by Mel Odom
Pacys shook his head. Music raced through his mind again, traveling chords. “I don’t think you will. However he got out of the city, he’s not here any longer.”
“Aye, and I know that’s true enough.” He looked troubled. “Where are ye off to?”
“I don’t know. While I was at the church, I got a vision. It told me where to go, but not where I’d be going. I guess I’m supposed to figure that out after I get there.”
“Ye make this sound mysterious.”
“The gods do tend to move in that manner,” Pacys said.
Khlinat ran a hand through his tangled beard. “Ye going to be all right on yer own?”
“I always have been.” Pacys rummaged in his coin purse, trying not to notice how light it was for a man possibly traveling a great distance. “I know you’ve not been able to work at the shipyards since you’ve been injured. Let me pay you for letting me bed here.”
“Faugh, and that would be a laugh. Don’t think yerself so high and mighty, old bard. I’m a steady working man and no traveler from place to place depending on the generosity of strangers. I’ve got silver enough to do me awhile.”
Pacys closed his purse, knowing it would be better to keep his meager coin as long as he could. As long as he stayed within a civilized area he had no doubts about being able to sing for enough to eat and put a temporary roof over his head, but if he was out in the wilderness things might be different.
“I got a question to ask ye,” Khlinat said, looking a little uncomfortable.
“Yes.”
“While ye are out and about, who’s going to watch yer back? I mean, it’s going to be powerful hard to find the swabbie if yer fertilizer for some lonely patch of forest.”
“I’ve always watched out for myself,” Pacys answered.
“Aye, but things seem to have greater stakes at the moment. I’ve a mind to go with ye meself, kind of keep ye out of trouble and it away from yer door. If ye would have me.”
Pacys looked at the dwarf, realizing the warrior’s nature that resided in the short, powerful frame. Despite missing a leg and the wounds he’d suffered only three days ago, Khlinat seemed prepared to leave during the next drawn breath.
“I don’t know how far I’d have to go,” the old bard stated. “Nor how long I’ll be gone.”
Khlinat nodded. “Something put me there where that boy was. I still feel its pull on me now. I never been a coward, no dwarf worth his salt is, but that night with that boy, I felt like I was fighting the good fight, the kind a warrior would want to sell his life at if blood price was demanded for participation. I ain’t too willing to let that feeling go. Losing me leg, I’ve felt like half a man for a lot of years. With him, facing them sahuagin claws and jaws, a true axe in me hand, I felt like me old self. I want that back.” He paused to clear his voice. “I ain’t one to go begging, but if ye will have me, I swear by the anvil and hammer of Moradin to look over ye, be the shield over yer back should ye need it till I see ye clear of this mess.”
Emotion choked the old bard. Riffs of music, carried on the unmistakable basso that marked many dwarven songs, echoed inside his head. “You truly feel that this is what has been put before you?”
“With all me heart,” Khlinat responded. “I went down to the apothecary and bought meself a dram of heal potion to get meself more right for if ye should have need of me. Don’t be telling me I wasted me coin.”
“Get your gear together,” Pacys said. “I’ve already wasted two days when I was supposed to be doing something.”
* * * * *
Pacys led the way into the Hall of Wonders, between the black doors that floated in the air in front of it. The white many-toothed wheels on the doors looked exactly as they had in his vision.
The Hall of Wonders sat on Windspell Street, across from the High House, its parent temple. Stone gargoyles clung to the roof on clawed feet. The building stood three stories tall and ran straight back, a hall as its name implied. It was immaculately clean and the windows were scrubbed, shining glass.
A watchpriest greeted them dressed in a wheeled hat and a robe with a sash at the waist that contained gears, locks, hooks, and bits of tin, steel, and wood. Pacys paid the priest eight silvers, the entry fee for Khlinat and himself.
The old bard’s feet made only slight noise against the waxed stone floor. Tall stone pillars ranged on either side of them under the vaulted ceiling. Between the pillars, display cases held the inventions and instruments for sale. Duplicates were kept and manufactured in the building’s cellar.
