by Mel Odom
“No,” Khlinat said. “I need that smoke powder ye have put away in the warehouse.” He glanced at Jherek. “Steady, swabbie.”
Jherek gave him a tight nod. Glancing at the harbor, he saw flaming catapult loads streak through the sky.
“I don’t sell smoke powder to just anyone,” Sonshal stated. “If you’ve heard anything, I know you’ve heard that about me.”
“I wasn’t intending to buy it,” Khlinat said. “Just use it.”
“For what?” Sonshal asked.
A broad grin split the dwarf’s face. “Goin’ fishing.”
VI
4 Kythorn, the Year of the Gauntlet
Laaqueel crouched lower on the invisible floating disc as Iakhovas guided her around a crowd of battling sahuagin and Flaming Fist mercenaries. Incredibly, the mercenaries were holding their own against the sahuagin, starting to push them back into the harbor in some areas. The sheer ferocity of the humans surprised her, and made her respect them as well.
Out in the harbor proper, ships burned. Three of them listed heavily in the water, burning down close to the waterline. Others were in the beginning stages of the same fate despite the efforts of dockworkers and sailors to halt it with water brigades.
The invisible disc stopped smoothly in front of a warehouse. Iakhovas alighted gracefully, pulling his cloak more securely around him. He drew his sword, revealing the runes carved into the shining blade. It was the first time Laaqueel had seen the weapon, making her realize the agents he had working around Faerûn to recover objects he claimed were his were still bringing things to him.
He grinned at her, his scarred features and eyepatch highlighted by a flaming catapult load that streaked through the night sky. “Come, little malenti. We have only a short time remaining that we may complete the assignations I’ve planned for our evening.”
She didn’t argue and she didn’t point out that the sahuagin were dying behind them, shedding their blood for Iakhovas’s machinations. Instead, she told herself that those were also Sekolah’s machinations and followed Iakhovas to the warehouse.
The structure stood bleak and weathered, tortured by time, the elements, and ill use. The doors, leached gray by the sun working through the constant layer of moisture that hung over Baldur’s Gate, stood only for a moment against Iakhovas’s gesture. A thin green ray stabbed from his finger and caused the doors to glow briefly, then disintegrate into a whirling mass of fine dust.
Iakhovas strode into the warehouse. Laaqueel followed at his heels, marveling at the amount of magic he seemed capable of unleashing. She felt in her heart that he had Sekolah to thank for that. No matter what Iakhovas believed, she knew the Shark God’s influence had put him back into the world and made him as powerful as he was.
“Hold!” someone shouted. “What in the Nine Hells do you think you’re doing?”
Turning, Laaqueel gazed at the dozen agitated surface dwellers that came at them with swords bared. She saw them for only an instant, then Iakhovas stepped to her side and brushed her back protectively. He leaned forward, put a small bullhorn to his lips, and shouted with a deafening fury.
The shout drove the men back five paces, turning them like sediment stirred up from the ocean bottom. All of them survived, but they were injured and screamed in pain, clapping their hands to their bleeding ears.
“Hurry,” Iakhovas said. He led her to the back of the warehouse, through stacked crates and shrouded items of all sizes and shapes. At the back wall he stepped into a small alcove and touched a panel. With a muffled creak, a section of the wall opened, revealing a long tunnel filled with shadows beyond.
Laaqueel held her trident ready, smelling old pain and death clinging to the tunnel. Iakhovas reached into his cloak and took out an amulet cut from a huge, flawless jacinth into a lens shape six inches in diameter. The device was set in platinum with a dozen diamonds on the left and a rune across the top. Holding it in his hand, Iakhovas spoke arcane words Laaqueel couldn’t understand.
The gem’s face glowed with lambent blue light. Instantly a map with a compass rose appeared. Gazing at it, Laaqueel recognized the warehouse, and the entrance to the tunnel they now stood before.
“A moment, little malenti,” Iakhovas said softly, “while I orient myself.”
The soft blue glow died, collapsing in on itself. He put the amulet back in one of the cloak’s hiding places, then took out a jade-colored globe that looked almost black in the pale light streaming in from the warehouse. He spoke another word. The globe lifted from his open palm and floated into place behind his left shoulder. It glowed pale jade, illuminating the tunnel.
