by Mel Odom
“How?” As the malenti priestess looked around, she noticed that none of the merman warriors even seemed to know she was there, as if she’d suddenly become invisible.
There is another path you must take that is better suited to your nature.
“I am sahuagin.”
You do not have to be.
“It is all I have ever wanted to be.”
Then you should raise your standards, Laaqueel.
“Sekolah gave me life and gave me the strength to kill in his name. It is enough.”
And Sekolah let you be placed in the power of the Taker.
Laaqueel had no reply.
Yes, you know him for who he is, and you know the kind of destruction he’s brought to this world. If he should return to the Sword Coast, it will only be the same. And Iakhovas no longer needs you. You know that.
“The Great Shark gives me power to serve his will.”
Sekolah gives you power to kill in his name.
“Yes.”
You could have more.
“I only want to be sahuagin.”
You’re not. You have never fit in with your people, Laaqueel, and you know you never will.
“I can.”
No. You live a lie now, and you know it. As long as you remain in Iakhovas’s grace you will be protected, but should you fall, you will be killed and rent. Meat is meat. I can give you more than that.
“Why should you?” Laaqueel shouted. “What am I to you?”
You are strong, Laaqueel. The times coming after the Twelfth Serôs War will not be easy. I have use for that strength.
“So I could serve you instead of Iakhovas?” Laaqueel shook her head. “No.”
When the time comes, you will live or die as you choose, but if you kill any of those under my protection, you will know my wrath as you have known my benevolence.
“And should they attack me?”
They won’t. You are under my protection, and they will know it. Iakhovas remains your only true enemy, but one is coming who has the power to deal with him.
“The boy in the cave?” Laaqueel couldn’t believe it. Though the human had put up a good fight against the koalinth in the cave, he couldn’t challenge the savage deathbringer that was Iakhovas.
Yes.
“He’s too weak.”
Not once the Taleweaver brings him into his belief. Wait, Laaqueel, wait and see if I don’t have more to offer than you’ve ever known.
Emotion ripped through Laaqueel as she felt the voice fade from her mind. Uncertainty and doubt plagued her, and her faith wasn’t there to shore her up. She prayed to Sekolah, but she felt the words were only empty effort.
“I am Iakhovas!”
Turning, Laaqueel watched as Iakhovas swam into the midst of the battlefield. He looked every inch a proud sahuagin warrior-king. His voice boomed, gaining the attention of the warriors around him.
“Your king has fallen,” Iakhovas roared in triumph, “and I have killed his children.”
He threw the merman king down to the torn bodies of Princess Jian and Vhaemas the Bastard.
“I am death—unstoppable and merciless. Oppose me and die!”
As Laaqueel looked across the war-torn sea floor, she saw the wave of defeat sweep over the surviving warriors of Eadraal. The Thuridru mermen screamed in triumph. The malenti priestess felt the arrival of a thundering presence hammering against her lateral lines. She looked to the east, in the direction from which the shifting currents came.
Whales materialized out of the deep blue-green depths. Half a dozen four-hundred-foot-long humpbacked whales swam in the lead, trailed by dozens of smaller ones. They stampeded over the battlefield, scattering both armies.
Iakhovas hung in the sea, staring at them.
An auburn-haired mermaid swam with them, flashing between the two lead humpbacks.
“Arina.”
Several of the mermen near Laaqueel spoke the name, and she assumed it belonged to the young woman with the whales.
The whales broke before Iakhovas, swimming under him, knocking the nearby warriors around in whirlwind currents that drew sand up from the ocean floor in massive clouds.
After the whales passed, Laaqueel noticed that King Vhaemas’s body was gone, evidently taken up by one or more of the great creatures. The morale of the mermen disappeared with the merman king, and they began disengaging where they could and falling back.
Iakhovas evidently wasn’t going to give them an easy retreat. He issued orders at once to begin the pursuit. It was going to be a bitter death march back to Voalidru.
Tu’uua’col swam through the clutch of rocks and settled gently on the ocean floor behind Prince Mirol as he prayed to Eadro.
