by Mel Odom
3 Marpenoth, the Year of the Gauntlet
“The sahuagin destroyed the Ola, Aya, and Yea clan hatcheries at Es’rath over a month ago.”
Pacys felt the horror and helplessness of the tale the locathah female told him. She called herself Tyhlly. Music tugged at the old bard’s fingers, sending them quietly questing along the saceddar’s gems. Though he didn’t touch the inset gems, the notes filled his mind along with the images.
He sat on the ocean floor on a rise that overlooked the valley the sea elf caravan had come through only moments before. Taranath Reefglamor had ordered a brief respite until the scouts returned. The three older High Mages—including Yrlimn Tidark who had remained to himself studying ancient texts written on specially treated shark-skins—and the three new High Mages, sat with the bard and Khlinat. They talked with the locathah who’d come looking for Pacys.
During their long trip around the Pirate Isles, the locathah had maintained contact with the sea elf caravan. Most particularly, they’d maintain contact with Pacys, bringing him stories from all around Serôs.
Despite the sea elves’ initial resentment of the locathah habitually seeking them out, the High Mages had recognized their value and even commented on their valor and loyalty. During some of the skirmishes they’d had with groups of koalinth, the locathah had even pitched in and fought.
Though they maintained contact with mages back in Sylkiir who routinely monitored Serôs through crystal balls, there was much the sea elves missed. The locathah, however, were everywhere.
“Didn’t the shalarin fight back?” High Mage Ildacer asked.
The locathah turned her attention to the sea elf and said, “Yes, Lord High Mage.” Tyhlly’s deference to Ildacer was obvious, reflecting the locathah attitude toward the Alu’Tel’Quessir. “They fought, and they died. Over a thousand of the unhatched shalarin died as well.”
“A thousand innocent deaths,” Reefglamor whispered in a hoarse voice.
Pacys studied the Senior High Mage. During the long months of travel, the journey had marked Reefglamor with fatigue.
“If the merfolk had let us travel across the Hmur Plateau instead of having to go around it, mayhap we could have prevented those deaths.”
“Better that you had not,” Tyhlly stated.
“How can you say that?” the Senior High Mage demanded.
The locathah blinked her huge eyes and hesitated.
“I’m sure,” Pacys interjected gently, “that she meant no harm by the statement.”
“No harm, Lord Senior,” Tyhlly said. “No harm intended at all. I give my life to Eadro and to improving our world in ways that will benefit all. I would not wish such a terrible thing on anyone.” She paused. “I only meant that since the deaths at the hatcheries and the attacks on Es’rath, the shalarin now openly take up arms against the sahuagin. You have more potential allies in your quest.”
“Aye,” Khlinat growled. “She’s got the right of it there.”
“Why would the Taker attack the shalarin?” Ildacer asked. “He’s already engaged a host of enemies above and below the sea.”
No one seemed to have an answer. Pacys let his fingers wander across the saceddar, listening to the notes in his mind. Excitement filled him—he knew the fabled city of Myth Nantar was only a short distance away—but doubt lingered with him, too. So far there had been no word of Jherek, the boy he felt certain was the hero Narros had told him about. He prayed to Oghma for guidance regularly, but there had been no definite course set other than the one he now followed.
Tyhlly broke the silence after a time. “There is a simple reason why he attacks the shalarin,” she said.
“What?” Jhanra Merlistar asked.
“To take away further avenues you have open to you in the war against him,” Tyhlly answered.
“What do you mean?” Ildacer asked.
“The Taker seeks to keep the races of Serôs divided.” Though the locathah spoke softly, Pacys knew she had the attention of everyone there. “The merfolk wouldn’t let you cross the Hmur Plateau to get here. The Taker’s attack on Es’rath and occupation of parts of the Xedran Reefs has assured that their paranoia has increased. The elves of the Dragon Reach have erected battlements to keep out those potentially hostile to them.”
Pacys knew it was true from the conversations he’d had with Reefglamor. The Dragon Reach sea elves stayed on guard against sahuagin attack, as well as hostilities from the nearby coastal lands.
