by Mel Odom
Black Champion's crew cheered again, calling out vile oaths at their attackers. The slaver crew shouted out in anger. Before they could recover, Arthoris launched his attack.
Three lightning balls leaped from the old ship's mage's staff and struck the slaver. Peals of thunder split the air. The lightning balls struck the boarding crew, burning them and knocking them from their feet, but only incapacitated a couple of them.
The slaver vessel pulled away, disengaging from the attack. With the two broken masts and only one remaining, she wasn't any faster than Black Champion.
"Cap'n!"
Azla turned, spotting one of her officers near the ship's hold.
"Come quickly!" the mate called.
All his arrows gone now, Jherek joined the ship's captain at the hold. Another man stood below with a lantern. The pale yellow light played uncertainly in the darkness as the ship yawed across the waves and reacted badly to the wind due to the tattered sails. There was no mistaking the heavy shaft that had broken through Black Champion's side.
X
10 Flamerule, the Year of the Gauntlet
"The Taker thought he could defeat Umberlee?" The prospect astonished Pacys.
Myrym gazed at the old bard with her luminescent eyes and said, "Yes. She stripped his weapons from him, yanked the magic eye from his head and scattered it into its many parts, then caused storms to drive the weapons inland to the heart of Faerun. The elves had only just abandoned Eiellur and Syorpiir during the War of Three Leaves to settle in the Selmal Basin.
"Then Umberlee reached into the heavens and caused stars to fall, crashing into the land and altering coastlines. It was almost enough, it is said, to drive the sea elves back to the surface, but they stayed. They became part of those whose destiny it was to cross paths with the Taker."
"In Myth Nantar?"
Myrym nodded. "All things above and below once passed through Myth Nantar. The elves named it City of Destinies because of the stories they'd been told about the Taker, but already they'd begun to forget some things."
"What is in Myth Nantar?"
"That I cannot answer, Loremaster. There are some events foretold that must be lived through."
"You never said what Umberlee did with the Taker." "In her rage, the Bitch Queen thought she killed him. Umberlee broke her lover, shattered his bones, and spilled his blood."
"I was told the Taker's eye is in Myth Nantar." "Only part of the Taker's eye is there," Myrym answered. "It is a key piece that the Taker will need to make his weapon complete again. No one knows where in the city it is. The Dukars took charge of the eye fragment when the Coronal at Coryselmal gave it to them after the birth of Myth Nantar."
"The Dukars?" Pacys repeated. "I thought they were only legends."
"No, Loremaster." Myrym's rebuttal was gentle. "Despite all your travels, there is much you have yet to learn. Tell me what you know of the Dukars."
"They were wizards," Pacys said, recalling the few, seldom heard stories he'd been told over the years. "At first they were brought together in Aryselmalyr. Some believe they were historians, and others thought they were warriors seeking to take all of Seros as their own territory. It's been said that Dukars could speak to the sea and have it listen, and grow weapons from their own bodies. I always thought them to be purely myth."
Myrym shook her head in disbelief. "Ah, the tales of gods-struck humans and jealous elves. The Dukars are real."
*****
Jherek watched helplessly as the sea cascaded into the hold around the ballista shaft stuck through Black Champion's hull. Already the water was up to their ankles, swirling around the stores and crates in the cargo area.
"Damn," Azla swore at his side. "Umberlee is getting her tithing today." She raised her voice so the pirates in the hold could hear her. "Tear off your shirts and breeches, use them to plug up the hole around that damned shaft."
"What are you going to do?" the young sailor asked.
"I'm going after that ship," Azla declared.
"You could rip out Black Champions bottom in the chase," Jherek protested. "The currents are already gnawing at her."
Azla's eyes blazed. "Unless you can pull a chunk of earwax from your head, cast it into the water and grow an island out of it, I don't see that we have much choice." She marched from the hold to the boarding party.
"She's tucked her tail between her legs and run," one of the pirates yelled.
Jherek saw the slaver vessel limping away to the south, evidently trying to leave the area with no further confrontation.
