Under Fallen Stars by Mel Odom Page A

was boarded by sahuagin. The ship’s defenders held the line for a moment, then broke as the sahuagin grabbed them in claws and jaws.
    Laaqueel stayed hunkered down on the platform, praying to Sekolah to guide her. She wasn’t surprised that Iakhovas had his own agenda tonight-he always did-but Baldur’s Gate hadn’t been taken quite as much by surprise as Waterdeep had.
     

     
    “We can make a stand here, damn ye!” Khlinat roared as he chopped at a sahuagin hand that reached across the crates blocking that section of the harbor. Sea devil fingers splattered to the dock.
    Standing beside him, Jherek concentrated on his swordplay, batting aside the trident thrusts. Other men stood shoulder to shoulder with him, making a tight line to hold back the sahuagin attackers. So far they’d managed to hold their position despite the mass of sea devils on the other side.
    Only now a bearded man in chain mail with the Flaming Fist standard on his tabard was trying to get them to break ranks. He carried a broadsword in one scarred fist.
    “Stand down and fall back!” the man roared.
    “Who the hell do ye think ye are to be giving us orders?” Khlinat demanded. Several other sailors echoed his sentiments, adding various curses.
    “I’m Sergeant Hobias Churchstone,” the grizzled man said, “of the Flaming Fist Mercenary Company.”
    Spotting a familiar shape at the base of the crates he defended, Jherek stooped and caught up the boat hook that had been abandoned there. It slid into his hand naturally, curving up from between his spread fingers.
    “Get some oil!” one of the sailors yelled. “We’ll get us a proper bonfire going.”
    Out in the harbor, the distinctive bunyip roar sounded again. A thousand fear-filled memories charged through Jherek’s mind, whipping by like a school of startled fish, shaking him to his very core. Everything he remembered about his father scared him, from the memories he actually had of the man to what he’d later learned of him in stories.
    He’d been four when his father had lashed a man to the mainmast then made Jherek stand by while he whipped him to death. The man had stolen from his bunkmate, a crime that Bloody Falkane didn’t put up with. Steal from anyone else and it was all right, but never from Bunyip’s crew. The only blood spilled aboard Bunyip had been with Bloody Falkane’s blessings.
    After the man had died, the pirate captain ordered the body hung from the mast by its feet, a grim reminder to all the crew about where their loyalties lay. It had taken weeks for the carrion birds that regularly followed ships at sea to finish stripping the meat from the corpse.
    A sahuagin thrust at Jherek again, shoving a trident across the stacked crates. Jherek twisted and slipped the blow, then captured the trident’s haft behind the fork with his hook. Yanking the sahuagin off-balance, he swung his sword, cleaving his opponent’s skull.
    “Fall back!” Churchstone ordered. “You can hold this position for only a few minutes more. They’re starting to close in from the sides.”
    Glancing over his shoulders in both directions, Jherek knew the pronouncement was true. The sahuagin had battled across other boats and sections of the docks, climbing onto the mainland in front of the shops and warehouses that lined the harbor district. Fire claimed the interiors of more buildings.
    “Where would ye be after leading us?” Khlinat roared.
    “To the warehouse behind you,” Churchstone said. “We’re better prepared for them there.”
    Jherek risked a glance at the warehouse, noting its disheveled appearance and the open bay doors. The interior was dark and immense. He turned to the dwarf, knowing Khlinat had fallen into the leadership role for the group of dockworkers surrounding them through his prowess and loud voice. The Flaming Fist sergeant had recognized it as well.
    “Khlinat,” Jherek said, blocking another trident thrust and pinning the weapon against the crate.