“How do you know this?” Ildacer demanded.
The locathah ranger pointed at the dolphins that had accompanied her. “The whales sing of it, and we are friendly with the whales.”
“What would you have them do?” Ildacer asked sarcastically. “Lay down arms and let the sahuagin death tide wash over them?”
“No,” Tyhlly answered. “Freedom is precious—something that should never be easily given up. A bigger foe may threaten you or imprison you for a time, but you should always be looking for your first chance at freedom. My people learned this long ago, and at great cost.”
Pacys’s fingers stroked the keys, echoing the locathah’s words.
“Now that the shalarin are put on guard,” Tyhlly went on, “how do you think they would feel about another race invading their lands?”
“They wouldn’t tolerate it,” Jhanra said. “They would fight against anyone who wasn’t one of them.”
Tyhlly nodded, turning her head from one side to the other to fix her other eye on the young High Mage. “Exactly. You do see.”
“I don’t,” Talor Vurtalis grumbled.
Unlike the other two newly made High Mages, Vurtalis wore his selu’kiira gem openly on his forehead. Over the months-long journey, Pacys had learned the choice was in direct opposition to elven tradition and propriety.
“The Taker has allied himself with the morkoth,” Tyhlly said. “If he joins with them again and marches on Eadraal, successfully forcing the mermen from the Lesser Hmur Plateau and Myth Nantar, where will they retreat to?”
“Possibly the shalarin lands,” Reefglamor said.
Pacys saw understanding light the Senior High Mage’s eyes.
“And, after the attack on the hatcheries,” the locathah asked, “what would the shalarin do?”
“They would attack. Vhaemas’s army and his people would be cut down from both sides.” Reefglamor’s answer was sobering. He stared at the locathah with new respect. “You have quite an understanding of war.”
The locathah ranger spread her hands. “It is just that we have been involved with them for so long, Lord Senior. We have come to understand war, and we have come to understand that unity often means our freedom. In times past, when the locathah were taken as slaves, we were particularly vulnerable when we fought among ourselves. We have learned from those experiences and vowed never to make them again. Working together, we understand that we are stronger than we would be if we stood alone.” She hesitated, then added, “Some of our leaders, as well as the whales, feel that is something the other races of Serôs would do well to learn.”
An uncomfortable silence followed her words.
Tyhlly rounded her shoulders self-consciously, making herself more vulnerable. “Forgive me if I have trespassed in my zeal to spread the news I have learned,” she said.
“There’s no need to apologize,” Reefglamor assured her. “You have spoken fairly. Sometimes the truth is a hard thing to hear.”
“Thank you, Lord Senior.”
“Perhaps we should be thinking about a unity of some sort,” Reefglamor suggested.
“With the mermen?” Ildacer scoffed. “They wouldn’t even let us travel across their lands. An alliance will be out of the question.”
“I take it you are not in favor of it?” Jhanra asked.
Ildacer’s answer was immediate. “Of course not. With all the wars between us, how could anyone entertain such an idea?”
“In some of those wars,” Reefglamor said, “the Alu’Tel’Quessir and
the merfolk were allies, not enemies.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Currents change,” the Senior High Mage replied. “Things are not as they once were.”
“Aye,” Khlinat put in. “Dwarves are known for their warrin’ ways. Don’t know if ye get much stories about us down here, but I can tell ye that nothing sets a dwarf afire with passion the way a good battle can. Different communities battled orcs and goblins for caves where gems were mined and a dwarf could live if he had a mind to. They also fought one another for the same things. Now ye take a dwarf down to a tavern and him blowing the suds off a fresh mug and a human or elf get physical with him, why any other dwarf in the place would be the first to stand up for him if he got into more than he could handle.”
“But if it was an elf or a half-orc in trouble, these dwarven feelings you praise so highly wouldn’t be quite so ready, would they?” Ildacer asked sarcastically.
