by Mel Odom
“It’s a beautiful place,” Pacys said.
“It was,” Reefglamor said, his eyes sweeping the city. “It is my fervent wish that before I die I should be able to swim these streets, to touch the things that my ancestors once touched.”
“Perhaps you shall.”
Pacys stretched his toes down, fully expecting to touch the solid surface at any moment. Instead, he was surprised to find himself sliding on through where the Great Barrier should have been.
“Pacys!” Khlinat’s startled yelp followed the metallic thunk the dwarf’s peg made when it crashed against the Great Barrier. He made a quick grab for the old bard’s hand but missed. “Marthammor Duin take me for a—”
The rest of the dwarf’s expletive was cut off. Looking up through the shimmering haze that separated him from the sea elves and the dwarf, Pacys realized that he was on the other side of the Great Barrier.
More of the sea elf warriors descended on the protective shielding and tried to force their way through with their weapons. Pacys never even heard their efforts through the shimmering haze. The old bard swam upward but found the way blocked. He put his hands against the Great Barrier and tried to will himself through.
Instead, the barrier remained firm.
“You can’t get out, Taleweaver,” a deep voice rumbled.
Slowly, sliding his staff free of the harness that held it across his back, Pacys twisted it, flaring the foot-long blades open at either end.
“There are things you must be shown, things you must learn.”
Above Pacys, the Great Barrier darkened, shutting out the view to the outside world. At the same time an impossibly large shadow stepped from the buildings below. The old bard recognized him immediately as a storm giant. The green skin, dark green hair and beard, and glittering emerald eyes gave room for no mistake. He stood something less than thirty feet tall with huge shoulders and a broad chest. In true Serôsian custom, the storm giant wore no clothes, though anklets, bracelets, and rings adorned his forearms, ankles, and fingers.
“Who are you?” Pacys asked, remaining near the top of the Great Barrier above the storm giant. Even as he looked at the huge warrior, the old bard could sense that there was a glamor around him. Skilled as he was, Pacys could almost see past it.
The giant smiled. “I am Qos, a Green Dukar. I am the Grand Savant of the Fifth Order and Paragon of the Maalirni Order. I have been waiting for you. There is much work ahead of us.”
Floating well back of Iakhovas, Laaqueel watched as he reached inside his cloak and pulled something free. She felt the crackle of magic in the air as Iakhovas spoke strong words of power. The singsong cadence filled the currents ten miles north of Naulys, one of the chief cities of the merman empire below the western shores of the Whamite Isles. He spread the items he’d taken from his cloak into the water. Gold gleamed from his artificial eye. Bright purple sparkles danced from his palm when he opened his hand.
The malenti priestess recoiled from the new onslaught of magic that sped through the water. The purple sparkles spun and danced like tiny reef fishes evading a predator, whirling out in broader patterns around Iakhovas. At the center of the orbiting purple flashes, Iakhovas continued speaking words Laaqueel didn’t understand.
When he was finished, the purple specks slowed, then floated calmly toward the surface. They also started to grow, stretching out into masses of leafy vines, floating against the currents under their own power.
Laaqueel watched them, aware of the eerie litany coming from the plant masses.
Whatever the spell, Iakhovas had been working on it for most of the last two days, devoting every moment and all of his energy to it.
Raiding by the sahuagin continued, gaining added momentum from the Sea Hulk koalinth tribe and the morkoth. Even with those allies, and the Thuridru mermen waiting in the wings, they weren’t strong enough to take on Eadraal and the mermen of the Hmur Plateau.
She held her place and awaited him.
“It’s done,” he said.
Laaqueel nodded.
Only a little surprise showed in Iakhovas’s dark eye. “You have no questions, little malenti?”
“I have learned,” she replied, “that you only answer when you choose to.”
Iakhovas regarded her with open disappointment. “I miss the zeal in you, little malenti, and I’m surprised by my own feelings in that regard.” He glanced back in the direction of the masses of purple-leafed vines floating toward the surface and said, “Those are very old plants. They haven’t been seen on Toril for thousands of years. No one in these waters has ever seen anything like them.”
