by Mel Odom
“I’m gonna kill you, whelp!” the pirate roared. “Gonna have your guts for garters, I am!”
The young sailor ducked his head forward, slamming the top of his skull into Frennick’s face. The pirate’s nose broke with a snap. Blood gushed over his beard. Before Frennick could recover, Jherek drew back his left hand, balled it into a fist, and slammed it against the man’s jaw twice. Frennick staggered. Still in motion, the young sailor grabbed a handful of Frennick’s beard and slammed the man’s head up against the wall. He lifted his knee three times in quick succession, driving it into Frennick’s stomach.
Vomit streamed suddenly from Frennick’s mouth, a gush of noxious liquid that spilled down his chest and stomach. The stench of soured hops almost gagged Jherek, but the young sailor breathed shallowly through his mouth.
The strength drained from Frennick in a rush as he struggled to regain his breath. Jherek kicked the scimitar from the man’s hand. He placed a foot on the back of Frennick’s head to hold the pirate in place, then turned back to the woman on the bed.
Talif leaned over her, holding a pillow over her face. The woman struggled, kicking her feet and scratching with her fingernails. Talif cursed her in a quiet voice.
Jherek slipped the knife from his boot and threw it. The effort wasn’t hidden by his body as Malorrie and Glawinn had coached.
The knife spun and cut the air.
Cursing, Talif leaped to one side so it wouldn’t spear his face. “Umberlee take you,” he snarled.
The woman on the bed sucked in her breath in ragged gasps. She peered at the young sailor with rolling, frightened eyes, not bothering to cover her nakedness at all. Tears tracked down her face, and she shivered.
Still cursing him, Talif turned his attention to the small chest at the foot of the bed. “If she leaves the room, she’ll warn the tavern—maybe call his mates up here on us.”
Jherek gazed at the woman. “Lady,” he said softly enough only to be heard over the noise coming from the tavern below, “I ask that you not leave this room.”
Slowly, the woman sank more deeply into the bedding. She shook her head in a small motion that stirred her dark curls and said, “No, sir. No, I won’t try to leave.”
The term of respect, applied in such a situation, stung Jherek. He dropped his eyes from the woman’s in shame. To have come so far pursuing what he hoped would have been a clue to his destiny, only to end up like this, making prisoners of frightened women, it was almost too much. If it were up to him, he would have left then, but the pearl disk Vurgrom took was not Jherek’s to leave.
Talif ransacked the room with quick, knowing movements. Small drawers came out of the chest at the foot of the bed. Each was checked, inside and under, before being discarded. The thief even went on to disassemble some of the bigger pieces, checking for hiding places within them.
Frennick remained dazed, sick drool oozing occasionally from the corner of his mouth.
Jherek bound the man’s hand behind his back with strips torn from the stained and faded sheets. He yanked the man to his feet. Frennick swayed drunkenly, like a storm-tossed cog riding out a stiff crosswind.
“Lady,” the young sailor said, “I have one more task to ask of you.”
“Yes, sir.” She looked at him in bright fear.
“Could you dress him, please?”
Talif’s derisive snort filled the room.
Cautiously, the woman climbed from the bed. She left the bedding behind and stood naked, embarrassing Jherek further. She took the pirate’s clothing from a pile beside the bed, choosing the breeches first.
“At least have the common sense to go through his clothing first,” Talif called out as he helped himself to the coins inside Frennick’s duffel.
“Search his clothing then,” Jherek told the woman. “Leave his personal effects. I’m looking for a gold disk that looks very old. At its center is a pearl with a carved trident overlying a conch shell.”
The woman knelt and began searching the pirate’s clothing with experienced fingers, easily finding hidden pockets sewn into the material. Coins and small gems scattered on the floor before her, barely catching the dim light. Two small, very sharp blades that couldn’t be properly called knives slid across the floor as well.
Frennick stood straighter, growling under his breath. “You’ve signed your own death warrant, boy. You do know that?”
