Tantras (37 page)

“And how is my poor, neglected wife today?” Alprin called out from the front door.

“She’d be a damn shade better if her husband spent some time with her,” a voice cried in response. Moments later, the owner of the voice, a plain woman with straight black hair and a dark complexion, came into view. She uttered a little scream of delight when Alprin showed her the hat.

“For you, my love,” the harbormaster laughed as he rested the hat on his wife’s head then kissed her.

“Who’s this?” the woman said suspiciously, pointing to Kelemvor.

Alprin cleared his throat nervously. “A dinner guest, dear,” the harbormaster said innocently.

“I might have known,” she huffed. Then a smile crossed her face and she reached out to take Kelemvor’s hand. “I’m Moira. You’re welcome if you’re a friend of my husband.”

An hour later, over the finest meal the fighter had tasted since he left Arabel, Kelemvor spoke of the many strange sights he had seen in his recent travels, although he was careful to leave out many of the reasons for his journeys through Faerun.

“Such madness you’ve witnessed,” Alprin gasped delightedly and turned to his wife. “To think, Moira, you and I could be free to travel, to see such amazing sights.”

“Why don’t you just leave the city when you want?” the fighter asked with his mouth half-full of bread.

Moira immediately stood and started to clear the table. Alprin’s expression grew serious. “Kelemvor,” he said somberly, “if I can secure safe passage for you and your companions, will you leave Tantras as quickly as you can?”

“That’s my intention… eventually,” the fighter told his friend. “But why are you so anxious to see me go?”

“People have been vanishing,” Alprin whispered flatly. “Good people.”

Moira dropped a metal goblet, and it clattered noisily to the floor. Alprin bent to help his wife clean up the spilled water and she whispered, “He might be one of them! Watch what you say!”

“What sort of people have been vanishing?” Kelemvor asked, not letting on that he had overheard Moira’s hushed comments. “Strangers, like myself?”

Alprin shook his head as he deposited a damp cloth on a plate. Moira fixed him with an angry glare, then took the plate and went into the kitchen. “I wouldn’t blame you if you thought I were mad once you’ve heard my story,” the harbormaster murmured.

“I don’t think that at all,” Kelemvor said, surprise evident in his voice.

“A friend of mine, Manacom, disappeared,” Alprin began. “One day he was here, the next day he was gone. No one in the guards or the city government would talk about him. All of his records disappeared from the city’s books.

I tried to find out what happened to him. Within a few hours, I was caught by a band of robbers and beaten within an inch of my life. I tried to fight back, but there were too many of them.” Alprin paused and looked into the kitchen, where his wife was cleaning plates. “Moira had some healing potions that someone had given to us as a wedding present. I might have died if not for them.”

“Couldn’t the clerics of Torm heal you? If their god is nearby, they should have the power to heal,” Kelemvor said.

“The power, but not the desire,” Moira grumbled as she entered the room once more, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Who do you think took your friend?” Kelemvor asked quietly

Alprin shook his head. “I don’t know. But I have my suspicions. It’s best that I don’t involve you.”

Kelemvor laughed. “You’ve already involved me just by telling me anything about this. You might as well finish what you started. At least you can tell me what you think is going on, even if you won’t tell me who’s doing it.”

Alprin sighed and nodded. “I think that someone has been quietly pushing all those who believe in gods other than Torm out of the city. I’ve heard rumors that a few clerics, like Manacom, refused to leave, and so they were killed,” the harbormaster guessed. “And whoever took Manacom must believe that I know too much, that I’ll snoop around until I uncover their plot.”

The fighter shook his head. “Then why not just kidnap you now?”

“Because that would arouse too much suspicion,” Moira whispered. “Alprin’s well known around here. His disappearance would cause quite a stir. And that’s the last thing they want right now.”

Alprin shook his head. “But if you and your friends go nosing around after religious artifacts, as you’ve said you were going to, you’re sure to draw their attention.” The harbormaster paused and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I couldn’t save my friend. Maybe I can save you, Kelemvor.”

Kelemvor started to get up from the table, but Moira put her hand on his arm. “Stay,” Moira told the fighter firmly. “We may have put you in danger just by talking to you. The least we can do is put you up for the night.”

