After a while, Deudermont came to the end of his tale. “Will you now humor me with your own tale?” he asked the priestess. “You were going to tell me how Maimun’s presence aboard Sea Sprite endangers my crew.”
I blinked. What did he say? I could feel it—more bad news was on the way.
“I shall indeed, Captain,” Jaide replied. “But first I must take care of something.”
I heard footsteps so light it took me a moment to realize they were headed my way. I pulled back from the door just as Jaide yanked it open. She smiled, but behind her, Deudermont looked something bordering on furious. It wasn’t the first time the captain had looked at me like that—and it was always hard to bear. Jaide motioned subtly away, indicating that I should leave, and at once.
“Listen, I—,” I began.
“Leave,” she all but growled at me.
“But I—”
“I’ll not ask again,” she said. But as she spoke the words aloud, I heard her voice even more clearly, whispering in my head: This is twice you have eavesdropped on me, her voice echoed. Patience, dear child. All will be revealed in due time.
I rolled my eyes and turned away.
Don’t be rude, she said without speaking.
Why not? I replied mentally. You knew I was there, but you said nothing. You let me waste my time, but you won’t let me hear why you think Captain Deudermont should be afraid of me—not that I don’t know full well that what gives me luck takes it from those around me. Why am I always a danger to everyone who—?
I saw no harm in letting you hear a story you knew. By this time she had shut the door and I could hear her real voice beginning her tale inside the cabin. But she didn’t break off the mental link. Go see to Haze. She’ll be happy to see you.
Unlike you, apparently, I answered, but Jaide didn’t respond.
Not sure if she’d even received my last communication, I walked away, however reluctantly. Had I’d gotten the last word or not, and what new danger was coming Sea Spite’s way because of me?
I found Haze standing on the forward deck of the ship, holding steady against the bucking of the waves. She turned her head to look at me as I approached and she nickered softly in recognition. Joen, who was busily grooming the beautiful mare, didn’t even bother to look up.
I put my hand on Haze’s muscular neck, gently stroking her soft hair. It was so sleek with the dampness of the foggy night. She seemed to appreciate my touch, but she wanted more. Half a step brought her body against mine, nearly knocking me from my feet. She wasn’t trying to hurt me, she was trying to hug me, the way horses do. I gladly accepted, wrapping my arms around her.
“Listen, I have to ask you something,” I said to Joen.
She didn’t answer, and I hesitated.
“I can tell you don’t like her,” I said.
She looked at me, puzzled. “Oi, why wouldn’t I like the horse?” she asked.
“No, I meant Jaide.”
She scowled. “You came to tell me I don’t like the elf?”
“You’ve been angry with me from the moment she appeared,” I said. “Either you don’t like her, or I’ve done something wrong. Or both.”
I felt something sharp against my arm—Joen’s brush. “You’re in my way,” she said, roughly prodding with the sharp-bristled thing until I pulled back.
She went back to her grooming, running the brush through Haze’s fine mane, though the hair wasn’t tangled at all. It was not a horse brush—there wasn’t one anywhere to be found on the ship, after all. It must have been Joen’s own personal brush, though where she’d gotten it I had no idea. Had she found time to recover it from the wreck of Lady Luck? Joen had been one of Chrysaor’s crew and their ship, Lady Luck, had been lost on the shores of the Moonshaes, in the same crash that had almost scuttled Sea Sprite for good. Our ship had survived, but the pirate ship had not been so lucky, in spite of its name.
That she’d use her own brush to groom the horse seemed fitting to me somehow, particularly given the loving manner in which she performed the task.
Too loving and intent, maybe. I got the feeling that Joen fell into her work to distract her from something else, something not so good.
“Have you met Jaide before?” I asked.
Jaide had lived in seclusion in her temple, and though for exactly how long, I was uncertain. I assumed it had been some time. But I didn’t know enough of Joen’s history to be certain she hadn’t somehow met the elf during her time in Baldur’s Gate.
Joen shook her head.
“She’s a priestess,” I said. “She was a friend of Perrault and Alviss, and—”
“Did I ask?” she snapped, scowling at me.
I returned her sour look with a glare. “Did I do something to make you angry?” I asked.
She shook her head again.
“Then why are you yelling at me?”
“I don’t know, eh?” She hesitated a moment before continuing. “There’s just something about her, you know?” She shook her head again, mad—at herself, it seemed—and confused. “I guess I just thought we would see some of the world, you and I, and leave all this Tymora business behind us. But she came here for you, didn’t she? It’s still all about that stone.”
“Jaide’s a friend,” I told her. “And the stone has got to be destroyed.”
“Oi, I see how it is.” I thought for a fleeting moment that I detected a hint of jealousy in her voice, but that didn’t make sense. “She’s a friend to you.” Something about the way she said the word “friend” made it sound like an insult.
“And so are you,” I said.
Joen didn’t answer at first. She went back to gently brushing Haze’s hair.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Joen said after a moment.
“She’s an elf. They’re all beautiful,” I replied.
