Sea Devil's Eye

by Mel Odom

  A knock sounded on the wall and Laaqueel glanced at the spot. She knew the draft of the mudship put the knock below water but the sharp raps didn’t sound hollowed out the way the sea would make them.

  “Follow me,” Iakhovas said, and walked toward the bulkhead without hesitation.

  He reached back and captured one of her hands, then stepped through the bulkhead.

  III

  4 Flamerule, the Year of the Gauntlet

  “Unhand the girl.”

  Jherek spoke softly, but his words interrupted the raucous voices of the pirates as they terrorized the frightened young woman. The closest pirates noticed him first. They stepped drunkenly backward, stumbling against chairs and tables. Snarled curses reached Jherek’s ears.

  The girl’s rolling eyes met the young sailor’s, and for a moment he felt her fear and weakness.

  “Mind your own business,” one of the sailors said. He took a threatening step forward, drawing a short sword from his hip.

  Jherek hesitated only a moment. The man before him was drunk, as were most of the men in the room. Still, they remained fully capable of hurting the girl on the table, and they were just as capable of killing him.

  “Help me,” she cried softly.

  Sparked by his own sense of justice, Jherek spun into battle. He whirled quickly, smashing the flat of his blade into the nearest pirate’s face.

  The man’s nose broke in a bloody rush and an audible crack. He stumbled backward, cursing Jherek in Umberlee’s name. His size and the drunkenness of his companions sent a small group of them reeling back for the short bar.

  Pressing his advantage as the other pirates fell back and tried to bring their weapons into play, Jherek stepped forward. He swung the chair he’d picked up as he’d approached the group, breaking it across Tharyg’s back.

  The big man roared in pain and anger as he dropped to his knees on the floor. He turned his baleful gaze toward Jherek and reached for his sword.

  Jherek focused on the two men who lunged at him from the left. He met their swords with his own, slamming the blades aside. He twisted the cutlass, wounding one of the men deeply across the forearm. Blood spurted on the man and his nearest fellows.

  “Make way, you damned sot-heads!” one of the bouncers standing watch at the tavern called.

  Turning to the right, Jherek overturned a table, then kicked it at the three armed men coming at him. The table skidded across the sawdust-covered floor and slammed into their legs. If they hadn’t been so impaired by their drinking, maybe they’d have remained standing. As it was all three of them tumbled across the table.

  Still in motion, Jherek set himself and met the blade of the man who came at him from the front. The young sailor was already aware that pirates were circling behind him, closing off his escape route to the front door.

  “Kill him!” Tharyg ordered. “A gold piece to the man who takes that bastard’s head!”

  Jherek hardened himself, driving out all merciful feelings that remained within him. Despite their drunkenness, the men were all killers, skilled and experienced at their profession.

  His cutlass leaped out like a thing alive, sliding along the man’s sword and opening his throat in a tight riposte. Gurgling, dying, the man fell backward, clawing at his mates to help him.

  Two men rushed at Jherek with long knives. The young sailor dropped almost to his knees and caught himself on his empty hand. He pushed forward, catching the man on the right just above the knees with his shoulder. Jherek drove the man backward, lifting him off his feet and hurling him into the pirates behind him. They collapsed in a staggering melee.

  Recovering, Jherek ripped his cutlass up in time to block the overhand blow Tharyg directed at his head. The young sailor shifted his footing, parrying two more blows from the bigger man, then pushing the cutlass’s point through the pirate’s heart.

  “Bloody hell!” Tharyg gasped, staring down at the steel blade thrust into his chest. “You’ve done killed me!”

  Jherek pulled his sword free, feeling the steel grate along bone. The young sailor gave himself over to his training and to the blade. The cutlass whirled before him, striking sparks from the other blades that reached out for him, creating a rhythm of metal rasping against metal.

  He sliced a man across the stomach, spilling the pirate’s entrails onto the floor. The other pirates shouted in horror and disgust while the wounded man screamed in fear and struggled to hold himself together. Jherek whirled again, bringing the cutlass around in a flat arc that all but decapitated another pirate.

