Under Fallen Stars - Mel Odom [67]
Unconsciously, Pacys's fingers found the yarting's strings and played an accompaniment to Khlinat's words. The dwarf picked up on the rhythm, became trapped by it, and fell into cadence with it.
"They had him outnumbered, and surrounded in a trice. So Twahrm hit his knees and began singing of how he'd courted Haela Brightaxe, also called the Lady of the Fray, and goddess of dwarven warriors. She'd spurned his love, he said, and he was ready to greet death. He sang of how much he would love to die and how pleased he was to see them. Meaning that he wouldn't have to die alone."
The bard's plucked notes flowed through the room.
"And the strength of his song was such that the ogres believed him and grew afraid. When he finished and took up his great battle-axe, the ogres left. See, they believed him about him being ready to up and die, and they didn't want to get taken with him."
"It's a good tale," Pacys agreed, "and it's exactly what I was talking about. I've been chasing this song for fourteen years. I came across part of it the night Narros and the other mermen came to Waterdeep after the Taker destroyed their city. Since that time I've wandered what seems like all of Faerun pursuing it, never able to get more than a few scraps of it here and there."
"But now there's more."
"Every day," Pacys agreed. "It led me to Narros, and it led me here, to the boy."
Khlinat shook his head. "It's a powerful lot for a man to think on, but have ye given any thought to what if yer wrong?"
"No." Pacys, who was never at a loss for words because it was those words that kept food on the table, tried to find the right ones.
"The swabbie's just a boy," Khlinat said. "If he's to go up against this thing ye call the Taker as ye say, he's got a lot of growing up to do."
"I know," Pacys admitted, "but this search for him, and finding him here at a time when this attack happened, and him being part of the effort that turned the tide of battle, it all sounds right."
Khlinat's tired eyes sparkled with merriment. "Ye mean to say old Khlinat Ironeater's going to be in yer song?"
Pacys smiled gently back at him. "My friend, you're going to live forever."
"Hopefully well and handsome in them verses, singer." Khlinat raised his cup in a toast.
Pacys toasted him and they drank. He put his cup down and searched the yarting for any new chords for the song.
At that moment, the candle guttered, reaching the end of the wick and drowning in the pool of melted beeswax. Pacys thought again of the long time that Jherek had been gone and wondered if something had happened to the boy. Then, for the first time that night, he hit a discordant note. A chill settled over the old bard as he put a hand over the strings to quiet them.
"What is it?" Khlinat asked.
Pacys pushed up from the table and settled his yarting over his shoulder. He picked his cloak up from the peg on the wall. "I have to go find the boy. Something's happened."
The dwarf tried to get up, but the pain drove him back to his seat. "Damn me for a weakling. I'd go with ye, but I can't. Let me know, will ye?"
Pacys nodded and let himself outside, hurrying down the stairs. He paid attention to the sounds around him. If a person only listened to the noises around him, he'd know music was being made all the time.
Now, beyond the street noise made by the wagons and Flaming Fist mercenaries filling the city, a discordant resonance hung over all of Baldur's Gate. The old bard knew he was probably the only person who heard it, but it told him that no matter what efforts he made, he was already too late.
He felt the rift between himself and the younger man, but he quickened his steps anyway, trying to find the direction, frustrated because the young sailor's tune seemed lost to him, a distant whisper of what it had been.
XI
7 Kythorn, the Year of the Gauntlet
"Have a care there, lad. You took a pretty good knock to your melon."
Rough hands steadied Jherek, holding