The melee went on for a long while, until a sharp boom of thunder, a resounding and reverberating blast of explosive magic, drew everyone’s attention to the eastern edge of the market. There stood Governor Deudermont, with Robillard, who had thrown the lightning signal, right beside him. All the crew of Sea Sprite and the remainder of Lord Brambleberry’s men stood shoulder to shoulder behind them.
“We’ve no time for this!” the governor shouted. “We stand together against the winter, or we fall!”
A rock flew at Deudermont’s head, but Robillard caught it with a spell that gracefully and harmlessly moved it aside.
The fighting broke out anew.
From a balcony at Taerl’s castle, Baram and Taerl watched it all with great amusement.
“He wants to be the ruler, does he?” Baram spat over the rail as he leaned on it and stared intently out at the hated Deudermont. “A wish he’s to come to regret.”
“Note the guards,” Taerl added. “As soon as the fighting started, they moved to groups of their own Ship. Their loyalty’s not to Deudermont or Luskan, but to a high captain.”
“It’s our town,” Baram insisted. “And I’ve had enough of Governor Deudermont already.”
Taerl nodded his agreement and watched the continuing fracas, one that he and Baram had incited with well-paid, well-fed, and well-liquored proxies. “Chaos,” he whispered, smiling all the wider.
“Oh, it’s you,” Suljack said as the tough dwarf moved through his door and into his private chambers. “What news from Ship Rethnor?”
“A great fight in the market,” the dwarf replied.
Suljack sighed and wearily rubbed a hand over his face. “Fools,” he said. “They’ll not give Deudermont a chance—the man will do great things for Luskan, and for our trade.”
The dwarf shrugged as though he hardly cared.
“Now’s not the time for us to be fighting among ourselves,” Suljack remarked, and paced the room, still rubbing at his face. He stopped and turned on the dwarf. “It’s just as Kensidan predicted. We been battered but we’ll come out all the better.”
“Some will. Some won’t”
Suljack looked at Kensidan’s bodyguard curiously at that remark. “Why are you here?” he asked.
“That fight in the market weren’t random,” said the dwarf. “Ye’re to be finding more than a few o’ yer boys hurtin’—might be a few dead, too.”
“My boys?”
“Slow on the upkeep, eh?” asked the dwarf.
Again Suljack stared at him with a thoroughly puzzled expression and asked, “Why are you here?”
“To keep ye alive.”
The question set the high captain back on his heels. “I’m a high captain of Luskan!” he protested. “I have a guard of my—”
“And ye’re needin’ more help than meself’ll bring ye if ye’re still thinking the fight in the market to be a random brawl.”
“Are you saying that my men were targeted?”
“Said it twice, if ye was smart enough to hear.”
“And Kensidan sent you here to protect me?”
The dwarf threw him an exaggerated wink.
“Preposterous!” Suljack yelled.
“Ye’re welcome,” said the dwarf, and he plopped down in a seat facing the room’s only door and stared at it without blinking.
“They found three bodies this morning,” Robillard reported to Deudermont at the next sunrise. They sat in the front guest hall of the Red Dragon Inn, which had come to serve as the official Governor’s Palace. The room boasted wide, strong windows, reinforced with intricate iron work, which looked out to the south, to the River Mirar and the main section of Luskan across it. “Only three today, so I suppose that’s a good thing. Unless, of course, the Mirar swept ten times that number out into the bay.”
“Your sarcasm knows no end.”
“It’s an easy thing to criticize,” Robillard replied.
“Because what I try to do here is a difficult thing.”
“Or a foolish thing, and one that will end badly.”
Deudermont got up from the breakfast table and walked across the room. “I’ll not argue this same point with you every morning!”
“And still, every morning will be just like this—or worse,” Robillard replied. He moved to the window and looked out into the distance of Luskan’s market. “Do you think the merchants will come out today? Or will they just cancel the next tenday’s work and pack up their wagons for Waterdeep?”