“My death,” Jherek told the pirate, looking him calmly in the eye, “was guaranteed the day of my birth. The only thing that remains to be seen is the how of it.”
“At the end of my sword,” Frennick promised, “with your guts spilled before you.”
The young sailor glanced down at the woman, who was busy making some of the coins and gems disappear.
“No, lady,” he said gently. “Don’t rob him. You don’t want him looking for you later.”
The woman looked up and said, “He owes me a night’s wages.”
Embarrassed, knowing what the wages covered, Jherek gave her a tight nod. “As you will,” he said.
“The night’s not over,” Frennick grumbled. “She didn’t earn all her wages.”
“The night was over for you,” the woman rasped. “Once you’ve gotten so deeply into your cups and sated yourself like some rutting goat, you never wake again until well after morningfeast.”
Frennick snuffled, drawing in phlegm and saliva, preparing to spit.
Jherek yanked the pirate’s head back as he spat. Frennick succeeded only in spitting into his own face.
“No,” he told Frennick softly, hating that he was taking part in any of the night’s events.
The pirate growled in rage.
“Take a fair price, lady,” Jherek said. “No more, no less.”
Jherek watched as the woman hesitated, then dropped most of the coins and gems back to the floor.
“I can’t find a disk like the one you described, sir,” the woman said.
“Please dress him,” Jherek replied.
Frennick kicked at her, but the woman quickly dodged away. Jherek rapped the man’s ear with the flat of the cutlass blade, splitting the skin.
“Conscious, or dead weight,” the young sailor promised, “I’m getting you out of here tonight. How things go after that will depend on how you act now.”
Reluctantly, Frennick stood, then stepped into the breeches the woman held ready for him.
“Watch her,” Talif advised from the other side of the room. He pried at the facing along the bottom of the wall, searching for hidden places. The wood pulled out easily. “She may act like she hates that bastard, but she may try to slip him a knife all the same.”
Jherek didn’t respond. He was already aware of that possibility. He watched carefully, trying to ignore the embarrassment he felt at watching the smooth, rolling nakedness the woman presented.
“Put back everything you’ve taken,” the young sailor said.
“What?” Talif demanded.
Jherek spared the man a hard glance and said, “I won’t be party to robbery.”
“What do you think we’re doing here tonight?”
“Taking something back that Frennick has no right to,” Jherek answered.
Talif glared at the young sailor, trying to intimidate him. Jherek met the other man’s gaze.
“I mean what I say,” the young sailor said, “and I’ll know if you lie and try to take something.”
Despite his own show of will, Talif melted before the younger man’s gaze. “Cyric take you,” he said. “Are you afraid for your soul?”
“No,” Jherek answered, knowing that the birthright passed on by his father already doomed him, “but I will stand accountable for my actions.”
“These are my actions.”
“You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.”
“Foolish, prideful stubbornness.”
“Aye,” Jherek responded without rancor. “Call it as you will, but you will not leave here with any stolen goods.”
&n
bsp; “Others will steal it in our stead,” Talif protested.
“But we won’t.”
Uttering venomous curses, Talif emptied his pockets of coins, gems, and pieces of jewelry.
“I’ve not found your precious disk, boy, and I’ve searched every inch of this room.”
“That disk is not here,” Frennick said. He stood dressed in boots and breeches. With his hands behind his back, the woman hadn’t been able to get a blouse on him. “Vurgrom has it.”
Jherek faced the pirate more squarely and asked, “Where can we find Vurgrom?”
“If I tell you, Vurgrom will kill me.”
Talif stepped closer, a wickedly curved blade in his hand, and said, “At least the death he hands out won’t come as soon as the one we’ll give you.”
“There are things worse than death,” Frennick said. “Vurgrom knows many of them.”
Jherek grabbed a cloak from the foot of the bed. He checked through it quickly for weapons, turning up three knives, a sap, and a set of brass knuckles. He dropped the collection to the bed and draped the cloak over Frennick’s shoulders, securing it with a brooch at the throat. Unless someone looked closely, they’d never know he went blouse-less beneath it.
