Sea Devil's Eye Page 13

  “Done,” Glawinn replied without hesitation.

  The slaver captain glanced at Azla.

  The half-elf gave a tight nod. “For the knight’s honor, not yours.”

  “Of course.” Tarmorock bowed.

  “Do you have any armor?” Glawinn asked.

  “No.”

  “I have an extra set aboard the ship,” the paladin offered.

  “Thank you, no,” Tarmorock replied. “I was trained in the art of the blade without the benefit of cumbersome armor. My father felt I was destined for better things. Through no fault of his own, I managed not to find those things.”

  “Young warrior,” the paladin called.

  Jherek hurried over to Glawinn’s side.

  “This is Jherek of Velen,” the paladin said as he began unbuckling his armor. “He will stand as my second.”

  Fear and pride swelled within the young sailor at the same time. He started helping Glawinn take his armor off and asked, “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Take care of my armor,” Glawinn said, “see to it that the promises I have made to this man are carried out, and stay with me as I die … should it come to that.”

  Myth Nantar must be open again, Taleweaver, the whale continued, and made whole once more. You are the only one who can accomplish this. That which is secret must needs be known. Only then will the impenetrable wall that surrounds Myth Nantar be broken and the mythal once again protect those it was designed to protect to promote peace above and below.

  How will I do this? Pacys asked. I am told the way is impassable.

  You are the Taleweaver, the whale replied. This is your destiny. It will not be denied. Trust in the songs that are given to you. Now, there is one thing more. Stretch out your hand.

  Without hesitation, Pacys reached out to the whale. A warm tingle filled his hand. When he looked, he saw an ivory orb lying in his palm. It was as smooth as a pearl, no larger than the ball of his thumb, and with a slight translucence.

  What is this? the bard asked.

  It is your key to Myth Nantar, Taleweaver. This was created by the whales who first saw Myth Nantar lost to the Dukars, then to the sahuagin. When the mythal hardened and kept all out, the great whale bard of that time created this key, knowing it could only be used by you.

  How could he know this?

  She, the great whale bard corrected, knew it the same way you know a song is strong and true, that it will wring joy or tears from its listeners. Do you question your muse, Taleweaver?

  No. Oghma be revered, I am thankful for the inspiration that comes my way.

  The key is like a song that comes to you unbidden. The great bard drew upon her skill and magic and forged it, as was her destiny. You haven’t yet understood why Myth Nantar is called the City of Destinies. It was created to knit the worlds below and above in harmony, to establish that which all the rest of Toril might follow. Those who live in Serôs know we are all of one. We must live as one if the seas are to survive. That is what we are taught, Taleweaver, and your efforts will help teach others.

  Pacys studied the ivory ball in his palm, opening himself to it and feeling the magic inside. It felt very old and powerful, and it drew him to it like steel to a lodestone. The music that filled his heart let him know the talisman was his to use.

  He closed his fingers over it, relishing the smooth surface and the confident way it made him feel. He was truly on the right path. The locathah hadn’t been the only thing he’d been drawn to here.

  Taleweaver, Song Who Brings Bright Rains said gently, do not be overconfident. Things are written of the future from this point on, but they are more dreams than truths—plans that poke pools of light into the darkness of the waiting uncertainty of the Taker’s War. It still remains up to us to find the strength, skills, and heart for victory.

  I know, Pacys replied.

  The whale’s eye blinked slowly again, as if the great leviathan was tired. For the first time, the old bard got the impression that the creature was immensely old.

  It is time for you to go. May Oghma, the Lord of Knowledge, keep you close and watch over you as you bring back that which was lost.

  And may Oghma grace your song and your skills, Pacys responded.

  The sapphire waters grew dark around him, and when he opened his eyes again, he found he was in Khlinat’s strong arms. The dwarf peered at him fearfully, holding him as he might a child.

  “Are ye back among us then?” Khlinat asked.

  “Yes,” Pacys replied, finding that his tongue was still a little numb and his voice was hoarse. He was surprised at the weakness he felt, but the whale song still played at the edges of his mind.

