"Trouble, friend Pacys?"
The old bard glanced up and saw Khlinat floating in the water only a few feet away. For the first time he noticed how tired and haggard the dwarf looked, then realized the whole caravan probably felt the same way.
With the regular military forces stripped from their ranks, men and women who served and believed in the high mages had volunteered for the journey. Many of them kissed their wives, husbands, and children good-bye on the day they left Sylkiir. No few of them, Pacys felt certain, would never look on their families again. For the first time, he realized the sacrifices they'd made.
"No trouble." Pacys said. "Only my own impatience at how slowly we travel."
"Aye, I been thinking on that meself," the dwarf grumbled, "but there's no way to increase our speed. Them people what's out there making up this ragtag army, they're doing all they can."
"And maybe more than they should be asked."
Pacys looked down at the long line of the caravan. Nearly three hundred sea elves took their breaks while the sleds were secured and the animals were changed out. They sat in small groups and talked. Weariness from the hard travel showed in the stooped shoulders and the lethargy that gripped them.
Glancing around, Pacys spotted a depression in the hillside of the sheltering ridge. It gave a view over the whole caravan. He swam to it and settled on the ledge at the front of the depression. As he took the saceddar from his back, he drew his skills to him, and listened to the music that haunted him all morning. He'd found no words for the music-until now. The music was lively but bittersweet, a tune that would live on.
Torn from proud history,
Forged in blood and love,
Come from the hand and eye and love of Deep Sashelas,
No longer of the world above.
They gathered at the behest of the High Mages,
And descended into Serds's deepest blue.
They followed the course of dark prophecy,
To discover what was right and true.
They journeyed to far Myth Nantar,
Still bound in wild and uncertain magic.
The City of Destinies had a future unclear,
And a history that had proven tragic.
Pacys played on, finding the words with ease. He let the music fill him and give power to his song. He knew they listened, every conversation brought to a halt by the majesty in his voice. He continued, finding the chorus.
We are the Alu'Tel'Quessir,
Our hearts build our home.
Our blood is pure
And our arms are strong.
Together we stand,
And never die alone.
We are the Alu'Tel'Quessir.
We march to right a wrong.
Our bodies may get weary,
But our spirits are filled with song.
The old bard stopped singing. The rest of the song was yet to be written. Verses would be added as they journeyed, but for now it was all he had.
"Don't worry, friend Pacys," Khlinat said quietly. " Twas a good song, strong and true, but mayhap them hearts out yonder aren't ready for something like that."
Pacys nodded, wondering what Reefglamor would have to say about his impromptu performance.
Then, with gentleness at first, the sea elves picked up the chorus, stumbling until a few of them found the meter and rhythm.
We are the Alu'Tel'Quessir, Our hearts build our home.
More voices joined in, and the song became a thunderous, spirited roar. It was a song of defiance and pride.
Tears spilled from Pacys's eyes, plucked away by the sea around him. It wasn't just their belief he was rekindling and he knew it. The fear and anxiety sapped his strength as well, raked out hollow places within his convictions. Now he filled them up again. His fingers found the notes on the saceddar, pulling the group together until the song filled the valley. Khlinat joined in, adding his deep basso boom.
Our blood is pure
And our arms are strong.
Together we stand,
And never die alone.
We are the Alu'Tel'Quessir…
With only one mast in place, even with all the canvas it could support, Azure Dagger could not outrun the Cormyrean Freesail. Jherek clung to the railing next to Azla. Glawinn stood beside them.
"They're going to be suspicious of us," Azla declared. "We've obviously been in a fight, and this ship stinks of slavey when you get downwind of her."
Jherek watched as the Cormyrean ship cut through the water to within two hundred yards.
"Steady, young warrior," Glawinn stated softly. They've yet to prove their intentions as anything other than honorable."
Gradually, the Cormyrean Freesail drew abreast of Azure Dagger's port side. A slim man dressed in maroon with silver trimmings stood at the forecastle railing with a hailing cone in his hands. "Ahoy. This is Captain Sebastyn Tarnar of His Majesty King Azoun IVs ship, Steadfast. I'd like to speak to your captain."
Azla accepted the hailing cone one of her men handed over. "This is Azla, captain of the free ship Azure Dagger."
"We saw you had some trouble and thought we'd investigate."
"We're fine and sailing under our own power."
"Perhaps not as proudly as you could be," Tarnar replied, "but I'll grant you that. Can we be of any assistance?"
"Thank you," Azla called back, "but no. We're used to managing our own affairs and would rather others would do the same."
"What did for your ship, Captain?"
"We did," Azla answered. "We ran across slavers who thought to add me and my crew to their bounty. By the time we'd settled differences, I'd lost my ship. That was her you saw us cutting loose back there. So we took this ship in her stead."
"I thought I recognized the stench." Tarnar paused, then called, "Where are you headed? Perhaps we could share the wind for a while."
"Sometimes it's better to be by yourself than trust someone you don't know."
Tarnar put the hailing cone down and laughed. "You're a feisty one, Captain Azla. I would relish the opportunity to meet you at another time, the Lady willing."
"If chance and tide should allow you your wish, Captain Tarnar, I'll stand you to the first drink."
In the next moment, a wave of unaccustomed vertigo stole through Jherek. He leaned more heavily on the railing, struggling to stay on his feet. Just as suddenly the wind died.
Without warning, a plume of water stood up from the ocean, rising nearly twenty feet tall. In the still air, the twisting plume spun into the form of a man with outstretched arms.
"Jherek of Velen," the plume of water itself seemed to say, "your path lies in a different direction. Leave that ship and join the Cormyreans." The basso voice haunted the waters.
"No," the young sailor whispered.
"There is no choice," the water-being stated. "You are called to follow your own path. Sir Glawinn, warrior of Lathander the Morninglord, you must release the boy. He will no longer be under your guidance."
Jherek looked at Glawinn.
"I don't know what this is before us, young warrior," the paladin said. He stared out at the obviously magical creature. "You can see for yourself the power it wields."
"No." Cold anger and fear battered Jherek but they couldn't overcome the stunned numbness that filled him. His life was his own. He'd forsworn all gods.
Azla approached them, her face hard and chiseled. "This is sorcery," she said as she gazed around the two ships.
Jherek peered through the railing, looking at the eight-foot-high waves that seemed to pass all around them, leaving them in a hollowed bowl in the middle of the Sea of Fallen Stars.
"Young warrior," Glawinn said, "you must go. It is your destiny."
"No," Jherek argued. "This is my curse. I am finally among friends. Now I am being turned from them."