Коллектив авторов: Realms of the Dragons vol.1

Pavel dashed forward, snatched up his friend, and leaped over the side. As he splashed down in the frigid waters of the Moonsea, he invoked the magic of his enchanted cloak.

The folds of the leather mantle expanded into rippling, pulsing wings to propel him through the depths like a manta ray. He could breathe like a fish as well. The water was cool in his lungs.

Will squirmed in his grip, pointed upward, and he realized that though he could breathe, his comrade couldn't. He surfaced warily, but found he'd swum far enough to evade the apparitions. They remained intent on the sailboat and its immediate vicinity.

Pavel carried Will on to shore, then swam back to look for the sailors. By then, the wraiths had disappeared, and unfortunately, the mariners and boat had, too. Nothing remained but drifting planks and other flotsam.

Will crouched and hid in the shadow of a stand of brush, then waited, shivering, his heart still pounding, for Pavel to return. At last the lanky, handsome cleric reared up from the shallows and waded onto the pebbly strand.

Will was relieved to see his friend, but it wouldn't do to show it. It would violate the spirit of their perpetual mock feud.

The half ling straightened up and sneered, "Nice job out there on the boat. It's good to see your magic is as useful as ever."

Though plainly upset at the slaughter of the crew, Pavel made the effort to answer in kind: "At least I had sense enough to flee when the situation became hopeless. What were you trying to accomplish by standing and fighting? That was idiotic even by your standards."

"The spooks piled on me-obviously, they knew which of us posed a threat to them-and I had to cut my way clear. You might want to fix that scratch on your brow before what passes for your brains leaks out."

"Right. I forgot all about it."

Pavel recited a prayer to his patron deity, Lathander, lord of the dawn, sketched a sacred symbol on the air, and his hand glowed with a red-gold light. He touched it to the cut, and the wound closed.

Will ripped up some grass and wiped his exquisitely balanced hornblade, as such oversized halfling swords were called, and asked, "So what happened out there?"

"I don't know," Pavel admitted. "Obviously, something uncanny attacked us, but it didn't feel like conventional magic, or spirits, either."

"Which leaves…?"

The human shook, his head and answered, "At this point, all I know is, we've seen how the Zhentarim are destroying 'unlicensed' ships and caravans."

"But we were sailing a stolen Zhentish patrol boat," said Will. "We were supposed to be safe."

"Apparently that trick has stopped working."

"No, really? You think?" The half ling sighed. "What do we do now?"

"Well, at least we made it almost to Hulburg before the Zhents spotted us." Pavel pointed to the ruined city farther up the shore, a vague mass just visible in the dark. "Let's find a safe place to rest, then start our explorations in the morning. We can worry about how to get back to Thentia when the time comes."

For centuries, war had plagued the Moonsea, laying waste to town after town. Hulburg was one such casualty. Twenty-five years past, the Zhentarim sacked the port. The wilderness was well on its way to reclaiming it. Animals laired amid the rubble of crumbling houses, while grass, brush, and small trees choked the streets. At least, Pavel thought, it meant a fellow didn't have to look too hard to find breakfast. He picked berries, taking care to avoid the long thorns protecting them, and handed half to Will. His curly black lovelocks bedraggled from the dunking they'd received, Will eyed the fruit askance.

"What's this, a prank to give me the runs? They're green."

"It's spring, cretin," said Pavel. "Naturally, they're green. They're still edible."

The halfling chewed one up and swallowed it, grimacing the while, and said, "Why did I ever leave Saerloon?"

"Because your thieves' guild, showing excellent judgment, decided to kill you. Look, if you don't want the berries, give-"

"Hush!" Beckoning for Pavel to follow, Will darted into one of the decaying houses. The thatched roof had fallen in, but skilled hunters both, they nevertheless managed to traverse the floor without their steps snapping and crunching. They hunkered down behind a window and peered out.

Pavel understood what was going on. Will had heard someone, or something, coming. It wasn't necessarily a threat. They'd assumed they might find a few people still dwelling among the ruins, inoffensive farmers or fishermen most likely. But it seemed wiser to find out for sure before revealing themselves.

Pavel scowled when four men-at-arms tramped into view, chatting, uncocked crossbows dangling in their hands. Each wore the somber trappings of a Zhentilar soldier, with the Black Network's dragon-and-scepter emblem emblazoned on their tunics.

Once the warriors had drifted on past and out of earshot, Pavel said, "Do the Zhents know we survived? Are they hunting us?"

Will snorted, "Of course not. Those soldiers weren't expecting any trouble. It was a routine patrol."

"If so, it means the Zhents have taken control of Hul-burg. But why allocate troops to occupy a ruin? There's nothing here anymore."

"Could they be looking for the same lost knowledge we are?"

Pavel shook his head and replied, "I don't see how. They don't have Sammaster's notes. But even so, with Zhents prowling about, it's going to be difficult to explore the ruins unmolested."

"No fooling."

"Curse it, anyway! How many are there, where are they camped, and what are they up to?"

"Seeing as how I'm the scout," Will answered, grinning. "I guess I'd better find out."

A battered castle, its crenellated ramparts stained and jagged as a beggar's teeth, overlooked the harbor. As soon as he caught a glimpse of it, Will surmised the Zhentarim had set up shop there, and when he spotted the black-clad sentries walking the battlements, he knew he was correct. Two vessels, a war galley and a patrol boat, were moored at one of the sagging docks below.

Will turned and skulked on, through streets overgrown with weeds and littered with rubble, slipping from one bit of cover to the next. Until, at the juncture of two lanes, he heard approaching footsteps. He squatted behind a horse trough and peeked around the side.

A freckled, snub-nosed youth, his Zhentish uniform too loose and short on his gangly limbs, slunk by with many a glance back over his shoulder. Will inferred that the lad had slipped away from the castle without permission, to shirk work or scratch a carnal itch in private.

Will pulled the warsling from his belt, glad that oil and enchantment had kept the leather supple despite its immersion the night before. He rose and let fly.

The polished skiprock hit the Zhent in the back of the head. An expert marksman, Will would have been astonished if it hadn't. The only question was whether it had done more harm than intended, some skulls being more brittle than others. As the youth pitched forward, the halfling darted forth to check him.

It was all right. The warrior was still breathing, and any damage short of death, Pavel's prayers could reverse.

Pavel could also do something else that Will couldn't accomplish. He could haul the ungainly bulk of a fellow human away before some other Zhentilar discovered the youth lying unconscious in the street. The halfling ran to fetch his friend.

"We're running a risk," Pavel said. "What if somebody misses him?"

"The longer you dawdle," Will said, "the more likely that is. So get on with it."

Pavel had carried the youth into a shadowy derelict shop and set him on the dusty floor. Will then tied the prisoner's hands and feet with strips of cloth cut from his tunic. The soldier still lay motionless where they'd secured him, the hair on the back of his head matted with blood.