  Relief showed on the dwarf’s face. “Ye were gone so long, I was beginning to fret maybe these folk had kilt ye kindly and out of ignorance but did the job all the same.”

  Pacys put his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “I’ve been a long way, my friend, but we’ve still leagues to go before I die.”

  “Ye ain’t dying,” the dwarf promised. “I done give ye me promise, and I ain’t gonna let ye back out of it. And ye ain’t been nowhere, because I been with ye the whole time of it. Ye sat right here like some great lump.”

  Wordlessly, Pacys opened his other hand, revealing the ivory sphere. The polished surface caught the glowcoral light and gleamed.

  “I’ve journeyed,” the old bard said. “I’ve been there and back again.”

  In minutes, the paladin was stripped down to the sweaty, bloodstained clothes beneath his armor. He looked smaller than usual, and for the first time Jherek noticed that Glawinn’s opponent was a head taller, at least twenty pounds heavier, and had a longer reach than him.

  “Why are you showing this man honor?” the young sailor asked.

  “Because some men show honor despite the circumstances they find themselves in. As I have told you, young warrior, it’s so often not how low you may get in life, but how you conduct yourself while you’re there. I only pray that you get a clearer understanding of this some day.”

  Glawinn took a deep breath and the sword the young sailor offered him. He turned to face his opponent and said, “This is as even as I can make it.”

  “On the contrary,” Tarmorock stated, “I fear you make it too easy. I am quite good with the blade.”

  “We shall see.” The paladin saluted smartly with his sword, bringing it down from his forehead and stepping easily into a swordsman’s stance. “I am Sir Glawinn, a paladin in the service of Lathander the Morninglord.”

  Tarmorock bowed slightly, touching his blade to his forehead. “May your god keep you.”

  “And yours.”

  The slaver captain sprang into action, launching a volley of attacks, rolling off of each of Glawinn’s defenses to launch yet another thrust or slash. Steel rang through the dead silence that washed over the ship.

  Jherek found himself holding his breath. Tarmorock was an excellent swordsman. The blades moved almost faster than he could see, and it was only Malorrie’s and Glawinn’s training that allowed him to pick up every nuance. Instinctively, his body shifted and his hand moved slightly, following the paladin’s quick moves.

  Years of practice aboard the ship while it rocked at sea should have given Tarmorock the advantage on the heaving deck, but Glawinn’s skill and focus with the blade stripped those years of familiarity away, putting the slaver on equal footing with his opponent.

  The two combatants stepped forward and back, from side to side. Neither truly seemed able to press an advantage. Long minutes passed. Most sword duels between two men not on a battlefield, Jherek knew from both Malorrie and Glawinn, lasted only seconds at best. Unarmored sword fighting was an art form.

  Tarmorock’s attack became more loose, but Glawinn’s remained tight, his moves compact but fluid. Without warning, Tarmorock lunged, and for once Glawinn’s defense wasn’t there.

  Cold fear knotted Jherek’s back as he watched the blade slide toward Glawinn. When the sword stuck throug
h the paladin, the young sailor knew the knight was skewered. The paladin’s own blade stabbed deeply into Tarmorock’s chest, piercing his heart.

  Tarmorock looked down at the blade through his chest in disbelief. His arm dropped and Jherek saw that the captain’s blade had missed Glawinn by scant inches though he couldn’t see that from behind. Nerveless, Glawinn dropped the sword.

  Moving quickly, Glawinn caught the mortally wounded man before he could fall. Tenderly, he held him as he might a brother. Jherek stayed back, wondering what the paladin said to the man he’d just killed, but he didn’t try to overhear.

  A moment later and Glawinn gently laid the captain to rest on the deck. Reaching into his blouse, the paladin stayed on his knees and pulled out the rosy pink disk that was Lathander’s holy symbol. There in the midst of companions and enemies, he prayed for the fallen warrior.

  Touched by the moment, wishing he knew of something he could believe in so fiercely, Jherek dropped to his knees beside the paladin and bowed his head as well.

