by Mel Odom
Iakhovas stood at the forefront of the invading sahuagin forces, ripping apart his foes with trident and claws. Corpses littered the city, including ixitxachitls and the slaves who hadn’t quickly chosen sides. Iakhovas’s wrath was unforgiving. As the invading army rolled through the resistance put up by the demon rays, the slaves scattered in full revolt, driven before sahuagin who would kill them if they tried to flee.
The oceans’ currents darkened with blood.
Even as she drifted down and took her place at Iakhovas’s side, he glanced up at her. Gold gleamed in his eye socket.
“Ah, little malenti, come to join the celebration?” he said, holding a bloody chunk of dead ixitxachitl out to her.
“I came to fight at your side.”
A cruel smile twisted his lips in both his human and sahuagin guises as they flickered back and forth in Laaqueel’s vision.
“As you can see,” he said, “there are many who believe in me these days—many ready to fight at my side. I searched for believers, little malenti, and they have found me.”
Feeling the spongy surface below the layer of sand at her feet, Laaqueel drove her trident down. Blood spewed up and the ixitxachitl crouched in hiding there flapped in pain. The malenti priestess slit its belly with a talon and watched it swim away to die.
Sharks and sahuagin finned by overhead, chasing all that fled before them that weren’t of their kind. It was a whirling maelstrom of slaughter, a true vision of sahuagin power and savagery the like of which Laaqueel had never seen before. By rights, by her heritage, she should have been in bliss—or in a blood frenzy as so many of her brethren were—but she wasn’t.
“What about you, little malenti?” Iakhovas asked. “Why do you fight?”
“I live to serve you,” she answered. Fear filled her as she gazed at him, knowing he had the power to see through her and the lies she told.
“But do you believe?” Iakhovas asked. “Do you believe in me, or do you fight only to save your own life?”
Laaqueel gazed around them, aware of the fighting taking place. Sahuagin invaded buildings on either side of the thoroughfare, yanking ixitxachitls out and putting them to death where they found them. The slaves died as well. There was no rescue.
Even though the temple stood in the city, very few ixitxachitl priests stood against them. The sahuagin priestesses fought them spell for spell and emerged victorious even if they had to swim over the bodies of those who’d gone before them.
“I believe,” Laaqueel replied, “as best as I am able.”
She waited, thinking he was going to strike her down where she stood. Over the past few days, he’d been distant from her while plotting his intricate conspiracies.
“In Sekolah or in me?” he asked.
“In my eyes,” Laaqueel answered, “you and the Shark God are equal. How could I believe in Sekolah’s teaching if I didn’t believe in you?”
If the Shark God had cared at all about what she did or thought, the malenti knew she’d have been struck down in that moment for the words of sacrilege she spoke. Instead, she prepared herself for the blow she fully expected from Iakhovas.
He gazed at her for a long time, as if the battle raging around them didn’t exist. A disemboweled ixitxachitl drifted by them. Iakhovas angrily swept it away. His living eye showed malignant black as he surveyed her.
“You have changed, little malenti.”
“We are all changed.”
“I have grown and become more powerful.”
“And I have become less so?” Laaqueel asked.
“No, it’s not that …” Iakhovas waved the sahuagin warriors behind them onward. He paused to glance briefly at the carnage that was reaped in his name, grinning broadly enough to reveal the fangs that filled his sahuagin mouth as well as his human one. “It’s just that I’ve never seen you without vision.”
“I don’t understand,” Laaqueel responded.
“When I first met you all those years ago,” Iakhovas said, “when I first saw you, I saw the hunger for power within you. It filled every fiber of your being, little malenti, a force so wild and powerful that for a moment I was afraid—tempted to kill you outright instead of using you.”
Laaqueel stood in the middle of the battle waiting patiently. There was nothing she could say. Emptiness swallowed her emotions save for a trace of fear that kept her reactions on the edge.
“I thought I could control that hunger,” Iakhovas went on, “so I let you live. In mastering you, though you may not see it that way, I shaped and strengthened that hunger in you.”
