by Mel Odom
Two killer whales raced for Iakhovas. Their black and white bodies sped through the water, cutting across currents more swiftly even than sahuagin could swim. Iakhovas swam straight for them, never veering from the Great Whale Bard.
At the last moment, Iakhovas shifted, diving below the lead killer whale. He dragged his harpoon’s edge along the killer whale’s underside, splitting it open and gutting it in a bloody rush that fogged the water. Iakhovas disappeared, lost in the dark red haze.
When he burst through the bloody mist on the other side, the sahuagin warriors broke out in lusty cheers. They slapped the ocean floor with their feet and clapped their hands again, finding the savage rhythm of a raging heart.
Silently, Laaqueel prayed that Sekolah would take Iakhovas from them, prayed that the Shark God would allow the whales their victory, prayed that she would know now if Iakhovas was savior or slayer to her people.
The second killer whale finned around and streaked for Iakhovas again as sharks broke the tethers of their sahuagin masters and dived for the floating corpse of the first. Iakhovas turned once more, quickly overtaken by the killer whale. He dodged it, bumping his chest against his opponent’s sleek underbelly. Iakhovas hooked the claws of his free hand into the exposed flesh, followed almost immediately by his foot claws.
Latched onto the killer whale like a barnacle, Iakhovas ripped through its flesh and pierced its heart. Convulsions wracked the killer whale as Iakhovas leaped from it toward the Great Whale Bard.
Other whales surged forward protectively.
Stay back, the Great Whale Bard ordered. This has already been writ. We have done what we could. Those of you who can escape alive must do so.
Reluctantly, the other whales ceased moving.
The Time of Tempering has come then, the massive voice proclaimed, but you will not have everything you seek, Taker.
“I will!” Iakhovas roared. “It will all be mine again!”
No. For all your plans and machinations, there is one you did not count on, one whom you could not know of.
Laaqueel felt the certainty of the Great Whale Bard’s words in her mind.
“You lie!” Iakhovas screamed.
He reached the Great Whale Bard and slashed with his harpoon, driving it deep into the creature’s blunt snout. The Great Whale Bard screamed in agony, disrupting the whale song. The other whales tried to continue, but without the Great Whale Bard to lead them and tie their voices together, the mystic enchantment lost most of its power. Laaqueel felt the change. The stomach-twisting nausea left her.
Still roaring in savage rage, Iakhovas dragged the harpoon free, tearing a large wound in the great whale’s snout. The creature tried to move to avoid its attacker or to strike back, Laaqueel wasn’t sure, but it moved far too slowly to escape Iakhovas’s wrath. The harpoon buried into the great whale’s flesh again and again, releasing clouds of blood into the water.
Even as she prayed, Laaqueel knew there could be no other end to the battle. With the blood in the water, not all the details of the fight were visible, but the malenti priestess watched as Iakhovas hooked his claws into the Great Whale Bard’s side and clambered up to the top of its head.
The frenetic beat of webbed feet against stone and mud continued throbbing through the waters surrounding Hunter’s Ridge. None of the elves dared leave their garrisons, and less of them were visible now.
Still hooked into the whale’s flesh, Iakhovas pulled himself to the top of the head. He located the great whale’s blowhole and shoved himself down inside. The creature continued to swim, but its movements quickly grew weaker. Blood fountained from the blowhole in increasing volume, like smoke from a surface worlder’s campfire. The Great Whale Bard screamed in denial and fear. The sound echoed through the sea, and Laaqueel knew that Iakhovas had been right: the Great Whale Bard’s death would undoubtedly be heard throughout all of Serôs.
The great whale’s tail drooped, no longer moving. Only then did Laaqueel notice that the other whales were in full retreat. Their song had stopped.
The huge corpse turned slowly, like a ship combating an unfavorable wind. Incredibly, the small jaw hinged to the bottom of the huge blunt head opened. Blood spewed out in a violent rush, revealing the massive damage that had been dealt to the creature’s insides.
