"Even if we'd told the lords of Waterdeep about the attack, they wouldn't have been prepared. They wouldn't have given much credence to our fears."

"No," Pacys agreed. "They might not have believed you, and even the ones who did wouldn't have been any more prepared than they were after fourteen years. But why did he want to attack Waterdeep?" Unconsciously, he drifted over into the piece he'd written for Waterdeep, the music gentle to his ear.

"The prophecy is vague about that," Narros admitted. "Part of it is a warning to the surface dwellers and to bind the sahuagin further to his cause. A few lines suggest that he went into the city itself to reclaim one of his lost weapons to use in his conquest of the surface world."

"Was there any hint about what this weapon was supposed to do?"

Narros patted his daughter on the head. "With it, he's going to sunder a land, fill an ocean with fire and fury, and free a trapped people who live for evil as he does. Waterdeep was only the first of the cities that are going to learn to live in fear of the ocean. He is going to come to power in the outer sea, then in the inner one, and when it is revealed, all are going to fear his name."

Pacys absorbed the story, amazed by the depth and complexity that it offered. Prophecies were powerful things; not just for the people who believed in them, but the world itself was forced to deal with them.

"How are we supposed to stop him?" the old bard asked.

"I don't know," the shaman answered. "Our own prophecy hints that the prophecies of other undersea races are linked to the reappearance of this creature, and each will have other pieces to the story. One man will weave all of those stories together, spin them into a tale that will live forever in the history of this world." He locked his gaze on Pacys. "That man is you."

Hope fired through Pacys's heart, but he reached for it and held it down. "You can't know that," he whispered hoarsely.

" 'A human tale spinner,' " Narros quoted," 'old enough to be at the end of his life, yet still living on the edge, seeking to fill the emptiness that his own self-imposed quest has laid upon his soul, all his days given to the perfection of his craft. The music of his great song will replenish him till he is near bursting, like a deep water fish that streaks unwisely toward the shallows. Once he has gathered the song and given it to the worlds above and below, he'll be forever remembered as Taleweaver, he who sang of sand and sea and united the history of all peoples who have the sea in their blood.'" He pointed at the yarting, the strings still ringing in the old bard's hands. "I heard the song you played that night when my people arrived in this harbor. You couldn't know it, it is a sacred song, given only to my people at the time Eadro gave us the circlet. He told my ancestors then that the song would be given to the Taleweaver, and that was how we'd know him."

"If you knew then," Pacys protested, "why didn't you say something?"

Narros shook his head. "We were bound to silence. Remember? No one could speak of the Taker… not until after he reappeared."

"How can you be so sure I'm the one?"

"Since we've been here, your hands have ever been busy, made slave to the music that now holds you in thrall. Truly, you are the one. I was guided to you this morning because you still have your part to play."

"What part?" Pacys's heart hammered inside his chest. The song was one thing; he could commit to that, but what else remained before him?

"There is a man-hardly more than a boy by your counting of years, one who has always lived with the sea in his heart despite being abandoned to land-who will find a way to confront the Taker," Narros said. "He will find the weapon and he will find the way, but it will be only after he finds himself, discovers what he truly is. To do that, you'll have to seek him out and touch his heart. He's been shattered by his experiences, and others have worked to make him whole, given him much of what he needs, but he'll never be able to become what he needs to be without you. If you're not there for him, it could be that our very world will fall." The merman smiled comfortingly. "Take pride in the fact that he will be one of the very best of your kind."

"What do I need to do?" Pacys asked.

"Find him," Narros answered, "and help him find himself."

The sheer enormity of the situation put a righteous fear in Pacys. How to find one man in all of Faerun when not even a name existed was beyond him.

"But where do I start looking?"

Narros shook his head. "Our prophesy says it will be in a city on a great river that stands as a door to the above and below worlds."

Pacys's mind raced and only one city came to mind though he knew of dozens. "Baldur's Gate," he said.

"I have thought so too."

"I'll find him there?"

"You'll see him there," the merman answered. "As to what takes place, I can't say. You'll have to find a way and trust the bond that exists between you."

Suddenly, Pacys noticed his wandering hands had moved on to a new piece, one that he'd never played before, one that he'd never heard played before. It was uplifting, a light in the darkness, a fragile mixture of bravery and fear, and he recognized it at once.

Alyyx slapped her tail against her father's torso happily. The smacking sounds somehow intermingled with the piece Pacys played, bringing hope.

"That's the hero's song," she cried out enthusiastically, turning to her brother. "Don't you hear him coming, Shyl?"

The merboy nodded, a small grin turning his lips.

Despite his own doubts and fears about everything the merman shaman had told him, Pacys couldn't help smiling. It was a hero's song. His fingers moved across the strings with growing confidence, seeking out the melody.

Narros reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll find him, Taleweaver," he said. "Wherever he is, it's your destiny to find him. Go first to Baldur's Gate and seek him there."

Tynnel's eyes narrowed as he walked toward Jherek. He gestured at Aysel and his fallen comrades. "Get them on their feet."

Crewmen split up and helped the fallen men to stand. Aysel remained hard to rouse. One of the serving wenches approached and spilled a tankard of ale into his face. Aysel woke, spluttering and cursing, instantly flailing around for his weapon. Three crewmen restrained him. When Aysel realized Tynnel was there, he quieted immediately.

"Why did you fight them?" Tynnel asked.

Jherek had no ready answer.

"Because of that damned woman," one of Aysel's comrades called out. "Having women aboard a ship, Cap'n, that's always been-"

Tynnel quieted the man with a steely glance, then shifted his attention back to Jherek. "You fought them over Sabyna?"

"Aye," Jherek admitted, but he was reluctant to repeat the terrible things Aysel had said.

"Was she here?"

"No, sir. She's been looking for you."

"I know that," Tynnel said in a clipped voice. "I just came from her when I heard one of my crewmen had been involved^ in a brawl here. I don't allow fighting in the ports we ship in, not if you're a part of my crew. I could have lost three crewmen in this debacle that I can presently ill afford to lose."

"He started it, Cap'n," Aysel shouted. "Raised his hand against me, and I had every right to defend myself. My mates were there to make sure he didn't slit my gullet before I had a chance to defend myself."

Surprise lighted the captain's eyes. "Is that true?" Tynnel demanded of Jherek. "Did you strike the first blow?"

Before Jherek could answer, the old man spoke up. "It wasn't the boy, Cap'n," he said. "The big man there had a foul mouth on him, goaded the boy into the fight."