23 KYTHORN (MIDNIGHT)

UP ON THE DECK, RHETT HAWKWINTER AGAIN TRIED TO speak to Sithe. The genasi seemed like a patch of deeper darkness against the night—a blur in his eye. He kept trying to break the silence, but words failed.

Finally, the eighth time, Sithe turned her face a fraction toward him. “Speak.”

“A question, Lady of Darkness,” he said. “Since we’re just sitting here.”

She nodded slightly.

“What are you doing with my master?” he asked. “In the duels, I mean. I can fake sleep as well as the next man. I know he takes Vindicator and meets you on the roof.”

Sithe stared out into the darkness, as though Rhett didn’t exist. Abruptly her lips parted. “He had an apprentice.”

Her voice came so suddenly that Rhett jumped up from where he’d been sitting and readied Vindicator. The significance of the words hit him then. “What do you mean?”

“I can see it in the way he treats you—the way he fights,” Sithe said. “He hesitates to take you for a squire, because he had one and failed him. Recently.”

“You must be mistaken,” Rhett said. “Saer Shadowbane would have told me.”

“You remind him of a past he tries to forget, as does she,” Sithe said, nodding toward the cargo hold. “He is drawn to you both—the woman especially—and yet he flees. He uses me as a means to escape.”

Perhaps it was anger at the implications, but Rhett spoke without thinking, his words sharp. “And in what way does he use you, lady?” he asked. His mind reasserted itself and he added: “I mean, why do you do it? Do you … enjoy him?”

Sithe turned her dark eyes on him and he thought for a heartbeat that her lips quirked toward a smile. “He has the potential to be somewhat greater than he is,” she said. Then her axe was in her hands and she spoke a single flat word: “Prepare.”

“Prepare for—?” he started.

A fiery scythe burst out the side of the ship, trailing ashen bodies of rats into the sea. War had broken out on the abandoned derelict.

Glancing behind her as she climbed the steps toward the deck, Myrin saw only Toytere. “Wait,” she said. “Where’s Kalen?”

“If he be falling behind, we can do naught.” The halfling seized her hand to draw her on. “Come, me lady. We—”

“Perhaps you don’t know this about me, Toy,” Myrin said. “But I’m stubborn.”

She reached into him through their touching flesh. For a heartbeat, she was Toytere—she went into his mind and pawed at his memories. She saw herself through a spyhole in her chambers at the Rat, saw Toytere scheming with Sithe. He was speaking to a woman with eyes of two colors, to whom Toytere meant to betray Myrin.

Blue runes erupted on Myrin’s face as she stole his magic Sight. Warmth flowed from Toytere into Myrin, like gushing blood of which her skin drank deeply. She was tempted to hum to activate the visions—as Toytere did—but realized she had no need. She could use the Sight freely, without the same crutch.

She saw, in an instant, how Kalen lay in the hold below, unconscious. The rats swept over him. She watched them cover him, as he reached vainly toward the stairs. Toward her.

That would come to pass if she did nothing.

Myrin shook her head and pushed Toytere away. “Run,” she said to him.

The halfling gaped at her. “Me Sight. You’ve taken—how dare you!”

Myrin grasped his wrist as he raised his swordcane. “I know what you did, Toy,” she said, her eyes burning with magic. “I know what you mean to do to me.”

Toytere’s eyes went wide as gold coins. “You—”

“I know, but I don’t care.” Myrin bent and kissed him on the forehead. “One day, you’ll see yourself the way I see you.”

The halfling blinked. “What?”

Without another word, Myrin turned back to the hold. The halfling lunged out to stop her, but Myrin had sapped his strength in taking his Sight and he couldn’t hold her. The wizard dodged rats and broken boards, guided by the halfling’s sixth sense. No wonder Toytere had been covered in beasts but hadn’t been bitten or even scratched.

In the hold, Kalen lay unmoving as rats piled atop each other beside him. The creatures had not yet fallen on him, but Myrin knew she had only a moment.

The rats were hideous. Their mangy fur barely hid scarred and mottled skin. Greenish ichor dripped from their fanged mouths. In their red eyes, Myrin saw reflected the impending murder of herself and all she knew and loved.

Worse still, the cacophony of squeaking voices seemed to utter a single, surprisingly coherent word. Perhaps she heard it in her head: “Feed.”