"They're not going to get away," Azla said in a stern voice. "They've holed our ship and we're sinking. So we're taking theirs in turn."
Her crew turned to look at her in amazement, clearly not wanting to believe it.
"Bring us around," Azla ordered.
The pirates sprang into action, shifting what sailcloth was left after the gargoyles' attack and cutting free other canvas that only impeded their progress.
As he stood on the deck, Jherek could feel the sluggishness of Black Champion's response as she came about.
Sabyna approached. No tears showed in her eyes now, and she acted as if what passed between them only a few moments ago had never happened. "What's wrong with the ship?" she asked.
"The hull's holed," Jherek told her in a low voice. "Taking that slaver is the only hope we have."
"As you say," Myrym told Pacys, "the Dukars were wizards. They found their beginning almost nine thousand years ago, in a small town then called simply Nantar. Nantar was located on the Lower Hmur Plateau, its population made up exclusively of sea elves. At first, the Dukars were lorekeepers only. There were four of them who joined together after being taught by their master, Dukar, from whom they took the name of their order. These were Jhimar, the triton warrior maiden; Kupav, the sea elf; Maalirn, also a triton; and Numos, the female morkoth." THE THREAT FROM THE SEA
"A morkoth?" Pacys shook his head. "Chieftain Myrym, in the outer seas, the only morkoth that have been encountered are solitary creatures who dwell in caves and set traps for humans and elves, which they consider delicacies."
"You've heard of the Arcanum of Olleth?"
"Yes," the bard replied. "An empire of morkoth is something I'd have to see believe, though, and to accept the idea of a city of benevolent morkoth is harder still."
"The city is called Qatoris," Myrym said. "It is magically hidden by the Dukars who live there."
"How can this be?" the old bard asked.
"In the beginning, the Dukars recognized no oaths of fealty to the elven empire though pressure was put on them. Instead, they devoted their time to the development of their schools. Over the next three thousand years Seros knew peace. More years passed, and more wars to go with them, and still the Dukars tried to serve the sea. They were captured and imprisoned many times in the struggles for power among the elves and other races. By the Year of the Druid's Wrath-six hundred and fifty-two years ago-the Dukars had pulled away from Myth Nantar, not wanting to take part in any of the Hmurran civil wars."
"What of the Taker's Eye?" Pacys asked the locathah.
"When Myth Nantar was built," Myrym said, "as I have said, the Coronal gave the eye to the Dukars for safe keeping. They hid it somewhere in the city."
"But Myth Nantar was lost," Pacys said. "That I remember."
Myrym nodded and said, "After the Dukars left, sahuagin warriors stole into the city and murdered the sea elves and merfolk who remained to stand guard. The sea devils destroyed much of the city, but could not stay. The mythal was designed to keep creatures like them out. They soon fled, but in later years, the magical shields around the Academy of the Dukars started growing till they encompassed all of fallen Myth Nantar. The water around the city became impenetrable even to those who built it. Some say it is haunted."
"And what do you say?" Pacys asked.
"Only that the city was properly named, Loremaster. It is the City of Destinies. For the Taker, for you, and for the youn
g warrior you seek. Somewhere in that wreckage is the Taker's Eye, and it holds the key to all your destinies. I have one final gift for you if you will accept it."
"What is that?"
"You asked me in what direction the young warrior you seek lies. These water lilies may hold an answer of sorts for you." The aged locathah held the leaves out to him. "Simply put them under your tongue and think of him."
The bard opened his mouth and put the leaves under his tongue. He pushed the seawater from his mouth and waited. A pleasant tingling sensation numbed the underside of his tongue and his lips.
All at once it felt as if the top of his head exploded, and he was swept away on a cold, black tide.
Black Champion bucked and fought the ocean like a horse trying to keep its head above the waterline. Jherek peered down at the dark, green-black water little more than an arm's reach from the railing. Perhaps only minutes remained before forward progress became impossible for the caravel. Despite the slave ship's loss of two masts, Black Champion was barely closing the last hundred yards to her.