  Seizing the moment when the area briefly cleared around him, Jherek reached the side of the young woman. He sliced the hand from a man who’d been slow in releasing his grip on the girl. With his free hand, the young sailor grabbed the girl’s arm and pulled her from the table. The floor around them was slippery with blood in spite of the sawdust. The girl remained wild-eyed, trying desperately to hold onto the young sailor.

  “No, lady,” Jherek told her in a calm voice as his eyes raked the hellish destruction he’d wrought. “I need my arm.”

  He had to force her from him, hoping he didn’t hurt her or accidentally steer her into an opponent’s blade.

  A pirate came up behind Jherek, blindsiding him by standing behind the young girl. He didn’t see the pirate until the man almost ran him through, but a preternatural sense warned him. Unable to bring the cutlass into play, Jherek let the short sword skim past him when he took a step back. He locked his free hand in the pirate’s blouse, then stepped in and pulled as hard as he could.

  The pirate spun over Jherek’s shoulder and crashed into another group of men, bowling them all down.

  Jherek gazed around the tavern room, unwilling to believe he was somehow still alive. Over a dozen sailors were down, most of them never to rise again.

  A blade drew in close before he could dodge. The edge kissed the flesh of his upper left arm, ripping through easily. Hot blood spilled down his arm and drenched his blouse and cloak. He managed to keep the few sword thrusts at the girl turned aside.

  Whirling again, aware that the drunken pirates were starting to get organized, Jherek glanced up at the heavy wooden wheel depending from the ceiling. Glass-encased candles, most of them still lit, stood proudly around the wheel.

  Tracking the line of rope that held the wheel in place near the ceiling, Jherek spied the support post the rope was tied to near the front windows of the tavern. He planted a hand in the girl’s back, helping steady her over a broken table and scattered chairs.

  “Run,” he told her. “Don’t look back.”

  The girl ran, staying low, both hands wrapped protectively over her head.

  Jherek picked up a chair and hurled it at a pirate who moved after the girl. The chair smacked into the pirate from behind, two of the legs shooting by his side while the other two slammed into his back. Chair and pirate plummeted toward the floor.

  “Get him!” one of the tavern’s bouncers shouted, shoving the pirates before him like an incoming tide pushing flotsam.

  Taking two quick steps, Jherek swung the cutlass hard into the support pole where the chandelier was tied. The rope parted at once and the wheel plummeted from the ceiling like a rock. The wheel was almost as wide across as a man was tall. When it hit, it carried half a dozen pirates to the ground, burying them under its weight.

  Another pirate swung his sword at Jherek’s knees. The young sailor vaulted the man easily, placing a hand on the back of the bent pirate’s head and pushing off. The pirate skidded face first into the floor.

  Jherek leaped to the next table, feeling it skid uncertainly for a moment before snagging on the rough-hewn floor. As it started to tip, he vaulted to the next table near the bay window, then folded his arms over his face and threw himself through the latticework and panes.

  Glass shattered and wood splintered around Jherek as he plunged through the window. He landed on his feet, bending his knees slightly to keep his balance. As he stood, he saw
Glawinn, Sabyna, and Azla run from the inn across the street.

  “This way, young warrior!” Glawinn roared, waving his sword.

  Before Jherek could get started, a pirate leaped through the broken window after him and landed on his back. Only a swift move of the cutlass prevented the pirate from raking his dagger across Jherek’s throat. Grabbing the man’s loose shirt with his free hand, the young sailor bent and pulled, yanking the man from his back. He ran, spotting Talif and Frennick moving quickly through the shadows toward the paladin.

  A crowd boiled out of the Bare Bosom. Two of them had lanterns, filched from the tavern’s walls. “This way!” someone yelled. Booted feet beat a rapid tattoo against the wooden slats in front of the tavern.

  Jherek caught up with the thief and his prisoner easily. He grabbed Frennick by the arm and hurried him after Glawinn.

  The paladin raced into an alley beside the tavern where they’d been waiting, Sabyna and Azla close at his heels. Jherek swung around the corner, still pulling on Frennick, who was yelling encouragement to their pursuers.

