R.A. Geno Salvatore

  Stone of Tymora 01 - TheStowaway

  By

  Part One

  The approaching footsteps echoed off the many uneven surfaces of the small cave I lay in. I struggled to sit up, my shoulder sore where I had fallen on it, my wrists raw from the coarse rope tied around them. Flickering light appeared in the wide gap between the warped old wooden door and the stone floor. It was the first light I had seen in several hours.The door creaked open.

  A man stood in the portal, illuminated by the torch he held in his left hand. The light cast shifting shadows across his face, particularly under the brim of his broad black hat. Beneath the hat, a black bandana covered his right eye.

  He entered, limping, favoring his left side. I quickly saw the reason: his right leg ended just below the knee, replaced with a weathered wooden peg.

  After closing the door behind him, he pulled another torch from a loop on his belt, lit it, then placed the torches in sconces set on either side of the door. The light was still not much, and the shadows danced around the room. But at least I could see.

  The old pirate turned toward me, lit ominously from behind, a silhouette, a shadow himself. His hand moved to the cutlass sheathed at his side, and I shuddered.

  "Ye're a sailor, aintcha boy?" he said. "Yer skin's known the sea breeze, felt the sun. But it ain't yet leather like mine." He pulled at his many wrinkles, the sea-worn skin stretching in his hand. "But ye're on yer way. So be telling me, sailor-boy, how long ye been on the seas?"

  I resisted the urge to answer him. It was the look in his eye. I knew he would kill me. I had been told often that pirates were merciless, bloodthirsty criminals-murderers and thieves-and that to be captured by one was death if there was no one to pay your ransom. I had seen it first hand.

  The pirate gave his cutlass a menacing shake and looked right into my eyes. "Ye thought I'd be coming in with me sword drawn and just cut ye down, didn't ye, boy?" he said. "But we could've done that when we took yer ship. Wouldn't have been much use for us to take ye all the way here and cut ye down, would it?"

  I shook my head. "I didn't expect you to simply kill me. I expected-I still expect-you to question me first." I swallowed, attempting to still my trembling voice. "But you'll get nothing useful from me."

  The pirate slowly drew his sword. "Well then, boy, shouldn't I just be killing ye now? I mean, if ye ain't gonna be giving me nothing useful." He burst into a laugh, the sort of laugh heard among friends sitting around a fire, sharing a drink. He slid the sword back into its scabbard. "Now, what be yer name, boy?"

  "My name?" I had been prepared for an interrogation. But not for this. I pushed my back against the cave wall and sat up taller. I knew what I had to do.

  "Yer name, boy. It ain't a hard question." The pirate smiled a crooked smile, showing as many teeth missing as remaining, several of them glinting with gold.

  "My name does not stand alone," I said, the tremble gone from my voice. "It comes with a story. The tale of an artifact-tied to my soul through no fault or courage or heroism or hard work of my own. An artifact that has led me from one adventure to another, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake."

  I stared at the dirty pirate a long while, forcing my mind down old roads I had tried to forget.

  Chapter One

  I do not know what name my mother gave me.I do not know, because every person who knew my name died-killed by a dark creature, a demon called Asbeel-mere days after I first entered the world.

  Until I met Perrault, I was an orphan. And ten days after my twelfth birthday, I was alone once again.

  Perrault lay unmoving on a bed in an inn. I had gone looking for help, but no help was to be found.

  There was only Asbeel. "Where are you, boy?"

  "… boy… boy… boy… boy?" His voice echoed off every wall, shaking the timbers of houses all along the streets in that section of the city, shaking the ground beneath my feet. I looked around at the crowded marketplace, expecting to see panic, for how could the people of Baldur's Gate not react to that clamor?

  But… nothing. Was the voice just for me? Was some demonic magic guiding it to my ears alone?

  "… boy…boy…boy…boy?" I couldn't tell where the voice was coming from.