“Now there’s a funny thought,” Khlinat said without taking offense. “I seen mates on a ship, crew that had been together through some stormy weather and buckle to buckle against pirates what had tried to reeve them of their cargo—and they was a mixed bag, the lot of ’em. Aboard ship, they had their problems, but the cap’n set ’em straight. Mayhap on occasion they’d take an unkind hand with each other once they reached shore, but when it come to taverns and local roustabouts laying hands on ’em, why ye’d have thought they was long-lost brothers the way they took up for one another.”
Everyone looked at the dwarf, who appeared suddenly as though he’d rather be elsewhere.
Finally Reefglamor broke the silence. “I’ve never heard you speak so much.”
“I have me moments,” Khlinat replied gruffly.
“Thank Deep Sashelas that you do, Khlinat. Your words ring true and I shall have to think upon them.”
“I’m just saying there ain’t no grand and perfect solution to how folks are to get along with one another,” the dwarf said. “Neighbors ought to pay attention to who’s in the neighborhood before they start picking fights with one another.”
“The mermen will never listen,” Ildacer argued. “You know how proud and haughty they are.”
Reefglamor glanced at his second-in-command. “How very like the Alu’Tel’Quessir they are, you mean?”
“No, that’s not what I meant to …”
Reefglamor sighed and looked out over Mount Halaath standing tall to the northwest. After circling under the Whamite Isles, the caravan had fixed on it and marched straight toward it. The City of Destinies lay between them and Mount Halaath.
“Senior, what I am saying is that we might be swayed by Khlinat’s words while sitting here so far from our own homes, feeling perhaps a little lost and friendless, but King Vhaemas and his people are not going to feel the same. This place is the source of their strength. Even with the morkoth and koalinth adding to the ranks of the sahuagin, the Taker can’t possibly hope to overrun all of Eadraal.”
“From what I have pieced together,” Pacys said. “The Taker only wants his eye.”
“Have you found out what that is?” Jhanra asked.
Pacys strummed the saceddar. “Not yet. All that I am sure of at the moment is that it is some device the Taker had in his possession when Umberlee struck him down.”
“Even so, to get the eye from Myth Nantar, the Taker will have to march through Eadraal,” Reefglamor said. “As much as King Vhaemas hates the City of Destinies and all that it stands for, he won’t see the Taker free to ravage it.”
“Again,” Ildacer said, “the Taker will have to raise up an army the like of which has never before been seen.”
“And you have assurances,” Reefglamor asked quietly, “that the Taker cannot accomplish this?”
“No, Senior.”
“Good,” Reefglamor responded. “So far the Taker has succeeded at everything he’s attempted to do. We have no proof that we’ve set him back in any way at all.”
“Except for the Great Whale Bard,” Tidark commented in his whispering rasp. The High Mage was much older even than Reefglamor and usually given to his studies, not spending much time in the company of others.
Pacys knew it was true, but he didn’t know what the whale bard had made his sacrifice for.
“We have every reason to believe that when the time comes,” Reefglamor said, “the Taker will find the means to raise the army he needs to invade Eadraal.”
The thought sobered all of the High Mages, Pacys noticed with satisfaction. The hardships of the journey, the turning away they’d experienced at the hands of the mermen, had tempered all of them.
A group of sea elf warriors approached from the north. Morgan Ildacer, young cousin to Pharom Ildacer and captain of the High Mages’ guard from Sylkiir, came to a stop in the water. He bowed his head, his arms crossed at the wrist, and waited to be recognized.
“Captain,” Reefglamor said, “your report.”
“Our scouts have returned with good news, Senior High Mage Reefglamor. The way to Myth Nantar is clear.”
“What of the merman guards?”
“If we move quickly enough, Senior,” Morgan Ildacer said, “we’ll be able to gain the city within the hour. Vhaemas’s warriors seem to be concentrated to the south, prepared to defend their borders against the morkoth and koalinth. They’re searching for groups much larger than ours.”
“Very well,” Reefglamor said. “Give the order, and let’s get moving. Better this were done sooner than later.”
“There are others of my kind in the area,” the locathah ranger stated. “We can cover your backs in the event you are discovered. There are hiding places around here that not even the mermen know of.”
“That won’t be—” Morgan Ildacer started before Reefglamor cut him off with a raised hand.
