Rising Tide

by Mel Odom

  The cog’s crew started to cross over to the port side.

  “Stay, you dogs,” Finaran shouted. “Helmsman, bring us around harder to starboard. I want a hundred and eighty degree turn.”

  “Aye, cap’n,” the helmsman called back.

  Butterfly came about. Sailcloth cracked overhead as the crew flipped the booms around. She caught the full breeze again in heartbeats. The spinnaker blossomed like a night rose in full passion and pulled the ship forward.

  “Crafty though them creatures may be,” Finaren said, “they still don’t understand the wind and what a kind mistress she might be.”

  Jherek watched as the sahuagin struggled to bring their craft under control. Finaran was right about the speed the sea devils had, and they would have outrun Butterfly had the attack led into a race.

  “Bring her around, helmsman, toward them sea devils,” Finaran commanded. “I want to shear her oars off on the port side. In another minute we’re going to wake them up to what a war at sea is all about.”

  The manta almost stalled in the water as the sahuagin struggled to regain control of their craft. They floundered, struggling to turn the manta around.

  “They got no draw on that boat,” Finaren said. “It sits flat on the water, and once they get it started in a direction, they can make it go fast, but maneuverability becomes an issue. Hawlyng …”

  “Aye, cap’n?”

  “That fire projector, Hawlyng, are you ready with it?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Jherek glanced over his shoulder and saw the fire projector mounted on pivots come around to point at the stalled manta. The projector’s maximum range was forty yards. At the moment, the manta was out of range, but the young sailor didn’t doubt that it would come in again.

  “Helmsman,” the captain called out, “shear them oars. The rest of you dogs hold onto to whatever you got, and Umberlee take them beasties what’s come upon us!”

  III

  9 Mirtul, the Year of the Gauntlet

  Butterfly bore down on the manta, speeding closer. The sahuagin stared at her, their silvery eyes picking up light from the oil lamps swinging crazily from the railing. A renewed flurry of spears and quarrels thudded against the cog, finding few targets. A sailor went down with a trident through his guts, squalling in fear and pain.

  Jherek held himself steady, an arrow pulled back. When Butterfly came down again, her prow nosing toward the manta, he fired arrows as quickly as he could draw the string. Even under Malorrie’s tutelage, he didn’t come close to the skills of an elf bowman in terms of speed, but he was deadly accurate at this range. He aimed at the sahuagin on the port side of the manta, driving them back into their shipmates when they fell.

  A string of sharp thundering cracks followed Butterfly as she sheared through the sahuagin oars on the manta’s port side, her prow cracking the paddles like kindling. When they finished the pass, Jherek saw that nearly every oar on that side of the sea devils’ craft had been splintered and rendered useless.

  A ragged cheer ripped free of the throats of Butterfly’s crew.

  “Hawlyng,” Finaren bawled.

  “Aye, Cap’n.”

  “Have you got that thrice-damned craft of fishy black-hearts in your sights?”

  “Aye, Cap’n.”

  “Fire away and send ’em back to Umberlee’s caresses.”

  The fire projector belched a thin stream of flaming, explosive liquid that served immediately to drown the cheers of the cog’s crew. Most sailors didn’t like the weapons. They sat like waiting death on a ship’s deck, as able to work against a crew as for one. Jherek had seen them explode on ships’ decks during battle before, ruptured by a catapult shot. Twice, damaged fire projectors had sent both ships to the ocean floor before any real salvage could be made.

  Against the sahuagin, it was the most frightful weapon for the sea devils outside of magic.

  The launched flames showered down over the manta, catching even the wet wood and the sahuagin unlucky enough to be standing there on fire. Sahuagin worked immediately to put the fire out, but oil-based as it was, they only spread it for the moment and made it burn hotter.

  In the stern, Hawlyng shouted curses at the sahuagin from beside the fire projector. He didn’t see the first of the sea devils climbing over the railing of the cog’s squared stern castle. Before anyone could shout a warning, the sahuagin threw a spear that caught the mate in the side, pinning him to the stern castle walls.

  “Clear that stern, you flea-bitten rum dogs, and Umberlee take any that lags behind!” Finaren shouted.

  Jherek tossed the bow aside and slid the cutlass and hook free. He ran for the stern, charging up the starboard side steps that led into the stern castle with the other sailors. The lead sahuagin thrust out with its trident, intending to impale Hawlyng again.

  Swinging the hook, Jherek caught the tines of the trident and yanked them aside. They buried in the wooden deck. Before the sahuagin could recover, the young sailor thrust the point of his cutlass between the creature’s open jaws. Fangs snapped off at the impact, and the sword slid through the back of the sahuagin’s neck. Jherek twisted the blade savagely, making sure to cut the sea devil’s spine. Even if it didn’t die right away, it was paralyzed.

