Under Fallen Stars

Sabyna somersaulted in the air, letting her momentum carry her, and gained an extra two feet that placed her securely on the stern castle. Still, she'd missed her chosen mark by a good eight feet or more.

The pirates closed on Malorrie, who still hadn't given up his death grip on the rudder. Only the young sailor knew she was there.

"Attack," she told her familiar.

Skeins uncoiled from her shoulder, breaking apart into a swirl of pieces that glided toward the pirate on the left. The creature was on the man before he knew it, wrapping around his upper body and stripping his self-control, reducing him to a zombie state.

The other pirate raised his arm to strike the young sailor, who ducked around the rudder for protection and set himself to attack. Sabyna cracked the whip, coiling it around the pirate's sword wrist. Grabbing the whip in both hands, she pulled it taut, then yanked the pirate from his feet before he could react.

The pirate's face darkened with anger as he pushed himself to his feet again and cursed her. He tried to shake the whip from his arm, but Sabyna yanked on it again, pulling him off-balance. Jherek took one step forward and kicked the man in the head, sprawling him unconscious to the deck.

"Sandbar!" someone shouted.

"Where away?" Jherek yelled, getting a fresh hold on the rudder.

There was no time for an answer. In the next instant, Breezeru

Sabyna tried to grab the railing but missed. She fell only inches, dangerously close to getting pulled under the stern section as it whipsawed around. She felt a hand wrap around her wrist, tightening and halting her fall.

"I've got you, lady."

Looking up, Sabyna saw that Malorrie had grabbed hold of the railing with one hand and her with the other. She watched helplessly as Breezeru

"Lady, I'm sorry," he said. "I did my best."

"I know," she told him. "No one could have done any more."

He looked like he wanted to say something further but couldn't.

With a shriek of tortured wood, Breezeru

"Lady," Malorrie said quietly, "I fear I can't hold any longer."

Her arms wrapped around his waist, her cheek pressed to his stomach, she felt the tremors vibrating through him. Yet, somehow she knew he wouldn't release the hold until she told him she was ready. "It's all right," she told him. "Let go."

"As you wish." He released his hold and they dropped into the river.

XVII

9 Kythorn, the Year of the Gauntlet

The elf looked at the dwarf in obvious disdain, dismissing him in a glance. Upon closer inspection, Pacys realized the elf s skin color wasn't ebony as a drow's was, but a very dark blue with infrequent white patches.

"You're him, aren't you?" the elf asked. "The one who will come to be called the Taleweaver?"

Pacys listened to the accent the elf used, finding it like none other he'd ever encountered. As a bard, he'd trained his ear for dialects and accents. They were part of the most colorful tools a bard had, able to carry emotion and character in a monologue. It was softer and more sibilant, as if used to carrying great distances with very little effort.

"I am Pacys the Bard," he replied, "and I've been called many things."

"But soon to be the Taleweaver."

"Maybe. No man may know exactly what lies in his future." Pacys played his cards close to his vest. Narros had also spoken of those who would try to prevent him from attaining his goals.

"No," the elf replied, "but a few are sometimes chosen by the gods to get a glimpse of those possible futures." He ' paused, then added, "You have no need for alarm."

"Aye, and ye speak prettily," Khlinat spat roughly, "but meself, I've found a man sometimes talks differently when he gets the chance to hold a knife to yer throat."

"I heard your song," the elf said. "I knew I had to come see you for myself-to discover if you were the one."

"You knew me from my song?" Pacys asked.

The elf nodded. "I'm something of a minstrel myself, and I was brought up on the lore of my people. Your presence has been predicted in our histories."

"Whose histories?" Pacys asked.

The elf smiled at him haughtily. "I am Taareen, of the alu'tel'quessir. More directly of late, I am of Faenasuor."

Pacys laid a hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "This is my good friend Khlinat Ironeater, a sailor and traveling companion on this journey."

Taareen inclined his head slightly. "A pleasure to meet you, warrior."

"Aye," Khlinat replied gruffly. "I guess we'll be after seeing the truth of that, eh?"

The elf took no offense. "May I come closer?"

Pacys gestured toward the campfire.

Taareen smiled. "Not too close. The flames can be hazardous to one who dwells in the embrace of Seros."

"Seros?" Khlinat asked. "I thought ye said ye were of Faenasuor."

"Seros," Pacys told him, digging into the lore he knew of the Sea of Fallen Stars, "is what they call the I

"Actually, it's the term for the world under the sea," Taareen stated as he sat on the ground across the campfire from them. "It came into use after Aryselmalyr fell-over a thousand years ago. In our language it means 'the embracing life.'"

"Aryselmalyr was the empire of the sea elves," Pacys told Khlinat when the dwarf looked up at him with suspicion on his broad face. "Several of the elves took up the sea life after the Crown Wars."

Harumphing in obvious displeasure, Khlinat sat apart from Pacys, giving himself a clear field of action should it become necessary. He laid his axes on the ground in front of him.

"Do you know of Faenasuor?" Taareen asked.

"I've heard of it," Pacys replied. "The city was thought lost when Aryselmalyr was destroyed."

He had heard songs of the elven empire's destruction when an undersea plateau shoved up without warning from the sea bottom and killed nearly eighty thousand inhabitants. The city lay covered over at the bottom of the Sea of Fallen Stars for a thousand years, until it was excavated seventy years ago.

"I've never been there," Pacys said.

"No," Taareen replied. "As a culture, the sea elves are friendly enough to humans, but only relate to them when there is need."

"Doesn't sound much different than elves anywhere ye go," Khlinat offered.

"I wouldn't know. I've never left Seros." Taareen's eyes fell on Pacys's yarting. "May I?"

Pacys nodded, then rose and passed the yarting over.

The sea elf took it gratefully. His hands searched out the strings a little unconfidently, then he fit his fingers into the frets and stroked the strings. Music filled the campsite, and it was clear and true. After a moment, evidently feeling more at home with the instrument, Taareen lifted his voice in song.

The words were alien to Pacys's ears. He knew some of the elven dialects and languages, but this one wasn't familiar to him. Still, the emotion of the song was raw and throbbing, speaking of loss and redemption, of brighter days ahead. He finished quietly, but the words still echoed through the trees, vanishing the way the bright orange embers from the campfire did when they tried to touch the sky.