Toytere’s Sight flared in her mind. She saw—for a heartbeat—something huge and towering: a swarm of creatures not quite rats or spiders or bats, but a nightmare mixture. They wore skin of mottled crystal and their eyes held only darkness.

When the world returned and she stood again in the hold, the rats had begun swarming over Kalen. She was almost too late.

Almost.

Myrin cupped one hand and swirled her wand above it, as though mixing cream in a bowl. Fire flowed from the end of the wand into her hand, building around itself until she held a roiling ball of flame. She ran forward, hurled the fireball into the heart of the swarm and threw herself over Kalen, covering him with her body.

Fire exploded and a shock of force ran through the hold. Waves of heat rushed over Myrin. She gritted her teeth against the destructive force of her own spell. Pieces of rat sailed down in all directions and sizzling blood painted the walls and floor.

Myrin held Kalen tight as the flames rushed around them, staring into his grey eyes. He wrapped his arms around her and she sheltered in his embrace. Her spellscar spoke to his—just as his longed for hers—and in her mind’s eye, she saw wings of blue fire fold around them.

If this was death, it wasn’t so bad.

“Stand aside!” Rhett declared, Vindicator raised in two hands. “I need to get down there! They need me!”

Sithe stood impassive, her axe at the ready.

Smoke poured from the hold—the leavings of a massive fire in close quarters. A shadow emerged. Rhett rushed forward, only to find the halfling, who was limping.

“What happened?” he asked. “Where are—?”

“Away from me, boyo.” Toytere shoved past him toward Sithe. They exchanged a look and the halfling nodded meaningfully.

“Wait.” The skin on the back of Rhett’s neck prickled. “What’s happening? Toy?”

Sithe broke away from the halfling and turned toward Rhett. He saw, in the way that she shifted her hands on her axe, that she was preparing to charge.

Rhett’s heart pounded and Vindicator glowed brighter.

Was this it? Saer Shadowbane had spoken of a coming betrayal—had the halfling slain them in the hold and now Rhett was the last one left? Vindicator or no, he wouldn’t last a single breath against Sithe. He readied himself nonetheless. If he was to die, he would make Kalen proud.

Then he heard footsteps among the smoke. Sithe’s axe lowered.

“Watching gods jest,” Toytere murmured.

It was Kalen, limping up the steps, an unmoving Myrin in his arms. Both were covered with blood and soot, but Kalen’s eyes gleamed like polished diamonds through the smoke. His gaze was reserved for Toytere.

Kalen fell to one knee as soon as he came out of the hold and Rhett hurried to him. He set Vindicator on the deck and reached out to steady Kalen. “Saer?”

“Take her.” Kalen pushed Myrin into his arms.

Rhett accepted the wizard awkwardly, relieved to see she yet breathed. He concentrated, summoning the paladin’s healing, and let vitality flow into her. “Kalen,” she murmured, and nuzzled closer to his chest.

Unhindered, Kalen retrieved Vindicator from where it lay on the deck. He pointed the blade at Toytere. “We have business,” he said.

“That we do,” the halfling replied. “Now—”

Sithe rushed toward the three of them, her axe alight with black flames. Rhett staggered back, unarmed and with only Myrin to shield him. Kalen raised Vindicator.

Sithe passed right through them, her form wavering like mist. She stepped onto the stairs and brought her axe down into the midst of the rising tide of rats that had followed Kalen. Sithe’s power drove them back with a burst of dark flame.

“Gods!” Rhett fell back, startled, Myrin crushing the breath from his lungs. He wrapped his arms around her, determined to shield her from the rats.

Kalen joined Sithe, Vindicator burning with silver fire in his hands. Even Toytere rushed forward, his blade singing, thrusting through a rat that bore down on Rhett and Myrin. Together, the three warriors slashed at the rats, until the creatures relented and flowed back into the hold.

Silence reigned on the ship. All panted or thanked their respective gods that things hadn’t gone worse. Rhett whispered a short prayer to Torm and Sune—his two patrons—and added thanks to Tymora for good measure. Only Sithe seemed unfazed by the whole ordeal, twisting her axe idly as she peered down into the hold.

The silence was shattered by a grand shout: “That was amazing!”

Myrin seemed to have recovered. She threw her arms around the halfling.

