Boundless

by R. A. Salvatore

  Chapter 23

  Sinking Ship Kurth

  “We promised King Bruenor that we’d open those portals,” Lord Parise said when he was alone with Gromph and the giant Caecilia soon after. Matron Zhindia and her entourage had already departed through Underdark routes to the south, where the press on Gauntlgrym continued. “It would seem that he doubly needs us to fulfill that promise now.”

  Gromph lowered his gaze and softly chuckled. “The two naked women who appeared at Matron Zhindia’s side were not drow, and not mortal,” he said, looking back up and alternating his gaze between the Netherese lord and the cloud giant. “Probably not even women, as I doubt that gender terms apply to such creatures.”

  Lord Parise gave a slight shudder at that—no doubt, the sight of the beautiful creatures had stirred him a bit, Gromph thought, while Caecilia just crinkled her thick-featured face in disgust.

  “They were yochlols, handmaidens of Lolth herself,” the archmage explained. “Beings of great power, greater still because they act as the voice of the Spider Queen goddess when they are among my people. It was not Matron Zhindi—”

  “This is the first time I have heard you refer to her by her title when not in her presence,” Caecilia interrupted, and the importance of that point had Gromph nodding his agreement as he continued, “Matron Zhindia is not the one who ordered me to keep the portals closed. Not truly. If there were yochlols beside her, then we know how she discerned our work here, its relationship to the primordial, and so its potential for the battlefield at Gauntlgrym. And she knew exactly what to do about it.”

  “So we take the side of those who would bring chaos to the north?” Caecilia asked, seeming quite unhappy with that notion.

  “We take no sides.”

  “Is not our inaction a form of alliance?” Lord Parise reasoned.

  “It is self-preservation,” Gromph corrected. “It is our statement that the work of the Hosttower of the Arcane is paramount in our thoughts. Is that not why we are all here? Why do we care whether it is King Bruenor or Matron Zhindia or no one at all on the throne of Gauntlgrym?”

  “King Bruenor serves as a great barrier between Luskan and Waterdeep,” Caecilia argued. “Will the lords of Waterdeep remain impassive toward Luskan and her drow leaders without that barrier in place?”

  “Again, why would we care? Let the lords of Waterdeep sail to Luskan harbor and lay waste to whoever might be then claiming lordship over the city. The Hosttower stands apart, powerfully defended and without political aspirations.”

  “And with the archmage of Menzoberranzan serving as its archmage,” said Lord Parise.

  “Former,” Gromph corrected. “And, since you seem to have not noticed, I am the only dark elf in residence here, and in alliance with many who are favored by the lords of Waterdeep. Again, let the political warfare and nonsense play as they will.”

  “Matron Zhindia will have Luskan,” Parise said.

  “And likely Gauntlgrym,” added Caecilia.

  Gromph shrugged as if he hardly cared. “Perhaps, but never underestimate Jarlaxle, and doubt not that he, too, will fall into alliance with Matron Zhindia if he sees that as his best play. Ever has that one found his way to his most comfortable position. Perhaps Clan Battlehammer will be routed from their new home, but not without a terrific defense, I am sure, one that will leave the invading forces greatly diminished, and one that may well turn the eyes of Waterdeep upon the demonic army that leads the assault. Would you like us caught up in that greater war as well, should it come to be?”

  The Netherese man and the giant woman looked at each other, seeming at a loss.

  “It pains me to fail King Bruenor and those who have been great friends to the Hosttower,” Lord Parise admitted.

  “Me as well,” said Caecilia. “Though I doubt one would ever expect to hear such things from me regarding a dwarf, of all people!”

  “The gates remain inoperable,” Gromph stated.

  “For now?” Lord Parise asked more than demanded.

  Gromph considered it for a moment, then offered a conciliatory nod. Who knew, after all, where the winds of war might blow?

  “Stay close and we’ll get you through,” Wulfgar whispered to Bonnie Charlee. They had set the boat ashore on the island not far from the Hosttower of the Arcane, to find the fields scarred and littered with the remains of the invaders, both the corpses of mortal beings and the smoking husks of demonic things sent back to the lower planes.

  “Go and hide, human,” Kimmuriel told her. “If we are set upon by enemies, you will be the first to die.”

