Fortrag called out again. Rytagir felt the wind accelerate around him. A moment later, a waterspout rose from the sea and danced toward the last manta. Despite the sahuagins' attempt to steer clear, the waterspout overtook them and broke the vessel to pieces.
The ship's crew and the alu Tel'Quessir cheered, then they turned their efforts to saving those among the wounded that could be saved.
Two days later, Azure Kestrel put into port at Mordulkin. Rytagir was nearly exhausted. In addition to helping tend the wounded and taking turns at keeping watch, he'd documented everything he could of the attack. He reproduced from memory the sigils the sahuagin had been wearing, as well as those of the sailors and the sea elves.
The whole port was in upheaval when they arrived. They quickly learned that theirs hadn't been the only ship attacked. In fact, Azure Kestrel was one of the few to make port safely. Several others remained unaccounted for.
Zahban found himself buried in several offers of employment to get perishable goods across the Sea of Fallen Stars, but only foolish men were putting to sea at the moment.
Irdinmai was in a hurry to get back to her family, but her foremost thought had been to get medical help for those of her group that had been injured during the attack. Almost a third of the elves had died, and nearly the same number of Zahban's sailors.
After he'd helped the clerics tend the wounded and squared away the cargo, Rytagir tracked Irdinmai down. She remained with her warriors.
"Lady," Rytagir said.
When she looked up at him, he could see how tired and hurt she was. Rytagir knew the look from other captains of ships and guardsmen he'd talked to over the years who had lost men in battle. The pain was more spiritual than physical, and it would be years-if ever-in the healing.
"Yes," she replied.
"I've gotten word from some of the other captains," Rytagir said. "The Sea of Fallen Stars is filling with sahuagin. They've been freed from the Alamber Sea."
"I know," Irdinmai replied. "I've talked with other alu Tel'Quessir that have arrived here. Many were chased from their homes." She paused, and fear touched her silver eyes. "There is a being called Iakhovas who shattered the Sharksbane Wall and called forth the sahuagin. He plans to take all of Serфs as his domain."
Stunned, Rytagir sat beneath the canvas stretched over the litters of wounded elves. As he watched, dwarves and humans helped dump buckets of saltwater from the sea onto the injured alu Tel'Quessir. The old distrust that had existed between the races along the Inner Sea was set aside.
At least for now.
Rytagir turned to Irdinmai. "I'm going to talk to Zahban. He's not unreasonable. The split of the salvaged cargo is going to be fifty-fifty. Your people have shed as much blood, if not more, than ours have."
"We had an agreement before this happened. You don't have to set that a-"
"I didn't set it aside, Lady. The sahuagin did." Rytagir looked out to sea and remembered all the stories of wars that he'd read about and researched. "What lies before us isn't going to be quick or easy. If the sahuagin are truly free of the Sharksbane Wall, it's going to take everything we have to hold them back."
"I know."
Men hurried along the dock as yet another ship-showing obvious scars from recent battle-limped back into port.
Rytagir looked into Irdinmai's silver eyes. "The old fears and distrust the surface dwellers have had of the sea folk are going to have to change. And your people will have to change, too. If we hope to survive this, we have to forge new friendships."
"I know," Irdinmai agreed. "The word has already started to spread among my people."
"I'm spreading it among mine. I've already drafted letters and have sent them out to scholars and merchant guildsmen whose ears I have. It will take time."
"Then let us hope it doesn't take too much time." Irdinmai reached out for his hand and took it gently in hers. She pulled him close to her. "I'm tired, and I don't want to be alone. Do you mind?"
"Not at all, Lady." Rytagir felt her lean against him as they sat with their backs to a crate. After a time she slept and he felt her breath, feather-soft against his arm.
As he sat there, Rytagir knew things were going to change. Some things would be better and others would be worse. War always brought those changes, and he had no doubt that war was coming to the Sea of Fallen Stars.
CHASE THE DARK
Charlatan. Trickster. Blasphemer.
In Amn, the only thing worse than hurling magic is pretending to hurl it. They laughed at me, said I'd never be worth spit to my people. Then the monsters came. When the ogres marched on the cities, I was the one whistling the merry tune. I had a purpose again. If you don't have it in you to live an honest life, the least you can do is plan a heroic death.
— From the memoirs of Devlen Torthil
11 Hammer, the Year of the Tankard (1370 DR)
"Ten in coin says I make a pikeman drop his stick! Who'll take an honest wager?"
Devlen Torthil smiled, raking his long brown hair out of his eyes. He rolled up his dirty sleeves and surveyed the line of men guarding the camp. Easy plucking.
A plain-faced sentry named Kelsn stepped forward. "I'll take that bet."
"Splendid, man, come here, then! The problem is distraction, see?" Flipping his palm to the torchlight, Dev flourished a red scrap of cloth in the sentry's face.
"Is that blood?" The sentry was tall, his blond hair thin under his helmet. Warily, he clutched his pike against his collarbone. Behind him, the foothills of the Small Teeth rose in a jumbled wreck, purple with the setting sun.
"Not a bit, not… a… bit. Ogre tears, that's what they are." Dev wadded the red cloth into a ball, completely encasing it in his right fist. Twisting his wrist, he came up under the sentry's nose, fingers waggling above an empty palm. The scrap of cloth had disappeared.
"Wizardry." The sentry spat on the ground, dark already with mud.
Like a good soldier of Amn, Dev thought, and bit back his sharp smile. He looked up and wiped rain from the bridge of his blunt nose.
Thunder rolled across the plain, a guttural, urgent murmur that seemed to carry words into the camp and had the sentry turning north on a muttered prayer. More of the wizardry Amn feared.
Dev sighed. Wasn't right, stealing a man's audience.
"Look here, Kelsn, pay attention. You think I'd be hanging around with this bunch if I had even a breath of wizardry?" Dev waggled his fingers again. The sentry reluctantly tore his gaze from the horizon. "The problem was you were looking at my hand. You should have been putting your eyes elsewhere."
The sentry snorted. "Where then, down yer breeches?"
"Later, sunshine." This time it was Dev who spat. "Watch this first."
Dev drew a knife from his belt and laid the bare blade against his own right thumb. He held it up so Kelsn could see.
"Oh, Dev, don't be playing at that. You know we lost our holy man in the last raid-"
The torchlight flickered and succumbed to the rain, taking the sentry's words with it. In the instant before the light died, he saw Devlen cleanly sever the tip of his thumb. The appendage fell to the ground.
"Godsdamnit, I knew you were some sick bastard!" The sentry took a jerking step back from the severed digit, as if it might leap up and bite him. His pike slipped and sank, forgotten in the mud.
Dev howled with laughter. The commotion drew the attention of Breck, head of the night watch.
"Shut yer flapping mouths, the both of you!" He squatted in the mud and fished out the thumb. Angrily, he plucked up the sentry's pike and slapped the muddy weapon against the man's chest, nearly throwing the sentry off balance. "It's a fake, you idiot! I saw him do the same trick to Fareth two nights ago."