Built lean and angular, Mirol didn’t look like a warrior, or the newly named heir to the throne of Eadraal. King Vhaemas had awakened only once after the whales and Princess Arina had transported him to Naulys, the merman city west of Voalidru. During that time he named Mirol as his successor, then slipped back into the coma that held him still.
Tu’uua’col hadn’t accompanied King Vhaemas during the Battle of Voalidru. The prejudices the merman warriors had against him because he was shalarin ran too deep. Still, he had not allowed himself to be put on the sidelines as the Taker’s army closed on Naulys. His place, for the moment, was at the prince’s side. Quietly, the Green Dukar put his hand on Mirol’s shoulder.
Unhurried, Mirol finished his prayer to Eadro, asking for deliverance in this time of need. He flipped his tail and turned to face his advisor.
“Our scouts have spotted the Taker’s advance guard,” Tu’uua’col said.
“How soon will they be here?”
“Within minutes.”
“And their numbers?”
“As at Voalidru,” Tu’uua’col answered.
“Do you think we can hold them from Naulys?”
The Dukar hesitated. Mirol had remained very true to his calling as a priest until his father had handed him the reins of leadership. As a result, the boy didn’t know much about the ways of war and warriors.
“No, my prince. Not without a miracle.”
Mirol showed him a brave smile and said, “Exactly what I was praying for. Now let’s see if Eadro can deliver.”
He took up the trident that had been his father’s and swam to the front of the line.
The land around Naulys was hilly, rife with coral reefs. They’d used those reefs to set up ballistae that had been salvaged from surface world ships. The Taker’s army came on, the drowned ones at the lead.
Tu’uua’col watched as the first rows of warriors clashed. Priests of Eadro, summoned by Mirol, worked to turn the undead, chanting praises to Eadro. Many of the drowned ones were turned away, leaving the koalinth to bear the brunt of the first attack while their own ranks were broken by the zombies’ retreat.
For a moment, confused by the retreating zombies, the koalinth gave ground in the face of the vengeful assault by the merman warriors of three conquered cities who’d managed to join Naulys’s defenders. The sheer numbers of the koalinth turned the tide yet again. The merman warriors were slowly driven back.
Tu’uua’col watched, desperately seeking some way out of the situation though he knew there wasn’t one. The Taker had planned too well, and the priests had not turned all of the drowned ones. He gazed at the Taker’s flagship floating above and behind the koalinth, then noticed the fluttering movement that came in from the north.
The winged shapes sped through the water without warning, and they came by the thousands. They descended on the staggered line of koalinth without mercy.
“What is that?” Mirol asked. He peered into the deeper reaches of the sea.
“Ixitxachitl,” Tu’uua’col answered, feeling somewhat better. “Apparently, they decided to join in and retaliate against the Taker.”
“It’s a miracle,” Mirol said quietly.
Tu’uua’col didn’t agree, thinking it was more like the demon rays taking adv
antage of the diversion the mermen provided. As he watched the ixitxachitls swoop in on the koalinth, the Dukar thought the real miracle would be if the demon rays didn’t turn on them next.
The merman warriors pressed to the forefront, cutting down koalinth as chance presented itself.
“Col,” Mirol asked, “do you think there’s a chance to form an alliance at Myth Nantar to stand against the Taker?”
“Yes,” the Dukar replied quickly.
Excitement flared within him. The merman cities held the largest population in the immediate area around Myth Nantar. If they took a step to form an alliance he was certain the other races would agree.
“I would like you to start on this immediately after this battle is finished,” Mirol said. “Provided we both yet live. I will go with you.”
“Of course, Prince Mirol.”
Tu’uua’col turned to watch the battle as the koalinth continued to retreat before the savagery of the ixitxachitl. If Myth Nantar rose again, as was alluded to in some of the legends, the Dukars would also rise once more.
Nine days later, Pacys stood close to the Great Barrier. Senior High Mage Reefglamor and the other High Mages of Sylkiir stood there with the others who agreed to the Nantarn Alliance. After nearly a tenday of hammering out the details, the old bard knew them all. While they’d bickered and argued among themselves, he’d written, adding their songs to the epic that came so readily now to his lips.