  “Do not listen to the blabbering fool,” Wulfgar immediately added. “Stay close. You pulled me from the cold waves. I’m not about to forget that.”

  As he finished, the pain in his back became suddenly acute, nearly dropping him to his knees. He looked to Kimmuriel, who merely shrugged, and the pain diminished.

  The lesson was clear.

  Kimmuriel scoffed and walked away, the other two close behind. They moved onto the bridge to Closeguard Island, a stepping-stone to the mainland. As they came over the high point of the structure, they saw that a battle continued on Closeguard, before the only grand house on the island.

  “House Kurth is besieged,” said Bonnie Charlee.

  Kimmuriel moved to Wulfgar. “Run off, woman,” he told Bonnie Charlee, and he reached for the barbarian.

  Wulfgar stepped back from his touch and stubbornly shook his head. “She comes with us.”

  Kimmuriel paused and just stared.

  “Her, too,” Wulfgar restated.

  Then it was the psionicist who shook his head. “I have been asked by Jarlaxle to offer protection to you. He said nothing about vagabond flotsam.”

  “Flotsam, am I?” said Bonnie Charlee.

  “Jetsam, then; it matters not,” Kimmuriel said, and waved at her dismissively. He held his hand out to Wulfgar once more.

  “You would leave her here? How will she cross that bridge full of invaders to get to the mainland?”

  “The Hosttower is right over there,” Kimmuriel indicated, pointing back behind Wulfgar to the massive treelike structure. “She should go and beg Gromph for help. Or back to the boat, and let her row to a safe landing. I am not here to play nursemaid to wayward pirates.” He held out his hand to Wulfgar once more. “Come, let us go and see what High Captain Kurth can tell us.”

  But Wulfgar stepped back and resolutely shook his head. “I’ll not leave her.”

  “Then I’ll leave you.”

  “As you will,” the barbarian said.

  “You understand what that will mean for you?”

  “I do.”

  With a shrug, Kimmuriel closed his eyes and became something less than substantial, his ghostly form drifting the remaining length of the bridge to Closeguard Island, then moving, unnoticed by those outside the great house, right through the wall of Ship Kurth.

  “Idiot,” Bonnie Charlee muttered.

  “He is many things, but I wouldn’t name that among them,” said Wulfgar, his teeth gritting, for the pain in his back had already returned.

  “Not him. Yerself!”

  Wulfgar looked at her curiously.

  “Ye had yer way out of the fight and into Ship Kurth, and there’s no better place to be, save the Hosttower itself, in such a war as has come to Luskan,” the woman explained. “Ye don’t even know me.”

  “I’m not about to desert you here. You pulled me from the cold water. I’ll not forget—”

  “Was the drow that made me do it, and don’t doubt that I’d be leaving yerself here if that skinny one’d given me the same choice!”

  Wulfgar paused and stared hard at the woman. “Where will you go?” he asked.

  “Bah, but where will we go?” she corrected, drawing a long knife from her belt. “Think we can get into that Ship Kurth there? I’d like to give that skinny drow a few wads of spit.”

  She started past Wulfgar, moving along the bridge with determined s
trides. The fighting continued on Closeguard Island, all along the street before the grand facade of the large structure known as Ship Kurth.

  Wulfgar caught up to the woman before she made the end of the bridge, and pulled her off to the side, to cover behind a wagon. A hulking gnoll spotted them, though. The large creature, half human and half canine, reared up tall on its legs and howled, then charged at the pair.

  Two strides later, it was dead, a flying warhammer caving in its chest.

  Several other gnolls had watched, Wulfgar noticed, but none approached and all went back to the fight on the street.

  “Brave beasties, eh?” Bonnie Charlee remarked.

  “Vicious, yes,” Wulfgar replied. “I’ve not much experience with them, but they fight like hyenas, I am told.”

  “Hyenas?”

  “Doglike,” the barbarian explained. “Pack hunters of the desert. Powerful and vicious, but too cunning to get caught in a fight they would likely lose.”

  “When we go near that door, they’ll swarm, then, for sure,” said Bonnie Charlee.

  “And I’m not even sure that door will open for us,” Wulfgar added.

