Jaleigh Johnson - Mistshore

The dwarf woman's screams rang out in concert with the snarls of beasts. Cerest slapped the boat nearest him with an oar to get his mens' attention. Reluctantly, they slid into the dark water. Stealth was the wisest option for whatever lay ahead of them.

They were only five, but they were the deadliest of the Locks's muck-rakers, in Cerest's opinion. Up to their noses in the water, they swam silently through the gap between the Ferryman's corpse and the leviathan's. They carried no light source, trusting Cerest's vision to lead them through the complex tangle of ship and creature. Above their heads, the wraiths continued their oblivious circling.

One leucrotta was dead, and the second dying, by the time they came within sight of the raft and its torn occupants. Cerest watched the monk fighting a hideously deformed man, and then a breath later helping Icelin save the man's life.

So that was how it was between them, Cerest thought. He was her dog, awaiting the command to throw himself into death's path. He felt a strange surge in his chest, a heat that did not diminish, even with the harbor soaking his clothes to his skin.

He didn't like the way the monk touched Icelin, the rough way he hauled her back upon the raft, as if she were so much refuse he couldn't wait to cast off. Yet at the same time he stayed as close to her as polite proximity would allow. Like the dog Cerest had named him, he soaked up the energy of her presence; and his body practically vibrated, begging for more.

Cerest didn't want to see that type of connection between the monk and Icelin. Icelin was his.

"Kill the thin man," Cerest whispered to his men. But one of them lifted his hand to his throat, gesturing for silence.

Cerest followed the man's gaze and saw the old man standing on the Ferryman's ruins. His staff glowed brightly, illuminating too much of the ruins for Cerest's comfort. The old man looked shrewd, and comfortable in his power.

"Dive down," Cerest said. "We'll swim a safe distance away and watch. If we get the chance, kill the old man quickly and bring me his staff. Do whatever you wish with the thin man, as long as you kill him in the end. By that time, Icelin and I will be safely away."

He sank under the water, knowing the men would follow. The burning sensation remained in his chest.

"Who are you?" the old man asked.

Icelin felt a strange pull on her scalp, as if some invisible hand were tugging at her hair. The strange lifting sensation brought the truth to her lips, like drawing up water from a deep well.

"Icelin Team," she answered, and felt strangely calm, unafraid of this powerful stranger. "My companions are Ruen Morleth and Bellaril."

As soon as she'd finished speaking, the calm force shattered, and terror burst free in Icelin's chest.

"His magic compels truth," Icelin said, her words running together. "Don't answer his questions."

"My apologies," the man said. "I only wished to confirm your identities. I won't invade your private space again. I owe you thanks for saving my friend's life."

"It was her doing, not mine," Ruen said. "In thanks, why not tell us your name, friend, and how you know who we are?"

"The wraiths whisper things on the edges of my hearing," the man said. "Lies, mostly, and tantalizing hints about secrets that are better left unspoken. I can't help but listen. They have whispered your names in fear."

"Good," Ruen said. "And your name?" he prompted.

"Call me Aldren," rhe old man said, "faithful servant of Mystra's memory." He stepped down from the Ferryman onto the raft. He never lost his balance, and the raft did not stir in the water. Icelin suspected that like the deformed man, he was hovering inches above the water.

The deformed man was sitting up on the raft, his head dipped between his bent knees. He looked like he was going to be sick. Aldren touched'the glowing nimbus of the staff to the deformed man's shoulder. Cast in red, his tentacles basked in the arcane heat. The deformed man looked up at his master.

"It is all right," Aldren said. "Take three deep breaths and you'll be feeling back to normal."

Icelin watched the deformed man do as he was told. The pain creases slowly left his face, and a peaceful resignation descended over his features, as if, for this man, "normal" was simply a chosen level of bearable suffering.

"Who is he?" Icelin asked. The unshakable trust in the deformed man's eyes when he looked at Aldren gave her courage. Surely, no one who could inspire that kind of love would hurt them without cause. "Why are you both here?"

"Darvont has been a friend to me for a long time," Aldren said. "He attacked you in defense of me. It is difficult for his mind to grasp the subtleties between intruder and refugee." He moved his staff back to its upright position beside his head. "Come inside my home, if you will. I can help your friend and give you the answer to your other question."

Icelin looked at Ruen, who shrugged. "He has the upper hand as either a friend or foe." He added, "Bellaril will not survive without aid."

Icelin nodded. Together they lifted Bellaril between them and followed the old man through the wound in the Ferryman's hull. Icelin cradled Bellaril's head gently and felt the lifebeat in her neck. She thought of Sull, and a fresh prayer surged within her, a plea for the lives of her friends.

They came through a dark passage and into a chamber of muted spell light. Aldren had cast a light spell on the preserved nests of insects clustered near the ceiling. A dank chill filled the air, creating the unsettling atmosphere of a tomb.'Jagged planks and ripped sail gave way to what Icelin could only describe as a nest carved of rotting wood and arcane power.

Planks from the main deck had been stacked against the wall, their ends warped by magic so that they curled back on themselves like wood shavings. The rough chairs had been fastened to the hull for stability. Their curling ends seemed to have been done purely for style.

"Put her here," Aldren said.

Icelin and Ruen laid the dwarf woman in the corner, on a narrow straw pallet stacked with blankets. The crude bed had been stuffed into a wooden frame set six inches off the floor. Icelin saw a mouse burrow into the straw and disappear.

While Aldren moved his staff over Bellaril's body, Icelin surveyed the rest of the odd living quarters. Another chair and a table stood in the center of the chamber, reinforced by more wood to make a crude desk. Like the wizard's staff, the surface had been covered with inscribed symbols, some scratched and some burned into the wood. Icelin couldn't imagine how long it must have taken to carve the symbols so meticulously.

Aldren stood straight. The light in his staff dimmed. His eyes looked more sunken than ever, but he smiled wanly. "She will sleep heavily for a time, but she is healing. There will be no permanent damage."

Before Icelin could speak, he brought the staff up and passed it in front of her face. Briefly blinded, Icelin felt warmth and strength flow back into her body. The terrible pain in her wrist went away in an instant. She didn't realize how close the agony and weakness had been to consuming her until they were gone. When the light faded, she saw Aldren make the same gesture before Ruen.

"I'm in your debt," Icelin said. "I am truly sorry to have brought my burdens to your door."

The old man waved a hand dismissively. "I am not so easily intimidated at the prospect of other people's burdens. I welcome the distraction from my own." He followed her gaze to the desk and its writings. "Wood is the only reliable substance to hand," he explained. "The harbor and the wild magic together are so toxic the ink is eaten and the parchment crumbling before a decade is out."

"A decade?" Icelin said. "You've been here that long?"