More and more investors were starting to put their cargo on caravans. The losses at sea were too much. The overland trips took longer and grew increasingly dangerous as well. Ores and goblins, and all too human bandits, passed information along about the caravans. Few, if any, reached their destinations unscathed.
A few cargo ships still attempted the sea trade north. Primarily ones that couldn't take the loss on the goods they'd agreed to deliver, and weren't able to find someone else to deliver it for them.
Jherek didn't like thinking about Sabyna traveling into those hostile waters, but he couldn't help himself. He'd failed her. If he hadn't gotten into the fight with Aysel, he'd have made the journey with her, could have been there to protect her.
He got frustrated with himself for thinking that one man could make such a difference. That only happened in the romances Malorrie started him reading. He heard footsteps glide softly along the stone courtyard.
"How are you feeling this morning?"
Jherek turned, finding Fostyr approaching. The priest wore the robes and vestments of Lathander, the Morninglord. Colored in bright yellow taken from a dawn morning, the robes had seen better days, and so had the temple. Lathander's beliefs weren't a prime pursuit in Amn.
"Better," Jherek answered. "Thank you for asking."
The courtyard held a small wicker table and three mismatched chairs. Berries grew along the south wall, against the small rooms where the four priests slept. Although he'd been invited in, Jherek had slept outside all five nights, wanting to be in the open and in the salt air.
The bedroll and pack that contained all of Jherek's possession was neatly packed and sitting in the corner of the courtyard. The priest's eyes flickered over them, and he sat in one of the chairs. He was a small man with skin the color of buttered rum. Only in his thirties, he kept his head shaved. His quick, dark hazel eyes surveyed Jherek.
"You've had morningfeast?" the priest asked.
"Aye."
"And your appetite, how was it?"
"Good," Jherek answered.
"You have to eat to keep your strength up."
"I know, Fostyr, and thank you for being so attentive."
"I worry about you, my friend. Kythel told me you were working in the gardens yesterday, and you washed your own clothes when we could have seen to it."
"I feel I have to earn my keep," Jherek said. "I'm not a man to sit idly by."
"Still, you have been wounded and should rest. You're here at the temple as our guest."
Jherek curbed his impatience. It wasn't the priest's fault that he hated lying fallow. Ilmater forbid that he should ever become a burden on anyone.
"Aye, I know that, and I thank you for your hospitality."
"But you will not simply accept that hospitality?"
Jherek shook his head. "I can't."
Surprisingly, Fostyr only smiled and said, "Such responsibility in one so young."
"Not so responsible," Jherek disagreed. "Otherwise I'd have never gotten into that fight in the tavern. That wasn't the course of a responsible man."
"According to my friend who brought you here you fought for a lady's honor."
"Aye, I suppose I did."
"Another responsible act."
"I'm not so sure," Jherek said. "What Aysel said were only words. I could have walked away."
"But where do I draw the line?" Fostyr mused. "That is your question isn't it?"
"Not mine," Jherek replied.
Fostyr nodded, then took another tack. "I saw you at the service this morning," the priest said.
"Aye."
"What drew you there?"
Jherek shifted positions gingerly, mindful of the aches and bruises he'd received. "I wanted to pay my respects to Lathander. You could have turned me away when I was brought here bleeding, covered in ale-reeking sawdust."
"Do you know of our religion?" the priest asked.
"Some," Jherek admitted. "I'm a follower of Ilmater."
"He is a good god to study, but Lathander might have something to offer as well. Lathander is the god of spring and the dawn, of birth and renewal, of beginnings. I've heard the nightmares that plague you, my friend, when you were in the grip of the fever that took you the first two nights you were here."
The priest hadn't mentioned that to Jherek before, and his face burned hotly. "What did I say?" he asked.
"You mean did you mention that you're the son of Falkane, one of the most feared pirates along this coast? Yes, you did."
Jherek shook his head in wonderment. "There's a price on the head of any man who sailed with Falkane," he told the priest. "You could have turned me in."
"No, I couldn't have," Fostyr said. "I prayed for you, that you might find peace and happiness, and that the fear in your life will depart."
Jherek didn't mean to sound harsh, but his voice was tight. "You've seen the tattoo on my arm?"
"Yes."
"It's a brand, Fostyr, and there's no getting rid of it. As long as it's with me, I'll be forever marked and my life won't be my own."
Fostyr was silent for a time, letting Jherek have time to regain his composure. "I just wanted to point out the possibilities," he said.
"At the temple?"
"Yes."
Jherek almost wanted to laugh in spite of the heartache that filled him. He shook his head and asked, "A pirate for a priest?"
"Stranger things have happened."
"No, Fostyr. What I need is a ship bound for Baldur's Gate."
"Why?"
Jherek thought about his answer, considered telling the priest about the voice that had plagued him, about the vision Madame litaar had concerning that city, but he didn't. "Because I have to," he said. "I've been told that whatever calling I have in this life will be found there. At least some part of it."
"You seek the truth of that?"
"Aye."
"And if you find that it's not true?"
Jherek looked out at the rolling blue sea and said simply, "I don't know."
"The north is dangerous country now, along the trade routes."
"I know. Have you found a ship I can travel on?"
"No." Fostyr sighed. "Even with all the contacts I know, no one is willing to take a man on without papers. There's talk that some of the pirates are getting conspirators on board some vessels to sabotage them. If you're not known, they won't take you on."
The only people who'd know him, Jherek realized, would be sailors from Velen. They would have heard all about his heritage by now. That was no answer, either. He turned to the priest and said, "I've got to go."
"Now?"
"Aye. I feel as though I'm getting behind now." That feeling had been nagging at Jherek since the fever had broke.
"You're in no shape to travel," the priest protested.
"I suppose there's only one way to find out." Jherek stood and took up his pack and bedroll. The cutlass hung on his hip.
Fostyr watched him silently for a moment. "You're very driven, aren't you?" he asked finally as he too rose to his feet.
"Aye," Jherek answered, "only it's more like… haunted." He was relieved the priest wasn't going to try to argue with him further.