"And now?" Jherek asked.
"Now," the half-elf captain said, "I'll have to do it the old-fashioned way. Follow him until I get an opportunity to find out what he's up to and move against him when I can."
"I'd like to accompany you if I could," Jherek asked.
"To get back the trinket he took from you?"
Jherek grimaced. "Aye, but I'd prefer it if you didn't talk about it so casually."
"From what my spies tell me, Vurgrom was quite pleased to get that pearl disk. It was one of the things they'd hoped to acquire in Baldur's Gate."
The announcement shocked Jherek, and it must have shown on his face. How had Vurgrom even known about the disk if it had been hidden away for so many years? And what was it?
"I have room aboard for extra crew," she said. "If you'd like, you're welcome. As long as you understand that I'm captain of this ship."
"Aye," Jherek said.
"There must be one other stipulation," Glawinn stated, turning to face her. "As long as we're aboard, there is to be no taking of prize ships, no piracy."
"Making demands like that goes against the acknowledgement of my being the captain," Azla stated.
"Yes," Glawinn admitted, "but you don't know yet how we may help you in your own agenda. As you've seen from the disk and all that this boy has been through to get it here, our fates are tied up in it. I'd think it's better that we worked together."
"You're shipless," Azla pointed out.
"Today," the paladin said, "but not in a day or so. There are some here in Westgate who claim Lathander as their deity. I would be able to find a ship, I promise you."
"Then why want to join me?"
"Because I think you know Vurgrom better than anyone else we'd likely find. If anyone can keep up with him, I'm betting that it'll be you."
Azla pushed her tea away and stood. "All right," she agreed. "You have your bargain. A combination of our talents, skills, and destinies. I won't take any ships while you're aboard, but what do I get in return?"
"If we can manage it," Glawinn answered, "Vurgrom's head on a pike."
"I’ll hold you to that," Azla said, then turned and walked away.
XXII
26 Kythorn, the Year of the Gauntlet
Pacys sat on an outcropping of rock overlooking the sea elf city of Faenasuor. The old bard gave no thought to the two hundred feet of ocean above him, nor to the bluish hue it seemed all the world had taken on. The folk of Seros called all depths between one hundred fifty feet and three hundred feet the Gloom. The Sea of Fallen Stars itself served to stratify civilizations and undersea worlds.
A few tall towers, mute testimony to the hubris of the elves of the ancient empire, stood up from the sea floor, rising over the other recovered structures and the new dwellings that had been built. The city sprawled unevenly across the irregular seabed the elves called the Hmur Plateau. Despite seventy years of reclamation efforts, much of the city yet remained in a state of disrepair. Excavation teams harnessing pilot whales, narwhals, and giant crabs worked to clear more debris in an effort that had been ongoing during the days Pacys had spent there. Brackish clouds of debris and silt, exploded upward from avalanches of resettling rock, sifted constantly in the currents, eventually drawn away.
Besides being an acknowledged center of sea elven history, Faenasuor was also surrounded by oyster beds. Pacys watched sea elves out harvesting pearls from the oysters, clams, and other mollusks that created them. They worked in groups, gathering the sea's bounty, then used the pearls to trade with other undersea races and surface dwellers. The last few days spent there had been highly instructional regarding all of Seros and some of the Taker's legend, but it had also served to remind Pacys of just how much he didn't know.
He turned his attention back to the instrument Taareen had given him. Despite the magical bracelet he wore, he couldn't play the yarting underwater. Communication was fine, but the yarting's notes all suffered. So he'd put the instrument into his bag of holding and decided to wait until he returned to the surface to play it again.
The song kept coming together in the old bard's head. Thankfully, his musical skills weren't limited to the yarting. Over his life he'd found nothing he couldn't play with some skill.
Taareen had given him a saceddar, an alu'tel'quessiran musical instrument Pacys had never seen before. Mounted on a chest plate that hung over the player's neck and shoulders, the saceddar had thirty crystals of various sizes and thicknesses across it. To play it, Pacys wore platinum finger and thumb caps on both hands. The metal was more durable than gold and struck a truer note.
He played the saceddar by striking his fingers and thumbs against a single crystal or a combination of crystals at the same time. Striking a new crystal or combination broke the vibrations of the last ones, effectively silencing them and providing for long and short notes.
When Taareen had given it to him, Pacys had been fascinated. That fascination had grown even more when the old bard discovered how easily playing the instrument came to him, and how parts of the song he'd been working on seemed to knit themselves to the new medium. He'd composed new parts over the past days, as well as learning the songs from Taker legends.
Scrabbling to his right, the sound dimmed by the water reached Pacys's ears at the same time as the vibrations from the stone shelf he sat on. He turned and saw Khlinat pulling himself up through the twisted coral growth.
"Ye got up early this morning," the dwarf commented as he settled himself across from the bard. The potions the sea elves kept him supplied with allowed him the same free movement and breathing ability as Pacys had from his enchanted bracelet.
"I couldn't sleep," Pacys said.
Khlinat wiped at his face, and the old bard knew it was because even though the potion protected him from the harsh nature of the sea, it left the dwarf feeling like he was wet the whole time. "I didn't rest too well either, songsmith, but I know it's 'cause I ain't never going to get acclimated to this way of living. What's yer excuse?"
"Restlessness, I think." Pacys pulled on the saceddar and fastened the straps. He took the finger and thumb caps from the small fish bladder bag that hung around his neck and fitted them on.
"Oh, and ye mean yer through prowling through them sea elf books, then?" Khlinat asked hopefully.
"I don't know that I could ever be satiated with that, my friend. The wisdom of the ages resides in those tomes. Magic, history, travel, philosophy, worlds await any adventurer with the skill to read."
"Aye," the dwarf said, "and a goodly pouch of gold, I'm thinking, for any man clever enough and brave enough to make off with some of them books. Like as not, nobody's ever seen anything even kin to them topside."
"I'd say you're right. Even skilled as I am in languages, when trying to read ones that should be open to me, I found them hard to decipher."
Most of the books were written in special pastes that hardened and adhered permanently to pages that were cut from the shells of giant clams. A lot of time went into the creation of each book, so they were highly prized. Some of them were even tonal books, pieced together with crystals like the sacedder and designed to be struck by a tiny mallet in order to be read. Still others were merely books ensor-celled to withstand the sea.