"I hear you, little man," Cale said. Cale had put Hrin out of his mind and was parsing Sephris's words and the dire predictions the loremaster had made. Thousands would die, he had said.
Because of Cale.
For a time, the three wandered in silence. No one seemed to know what to say. Finally, Magadon asked, "Do you believe what he said?"
Cale did not lie. "Yes. You heard him, Mags. He knows things. He was angry, embittered, but I think he spoke truth."
Magadon nodded, considered. "But do you believe all of what he said?"
Jak asked, "You mean the darkness, the storm, and such?"
Magadon nodded.
Cale could only nod. "He has never been wrong. But that was vague enough that it could mean anything. It does not change what we are going to do."
"It doesn't?" Magadon asked.
"It doesn't," Cale affirmed. "It can't, Mags. It's madness to walk that path."
Magadon stared at him for a time, nodded, then said, "Well enough. So what now? We know where the slaadi are going and we know it's somewhere off the coast of Selgaunt, apparently at the bottom of the Inner Sea. That does us small service."
Cale was glad to move the conversation away from Sephris's prophecies. He said, "We need to locate Riven before he takes ship."
"How?" Jak asked.
"Sakkors is somewhere off the coast of Selgaunt," Cale answered, thinking aloud. "Sephris said that Riven would take a ship."
Jak started to say something but stopped when realization dawned. "You don't think he'd take a ship out of Selgaunt?"
"It makes sense," Cale said. "Riven knows the city. So do the slaadi."
"It is one of the ports nearest to their destination," Magadon added.
Cale said, "And if we can find their ship. ..."
"Then we can find them," Jak finished. "We can finish this before it ever starts. That's a lot of ships to check."
Cale nodded. Selgaunt was one of the busiest ports on the Inner Sea, and countless contraband runners docked in secret harbors along the coast outside of the city to avoid the harbormaster's taxes. Still, it was a place to start. He said, "Let's take a room down in the Dock District and put out some feelers."
* * * * *
After securing the services of Dolphin's Coffer, Azriim and Dolgan indulged in some spirits at a nearby pub. As dusk fell, they lurked in the shadows of an alley near the wharves and watched Demon Binder. From time to time, Dolgan had to dissuade a prostitute and her customer from coupling against the alley wall, but otherwise the slaadi encountered no one. They spied on the ship for hours in silence, learning what they needed.
Several members of the crew left the ship for the dock-side taverns, but the captain, first mate, and a sizeable contingent of the crew-hard looking seamen, all-remained aboard and armed at all times. Crewmen eyed passersby with suspicion. A simple system of whistles and hand signs alerted the captain or first mate any time the harbormaster, his undermasters, or any of the Scepters approached. Azriim took that behavior as confirmation that the ship had slaves in its hold.
After a time, the slaadi called upon their new abilities granted by their partial transformation into gray slaadi, and willed themselves invisible and airborne. Each could see the other, of course, since slaadi innately saw invisible objects, but they were completely invisible to all others. Azriim enjoyed the sensation of flying. He found that flight was effortless, and speed and direction answered to his mental urgings. He could even hover.
Unseen, they flew over the ship, watching, listening, telepathically exchanging the names of crewmen and the layout of the ship. Captain Kauzin ruled Demon Binder, and his first mate was called Greel, though the crew often called him by a nickname, Hack, no doubt earned in combat. Azriim studied the captain's appearance and mannerisms with care. The human tended to bark orders, laughed rarely but sharply, and walked with a stiff, gingerly step that bespoke an old back injury. Dolgan studied the first mate with the same intensity. They did not set foot on the deck, in the forecastle, or below decks, for fear of being noticed or triggering a magical alarm.
The slaadi patiently watched until the sky darkened and the stars shone down on the bay. Both Azriim and Dolgan could see well in the dark and continued to watch for a while longer. By the time a distant bell tower sounded the eighth hour, the slaadi knew Demon Binder and its crew well enough to maintain their planned charade.
I believe I have him now, projected Azriim. They should be returning to their quarters soon.
I am ready also, answered Dolgan, hovering in the air beside him.
They watched until the captain and mate disappeared into the forecastle, which held their quarters.
Azriim said, Bring the bodies to the alley when it's done.
Dolgan's unhappiness carried through the mental connection. The alley? Why? Can I at least eat his head?
Azriim smiled. We will see.
With that, Azriim drew his blade and his teleportation rod. Dolgan did the same and both of them turned the dials on the rods.
Do try not to get stuck in the floor this time, Azriim said.
Dolgan smiled in answer.
Azriim was jesting only by half. There was always a risk in teleporting to a location they had never visited, or at least seen. Still, he was nothing if not a risk taker. He called upon the magic of the rod to teleport him into the forecastle, to the captain's quarters. The magic would need to fill in the gaps.
He gave the rod a final twist, felt the familiar tingle in his flesh as his body moved instantaneously from the air above the ship to the captain's cabin.
He appeared in one corner of a small room. A neatly made bed hugged the far wall, with a sea chest at its foot. A small writing desk stood near the bed with a logbook, quill, and inkwell atop it. A covered clay lamp and some papers sat on a night table near the bed.
Disappointed to find the cabin unoccupied, Azriim sat at the captain's desk to wait. He leafed through the log, noting the repeated references to "sacks of cured meat," no doubt a euphemism for slaves. He looked over the papers on the night table: charcoal sketches, and well done-a pod of leaping porpoises, a three-masted schooner on the horizon, an island in the distance. The captain was an artist, a slaver with a sensitive spirit. Azriim liked him immediately. Too bad he had to kill him.
He did not have to wait long. Shortly, the door to the cabin opened and the captain strode in, huffing and mumbling under his breath. Azriim pulled one of his wands, pointed it at the captain, and said, "Stay."
The moment he said the word, he became visible.
The captain went wide-eyed. His hand went for his blade. He shouted aloud, an inarticulate cry of alarm.
Azriim cursed. The human had resisted the magic. He tried again. "Stay, you stubborn arse!"
That time the captain froze, his mouth open in a shout that would never escape his lips. Azriim grinned, but his smile vanished when a loud rapping sounded on the door.
"Captain?" a voice called. "Captain Kauzin?"
Azriim quickly changed his form to that of the captain-thick limbed, full belly, sallow skin, bad teeth, beard, and short, black hair-and walked to the door. He had the wrong clothes and had kept his natural mismatched eye color, but he figured the seaman would not notice.
He crossed the room and opened the door part way, using his body and the door to block visibility into the room.
"What is it?" he growled, and was pleased to hear the captain's voice exit his throat.
A thin crewman with a pointed chin and a thin moustache and beard stared at him in surprise.
"Er, sorry, Captain. I thought I heard something amiss."