by Mel Odom
The meeting with Vhaemas the Bastard had been five days ago. Now Iakhovas hoped to win the support of the Sea Hulk koalinth tribe south of the Xedran Reefs, completing a union of enemies around the ixitxachitls. The malenti priestess was present at only one of the meetings between Iakhovas and the koalinth chief, though she knew Iakhovas met with Dhunnir more times than that.
The fleeing ixitxachitls flexed their wings and skated only a few feet above the ocean surface, gliding over the clumps of coral that gave the Xedran Reefs its name. Sand ballooned out from under their great wings as they swam. Colorful fish darted from in front of them.
Ilkanar, the town the ixitxachitls were from, lay over a mile to the west. The attack was sprung far enough away from the devil ray city that no reinforcements could arrive quickly even if a messenger did get away.
The ixitxachitls swam through a stand of rocks and coral, hoping to escape their pursuers. Instead, they met Tarjana rising up from the ocean floor over the rise behind which it had been hidden.
The mudship’s deck was filled with more sahuagin wielding crossbows. Even as the ixitxachitls turned to avoid slamming into the massive ship, the crossbow quarrels found their marks.
Iakhovas was among them. Laaqueel swam, watching as Iakhovas’s arms became hard-edged with bone and dorsal edges that ran the length of the appendages. His finned arms and legs slashed through the ixitxachitls.
In minutes, the last demon ray had been executed. Sahuagin and koalinth alike made a meal out of their conquered enemies. Laaqueel swam above Tarjana’s deck and surveyed the battlefield that stretched for almost a quarter mile. Bodies of sahuagin, ixitxachitl, and koalinth alike littered the water, twisted into inelegant poses.
The survivors moved through the dead with large nets in their wake, gathering them up. Meat was meat, and none of it needed to go to waste.
Jherek was on Steadfast’s forecastle deck, whirling the cutlass and hook around him as he moved from attack to defense and back again.
Finished for the moment, standing on quivering legs, his arms trembling from the exertion, the young sailor took a deep breath and looked over the bow at the eastern horizon. Steadfast tacked into the wind now, rolling first port then starboard as she plowed through the oncoming waves. The Whamite Isles were two days back and she made for Aglarond.
When his legs were steady again, he stepped over the bow railing and stared along the thirty-foot bowsprit. The wood glistened with salt spray. Ratlines ran down from the forward and mainmasts, helping hold the lanyards square and in place.
Concentrating, anything to keep from thinking about what and whom he’d walked away from thirteen days before, Jherek stepped cautiously and steadily along the bowsprit. The long pole measured nearly a foot across where it buckled into the caravel and narrowed to something less than four inches at the end. Nearly halfway out, the ratlines dropped too low to be any good to him if he fell. Still, he continued, his knees bent as he rode out Steadfast’s rise and fall.
Long moments later, he stood within only a few short feet of the bowsprit’s end. He reveled in the feel of the wind and the sea’s uneven terrain. All around him, he could see nothing but the sea and the sky. He closed his eyes, turning his face up into the wind.
If he lost the anger that filled him, what would be left? The question had haunted him over the last few days. The answer terrified him. Whatever drove him wanted him broken. Perhaps it didn’t know how close he already was. Perhaps it would have been satisfied if it had known. He’d even wished for a while that he could break, but he couldn’t. He simply didn’t know how.
“Jherek.”
The call was soft, not meant to startle. The young sailor moved his feet carefully, turning to stare back at the ship. Captain Tarnar stood in the bow, arms folded across his chest.
“It’s almost time to come about and tack into the wind the other way. I didn’t want to lose you when we re-rigged the canvas.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
Carefully, Jherek walked back along the bowsprit, then hopped onto the forecastle deck.
Tarnar gazed at him in open speculation and said, “I’ve never seen a sober man try to do what you just did, and even drunk I never saw it accomplished.”
Jherek flushed with embarrassment over drawing unnecessary attention. Since boarding Steadfast, he’d been the object of enough of it.