The Taker’s army had been turned at Naulys, leaving the city intact, though Voalidru was still heavily occupied at the moment. Scouts had also determined that Iakhovas was pulling together reserves from the sahuagin raiding parties and guiding even more of the drowned ones that continued the occupation of the Whamite Isles.
With arms as thick as oak trees crossed over his huge chest, Qos faced the Great Barrier beside the old bard. When he’d first put in his appearance there had been many who had known him.
“Know you this,” Qos said in his booming voice, “as we begin this alliance. If any of you who represent your nations and people are not truthful, the Great Barrier will know and it will not open. Only the true interest of saving all of Serôs, of seeing Serôs once again healthy and whole, will allow the barrier to unlock the City of Destinies.”
The faces on the other side of the Great Barrier regarded him solemnly.
“Myth Nantar holds her secrets jealously these days,” Qos went on. “She has been betrayed, the ideals she was founded on corrupted. Blood of those who were to make this city their home has run in her streets and scarred the mythal that surrounds it. The Weave will have to be honored and respected for now and for always.” He paused. “Else we may lose great Myth Nantar forever.”
The rulers and representatives of the world below, the High Mages, and Khlinat all stared through the barrier.
“We will begin,” Qos said. “Step forward, place your hand against the Great Barrier, and speak your name.”
The crowd hesitated for a moment, then Reefglamor strode forward and pushed his hand to the invisible wall.
“I am Senior High Mage Taranath Reefglamor of Sylkiir, and I am here to see that the City of Destinies is reopened.”
Pacys closed his eyes, listening to the vibration the sea elf’s voice started within the Great Barrier. The other High Mages followed suit and Pacys listened intently to the changes in the vibration.
“Princess Arina of Eadraal.”
“Prince Mirol of Eadraal.”
“Tribune Akkys of Vuuvax.”
The triton Akkys stood aloof, as all his kind did. He was slightly built compared to the mermen, but everyone in Serôs knew not to judge the tritons lightly. They were savage fighters. He wore his shoulder-length blue hair tied back and carried a tapal, the signature weapon of his race, which curved in the middle like a fishhook and seemed to be made of all sharp edges.
Pacys knew that the Vuuvax was of the avenging protectorate within the triton race. His people had undertaken the job of bringing the Great Whale Bard’s killer to justice. The triton slapped the Great Barrier forcefully, changing the pitch of the vibration.
“Dukar Gayar,” a thin voice said, “Grand Savant of the Third Order and Paragon of the Kupavi Order.”
The morkoth had been a surprise but Qos had vouched for him. His touch was soft, hardly changing the vibration at all.
“Lashyrr Maerdrymm, Grand Savant of the First Order and Paragon of the Numosi Order.”
Pacys recognized her as a baelnorn, a once-dead elf returned to life as a guardian for others. Her body had transformed into living pearl upon her acceptance of her destiny. She was pale blue and ivory, and could have been mistaken for an elegant statue. Her hand slapped flatly against the barrier, changing the vibration’s pitch more than anyone.
“Keros the Wanderer, of … Serôs.”
Though the young triton Keros showed hesitation, his voice was strong and clear. The young triton had come to Myth Nantar for reasons of his own and stayed away from the others of his kind.
“Roaoum, subchief of the Tiger Coral tribe.”
The locathah’s voice was soft and carefully measured. Over the last days he had a habit of not speaking unless he truly had something to say. He and Prince Mirol had been friends for a number of years.
“Khlinat Ironeater,” the dwarf said, putting his callused palm against the Great Barrier as well. He stared through the barrier at Pacys. “By Marthammor Duin, I’ll stand with ye long as me heart beats and I got me good leg under me.”
The roll of names continued until there was only one to go.
“Dukar Peacekeeper Tu’uua’col of Eadraal. I swear my allegiance for I have dreamed of this day for many years.” The shalarin Dukar slapped his palm against the Great Barrier.