When the currents washed the blood away, Iakhovas stood revealed, levering the jaw open by pushing against the whale’s upper jaw. Still holding the Great Whale Bard’s jaw open, he screamed defiantly, “I am Iakhovas! I am your king!”
The sahuagin warriors screamed with him, defiant and exhilarated.
“Meat is meat!” Iakhovas yelled. “Come eat of the feast I have laid before you!”
The sahuagin surged forward, filling the water as they streamed through the broken section of the Sharksbane Wall. They descended on the Great Whale Bard’s corpse like carrion crabs.
Laaqueel stayed on Tarjana’s deck. She knew her absence among their ranks wouldn’t go unnoticed, but she had no heart to join them. All she felt inside was a curious emptiness.
“All hail King Iakhovas the Deliverer!” one of the sahuagin warriors shouted as the feeding frenzy filled the ocean with blood. The other warriors took up the shout, and the sound filled the currents. They slapped their hands and feet against the whale’s corpse, finding the savage rhythm again.
Laaqueel wrapped her hand around the white shark symbol that lay between her breasts and prayed. She found no comfort in an act that used to come so naturally to her.
“Aye, an’ there’s trouble afoot, friend Pacys.”
Drawn from his work on the saceddar, the old bard glanced up at the dwarf. Khlinat’s face was grim and hard. The last sweet notes from the saceddar died away.
“What is it?” the bard asked.
Khlinat pointed forward with his bearded chin and said, “It appears we’ve run afoul of a war party of mermen. They’re refusing to let us pass through.”
“Why?”
Pacys uncoiled from the flat rock on the sea bottom where he’d been working while the caravan took a brief respite. They’d crossed the outer edges of the Hmur Plateau a couple days back. At present, they were only a few miles east of the Pirate Isles.
“I’m figurin’ the merfolk don’t exactly take to what looks like a military group paradin’ through their land. At least, that’s the gist of what I heard afore I decided to come back for ye.”
“What does Reefglamor say?” Pacys asked, securing the saceddar to his back.
“A whole lot,” the dwarf replied, “but ain’t none of it doing him any good. Him and that merman baron are both puffing up like toads. Me, I’m keeping a ready hand for me axe.”
The old bard launched himself into the water, and Khlinat followed him. Pacys swam easily, making his way along the caravan line to the front. Undersea mountains around the Pirate Isles made their journey hard even for swimmers. Bands of raiding seawolves and scrags had attacked them during the nights, costing them nearly a dozen warriors before they were turned back. The mountains created too many potential ambush points, but the deeper water toward the center of the Hmur Plateau offered dangers as well. The depths also shortened even the sea elves’ undersea vision to but a few feet.
The sea elf rangers among the caravan saw to the care of the narwhals and sea turtles that pulled the flat supply sleds. The warriors formed protective units around the steep hills, stationed in positions that allowed them to see in all directions.
Even with the bright sunlight streaming through the shallows, Pacys didn’t see Reefglamor and the mermen until he was a hundred feet away. Twenty warriors floated behind the merman baron with their tridents in their fists.
Reefglamor stood on a small rise in front of the baron, “You must let us pass,” he said.
“No.” The merman baron studied Pacys as the bard approached. His tone turned derisive. “You even brought humans with you.”
“This is not an ordinary human,” Reefglamor argued. “This is the Ta
leweaver. Your people have legends of the Taker …”
“Yes.”
The baron didn’t appear convinced. He was broad and muscled. His long brown hair floated over his shoulders, following the path of the currents that swept over the area. Tattoos covered his arms and chest, and a spiral representing Eadro decorated his right cheek.
“Then you’ve heard of the Taleweaver, Baron Tallos,” Reefglamor persisted.
The baron narrowed his eyes. “Those tales have been twice-told hundreds of times over,” he argued. “I choose not to believe in them as much as some of my people do.”
“Then your arrogance lends itself to ignorance,” Reefglamor accused.
Tallos flicked his tail in irritation and shot a hand out to adjust his momentum. “Swim carefully in these waters, old fins,” he warned.
The old sea elf drew himself up to his full height. “I am Taranath Reefglamor, Senior High Mage of Sylkiir.”