Laaqueel believed him. The eerie litany the plants voiced grew louder, pulling more strongly at her conscious mind with a bewitching attraction. She glanced up, noticing the first of the plants had reached the ocean’s surface and still headed toward the southeast where the Whamite Isles lay.
“Even so,” the malenti priestess said, “you lack the army you need to invade the merman empire. The longer we wait here, the greater the chance of our discovery. In time, even the bitterest of enemies in Serôs will join against you if you keep sending the sahuagin against them. Once joined, they will attempt to hunt you down.”
Iakhovas laughed. “Little malenti, they have to join forces, otherwise everything I’ve done is for naught.”
“I don’t understand.” If the worlds above and below the Sea of Fallen Stars joined forces, sahuagin lives would be forfeit.
“Only by their joining forces may the Great Barrier surrounding Myth Nantar be dropped,” Iakhovas said. “I can’t get through the Great Barrier alone, and I need access to the City of Destinies.” He stared after the plants. “As for an army, little malenti, I’ll be raising one of those soon now and it will be unlike anything you’ve ever faced before. That I promise you.”
Laaqueel glanced up at the plants continuing to spread across the ocean’s surface. She recognized them as a form of kelp she’d not seen before. The singsong litany grew stronger and stronger still.
“Let’s go, little malenti,” Iakhovas growled. “In your present state of fatigue and apathy, you might succumb to the kelpies’ ensorcelment in spite of the protection I lend you.”
It was true and she knew it. She hadn’t prayed to Sekolah in days and only stayed awake because sleep would not come to her. Wordlessly, she followed him back through the shimmering gate he’d opened to bring them here.
Whatever Iakhovas had planned next, she knew the resistance in Serôs was growing. Sahuagin warriors had reported being attacked by shalarin east of the Whamite Isles, and there were even reports of morkoth battling morkoth along the eastern fringes of the Arcanum of Olleth. The surface world’s response was the most sluggish, but even they were going on the offensive now.
Only the mermen of Eadraal had failed to attack, and their presence in the center of the Hmur Plateau prevented shalarin armies from marching against the sahuagin in the Xedran Reefs. Even the ixitxachitls couldn’t be controlled now. Raiding parties of demon rays swept through the sahuagin rearguard in the two fallen ixitxachitl cities. The ixitxachitls weren’t able to secure the cities, but losses were mounting, dividing the standing sahuagin army there.
On top of that, the surviving sahuagin princes from Vahaxtyl had started to foment rebellion due to the high losses among their warriors. Even Prince T’Kalah was cautiously hoarding his warriors instead of spending them as Iakhovas demanded. Iakhovas, though he knew of the resistance within his troops, ignored the situation.
Laaqueel knew that the sahuagin presence along the western reaches of Serôs was balanced on a knife’s edge. Nothing could be completely controlled—especially if Iakhovas continued concentrating on his own missions instead of taking care of the armies he marshaled.
Taking on the merman empire in Eadraal wasn’t something he should try to do. Laaqueel felt certain it would be the breaking point of the war. Yet, if the mermen couldn’t stand against Iakhovas, the malenti priestess knew their
defeat would demoralize the rest of Serôs.
She just didn’t see how Iakhovas planned to raise a fresh army even with his mysterious kelpie.
Patience, the soft feminine voice whispered in her mind. The time is near for all things. You have allies you’ve not yet seen, and the Taker doesn’t know as much as he believes he does.
Surprisingly, Laaqueel took a little comfort in the words. Ahead of her, Iakhovas disappeared into the gate that would take them back to Tarjana. She followed.
Sabyna lay low in the scrub brush that dotted the hilly interior country north of Agenais. Her breath stirred the red dust next to her cheek and a trail of black ants marched across her left hand. She held a dagger in her right.
Ahead, three of Vurgrom’s pirates stood guard at the mouth of the cave the pirate captain and the rest of his group had entered nearly an hour before. Evening fast approached, stretching long shadows to the east while the red sun sank into a mass of purple clouds in the west.
“Lady.”
