"It's yours," Cadiual said. "I felt it when I closed my hands over yours. You are the one." He grabbed Jherek's hand and placed the pearl in it.

Immediately, the young sailor thought the gemstone glowed soft pink but that could have been only a trick of the light. Still, it felt natural for him to hold it. He gazed into the pink-stained depths, trying to make sense of the trident and the conch shell emblazoned on the face of the pearl. If he were the one, wouldn't the secrets be unlocked for him? In the novels Malorrie had given him to read, things like that always happened to the heroes.

But he knew in his heart he couldn't take it. The gem-stone was obviously meant for someone other than him. Someone better. The old man had gotten unbalanced with his age and the responsibility given him.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" Jherek asked, thinking that his lack of knowledge would be a clear indication that the wrong person had been entrusted with it.

"I don't know," Cadiual admitted. "Nor do I know for sure where it came from. The man who arrived here came from the east. I had a gemologist look at it once, and he said perhaps it came from as far away as the Inner Sea. There was something about the way the pearl was constructed, about the layering."

"Then why bring it here?" Jherek asked.

"Because this was where you were going to be, of course," the old man snapped. "You have so little faith. Why is that?"

For a moment, Jherek was almost moved to tell the priest everything, from his childhood to the tattoo revealed on Finaren's Butterfly that had cost him the only good life he'd known, but he couldn't.

He offered the gemstone back to the man.

"No," Cadiual replied. "I've not made the mistake here. It's you and your lack of faith, and that's something between you and your god. I can only offer guidance."

"You've made a mistake," Jherek said in a level voice.

"No," the priest said confidently. "I've made no mistake."

He put his thin hand on Jherek's shoulder. "Go and find your destiny, young sailor. For though I don't know it, I feel it will be something truly grand. But the way will not be easy." The rheumy eyes locked with Jherek's. "Find your faith, boy, find your faith and cling to it so that it will make you whole." He turned and walked away.

Desperate, Jherek looked at the other priest, then offered the pearl to him.

"Ghauryn," Cadiual called without bothering to turn around, "I've carried that gemstone since before you were born and I've grown weary of its burden. I thought death was going to steal my life away before I had the chance to finish what I was given to do. Don't you dare touch it."

The other priest shook his head at Jherek.

Reluctantly, Jherek closed his hand over the gemstone. It felt warm and sure, and he was surprised at the confidence that seemed to radiate from it. He had no doubt that they'd given it to the wrong man. Perhaps, though, he could return in the morning and the old priest would have had time to rethink what he'd done.

He thanked the priest for the bandages and salves and walked outside. He belted the healer's items in a bag at his side, but he kept the pearl out, not wanting to release it.

"Are you his woman?"

Startled by the question but wanting to buy herself some time, Laaqueel stood in Bunyip's stern and gazed at the western sky. The fires that had burned Baldur's Gate had dimmed somewhat, but an angry yellow glow like fresh broken seagull eggs still carved a pocket from the dark sky in the distance.

The malenti priestess kept her hands on the ship's railing, holding fast. The dark waters of the River Chionthar slid back from where she stood, cleaved by Bunyip's prow.

Behind her, Bloody Falkane came closer, till he stood right behind her. He kept his voice soft and low. "I asked you a question." His tone held command.

Immediately, Laaqueel rebelled against that authority. She turned to face him, a prayer to Sekolah on her lips and her hand resting on the long dagger at her hip. Her trident was only an arm's reach away, but she knew he could move quickly and intercept her.

"You have asked a question," she replied, "and I have deigned not to answer it."

Bloody Falkane stared at her with hooded eyes. His foul surface dweller's breath fell against her cheek. She knew he was handsome in the way that surface dwellers counted themselves so, and there was a cruelty about his dark eyes and mouth that a sahuagin could appreciate.

His oiled black hair was pulled back, but strands blown by the wind leaked down into his face. Silver hoop earrings caught the moonlight and splintered it. His mustache and goatee were carefully trimmed, leaving the tattoo of the bunyip coiled in mid-strike on his left cheek. He wore a black shirt trimmed in scarlet open to his chest, and scarlet breeches tucked into knee-high boots rolled at the top. A long sword hung at his left hip, balanced by the three throwing knives on his right.

Falkane smiled. "I could make you answer."

"You could die trying," Laaqueel promised in a cold voice.

"Ah, Laaqueel, that would be such a wondrous thing to see. My skills against your skills." Moving slowly, Falkane touched her hair with his fingers, stroking it.

Not knowing how she was supposed to handle this situation according to Iakhovas's strictures, Laaqueel allowed his touch. Never in her life had a man, an elf, or a sahuagin touched her so.

"Do not," she warned, "think to overstep your bounds with me."

"Or what?"

Laaqueel had no answer. Iakhovas had joined with the pirates of the Nelanther Isles without her knowledge, only revealing the fact to her shortly before he'd killed Huaanton and proclaimed himself king. She didn't know what those alliances entailed, or how she was supposed to handle them. She stared hotly back at Falkane, hating the fact that she couldn't speak on her own.

"Do you know what generally happens to people who threaten me?" the pirate captain asked.

Laaqueel didn't reply. She'd heard a number of stories about Bloody Falkane, the Salt Wolf. His whole past was spun of violence and fear.

He dropped his fingers from her hair, tracing her jawline.

The malenti controlled herself, not flinching from his touch. He held no power over her. If anything, he might be considered her equal. So she didn't drop her eyes and defer to him as was custom among the sahuagin so no insult might be implied. She returned his full gaze hotly. What surprised her most was how her body reacted to his touch. Warm vibrations thrilled through her, and a bitter ache dawned at the core of her. She didn't know how his touch had incited such a reaction unless it could be blamed on her cursed heritage.

He traced her jawline with his forefinger, then brought it back to rest at her chin just below her bottom lip. He was a few inches taller than she was and suddenly seemed to envelop her.

"People who threaten me," he said, still in that soft voice, "die-in the most horrible ways I can think of. I assure you, I'm quite practiced at it."

Laaqueel tried to keep her thoughts centered on Sekolah, remembering that the Great Shark wouldn't put anything before her that she couldn't handle. If she failed Sekolah's tests, she would only prove her unworthiness. That was totally unacceptable. She only wished that Falkane's touch didn't have the affect on her that it did.

She shifted her attention to the deck over his shoulder. His men moved through the halyards with grim efficiency, some of them sporting bandages from wounds they'd received in the attack. Still, it didn't keep her mind from his touch.

"I've watched you," Falkane said, "these few times that we've shared company since first meeting in Skaug, and I've puzzled over your relationship with Black Alaric."