Robert Salvatore: The Pirate King

Kurth spent a long while staring at the lich. “Leave us,” he instructed his guards, who bristled and muttered complaints, but eventually did as they were told.

“Kensidan sent you?” Kurth asked when he was alone with the lich.

“Who?” Arklem Greeth replied, and he laughed. “No. I doubt the son of Rethnor knows I survived the catastrophe on Cutlass Island. Nor do I believe he would be glad to hear the news.”

Kurth cocked his head just a bit, showing his intrigue and a bit of confusion.

“There are others watching the events in Luskan, of course,” said Arklem Greeth.

“The Arcane Brotherhood,” reasoned Kurth.

“Nay, not yet. Other than myself, of course, for once more, and sooner than I expected by many years, I find myself intrigued by this curious collection of rogues we call a city. No, my friend, I speak of the voices in the shadows. ’Twere they who guided me to you now.”

Kurth’s eyes flashed.

“It will end badly for Captain Deudermont, I fear,” said Arklem Greeth.

“And well for Kensidan and Ship Rethnor.”

“And for you,” Arklem Greeth assured him.

“And for you?” Kurth asked.

“It will end well,” said the lich. “It already has, though I seek one more thing.”

“The throne of Luskan?” Kurth asked.

Arklem Greeth again broke out in that wheezing laugh. “My day in public here is done,” he admitted. “I accepted that before Lord Brambleberry sailed into the Mirar. It’s the way of things, of course. Expected, accepted, and well planned for, I assure you. I could have defeated Brambleberry, likely, but in doing so, I would have invoked the wrath of the Waterdhavian lords, and thus caused more trouble for the Arcane Brotherhood than the minor setback we received here.”

“Minor setback?” Kurth indignantly replied. “You have lost Luskan!”

Greeth shrugged, and Kurth’s jaw clenched in anger. “Luskan,” said again, giving the name great weight.

“It is but one city, rather unremarkable,” said Greeth.

“Not so,” Kurth replied, calling him on his now-obvious bluff. “It is a hub of a great wheel, a center of weight for regions of riches, north, east and south, and with the waterways to move those riches.”

“Be at ease, friend,” said Greeth, patting his hands in the air. “I do not diminish the value of your beloved Luskan.”

Kurth’s expression aptly reflected his disagreement with that assessment.

“Only because I know our loss here to be a temporary thing,” Greeth explained. “And because I expect that the city will remain in hands competent and reasonable,” he added with a deferential and thoroughly disarming bow toward Kurth.

“And so you plan to leave?” Kurth asked, not quite sorting it all out. He could hardly believe, after all, that Arklem Greeth—the fearsome and ultimately deadly archmage arcane—would willingly surrender the city.

The lich shrugged, a collection of mucus and seawater in its lungs crackling with the movement. “Perhaps. But before I go away, I wish to repay a certain traitorous wizard. Two, actually.”

“Arabeth Raurym,” Kurth reasoned. “She plays both sides of the conflict, moving between Deudermont and Ship Rethnor.”

“Until she is dead,” said the lich. “Which I very much intend.”

“And the other?”

“Robillard of Sea Sprite,” the lich said in a tone as close to a sneer as the breathless creature could imitate. “Too long have I suffered the righteous indignation of that fool.”

“Neither death would sadden me,” Kurth agreed.

“I wish you to facilitate that,” said Arklem Greeth, and Kurth lifted an eyebrow. “The city unravels. Deudermont’s dream will falter, and very soon.”

“Unless he can find food and—”

“Relief will not come,” the lich insisted. “Not soon enough, at least.”

“You seem to know much for one who has not shown himself in Luskan for many months. And you seem to be quite certain in your assurances.”

“Voices in the shadows….” Arklem Greeth replied with a sly smile. “Let me tell you of our observant and little-seen allies.”

Kurth nodded and the lich spoke openly, only confirming that which Morik the Rogue, at Kensidan’s bidding, had already explained. The high captain did well to hide his consternation at the further unwelcome evidence of yet another powerful player in the tug-of-war that was Luskan, particularly a player with a reputation so vile and unpredictable. Not for the first time did High Captain Kurth question Kensidan’s judgment in helping to facilitate the Luskan disaster.

And not for the last time, either, he thought as Arklem Greeth told his dark tale of lacedon ghouls and murdered sailors.

“We act now or we lose Luskan,” Governor Deudermont announced to Robillard, Drizzt, Regis, and some of his other commanders almost as soon as Drizzt delivered the news of the melee in the streets. “We must calm them until the caravans arrive.”

“They will hear no reason,” said Drizzt.

“Simpletons,” Robillard muttered.

“They seek a focus for their frustrations,” said Deudermont. “They are hungry and frightened, and grieving. Every family has suffered great losses.”

“You overestimate the spontaneity of the moment,” Robillard warned. “They are being goaded…and supplied.”

“The high captains,” Deudermont replied, and the wizard shrugged at the obvious answer.

“Indeed,” the governor continued. “The four fools construct small empires within the city and posture now with swords.”

Drizzt glanced at the luncheon platters still set on the table, and the scraps of meat—of deep rothé meat—and he wondered if there was even more posturing going on than the infighting of the high captains. He kept his fears silent, though, as he had when they’d first surfaced at dinner the previous night. He had no idea who had opened the trade channels necessary to get deep rothé and Underdark mushrooms, or with whom that enterprising high captain might be trading, but there was chaos in Luskan, and Drizzt’s life experiences associated that state with one race in particular.

“We must act immediately,” Deudermont announced. He turned to Robillard. “Go to the Mirabarrans and bid them to reinforce and keep safe the Red Dragon Inn.”

“We’re leaving?” Regis asked.

“To Sea Sprite, I pray,” said Robillard.

“We need to cross the bridge,” Deudermont answered. “Our place now is in Luskan proper. The Mirabarrans can control the north bank. Our duty is to step into the middle of the fighting and force the competing high captains back to their respective domains.”

“One Ship is without her captain,” Drizzt reminded him.

“And there we will go,” Deudermont decided. “To Suljack’s palace, which I will declare as the temporary Governor’s Residence, and we will ally with his people in their time of need.”

“Before the vultures can tear the carcass of Ship Suljack to bits?” Regis asked.

“Precisely.”

“Sea Sprite would be a better choice,” said the wizard.

“Enough, Robillard! You weary me.”

“Luskan is already dead, Captain,” the wizard added. “You haven’t the courage to see it clearly.”

“The Mirabarrans?” Deudermont asked in a sharper tone, and Robillard bowed and said no more, leaving the room immediately and the Red Dragon soon after to enlist the men and dwarves of the Shield District.

“We will announce our presence in no uncertain terms,” Deudermont explained when the wizard was gone. “And will fight to protect any and all who need us. Through strength of resolve and sword we will hold Luskan together until the supplies arrive, and we will demand fealty to the city and not the Ship.”