  “Well, then, back to the boat!” Bonnie Charlee stood and started for the bridge, but Wulfgar caught her by the arm and pulled her back beside him.

  “Just watch a bit,” he told her. “There is more to Ship Kurth than you might believe.”

  “It is the high captain’s house,” the woman answered. “Beniago Kurth is the leader of Luskan. What more?”

  “Beniago works for the leader,” Wulfgar corrected, and he gave Bonnie Charlee a skeptical look, for how could she not know the worst-kept secret in all of Luskan? “So does Kimmuriel. And that leader brings more to a fight than any high captain could ever imagine.”

  Before them along the road, flaming bottles sailed at House Kurth, striking the walls and spilling oil that caught the siding and began to burn.

  A responding barrage of arrows and even a few lightning bolts sent many gnolls running and several others spinning down, yelping, to the street, but there was little doubt that the gnolls had gained mightily in that last exchange.

  “So it would seem,” the woman said sarcastically.

  Her words were cut short by a jolt of thunder, a sudden and powerful flash behind them, back on, or above, the outer island.

  They turned, as did the gnolls, to see a black and roiling storm cloud over the Hosttower of the Arcane.

  “Well now,” said Bonnie Charlee as that cloud began to speed their way.

  “Did I mention that the true leader of Luskan is also a friend to the archmage of the Hosttower?”

  “Might that ye should’ve,” said the woman, and she dove under the wagon as the great darkness suddenly loomed above, lightning crackling in the clouds. A bolt snapped down, shattering a pile of crates to reveal a group of hiding gnolls. The archers from House Kurth made short work of them.

  The wind mounted, the flames swirling about the sides of the building, seemingly making it worse. But then came the cloudburst, a sudden and torrential downpour.

  “Now!” said Wulfgar, grabbing Bonnie Charlee’s arm and tugging her out from behind the wagon, the two quickly in a dead run for House Kurth, Wulfgar groaning and lurching with every stride.

  “Wulfgar of Gauntlgrym!” the big man yelled, waving his arms and hoping the archers would hear him well enough through the furious wind to not cut him down in the street.

  More than his words, though, his actions saved him, for when some gnolls yelped and yipped at him from across the way, several leaping up from behind a natural berm and lifting spears, Wulfgar yelled out “Tempus!” at the top of his lungs and sent Aegis-fang flying their way.

  How those gnolls barked and scattered. Not fast enough for one, though, who got hit on the side of the hip and thrown into the air, twisting before landing, broken.

  Back at House Kurth, archers rushed onto the balcony, shooting wildly—for what might they hit in winds suddenly so strong that they could hardly stand?

  “Wulfgar of Gauntlgrym!” the big man shouted again.

  The archers on the balcony began cheering for him, urging him and Bonnie Charlee on.

  The two made the door easily, no pursuit coming from across the road, to be met by Kurth soldiers, ushering them in. They entered the foyer, dripping rain, fully soaked.

  “I’m glad you heard me,” Wulfgar said.

  “Heard?” the nearest soldier asked. “We were looking for you. Lord Beniago told us of your approach.”

  Wulfgar started to respond, but just sighed and let it go.

  “Maybe the skinny one’s not as bad as I thought,” Bonnie Charlee quietly admitted.

  The two were escorted to the private chambers of Lord Beniago soon after, and given blankets to put on so they might get out of their drenched clothing.

  Beniago came around his grand desk and half sat, half leaned upon it. “Leave us,” he told his soldiers, who quickly obeyed, one dropping Wulfgar’s wolf-skin shawl and the other clothing to the floor beside the door.

  No sooner had the soldiers shut the door than Kimmuriel walked out of the shadows to the side of the room, and it was clear to Wulfgar that more than shadows had been concealing the mind wizard.

  Almost immediately, the pain in Wulfgar’s back subsided.

  “It would have been so much easier if you had just come in with me,” the drow said.

  “And Bonnie Charlee would be dead,” Wulfgar answered. “Or running for her life.”

  Kimmuriel shrugged. “No small amount of coin convinced the cloud giant Caecilia to provide the storm,” he said. “Coin you will repay.”

  “Coin from the coffers of Ship Kurth,” Beniago reminded him.