“I was told who you are,” the baron snapped. “Yet you still stand before me on two legs, sea elf, and I tell you that no one not blessed by Eadro with fins and a tail is a true creature of Serôs. Your people migrated here out of their own fear and prejudice. We have always been here.”
Rage darkened the High Mage’s features. At his side, Pharom Ildacer moved forward. Even as the merman warriors reacted by dropping their tridents toward the sea elves, Reefglamor placed a hand on his friend’s chest. Ildacer stopped reluctantly.
“We only want to travel to Myth Nantar,” Reefglamor said. “We must see to it that the Taleweaver arrives there safely.”
“Not across my lands.” Tallos glared at the old bard. “I’ll not have a sea elf army moving through my city, or anywhere near it.”
“We travel for the good of Serôs,” Reefglamor protested. “If we don’t stand against the Taker, all of our world may fall.”
“The good of Serôs,” Tallos echoed. “As I recall, the Alu’Tel’Quessir have long held that as a reason for their attempts to take over all of Serôs. How many have died as your people have tried to force their will on others? The Eleventh Serôs War was fought over the same beliefs. Well, we don’t hold forth those beliefs. We don’t even presume to know what’s best for Serôs. We take care of our own, and life in these waters would be far better if others took care to do the same.”
Reefglamor had no reply, visibly stung by the merman’s hard tone and words.
“Myth Nantar was another vessel of sea elven conspiracy,” Tallos continued. “Better it should remain buried behind the mythal that binds it than to return to this world.”
“Prophecy has declared that the City of Destinies is the place where the Taker might be destroyed,” Reefglamor said.
“So say you, elf.”
“Your people have those prophecies as well.”
“Mayhap you’d be surprised how few of my people are willing to trust the Alu’Tel’Quessir these days.”
Reefglamor shook his head. “Unrest and strife stir the waters and echo on the currents,” he said. “The sahuagin are once more free to roam all of Serôs. Surely you’ve noticed this.”
“I’ve heard,” Tallos answered coldly. “I’ve also heard that it was the sea elves themselves who shattered the Sharksbane Wall.”
“Why in all the seas would we have done that?”
“Because to get to you, the sahuagin must first run through the Hmur Plateau—where the mermen live,” the merman accused.
“Your King Vhaemas can’t believe that.”
“The king,” Tallos admitted, “is more reluctant than some, but all are aware that there is no love lost between the sea elves and the merfolk.”
“This is bigger than the animosity that lies between our people,” Reefglamor said.
“If it were,” Tallos countered, “wouldn’t Coronal Semphyr or Cormal Ytham have sent you with more troops? Or approached our king first to request passage through our lands?”
“They, too, are blind to the dangers we face.”
Tallos regarded the old mage, then said, “If your own people don’t believe in you and your journey, why should I?”
“Because it is the truth,” Reefglamor said.
“Not my truth.”
Without another word, Reefglamor turned and motioned his warriors and fellow mages back.
“What will we do?” Jhanra Merlistar asked.
“We have no choice,” Reefglamor answered. “We’ll have to go around the plateau, along the western edge.”
“That’s insane,” Ildacer stated harshly. “Those waters are filled with koalinth tribes who would waste no time attacking us. Only fools would swim there.”
“The only other choice would be to head to the east and go through the deeper waters there,” Reefglamor offered.
“Senior,” the chief guardsman said, “I would prefer—”
“As would I,” Reefglamor snapped irritably. “We’re in agreement that the depths are too dangerous. We will go around to the west. Have someone inform your warriors and the caravan leaders.”
Pacys thought about the proposed journey. It would add tendays, perhaps as much as a month to their time. That was just not acceptable. Yet, as he looked at the merman baron’s hard face, he knew the decision would stand.
Both the sea elves and the mermen turned suddenly toward the south, their weapons falling naturally into their hands. Pacys prepared himself, wondering what it was they sensed. His eyes revealed nothing but the murky water that took away his vision. All at once the currents swirling around him became a wave that rocked him.