The whisper almost startled Sabyna into movement. If she hadn’t recognized Glawinn’s soft voice she thought she might have screamed. She glanced down toward her feet and saw the paladin standing there.
“Aye, and—by Selûne’s sweet grace—don’t scare me like that again,” she whispered hoarsely.
“I’m sorry,” Glawinn said. Despite the plate mail the paladin wore, he moved almost as soundlessly as a shadow. “Azla and I have found another cave entrance that leads down to where Vurgrom and his men are.”
“What are they doing?”
“It looks like they’re waiting, lady.”
“For what?”
“I couldn’t say. I came back for you so that you could join us. Whatever Vurgrom is here to do, this is the place he’s going to do it.”
Sabyna waited until the three pirates standing guard were talking again and not looking in her direction before she eased down the hillside, taking care not to disturb the brush. When they were safely out of sight, Glawinn offered his hand and helped her up.
The paladin took the lead, following the small ditch that zigzagged behind the rocky knoll where the cave was. Agenais lay to the south, not quite five miles away, about the same distance it was to the cover where Azure Dagger lay waiting, hidden from Maelstrom’s crew. From the way Azla had it figured, they stood near the heart of the island.
She trotted after Glawinn, avoiding the loose rock spills that had tumbled down into the ditch. The center of the island tended to be rockier than the outer edge. Loose limestone shale rose in pockets or showed in the parched, cracked land of the interior.
The limestone was a natural filter and removed the salt from the ocean in the numerous pockets and caves that formed in the island’s heart. Rainfall added to the local water supply, trapped in natural and artificed cisterns. The limestone foundation also provided for the honeycomb effect of caves under the island. These caves were once the lair of brigands, who had been rooted out centuries before.
Her muscles ached from fatigue, short hours of sleep while they shared guard duty at night, and sleeping on the hard ground. Azla had decided that only the three of them would attempt to get close to Vurgrom’s pirates. A dozen pirates from Azure Dagger waited at a hidden campsite half a mile away, providing them a position to fall back to if they were discovered.
Glawinn stopped ahead and pulled at a clump of brush that covered a narrow slash in the earth forming the knoll. It wasn’t quite opposite the cave Vurgrom had entered, but Sabyna didn’t think it missed by much.
The paladin turned sideways and fit himself inside. The slash extended up through the knoll, almost to the top, and allowed a narrow crack of the waning sunlight into the passage.
The ground was treacherous with loose rock and pebbles. Nearly forty feet into the passage, they lost the sunlight, and the air around them turned cool. Condensation chill to the touch glistened on the rocky walls and ceiling.
The passageway continued to go down and bear slightly to the left. Long minutes later, Glawinn waved her to slow down even more. They moved cautiously, deeper into the knoll.
Sabyna’s hand trailed across the cracked surface of the passageway, feeling the jutting shale. The rock edges were sharp enough to cut if a person accidentally ran into them in the dark. Luckily, there was enough natural light coming from ahead to illuminate the passageway.
Azla, dressed in black chain mail and dark clothing, crouched on a narrow ledge ahead. She glanced at them briefly, a hand holding her scimitar across her knees, then returned her attention to the scene playing out before her. She wore a short bow and a quiver of arrows across her back. A spear rested on the stone floor at her side.
Glawinn touched a forefinger to his lip in caution as he hunkered down beside the pirate queen. He placed his shield against the wall at his side.
Sabyna crept closer, dropping to her knees between them to peer down into the cave below.
“Aye, and she was a feisty one,” Vurgrom was saying. He sat on an ale cask in the center of a ring of seventeen pirates clustered around a campfire that poured oily black smoke against the cave ceiling thirty feet above. The cave looked at least three times that wide. He drank deeply and noisily from a tin mug, then wiped the ale foam from his lips. He touched a jagged scar on the top of his bald head.
“I had her,” he said, “holding her down on the duke’s own dining table and him crying for his life in the corner, preparing to take care of my business, and she reaches back for this damned great copper cook’s pot. Next thing I know, the wench brains me with it.”
The pirates laughed at their leader’s story, but Sabyna noticed they waited until Vurgrom himself started laughing first.