“They’ve still much to sell.”
“Or to have pilfered in the next fight, which should be in a few hours, I would guess.”
“The guards will be thick about the market this day.”
“Whose? Baram’s? Suljack’s?”
“Luskan’s!”
“Of course, foolish of me to think otherwise,” said Robillard.
“You cannot deny that High Captain Suljack sat on the dais,” Deudermont reminded. “Or that his men shouldered up to us when the market fighting died away.”
“Because his men were getting clobbered,” Robillard replied with a chuckle. “Which might be due to his sitting on that dais. Have you thought of that?”
Deudermont sighed and waved his hand at the cynical wizard. “Have Sea Sprite’s crew visible in the market as well,” he instructed. “Order them to stay close to each other, but to be a very obvious presence. The show of force will help.”
“And Brambleberry’s men?”
“For tomorrow,” Deudermont replied.
“They may be gone by then,” Robillard said. The captain looked at him with surprise. “Oh, have you not heard?” the wizard asked. “Lord Brambleberry’s veteran and cultured warriors have had quite enough of this uncouth City of Sails and intend to head back to their own City of Splendors before the winter closes the boat lanes. I don’t know when they’ll go, but have heard some remark that the next favorable tide wouldn’t be soon enough.”
Deudermont sighed and dropped his head in his hand. “Offer them bonuses if they will remain through the winter,” he said.
“Bonuses?”
“Large ones—as much as we can afford.”
“I see. You will spend all our gold on your folly before you admit you were wrong.”
Deudermont’s head snapped up and around so he could glare at the wizard. “Our gold?”
“Yours, my captain,” Robillard said with a deep bow.
“I was not wrong,” said Deudermont. “Time is our ally.”
“You will need more tangible allies than that.”
“The Mirabarrans…” Deudermont said.
“They have closed their gates,” Robillard replied. “Our merchant friends from Mirabar suffered greatly when the Hosttower exploded. Many dwarves went straight to Moradin’s Halls. You’ll not see them on the wall with Luskan’s city guard anytime soon.”
Deudermont felt and looked old indeed at that moment of great trial. He sighed again and muttered, “The high captains…”
“You will need them,” Robillard agreed.
“We already have Suljack.”
“The one least respected by the other four, of course.”
“It’s a start!” Deudermont insisted.
“And the others will surely come along to our side, since you know some of them so well already,” Robillard said with mock enthusiasm.
Even Deudermont couldn’t help but chuckle at that quip. Oh yes, he knew them. He had sunk the ships of at least two of the remaining four beneath them.
“My crew has never let me down,” Deudermont said.
“Your crew fights pirates, not cities,” came the reminder, stealing any comfort the already beleaguered governor might have garnered from his last remark.
Even Robillard recognized the man’s despair and showed him some sympathy. “The remnants of the Hosttower….”
Deudermont looked at him curiously.
“Arabeth and the others,” Robillard explained. “I will put them in and a
round the crew in the market square, in their full Hosttower regalia.”
“There is great bitterness against those insignias,” Deudermont warned.
“A calculated risk,” the wizard admitted. “Surely there are many in Luskan who would see any and all members of the Hosttower destroyed, but surely, too, there are many who recognize the role that Arabeth played in securing the victory we achieved, however great the cost. I wouldn’t send her and her lessers out alone, to be sure, but among our crew, with your approval bolstering them, she and hers will serve us well.”
“You trust her?”
“No, but I trust in her judgment, and now she knows that her existence here is predicated on the victory of Captain…of GovernorDeudermont.”
Deudermont considered the reasoning for a moment then nodded his agreement. “Send for her.”
Arabeth Raurym left Deudermont’s palace later that same day, pulling her cloak tight against the driving rain. She padded down the puddle-filled street, sweeping up attendants from every corner and alley until the full contingent of eleven former Hosttower wizards marched as a group. It wouldn’t do for any of them to be out alone, with so many of Luskan’s folk nursing fresh wounds at the hands of their previous comrades. Not a person in Luskan spoke of the Hosttower of the Arcane with anything but venom, it seemed.