Behind the wave came the death cry of the Great Whale Bard. Hearing it, the old bard knew it belonged to no other. Tears welled in his eyes as he remembered the great creature and the gift it had given so freely while calmly accepting its own fate.
“Taleweaver?” Reefglamor called out, swimming toward him. “What was that?”
“The sahuagin have slain the Great Whale Bard,” Pacys replied. “Now there is nothing to hold back the sea devils.”
Standing in Steadfast’s prow, his cutlass in his hands, Jherek stared at the huge, dark cloud that rode low over the ocean. The ship was ahead of the cloud, only a few miles southwest of Aglarond. The whale song stopped abruptly the day before, but the sense of direction that had dawned in the young sailor’s breast remained constant.
He shaded his eyes with his hand. Perspiration cooled him in the sea breeze as his heart resumed a steadier beat. He’d worked himself hard the last hour, concentrating on the cutlass and hook as he went through the exercises Malorrie and Glawinn had shown him. The exertion kept his thoughts reined in, away from the memory of Sabyna and the sweet kiss they’d exchanged.
Tarnar ran up the steps, joining him. “I thought at first it was a cloud,” the captain said, “but I’d never seen one settle so close to the sea and be so small. Thought it might be fog, then I thought perhaps it was a sail.”
“No,” Jherek said, tracking the jerky, fluttering movement visible within the mass now. “Those are birds. Scavengers.” Even as he realized it, his stomach lurched and filled with cold acid.
Bringing his spyglass up to his eye, Tarnar swept the sky ahead. “You’re right, but I’ve never seen so many.”
Jherek hadn’t either. Thousands of seagulls, pelicans, fisherhawks, and smaller birds skirled through the limited air space above the sea, eagerly seeking an opening. During a voyage on Butterfly last year, Finaren had spied a derelict at sea. Upwind of her, Jherek hadn’t smelled the carrion stench of the ship until they’d thrown grappling hooks over the railing and prepared to tie on.
Birds had exploded from the decks and broken windows, frightened from the grisly repast they’d helped themselves to. The young sailor had never learned the reason why the crew had killed each other, but there was no doubt that they had. Finaren had guessed that some mage-inspired madness or a curse had overtaken them. No one had lived. For tendays afterward, Jherek remembered the bloated and beak-stripped faces in his nightmares.
“It means there’s death waiting up there,” the young sailor said hoarsely.
Tarnar didn’t bother to disagree.
“Cap’n,” the sailor in the crow’s nest bellowed. “Got something off the starboard side.”
Jherek stepped to the railing, the cutlass still tight in his fist. A sapphire whale, named for the blue flukes it bore, surfaced in the water only a few yards from Steadfast. Twenty feet long and easily eight feet in diameter at its thickest part, the sapphire whale could have been a formidable opponent for the caravel. It glided easily just above the water, making no move toward the ship.
“Lady look over us,” the sailor in the crow’s nest called out, “there are more of ’em out there, Cap’n.”
As though appearing from nowhere, the whales rose to the ocean’s surface, quickly flanking Steadfast’s port and starboard sides.
“They want us to stop,” Jherek said.
“They’ve given us no choice,” Tarnar growled. He turned and shouted orders to the first mate to drop their canvas. “The good thing is, if they wanted to, they could have already reduced Steadfast to so much kindling. I’m taking this as a good sign.”
The caravel drifted to a stop, resting easily against the whales’ broad backs. Tarnar gave the order to drop anchor. Crewmen spun the anchor chain on the drum, paying out the length.
Jherek peered across the hundred yards that separated the ship from the cloud of scavengers working at the waterline. They looked as though they were settling on a small island barely jutting up from the sea.
Tarnar put his spyglass in the sash at his waist and walked cautiously to the railing to peer down at the whales. Porpoises raced through the water around the whales, occasionally leaping up and disappearing beneath the waves again.
“What do they want?” the captain asked.
Jherek shook his head, then a ghostly whisper trickled through his mind. Jherek, you must come with us. The voice wasn’t the same as the one that had contacted him days ago.