The caravel smashed through another wave. This time the cold seawater swept over Black Champion's deck, drenching the assembled crew in spray. They didn't look hopeful even after the ship surged forward again.
The slaver tried to cut away as Black Champion came abreast, tacking into the wind. If the slaver had flown another sail, Jherek knew the maneuver would have cost them their last chance at overtaking their quarry. As it was, the single remaining sail only offered a token attempt at quickly changing their course.
"Come hard to starboard!" Azla ordered from the forecastle.
Jherek looked up at the half-elf pirate captain with respect. She stood there knowing she was losing her ship, yet she remained inviolate, totally in command.
"What are you thinking, young warrior?" Glawinn asked.
"Look at her," Jherek said. "Aboard a dying ship, about to take on a crew twice the size of hers, yet she knows no fear"
"You don't think she's afraid?"
"Maybe she is," he conceded, "but she overcomes it well."
"Fear isn't necessarily a bad thing, young warrior. It's meant to warn of uncertain situations and concentrate resolve, to give strength to flagging muscles and wings to thoughts. In the end it must be embraced and accepted, not conquered like an enemy blade. Aren't you afraid now?"
"Aye," Jherek said, continuing to watch the pirate captain as she ordered the grappling crew to the railing, "and it shames me."
"I'd rather see you afraid," Glawinn said, "and know that you are truly alive, than to see you the way I have seen you in the past days."
"I have done so many wrong things, made so many mistakes." He glanced at Sabyna, who stood on the forecastle deck with Arthoris and Azla. "I've hurt someone I would never have offered any injury. He turned his attention to the paladin and added, "I've even offended you, who have done nothing but try to help me."
Glawinn smiled, his eyes twinkling, and dropped his mailed hand on Jherek's shoulder. "Young warrior," he said, "if you made no trespasses, who would there be to say you'd ever been by?"
Black Champion smashed through another wave and took a while to right herself. Jherek held onto the railing, balancing himself easily while Glawinn struggled slightly with all his armor on.
"Keep something in mind, young warrior. A hero who has never known fear or want, uncertainty or anger, hunger or loneliness, is no real hero. It isn't their bravery that should impress you. That turns on a moment, marking an event that most people choose to recognize as heroic. It is in the journey that leads up to that moment, the persistence of vision, that makes a man or woman truly heroic. Do you understand?"
"Some of it."
Glawinn patted him on the shoulder. "The rest will come in time. For now we have a ship to take."
Jherek watched as the slave ship drew closer and closer.
The slaver's stern ballista crew swung the large weapon around. Even as they started locking the ballista down and getting ready to fire at Black Champion-a target scarcely more than seventy feet distant-a mass of writhing black tentacles suddenly sprouted from the deck.
The ballista crew turned and tried to flee, but the black tentacles whipped out blindly and wrapped the slavers up, snapping bones and squeezing the life from them. Their screams were lost in the rush of water and wind. The tentacles ripped the ballista from the deck and smashed it into a thousand pieces.
"Azla's mage," Glawinn said.
Jherek nodded and watched as the slaver crew attacked the tentacles with harpoons and swords.
Twisting tongues of flame suddenly ignited in the slaver's amidships. For a moment, Jherek believed the vessel was afire, then the flame blossomed hotter and brighter and shot toward Black Champion.
"Fireball!" one of the pirates squalled. As a man, the boarding crew ducked under the huge mass of roiling flames.
The wizard's casting was slightly off, and the fireball sizzled as it touched the water beside the pirate ship, then exploded into a wall of flames that rushed across Black Champion's deck. Rigging and sailcloth caught fire. Only the water washing over the deck kept it from burning as well.
Arthoris stepped to the edge of the forecastle railing above and extended his hands to the heavens, the sleeves of his robes falling back down his skinny arms. He cried out in a language Jherek didn't understand, his tone at once commanding and beseeching.
