the side of Harask’s face. “Mind your manners,” he said. “Now, tell me: Have you seen a ship with that banner? Where did you see her?”
“Zhentil Keep,” the man replied. “Damn it all, she was in Zhentil Keep! Now leave me be!”
“You’re lying. No one goes to Zhentil Keep. It’s a monster-haunted ruin.”
“Cyric take my tongue if I am lying!” the man snarled. “Outlaws and smugglers from the cities nearby hide in the ruins along the Tesh. No one troubles them, and there’s always a ship or two there looking for a few hands.”
The swordmage narrowed his eyes, studying Harask, who sat glaring at him with a hand clapped up against his ear. If he’d been in the ruffian’s place, Zhentil Keep was exactly the place he might have told his interrogator to go to. The ruins happened to lie all the way at the other end of the Moonsea, and they were infested with monsters. But Zhentil Keep was about the only place in the western Moonsea that he hadn’Hooked already. Merchant ships had no reason to go any farther west than Hillsfar and Phlan, so he’d turned Seadrake back to the east without working his way another hundred miles into the prevailing wind to search deserted coasts and ruined cities. The prospects for a pirate lair in the ruins seemed almost as dim as those for a base in the Galennar… but Geran had heard stories that brigands and such outlaws occasionally laired in Zhentil Keep. It was at least plausible that pirate ships might lurk there too.
I believe he’s telling the truth, Hamil said to him.
Geran knew that the talent of the ghostwise for speaking mind-to-mind didn’t allow Hamil to read the thoughts of others, but it did mean that the halfling had a better sense for truthfulness than most. I think so too, he answered Hamil. To Harask he said, “If I find that you’ve lied to me, I will come back for you.” He jerked his head toward Sarth. “My friend the sorcerer here will invert you with his magic. You’ll walk on your tongue and carry your eyes on your arse, so you’d better hope that we find what we’re looking for in Zhentil Keep.”
Sarth gave Geran a startled look, but Harask didn’t see it; he was cringing. “I’ve told you what I know!” he said.
The swordmage looked at his companions and nodded toward the door. They filed into the fogbound street outside. None of the men who’d fled the storehouse were in the vicinity; Sarth’s magic had well and truly put them to flight.
“So it’s off to Zhentil Keep, then?” Hamil asked in a low voice.
“So it seems,” Geran answered. A shrill whistle rang through the night, piercing the fog. Apparently some of the ruffians had run straight for the Watch to report dangerous sorcery on the loose. Geran winced then exchanged looks with Sarth and Hamil. “Let’s be on our way. I think we’ve worn out our welcome in Mulmaster.”
SIX
29 Eleint, The Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)
Afoul night,” Sergen Hulmaster muttered. From the gate of the Five Crown Coster’s tradeyard, he frowned at the murk gathering around the streetlamps outside. He detested the evening fog of Melvaunt. On days when the brisk western wind failed, the stink of the city’s smelters and cookfires and sewers covered the town like a great foul blanket. He’d been careful to purchase a villa that overlooked the city from the heights of the headland west of the harbora neighborhood that was distinctly upwind of the town itself, at least most of the timebut his storehouses were located in the heart of the commercial districts, and it seemed that if the air started to grow still and foul, it always started here.
“Is everything well, m’lord?” asked his chief armsman Kerth. The sellsword hovered close by Sergen. Magical tattoos covered the man’s brow, part of the elaborate enchantments that made him absolutely incapable of turning against his master. The precaution had cost Sergen a fortune, but he had too many enemies to worry
“Zhentil Keep,” the man replied. “Damn it all, she was in Zhentil Keep! Now leave me be!”
“You’re lying. No one goes to Zhentil Keep. It’s a monster-haunted ruin.”
“Cyric take my tongue if I am lying!” the man snarled. “Outlaws and smugglers from the cities nearby hide in the ruins along the Tesh. No one troubles them, and there’s always a ship or two there looking for a few hands.”
The swordmage narrowed his eyes, studying Harask, who sat glaring at him with a hand clapped up against his ear. If he’d been in the ruffian’s place, Zhentil Keep was exactly the place he might have told his interrogator to go to. The ruins happened to lie all the way at the other end of the Moonsea, and they were infested with monsters. But Zhentil Keep was about the only place in the western Moonsea that he hadn’Hooked already. Merchant ships had no reason to go any farther west than Hillsfar and Phlan, so he’d turned Seadrake back to the east without working his way another hundred miles into the prevailing wind to search deserted coasts and ruined cities. The prospects for a pirate lair in the ruins seemed almost as dim as those for a base in the Galennar… but Geran had heard stories that brigands and such outlaws occasionally laired in Zhentil Keep. It was at least plausible that pirate ships might lurk there too.
I believe he’s telling the truth, Hamil said to him.
Geran knew that the talent of the ghostwise for speaking mind-to-mind didn’t allow Hamil to read the thoughts of others, but it did mean that the halfling had a better sense for truthfulness than most. I think so too, he answered Hamil. To Harask he said, “If I find that you’ve lied to me, I will come back for you.” He jerked his head toward Sarth. “My friend the sorcerer here will invert you with his magic. You’ll walk on your tongue and carry your eyes on your arse, so you’d better hope that we find what we’re looking for in Zhentil Keep.”
Sarth gave Geran a startled look, but Harask didn’t see it; he was cringing. “I’ve told you what I know!” he said.
The swordmage looked at his companions and nodded toward the door. They filed into the fogbound street outside. None of the men who’d fled the storehouse were in the vicinity; Sarth’s magic had well and truly put them to flight.
“So it’s off to Zhentil Keep, then?” Hamil asked in a low voice.
“So it seems,” Geran answered. A shrill whistle rang through the night, piercing the fog. Apparently some of the ruffians had run straight for the Watch to report dangerous sorcery on the loose. Geran winced then exchanged looks with Sarth and Hamil. “Let’s be on our way. I think we’ve worn out our welcome in Mulmaster.”
SIX
29 Eleint, The Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)
Afoul night,” Sergen Hulmaster muttered. From the gate of the Five Crown Coster’s tradeyard, he frowned at the murk gathering around the streetlamps outside. He detested the evening fog of Melvaunt. On days when the brisk western wind failed, the stink of the city’s smelters and cookfires and sewers covered the town like a great foul blanket. He’d been careful to purchase a villa that overlooked the city from the heights of the headland west of the harbora neighborhood that was distinctly upwind of the town itself, at least most of the timebut his storehouses were located in the heart of the commercial districts, and it seemed that if the air started to grow still and foul, it always started here.
“Is everything well, m’lord?” asked his chief armsman Kerth. The sellsword hovered close by Sergen. Magical tattoos covered the man’s brow, part of the elaborate enchantments that made him absolutely incapable of turning against his master. The precaution had cost Sergen a fortune, but he had too many enemies to worry
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