  Glawinn pulled himself up into the bench seat of the freight wagon waiting in the alley. The rear deck of the wagon contained barrels, kegs, crates, and sacks of foodstuffs and other supplies.

  “Get in!” the paladin yelled. “Pirate stronghold though this may be, they take care of their own. We’ve worn thin our welcome here.”

  Jherek wholeheartedly agreed. Azla and Sabyna easily vaulted into the back of the wagon. The half-elf pirate captain set herself to work at once, smashing open a keg of spirits with her sword hilt.

  Glawinn had the wagon going before Frennick was up in the back. The pirate dropped to his knees in an effort to keep from being forced on.

  “Leave him,” Talif snarled, hauling himself aboard the wagon.

  “No,” Jherek said.

  He sheathed the cutlass in the sash at his waist and hooked his hand under the pirate’s wide belt. He heard the yelling approach of the tavern crowd and saw the yellow glow of the lanterns paint long shadows on the wall to his left as they rounded the corner.

  “There they are!”

  “Kill that salty young pup—and his friends!”

  The wagon started out slowly. Old horses and a heavy load held them back.

  Holding Frennick’s belt and the back of the pirate’s hair, Jherek lifted his prisoner to his feet and rushed toward the fleeing wagon. In three great steps, he covered the distance. He pulled Frennick over his hip and threw him into the wagon bed.

  “They’ve got Frennick!” someone yelled.

  “Or he’s with them!” another said. “I never trusted him.”

  Jherek ran to the wagon and vaulted up. He turned immediately, seeing that the tavern mob was closing the distance. Desperately, he grabbed a nearby five-gallon keg in both hands and heaved it at the lead man.

  The keg broke against the man’s chest, scattering salted pork across the alley and knocking the pirate back. Four more men went down with him, breaking the pursuit for just a moment.

  “Everything goes off,” Jherek ordered.

  He remained on his knees and tossed the wagon’s load over the back as quickly as he could. Sabyna and Talif helped him, shoving things over the end of the wagon.

  Sacks of flour burst and spilled filmy white clouds into the alley, soaking into the potholes of the uneven cobblestones. Nail kegs, broken bottles, and shattered jars created more obstacles in the path of the tavern crowd. Potatoes and beans rolled across the stones.

  As the load lightened, the horses pulled more strongly. The ironbound wheels rang against the cobblestones, knocking off accumulated rust and striking occasional sparks.

  Glawinn yelled to the horses and pulled them hard to the left as they bounded out onto the street at the end of the alley. The new street plunged down and twisted crazily on its way to the harbor.

  The crowd from the tavern made the next turn much tighter than the wagon. They were gaining. Other men walking along the new street joined in the chase. Jherek stared at the wolf’s pack in dismay. Anything like a quiet escape was totally out of the question now. Flame suddenly flared at his side. He turned and watched Azla fit an arrow to the short bow she’d carried into town.

  The pirate captain pulled the string back to her cheek and fired from a kneeling position. The arrow sped true, shedding sparks from the cloth tied just behind the barbed head. The missile found a home in a man’s chest. Blue and yellow flames twisted up and caught his beard on fire, wreathing his face in flames. He fell back among his companions.

  Azla picked up another arrow that held a scrap of cloth tied to it and drenched it in the keg of spirits she’d broken open.

  “Talif,” she called calmly, her black eyes searching the street for targets.

  The thief held a green flame between his cupped palms. The strange fire emanated from a coin. Azla lit her second arrow from the enchanted coin and fired it into the thatched roof of a nearby warehouse. The flame spread quickly across the wooden shingles.

  A cry of alarm sounded from the pirates. More than half of them peeled off and ran for the building. As tightly packed as Immurk’s Hold was, and being constructed of wood, Jherek knew there was a real danger of the town burning down if a fire was left untended. He balanced on his knees, his fist curled tight around the cutlass hilt, rocking as the bumpy ride continued.

  Azla shot two more fire arrows into buildings they passed, creating even more of a diversion. By then the horses were hitting their pace and the wheels rattled across the uneven cobblestones.