Laaqueel blinked against the sudden light even though it was soft.
“Now,” Iakhovas said, “let’s reap the rewards of the bold move I’ve made.” He started down the tunnel so rapidly his black cloak shimmered like a waterfall behind him.
Having no other choice, and always curious as to his real purpose and the events he orchestrated, Laaqueel followed.
* * * * *
“You’re crazy, dwarf.”
If Khlinat harbored any ill feelings toward Sonshal for his pronouncement, Jherek didn’t see it. They worked hurriedly inside the warehouse Sonshal had allowed them to enter after Khlinat explained his plan. “Hitch up them horses, swabbie,” the little man said, “afore I have a chance to rethink much of what we’re going to do.”
Jherek brought the horses to the front of the wagon Sonshal had let them have as well. His hands worked quickly, buckling the traces into place. Khlinat continued rolling barrels of smoke powder into the wagon.
“You’re going to blow yourself up is what you’re going to do,” Sonshal said, but helped the dwarf with the barrels. “That stuff’s damned unstable if you don’t treat it right.”
“It’s got me respect,” Khlinat said dourly. “If I could think of some other way to handle this, I would. I’m only praying this works.”
Finished with the horses, Jherek vaulted over the wagon’s side and shoved the fifty-pound barrels up behind the seat. He handled them gingerly. Only three years ago in Velen, a local farmer had used smoke powder to clear stumps from some land he wanted to plow. Even Malorrie had been impressed by the carnage only a little of the smoke powder had done.
Khlinat shoved the last barrel into place.
“That’s all of it,” Sonshal said, twisting his mustache with one hand.
“Then I’ll be off,” Khlinat said, “and thank ye for yer kind donations.” He offered his arm.
Sonshal took the arm, then shook his head. “Mighty Tempus watch over a thrice-blasted village idiot in the making, I can’t let you go it alone, dwarf. If you’ve an extra seat, I’ll be glad to accompany you. I may know more about fuse-cutting than you do.”
Khlinat smiled broadly. “Aye, friend Sonshal, as long as ye keep in mind that one way or another, this is apt to be a oneway trip.”
“I’ll likely not forget.” Sonshal took up a roll of fuse and a torch from the nearby stores.
Khlinat moved to the wagon’s seat and grabbed the reins. “Have a ready hand there, swabbie,” he said to Jherek. “Them sea devils see us coming, they ain’t going to be very friendly about it. We start acting brave, they’ve to start asking themselves why.”
Nervous about what the dwarf planned to do, Jherek sat on the bench seat beside him. Ever since he’d left Velen, his life had been turned constantly topsy-turvy, with certain death in every corner. The fear numbed him a little as he reflected on how he seemed to get caught up in the events spreading around Faerûn. All he could guess was that it was the ill luck of his birthright. He kept the sword and the hook naked in his hands.
The warehouse doors were open, revealing the confusion roiling out in the street as more mercenaries arrived and had to fight their way through the fearful crowds fleeing their homes. Lightning speared the sky, but there wasn’t a storm cloud to be seen.
“These barrels get wet,” Sonshal called out as he clambered into the back
and sat, “all we’re going to be doing is riding to our deaths. They get hit by that damned lightning those wizards are throwing around, and we’ll go even quicker.”
“I hear ye.” Khlinat laid the reins across the backs of the horses in a practiced snap. The team hit the end of their traces at once, starting the wagon off quickly.
Sonshal cursed, warning about the barrels.
“Gangway!” Khlinat called at the top of his voice. The horses’ hooves struck sparks from the cobblestones and the thunder of their passage cannonaded between the tall buildings on either side of Bindle Street. “Wild horses! Clear the street!”
People dived to the sides of the street, some of them just ahead of being trampled. Khlinat handled the horses expertly, slapping the reins and urging them to greater speed. The ironbound wheels whirred against the cobblestones.
Jherek braced himself, holding fast to his weapons and praying to Ilmater that their headlong rush hurt no one, and that they arrived in time to save something of Baldur’s Gate.