  I darted frantically back and forth, looking for some clue, for some place to hide. A man leaning against a tavern door eyed me, thinking me out of my mind, no doubt. And perhaps I was.

  The echoes grew louder. "… boy… boy… boy… boy!"

  I raced down the alley beside the tavern and looked toward the sky. In that instant, all the sound came crashing together and nearly knocked me from my feet.

  Asbeel stood a hundred strides away and thirty feet up, and I could see the fires in his eyes and the gleam of his teeth.

  I knew-a sensation as heavy as drowning in cold water-that Asbeel had seen me.

  I tried to run, but I could not, as if the cobblestones had reached up and grabbed my feet.

  Asbeel jumped off the roof, landing in the alleyway with such strength that he hardly bent his legs to absorb the weight of the fall. The buildings shook and the ground trembled, and even the man at the tavern gave a shout, so I knew I was not imagining it.

  But how could it be? Asbeel was no larger than an elf, a lithe and sinewy creature who seemed to weigh little more than I did. It made no sense, but nothing did.

  The shock of the demon's jump seemed to break away the confining cobblestones, or free me from my own bindings. I knew not which and didn't care. I just turned and ran for all my life.

  Not four steps out of the alleyway, I tripped and fell, skinning both my knees and jarring my wrists. But before I could begin to curse at my clumsiness, a huge crate soared over my head and smashed to pieces in the street in front of me.

  I looked back just in time to see Asbeel kick another crate as if it weighed no more than a child's rag-ball. He laughed as it soared out for me, and I could only yelp and fall aside as it shattered precisely where I had been kneeling.

  "Hey, now!" the man at the tavern cried, and another came out the door to see what was happening.

  My mouth went dry, my heart sank. I wanted to call out to them to run away, to go back inside, but I could not. I hadn't the strength or the courage.

  I just ran.

  The ground trembled behind me as the beast gave chase. Then the shaking stopped, replaced by screams.

  I covered my ears, but could not block out the cries. Not knowing where I was going, I turned every corner I came to, only wanting to be out of Asbeel's sight.

  The ground trembled again and I knew he paced me. I ran into one of the main streets and the trembling grew more violent. I could hear his scaly feet slapping the cobblestones. He would grab me at any moment and tear me apart!

  I should pull out Perrault's stiletto, I told myself, use its magic to make it a sword, and stab the beast through the heart.

  I should… I should, I thought, but I could not.

  Asbeel's face burned behind my eyes, evil and hideous and hungry, and the thought of it made my legs weak and my heart faint.

  As I neared an intersection, a wagon driven by a team of four huge horses veered toward me. I couldn't stop. The driver screamed and tugged the reins with all his might.

  The horses, neighing in complaint, barreled past me. I threw myself down and flattened myself between the wheels then managed to get out between the back two just as the driver stopped the cart.

  "What, boy? Are ye dead, then?" the driver cried out.

  I managed to scream, "No!" as I ran off.

  Barely ten strides away, I heard the explosion as Asbeel slammed into the cart. I could picture the wagon shattering, its load of fruits flying wildly. I heard the driver yelp in surprise. I heard the horses whinny in terror and pain.

  I peeled around the corner and looked back, just in time to see one of those horses kick Asbeel in the chest, sending him flying backward. He slammed against a wall and stumbled, but did not fall.

  I yelled and ran. The demon refocused his anger-I heard more screams.

  I turned down another cobbled street, and at last I knew where I was.

  I had reached the heart of the temple district of Baldur's Gate. Massive structures all around dwarfed me, churches dedicated to each of the myriad gods of Faerun, gargoyles and statues gazing down at me, leering or smiling with equal irony and equal uselessness.

  The demon's voice rang out again, but it was farther away and full of even greater rage-an echo that would not die.

  "You cannot hide, boy," the voice said. "Fall down and let yourself be taken."

  But beneath his voice rang another, a woman's, perfect and clear as a clarion in the fog. It was but a whisper, but I could hear it distinctly.

  Run now, and take heart.