“Most of my crew is convinced that you’re cursed, but a few think of you as some kind of holy man. Which of them have it right?”
“I’d say cursed,” Jherek replied bitterly. “I don’t know.”
“Personally, I was thinking you might be blessed.”
Jherek glanced at the captain to see if he was joking.
“All these days at sea, and us staring the Alamber in the teeth the most of it, and we’ve not suffered one sea devil attack. Most ships aren’t finding passage that easy.”
“The voyage isn’t over yet,” Jherek said harshly.
“You’re not a man to ever see a glass half full, are you?”
“I’ve had reason not to,” Jherek said. “Most days, it’s not even been my glass to look at.”
Shouts suddenly rang out from the port side of the ship. “Dragon!” a man bawled.
“Where away?” Tarnar demanded, turning and striding to that side of the ship.
“There, Cap’n!” The mate pointed at the sea.
Looking out into the blue-green water, Jherek saw the unmistakable gold scales of the sea wyrm forty yards out. Its serpentine body undulated through the sea, easily pacing the ship, not having to fight the wind.
“What is it?” a man bellowed in consternation.
“Dragon-kin,” another man roared back. “Umberlee probably sent the great damned thing to fetch us and pull us under the salt.”
A handful of the crew grabbed bows and drew arrows back.
“No!” Jherek ordered even as they loosed. The arrows raced across the intervening distance, but none of them found their mark. “Don’t loose any more arrows!”
The young sailor stepped forward and pushed a man to the deck. The crew instantly formed a pocket around Jherek. Knives and cudgels appeared in their hands.
“Demonspawn,” one of the men growled. “Shoulda tied an anchor ’round his feet and deep-sixed him!”
Jherek raised the cutlass to defend himself, but—looking into the angry and frightened faces of the men before him—his resolve left him. He knew there was no way he could fight them. They weren’t pirates or slavers, nor any black-hearted rogues that he could recognize. They were simply men afraid of what was before them. A warrior didn’t fight such men over anything less than honor or to save a life. Jherek couldn’t fight them just to save his own life, not when he was the cause of their fear.
The young sailor dropped his cutlass and stood before the crew unarmed. The anger inside him kept his fear away. He waited. He wouldn’t run.
“Run him through!” a crewman near the back yelled. “See if his blood’s red or if you can read his befouled heritage in his own tripe, by the gods!”
One of the men lashed out with a cruel skinning knife. Jherek turned just enough to avoid the blow.
“Enough!” Tarnar roared. “This is my ship. As long as it remains my ship, nothing will happen aboard her that I don’t sanction. That’s the way it has always been, and that’s how it shall be until I’m not fit to command her.” He glared at the men assembled before him. “Is that understood?”
“Aye, Cap’n.” The response was quick and came from the mouth of every man. All the oaths were grudgingly given.
“Then get back to work,” the captain ordered. “Every mother’s son of you.”
The crew turned and walked away, grumbling.
Tarnar turned, his eyes wide as he studied Jherek. “By the gods, boy, what is it about you that you’d stare them in the teeth and not raise a hand against them?”
“They didn’t deserve my wrath,” Jherek answered. “They have no control over my being here.”
>
“They would have killed you if I let them.”
“Aye.”
Tarnar shook his head in disbelief. “What is that thing doing here?” He pointed at the sea wyrm keeping pace with Steadfast.
“I don’t know, Captain.” Jherek turned to the railing and stared out at the sea wyrm. It disappeared beneath the waves. “I’ve seen it before. Back on Azure Dagger.”
“Then it has followed you here,” concluded Tarnar.
Jherek made no response to that, but his mind reeled with the implications of the dragon’s presence.
“Boy, if something powerful enough to stop the winds and control the waters wanted you dead, it would have drank down the ship and you with it,” the captain said. “You’re still alive, so I have to ask why.”
“I don’t know,” Jherek said with grim determination, “but whatever it is, it will regret it.”
Tarnar shook his head. “A prudent man wouldn’t presume to put himself above the gods.”