* * * * *
Pacys’s fingers twitched for the strings of the yarting. The music crescendoed in the old bard’s head. He mapped the words and the rhythms, finding maddening pieces and partials of the lyrics that formed the song. The oppression and the sound of the battle didn’t daunt his spirits or send fear into him at all. He felt more alive than he had in decades. His soul thirsted for the knowledge and the answers that he was certain lurked around the next corner.
He held his staff in both hands as he ran through the crowd in the street. He felt their pain of loss, their uncertainty of fear, and he worked it into the lyrics running through his mind as surely and skillfully as a silversmith working an intricate inlay assignation.
The music changed pitch, becoming the champion’s song again when he heard the rough voice farther down the street.
“Clear the damned street, ye deaf lummoxes!”
The sea of people and mercenaries before Pacys parted. The music paralyzed him, stronger than he’d ever heard it before. He spotted the dwarf over the horses’ laid-back ears as they pulled the wagon. Then his eyes rested on the young man beside the diminutive teamster.
Pacys knew he’d never seen the young man before in his life, but he felt he knew him with greater certainty than he’d experienced at any time in his long life. This was the one Narros had spoken of, the one who would challenge the Taker that brought death and destruction from the sea.
“Get out of the way, old man!” the dwarf roared, slapping the rumps of the horses yet again.
Getting his wits back about him, Pacys dived to the side, rolling to get more distance. The wagon thundered past him, and he memorized the cadence of the ironbound wheels across the cobblestones, figuring out how he could bring that sound to life with his fingertips against the yarting’s bowl while strumming the strings with his thumb.
The wagon took the next corner and drove toward the harbor.
Pacys pushed himself up, watching as the wagon disappeared. Without a second thought, he pursued, running as fast as he could. When he turned the corner, he came face-to-face with the first of the sahuagin who’d battled their way farther into the city.
The bunyip roared out in the harbor as the lead sahuagin ripped trident tines toward Pacys’s face.
* * * * *
Laaqueel followed Iakhovas through the darkness, the sounds of the battle out in the harbor far behind them now. She’d lost track of how many twists and turns they’d taken, how many other passageways they’d passed by, how many corpses they’d climbed over. She hated the enclosed atmosphere of the tunnels, especially the way she had to remain partially slumped over now that they’d wended their way more deeply into the undercity.
“Hold up,” he ordered.
She froze in place, a prayer to Sekolah on her lips as she held ready the gifts the Shark God had given her as his priestess.
The globe floating behind Iakhovas’s left shoulder pushed a dim jade glow across the distance, becoming brighter. At first Laaqueel didn’t see the big man at the other end of the tunnel, then the glow crept over him.
He was tall and big-bellied, possibly the most massive surface dweller Laaqueel had ever seen. He looked even more so because of the way he was hunched over in the tunnel. Unruly red hair sprouted out from the sides of his head but nothing grew on top. He kept his beard shaved from his cheeks and upper lip, but it grew long and thick from his chin, hanging midway down his chest. He wore a dark red cloak over a sleeveless leather vest, high-topped boots and dark brown breeches.
“Lord Iakhovas,” the big man rumbled.
“Captain Vurgrom,” Iakhovas greeted, moving closer. Laaqueel was aware of the shimmer that took place around Iakhovas and guessed that he was altering his image again to fit the other man’s perceptions.
“Quite a party you’re throwing up above,” Vurgrom said.
Laaqueel studied the man further, taking in the gruff manner and the tattoos that decorated his thick, beefy forearms. She knew from the cut of his clothing and the boots that he was a seafarer, and she guessed from his presence in the hidden tunnels that he wasn’t there for good reason. He reminded her a lot of the other pirates Iakhovas had recruited for the attack on Baldur’s Gate.
“I trust everything went well,” Iakhovas said.
Vurgrom shrugged, the casual gesture made even harder by the tight confines of the tunnel. “I never cared much for river travel. Give me the openness of the Sea of Fallen Stars every time. The overland trip from Ilipur is not something I’m looking forward to repeating.”
“You have the device I asked you to get?” Iakhovas asked.
