"My master wishes to hire you," Kimmuriel explained. "He needs eyes in Luskan."
"Eyes and a sword?" Morik asked, his own eyes narrowing.
"Eyes and no more," Kimmuriel came back. "You tell me of the one called Wulfgar now, and then you will watch him closely and tell me about him when occasions have me return to you."
"Wulfgar?" Morik muttered under his breath, fast growing tired of the name.
"Wulfgar," answered Kimmuriel, who shouldn't have been able to hear, but of course, with his keen drow ears, certainly did. "You watch him."
"I would rather kill him," Morik remarked. "If he is trouble-" He stopped abruptly as murderous intent flashed across Kimmuriel's dark eyes.
"Not that," the drow explained. "Kyorlin ... watch him. Quietly. I return with more belaern for more answers." He motioned to the box on the bed and repeated the drow word, "Belaern," with great emphasis.
Before Morik could ask anything else the room darkened utterly, a blackness so complete that the man couldn't see his hand if he had waved it an inch before his eyes. Fearing an attack, he went lower and skittered forward, dagger slashing.
But the dark elf was long gone, was back through his dimensional door into the hallway, then through that onto the street, then back through Rai'gy's teleportation gate, walking all that way back to Calimport before the globe of darkness even dissipated in Morik's room. Rai'gy and Jarlaxle, both of whom had watched the exchange, nodded their approval.
Jarlaxle's grasp on the surface world widened.
Morik came out from under his bed tentatively when the embers of the hearth at last reappeared. What a strange night it had been! he thought. First with Delly, though that was not so unexpected, since she obviously loved Wulfgar and knew that Morik could easily kill him.
But now ... a drow elf! Coming to Morik to talk about Wulfgar! Was everything on Luskan's street suddenly about Wulfgar? Who was this man, and why did he attract such amazing attention?
Morik looked at the blasted chair-an impressive feat then, frustrated, threw his dagger across the room so that it sank deep into the opposite wall. Then he went to the bed.
"Belaern," he said quietly, wondering what that might mean. Hadn't the dark elf said something about pipeweed?
He gingerly inspected the unremarkable box, looking for any traps. Finding none and reasoning that the dark elf could have used a more straightforward method of killing him if that had been the drow's intent, he set the box solidly on a night table and gently pulled its latch back and opened the lid.
Gems and gold stared back at him, and packets of a dark weed.
"Belaern," Morik said again, his smile gleaming as did the treasure before him. So he was to watch Wulfgar, something he had planned to do anyway, and he would be rewarded handsomely for his efforts.
He thought of Delly Curtie; he looked at the contents of the opened box and the rumpled sheets.
Not a bad night.
Life at the Cutlass remained quiet and peaceful for several days, with no one coming in to challenge Wulfgar after the demise of the legendary Tree Block Breaker. But when the peace finally broke, it did so in grand fashion. A new ship put in to Luskan harbor with a crew too long on the water and looking for a good row.
And they found one in the form of Wulfgar, in a tavern they nearly pulled down around them.
Finally, after many minutes of brawling, Wulfgar lifted the last squirming sailor over his head and tossed the man out through the hole in the wall created by the four previous men the barbarian had thrown out. Another stubborn sea dog tried to rush back in through the hole, and Wulfgar hit him in the face with a bottle.
Then the big man wiped a bloody forearm across his bloody face, took up another bottle-this one fall-and staggered to the nearest intact table. Falling into a chair and taking a deep swig, Wulfgar grimaced as he drank, as the alcohol washed over his torn lip.
At the bar, Josi and Arumn sat exhausted and also beaten. Wulfgar had taken the brunt of it, though; these two had minor cuts and bruises only.
"He's hurt pretty bad," Josi remarked, motioning to the big man-to his leg in particular, for Wulfgar's pants were soaked in blood. One of the sailors had struck him hard with a plank. The board had split apart and torn fabric and skin, leaving