  Despite the clutch in my chest and the pain in my knees, the woman's voice compelled me.

  I sprinted toward the sun that descended over the cityscape. The voices in my head grew fainter, and I felt less of the fear that had nearly crippled me. I felt myself coming under my own control again, aware of my surroundings. I slowed my pace.

  As I tried to catch my breath, the leather bandolier I hid beneath my shirt dug into my shoulder, as if it were made of thick chains and not leather. In a pouch on that leather bandolier was a stone, dark as night and heavier than its small size suggested.

  It had been in my possession for only ten days-a gift from Perrault-and already it had brought more grief than I had known po

ssible. It had brought ruin to everyone I knew. And if I could not find a way to escape Asbeel, it would bring about my ruin too.

  I glanced up and down the crooked street. The shadows grew longer; soon darkness would fall. I didn't want to be out alone, at night. And I didn't want to face Asbeel, alone, in the dark.

  But where could I go? I thought of returning to the Empty Flagon, the inn where I had left Perrault only a few hours ago. By then the tavern would surely be full of patrons. The proprietor, a crazy old dwarf named Alviss, would be floating behind the bar and around the room on one of his flying blue discs. Flagons of mead would drift of their own accord out to thirsty customers then return, emptied, and with the coin paid.

  And in the room at the back of the tavern, I would find Perrault, lying in bed. For a moment, I imagined I could race back to the inn, speak the password, enter the place, and have Perrault tell me what I should do. But Asbeel would surely come to look for me at the Empty Flagon. And I did not know the city well enough to find another place to hide. I had no other choice. I had to leave Baldur's Gate without him. The only question was how.

  From the high hill of the temple district where I stood, I saw the whole sweeping descent of the bustling port and the long wharf at its end. The last of the day's vessels were just sailing up toward the city. I watched as one cut down the river, the small flag atop its mainmast fluttering in the wind. The weight lifted from my chest.

  And a plan formed in my head.

  Chapter Two

  I snuck through the inner city and made my way to the river where I waited for morning to come. Nestled in a pile of crates at the end of the city's long wharf, I stayed awake all through the night. My heart raced at every sound, certain Asbeel had discovered me.At last the sun rose and I felt safe enough to creep out of my hiding place. Many of the ships I had seen at anchor the previous evening were gone, having sailed out at first light. Those that remained had a steady stream of crew returning.

  I would have to play a waiting game.

  The wind was strong and blew directly out to sea from the east, where the sun was rising. The air was warm despite the wind, and it felt good across my face.

  I was sure no ships would be coming in against such a headwind, so to execute my plan, I had to pick one already docked. It would be a good day for departures, and I was sure most of the ships would be putting out before the breeze turned. All I needed to do was decide which one to hide aboard.

  I moved along the wharf toward the city, and something caught my eye. Sure enough, a ship sailed upriver against the current and the blowing wind, tacking mightily and smoothly, cutting from side to side as if a ship were meant to sail like that, always like that, only like that.

  I watched for some time, mesmerized, as the lone ship made its way toward the city. After a while, a small crowd began trotting along the docks. Several guards in uniform and a chubby manwithasmall stack of papers-the harbormaster, I guessed-prepared to record the new arrival.

  Then I realized they were gathering at the foot of the wharf I was sitting on.

  I crouched behind one of the crates lining the wharf and prayed they hadn't seen me.

  The ship stopped her tack and dropped sail, slowly gliding in along the dock. Her name, Sea Sprite, was painted in graceful though fading letters along her bow, and she was everything I was not looking for: small and sleek, in perfect condition, looking like the perfect craft for open water.

  On her foredeck stood a human in very fine dress-the captain, I supposed. Next to him loomed a giant of a man, huge and imposing with long golden hair that shone in the morning sun. Beside him stood an unusual elf.

  My gaze fixed on the elf. Something was not quite right about him, about the way he carried himself. He looked like a typical sun elf, with golden skin and light brown hair, but didn't seem comfortable in that skin. For a moment, it occurred to me that he was another of Asbeel's heritage, and I nearly ran away.