“Aye.” Vurgrom reached under his vest and took off a silver necklace that held a leather pouch. “Kept it close to my heart for safekeeping.” He took the pouch from the necklace and dropped it into Iakhovas’s outstretched palm.
“What of the man who had it?” Iakhovas asked.
“I did for him,” Vurgrom said. “Split him from wind to water and left him like a grand buffet for the fishes to feast on. They’ll not find him.”
Iakhovas poured the contents out into his palm. The light of the hovering jade globe revealed a twisted metal piece no longer than Iakhovas’s forefinger and less than half that wide. He closed his fist around it, covering the runic markings before Laaqueel had a chance to see if she could decipher them. “Very good, Captain Vurgrom.”
“I lived up to my end of the bargain,” Vurgrom said. His piggish eyes were surrounded by thick scar tissue, and the reflected light in them gleamed shrewdly.
“As I shall live up to mine.” Iakhovas put the trinket away in his cloak, then removed a heavy coin purse and tossed it to the captain.
Vurgrom caught the purse with an ease that was surprising for one so bulky. He unfastened the drawstrings and emptied it onto his thick palm.
The glowing globe heightened its illumination a bit more, but the change was so gradual Laaqueel didn’t think human eyes would notice as quickly as she did. Sahuagin eyes were meant for dim lights, though hers handled bright light better than her kin’s did.
Red, green, blue, and amber fires burned inside the gems Vurgrom held. “Cyric’s blessed avarice,” the captain said in a thick voice, “that’s a king’s ransom there, Lord Iakhovas.”
“You may think so,” Iakhovas said, “but remember you well that even those baubles are but a pittance against what I’m prepared to offer you should you maintain your loyalty to me.”
A small man came around from behind Vurgrom and fitted a jeweler’s glass to his eye. He picked up a ruby, sapphire, diamond, and emerald in quick succession, eyeing them against the light of the glowing globe. He gave a short nod, never taking any of the gems from Vurgrom’s sight, then nodded again and stepped back.
Vurgrom closed his hand over the jewels and made them disappear, splitting them up and putting them in various areas of his clothing. “Aye, milord, and know that ever my blade shall serve your will in any way that I might aid yo
u. Would there be any other way tonight?”
“No. Take your men and go,” Iakhovas directed. “I’ll meet up with you in the Sea of Fallen Stars.”
Vurgrom smiled, but Laaqueel didn’t like the way the effort fit the man’s face. “I’ll look forward to seeing you there, milord. I and my crews have worked long and hard to put everything into play as you have designed. Until we meet again, Cyric keep you safe in his shadows that you might smite your enemies through no risk of your own.”
“And you,” Iakhovas echoed.
Laaqueel had no idea how Iakhovas had arranged for Vurgrom to see him, but she noted the obvious deferential treatment. After Vurgrom and his group had gone, she addressed him. “You’re planning on meeting him in the Sea of Fallen Stars?”
“Yes.” Iakhovas offered no explanation. He continued down the passageway they were in.
The thought bothered Laaqueel. Though she knew of the Sea of Fallen Stars from talks she’d had with surface dwellers and maps she’d studied, the idea of being in a sea surrounded entirely by land was unnerving to her. She didn’t know whether she hoped Iakhovas left her behind or not.
“Ah, little malenti, for someone who evidences her faith so strongly, there remains much weakness within you,” Iakhovas taunted. “You shall accompany me to the Inner Sea, and there you will see the culmination of all the prophecies that you’re helping come true.”
There was just enough truth in his words to ease her mind somewhat, but the knowledge that Iakhovas looked after himself first and only never left her thoughts.
They followed the passageway a little farther and found the end of it. However, when the globe got close enough, it revealed a break in the wall on the right. Iakhovas stepped through without hesitation.
Laaqueel followed closely, reluctant to lose the light. The smell that hit her when she stepped through the opening immediately told her they were in a sewer. She remembered when she’d first learned of such things, having never thought of surface dwellers living out their two-dimensional lives and such bodily functions being any kind of trouble. She’d been further disturbed and horrified to learn that most of the coastal cities and towns poured their waste directly into the ocean.
