"Why?" Pacys asked. "Umberlee already loved him."
"But not as he wanted to be loved by her," Myrym said. "Her love for him was natural and good, as things are meant to be, but there was nothing natural and good about him. His appetites ruled his life. When she returned, she found this woman in the bed she shared with the Taker, not one of the harem rooms. The Taker pretended the woman put the shine in his eyes that he showed Umberlee. So great was the Bitch Queen's love for him that she did not see the truth."
Pacys listened to the story with sadness. He'd seen good love turn out badly as well.
"Umberlee killed the woman in a fit of rage," Myrym continued. "The Taker knew true joy as he saw in the Bitch Queen's face the pain and hurt her love for him caused. He thought he controlled her, then, and he mocked her for her weakness. Only he had no true accounting for how hurt Umberlee was. She'd never experienced pain like that before, and swore then that she would never experience it again. She lashed out at him, raking her claws across his face and ripping an eye from its socket, almost tearing the face from him."
Discordant music emanated from the saceddar as Pacys envisioned the fight, and words already came into his mind to paint the scene for his listeners.
"Umberlee left him there in his grand palace," Myrym said, "broken and ruined, no longer ever able to be what he once was. She did not suffer to kill him, but it was a near thing. The Taker brooded and banked his hatred for a thousand years and more.
"He began to build again," she continued, "to make himself stronger than ever before. He scoured all of Toril for powerful items, devices that he could use to control elements and men and magic. He scarred his body with sigils of power that allowed him to reach into other planes. In his mind, he was more than he had ever been or ever could be.
"He sought out Umberlee then, to take his vengeance."
Azla ran to the forecastle railing over the main deck and called, "Ship's crew, stand ready to repel boarders!"
Black Champion's crew numbered twenty-seven, Jherek knew, and a handful of them were involved in steering and trying to salvage what they could of the sails.
At least forty men lined the starboard side of the attack craft as it sped forward. They manned the fore and aft ballistae as well as the one on the main deck. The sound of running water filled the air.
A desperate smile played on Azla's lips, and Jherek recognized it as reckless determination.
"Ballista crews," she bellowed, "prepare your shots fore and aft! Make them count or I'll have the hide from your backs!"
"Aye, Cap'n!"
"Fire on my command!"
Jherek spied Sabyna making her way up behind Glawinn. Skeins drifted protectively over her shoulder.
"Ballista crews, ready."
"Ready, Cap'n."
"Fire!"
The two ballistae sang basso thrums as they released within a heartbeat of each other. The ten-foot shafts sliced through the air. One of them thudded into the slaver's wooden hull only a few feet from the railing, frightening the crew back. The other missile struck the foremast and broke it cleanly. The forward sails toppled, raining down on the crew below.
A ragged cheer burst from Black Champion's crew.
"Belay that!" Azla roared as the caravel followed the next ocean rise down into a trough below the slaver's line of sight. "We've won no battle here yet. That remains for you to take it from their teeth!"
Jherek's heart beat rapidly. Here in this battle, there was no confusion.
"Archery crew," Azla called. "Stand ready!"
Black Champion's sails blew her forward, riding her up the next wave and pulling her back within sight of the slaver only fifty yards away.
"Fire arrows!" Azla commanded.
The crew fired, and Jherek bent his bow with theirs, aiming toward the knot of men standing in the slaver's amidships. Most of the arrows missed, striking the water or snapping into the canvas above. Jherek's own shot hit a man in the shoulder and drove him back and down to his knees.
The three ballistae aboard the slaver cut loose. One of them shivered into the stern castle and punched through. The second struck below the waterline, but the vibration that ran through Black Champion let Jherek know the shot struck home.
The third shot hit the railing near Glawinn. Splintered wood flew into the air as the ten-foot shaft punched an eighteen-inch hole dead center in a pirate's chest. Laden by the corpse, the shaft careened on, knocking down pirates like tenpins. It forced the body across the deck, then tore through the railing on the other side.
Cries of fear and prayers to gods filled the air. For a moment, the pirates' resolve seemed broken.
"Live or die, you damned brutes!" Azla yelled down. She hurled herself over the forecastle railing and landed in a crouch on the pitching deck. The choice is in your hands and in your blades. Do me proud!"
A ragged cheer rose with her scimitar. "For Captain Azla! For Black Champion!"
The caravel dropped into another trough as Jherek heaved himself over the forecastle railing and dropped to the main deck.
"Young warrior," Glawinn called.
"Aye."
"If that's a slaving ship and she has a cargo in her hold, it may be that our attackers are holding a blade to their own throats. You understand?"
"Aye."
Jherek understood immediately. If the slaves were freed and given a chance at their own freedom, many of them would take it.
"I will stand with these men and lead them into the battle," the paladin said. "If you are able, perhaps you can raise us another army to even the odds."
"Aye," Jherek answered.
"Arthoris!" Azla roared.
The old ship's mage stepped forward. He was a gnarled man with long gray hair and a groomed beard. He wore robes with sigils and symbols on it and carried a staff. "Aye, Cap'n."
"Give them something to remember us by."
Arthoris raised his staff and chanted in a strong, clear voice. The heavens above him darkened as if a storm were coming.
"Ballista crews," Azla called. "Ready…"
"Ready, Cap'n."
"Fire!"
One of the shafts gutted the boarding party along the slaver's starboard side, breaking their ranks. The second shaft hammered into the mainmast a good twenty feet from the deck. For a moment the missile's fluted edges held it embedded in the wood, then the mast gave way with a horrific crack. The top of the mast listed to the side, bringing down more canvas and pulling the slaver hard over to port.
Black Champion's crew cheered again, calling out vile oaths at their attackers. The slaver crew shouted out in anger. Before they could recover, Arthoris launched his attack.
Three lightning balls leaped from the old ship's mage's staff and struck the slaver. Peals of thunder split the air. The lightning balls struck the boarding crew, burning them and knocking them from their feet, but only incapacitated a couple of them.
The slaver vessel pulled away, disengaging from the attack. With the two broken masts and only one remaining, she wasn't any faster than Black Champion.
"Cap'n!"
Azla turned, spotting one of her officers near the ship's hold.
"Come quickly!" the mate called.
All his arrows gone now, Jherek joined the ship's captain at the hold. Another man stood below with a lantern. The pale yellow light played uncertainly in the darkness as the ship yawed across the waves and reacted badly to the wind due to the tattered sails. There was no mistaking the heavy shaft that had broken through Black Champion's side.
X
10 Flamerule, the Year of the Gauntlet
"The Taker thought he could defeat Umberlee?" The prospect astonished Pacys.
Myrym gazed at the old bard with her luminescent eyes and said, "Yes. She stripped his weapons from him, yanked the magic eye from his head and scattered it into its many parts, then caused storms to drive the weapons inland to the heart of Faerun. The elves had only just abandoned Eiellur and Syorpiir during the War of Three Leaves to settle in the Selmal Basin.