Under Fallen Stars (7 page)

III

Jherek stood on the twilight-shadowed docks of Baldur’s Gate and drew in the dank air from the River Chionthar. He missed the salty tang of the ocean, but it was the first time he’d felt close to home since leaving Athkatla.

He stood nearly six feet tall, a lean youth of nineteen heavily muscled in the arms and shoulders from years of hard work. Dust still covered his breeches and shirt under the cracked leather armor he wore. Sweat and grit had plastered his light brown hair to his head, causing it to hang heavily to his shoulders. Pale gray fire lighted his haunted eyes.

Baldur’s Gate occupied a crescent shaped section along the river. Four dry-dock slips held skeletons of ships under construction. Normally the crews knocked off at eveningfeast, only working occasionally on late jobs or specially commissioned ones.

Now, work crews filled all four slips. Jherek had heard they were working night crews by lanterns as well, trying to meet the demand for ships from merchants who’d lost vessels to sahuagin and pirate raids. The watch had taken over one of the slips as well, turning out ships for the navy.

The river lapped at the dock pilings and the cargo boats at anchor in the harbor. Men worked the ships steadily, cursing in loud voices while cargo chiefs and harbormasters yelled at them as well. The cacophony of sound made him feel homesick, made his heart ache, and twisted his stomach in sour bile.

His home lay upon the sea even more so than in the house where Madame litaar read her divinations and had given an orphan boy hearth and love. He missed her, and missed Malorrie as well. Now, with the harsh traveling behind him for the moment and no threat of goblinkin roaring down on him, he felt that loss more strongly than ever. More than that, he felt lost.

As long as I have a home, you’ll have a home.

Madame litaar had told him that shortly before she’d sent him packing on Breezerunner, a cargo ship bound for Waterdeep. Only the ill luck that had marked him since his birth had continued to follow him, and events had gone awry in the City of Coin. He’d gotten kicked off Breezerunner for fighting with a crew member, and was forced to join up with a caravan to make his way to Baldur’s Gate. All that to follow the destiny that lay before him. Madame litaar had seen in a vision that he was supposed to go to Baldur’s Gate. Now that he was here, he had no idea what to do next. In Athkatla, he’d had a goal. Now there was nothing, only the emptiness and uncertainty stretching before him.

He watched the boats plying the river. The smaller cargo vessels managed the docks with ease while barges worked the larger ships, off-loading the cargo then ferrying it to the docks. Lights from lanterns reflected from the dark waters, held by sailors moving across decks and hung from pole arms.

There weren’t as many ships as Jherek remembered from other trips to Baldur’s Gate. With the sahuagin activity still at a frenzied peak, though, that was to be expected. From the moment he’d arrived in the city with the caravan, he’d heard reports of ships that had been taken, and how Waterdeep was rebuilding from the attack on her harbor. Everyone held the opinion that the sea was quickly becoming an unsafe place. Many people swore they’d never venture there again.

Jherek couldn’t imagine never again sitting in a crow’s nest or hanging in the rigging with an ocean spread out around him, being pushed by the wind while fighting it at the same time. Yet, for now, that seemed to be his fate. For a moment anger burned away the heaviness in his heart, but it didn’t last. The anger was never enough to burn away the sadness that often filled him. There was no one save himself that he could blame for his misfortune.

“Ye’re a sailor, aren’t ye, lad?”

Jherek’s hand strayed down unconsciously to the long sword he wore in a sash at his waist. He turned toward the voice. With all the overland travel now going on between the cities to replace the lost shipping lanes, goblinkin, dopplegangers, and raiders had infiltrated the cities and the wildernesses between. Opportunities abounded for those on both sides of the law.

“Don’t mean ye no harm, lad. Just making conversation.”

The dwarf stood at the railing to the left and behind Jherek. He leaned on his elbows, working a pinch of pipeweed into the bowl of his pipe. He was short and broad, his face filled with unruly gray whiskers that stuck out in all directions. His breeches and shirt had seen better days, and the thin coat he wore against the night’s chill had been patched repeatedly.

“My apologies,” Jherek said. “I meant no disrespect.”

He didn’t take his hand from the sword. He was used to carrying a cutlass instead of the long sword, but Frauk, the caravan master, had insisted Jherek use the more conventional weapon because he’d wanted all his men armed similarly. Malorrie had schooled him in the long sword, but Jherek was most comfortable with the cutlass.