“Have ye been here before?” Khlinat whispered, overtaken with the expansiveness of the hall and the tidy surroundings.
“Many times,” Pacys replied. “I’ve purchased some musical instruments here over the years. While functional, I found them to be lacking in intrinsic quality. There’s nothing like an instrument you’ve made yourself.”
“Aye, and a certain satisfaction as well.”
Despite the attack on Baldur’s Gate only a few days ago, the Hall of Wonders still held numerous gnomes openly gawking at the displayed devices. Even Khlinat’s attention was captured by some of them.
“Ah, the Ironeater clan I’m from would like to see this place,” the dwarf said. “If they haven’t already.”
Halfway down the Hall, Pacys found what he was looking for.
The mirror was perfectly made, nine feet wide and nine feet tall, framed in red lacquered wood. The unblemished surface gleamed, offering a faultless reflection of the old bard, the dwarf, and the section of the Hall behind them.
Khlinat scowled at his image, running fingers through his tangled beard. “Ooch, now there’s an ugly brute for ye.”
“Gond Wonderbringer’s blessing be upon you,” an unctuous voice stated. “Is there any way I may be of service to you?”
Pacys glanced at the young priest that approached them, then looked back at the mirror. Except for its size, he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary about it. For a moment he doubted the vision he’d been given in Oghma’s temple.
“Tell me about this mirror,” Pacys requested.
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Pacys replied, “but Gond isn’t known for his taste in beauty.”
“I could disagree,” the young priest pointed out. “The beauty of the gifts Gond bestows upon us is not inconsiderable.”
“My apologies,” Pacys said. “Forgive me for being so blunt, but what I referred to was the fact that Gond never built anything that wasn’t functional in some way.”
“And you’re wondering how this is functional?”
“Yes.”
The young priest approached the mirror. “It was ground as all mirrors are, and polished to its present sheen here. The sand it was made from came from a fallen star in the Inner Sea. Chosstif, one of the High Initiates of the Mysteries of Gond here, paid mermen in the Inner Sea for its recovery, then had it shipped here fourteen years ago.”
“Fourteen years ago?” Pacys asked. The time frame fit in with Narros’s story of the Taker destroying the merman village. “I don’t recall seeing it when I was here before. The last time I visited was less than two years ago.”
“It was only just finished less than ten weeks ago,” the priest said. “It’s surely one of the largest undertakings we’ve ever done. Chosstif was moved by a vision from Gond himself and made to carry out the construction of this mirror. It has very special properties.”
“Like what?” Khlinat asked doubtfully.
The priest walked to the mirror and put his palm against it. “A mirror this size is usually hard to get from place to place. Yet, once you have one in your home, you must admit how much it brightens up the place. Purchasing a mirror this big is not much of a problem, but the transportation is. With Chosstif’s collapsible mirror, transportation is no longer as difficult.” He pushed gently.
Seams formed and tiny hinges revealed themselves. The mirror seemed to come apart, folding in on itself in
foot-sized sections. The clink-clink-clink of the sections landing on each other produced a noticeable rhythm inside Pacys’s head. In less than a moment the mirror had been reduced to a two-foot square that was only a little less than that in depth. It stayed hooked on the wall. A slim length of black cord hung down from the mirror. The young priest pulled on the cord and kept pulling until all the tiles once more appeared as a single, seamless unit nine feet square.
“Amazing,” Pacys said. “I’ve never seen the like before.” He stared into the mirrored depths.
“Yes. As you can guess, it’s one of our more popular items. Well worth the price. Though you will have to wait for it, you understand.”
“Actually,” Pacys said, “I’m not here to purchase a mirror.”
The priest appeared surprised and perhaps a little disappointed. “By the way you approached it, I was certain you’d heard of it or seen it and come to purchase one.”
“No.” Pacys reached out to the mirror. It was cool to the touch, almost liquid.