  When he turned to look in my direction-to look at me, I realized, despite my hiding place-I recognized that discomfort again in his striking lavender eyes. That elf was different, I realized, and I felt the fool for thinking him connected to that beastly demon.

  The ship was just putting in and would likely not put back out for a tenday. She was well cared for, and I figured that to mean an attentive captain and crew. She was small, with fewer places to hide than a great galleon. Every logical reason told me to pick a different ship.

  But the elf intrigued me.

  I decided right then and there that I would stow away aboard that ship. All her faults-which were really virtues-were outweighed by the look in the strange elf s eyes.

  "What ho, Sea Sprite?" the harbormaster called to the captain. "Is Deudermont at your reins?"

  The man in captain's garb called back. "He is! And glad to see Pellman, as well!"

  Pellman, the harbormaster, had the look of a sailor, his skin leathered by the salt breeze, but his form spoke of a more sedentary lifestyle. Idling about the docks keeping his records, he probably took ample food from the various trading ships as they made berth, enough food certainly to keep his large belly full.

  "Well met, Captain," the chubby man called. "And as fine a pull as I've ever seen! How long are you in port?"

  "Two days, then off to the sea and the south," Deudermont replied.

  Pellman called again. "I seek two adventurers- might you have seen them? Drizzt Do'Urden and Wulfgar by name, though they may be using others. One's small and mysterious-elflike- and the other's a giant and as strong as any man alive!"

  Deudermont turned to his two companions, who were hidden from the harbormaster's view, and spoke briefly with them before calling down his answer. " 'Twas Wulfgar, strong as any man alive, who made the pull!" As he spoke, Wulfgar then the elf-Drizzt Do'Urden-stepped forward, showing themselves to Pellman.

  That gave me a name for those violet eyes, and a name for the ship, and she was leaving in two days. Perfect.

  The ship tied off quickly, smoothly, the crew executing its task to perfection. Sea Sprite had a shallow draw, and so was tied up close to the wharf. I saw my opportunity. Tied to the back of the ship was a launch, a two-person craft with oars, used to go ashore where there was no pier. The boat was tied to the back of the ship through a pair of small holes, too small for a man to crawl through.

  Too small for a man, but not too small for me.

  I watched as the crew disembarked and began loading supplies. I crouched in my hiding spot, hoping to catch a glimpse of Drizzt, but he was lost among the dockworkers. Wulfgar, the man I thought must have giant blood in him, helped from the deck, but never set foot off the ship. Midday passed, and before I knew it, the sun was moving into the western sky. With the day's work finished, many of the crew left the docks and headed for the taverns. A few guards took positions along the rails of the ship to keep watch.

  I waited for the guard stationed on the aft deck to move to the far rail, then I quickly dashed forward. When he returned to the aft rail, I was almost directly below him. But he was expecting no trouble, and hardly even glanced in my direction. As he moved away, I began the more difficult part of the task.

  The side of the ship was slick, even above the waterline, and the boards were fitted tightly together, but I managed to find small handholds to pull myself up. I climbed a few feet then sidled along the back of the ship until I was alongside the rowboat. My fingertips ached from the strain of holding myself, and I felt more than a few splinters dig in, but I would not let go. That ship was my freedom, and I saw only one way aboard.

  The launch hung from ropes and dangled perhaps three feet behind the ship. I could climb no higher-the hull sloped outward, and I could see no more handholds. I would have to take a chance.

  I pulled my legs up to my chest and braced them against the ship's hull. I took a deep, steadying breath, then let go with my hands and kicked out with my legs. I turned in midair, reaching for the launch. My hands made contact with the side of the ship…

  And I slipped.

  I lost my hold on the little boat, my only hope of getting aboard that ship. As I plummeted toward the water, I reached out in desperation, trying to grab the launch, the ship, anything.