Dark clouds spiraled into the sky above the ships, spreading out for miles in all directions. The wind lifted and came howling across the choppy ocean surface. Rigging creaked above, and lanyards that were cracked but not broken through now gave way. A heavy, stinging rain smacked into Black Champion and her crew.
The flames atop the rigging were quickly snuffed.
"Grappling crew!" Azla yelled above the roar of the storm. "Ready on the line!"
The pirates surged forward to the railing again. Jherek stooped and picked up a grappling line, running the rough hemp through his hands. He measured back from the big, three-pronged hook and readied himself to cast.
A giant shape surged out of the water between the two ships. A webbed green foot with great claws slapped against the starboard railing. A huge head at least eight feet across, cut with a grim maw and gold-webbed spines along the back of its neck, followed the foot. Malevolent red eyes glared at the surprised crew. Another foot followed the first, and the great creature tried to drag itself aboard. The neck strained up from the dark green shell on its back.
"Dragon turtle!" a man screamed.
The grappling line crew surged back, breaking away from the deadly creature.
Pacys woke in black waters. Panicked, he struggled to get free of the ocean. He tried to find a way back to his own body.
Taleweaver.
The call wasn't from anything human. Pacys heard it in his mind, but the syllables were long and drawn out.
Do not be in such a hurry, the voice went on. There is much to learn.
Basso booming filled the water, stretching out into squeaks and squeals, turning again to a deep moaning sound like wind blowing over the neck of a bottle. The old bard listened to the sound carefully, drawn to its melodic nature.
Where am I? Pacys asked.
We call this the dreaming time.
Who are you?
Enemies of the Taker and his sahuagin.
What do you want with me?
We did not summon you. You came to us as it was foretold in our songs.
With surprise, Pacys realized that the booming squeals and squeaks were whale songs. Are you here with me?
In the only way that we can be.
I can't see you.
Open your mind, Taleweaver. All that we may tell you will be revealed.
Letting go the panic that vibrated inside him, Pacys immersed himself in the whale song. There weren't words or even tones especially. The sounds played upon the ear, but they touched the heart. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the black water was
sapphire blue.
He peered below, seeing the pale white-gray of the ocean floor a hundred feet or more below. Above him, sunlight kissed the surface of the water and turned it to too-bright silver. He glanced away, trying to peer through the blue-gray cloud that settled in the water before him.
Where are you? the old bard asked.
I am here, the slow voice replied. Reach out and you will touch me.
Tentatively, Pacys stretched out his arm toward the gray-blue fog. Only instead of penetrating it as he'd expected, the fog felt rough and solid. With that single touch, the bard's perceptions changed.
A great whale floated in the water in front of him. The gray-blue color partially masked it in the water, and his closeness prevented him from seeing all of it even now. Pacys knew some of the great whales grew to be four hundred feet long. This one was so long its tail flukes disappeared in the distance.
Who are you? Pacys asked.
In your language, I am called Song Who Brings Bright Rains. My mother gave birth to me after a storm, when a rainbow stretched across the sky.
By looking up, then down, Pacys could make out the familiar wedge-shaped head of the massive cetacean. He knew this was a humpback whale. The bard trailed his fingers along the pebbly skin as he swam down the length of its body. He found the creature's eye only a little later.
The eye was dark and bigger around than Pacys was tall. Instinctively, the bard swam away from the eye, wondering if the creature could see him from this close.
I see you, Taleweaver, the whale boomed.
Jherek stared at the huge beast clinging to Black Champion's starboard side.
"It's not real, young warrior," Glawinn said, starting forward.
Jherek wanted to reach out and hold the paladin back, even put a hand on his shoulder. "Wait," he said.
Glawinn turned on him, his beard wet with gleaming diamonds from the salt spray and the rain. "Look at it. Look hard at it and you will know it's not real. It's just more magery, and a weak spell at best, not one that will hurt a man. Where is that thing's battle cry? Where is the sound of those claws rasping against the wood? How is it that the creature's weight doesn't tear the railing free?"