“You’ll find none like it and none finer,” the priest guaranteed.
“Mayhap.” Pacys was puzzled. The mirror remained yet a mirror, though in his vision it had been something else entirely in addition to being a mirror. He took his hand back and studied the fingerprints he’d left there.
“Is something wrong?” the priest asked.
“I don’t know,” the old bard answered, more to himself than the other man. He studied the mirror from different angles, drawing irritated glances from the priest who looked like he’d rather be somewhere else.
“What is it?” Khlinat asked.
“I was shown this mirror in my vision earlier,” Pacys explained, “yet now it appears I was mistaken.”
“Don’t let yer faith be shaken,” the dwarf said. “If ye were given a vision of this thing, then there’s a reason. Think about why it would be shown to ye. I think ye have the key. Ye just have to find it.”
As he concentrated, Pacys also heard the rhythms around him. People’s voices, the sounds of feet moving on stone, the clink and clank of items being picked up and put down, all blended. Unconsciously, he found the rhythm of the noises, and another piece of the song he pursued so diligently came into his mind. He pulled his yarting forward and strummed his fingers across the strings as he gave vent to his voice.
“There they stood, Taleweaver and dwarven warrior,
“Who’d pledged his life against the Taker.
“They faced mirror-bright mystery,
“Flashing,
“Clouded,
“And empty of answers.
“Yet the mirror shone its truth,
“Crowned under stars
“Forged
“From the bottom of the Inner Sea.
“Gond Wonderbringer’s desire and power
“Guided the hand of the High Initiate,
“Imbuing his work with
“Additional magic
“That worthy didn’t know about.
“The Taleweaver captured
“The cadence
“From the crowds that filled the House of Wonders.
“And when he did,
“When his voice reached the perfect pitch,
“A way was made.”
Holding the final note, Pacys stretched out his hand to the mirror. For an instant, he touched the glass again, but the surface quickly gave way to a wet fog that dissolved and became a forest.
The priest of Gond stepped back and made a sign of his god, a prayer already on his lips.
The music and the certainty of what he was doing filled Pacys. Slinging the yarting once more from its straps about his shoulders, he told Khlinat, “Follow me,” and strode into the mirror.
He felt a brief resistance, then the mirror accepted him. Coldness swirled around him but quickly went away. He felt the dwarf moving behind him, heard the prayer he breathed. The music stayed alive in Pacys’s head. A moment more and he stepped from the stone floor in the Hall of Wonders in Baldur’s Gate into the forest. Turning, the old bard saw the nine-foot square of shimmering space that represented the mirror. It opened, like a window, back into the Hall of Wonders.
The priest was shouting, and other priests and potential buyers ran to join him, staring in awe.
Khlinat stepped from the window, shivering. “Ooch, but that was cold on these old bones.” He gazed in wonder at the forest around them. “Do ye know where it is we might be, me friend?”
The opening vanished like morning mist before a harsh sun, taking away the vision of the Hall of Wonders and leaving only the forest.
“Where we’re supposed to be, praise Oghma.” Pacys took a deep breath and scented the brine hanging in the air. “Do you know that smell?”
Khlinat snuffed the air, then a broad grin split his craggy face. “The sea, by Marthammor Duin’s wandering eye! And it’s not far here. We’ve come a long way.”
“Yes,” Pacys agreed, “but there’s more.”
Khlinat snuffed again. “Are ye sure? All I smell is the sweet breath of the sea, but not that of the Sea of Swords or the Trackless Sea where I’ve spent all me sailing days.”
Pacys moved through the tall trees and dense vegetation, coming upon a well-worn trail winding down through the hilly country. “Your nose is sharper than mine when it comes to that, but I learned a long time ago to pick up the scent of a cookfire. Let’s go find whoever owns it.”
* * * * *
“You can put me down now.”
Dazed by the events happening so quickly and by the young woman fitting so comfortably in his arms, Jherek blushed furiously. A few of the sailors around them snickered. If their situation hadn’t been so dire, Jherek knew he would have been made the fool of mercilessly.