“Uh?” Toytere looked startled—then stunned when she kissed him. “What—me?”

“You saved us!” she said. “Down in the hold, attacking those rats like that! You had no chance, yet you struck anyway.”

“Oh.” Toytere regained his composure. “Well, it was rather heroic, no?”

Dumbfounded, Rhett looked at Kalen, who returned the confusion. Rhett thought he understood Kalen’s troubles with Myrin just a little better.

Myrin whispered something in Toytere’s ear and the halfling’s eyes momentarily widened. The wizard released him and he stared after her, confused and perhaps a little afraid. He held one hand up in front of his chest, tracing the air with his fingers as though grasping for a point. Finally, he just smiled.

“Well, a good night, no?” said Toytere. “Almost like that time—ah!”

The halfling waved madly. Rhett saw one of the black rats clinging to his sleeve. The halfling succeeded in dislodging the creature, which flipped through the air to land at Myrin’s feet. With a sharp breath, she shied back as it scrambled at her.

Its valiant charge ended, however, on the point of one of Kalen’s knives. The throw caught the creature in the torso and pinned it to the deck.

Myrin looked across at him gratefully, but Kalen looked away. Aye, definitely a history there—if only Rhett could get either of them to talk about it.

“Did it bite you?” Rhett reached for Toytere’s wrist, meaning to heal him.

“Leave off, boy,” Toytere said. “Hrasting thing didn’t touch me, and even if it did, I wouldn’t let you do the same, no?” He turned to Sithe. “Away, me Lady Void—I be hungering for a meal and me own bed.”

Kalen looked at him suspiciously, but the halfling ducked his gaze. He crossed to the forecastle rail and started to climb down to his boat.

Sithe made to go, but Myrin stepped in her path. “I thought you should know,” she said. “In the captain’s quarters—a circle of ash …” She trailed off.

“A firesoul,” Sithe said. “I have seen it before.”

Myrin nodded. “I just thought—you’re a genasi, too, and …”

“It matters not,” Sithe replied. “Dust to dust, fire to fire.”

Myrin and Kalen exchanged a look, which Rhett did not quite understand. Sithe turned away and climbed after Toytere.

“What do we do with the ship?” Rhett asked. “And all the rats?”

“Let it burn.” Kalen indicated the fire below, where Myrin’s spell had lit the ship ablaze. “I saw some untapped oil barrels down there. We should go.”

Rhett, who did not relish dying in a fiery explosion, was the first to the skiff. Though he didn’t like rowing, he took up the oars without being asked.

When they were well away and the derelict raged in towering flames, Rhett looked to Myrin. “Are you well, my lady?”

Myrin, who was covered in soot, finally seemed to notice he was there. “What?”

“Are you hurt?” Rhett asked. “Did any of the rats bite you?”

Brow furrowed, Myrin felt around her body, then shook her head. “All whole,” she said. “The only hurt I have came from my own spell and you healed that.”

“Right,” Rhett said. “Saer? Do you need healing?”

Kalen shook his head. Where he sat in the prow, he looked like a burned statue, his leathers crisped by a firestorm. He watched Toytere and Sithe’s skiff receding.

“My lady,” Rhett said. “Where did you learn such powers? I saw the scything flames and heard the blast from below. You must be a talented wizard.”

Myrin opened her mouth to reply, then looked wordlessly away.

“She doesn’t remember,” Kalen said.

“You don’t—” Rhett gazed at her. “My lady?”

Myrin looked to Kalen and spoke as though she hadn’t heard Rhett. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “Those skeletons we found, picked clean like the victims of the plague—those rats might have been the source. Biting, right?”

“Yes,” Kalen said. “And Toytere might carry it.”

“He doesn’t,” Myrin said. “If he’d been bitten, he’d have told us.”

“You know what he did on the ship and yet you still trust him.”

“You have to trust people, Kalen.”

Kalen shook his head.

Rhett didn’t know what was going on—didn’t know what they were talking about. Still, Myrin’s words resonated. “Perhaps she is right, Saer Shadowbane,” he said. “It’s about love.”

They turned to him: Kalen’s expression hard as stone, Myrin looking tired but expectant. “Go on,” she said.

“I … it’s something they say at Sune’s temple, back in Waterdeep,” he said. “That love is the water and light by which we grow, but love is impossible without trust. Thus, you cannot expect a man to become better than he is if you do not trust him.”