Shame swept through the malenti priestess because she knew Iakhovas spoke the truth.
“I remember the way you stood up to King Huaanton after we brought Waterdeep to its knees.” Iakhovas closed his fist, and it was at once human and sahuagin. “It was something you would have never done had I not entered your life.”
Screams punctuated his words.
“I know,” Laaqueel said, only because she knew some response was necessary.
“You would have tried to kill him for going against Sekolah’s will.”
“Yes.”
“Then, only a few days ago, two priestesses who would have done harm to you were struck down before you.”
Laaqueel knew that was a sore point for Iakhovas. Even though he’d questioned her at length about it, she’d been able to offer no reason why that had happened. That she had no explanation also undermined her own confidence. She didn’t know why she couldn’t believe Sekolah had acted on her behalf, but she didn’t.
“At this point, little malenti,” Iakhovas said, “I would think that your hunger would be about to consume you, that you’d want to stretch your talons and see how deeply you could cut into the world.”
Laaqueel eyed him levelly and said, “To cut any deeper in this world I’d have to step from your shadow, and that would be dangerous.”
For a moment Iakhovas held her gaze, then he tilted back his head and laughed. The deep, roaring bellow echoed through the ixitxachitl outpost, riding on the swirling currents that followed the path of the battle.
“Ah, little malenti, in truth, I had not thought about that. You think you have risen as far as you can go?”
“Yes,” Laaqueel answered without hesitation. It was the truth.
“Then you truly have no vision,” Iakhovas stated. “Before I am done, I will rule Toril. I will conquer its oceans and coastal lands, then I will find a way into the tender heart of the surface world. I will become the greatest emperor Faerûn—and beyond—has ever known.”
“And will you be needing an empress?” Laaqueel challenged.
Iakhovas grinned cruelly. “No, little malenti.”
“Then what am I supposed to envision for myself?”
Iakhovas was silent for a time. “Perhaps you are right. I miss the way you were, but should I see those hungry lights in your eyes again, I’ll know to guard my back.”
Laaqueel crossed her arms over her breasts and asked, “Do you fear me then?”
Cold anger froze Iakhovas’s features. “You go too far,” he warned.
“Yet you think I don’t go far enough.”
“Don’t ever make that mistake.”
Laaqueel shook her head. “What you saw in my eyes when we met wasn’t just a hunger for power,” she told him, “it was desperation. When I feel desperate, I’ve found I can do almost anything I need to do.”
“And do you feel desperate now, little malenti?”
“No,” she said quietly, again telling the truth. “For now, I only feel hollow.”
“Perhaps,” Iakhovas admitted, “that is a good thing. I will work to instill that hunger in you again, though. I want you to be all that you might be, Most Sacred One.”
Laaqueel didn’t know what to say. She sensed truth in his words, and that he cared about her in his own way.
“Come,” he said after a time. “We have a war to win.”
He leaped up and swam through the wat
er, heading for the thick of the diminishing battle.
With nothing else to do, Laaqueel followed.
“To me!” Iakhovas cried with savage glee as he descended on the last rallying point of the ixitxachitl at Ilkanar. With all the priestesses around, he used his magic without fear, making sure no one could trace the efforts back to him.
The ixitxachitls holed up in the temple, holding their own at the doors and windows. Sahuagin clung to the stone walls with their claws, slashing savagely at any demon ray that stayed in the open too long.
Iakhovas battled through ixitxachitls that had been luckless enough to be caught out in the open. His attention riveted on the temple for a moment. Gold gleamed in his scarred eye socket and a thin green ray, almost lost in the swirling blue-green of the sea, stabbed toward the temple.
Without warning, the temple tower’s base glowed green. In the next instant the glowing section of the tower turned to fine black dust. Shorn of part of its mooring, the tower fell to the ocean bed. It stretched out far enough to crush two more buildings, then threw a cloud of sand into the water. The hollow thump echoed, followed immediately by the clattering of stones as the temple went to pieces.
