"No, Cap'n," Azla corrected without rancor but with definite steel in her voice.

"No, Captain," Jherek said. He drew more of the thick thread for his needle, measured off a length, then knotted the end of the twin strands. He returned his attention to his sewing.

"I'll tell you now," Azla said, dropping a hand to her scimitar, "I've never suffered the presence of anyone on my ship who made me feel ill at ease."

"She doesn't mean anything by it." Jherek fumbled for words, desperately seeking some answer to the problem the two women had presented him. Over the past few days, both women had sought him out and talked to him about the other. When he'd asked Glawinn for advice, the paladin had only smiled at him and lifted his sword to begin Jherek's training anew. The young sailor had been thankful for the swordplay. At least for a time it had taken his thoughts from the friction between the two women, even if it left him bone-tired afterward.

"I don't see how that could be true," Azla snapped. "Her disapproval of me isn't unintentional."

Jherek blew out a tight breath, wondering if he was about to make matters worse. "It isn't you she disapproves of, Captain. It's pirates in general. Her brother was killed by one."

Azla returned his gaze.

"Sabyna was just a child when it happened," Jherek explained. "She saw the whole thing. She'll never forget that."

Surprisingly, Azla's face softened. She looked away from Jherek and back up at the young woman standing in Black Champion's stern. "Aye, then she'll never forget or forgive."

"No," Jherek said, knowing it was true. "I don't think she will."

Azla was quiet for a moment, alone with thoughts that captured all of her attention. She shook her head slightly and grimaced. "Who was the pirate?"

Jherek focused on mending the sail again. "A man named Falkane. He's called Bloody Falkane and the Salt Wolf."

"I've not heard of him," Azla said.

"Falkane's well known along the Sword Coast." Jherek took up another stitch, pulling the sailcloth neatly together. The spacing was important if the sail was to fit correctly again.

"He's still alive?"

"Aye." Jherek remembered seeing Bunyip in Baldur's Gate, and the eerie wail echoed again in his mind. He shivered in spite of the balmy heat that lay over the Sea of Fallen Stars.

"That must be a hard burden to carry," Azla commented, then called out briefly to her crew, ordering sails trimmed.

"Anything associated with Falkane is a hard burden."

Jherek tried not to let too much bitterness sound in his voice, but knew he failed. He hadn't even intended to speak his thoughts, but they'd been too strong to remain mute. Thankfully Azla seemed so busy with her crew for the moment that she didn't notice. He took out more of the thick thread.

"You've got a steady hand with that needle," Azla told him a moment later.

"Thank you." Jherek took up another stitch, gathering the material. Black Champion's speed increased and she slid across a large swell that lifted her up and set her back down quickly enough to roll the young sailor's stomach slightly.

"You're a sailor then?" she asked him. "Not like your paladin friend?"

"Aye. Nearly all I've known is the sea."

"And you like it here?"

"More than any other place I've been."

Her line of questioning made Jherek believe that she hadn't always known the sea. Yet, with the grace and certainty she displayed on the deck, he couldn't imagine her not in command of a ship. As Finaren often declared, ships' captains were born and made, hammered into shape by events rather than through book learning.

Azla nodded and said, "But you're young. There are probably few places you've actually been."

Jherek tied off another stitch as he gave consideration to what she'd said. "I've been up and down the Sword Coast a number of times. I've been to Waterdeep, Baldur's Gate, Athkatla, and a number of cities to the north. I've seen my share of things."

"And now you're here in the Sea of Fallen Stars to see yet more."

"As the gods will it."

An icy chill touched Jherek again as he remembered the great voice that had haunted him upon occasion since he was a child.

"Personally," Azla informed him in a fiat tone, "I don't believe the gods take an interest in anyone."

Jherek shrugged, then touched the praying hands of II-mater hanging on the thong around his neck. "I have my beliefs."

"Do you find your god shading the luck and opportunities you have in your favor?"

Jherek considered the question gravely. Religious matters were important and he wanted to answer the question most correctly. "At times I have thought so."

"But you don't know?"

"No."

"Then how can you profess to believe?"

"Because believing is different than knowing," Jherek answered. "Once I know, how can I believe? Knowledge isn't faith."

Azla regarded him in silence. "You've been talking to soothsayers far too long."

Jherek shrugged, taking no offense. "Captain, I learned a long time ago that each man has to build within himself the things he'll need to get through life. Part of that is a way of thinking, certain skills that are meant to put food on the table and a roof over his head, other skills that keep him free from the tyranny of other men. Belief has to be in there as well, to shape a man's destiny and lead him forward."

"And what if that destiny is a bent or broken one?" Azla asked. "Where does belief fit in then?"

The question lit a new fire under all the doubts that Jherek tried to keep buried within him. He hesitated for a moment, then gave her the answer Malorrie had always given him. "A man's belief helps him through, helps him remain himself in spite of the trials around him."

"What about you?" she asked him. "Is your belief helping you so far?"

"Aye." Jherek's answer was given with far less confidence than he would have liked to admit.

"Good, then maybe it'll be enough for us all."

XXV

1 Flamerule, the Year of the Gauntlet

Laaqueel stood on Tarjana's deck and looked out at the Lake of Steam. Thick, heated gray mist hung over the lake and clouded the surrounding lands with perpetual fog. Ahead of them in the distance, she could barely see Arnrock Island, which was the major source of all the volcanic activity in the area. Gray-white smoke with searing orange embers belched continuously into the air, creating the black cinders that swirled endlessly over the lake and filled the water with dark speckles.

She wrapped her arms around herself, already feeling her skin drying out from exposure to the steam. The other sahuagin stayed underwater on the mantas. Even there, the temperatures were hot enough to be uncomfortable and would tend to encourage parasitic growth inside gill tissue. For some of the spells Iakhovas had to do in order to open the gate for them that would take them to Seros, he needed to be out of the water.

He'd also needed the things he had stored aboard the mudship. He'd summoned it after they'd entered the lake, praising it to the sahuagin as an item taken in battle from Baldur's Gate.

Laaqueel prayed constantly, clinging to her belief so much easier now that she'd discovered why Iakhovas had come among them. Freeing the captive sahuagin had preyed upon her mind since he'd told her about them, allowing her to focus on something more than her own doubts.

"Priestess."

Laaqueel turned, hearing unaccustomed fatigue in Iakhovas's voice. "Yes, Most Exalted One."

He walked out onto the deck from the cabin where he'd been working. "It's done. All the preparations have been made. The gate will open as soon as Vurgrom has his piece in place in the Alamber Sea"

"Is there anything I can do, Most Exalted One?" Looking at him, Laaqueel wished she could take away some of the tiredness that clung to him. He'd worked hard for the last week, never stopping even to sleep.