  Laaqueel felt a moment of heated resistance, then she slipped through the wooden timber of the bulkhead behind Iakhovas. In the next instant, harsh sunlight and the unsteady deck of a ship lunging at sea greeted her. Iakhovas had set up gates in the sahuagin castle as well that let him travel immediately to different areas along the Sword Coast.

  “Lord Iakhovas!” a loud voice boomed. “Welcome aboard!”

  Turning, the malenti priestess spied the tall, big-bellied form of Vurgrom the Mighty. The pirate captain came down the stern castle stairs like a flesh and blood avalanche.

  Vurgrom was a mountain of a man, no taller than Iakhovas but easily twice as broad. He had flaming red hair on the sides of his head but none on top, and long chin whiskers that thrust out defiantly. He wore scarred leather breeches and a sleeveless leather vest.

  “You called me,” Iakhovas stated.

  The big pirate captain grinned, swaying slightly as the ship thundered across the ocean waves, pushed by a strong wind.

  “Aye,” Vurgrom said, “and it’s because I’ve got some news you might be interested in.”

  The crew tried to get closer to him, but he waved them all away.

  “What is your location?” Iakhovas asked.

  Vurgrom shrugged and said, “A few days from the Whamite Isles.”

  “You will be there.” Iakhovas’s tone left no margin for misunderstanding.

  The big man flushed a little. “Aye,” he said, “and I won’t let you down, Lord Iakhovas, but I have something else to show you—something you need to know about.”

  Vurgrom dug in a pouch belted at his prodigious waist and produced an oval pearl encased in a golden disk. Laaqueel watched sudden interest dawn on Iakhovas’s face. He studied the disk in the pirate captain’s fat palm.

  “I hired a diviner to look at it,” Vurgrom said. “She told me it would lead me to a weapon.”

  Iakhovas studied the disk. “So it will.”

  “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you,” Vurgrom said. “The device you gave me wasn’t working.”

  “It worked when it was supposed to,” Iakhovas said sharply.

  Vurgrom’s face blanched. “Of course, Lord Iakhovas,” he said. “I only meant that I would have spoken with you earlier if I had been able.”

  “It’s a powerful piece,” Iakhovas said.

  “It guides us, lord. Place this trinket into a bowl of water and it floats like a lodestone
seeking the north.”

  “The weapon,” Iakhovas said, “lies on the Whamite Isles.”

  Surprise gleamed in the pirate captain’s eyes. “You know this?”

  “Yes.”

  Vurgrom laughed and said, “I should have come to you, lord, instead of paying the diviner.”

  “You took two days’ travel from my schedule,” Iakhovas said in a hard voice. “If it weren’t for the wind that pushes you now, you wouldn’t make your assigned destination on time.”

  With a shrug, Vurgrom said, “I’ve been fortunate.”

  Iakhovas held a hand up. The wind died suddenly and the sails hung limply from the lanyards. Laaqueel shifted her footing. The ship felt as though it had become mired in mud.

  “It was more than fortune’s good graces,” Iakhovas said. “I am seeing to it that you arrive on time in spite of your bad decisions.”

  Iakhovas clenched his raised hand into a fist. The blast of wind that hit the ship staggered it, almost rolled it over on the cresting wave. The sails popped and cracked, sounding as if they were going to be ripped free. Some of the ship’s crew went rolling across the deck, unable to balance themselves quickly enough. At least three men went over the side, screaming until they hit the water. The ship sailed on, having no way to come around for those overboard.

  Iakhovas stood as if rooted to the pitching deck.

  Vurgrom grabbed the rearmost mast only a few feet away, unable to maintain his stance. He roared and knocked away other pirates nearby. The ship continued to pitch and twist.

  “You’re going to tear her apart!” the captain shouted.

  “The ship will hold,” Iakhovas declared. “I won’t allow you to be late, Captain Vurgrom.”

  “I won’t be late, my lord.” Vurgrom had to yell to make himself heard over the gale force winds. “I won’t be late.”

  “See to it then,” Iakhovas threatened. “If you are late, Vurgrom, after everything I’ve invested in you, you won’t ‘be’ at all.”