Laaqueel stared in disbelief. The ruined tower had killed not only most of the ixitxachitls hiding inside, but a large number of the sahuagin who’d been clinging to the walls.
The tower’s destruction signaled the end of the battle. Dozens of demon rays remained, but they fled for their lives, only making the sahuagin and sharks chase them farther to kill them.
“To me!” Iakhovas cried, holding his trident triumphantly overhead. “I have brought you yet another triumph, as I promised.”
“Long live King Iakhovas the Deliverer!” someone yelled.
The rest of the sahuagin quickly took up the cry. They slapped their feet against the silt-covered streets of the fallen ixitxachitl outpost, slammed their tridents against the stone walls of the buildings holding only dead and dying, and gave voice to clicks and whistles pledging their support.
Laaqueel kept her silence and her distance. Only she knew the truth of the beast the sahuagin had clutched to their breasts.
“Long live King Iakhovas the Deliverer!”
Jherek flexed his left hand and gazed at the brown skin of his arm, then he closed his hand and visualized the multi-colored bracer covering it. In the space of a heartbeat, the magic armor leaped through his skin and wrapped around his arm in a blur of color. It sparkled in the sun that shone down on Steadfast’s deck.
“Do you feel it?” Tarnar asked. The captain stood across from Jherek, sword in his fist.
“No,” Jherek replied.
In the seven days that had passed since recovering the Great Whale Bard’s gift, not a minute had gone by that the young sailor hadn’t thought about Iridea’s Tear.
“No extra weight?” the Cormyrean Freesail captain asked.
“No.”
“Not even now, when it is manifested upon your arm?”
Jherek shook his head. “It’s like it’s a part of me,” he said. “It’s no more noticeable than the hair on my arm.”
The caravel stood at anchor at a small cove south of Altumbel. They’d been met by a dozen caravan wagons manned by warriors who swore allegiance to the Simbul, the queen of Aglarond. Steadfast’s cargo was parceled out among the wagons even as the caravel’s crew took on the goods the caravan had carried overland from Velprintalar, the closest thing to a port city Aglarond had.
Pirate activities in the eastern waters north of Aglarond had increased. Having no regular standing navy and only a small, desperate army, the Simbul had made arrangements with the merchants in Cormyr to avoid the waters with the overland caravan and make the exchange along the southern coast. It wasn’t a tactic that would last long, but trapped as Aglarond was between Altumbel and Thay, the realm still needed the glass, iron, and food the merchant ships brought to trade for lumber, gems, and copper.
The southern coastline of Aglarond was harsh and uneven. Cliffs overlooked the Alamber Sea, broken only by the treacherous trails the wagoneers had used to descend to the rocky shore. Trees grew almost out to the sea’s edge, kept at bay only by the saltwater that drenched the ground.
Foresters manned the wagons. All of them were hard-eyed men with the gruff manners of warriors constantly marching off to battle. They bore scars and memories, and their songs at night held sadness for things lost as well as hope for a brighter tomorrow.
Some of the wagons bore coast boats that many of the surrounding pirates feared. Though the coast boats were open, equipped only with lateen sails, oars, and poles, a group of them could grapple and board ocean-going vessels to kill pirate crews. According to Tarnar, they’d done that several times in the past.
For the last two days, only a ghost of a wind had threaded along the rocky coast, not enough to allow them to put out to sea. Jherek had spent most of that time with the captain.
“It’s a wonderful thing you’ve been given, Jherek,” Tarnar said.
“But I ask myself why.” The question had plagued Jherek’s mind constantly.
“Sometimes,” Tarnar said softly, “things are meant to be accepted, not understood. So we practice, and the whales talk to you here, giving you what information they have. What follows will follow.”
“I want to be back with my friends.”
Tarnar grinned and said, “Good. Maybe that is a step in the right direction.” He lifted his sword. “Prepare yourself.”