She gave her orders as they walked, and as soon as they linked up with Sea Sprite’s crew, just north of Illusk, Arabeth took her leave. She cast an enchantment upon herself, reducing her size, making her look like a small girl, and moved southeast into the city, heading straight for Ten Oaks.
To her relief, she was not recognized or bothered, and soon stood before the seated Kensidan, taking note that his newest—and reputedly strongest—bodyguard, that curious and annoying dwarf, was nowhere to be seen.
“Robillard understands the precarious perch upon which Deudermont stands,” she reported. “They will not be caught unawares.”
“How can they not understand when half the city is in conflict, or burning?”
“Blame Taerl and Baram,” Arabeth reminded him.
“Blame them, or credit them?”
“You wanted Deudermont as a figurehead, to give credibility and bona fides to Luskan,” the overwizard said.
“If Baram and Taerl decide to openly oppose Deudermont, all the better for those wise enough to pick up the pieces,” Kensidan replied. “Whichever side proves victorious.”
“You don’t sound like you hold any doubts.”
“I wouldn’t bet against the captain of Sea Sprite. Of course, the battleground has changed quite dramatically.”
“I wouldn’t bet against whichever side Ships Kurth and Rethnor join.”
“Join?” the son of Ship Rethnor asked.
Arabeth nodded, smiling as if she knew something Kensidan hadn’t yet deduced.
“You wish to remain neutral in this fight, and savor the opportunities,” Arabeth explained. “But one side—Deudermont’s, I predict—will not grow weaker in the conflict. Nay, he will strengthen his hand, and dangerously so.”
“I have considered that possibility.”
“And if you allow it, will Deudermont’s reign be any different than that of Arklem Greeth?”
“He isn’t a lich. That’s a start.”
Arabeth folded her arms over her chest at the snide comment.
“We will see how it plays out,” Kensidan said. “We will allow them—all three of them—their play, as long as it doesn’t interfere with my own.”
“Your shield guard is with Suljack?”
“I applaud your skill at deduction.”
“Good,” Arabeth said. “Taerl and Baram are not in good spirits toward Suljack, not after he sat behind Deudermont on the stage.”
“I didn’t think they would be, hence….”
“You put him there? Surely you knew that Baram would go out of his mind with rage at the thought of Deuder—” She paused and a smile widened across her fair face as she sorted it all out. “Kurth could threaten you, but you don’t think that likely—not, at least, until the rest of the city has sorted under the new hierarchy. With that confidence, the only threats to your gains would be Deudermont, who is now far too busy in simply trying to maintain some semblance of order, and an alliance of the lesser high captains, particularly Baram and Taerl, neither of whom have been fond of Ship Rethnor.”
“I’m sure that Kurth is as pleased as I am that Baram and Taerl have revealed such anger at Suljack, poor Suljack,” Kensidan remarked.
“You’ve been saying you intended to profit from the chaos,” Arabeth replied with obvious admiration. “I didn’t know that you meant to control that chaos.”
“If I did control it, it wouldn’t truly be chaos, now would it?”
“Herd it, then, if not control it.”
“I would be a sorry high captain if I didn’t work to ensure that the situation would lean in favor of my Ship.”
Arabeth assumed a pose that was as much one of seduction as of petulance, with one hand on a hip thrust forward and a wicked little grin on her face. “But you are not a high captain,” she said.
“Yes,” Kensidan replied, seeming distant and unmoved. “Let us make sure that everyone understands the truth of that statement. I’m just the son of Ship Rethnor.”
Arabeth stepped forward and knelt on the chair, straddling Kensidan’s legs. She put a hand on each of his shoulders and drove him back under her weight as she pressed forward.
