Under Fallen Stars - Mel Odom [38]
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The tide of sahuagin flooding into the city seemed unbreakable.
Jherek stayed with Khlinat, aware that the dwarf knew the streets and alleys of Baldur's Gate much better than he did. If there was a stand to make somewhere, he trusted Khlinat to make it and to choose the proper place.
They raced down Bindle Street till it crossed Stormshore Street, then kept going. Few of the sahuagin had penetrated this far back the city as yet.
The peg leg coupled with his short stature helped Jherek easily keep up with Khlinat, but they moved quickly. Armed men, most of them evidently with the Flaming Fist, hailed citizens in the streets, urging them to join the efforts in the harbor. The young sailor guessed that less than half the efforts were successful. Men with families concentrated on getting those families to safety, not trusting that the sea devil invaders could be held.
The blood weeping from the cut beside Jherek's eye had finally ceased, leaving a hard crust that partially obscured his vision. It bothered him that they appeared to be running from the battle.
"Where are we going?" Jherek asked.
"Patience, swabbie, I've got a plan. Never ye fear." The dwarf's breath came in ragged gasps and he flailed his arms to keep up the pace. Two alleys further up, he pointed at a large building. "There."
The building stood three stories tall with a stone exterior. The bottom two floors contained what appeared to be a warehouse because there were no windows, while the third floor held personal living quarters with a large widow's walk facing the River Chionthar. A hand-painted sign stuck out from the building but it was too dark for Jherek to make it out.
Huffing and puffing from the run, Khlinat pounded the back of a hand axe against the door near the cargo bay. Hollow thumps sounded inside. The dwarf repeated his effort twice more, gaining intensity and frustration.
Suddenly a deep male voice called down from above. "What the hell do you want?"
Khlinat stepped back from the building and gazed up. "Yer city's under attack, Felogyr Sonshal, and there ye stand instead of taking up arms against them what attacks."
Sonshal stood in the shadows of the widow's walk, but Jherek could tell he was a big warrior who'd evidently enjoyed the successes of his life. Judging from his girth, he'd had several successes. Fierce mustaches stuck out from his lower face and dangled below his chin. He dressed well, but the thing that drew the young sailor's attention most was the long shape in the man's arms. It was pointed directly at Khlinat. Moonlight glinted from the dark metal.
During his time in Velen, Jherek had only seen a few weapons like the one Sonshal carried. It was an arquebus, a weapon as rare as the most arcane magic that took advantage of the explosive nature of the smoke powder made by the Lantans. The arquebus fired round bullets much like those a sling threw, but with far more destruction than either a sling or a bow. Also, the bullets weren't as easy for a healer to take out as an arrow or quarrel.
The dim glow of a slow match burned orange across Sonshal's face. "I'm on my way to help. I only just woke."
"Pulled yerself out of yer cups, ye mean."
Consternation covered Sonshal's face. "Do I know you?"
"Khlinat Ironeater. Aye, ye know me. From a time or two a round was bought at the Blushing Mermaid or the Three Old Kegs. Stories was swapped and lies was told, but I've never done business with ye. That blasted smoke powder ye sell is much too uncertain for a one-legged dwarf who's learned the value of the sure-footed path."
"Then what are you doing here?" Sonshal demanded. "Unless you're beating on doors and raising help."
"More than that," Khlinat roared. "That harbor yonder's filled with all manner of foul beasties, including no few sea devils. I've got me a plan, desperate, aye, and mayhap a trifle foolhardy, but Marthammor Duin keeps foolish wanderers