  XII

  16 Flamerule, the Year of the Gauntlet

  “Lady, may I have a moment of your time?” Glawinn asked. He stood with a bottle in his hand in the cramped doorway of Sabyna’s cabin.

  Surprised, Sabyna looked up from the spellbook she’d been studying. Arthoris, Azla’s ship’s mage, had given Sabyna two new spells that she believed she was capable of understanding.

  “Is something wrong?” She stood up from the small bed. Her heart beat a little faster, and her first thoughts were of Jherek.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Glawinn told her.

  Sabyna placed her spellbook into the bag of holding at her side and Skeins curled around it. Crossing her arms over her breasts, she walked to the window and looked down at the ocean.

  The pirate crew stripped what they could from the skeletal hulk that had once been Black Champion. With her hold flooded and having her deck partly disassembled and hauled away, the ship listed even more heavily into the ocean, creating increasing drag on the slave ship Azla claimed as her prize. The deck tilted at an incline now and had for the last two days.

  Ship’s moldings and cleats, the rudder, extra sailcloth, and the remaining rigging were the first items the pirate crew reclaimed. They’d used a block and tackle to take even Black Champion’s two good masts to replace the broken ones on the slave ship.

  They could not seat the masts while at sea, but after finishing the salvage operation, Azla planned to put into port at Agenais in the Whamite Isles to make the big repairs. Now they were down to taking the long, good planks from Black Champion’s corpse.

  “What did you want to talk about?” Sabyna asked.

  Glawinn hesitated. “The young warrior. I may be overstepping my bounds here, lady, but—”

  “No,” Sabyna said. “You’re way over.”

  “Perhaps I should go. I thank you for your time, and I ask your forgiveness.”

  Sabyna pushed out her breath. “Wait.” She sensed him standing there, rigidly at attention. “Has Jherek told you what I said to him?”

  “No, lady,” Glawinn answered, “he’s not one to betray confidences. In fact, I think he keeps too many of his own.”

  “Why did you come?”

  “To offer solace and share company.” Glawinn held up the dusty bottle. “And to offer a glass of Captain Azla’s rather fine port.”

  Sabyna was surprised. “I didn’t know you drank.”

  “Rarely, lady,” the paladin said, “and never in excess. May I enter?”

  “Of course.” Sabyna went to one of the small cabinets built above the bed and took out two wooden cups. “The service is rather humble.”

  “But adequate for our purposes. If I may.” Glawinn took the cups and poured the dark red wine.

  Sabyna returned to the bed and sat, accepting the cup the paladin handed her. “Say what you have to say.”

  Glawinn sat on the small bench under the window. “If you’ll forgive me my indiscretion, lady,” he said, “but you can be dreadfully blunt.”

  “I come from a large family whose lives were spent crowded aboard one ship or another,” she explained. “I learned to speak my mind early. Perhaps you’re a little sensitive.”

  “Lathander help me, but I knew this would not be easy,” Glawinn said, shifting uncomfortably.

  “If it isn’t a pleasant task, perhaps it would be better if it were over sooner.”

  Despite her calm demeanor, Sabyna’s heart beat faster than normal. Since she’d talked to Jherek and explained to him how she felt, they’d hardly spoken at all. The young sailor stayed busily engaged with the salvage work.

  “It’s just that I’ve become aware you aren’t talking to each other.”

  “Have you talked to him about it?”

  “No.”

  “Why talk to me first?”

  “Because he won’t listen to me.”

  “And you think I will?”

  Glawinn’s eyes turned sorrowful and he said, “Lady, you have no idea what that boy is going through.”

  “If he would talk to me, I might.”

  “He doesn’t know himself,” Glawinn explained. “Even if he did, he can’t explain.”

  “Does he think I’m dense?”

  “In his eyes he feels he isn’t worthy of you.”

  “Because he is wanted somewhere for something?” she asked. “I told him that didn’t matter.”

  “Maybe not to you, lady, but it does to him. In his own way, though, I don’t think he quite fully understands it. He strives for perfection.”