Pacys listened to the vibration running through the structure. His ear was trained by long years in his craft, gifted by the passion that existed within his heart and had never faltered, and guided by the need in him to be the best he could be.
He opened his mouth and sang, holding the one note at perfect pitch, feeling it resonate within his body as the Great Barrier reacted to it. He continued, lifting his arms at his side so that he could put all of himself into it.
Like a bubble bursting and vanishing within the space of a heartbeat, the Great Barrier shattered.
And the outside world rushed in over Myth Nantar once again, leaving it vulnerable to its greatest enemy.
XXV
27 Marpenoth, the Year of the Gauntlet
“Are ye sure we’ll find the swabbie here?” Khlinat Ironeater asked. He sat in the saddle of a seahorse they’d borrowed from the sea elves, and shaded his eyes against the morning sun with one hand. “That ship has surely seen some better days, I’m thinking.”
Seated on a seahorse as well, Pacys nodded, feeling his heart race as he neared the boy he’d searched for. The hero’s song played in his head, making his fingers itch for the yarting slung across his back in a waterproof bag.
“He’s here,” Pacys assured the dwarf.
A guard of twenty sea elf warriors rode with them as the seahorses cut across the ocean’s surface. The ship’s crew had already seen them and hurried across the decks to get into defensive positions.
“Well, and they’re surely promising a heated welcoming if we’re the wrong ’uns,” Khlinat said.
“We’re not.”
Pacys guided his mount toward the ship, the seahorse straining only a little to catch up to it. When he drew abreast of the caravel, he found himself looking up at half a dozen bowmen with only tattered mercy and trust left in their souls.
“State your business and be quick about it,” a woman dressed in black ordered from the railing.
“I’m here to see Jherek,” Pacys called up.
“How do you know him?”
“I’m Pacys the Bard. I’m a friend.”
The woman glanced at the sea elves. “We haven’t seen too many friends lately,” she said, “and damn few of them promise to com
e from under the sea.”
“Lady—” Pacys began.
“Captain.” The woman’s voice was unrelenting.
“As you will, Captain. As Oghma is my patron, I’m only here in Jherek’s best interest.” Pacys kept his voice loud to be heard over the slap of the waves breaking against the ship’s bow and the whip-crack of the canvas pulling tight in the rigging. “I know that he’s wasting away, unable to control the darkness trying to consume his soul. I promise you, if you don’t let me come aboard and speak to him, you’re going to lose him. We’ll all lose him.”
A bearded warrior stepped forward and said, “Let him come aboard, Captain. He’s speaking the truth.”
The ship’s captain hesitated.
“I’d know if he was lying,” the warrior said.
The captain nodded to her crew. They put away their bows and dropped a cargo net over the side, leaving it caught up at the top.
“Climb on,” the captain said. “We’ll pull you up.”
Jherek sat beside Sabyna’s bed, his forearms resting heavily on his bent knees, his forehead pressed against them. He held her hand, not daring to let it go, afraid she might drift away from him in her sleep.
Glawinn continued using his power on her daily, but there were no healing potions left. Now, every day, the ship’s mage lost ground. Her wounds festered, growing larger, taking her away from him a piece at a time.
The young sailor was ragged and unkempt. Not an hour passed that he didn’t feel pain—hers as well as his. He ignored the knock on the door, not wanting to deal with Glawinn trying to get him to eat or leave. If he had kept his distance from Sabyna, she would have been fine, but he’d returned.
“Young warrior,” Glawinn spoke softly, “someone has come to see you.”
“No.” Jherek knew he was being petulant, but he’d had enough of looking at other people.
“Jherek.”
The musical voice captured the young sailor’s attention, striking a chord deep within him. He found it immediately uncomfortable. “Go away.”
“I can’t. I’ve waited all my life to meet you.”
Shamed by his own lack of manners, knowing Glawinn wouldn’t think well of him either, Jherek pushed himself to his feet and opened the door. It took him a moment to recognize the two men standing beside Glawinn. He’d met both of them the night Iakhovas and the pirates attacked Baldur’s Gate.
