by Mel Odom
“And maybe more than they should be asked.”
Pacys looked down at the long line of the caravan. Nearly three hundred sea elves took their breaks while the sleds were secured and the animals were changed out. They sat in small groups and talked. Weariness from the hard travel showed in the stooped shoulders and the lethargy that gripped them.
Glancing around, Pacys spotted a depression in the hillside of the sheltering ridge. It gave a view over the whole caravan. He swam to it and settled on the ledge at the front of the depression. As he took the saceddar from his back, he drew his skills to him, and listened to the music that haunted him all morning. He’d found no words for the music—until now. The music was lively but bittersweet, a tune that would live on.
Torn from proud history,
Forged in blood and love,
Come from the hand and eye and love of Deep Sashelas,
No longer of the world above.
They gathered at the behest of the High Mages,
And descended into Serôs’s deepest blue.
They followed the course of dark prophecy,
To discover what was right and true.
They journeyed to far Myth Nantar,
Still bound in wild and uncertain magic.
The City of Destinies had a future unclear,
And a history that had proven tragic.
Pacys played on, finding the words with ease. He let the music fill him and give power to his song. He knew they listened, every conversation brought to a halt by the majesty in his voice. He continued, finding the chorus.
We are the Alu’Tel’Quessir,
Our hearts build our home.
Our blood is pure
And our arms are strong.
Together we stand,
And never die alone.
We are the Alu’Tel’Quessir.
We march to right a wrong.
Our bodies may get weary,
But our spirits are filled with song.
The old bard stopped singing. The rest of the song was yet to be written. Verses would be added as they journeyed, but for now it was all he had.
“Don’t worry, friend Pacys,” Khlinat said quietly. “ ’Twas a good song, strong and true, but mayhap them hearts out yonder aren’t ready for something like that.”
Pacys nodded, wondering what Reefglamor would have to say about his impromptu performance.
Then, with gentleness at first, the sea elves picked up the chorus, stumbling until a few of them found the meter and rhythm.
We are the Alu’Tel’Quessir,
Our hearts build our home.
More voices joined in, and the song became a thunderous, spirited roar. It was a song of defiance and pride.
Tears spilled from Pacys’s eyes, plucked away by the sea around him. It wasn’t just their belief he was rekindling and he knew it. The fear and anxiety sapped his strength as well, raked out hollow places within his convictions. Now he filled them up again. His fingers found the notes on the saceddar, pulling the group together until the song filled the valley. Khlinat joined in, adding his deep basso boom.
Our blood is pure
And our arms are strong.
Together we stand,
And never die alone.
We are the Alu’Tel’Quessir …
With only one mast in place, even with all the canvas it could support, Azure Dagger could not outrun the Cormyrean Freesail. Jherek clung to the railing next to Azla. Glawinn stood beside them.
“They’re going to be suspicious of us,” Azla declared. “We’ve obviously been in a fight, and this ship stinks of slavery when you get downwind of her.”
Jherek watched as the Cormyrean ship cut through the water to within two hundred yards.
“Steady, young warrior,” Glawinn stated softly. “They’ve yet to prove their intentions as anything other than honorable.”
Gradually, the Cormyrean Freesail drew abreast of Azure Dagger’s port side. A slim man dressed in maroon with silver trimmings stood at the forecastle railing with a hailing cone in his hands. “Ahoy. This is Captain Sebastyn Tarnar of His Majesty King Azoun IV’s ship, Steadfast. I’d like to speak to your captain.”
Azla accepted the hailing cone one of her men handed over. “This is Azla, captain of the free ship Azure Dagger.”
“We saw you had some trouble and thought we’d investigate.”
“We’re fine and sailing under our own power.”
“Perhaps not as proudly as you could be,” Tarnar replied, “but I’ll grant you that. Can we be of any assistance?”
“Thank you,” Azla called back, “but no. We’re used to managing our own affairs and would rather others would do the same.”