“You’re even more of a fool than I believed to think you can simply walk this man through the tavern and out the building,” Talif stated.
“He knows about Lathander’s disk,” Jherek replied. “I need to know what he knows of it, and Captain Azla wishes to know about Vurgrom’s movements.”
The young sailor placed a hand on his prisoner’s shoulders and shoved him forward.
“You can’t just leave my valuables out for anyone to take,” Frennick protested.
Jherek kept the man moving forward. “I won’t be taking them,” he said.
The noise from the pirates gathered downstairs filled the hallway, echoing up the stairwells that led down to the tavern. They were noisy and they were drunk, but the young sailor knew every sword in the place would be turned against him if they figured out what he was doing.
Over thirty pirates crowded into the Bare Bosom tavern, seated on the long, rough-hewn benches on two sides of the uneven rectangular tables in the center of the large room. The wooden walls held scars that were obscene pictographs, fake treasure maps, and touchstones for tall tales told over tankards of ale when storms kept men from the sea. A fireplace built into the far wall held caldrons of fish stew and clam chowder.
Booming, drunken voices raised in song and tale-telling made a cacophony of noise. The soot-stained windows at the front of the tavern faced the empty, dark street outside.
Three serving wenches made the rounds of the tables, ale-headed enough now that they no longer avoided the groping hands of the pirates. Only one of the serving girls seemed determined to stay out of their grasps. She was thin and short, looking barely into her teens if the rosy glow on her cheeks was any indication.
Behind the bar, amid the clutter of shelves that held glasses and bottles, was the tavern’s centerpiece. It looked as if the prow of a ship had smashed through the wall, leaving ripped timbers in its wake. The prow held a mermaid whose carved auburn hair flowed back to become part of the ship. Her proud breasts stood out above the narrow waist that turned to scales.
Frennick hesitated for a moment, and Jherek tightened his grip on the man’s arm.
The young sailor kept his prisoner moving, using his body to press the man toward the broad oak door. Jherek and his prisoner were at the door when the girl screamed behind them.
At first Jherek thought it was the woman they’d left in the room above. He turned swiftly, stepping back and away from Frennick so the pirate couldn’t turn on him.
A pair of the pirates caught up the young serving girl. Her long skirt and sleeveless blouse looked incongruous compared to the scanty clothes of the other wenches. Her blond hair fanned out over her shoulders as one of the pirates ripped her scarf from her head. She struggled in the powerful grip of the man who held her.
“Let’s see what you look like when you let your hair down, you little vixen,” the pirate said. “Old Tharyg believes you’re a pretty little peach.”
The girl tried to batter the old pirate with her fists but Tharyg seized them effortlessly. She shrilled in frustration and fear.
The bartender and bodyguards stayed back, thin, wolfish grins on their faces.
“Clear the room,” Tharyg entreated. “Give a sailing man room to work.”
The pirates pushed themselves up and staggered into motion. Bets were placed on Tharyg’s ability after imbibing so much ale. “ ’E’ll never get the old Jolly Roger unfurled!” one man cried out.
The girl continued to scream and fight, but it was no use. She was outnumbered and overpowered. They held her at wrist and ankle, pinning her to one of the rectangular tables.
Jherek paused, knowing these events weren’t uncommon in such a place as the Bare Bosom.
“No.” Talif came up behind the young sailor and shoved him forward, adding, “Leave her to the jackals.”
“I can’t,” Jherek said.
“You’re a fool,” Talif told him, his eyes hard.
“Get him to Captain Azla.”
“Aye. Good-bye and good riddance,” Talif grumbled as he prodded Frennick through the door.
Coldly calm, Jherek approached the group of pirates. He caught up a chair in his free hand and never broke his purposeful stride.
Laaqueel luxuriated in the swim to the mudship Tarjana. The water off the coast of Turmish was dirtier than she was accustomed to, but the brine was sweet relief after all the hours of overland travel.
