XV

29 Flamerule, the Year of the Gauntlet

"You're an excellent player," the captain said.

Jherek glanced at Captain Tarnar across the inlaid marble chessboard on the small table between them in the captain's quarters. The pieces were done in dark red and white, matching the board, carved in figures of king, queen, priests, horsemen, castles, and kneeling archers.

"You're very gracious," the young sailor responded.

Steadfast cleaved the water as she was named, pulling full into the wind now.

"No," Tarnar replied, "I'm not. I don't like to lose."

He poured another glass of wine for himself, then offered the bottle to Jherek, who politely refused.

The captain had invited Jherek to join him for dinner, and the young sailor had reluctantly accepted. Jherek preferred his own company, but he was loath not to show good manners in light of the situation.

"I find it more disturbing that you beat me three times in a row-" Tarnar paused to sip his wine,"-in light of the fact that you're distracted."

"I'm not-"

"A woman?" the captain asked, interrupting politely.

Jherek didn't reply. To speak of Sabyna so casually would be dishonorable.

"Of course it's a woman," Tarnar said with conviction. His eyes bore into the young sailor's. "The only other interest to so bewitch a man's soul would be an object of greed, and you aren't the type to covet physical goods." The captain started setting up the chess pieces again. "You threw yourself into the sea without so much as a bag packed those days ago."

Jherek set up the pieces on his side of the board, appreciating the smooth feel of them.

"Is it the ship's captain I saw you with?" Tarnar persisted. "The half-elf? Or the young red haired girl that seemed so upset by your leaving?"

"I'd rather not speak of this," Jherek said.

"Nonsense. Men at sea always talk of women," the captain persisted. "First, they speak of their mothers, then of lovers, then of women they've left in different ports. When they start speaking of wives, you'd best start looking for another crewman."

Candles lit the room and filled it with the smoky haze of herbs that eddied out the open windows in the ship's stern. A generous portion of the room was given over to the large bed that extended across the stern a good eight feet. Shelves and closets occupied the remaining space along the wall on either side of the bed.

There was a large rolltop desk that held map scrolls and nautical plotting and marking tools. Ship's journals sat neatly ranked on one side. The current journal occupied the center of the table, open to the entry Tarnar last made. A quill and an inkwell sat nearby.

A shelf on the opposite side of the room from the desk held a row of books. Most of them, Jherek found upon inspection, were treatises regarding the worship of Mystra. Beside the bookshelves was a locked armory that held swords of different makes and styles.

Jherek nodded at the shelves and said, "I've noticed your interest in books."

"The worship of Mystra. Yes." Tarnar swirled the dregs of his wine. "I am a failed priest of her order."

Stunned that the man announced the fact so casually, Jherek opened his mouth to speak but found no words.

The captain grinned. "It's nothing I'm ashamed of," he said. "While I attended the Lady of Mysteries' schools and talked with her priests, I learned a great many things. All of them have helped me become a better man. I begrudge none of the experience, not even when I took myself from the order."

"Why did you?" Jherek asked.

"Because I felt the calling, but I never felt I could devote myself to the priesthood. Not the way I wanted to, wholly and without reservation. So I went to sea, which seemed as wild and as restless as any mysteries I might seek to uncover under Mystra's guidance."

"But your interest remains," Jherek observed. "Why would you keep the books otherwise?"

"Aye," Tarnar replied. "My fascination remains. Mystra is also known as She of the Wild Tides here in the Sea of Fallen Stars. I love her because she seems so much a part of this world, yet above it. Legend has it that during the Time of Troubles she even wralked on this plane as a mortal herself."

Jherek remained silent.

"Today I tried to divine something of what lies in your future," Tarnar said.

Shaking his head, Jherek grumbled, "I don't want to know."

"There's not much to tell," Tarnar told him. "I never learned how to divine properly, though I was told by my teachers that I possessed some mean skills at it. I only got two impressions from the attempt. I know that something shapes your future-though you have a choice in that- and that the guiding hand does not belong to Mystra."

"What choice?"

Tarnar ran his finger around the rim of his wineglass and said, "I could not say. Have you any stronger feelings about where we're supposed to go? By the afternoon of the day after tomorrow we'll be at the mouth of the Alamber Sea. Providing the wind stays with us, the trip to Aglarond will not be long."

"No. I have just the steady need to travel east-and even that is not as sharp as it once was."

Even as the young sailor's words faded away, a low, mournful croon echoed inside the captain's quarters.

Drawn by the sound, Jherek excused himself from the table and headed through the door.

Men stood out on the deck, lit by a few lanterns secured in the rigging to warn other ships of their presence and to allow them to see in the dark night. None of the sailors appeared relaxed.

"What in the Nine Hells is that?" one man grumbled.

"It's enough to wake the dead," another volunteered.

"You ask me," a third stated, "that's the cry of someone or something dead. Come to call us on home ourselves."

"Stow that bilge, Klyngir," Tarnar ordered as he followed Jherek up the steps to the stern castle.

"Aye, sir," the sailor snapped.

The mournful moaning continued, just loud enough to be heard over the waves lapping at Steadfast sides. It echoed on the wind, as if carried a great distance.

Jherek stepped up on Steadfasfs stern castle deck. The chill wind snaked icy fingers under his clothing, prickling his skin. His hair whipped about, blown forward from the stern. He scanned the horizon where the star-filled black sky met the rolling, green-black sea.

"I want men circling this ship along the railings," Tarnar roared as he stood overlooking the deck. "Those blasted sea devils are known to be thick in this area."

"Sounds far away, Cap'n," the mate behind the wheel stated.

"I don't want to take any chances," Tarnar snapped.

Steadfast creaked and the rigging popped in the wind, but the ship's noises never covered the mournful moans. Jherek listened to the sounds, finally recognizing them for what they were.

"Whale song," he said.

"Aye, Cap'n, it is," the mate at the wheel said. "I know it now, too."

The cadence of the whale song rode up and down the scale, sounding eerie and menacing.

"I've been told whales can sing the length and breadth of the Inner Sea," the mate said, "but I've never heard anything like this."

"Nor have I," Tarnar agreed. He glanced at Jherek.

"Wherever they are," Jherek said, "that's where we must go."

"You're sure?" Tarnar asked.

Men scurried along Steadfast railing, holding lanterns out over the sides as they scoured the dark water.

"Aye," Jherek replied. The pulling sensation inside him was growing, accompanied by an increased anxiety to get there.

"What direction?"

The young sailor listened, but the mournful moaning seemed to come from everywhere.

"I don't know," Jherek mumbled, frustration chafing at him.

Tarnar approached him and spoke soft enough that his words didn't carry. "Close your eyes, my friend. If this is a message for you, as you believe, it will be made known to you."