“None taken.” The dwarf pulled a twist of straw from his pocket, shoved it into a nearby lantern on a pole, then used it to light his pipe. “Just noticed that hungry look on yer face. Mayhap I should have kept my big mouth shut. Sometimes a man don’t need his thoughts interrupted.”

“Not these thoughts,” Jherek said. “I’m grateful for the interruption.”

“How long since ye’ve been at sea?” the dwarf asked.

“Longer than I care to think about,” Jherek admitted.

“Ye miss a ship. Ye get used to her, get used to the way she’s always moving, always passionate with a wind that gets a sailor’s blood up.”

“Aye,” Jherek said, immediately warming to the kindred spirit the dwarf exuded. “Are you with one of these ships?”

The dwarf shook his head. “Been a damn landlubber off and on for the last five years,” he said, reaching down to slap his right leg. It thunked hollowly.

Jherek saw the wooden peg sticking out of the breeches.

“Lost it to a hungry shark what was a faster swimmer than meself, even properly spirited as I was at the time.”

The dwarf grinned wryly and a chill that was more than the cool air coming in off the river ghosted across Jherek’s neck and shoulders. During the trip up from Athkatla, he’d dreamed of a great shark that had pursued him until each dawn had awakened him.

“I’m sorry,” Jherek offered.

The dwarf flashed him a tight, practiced grin that lacked mirth. “I yet live. The sages say that while a man still lives all things are possible. Mayhap I don’t ship out as often as I’ve a mind to, but I still get to go. Right now, I’m working on one of the ship’s crews down in the dry docks. Me shift just ended and I thought I’d smoke a bit before finding a bite to eat.”

Jherek’s own stomach growled in frustration. He’d lost weight while hard traveling with the caravan. The work taxed him and he’d not had much of an appetite.

“Is the Elfsong yet open?” The dwarf asked.

Jherek remembered that famous tavern from past travels. On the first night Breezerunner had put in to Baldur’s Gate with Jherek aboard, Finaren had treated him to dinner at the Elfsong. Ilmater’s tears, but Jherek missed the old sea captain too.

“Aye,” the dwarf answered. “Though it might be busy come this time of night.”

“I’ll stand you to a bowl of stew if you’d like,” Jherek said.

“I’m no cripple, lad, and quite able to take care of meself, thank ye kindly.”

Jherek felt flustered. “I only meant it as an offer.” He hesitated, not wanting to admit that he wanted the company. He’d bonded with none of the hard men in Frauk’s crew. “I don’t like to eat alone.”

The dwarf squinted up at him and asked, “Where ye hail from, lad?”

“Velen,” Jherek answered.

“Aye, the city o’ ghosts.” The dwarf nodded and ran his fingers through his beard in contemplation. “Seen a few of them there on occasion meself. Ye are flesh and blood, ain’t ye, lad?”

“Aye.” Having grown up with the ghosts in the city, and having been schooled by Malorrie, a phantom himself, Jherek took them as a matter of course.

“Just checking. I’ve grown somewhat more careful in me old age. I don’t like to eat by meself either, so I’ll let ye stand me to a bowl of Lady Alyth’s famous stew if ye’ll let me stand ye to a drink.”

Jherek stepped over, held out his hand, and said, “I’m Malorrie of Velen, journeyman shipwright and able-bodied sailor.”

He hated to lie, but was afraid that stories of the young sailor Jherek, who bore the tattoo of one of the Sword Coast’s most notorious pirate crews, might have beat him to Baldur’s Gate.

“Khlinat Ironeater,” the dwarf replied, clasping Jherek’s arm in a viselike grip, “of the Daggerford Ironeater blacksmith clan. Able-bodied sailor and gemologist. Proud to meet ye, lad.”

“Aye,” Jherek said. “I’ve heard of the Ironeater clan. The cargo ship I crewed on transported clasps, hinges, shields, and other things they turn out in Daggerford.”

“That’s them,” Khlinat stated proudly, puffing out his chest. “Near to busted my old da’s heart when he found I’d fallen in love with the sailor’s life. Seafaring is not something most dwarves would be about if they followed their natures, ye know.”

Jherek nodded. He’d only heard of a few dwarven sailors and seen even fewer.