“I’m beyond prudence,” Jherek declared. “I will demand an accounting. My life has never been an easy one, and this force—this god if you wish to see it that way—has seen to that. It can kill me, strip the flesh from my bones, but I will not kneel before some heartless thing. I will have my battle, and I will acquit myself with honor.”
Sabyna paused at the edge of the narrow, rutted street and watched a wagon pass.
The wagon was loaded with timber the driver was hauling to the sawmill down by the docks. The merry jingle-jangle of the horses’ harnesses stood out in sharp counterpoint to the tired plod of the animals. The driver and the three woodchoppers with him looked worn out.
Agenais rumbled with steady business and men. Coin changed hands quickly, and prices marked on goods didn’t mean a thing. If no one was interested in something, the price could sometimes be halved. Impromptu auctions went on all around her where there was more than one prospective buyer and a limited supply of goods. The roll of bids, accompanied by oaths and strident voices, remained as steady as the conversations and stories that were told.
Sabyna crossed the street, aware of the men’s attentions. Some eyed her discreetly, and others stared at her with openly wolfish hunger.
On the other side of the rutted street, she stepped up onto a boardwalk under a badly listing eave in front of the apothecary’s shop. Her boot heels rang hollowly against the wooden surface.
“Hey, little woman,” a man called gruffly.
Sabyna kept her eyes forward. From experience she’d learned not to acknowledge speakers in such situations.
The man reached out and wrapped a beefy hand around her wrist. “Hey,” he grumbled, “I was talking to you.” The man was short of six feet but was as broad as the back end of a barge. He was unshaven and smelled of ale.
Slowly, Sabyna reached out with her free hand for the whip lashed to the big man’s belt. She smiled, watching other men come join the first.
“You’re lucky,” she said in a soft voice.
The man grinned more broadly and asked, “How am I lucky?”
“Despite the mood I’m in and your own bad manners, I’m not going to kill you.” Sabyna tapped the whip and said, “Bind.”
The whip surged up from the man’s side and uncoiled. Before he could do more than let go her wrist and take a step back, the whip wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his sides and trapping his legs together. He yelped in fear and surprise.
Placing a hand in the center of his chest, Sabyna shoved the man into the rutted street. She turned to face his friends, who weren’t totally convinced they couldn’t take her.
She opened the bag of holding at her side and called, “Skeins.”
The raggamoffyn fluttered up through the opening and formed a striking serpentine shape that hovered on the wind. The men backed away at once, terror on their faces.
“Don’t,” Sabyna said coldly, “let me see you again.”
Without another word, the men grabbed their friend from the rutted road and took off.
Releasing a slow, taut breath, Sabyna stepped into the apothecary’s shop. Skeins retreated into the bag of holding.
The shop stood small and tidy beneath a swaying ceiling that had seen its best days pass it by. Wheel-shaped candelabras hung from the ceiling. Handmade shelves, added as needed and not with a uniform design in mind, stood against the left and right walls.
Glass bottles of all shapes, sizes, and colors mixed with jars, canisters, and small boxes to cover the shelves. Open vases held sticks of spices and rolled herbs. Cheesecloth pouches of pipeweed sat on barrels.
Some of the herbs had been dried and left in their original shape, lying in jars, in thick clusters, or hanging from strings strung around the room. Other herbs had been ground into meals and powders, grains separated from the chaff.
“Hail and well met, lady.”
Fazayl stood behind the battered counter at the end of the shop. Long gray hair hung to his shoulders, but the top of his head was bald. Gray chin whiskers jutted out in disarray. He wore a homespun shirt and worn breeches. A long-stemmed pipe was in one hand, and the rich aroma of cherry blend pipeweed filled the shop.
“Hail and well met.” Sabyna crossed to the counter. “You have the herbs and other things I asked for?”
“Aye,” the man replied. “That I do.”
He reached under the counter and brought out a small wooden box. Inside were a dozen vials, jars, and bottles of different colors. Bundles of herbs and incense sticks took up more space.
Sabyna took the bottles and herbs out one by one, checking each.
