The Quest for Dawn

Chapter 24: Full of Surprises

The voyage on the Silver Crescent continued in a steadfast haste. As the second night fell, the ship emerged from the River Chionthar's embrace and into the expanse of the Sea of Swords. The wind, as if awakened by the open sea, swelled with renewed vigor, filling the sails and propelling the vessel forward at an exhilarating pace. Propelled by this newfound energy, the ship surged southward along the coast, its destination the bustling capital of Amn: Athkatla.

The voyage was punctuated by moments of shared laughter and frustration. While each companion navigated their own blend of apprehension and resolve, they remained united in their purpose, determined to help Tavriel reclaim her stolen voice.

Late one evening, after the sailors had retired from the mess, leaving Gale, Shadowheart, and Astarion to themselves, they delved into the intricate details of their plan.

Through the torn pages of Tavriel's journal, they gleaned the name of their likely adversary – Aran Linvail, the self-proclaimed Maestro. Tavriel's harrowing account revealed that the new siren was most likely a young woman, groomed and manipulated by Linvail, now bearing the enchanted voice that once belonged to Tavriel. The city itself posed a daunting obstacle, and the thought of penetrating Linvail's heavily guarded inner sanctum seemed like an insurmountable task.

A jarring crash echoed from the scullery, accompanied by a torrent of colorful curses from the sailor on dishwashing duty. Tav had been lending a hand, her presence there coinciding with the group's discussion of their Athkatla plans. The sailor's curses turned distinctly sharper as he exclaimed, "Mindless little fool! Speak up, girl! Blast it all to the nine hells!"

In the scullery, Tav stood firm in the face of the sailor's ignorance, even while he berated her. A simple mishap, the sailor carrying clean wooden bowls that had clattered to the floor, Tav having bumped into him without warning. A mistake, nothing more. But the sailor's ire in response to her silence was evident.

A moment later, Astarion appeared at the door, staff in hand and a sardonic tone to match his wicked grin. "Apologies for interrupting," he said with a flourish of his staff, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "But it appears you've mistaken my companion's silence for a lack of intelligence. A common error among the... less enlightened."

The sailor, recognizing Astarion from the intense duel on the deck with the cleric, was caught off guard by his sudden intrusion and instantly humbled. His stammered apology fell flat, failing to quell the growing tension in the room. The blind vampire leaned forward, his crimson eyes seeming to pierce the sailor's very soul.

"Perhaps next time, my dear sailor, it would be wise to engage your mind before your mouth. A valuable lesson, wouldn't you agree?"

Suppressing a smile, Tav joined his side, touching his arm in silent gratitude. The truth was she would have loved to give the sailor a piece of her own mind, and it grated her nerves that she could say nothing. It was a very stark reminder of what lay ahead of them when they reached the unfamiliar City of Coin, where titles and recognition held no sway. For all her affection for Astarion, the need for his protection still rankled with her pride. And as she pondered this, a realization dawned upon her: Astarion must have felt the same way, at one time at least.

The rest of the voyage unfolded with a much lighter mood. One late afternoon, as the sunlight began to wane on the deep blue of the horizon, casting long shadows across the deck, the dying light gave way to the soft glow of the waxing crescent moon.

A young sailor, his hands idle, whipped out a tin whistle and began to play a lively tune. His impromptu jig, a performance for his own amusement, filled the air with a welcome respite from the creaking of the ship and the fluttering of the sails in the roaring wind.