“Well, come on then, swabbie,” the dwarf said. Time’s a-wasting and we’re going to need to shoulder our way in amongst sullen and starved hostiles if we’re to get our victuals this night. Men are working hard here as a result of them sea devil raids.” Khlinat turned smartly on his peg leg, the wood thumping against the docks. He called out to a passing lamp boy who held a lit lantern at the end of a stout pole. “Lad, we’d be after hiring ye to guide us to the Elfsong Tavern.”

As Jherek followed the dwarf and the lamp boy through the dark streets of Baldur’s Gate, he found he was looking forward to sharing eveningfeast with the dwarf.

Traveling with the caravan had been arduous work. They’d herded wagons through broken lands while racing the sun and pitching camp against the coming night. In between, they’d fought off the numerous ore and goblin hordes that had come out of the Cloud Peaks and the Wood of Sharp Teeth to prey on the fat caravans that were overfilled with cargo and understaffed by mercenary warriors.

Frauk, the caravan master, had told them that two out of every seven caravans were taking huge losses or being captured by the raids. Pirating took the wherewithal to get a ship, by purchase or by capture, but anyone with a knife in hand could become a raider on the land. Fewer warriors wanted to take the risks inherent in overland travel because it was getting as dangerous as the seaways.

That was why the merchants had been so generous to Frauk when they’d reached Baldur’s Gate. After starting out in Athkatla broke and leaving the last of his coin with the priests of Lathander there for tending his wounds, Jherek now found himself quite flush.

They followed Bindle Street south along the docks as the lamp boy weaved in among the laborers and night crowd that had gathered around the smaller offices where black market business was done between the large warehouses. An uneasy feeling draped Jherek, and he stopped to look back into the harbor to his right.

In the distance he spotted the old Seatower of Balduran thrusting up on the opposite side of the harbor. It housed a barracks and naval base, part dungeon and part fortress. Men moved along the ramparts. The twilight dusk still showed a few yellow tendrils that looked like curdled eggs under the gathering black storm clouds. Ships cluttered the harbor, their masts naked of sailcloth.

“What’s the matter with ye, swabbie?” Khlinat asked.

Jherek shook his head, not knowing, but definitely aware of the crawling sensation moving along the back of his neck. Then, against the shadowed line of the river, he spotted ships. He guessed by the cut of their shape that they were the small cargo ships and cogs that plied the River Chionthar. Their sailcloth didn’t reflect the moonlight, colored black so they would be harder to see.

“Do you see them?”

“Aye,” the dwarf growled. “These old eyes may not be what they once was, but they see them ships right enough.” He hollered at the lamp boy. “Make haste, ye little vagabond, we’ve got to find a member of the watch.”

The boy took the lead, saying, “They’re keeping ships in the harbor.” His quick steps left Khlinat behind.

The dwarf glanced at Jherek and said, “Have a smart step there, swabbie. If’n the watch hasn’t spotted them scoundrels and thought about the chance of trouble, somebody needs to tell them.”

Jherek nodded and ran after the lamp boy, catching him easily. The lantern jerked at the end of the pole, throwing shadows to race crazily around them and warning people ahead of them to step aside. The troubled feeling inside the young sailor increased, becoming a gnawing in the pit of his stomach.

The lamp boy raced onto the next dock leading out into the harbor. Prowling cats scattered before him, yowling and hissing their displeasure.

“There!” The youth flung a hand forward.

Jherek spotted the black watch flag with its vertical red stripe in the stern of a converted cargo ship tied up at the dock. Warriors clothed in the black armor of the Baldur’s Gate Watch occupied the deck. A few of them had already noticed the black-sailed ships.

“Halt!” a watchman cried, vaulting from the ship to the dock. His sword cleared leather with a sibilant whisk. The lamp boy’s light flickered over his nervous features.

Jherek drew up at once, lifting his hands at his side, and said, “I mean no harm. I only came to tell you about the ships out on the river.”

“We’ve already seen them,” the watch guard said. “They’ll be addressed before they’re allowed to put in.”

As Jherek watched, two other watch ships unfurled their sails and skimmed out into the harbor like low-flying geese. Ship’s crew quickly passed out lanterns, lit them, and hung them from the ship to make it more visible. They drew shouted curses from a barge that was nearly swamped in their passing. Sword steel gleamed on the deck.

The uneasy feeling grew stronger inside Jherek, but he controlled it as the two watch ships sailed on an interception course.

“Cast away!” someone called from the ship in front of Jherek.