Jherek squared off with the man, falling easily into combat stance. Though Tarnar wasn’t as powerful a swordsman as Glawinn or Malorrie were, there were things the young sailor picked up from the captain. Malorrie and Glawinn had concentrated on raw power, complemented with quick, decisive strokes. Tarnar, however, moved from bold attack into feints that had upon occasion left Jherek open.
The young sailor watched his opponent’s eyes, waiting for the captain’s opening move. Tarnar slashed at Jherek’s left arm. Jherek raised his arm and took the blow on the bracer, trusting it completely. Sparks flashed from the iridescent surface, but the bracer showed no signs of ill use.
Thrusting with his cutlass, Jherek came close to Tarnar’s face but the captain parried the thrust with his dirk. Steel rasped. Jherek blocked again, this time causing the bracer to form a two-foot diameter buckler that he used to press up against his opponent. Even as they disengaged, he caused the bracer to form into a hook like the one he normally used. Each change was coming with less conscious thought now. The young sailor settled into the combat, trying not to think of Sabyna, Glawinn, Azla, or the pirate crew he’d come to know and care about.
Tarnar’s crew had finally come around to him as well, after he’d walked upon the Great Whale Bard’s body and retrieved the bracer. Over the days they’d spent traveling to meet the caravan in Aglarond, the crew seemed to accept him as one of their own. Tarnar had commented on that as well, stating that the young sailor had a natural affinity for drawing men to him.
Finally, after hammering away at Jherek’s defenses for almost an hour, Tarnar called for a break. They drank sweet water the Aglarondans brought in wooden casks, and poured some over their heads to cool down in the murky summer heat.
“Never,” the captain stated, “have I seen someone adjust so quickly to a new weapon.”
“My teacher, Malorrie,” Jherek explained, “schooled me in all manner of weapons.”
Tarnar shook his head, spraying droplets to the wooden deck. “It’s more than that, my friend. You are a true, natural born warrior.”
Embarrassment flamed Jherek’s cheeks and the back of his neck. He willed the bracer away, feeling only a tingle as it sank back inside his arm. “Perhaps I have an advantage with the bracer that we hadn’t counted on.”
“You mean that it enhances your skill?” Tarnar shook his head. “Even if that were so, it would perhaps only guide your arm, it wouldn’t move the rest of your body or make you a better swordsman. I’ve seen people fight
with magical—”
Jherek.
Responding to the quiet call inside his mind, the young sailor walked to the railing and peered down to find Swims Truly, the sapphire whale, in the water beside the caravel. Tarnar studied him intently, aware that Jherek could hear a voice he himself could not.
You will be leaving with the tide, Jherek Whalefriend, Swims Truly told him. The wind will be with you then.
“Where am I supposed to go?” Jherek asked.
Where you are supposed to go, of course.
“I want to rejoin my friends,” Jherek said. “I still have to find the disk of Lathander that I caused to be lost.”
Then, should you find your way there, that is where you should be.
Irritation stung Jherek. The whales’ cryptic announcements contained truth, but what truth wasn’t always apparent.
“How do I find them?”
As you may, Jherek Whalefriend.
“I don’t know how.”
Yes you do. Listen with your heart, just as you listened with it when you found Song Who Brings Bright Rains. Search inside yourself. The bond between you and your love is the most constant thing in your life. The ability to love and seek out love is your most whalelike trait, Jherek.
Jherek was suddenly glad Tarnar couldn’t hear the whale’s thoughts.
“I don’t think I can do that.”
Swims Truly twitched a fin in a gesture Jherek had come to learn signaled irritation. You have not yet tried. How can you know what you can do and not do?
Chastened, Jherek remained silent.
Close your eyes and let me guide your thoughts.
The young sailor closed his eyes, ignoring the inquiring look Tarnar gave him.
You have a gift, Jherek Whalefriend, Swims Truly said, that comes from what you are, what you will be. Born upon the seas of Toril, destined to spend your life there, it has been seen to that you will always have a sense of where you are and in what direction people or objects lie from you.