“That would be very kind of you,” the Senior High Mage said.
Tyhlly stretched to her full height and bowed, then turned her attention to Pacys. “Your gods be with you, Lorekeeper, for you shall soon be sorely tried.”
“My thanks to you,” the old bard said. He spread his hand and touched palm to palm with the locathah ranger. “May Eadro give you only pleasant and free currents.”
She leaped up and was gone in seconds, disappearing into the darkness of the sea.
Turning to face Mount Halaath, Pacys strained to pierce the gloom that lay ahead. He made out the glimmering blue glow of the Great Barrier that sealed Myth Nantar off from the rest of the world.
He’d come so close to one of his goals. Now it only remained to be seen how things would play out.
Laaqueel stood on the sandy, rocky western shore of Graubunden, the largest of the Whamite Isles, and peered out at Maelstrom at anchor in the shallow waters. The pirate ship’s sails were furled around the masts, and crew filled her decks.
Iakhovas stood beside the malenti, an imposing figure amid the sahuagin warriors he’d brought with him. The sahuagin lay in the shallow waters to prevent their scales from drying out. Though he had barely talked to her in fully two months, concerned with all the battles and alliances he’d made, Iakhovas had commanded her presence for the day.
Attention, little malenti, Iakhovas spoke into her mind. You are about to see the first culmination of my labors here in the Inner Sea.
Laaqueel turned her gaze to him.
Iakhovas smiled. He looked human at the moment, though she knew the sahuagin perceived him as one of their own.
Your astonishment astounds me, little malenti. Surely you didn’t think I came here to conquer this place and never return to the outer seas.
The crew in Maelstrom’s longboat rowed into the beach with consternation showing on their faces. They’d been waiting since early morning, the malenti priestess gathered from Iakhovas’s comments, after arriving in the night. When they gained the beach, the crew bailed out and pulled the longboat up onto the sand.
Vurgrom stepped from the boat and approached Iakhovas. The pirate tried to act courageou
s, as if he wasn’t standing in the midst of a hundred sahuagin warriors, but his nervous gaze and white-knuckled hand on the haft of his battle-axe gave his uneasiness away.
“Lord Iakhovas,” the burly pirate rumbled in greeting.
“Captain Vurgrom,” Iakhovas acknowledged. “Are you prepared to finish your part in this bit of business?”
“More than ready,” Vurgrom replied. “Carrying that disk around without knowing what it does is getting to be worrisome.”
“I know what it is,” Iakhovas stated, but offered no explanation. “You have the map?”
Vurgrom patted his shirt over his heart. “Aye.”
“March inland,” Iakhovas ordered. “Follow the markings on the map and be in position three days from now.”
Vurgrom hesitated, then asked, “What then?”
Iakhovas glared at him. “Wait.”
The big pirate’s face purpled, and for a moment Laaqueel thought he might actually speak out angrily. The malenti priestess thought that would have been interesting to see. Evidently Iakhovas needed the man or he would have done whatever needed doing himself.
In the end, Vurgrom lacked the nerve to stand up to Iakhovas. “As you say,” the pirate said, “Lord Iakhovas.”
“What of the kegs I asked you to prepare?” Iakhovas demanded.
“All of my ships have been outfitted with them, lord.”
For a tenday and more, Iakhovas had commanded sahuagin groups to hole up in caves with air pockets so they could make the poison their people used. Laaqueel was versed in it as a priestess. Usually the sahuagin used the poisons on their weapons, coating them every few days as they had need. Iakhovas had come up with a new design.
Once the lethal poison had been rendered in powder form, it had been packed in thin glass shells, then placed in weighted wooden kegs that would sink to the ocean floor.
By design, the thin glass shells collapsed under the pressure of the depths at three hundred to four hundred feet. The poison quickly diluted into the water, killing anything that breathed it. The effect might only last a few minutes, though, before currents would sweep it away.
Iakhovas had told the malenti priestess he planned to use the kegs to completely destroy Myth Nantar once their initial attack was finished. Laaqueel had seen the effects of the poison kegs and feared them. Once the poison was released into the water, there was no way to escape it.