Alprin smiled. “Anyway, I can’t tell you how long it’s been since Moira and I have been able to tell stories with guests until late into the night. And if you do stay, I can give you the names of some men who will likely take the lot of you away from Tantras. I know personally most of the captains who stop in this port.”

“And perhaps you can talk my husband into booking passage for the two of us as well,” Moira whispered as she leaned close to the fighter.

Kelemvor sighed and sat back in his chair. “Very well. I’ll stay.”

Kelemvor slept in a room that had been meant as a nursery, until Moira learned that she was unable to bear children. He had a fitful sleep, and a few hours later, the fighter woke to find that Alprin had already left for the harbor. Moira fixed a late morningfeast for the fighter, and the two talked for a little while. Soon, though, Kelemvor returned to the Lazy Moon Inn. There he found a letter from Midnight. His lover related her limited successes of the previous day. She also told Kelemvor of the strange goings-on at the temples throughout the city.

Kelemvor read the letter through to the end then left the inn without writing a reply. Midnight’s comments on the temples in Tantras seemed to concur with the harbormaster’s fears of conspiracy. The fighter wanted to investigate a little before he alarmed Midnight needlessly, though, so he went in search of information, the final words of Midnight’s letter echoing in his mind.

“The Dark Harvest is dangerous. Avoid it at all costs. Will explain later…”

At the harbor, Kelemvor found Alprin and learned that tentative arrangements had been made for him and his companions to leave Tantras on a small galley from Calaunt. The captain was a superstitious fellow, but trustworthy, and the ship would be in port for at least a few more days. Alprin made sure, for security’s sake, that no member of the ship’s crew would be apprised of the additional passengers until just before they left the port.

Satisfied with the arrangements, Kelemvor asked Alprin about the criminal underground of Tantras and the Dark Harvest.

“Those two things are one and the same,” Alprin spat, looking around the docks nervously. “The city leaves that particular festhall alone because some of their spies get their information there. It’s the slimiest hole in the city, a stinking pool of depravity and foul worship.”

It was suddenly obvious to the fighter that Midnight’s fear of the Dark Harvest was understandable. Still, Kelemvor thought of himself as an experienced professional, a seasoned adventurer. He knew that the best way to uncover information on dark dealings was to dig through the filth with the criminals, even if it meant getting dirty along the way.

“And who would be the best person to contact there for information?” Kelemvor whispered, “Someone who has knowledge of the entire underworld of this city?”

Alprin scanned the faces of the dozen or so people that were within a hundred-foot radius. No one appeared to be watching. “Why do you ask?” Alprin said suspiciously, running a hand across his weatherbeaten face.

“My friends and I came here for a purpose that I can’t discuss,” Kelemvor told the harbormaster. “I’ve got to ask you to trust me on this.” The fighter picked at a wooden railing for a moment, then leaned on it.

Alprin sighed and shook his head. “Now you do sound like Manacom.” He turned away from the fighter. “Look, I thought we had this discussion last night. Besides, we shouldn’t be speaking of such things in the open. The danger is too great. Wait until tonight.”

“I can’t wait until tonight,” Kelemvor snapped, his anger rising, the volume of his voice attracting unwanted stares. His hands had balled into fists, but the fighter forced his body to relax. “My apologies,” he whispered. “But tonight could be too late for what I need to do.”

The harbormaster turned back to the fighter then leaned on the railing next to him. “I don’t like it,” Alprin grumbled sourly. “But if you’re determined to go to the Dark Harvest, the one you want to ask for is Sabinus. He’s a smuggler with ties to the city government and the Tormites, too. Now go. I’ve told you too much already. If anyone suspects I’ve told you -“

“They’ll never know.” Kelemvor smiled as he patted the harbormaster on the back. “You’ve been a true friend, and you have my gratitude. I owe you for this.”

“Then repay your debt by getting out of this city in one piece,” Alprin grumbled and walked away, scanning the crowd as he went.

Kelemvor nodded, and walked from the harbor. The fighter moved along the streets quickly, and stopped only long enough to receive directions to the Dark Harvest Festhall when he got lost.

An hour later, the fighter stood before the one-story, ebon and scarlet building, shaking his head. He could understand why the sight filled Midnight with trepidation. The festhall even looked corrupt. Kelemvor suppressed a shudder and walked inside.