“What did for your ship, Captain?”
“We did,” Azla answered. “We ran across slavers who thought to add me and my crew to their bounty. By the time we’d settled differences, I’d lost my ship. That was her you saw us cutting loose back there. So we took this ship in her stead.”
“I thought I recognized the stench.” Tarnar paused, then called, “Where are you headed? Perhaps we could share the wind for a while.”
“Sometimes it’s better to be by yourself than trust someone you don’t know.”
Tarnar put the hailing cone down and laughed. “You’re a feisty one, Captain Azla. I would relish the opportunity to meet you at another time, the Lady willing.”
“If chance and tide should allow you your wish, Captain Tarnar, I’ll stand you to the first drink.”
In the next moment, a wave of unaccustomed vertigo stole through Jherek. He leaned more heavily on the railing, struggling to stay on his feet. Just as suddenly the wind died.
Without warning, a plume of water stood up from the ocean, rising nearly twenty feet tall. In the still air, the twisting plume spun into the form of a man with outstretched arms.
“Jherek of Velen,” the plume of water itself seemed to say, “your path lies in a different direction. Leave that ship and join the Cormyreans.” The basso voice haunted the waters.
“No,” the young sailor whispered.
“There is no choice,” the water-being stated. “You are called to follow your own path. Sir Glawinn, warrior of Lathander the Morninglord, you must release the boy. He will no longer be under your guidance.”
Jherek looked at Glawinn.
“I don’t know what this is before us, young warrior,” the paladin said. He stared out at the obviously magical creature. “You can see for yourself the power it wields.”
“No.” Cold anger and fear battered Jherek but they couldn’t overcome the stunned numbness that filled him. His life was his own. He’d forsworn all gods.
Azla approached them, her face hard and chiseled. “This is sorcery,” she said as she gazed around the two ships.
Jherek peered through the railing, looking at the eight-foot-high waves that seemed to pass all around them, leaving them in a hollowed bowl in the middle of the Sea of Fallen Stars.
“Young warrior,” Glawinn said, “you must go. It is your destiny.”
“No,” Jherek argued. “This is my curse. I am finally among friends. Now I am being turned from them.”
Nothing about this was fair. He looked over his shoulder and saw Sabyna. The ache in his heart worsened.
“Not a curse, young warrior. I sense this is part of your birthright. You must believe me.”
Captain Tarnar shouted across the distance, clearly heard in the still air as he demanded to know what was happening.
A sudden banshee shriek ripped through the air above them, filling the sails hard enough to rip canvas free in places. Azure Dagger rocked violently, scattering men across the deck.
“What is going on?” Sabyna demanded as she joined them.
Glawinn looked at her and said, “Lady, he can’t stay with us. His path lies in another direction.”
Panic touched Sabyna’s face for just a moment, but she got control of herself. “If that is true,” she said, “I�
�m going with him.”
The banshee wind shrieked again, ripping more canvas free.
“You can’t go,” Glawinn gasped. “I can’t go. No one can go with the young warrior. We each have our parts to play in this tangling of threads.”
“No,” Sabyna denied quietly. “You have to be wrong.”
“My friend, I wish that I was wrong.” Glawinn took Jherek’s hand tight in his. “Look inside your heart. Tell me if you feel that I am wrong.”
Cold and adrift inside himself, Jherek found it hard to concentrate. He closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, searching within. No voice gave him direction, but he felt a tug eastward, a wanderlust that pushed him to go in that direction.
“There is no place for me here,” he croaked as he stared into the paladin’s eyes.
“How can you speak so surely?” Sabyna demanded.
Jherek looked up at her, trying not to see the tears that tracked her cheeks. “I can’t say, lady.”
“You don’t have to go,” Azla said defiantly. “This is my ship. I say who comes and goes.”
Another powerful gust of wind slammed into Azure Dagger. Half her canvas ripped free and cracked in the wind. Pirates immediately worked the rigging, dropping the canvas.