“Shut up,” Tynnel ordered.
While the crew quieted, Jherek carefully placed the ship’s mage on her feet. “Lady,” he apologized, “I didn’t mean to be so familiar. I’d thought to release you while you were still a rat.” His face was crimson, he knew, and the heat he felt wasn’t all from the fever. “I mean, while you were still—not yourself.”
Sabyna stepped away from him, taking refuge against the wall were she wouldn’t be so easily seen from the deck. “You’re all right?”
“Aye. Thank you for asking.” Jherek noticed Captain Tynnel shift in irritation and felt the man was somehow angry with him.
“I thought they’d killed you,” Sabyna said, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward her. Despite his protests, she parted his hair and looked at the wound. “It’s infected and needs to be cleaned out.” She wheeled on the men around them. “Why hasn’t anyone been taking care of him?”
Jherek felt angry and embarrassed all at the same time. “Lady,” he said respectfully, “I’m able to take care of myself.”
“Right,” Sabyna said sarcastically. “That’s why you’ve got a head full of pus and you’re burning up with fever.”
Jherek sensed she was angry with him already and that knowledge kept him from making any kind of retort. He wasn’t exactly clear why she was angry. Her fingers continued to poke around on the tender parts of his head, maybe with a little vengeance included. Still, he made no sound.
“I’ve been taking care of him,” Hullyn objected. “I saw that it was infected. I’ve been keeping that scalp wound like that on purpose. Like my old da always taught me. You get infection set in like that, you let flies get to it. Then maggots will eat out the rotten meat so it’ll heal up proper.”
Jherek’s stomach lurched. Malorrie’s instruction had covered such things, but those methods were to be used only under harsh and difficult circumstances, when no recourse to a healer was available.
“That way would leave a terrible scar,” Sabyna said.
“Lady,” Jherek said patiently, “I bear scars from past times. There’s no—”
“You’re not bearing this one on my behalf,” she stated with determination.
“I gather that shape-shifting abi
lity you’ve suddenly developed isn’t going to last forever,” Tynnel growled. He was angry too, Jherek noted, but the captain’s disfavor appeared to be shared between Sabyna and himself.
“No,” Sabyna answered, turning to face the captain, “it won’t.”
“Then I suggest you use this time you’ve taken to risk your life. How many men are there aboard Breezerunner?”
“Twenty-seven,” Sabyna answered.
“I never saw that many,” Tynnel said.
“You never saw all of them,” the pretty ship’s mage replied.
Tynnel pulled a face. “How well versed are they in ship’s craft?”
“They know their way around a ship,” Sabyna said, “and they’re all heavily armed.”
“Do you know where they’re going?”
“To the end of the Chionthar. After that Vurgrom plans on making his way back to the Sea of Fallen Stars. He came to Baldur’s Gate to deliver an item to the man responsible for the attack on Waterdeep and Baldur’s Gate.”
“You mean the sahuagin responsible—” Tynnel started to say.
“The man,” Sabyna repeated. “He’s called Iakhovas.”
The news slammed into Jherek. It was one thing to think of the sea devils rising up to strike along the Sword Coast in concert, but it was even more stunning to learn that a man had orchestrated those strikes.
“I’ve never heard the name,” Tynnel said.
“I’ve got the feeling you will. Vurgrom rails on about what Iakhovas is going to do to the Sea of Fallen Stars.”
“Vurgrom’s making you use that chair he brought aboard, isn’t he?” Tynnel asked.
Embarrassment flushed Sabyna’s face with color. “I’ve never seen its like. When I’m sitting there, Breezerunner feels more alive than ever. She moves when and where I tell her.”
“Then stop her,” Tynnel commanded. “On your next shift in that chair, stop her dead in the water.”
Sabyna shook her head. “That would only get us all killed. They tie me in that chair under guard when it’s my shift. As soon as I did that, they’d slit my throat, then come kill the lot of you.”