  “I’ve never met a man who didn’t have his faults,” Sabyna said. “Though, I admit you’ve come closer than anyone.”

  “My faults?”

  “You’re a busybody,” Sabyna told him. “I thought paladins knew enough to keep to their own affairs.”

  The knight blushed. “I beg your forgiveness. I struggled with this decision, and I’d hoped I’d made the right choice.”

  “You have,” she conceded. “If I’d spent another day like this, with no one to talk to, I think I’d have gone out of my mind.”

  “I thought you talked to Azla.”

  “She doesn’t understand Jherek any more than I do.”

  Glawinn smiled gently and said, “Probably not.”

  Sabyna looked away from the paladin. “It’s never been like this for me. I’ve seen handsome men and wealthy men, and men who could turn a woman’s head with only a handful of pretty words, but I’ve never met anyone like Jherek.”

  “Nor have I.”

  Tears stung Sabyna’s eyes. “I’ve never pursued a man before. Climbing that rigging to tell him my feelings was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

  “But, I wager, not as hard as the climb back down.”

  “No,” she said. “Do you know what he told me?”

  Glawinn shook his head. “I can only guess that it was as little as possible.”

  “Aye …” Sabyna didn’t trust her voice to speak any further.

  “If it helps at all,” the paladin stated gently, “I believe he tells you everything he knows.”

  “There’s a lot he won’t tell me.”

  “Can’t tell you, lady, not won’t. There is a difference.”

  “You defend him very well.”

  “I didn’t come here to help him, lady. I came to help you.”

  “Me?”

  Glawinn nodded in resignation and said, “The Morninglord knows, I can’t help him. He won’t let me, and his course has already been charted.”

  “What course?”

  “To becoming the kind of man he wants to be,” Glawinn said. “The kind of man he has to be.”

  “Will he be that man?”

  Hesitation furrowed Glawinn’s brow. “I know not, lady. I’ve never seen someone come so far, yet have so far to go. I can tell you this: his path will heal him—or it will kill him.”

  The solemn way the paladin spoke pushed Sabyna’s pain away
and replaced it with fear.

  “And what are we to do?” she asked. “What am I to do?”

  “The only thing we can, lady. Give him the freedom to make the decisions he needs must make”

  “What if it kills him?” Sabyna asked.

  “Then we will bury him, lady, say prayers over him if that is possible, and be grateful for ever having known him.”

  Jherek strode barefoot across one of the broken beams still above water. Black Champion lay mostly under the sea now, her black bulk stretched like a shadow against the green water. Seagulls sat on the spars that made up her ribs and gave plaintive cries.

  Rigging on the slave ship popped against the masts where she lay at anchor, heeled over hard to port as she supported Black Champion’s corpse. Six others worked the ship with him, seeking more timber to salvage before the sea took her to the bottom.

  “Looks like she’s been picked clean,” Meelat called out.

  Meelat was one of the prisoners rescued from the slaver’s hold. Though he was scrawny, his narrow shoulders and thin arms were corded with muscle. Scabs showed at his bare ankles and wrists where the iron cuffs had been.

  “Aye,” Jherek agreed.

  He mopped sweat from his face with his forearm, succeeding only in spreading it around. Nothing on him remained dry. He glanced up at the nets the ship’s crew used to haul up the last load of timber.

  “Comes a time when you gotta let her go,” Meelat stated. “She’s given up as much for the future of that other ship as she can. Spend much time aboard her?”

  “No, but it was a time I’ll not easily forget,” Jherek replied.

  Memory of his conversation with Sabyna in the rigging and of that kiss wouldn’t fade no matter how hard he tried to push it to the back of his mind.

  Meelat scratched at the scabs on one wrist, pulling them away so that blood flowed. He rinsed the wrist off in the water.

  “If there are sharks around,” Jherek cautioned, “that might be a foolhardy thing to do. They can smell blood in the water for miles.”

  Meelat grinned. “If there’d been sharks here, all that noise we been making in the water for days would have already drawn them. Besides, that comely young ship’s mage has been keeping a potion in the water to drive away any sharks. Or haven’t you noticed?”