“Like to split my head open, she did. If the wench had been swinging a slaughterman’s mallet instead of that damned pot, why I’d a’ been holding my own brains in.”
“Bet you really gave her what-for then,” one of the pirates stated.
“By the Bitch Queen’s locked knees, are ye daft, man?” Vurgrom roared. “Wench liked to killed me. Had blood a-seeping down into my face and me three sheets to the wind and truly not knowing how bad a shape I was in. I took up a carving knife from a nearby roast bird set for the duke’s own table and shoved it through her heart. I was done, she had no complaints.”
Gales of cruel, ribald laughter ripped through the cave.
Sabyna shuddered, involuntarily remembering her own brother’s death at the hands of Bloody Falkane. She glanced around the cave, wondering what had brought the pirates there. Other than the long and tall stalactites and stalagmites, a few patches of lichen that glowed soft blue and green, and a few threads of streams running across the stone floor, there appeared to be nothing of interest in the cave.
A shimmering haze formed only a few feet from the group of pirates. The grim-visaged man Sabyna had seen four days ago leading the sahuagin pack that met Vurgrom stepped through the haze, followed by the elf woman who had been there as well.
“Vurgrom,” the grim man said.
“Lord Iakhovas.” Vurgrom handed the tin cup to the pirate beside him and stood. “As you see, we stand ready. As we agreed.”
“Do you have the pearl disk?”
Vurgrom reached inside his blouse and took a cloth bag from around his neck. He loosened the drawstrings and poured the pearl and inlaid gold disk into his hand, then tossed it to Iakhovas.
Azla quietly slipped the bow from her shoulder and nocked an arrow to the string, aiming at Iakhovas. Sabyna wasn’t sure that such a move was wise, but she kept her own counsel, readying her spells. Glawinn took up his shield and found a new grip on his broadsword. He kissed the rosy pink quartz disk that hung at his neck and whispered Lathander’s name.
“No!” Anger flashed in Iakhovas’s voice. He gestured at the thrown disk as the inlaid gold flashed the campfire light. It froze in mid-tumble, then glided back to Vurgrom, who caught it gingerly. Iakhovas’s scarred face twisted, and the tattooing showed even blacker in
the shadows. “I will not touch that thing!”
“Beg your pardon, milord,” Vurgrom said, turning the disk over in his fingers in open wonder. “I didn’t know.”
Iakhovas walked to the cave wall to his right. “Did you ever manage to find out what this disk was, Vurgrom?”
“No, milord.”
“But you tried?”
Vurgrom hesitated only a moment. “Spent good gold on it, milord.” He shrugged. “Maybe cut a few throats of them that demanded payment and them not telling me any more than I already knew.”
“It’s a key.” Iakhovas drew back his fist and pummeled the rock wall.
Stone split and splintered more easily than Sabyna would have thought. She breathed shallowly, waiting for Azla to release the bowstring.
“To what, milord?”
“I don’t know,” Iakhovas said as he hit the wall again, deepening the crack he’d started. He gestured to Vurgrom, who walked forward and thrust Lathander’s talisman into the hole.
The talisman rattled a few times, the sound echoing clearly in the cavern, letting Sabyna know the crack Iakhovas had created reached far deeper than she’d have thought.
“I only know that it contains power I can use when I destroy it,” Iakhovas said.
A ruby ray jumped from one of Iakhovas’s eyes. The sound of a powerful detonation deafened everyone in the cave.
Sabyna might have cried out in pain. She wasn’t sure. In the next moment the ground quavered and rumbled, twisting and turning like a storm at sea. Despite her familiarity with rolling waves, she stumbled and would have fallen had Glawinn not steadied her.
Below, the pirates spread out and drew their weapons, crying out to their gods and cursing. Vurgrom bellowed and pulled up his battle-axe, but whatever he was trying to say was lost in the tremendous cra-ack! that suddenly filled the cavern.
A chasm opened in the floor, spreading quickly from a hand’s-span to several feet. Stalactites fell from the ceiling, one of them crashing through a pirate’s shoulder and driving him to the ground. Blood pooled around the man as he quivered and died.