Joen looked up at me, rolling her eyes. “I meant the horse.”
“Oh. Um, yeah, she’s really pretty. Especially her eyes.” I cringed, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Haze’s pale orbs were something to behold, but they had nothing on the emeralds flashing from beneath Joen’s tousled hair. “Like yours.”
Joen took the compliment with a smile, the first smile on her I’d seen since Jaide’s arrival. Again Joen quickly turned back to the horse, running the brush gently through her mane.
I stayed with Joen and Haze for a long while, gently patting the mare. Neither Joen nor I said another word, and the events of the day played through my head—most especially the moment before Haze and Jaide had appeared, as the fog was rolling in, hoofbeats on the wind, when I had shared a kiss with this pretty girl. It had been unexpected and awkward, at once too long and far too short. Perfectly imperfect, it stuck in my head, replayed over and over again. I wanted nothing more than to rush over and embrace Joen, to kiss her again, but at the same time I was petrified at the thought of it. She had essentially ambushed me, caught me off guard. Given any time to think about it beforehand, I never would have been able to muster the guts to approach her, let alone kiss her.
Joen kept her focus on the horse, but tossed me the occasional glance. I could see her coldness from earlier fading, the light returning to her eyes. But after one such glance, her gaze stopped, held. Her eyes narrowed and her expression dropped into a scowl. Without a word, she turned and stormed away.
“She’s yours now, you know,” said a voice—Jaide—from behind me. It took me a long moment to realize which “she” Jaide was talking about, and my face flushed red when I realized the road my confused thoughts had wandered down.
“But won’t you need her to get … wherever it is you’re going?” I asked.
“I’m not far now,” she replied. Something about her tone, her smile, or her posture seemed wrong to me. I felt for sure she wasn’t telling me the truth, or at least not the whole truth. Asbeel was dead. What had changed to bring Jaide all the way out here? The horse was surely tired from the run, though she didn’t show it. It was the f
arthest I’d heard of Haze traveling out to sea, and if Jaide hadn’t found the ship in the wide, cold sea, they both could well have died.
“Listen,” I said. “I need to ask you something.”
“Not right now, Maimun,” Jaide replied.
“Stop doing that!” I said, getting angry.
“Doing what?”
“Evading my questions!” I realized as soon as I said it that I had made a mistake. “I mean, not you, specifically. You know. People in general. No one wants to answer my questions today.”
Jaide laughed. “No one ever wants to answer questions, child, especially questions as difficult as the one you wish to ask me.”
“I need your help, your advice.”
“I cannot advise, but I have come to help.”
“I need—”
“I know what you need, and what you will need in the days ahead. So I have brought Haze for you. Trust in her. She will not fail you.”
“That’s all?” I asked. “You came all the way out here just to deliver this horse to me? So I could ride her—where?”
“I rode all the way out here to deliver a horse,” she answered with a cryptic smile. “And you know what you need to do, and you know you can’t do it out here on this ship. You’ll need magic, Maimun. Powerful magic.”
Something made me think, just then, of the last time I had seen the dark elf Drizzt. He had told me the name of a wizard who he thought might be able to help me: Malchor Harpell. I was about to ask Jaide about that, but before I could, she said, “Now I must be off. I have my own business to attend to.”
And before I could ask anything more, Jaide’s smile stopped me cold. She stepped onto the rail and stood tall, graceful, her hair blowing in the wind. A mighty gust blew, and Jaide leaped into the air, her white gown catching the wind and billowing like a sail, her beautiful form drifting out to sea. The gust continued, powerful wind blowing both west and south, straining the already damaged rigging of the ship. Jaide rode the wind like a gull, soaring fast and far across the tops of the waves.
Then, as suddenly as the wind had blown in, it stopped, and she was gone.
CHAPTER TWO
For three days there had not been a breath of wind. Captain Deudermont had managed to keep the crew members at their posts the whole time, a testament to his reputation and stature, given the troubling circumstances.
The air had seemed to grow colder each day, and each morning we awoke to find the ship covered in ice, which had presented great challenges and greater danger. The ice had needed to be smashed and chipped and tossed overboard, else its staggering weight would have threatened to bring the whole ship down. Worse, as our ship had only recently been repaired, moisture kept getting into the imperfectly sealed boards of the deck and hull. When it had frozen there, it expanded, pushing the boards farther and farther apart, further degrading Sea Sprite’s seaworthiness. How she had creaked and groaned in protests those cold days, as if she were in pain. And given the damage Sea Sprite had taken in the collision with Lady Luck, she probably had been! I had remained in awe that the ship was still afloat at all after having had her mast torn so, taking pieces of deck with it.
To make matters even more miserable, we had lost much of our supplies in the initial wreck. We now carried twice as many people as when we’d set out from Waterdeep, what with Lady Luck’s crew aboard.
It was that fact that the crew seemed most unhappy about. There could never be a mutiny on Captain Deudermont’s ship. The crew knew all too well that none among them could sail her better. And this crew was wise and experienced, and surely wouldn’t blame their beloved captain for the failure of the wind, especially not when we’d just escaped an island wherein resided a group of druids who claimed to control the weather. Most of the muttering those long days had been about those druids, rumors and speculation that they were planning to starve us out until we gave back what they wanted.