“Are you expected?” an ugly, obese man asked sharply as the fighter entered the Dark Harvest.

“Good news is never expected,” Kelemvor growled. “Just tell Sabinus that the owner of the Ring of Winter is here anxious to relieve himself of some excess baggage.”

The fat man snorted. “You don’t have a name?”

“Sabinus doesn’t need my name. He only needs to know what I possess,” Kelemvor snarled.

“Wait here,” the guard said as he eyed the fighter suspiciously. Then the fat man passed through a set of double doors. The sounds of gaming and laughter flooded into the lobby the instant the doors were open then disappeared as they shut again.

A few minutes later, the guard returned and motioned for Kelemvor to follow. They entered the festhall, and the sights and sounds of unbridled decadence rushed at the fighter. There were five bars with men and women two-deep. Dancers from far-off lands gyrated on the bars, and some leaped from table to table, taunting the men and taking their money.

Gamblers wagered with stakes that were sometimes their own lives, but more often the lives of others. A beautiful woman lay on a table between two old men who rolled a set of dice to see who would possess her for the evening. At another table, the scene was reversed: a handsome, muscle-bound man with golden hair lay smiling between two women gamblers.

The whole room smelled of spilled liquor and decaying rubbish. Strange beasts ran along the crowded floor. Fur brushed Kelemvor’s leg, and he saw a lump of matted hair and fangs speed away, swallowing anything that happened to be loose on the floor. He had no idea what the strange creature was.

Soon, though, the fighter was led to Sabinus’s table, and he was surprised to see how young the notorious man really was. The smuggler could not have been more than seventeen winters old. His red hair was cropped short, and his complexion was almost as red as his hair. And though he looked young, there was a feeling of dark wisdom about Sabinus - the same air that surrounded old, musty secrets and ancient, decaying cursed artifacts. The smuggler motioned for Kelemvor to sit. The fighter did so and rested his hands above the table, empty palms facing up, in a standard gesture of trust.

“You have aroused my interest,” Sabinus hissed. “But do not think to waste my time. The Dragon Reach is filled with louts like you whose reach exceeds their grasp.”

“I would never consider wasting your valuable time,” Kelemvor lied. “I bring something of great value.”

The smuggler squirmed in his seat slightly. “So I’m told. The Ring of Winter is not an item to be taken lightly. I thought it was lost for all time.”

“That which has been lost can always be found. Now let’s stop fencing and get to business,” Kelemvor told the boy flatly, moving his hands beneath the table.

A dark, toothy grin passed over Sabinus’s face. “Good. To the point. I like that.” The red-haired smuggler rocked in his chair, almost giddy with anticipation. “If you have the ring, produce it.”

“You think I would have it with me? What kind of fool do you take me for?” Kelemvor asked bitterly.

“That depends on what kind of fool you are,” the boy snapped. “Are you the kind of fool that would dare lie to me about such an important matter? The Ring of Winter is power. With it, a new ice age could be brought down upon the Realms. Only the strongest, or those prepared for the disaster, could hope to survive.” Sabinus ran his hands through his hair.

Kelemvor narrowed his eyes and leaned toward the smuggler. Two guards nearby stiffened and reached for daggers, but Sabinus waved them away. “I can give you the precise location of where the ring is hidden. I can tell you the dangers involved in retrieving it and how to get around them,” Kelemvor told the boy.

“What do you want in return?” Sabinus asked warily.

I want you to tell me where the Tablet of Fate is, the fighter thought sarcastically, but I’ll settle for some clues as to its whereabouts. What he said was, “Information. I need to know why the followers of Sune, Ilmater, and any god other than Torm have been driven out of the city… and by whose order.”

“Perhaps I could tell you that,” Sabinus murmured. “Tell me more about the Ring of Winter. Your words may loosen my tongue and jog my memory.” The boy leaned forward.

Kelemvor frowned. He thought of the ice creature that guarded the ring when last he saw the artifact and of all the people the creature had slaughtered. Then the green-eyed fighter told Sabinus all that he knew.

Across the festhall, in a shadowy corner of the window-less building, two men sat and watched Sabinus and Kelemvor. One of the men wore a black visor with slits for eyes. The other man was lean and dark, and felt very odd as he watched the fighter fall neatly into his trap.