“You’re going to rule Luskan even as you pretend that you don’t,” she whispered, and Kensidan didn’t respond, though his expression certainly didn’t disagree. “Kensidan the Pirate King.”
“You find that alluring,” he started to say, until Arabeth buried him in a passionate kiss.
CHAPTER 23
BECOMING ONE
H e stood against the snow.
It was not a gentle tumble of flakes, as with the previous storm, but a wind-whipped blizzard of stinging ice and bitter cold.
He didn’t fight it. He accepted it. He took it into himself, into his very being, as if becoming one with the brutal surroundings. His muscles tensed and clenched, forcing blood into whitened limbs. He squinted, but refused to shut his eyes against the blow, refused to turn any of his senses off to the truth of Icewind Dale and the deadly elements—deadly to strangers, to foreigners, to weak southerners, to those who could not become one with the tundra, one with the frozen north wind.
He had defeated the spring, the muddy melt, when a man could disappear into a bog without a trace.
He had defeated the summer, the gentlest weather, but the time when the beasts of Icewind Dale came out in force, seeking food—and human flesh was a delicacy to most—to feed their young.
His defeat of autumn neared completion, with the first cold winds and first brutal blizzards. He had survived the brown bears, seeking to fatten their bellies before settling into their caves. He had survived the goblins, orcs, and orogs that challenged him for the meager pickings on the last hunt of the caribou.
And he would defeat the blizzard, the wind that could freeze a man’s blood solid in his limbs.
But not this man. His heritage wouldn’t allow it. His strength and determination wouldn’t allow it. Like his father’s father’s father’s father before him, he was of Icewind Dale.
He didn’t fight the northwestern wind. He didn’t deny the ice and the snow. He took them in as a part of himself, for he was greater than a man. He was a son of the tundra.
For hours he stood unmoving on a high rock, muscles braced against the wind, snow piling around his feet, then his ankles, then his long legs. The whole world became a dreamlike haze as ice covered his eyes. His hair and beard glistened with icicles, his heavy breath filled the air before him with fog, the cloud fast smashed apart by the driving pellets of ice and snow.
When he at last moved, even the howl of the wind could not muffle the sound of crunching and cracking. A deep, deep breath broke him f
ree of the frozen natural shirt of ice, and he extended his arms out to his sides, hands clenching powerfully as if he were grasping and crushing the storm around him.
He threw his head back, staring up into the gray ceiling of heavy clouds, and let out a long, low roar, a primal grumble that came from his belly and denied Icewind Dale its prize.
He was alive. He had beaten the storm. He had beaten three seasons and knew that he was ready for the fourth and most trying.
Though piled to his thighs, the snow slowed him hardly at all as his powerful muscles drove him along. He stalked down the trails of the rocky hill, stepping sure-footed across patches bare of snow but thick with ice, and pounding right through the drifts, some taller than his nearly seven foot frame, as easily as a sword slashing a sheet of dried old parchment.
He came to the ledge above the entrance to a cave he had entered once, long, long ago. He knew it was inhabited again, for he had seen goblins, and the greater beast they named as their chieftain.
But still the cave was to be his winter home.
He dropped down lightly to a large stone that had been placed to partially cover the entrance. A dozen creatures with levers had moved it into place, but he alone, using nothing but his muscles—muscles made hard by the wind and the cold—braced himself and easily shoved the rock aside.
A pair of goblins began to whoop and holler at the intrusion, their cries of warning turning fast to terror as the icy giant stepped into their doorway, blocking the meager daylight.
Like a beast out of nightmares, he strode in, slapping aside their small and insignificant spears. He caught one goblin by the face and easily hoisted it from the ground with one arm. He shook it violently, all the while fending off the pathetic stabs of its companion, and when it at last stopped resisting, he smashed it hard into the wall of rock.
The second creature squealed and fled, but he threw the first into it, taking it down in a heap.
He stalked past, crushing the life out of the second goblin with a single heavy stomp to the back of its skinny neck.
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