“I’ve gotten some new stock in, lady,” Fazayl stated, waving his arm generously around the small shop. “If you’d care to take a look.”
“Thank you. I will.”
Despite the danger inherent in being in the town of Agenais by herself, Sabyna found she was reluctant to return to Azure Dagger so readily. While aboard ship she was consciously aware of Jherek’s absence. She left the small box in the apothecary’s care and crossed the room to the potions and oils.
Two small children, no more than six or seven, entered the shop amid gales of laughter. Dressed in made-over clothing patched in dozens of places, they pushed and shoved each other in playful sibling rivalry. The children stopped at the counter and peered up at Fazayl.
“And where do you rapscallions think you’re off to?” the apothecary demanded.
The children didn’t answer, simply peered over the edge of the counter with their big eyes. Dirt stained their wind-reddened cheeks, and they wiggled in excitement.
Smiling, Fazayl reached under the counter and brought out half a dozen hard candies. The children scooped them up, yelled quick thank yous, and scurried for the door. The old man laughed at them, then caught Sabyna looking.
“Bless the children, lady, for they see only the good things in this world.”
“Are they your grandchildren?” Sabyna asked.
“No, lady. My boys and my grandchildren live in Chessenta. The Whamites turned out far too small to keep them from roving. Still, most of the children in town know I and the missus can be counted on for a few pieces of sugar candy without too much of a fight.”
The shop door opened and two rough-looking men stepped through. Both of them walked with the rolling gait of professional seamen and wore cutlasses instead of long swords.
“Shopkeeper,” one of the men roared. “I’ve got a list of goods here we’ll be needing.” He reached inside his blouse and took out a scrap of parchment.
“If I can,” Fazayl replied. “Some goods are in short supply these days.”
The two men swaggered to the counter and gazed around at the shop. One of them looked directly at Sabyna, and the ship’s mage recognized him in an instant as one of Vurgrom the Mighty’s crew of pirates that had captured her in Baldur’s Gate and fled with her down the River Chionthar.
She readied her spells in the event that he recognized her.
After they gave
their list to Fazayl, they turned to the barrels where the apothecary kept live fish, salamanders, frogs, and newts that he used to make some of his powders, potions, and oils.
Returning to the counter, still watching the two men, Sabyna quickly paid for her supplies, then shoved them into the bag of holding. Skeins sensed her tension and tried to ease from the bag. She pushed the raggamoffyn back inside, thanked Fazayl, and headed for the door.
Without looking back, she crossed the rutted street that cut through the heart of Agenais and took up a position beside a sail maker’s shop. From the alley she had a clear view of the apothecary.
When they left, she followed.
XV
29 Flamerule, the Year of the Gauntlet
“You’re an excellent player,” the captain said.
Jherek glanced at Captain Tarnar across the inlaid marble chessboard on the small table between them in the captain’s quarters. The pieces were done in dark red and white, matching the board, carved in figures of king, queen, priests, horsemen, castles, and kneeling archers.
“You’re very gracious,” the young sailor responded.
Steadfast cleaved the water as she was named, pulling full into the wind now.
“No,” Tarnar replied, “I’m not. I don’t like to lose.”
He poured another glass of wine for himself, then offered the bottle to Jherek, who politely refused.
The captain had invited Jherek to join him for dinner, and the young sailor had reluctantly accepted. Jherek preferred his own company, but he was loath not to show good manners in light of the situation.
“I find it more disturbing that you beat me three times in a row—” Tarnar paused to sip his wine, “—in light of the fact that you’re distracted.”
“I’m not—”
“A woman?” the captain asked, interrupting politely.
Jherek didn’t reply. To speak of Sabyna so casually would be dishonorable.
“Of course it’s a woman,” Tarnar said with conviction. His eyes bore into the young sailor’s. “The only other interest to so bewitch a man’s soul would be an object of greed, and you aren’t the type to covet physical goods.” The captain started setting up the chess pieces again. “You threw yourself into the sea without so much as a bag packed those days ago.”