She was malenti, a sahuagin trapped by the appearance of a hated sea elf. The dreaded mutation happened to sahuagin born too close to sea elves. Her life had been further cursed by the fact that her skin was the pink of a surface world elf, not the blue or green of a true sea elf.
Somewhat less than six feet tall, slender and supple, she looked weak.
She wore her night-black hair pulled back, bound with fish bones and bits of coral. Her clothing consisted only of the war harness worn by the sahuagin, straps around her waist, thighs, and arms that allowed her to tie weapons and nets so she could keep her hands free.
Iakhovas’s mystical ship lay at anchor half a mile from shore, only a short distance for one born to wander the sea. Tarjana was one hundred thirty feet long and twenty feet wide, and took one hundred forty rowers, seventy to a side. There was enough room aboard to comfortably fit another one hundred fifty men. Huge crossbows with harpoon-sized quarrels lined the port and starboard sides. Purple and yellow sails lay furled around the three tall masts. Sahuagin warriors filled the deck as well as the water around the ship.
Laaqueel swam among the sahuagin without comment. As senior high priestess to the king, she demanded respect. She grabbed the net hung over the vessel’s side and pulled herself up, regretting the need to leave the sea. She crossed to the stern castle and knocked on the door to the captain’s quarters.
“Enter,” Iakhovas’s great voice boomed from inside the room.
The malenti priestess felt a momentary tingle when she touched the door latch and knew that Iakhovas had heavily warded the entrance. She stepped through into the large room and blinked, adjusting her vision against the darkness within.
“Did you find the item I sent you for?” Iakhovas asked.
“Yes, Most Exalted One, but I lost all the warriors under my command.”
Laaqueel stood, waiting to be chastised.
“The druids are a cunning and vicious lot. Don’t worry, Most Favored One, the Shark God smiles down on you without respite.”
Iakhovas sat in a large whalebone chair that could have doubled as a throne. Though other sahuagin aboard Tarjana only saw him as one of their own, the malenti priestess saw him as human, though she wasn’t sure if even that was his real form.
Iakhovas stood over seven feet tall, an axe handle wide at the shoulders and thick-chested. Black
hair spilled over his shoulders, framing a face that would have been handsome if not for the ancient scarring that twisted his features. He wore a short beard and mustache. A black eye patch covered the empty socket. He was dressed in black breeches and a dark green shirt. A flowing black cloak hung over his shoulders.
The table before him was nailed to the ship’s floor so it wouldn’t move in rough seas. Dozens of objects littered the tabletop.
Laaqueel recognized some of them from the hunts Iakhovas had engineered over the years. Others were from recent finds made by Vurgrom and the other Inner Sea pirates. Sea elves and other creatures, as well as many sahuagin warriors, had died in the gathering of those things. Just as the sahuagin warriors that accompanied her that day had died.
Iakhovas worked diligently at his task. He picked up a curved instrument set with five green gems, each of a different hue. In his hands, the instrument grew steadily smaller, until it was a tiny thing almost lost between his thumb and forefinger. Satisfied with his efforts, he fitted the piece into a small golden globe in the palm of his hand. A distinct, high-pitched note sounded when the instrument fit into place.
“Give me the item I sent you for,” he commanded.
The malenti reached into the net at her side and brought forth the slim rod she’d found in the druid’s wooden altar. It was scarcely as long as her forearm and as thin as a finger. Carved runes glowed beneath the surface but none of them were familiar to her.
Iakhovas took the rod from her, running it through his fingers with familiarity. The rod glowed dull orange for a moment, then faded. He closed his hands over it and it shrank. With practiced ease, he slid the small version of the rod into the golden globe. It clicked home.
A thousand questions ran through Laaqueel’s mind, but they were all prompted by her doubts about him. She forced them away as she’d done for months. Even if Iakhovas’s motives and methods were questionable, he still followed the edicts set forth by Sekolah, strengthening and improving the sahuagin condition across the seas of Toril.
Iakhovas finished a final adjustment on the golden globe in his hand, then popped it into the empty socket where his eye had been. The orb gleamed. He stood, and his appearance seemed to shimmer.
