away the sadness that often filled him. There was no one save himself that he could blame for his misfortune.
“Ye’re a sailor, aren’t ye, lad?”
Jherek’s hand strayed down unconsciously to the long sword he wore in a sash at his waist. He turned toward the voice. With all the overland travel now going on between the cities to replace the lost shipping lanes, goblinkin, dopplegangers, and raiders had infiltrated the cities and the wildernesses between. Opportunities abounded for those on both sides of the law.
“Don’t mean ye no harm, lad. Just making conversation.”
The dwarf stood at the railing to the left and behind Jherek. He leaned on his elbows, working a pinch of pipeweed into the bowl of his pipe. He was short and broad, his face filled with unruly gray whiskers that stuck out in all directions. His breeches and shirt had seen better days, and the thin coat he wore against the night’s chill had been patched repeatedly.
“My apologies,” Jherek said. “I meant no disrespect.”
He didn’t take his hand from the sword. He was used to carrying a cutlass instead of the long sword, but Frauk, the caravan master, had insisted Jherek use the more conventional weapon because he’d wanted all his men armed similarly. Malorrie had schooled him in the long sword, but Jherek was most comfortable with the cutlass.
“None taken.” The dwarf pulled a twist of straw from his pocket, shoved it into a nearby lantern on a pole, then used it to light his pipe. “Just noticed that hungry look on yer face. Mayhap I should have kept my big mouth shut. Sometimes a man don’t need his thoughts interrupted.”
“Not these thoughts,” Jherek said. “I’m grateful for the interruption.”
“How long since ye’ve been at sea?” the dwarf asked.
“Longer than I care to think about,” Jherek admitted.
“Ye miss a ship. Ye get used to her, get used to the way she’s always moving, always passionate with a wind that gets a sailor’s blood up.”
“Aye,” Jherek said, immediately warming to the kindred spirit the dwarf exuded. “Are you with one of these ships?”
The dwarf shook his head. “Been a damn landlubber off and on for the last five years,” he said, reaching down to slap his right leg. It thunked hollowly.
Jherek saw the wooden peg sticking out of the breeches.
“Lost it to a hungry shark what was a faster swimmer than meself, even properly spirited as I was at the time.”
The dwarf grinned wryly and a chill that was more than the cool air coming in off the river ghosted across Jherek’s neck and shoulders. During the trip up from Athkatla, he’d dreamed of a great shark that had pursued him until each dawn had awakened him.
“I’m sorry,” Jherek offered.
The dwarf flashed him a tight, practiced grin that lacked mirth. “I yet live. The sages say that while a man still lives all things are possible. Mayhap I don’t ship out as often as I’ve a mind to, but I still get to go. Right now, I’m working on one of the ship’s crews down in the dry docks. Me shift just ended and I thought I’d smoke a bit before finding a bite to eat.”
Jherek’s own stomach growled in frustration. He’d lost weight while hard traveling with the caravan. The work taxed him and he’d not had much of an appetite.
“Is the Elfsong yet open?” The dwarf asked.
Jherek remembered that famous tavern from past travels. On the first night Breezerunner had put in to Baldur’s Gate with Jherek aboard, Finaren had treated him to dinner at the Elfsong. Ilmater’s tears, but Jherek missed the old sea captain too.
“Aye,” the dwarf answered. “Though it might be busy come this time of night.”
“I’ll stand you to a bowl of stew if you’d like,” Jherek said.
“I’m no cripple, lad, and quite able to take care of meself, thank ye kindly.”
Jherek felt flustered. “I only meant it as an offer.” He hesitated, not wanting to admit that he wanted the company. He’d bonded with none
“Ye’re a sailor, aren’t ye, lad?”
Jherek’s hand strayed down unconsciously to the long sword he wore in a sash at his waist. He turned toward the voice. With all the overland travel now going on between the cities to replace the lost shipping lanes, goblinkin, dopplegangers, and raiders had infiltrated the cities and the wildernesses between. Opportunities abounded for those on both sides of the law.
“Don’t mean ye no harm, lad. Just making conversation.”
The dwarf stood at the railing to the left and behind Jherek. He leaned on his elbows, working a pinch of pipeweed into the bowl of his pipe. He was short and broad, his face filled with unruly gray whiskers that stuck out in all directions. His breeches and shirt had seen better days, and the thin coat he wore against the night’s chill had been patched repeatedly.
“My apologies,” Jherek said. “I meant no disrespect.”
He didn’t take his hand from the sword. He was used to carrying a cutlass instead of the long sword, but Frauk, the caravan master, had insisted Jherek use the more conventional weapon because he’d wanted all his men armed similarly. Malorrie had schooled him in the long sword, but Jherek was most comfortable with the cutlass.
“None taken.” The dwarf pulled a twist of straw from his pocket, shoved it into a nearby lantern on a pole, then used it to light his pipe. “Just noticed that hungry look on yer face. Mayhap I should have kept my big mouth shut. Sometimes a man don’t need his thoughts interrupted.”
“Not these thoughts,” Jherek said. “I’m grateful for the interruption.”
“How long since ye’ve been at sea?” the dwarf asked.
“Longer than I care to think about,” Jherek admitted.
“Ye miss a ship. Ye get used to her, get used to the way she’s always moving, always passionate with a wind that gets a sailor’s blood up.”
“Aye,” Jherek said, immediately warming to the kindred spirit the dwarf exuded. “Are you with one of these ships?”
The dwarf shook his head. “Been a damn landlubber off and on for the last five years,” he said, reaching down to slap his right leg. It thunked hollowly.
Jherek saw the wooden peg sticking out of the breeches.
“Lost it to a hungry shark what was a faster swimmer than meself, even properly spirited as I was at the time.”
The dwarf grinned wryly and a chill that was more than the cool air coming in off the river ghosted across Jherek’s neck and shoulders. During the trip up from Athkatla, he’d dreamed of a great shark that had pursued him until each dawn had awakened him.
“I’m sorry,” Jherek offered.
The dwarf flashed him a tight, practiced grin that lacked mirth. “I yet live. The sages say that while a man still lives all things are possible. Mayhap I don’t ship out as often as I’ve a mind to, but I still get to go. Right now, I’m working on one of the ship’s crews down in the dry docks. Me shift just ended and I thought I’d smoke a bit before finding a bite to eat.”
Jherek’s own stomach growled in frustration. He’d lost weight while hard traveling with the caravan. The work taxed him and he’d not had much of an appetite.
“Is the Elfsong yet open?” The dwarf asked.
Jherek remembered that famous tavern from past travels. On the first night Breezerunner had put in to Baldur’s Gate with Jherek aboard, Finaren had treated him to dinner at the Elfsong. Ilmater’s tears, but Jherek missed the old sea captain too.
“Aye,” the dwarf answered. “Though it might be busy come this time of night.”
“I’ll stand you to a bowl of stew if you’d like,” Jherek said.
“I’m no cripple, lad, and quite able to take care of meself, thank ye kindly.”
Jherek felt flustered. “I only meant it as an offer.” He hesitated, not wanting to admit that he wanted the company. He’d bonded with none
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