The music was strong, vibrant, but there was a trilling uncertainty about it, a tremor that didn't ring quite true. Relieved and excited, he fit his hands to the yarting, then guided his callused thumb across the strings. The resonance between what he heard in his mind and what he produced on the yarting was perfect. The sleep fog that clung to him from too many late nights and too much wine lifted instantly.

"He's here," Pacys declared, smiling. The music filled the tiny room.

Delahnane glanced at him, light glinting in her eyes. "The hero you've been charged with seeking?" She wasn't as happy about the situation as the old bard was. There was every chance that someone she knew from the tavern, perhaps even someone she called a friend, would be dead before morning.

"Yes." The certainty that rilled him surprised Pacys. At his age, there seemed to be so many doubtful things. He'd seen seventy-six years come and go, and had learned much in his unceasing travels across Faerun as a wandering bard, not all of it good, but it all had fed his talent in one way or another. Every emotion he'd ever experienced had burned through his mind and into his fingers in thousands of bars, taverns, inns, and castles across Faerun.

He closed his eyes, concentrating on the music. His fingers moved fluidly across the strings, seeking the notes now without hesitation. He added to the small store he'd brought with him from Waterdeep. No matter what song he'd played or how long it had been since he'd last played it, the old bard had never forgotten a tune he'd written or borrowed.

He gave voice to the song, his smooth baritone filling the room.

"He stood with the men of Baldur's Gate,

"This boy not yet become a man.

"He followed his heart, not knowing the plan,

"Of his destiny to stand before the Taker's hate.

"With naked sword steel tight in his hand,

"And fear filling his belly as he eyed

"The black-hearted sahuagin warrior pride,

"The Champion fought to keep the defenses manned.

"Steel rang and sparked as blood ran from wounds untended,

"As the Taker took up the malevolent war that had not ended."

The words stopped coming, but the music didn't. It became repetitive. Unable to stand idly by while the city fought back against the invaders, or to miss the chance to meet the young man Narros had said it was his destiny to find, the old bard hurried back to the bed.

He pulled his plain brown breeches from the chest where Delahnane kept her personal things and quickly stepped into them. As a raconteur of duels, battles, and wars, he'd learned to keep clothing close to hand and to dress in a hurry. During a war, the battle lines moved even while men slept.

"What are you doing?" Delahnane turned from the window and faced him.

"Only what needs be done, fair lady," Pacys replied. "I'm no man to lay abed when there's fighting to be done." He pulled on the faded green doublet, then stepped into his boots. His feet slid into them comfortably. He hung the yarting by its strap over his back and picked up the wooden staff he'd carried with him almost as long as the instrument.

"You're going out there?"

"I have no choice."

"Men are dying out there," Delahnane said.

"Yes, and my place is with them."

"You're an old man."

The statement, even though it was true, hurt Pacys. He was well aware of his advanced age. Elves, mayhap, had all the time in the world, but not him. He crossed to the woman and took her by the arms, staring into her green eyes. "Ah, and if I had my choice of deaths, O vision, I'd choose to die by your hand, knowing your willing love and your tender caress upon my brow as you urged me to greater rapture."

A small smile lighted her face, followed by an instant blush.

"But, dear lady," Pacys went on, "I fear I don't have my choice of deaths, and I must follow my nature."

Delahnane pulled him to her and hugged him fiercely. Her bare skin brushed against his hand. "I know, dear Pacys, and even should that nature of yours damn you to die this night, I know it has ever made you the man I've loved when happy occasion permitted us to be together."

Pacys stroked her face with the back of his fingers. He felt a pang in his heart. He didn't think he would die, though he knew it was possible, but he did know that the loving times they'd shared, and the quiet hours he'd spent reciting poetry to her, thrilling to the way she'd responded to every verse, were over.

"Should we not see each other again this night-" he began.

She swiftly covered his mouth with her hand. "No," she whispered. "Do not speak of dying."

After a moment, Pacys gave her a nod. It hadn't been his intention, but he felt she knew he was about to tell her he wouldn't be back. It was her way of avoiding that. He'd left her many times in the past, and both of them knew that with his station in life what it was, there could only be pleasant interludes between them.

She removed her hand. "Do you really think the boy you're searching for could be out there?"

"I have to believe," Pacys answered. "All my life I've felt I was destined for greatness, to pen and sing a song that will forever be known as mine, to take my place among the bards whose works achieve immortality. That has never happened. Until now. Oghma's blessing upon me and my craft has seen fit to put me on that path now. I can't step away from that."

"I know." With genuine effort, she released him and took a step back.

Pacys leaned in for a final kiss, tasting the wine yet lingering on her lips. Of all the women he'd known in his long life, she was a favorite, but settling down and leaving the traveling bard's life was as unthinkable as taking a wife to travel with him who wasn't a bard herself. The road was home only to those who could call no other place home.

He reached inside his doublet and took out the coin pouch he'd been saving. Deftly, with all the skill of a thief, he placed it in her hand and curled her fingers up over it before she saw it.

Delahnane didn't say anything. She already knew how generous he was from past times he'd stayed with her.

Whenever he spent time with Delahnane, he always filled his own coin purse and one for her from the fees collected in the taverns he visited. With the caravans bringing men into the city as well as the needed laborers for the shipyards and the usual sailors, the old bard had done well during his stay. Both coin purses held a lot of copper and silver pieces, as well as the occasional gold piece. He'd learned long ago never to get too attached to coin. Oghma had always found a way to pry it out of him by some means.

"Take care," she told him.

"And you." Pacys went through the door, memorizing the image of her standing there with only the candlelight blazing over her. His heart was heavy with the thought of leaving. At the same time, he was excited. The song played in his mind, nothing new yet, but he knew there would be something more.

Outside, he bolted and ran by the other apartment doors to the stairs leading down to the alley. He raced around the building and out toward the docks. The song thrummed in his head, growing stronger as he moved to the battle.

The tide of sahuagin flooding into the city seemed unbreakable.

Jherek stayed with Khlinat, aware that the dwarf knew the streets and alleys of Baldur's Gate much better than he did. If there was a stand to make somewhere, he trusted Khlinat to make it and to choose the proper place.

They raced down Bindle Street till it crossed Stormshore Street, then kept going. Few of the sahuagin had penetrated this far back the city as yet.

The peg leg coupled with his short stature helped Jherek easily keep up with Khlinat, but they moved quickly. Armed men, most of them evidently with the Flaming Fist, hailed citizens in the streets, urging them to join the efforts in the harbor. The young sailor guessed that less than half the efforts were successful. Men with families concentrated on getting those families to safety, not trusting that the sea devil invaders could be held.