That prospect frightened me greatly. I was, after all, what they wanted.
I couldn’t help but think Jaide had been right, that my presence—the presence of the stone—endangered Sea Sprite’s crew Not druids, not pirates, but me. So what? So then, I should leave? I had Haze. I could ride off any time. Lucky for me. But what about Joen?
I had known that the longer Sea Sprite sat adrift, the more the crew would come to resent its pirate captives—Joen among them. I had tried time and again to talk to her, but she seemed to act as if I had already left. She had made it clear I had chosen my desire to destroy the stone over … what? Sea Sprite? A life at sea?
Her?
There was more to consider than that. Jaide had told me I’d need powerful magic to destroy the stone—magic I couldn’t find aboard Sea Sprite. But where to find that magic—Malchor Harpell? How would I find him when I knew nothing of him, save his name? Should I leave to find him? Or stay here with Joen?
Though my mind had raced with one plan after another for the last three days, I had stayed at my duties, unable to decide what to do. Since I’d been at sea, the magical cloak I inherited from Perrault had protected me from the wind and the rain, the cold of the northern seas and the baking sun of the southern waters. But no longer. My watches in the crow’s nest had been hours spent freezing, the deepest of chills that had numbed my fingers and toes in heartbeats and had settled deep into my bones. It would then have taken several hours in the relative warmth belowdecks to drive that cold from me, and somehow I had felt that each time it had taken longer to recover, and that my fingers and toes had permanently lost just a little more feeling.
I still wore the cloak, though its perfect blue had been marred by a great red scar. The amazing magical cloak had stopped the breath of a dragon, had protected me so fully I hadn’t even quite realized what had happened—until I’d happened to glance at the cloak and the scar, and the destruction the breath had wrought.
I carried also a new addition to my kit: a sword. The saber had belonged to one of the pirate crew who’d fallen in battle. It was a simple thing, a long thin sword that curved slightly at the end, and it was in size and shape similar to my old sword, except that lost magical weapon disguised itself as a stiletto, making it far easier to carry around. I constantly found the new blade, which was nearly half my height, tangled in a line, or in my legs, or in someone else’s. My old blade was much lighter, even in its sword form, than this hunk of beaten steel.
And that old sword, sorely missed, could burst into magical blue flame at my mental command.
But alas, that sword had been lost to me, embedded in the flesh of the demon Asbeel, who was somewhere at the bottom of the vast ocean by now. I could lament not having the sword, of course, but I surely didn’t lament the manner in which I had lost it. It had been beyond fitting that Perrault’s sword would claim but one life while in my possession, and that life would be of the beast who had mortally wounded him so long ago.
So long ago—just this past midsummer, less than a year past.
And so it was that I descended from the crow’s nest in the evening of the fourth day, lost in my quiet contemplations, rubbing my fingers in a futile attempt to restore circulation, trying not to trip over my own sword.
I caught up to Joen belowdecks, just as she descended the ladder into the hold.
“Hold up,” I called, hopping down the ladder three rungs at a time. My showing off backfired, though, when my numbed feet missed the third-to-bottom rung and I dropped the last few feet, landing ungracefully on my rump. I jumped back up and resisted the urge to rub my aching behind, trying to save some face, but I knew by Joen’s look that I had failed.
“Ladder’s slippery when it’s wet, eh?” Joen said, that familiar edge of sarcasm in her voice.
“It’s not wet,” I said before I realized what that would imply.
“So you’re just a drunkard without a drink, then.” Joen chortled loudly, turned, and walked across the almost empty hold. I could see immediately where she was heading: in one corner, a pile of crates and a
few blankets formed a makeshift fort.
“Arranged a cabin for yourself, I see,” I joked, but she didn’t laugh.
“Wind hasn’t been blowing much since we cleared the island, eh?” She crouched low, sat down on the deck, and slid herself effortlessly into the rickety construction.
“That can’t last forever,” I said, approaching the fort’s entrance. I moved to follow her, but she glared at me from within.
“Oi, room for just one, an’ I’m the one, eh?” She pulled a stained old remnant of a sail over her makeshift cabin, closing herself inside.
“Gods, what’s eating you?” I said, maybe a bit too harshly.
“Go away, eh?” she replied, her voice muffled behind the canvas.
I took a few steps back toward the ladder, but stopped short. “No,” I said.
Joen didn’t answer.
I raised my voice. “No!”
Again, no answer.
I went back to her little hut. “I won’t go away. Not this time.”
“Oi!” she yelled, sliding out from behind the canvas and rising quickly to her feet. “You’ll go away or I’ll make you go away, eh?” She rushed forward, finger leading, ready to poke me in the chest.
At the last moment, I noticed a glint of steel in her hand. She led not with her finger, but with one of her daggers.
The Sentinels: Stone of Tymora, Book III Page 2