“I have no choice,” Jherek said. He forced himself to his feet. “What am I supposed to do?”
Glawinn shook his head. “I don’t know. Trust the love inside you, Jherek. It is your strength and your belief. You must hold tight to that till you find your anchor and your forgiveness.”
“There is no one to forgive me.”
The paladin was silent for a moment. “There is one.”
“Who?”
“It’s not for me to say. When the time is right, you will know. Come. I will help you pack.”
“No,” Jherek said. “I’ll take what I have with me.”
“You have gear here,” Azla said, “and we have supplies we can spare.”
“Nothing.” Jherek looked at the still water between the two ships.
“You’re going then?” Sabyna asked.
Jherek looked at her, the pain in his heart almost too much to bear. “Lady, perhaps it is better. All I seem capable of doing is bringing you pain, and I am sorry for that. I’m sorry that you are so far from home.”
“I am where I need to be,” Sabyna said. “I have charted this course as much as you have.”
Jherek started to shake his head.
“I’ll not tolerate a pig-headed argument,” Sabyna warned in a hoarse voice, “and you’ve no other to offer in this matter.”
Before he could stop himself, Jherek took her hand in his and knelt. He pulled her hand gently to his chest above his heart.
“Lady,” he said, “I swear that should you ever need me, should there be a way made that I can help you, I will be there.”
She tightened her fingers in his shirt. “I know,” she whispered.
Jherek turned and hugged Glawinn fiercely.
“Go with Lathander’s mercies, young warrior.”
Holding tightly onto his control, Jherek stepped in front of Azla. “Captain, requesting permission to disembark.”
“Granted,” the half-elf pirate captain responded. “May you know nothing but safe waters. If ever you need berth on a ship, my men will know of you.”
“Thank you.”
Jherek kept himself from looking back at Sabyna. He stepped to the railing and threw himself overboard. Only the certain knowledge that the ship and all aboard her would be sacrificed if he stayed gave him the strength.
He hit the water cleanly, completely submerging. The sea plumed white around him as he passed through it. For a moment he considered diving as deep as he could, until his lungs ran out of air and he couldn’t make the surface again, but he didn’t.
Whatever drove him from Velen and buried him with the ill luck that pursued him from the time he was born stayed with him. Whatever god, whatever demon, maybe it could make him leave his friends, but it couldn’t control him completely.
In Athkatla, he’d given in to that force and to the voice that commanded him and made the trip to Baldur’s Gate. After the Ship of the Gods exploded, he gave up. Now, he decided, he would fight that force until he was free of it or it destroyed him.
He surfaced and swam across to Steadfast. When he arrived, he pounded on the hull and called, “I need a ladder.”
Captain Tarnar gazed down at him with suspicion. “I don’t need to be berthing a curse,” he shouted down.
Jherek gazed back up at the man, fanning the hurt and anger inside himself until it glowed white-hot. “If you don’t take me aboard,” Jherek said, “I’m willing to bet you don’t make it out of here.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Before Tarnar’s words faded away, the water-figure spun quickly and winds whipped the ship, tearing rigging free.
Jherek pushed away from Steadfast, treading water until the ship settled again. The coiled rope ladder plopped into the water near the young sailor, and he wasted no time clambering up it. He stood on Steadfast’s deck totally drenched, water cascading around his feet.
“What manner of hell chases you, boy?” Tarnar demanded.
“I don’t know,” Jherek answered, “but there will be an accounting.”
No sooner had the young sailor come aboard than the water-figure sank into the ocean and the wind returned, filling Steadfast’s sails and shoving them forward again. Tarnar gazed upward, a wary look on his sun-browned features. “You think you can fight that?”
“Whoever I see at the other end of this trip,” Jherek said, “who is in any way responsible for this will regret ever laying eyes on me.”