Myrin smiled. “That’s it,” she said. “That’s it exactly.”

Kalen shook his head. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “Why trust a man who stabs you in the back, let alone love him? How?”

Rhett looked at Kalen, then Myrin, then smiled helplessly. “Not even Sune says love is easy.”

Toytere scratched at the rent flesh of his wrist. Godsdamn, how it itched.

Ironic, he thought, the Rat bitten by a rat.

He cradled his wrist as the rowboat cut through the water, back toward the dock. Even now, the bite made the feeling recede from one half of his body. If Sithe hadn’t taken up the oars, the skiff would surely be tracing circles through Luskan’s bay. His body hurt from a dozen of Loviatar’s best blades thrust in his most sensitive spots, but he could shut out the ache with a single thought: Myrin.

The way she had thanked him—kissed him even—had shaken him beyond words. Even more disturbing was what she had leaned down to whisper so no one else could hear: “I trust you, Toy.”

She, who had no reason to trust him, who had seen what he meant for her, had chosen to put her life in his hands. Why would she do such a thing?

“Are you well, master?” Sithe asked. He felt her black eyes on him, but he refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing his fear. He did fear her—anyone would—but he grew angry as well. Inside of him, a deep abiding fury coiled and grew.

“Bah! Of course I be!” Toytere wiped the sweat from his brow. “Just row.”

Sithe continued rowing across the bay in silence.

The Coin Priest stared into the depths of the platinum coin, willing it to speak to her. It was her connection to the goddess—its power gave her power. And yet, it had failed so many times before. Perhaps this time—this time it would be different.

A knock at the door interrupted her musings and she forced a warm, flirtatious grin onto her face. She hated having to smile.

“Please, come,” the Coin Priest purred, reclining on her striped fur carpet.

This carpet was particularly fine—soft and smooth and stinking of violence. The skin had once belonged to a rakshasa, who had made the mistake of crossing her. Now the creature’s best feature was hers forever.

Her lackeys sank to one knee before her. Their leader—the very ugly brute she’d honored with her favors—gave her a sly little smile. Oh no, that wouldn’t do at all.

“You have something?” she asked.

“The derelict in the bay, Your Grace,” said the ugly man. “We’s been watching, as you says, and it’s—” His eyes lingered on her ample curves.

“And?” she said, closing her robe a little tighter.

“It’s afire,” said the man. “King Toy of the Dead Rats and his enforcer, Sithe. They done searched it out, for swag and the like. Then they set it ablaze.”

“So?” she asked. “Why bring this to me?”

“Outsiders, too,” said the man. “Three. A girl with blue hair, a knight of Waterdeep, and a man in black with two knives and eyes like diamonds.”

“Speak not of him.” The Coin Priest clenched her fists. “He will be dealt with. Watch for a sign of the Horned One—you bring him directly to me, understand?”

The ugly captain smiled crookedly. “We’ve this, lady—found it in an alley.”

He held forth an ash-coated gold coin. Eden hardly needed to glance at it to know its origin: the coin Logenn had carried. So her man was dead, then. How tedious.

“Very well,” she said. “Leave me.”

They obeyed. The ugly captain lingered, his eyes suggestive, but she waved him away. Better to let his imagination try hard to please her. If he ever touched her again, like as not she’d rip out his eyes, tongue, or something he’d miss even more.

That could wait, however. She needed every man and woman she could spare searching for the Horned One—if only to determine his intentions in Luskan. She had a very important customer due to arrive any day now to take possession of a certain item. It would not do for the Horned One to interfere—where the Chosen of the Lady went, trouble would inevitably arise.

With an effort—aided by her cane—the Coin Priest pushed herself to her feet. Walking was just so uncomfortable.

Her holy symbol flared and magic rose from the burnt coin in her hand to the one in her face. The light vanished, drunk up hungrily by the goddess’s symbol. In turn, the added strength of the magic flowed into the Coin Priest, easing her step.

Walking more easily now, she crossed to her scrying bowl and dropped her two-faced coin into its limpid depths. It still gleamed with absorbed magic. Perhaps this time …

She repeated the scrying ritual, and again, it abruptly failed. The warding magic was just too strong.

“By the Lady,” she said. “What are you doing here?”