  Out of the corner of his eye, showing his displeasure, Kimmuriel noted the man, a tall and lanky red-haired human, in appearance at least.

  “King Bruenor will happily repay Ship Kurth,” Wulfgar said, looking straight at Beniago. He knew the truth of the man, of course, that this was no human at all but another drow of Bregan D’aerthe, who had been magically disguised to serve as puppet leader of Luskan for Jarlaxle. “Should I have him deliver it to Ship Kurth or Illusk?”

  “Illusk?” Bonnie Charlee asked under her breath, and wisely so, for Wulfgar had just revealed quite a bit.

  “Ship Kurth will soon enough be no more, it would appear,” Beniago replied.

  “Not so. You’re winning well in the streets, and the second island is cleared of enemies.”

  “The city is full of attackers, and with power behind them you cannot comprehend,” said Kimmuriel.

  “We are putting up a good fight, but it is all for show,” Beniago admitted. “We cannot hold, and have no intention of trying. The way to refuge is already cleared and waiting.” He looked right at Bonnie Charlee as he spoke, and in a way that set the hairs on the back of Wulfgar’s neck standing up.

  “I told you not to bring her in here,” Kimmuriel said. “Now she knows.”

  “Knows what?” Bonnie Charlee asked innocently.

  “Does it matter?” asked Wulfgar.

  “Yes,” both Kimmuriel and Beniago answered together.

  Wulfgar looked over to see Bonnie Charlee nervously licking her lips and glancing up at him. She now had no weapons on her, just a blanket wrapped around her shivering form—she probably thought that a bad thing, but given the two standing against her, Wulfgar figured that her inability to do something rash and threatening might just save her life.

  “She’s with me. Under my protection,” he said.

  What followed was the closest thing to a laugh Wulfgar had ever heard from Kimmuriel. Wulfgar focused on Beniago, who, despite the clandestine nature of his rule and identity, had been doing some important and good work for the citizens of Luskan. He saw no compassion there, however.

  “I am the son of the King of Gauntlgrym,” Wulfgar declared.

  “You are not in line to the throne of Gauntlgrym,” Beniago corrected.

&nb
sp; “I don’t have to be,” the big man retorted. “Bruenor is my friend, as is Drizzt. When I say that Bonnie Charlee is under my protection, I speak for them, as well.”

  “That hardly matters,” said Beniago. “King Bruenor knows that some things must be kept secret. At all costs.”

  “Give me a sword and fight me fair, then!” Bonnie Charlee snarled at him.

  “Your gear is right there by the door,” said Kimmuriel.

  “Do not,” Wulfgar told her, but she growled and went for the items, defiantly shrugging off the blanket and pulling on her shirt and pants, then taking up her knife and spinning about.

  Beniago was still half sitting on the desk, Kimmuriel standing impassively beside it.

  “I ask again,” Wulfgar pleaded to them. “None of this is her fault.”

  “You were warned,” Beniago said.

  Aegis-fang appeared in Wulfgar’s hand.

  Beniago started at that, but quickly relaxed and nodded his chin to the side.

  Carefully, Wulfgar turned to see Bonnie Charlee with her knife reversed, its tip pressed in against the front of her throat. Sweat surely mixed with the raindrops falling from the woman’s unkempt hair. Her hand trembled as if she was trying to fight the press—or, Wulfgar knew, as if she was trying to fight the possession in her mind, the quiet voice telling her to kill herself.

  Wulfgar dropped Aegis-fang to the floor.

  “You can call it back with a word,” Beniago said.

  “I won’t,” the big man promised. “Bonnie Charlee is under my protection, and that of Gauntlgrym.”

  Beniago sighed. Over to the side, the woman gave a little squeak and a bit of blood started to show.

  “When this is over, Gauntlgrym will rebuild Joen’s Heirloom,” Wulfgar blurted. “King Bruenor will spare no expense, for I, his son, will be among that crew. She’ll be the finest, fastest, and meanest ship on the Sword Coast, and with a crew bolstered by battleragers and maybe even with Drizzt himself.”

  “Impressive,” said Beniago, who seemed not impressed.

  “Bonnie Charlee will captain that ship,” Wulfgar finished.

  “Sailing in support of Ship Kurth, I suppose,” said Beniago.