.”
“He is an idiot, and you know him to be just that.”
Kensidan didn’t bother replying to the obvious. “Captain Deudermont and Lord Brambleberry chart their own course,” he said. “Ship Rethnor neither encourages nor dissuades them, but seeks only to find profit in the wake.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Kensidan shrugged.
“Will Arklem Greeth believe you if he proves victorious?”
“Will Captain Deudermont understand your refusal to allow passage across Closeguard if he wins the fight?”
“Should we ju
st draw sides now and be done with it?”
“No,” Kensidan answered with a tone of finality that stopped Kurth cold. “No, none of us are served in this fight. In the aftermath, likely, but not in the fight. If you throw in with Greeth against Deudermont, and with the implication that you would then use a successful Arklem Greeth against Ship Rethnor, then I…then my father would need to throw in with Deudermont to prevent such an outcome. Suljack will follow our lead. Baram and Taerl would find themselves isolated if they followed yours, you being out here on Closeguard, don’t you think? Neither of them would stand against Brambleberry and Deudermont for a few days, and how much help would the wretch Arklem Greeth send them, after all?”
Kurth laughed. “You have it all charted, it seems.”
“I see the potential for gain. I hedge against the potential for loss. My father raised no fool.”
“Yet you are here, alone.”
“And my father didn’t send me out this day without an understanding of High Captain Kurth, a man he respects above all others in Luskan.”
“More flattery.”
“Deserved, I’m told. Was I misinformed?”
“Go home, young fool,” Kurth said with a wave of his hand, and Kensidan was more than happy to oblige.
You heard that? Kensidan asked the voice in his head as soon as he had exited the high captain’s palace, making his way with all speed to the bridge, where his men waited.
Of course.
The assault on the Hosttower will be much more difficult by sea.
High Captain Kurth will allow passage, the voice assured him.
CHAPTER 13
THE NOOSE AND THE DEAD MEN
H elp me! They want to kill me!” the man cried.
He ran to the base of the stone tower, where he began pounding on the ironbound wooden door. Though he wore no robes, the nondescript fellow was known to be a wizard.
“Out of spells and tricks, then?” one of the sentries called down. Beside the sentry, his companion chuckled then elbowed him and nodded for him to look out across the square to the approaching warrior.
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