Glawinn and Sabyna stood at the railing, looking out after him. He stared at them even after they were gone from sight, certain he would never see them again.
The wind flowed over him, bringing the sea’s chill to his wet clothes. He ignored the cold, focusing on the hate that he’d finally allowed to take root in his heart.
XIV
21 Flamerule, the Year of the Gauntlet
The ixitxachitl swooped through the sea at Laaqueel with a suddenness that belied its great size. It resembled a manta ray, solid black across the top of its thin body and purple-white underneath. The wing membrane was fully eight feet across, not the largest of its kind the malenti priestess had seen, but close.
She kicked her feet, powering through the water and pulling her trident between her breasts. The lateral lines running through her body echoed the disturbance in the ocean around her. Spinning, one hand flaring out and catching the water in the webbing between her fingers, she avoided the demon ray’s barbed tail. One of the Serôsian ixitxachitls’ tactics was to snare an intended victim’s neck or torso and hold it captive.
Laaqueel popped her retractable finger claws from hiding, raked them across the ixitxachitl’s tail, and lopped off a two-foot section.
Blood streamed from the creature’s tail stub as it curled its wing membrane and rolled over with deceptive ease.
“Hateful elf!” it cried in its gravelly voice. It sped at her again.
Leveling her trident, Laaqueel sprang at her opponent. The ixitxachitl’s mouth opened, over a foot wide and filled with serrated teeth.
She shoved the trident forward, burying the tines in the hard, rubbery flesh between the ixitxachitl’s malevolent eyes. The creature’s greater bulk propelled her backward, but she swung at the end of the trident safely out of reach of its hungry jaws.
She popped her toe claws and raked her opponent from just behind its mouth all the way to the bleeding tail stump. The creature’s entrails spilled into the water in long ropes. The ixitxachitl screamed as death claimed it.
Laaqueel yanked her trident free and raked the surrounding water with her gaze. War raged around her as the ixitxachitls battled sahuagin from the outer and inner seas. Blood filmed the sea the way a surface dweller’s smoke choked an enclosed building.
With
their greater speed, the sahuagin were making short work of the demon rays.
It feels good to be back in the fray, doesn’t it, little malenti?
Laaqueel listened to Iakhovas’s voice inside her skull and answered, Yes.
In truth, all doubt and fear left her for the moment. There was no uncertainty. She was a priestess serving the will of Sekolah to battle and destroy enemies of the sahuagin.
The ixitxachitls had set up their Six Holy Cities in the Xedran Reefs, south of Thuridru. They ran from just off the coast of Alaghôn on the Turmish coast to the shallows in the mouth of the Vilhon Reach.
A foraging party from the koalinth tribe called the Sea Hulks had been used as bait for the ixitxachitl military party Iakhovas staked out as a target. When the demon ray group attacked, the koalinth foragers fled east, leading their pursuers between the pincer attack of the combined sahuagin and Sea Hulk groups.
Driven before their ambushers, angered and confused—the Laws of Battle had not been adhered to—the ixitxachitls swam east, desperately trying to outrun the death that chased after them.
Her lateral lines warned Laaqueel of the attack coming from behind her. Praying to Sekolah, praying that her failing belief had not yet caused her powers to leave her, she turned and shoved her hand out.
Bright incandescence shot from her hand, causing steaming bubbles to form and dart rapidly for the surface little more than a hundred feet up. The ixitxachitl caught in the blast of power cooked, great blisters rising in a heartbeat, then bursting. The rancid taste of burned fat tainted the water Laaqueel breathed.
To the left, another sahuagin rode an ixitxachitl’s back, holding onto the wing membrane with both fists as it took great bites from the screaming creature’s back. Its shouts and prayers to Ilxendren, the Great Ray and god of the ixitxachitls, echoed in Laaqueel’s ears.
Laaqueel pulled her weapon free and swam on, giving herself over to the chase. It was the closest she’d felt to normal in days.