  Butterfly’s crew crowded onto the stern castle, and the sounds of battle swamped over Jherek. The young sailor pulled his cutlass free with effort, then kicked the sahuagin backward as Malorrie had taught him. The creature’s dead weight slammed into two of his fellows and drove them all backward into the ocean again.

  “Die hu-maan!” a sahuagin snarled in the common tongue as it stabbed at Jherek with a trident. Its voice out of the water, wrapping around unaccustomed words, sounded flat and out of breath, a nightmarish gasp of rage and hate.

  The young sailor turned the trident with the cutlass, losing the sword’s use for a moment while it was trapped in the tines. The sahuagin swiped at him with its free hand, the talons black and sharp as razors.

  Unflinching, Jherek took the attack to the sahuagin rather than retreating. All the fear inside him was concentrated on survival, and Malorrie’s training made sure each move he made was smooth as Dalelands spider silk. He swept the hook up, catching the sahuagin’s hand and driving the curved point through the creature’s palm, stopping it only inches from his face. Before the sahuagin could react either to the counterblow or the pain, Jherek headbutted it in the face.

  Off-balance, the sahuagin stumbled backward. Still holding the impaled hand on the hook, Jherek slid back and freed the cutlass with a slither of metal on metal that threw off sparks. He swung with all his might at the sahuagin’s corded neck. The heavy blade bit deeply into his opponent’s flesh, almost cutting through. It dropped with a harsh gargling croak, then died.

  Jherek freed his weapons, watching as Finaren swung an oil lantern into the face of another boarding sahuagin. The lantern shattered and oil covered the creature’s head, wreathing it in flames. It screamed horribly, clawing at its face, then toppled back into the dark water. The scent of burned flesh clung to the stern castle, overwhelming even the fishy musk from the sahuagin.

  “Hold us steady, helmsman,” Finaren commanded. “Keep us into the wind and let’s put this place behind us.”

  Jherek fought on, slashing at his opponents. Two sailors went down around him, both with grievous wounds. He kept himself poised, riding out the pitch and yaw of Butterfly as she sailed across the ocean. He cut and thrust, blocking a dagger thrust with the cutlass, then ripping a sahuagin’s throat out with the hook.

  One of the passengers at the top of the port stairs threw out his hands, thumbs touching. Jherek caught the movement from the corner of his eye. Flames shot from the passenger’s fingers, arcing across the stern castle and splashing across three sahuagin. All three sea devils released their holds on the stern railing and dropped into the ocean.

  Catching a trident thrust by another sahuagin with the hook, Jherek turned it aside and kicked the sea dev
il in the face. He followed with a thrust through the creature’s heart. Thrusting the hook through the sahuagin’s harness, he dragged the body to the railing to clear it from the stern deck. He sheathed the cutlass and grabbed one of the corpse’s legs and levered the body over the railing.

  A sahuagin net spun up at him from a sea devil clinging to the ship’s stern. It settled over the young sailor before he had a chance to move. Cruel fish hooks woven into the net bit into his flesh. Blood flowed from a dozen small injuries as the net drew tight.

  Jherek screamed in pain, instinctively pulling back against the net in an attempt to escape. The effort only drove the hooks more deeply into his flesh. Luckily, there was no burn of sahuagin poison, but the weight and the strength of the sahuagin at the other end pulled him forward. He caught the edge of the railing in one hand and with the hook, watching as the hooked bits of his skin stood out. The pain ripped another scream from his throat.

  A cold voice entered his mind. Live, that you may serve.

  Fire leaped from one of the burning sahuagin still on deck onto the net. The strands parted like hairs over an open flame.

  Jherek stumbled back onto the deck. The pain from the hooks was sharp and tearing, almost blinding in its intensity, but he saw that the sailors had successfully broken the sahuagin attack. The manta still burned in the distance, looking like a single torch in the night. Sea devil corpses littered Butterfly’s wake, catching the pallor of the lightning flashing through the wine-dark clouds overhead.

  Claustrophobia tightened over Jherek more tightly than the net. He didn’t like closed in places. Hooking his fingers in the net, he started pulling, hoping to dislodge some of the hooks.

  “Stand easy, lad,” Finaren ordered, striding close. “Damned nets are hard to get away from. Lucky that this one got burned the way it did.”

  Jherek took a deep breath and relaxed the way Malorrie had taught him. He distanced the fear, giving himself over to the peaceful pitch and yaw of Butterfly’s rolling deck. Finaren hadn’t seen the way the net had parted.

  “Carthos, Himtap,” Finaren called out, “get some snips and get the lad free of that net.” The captain regarded Jherek. “You stay here, lad. I got the rest of me crew to look in on, and some of them need burying. I got to save them what I can.”

  “Aye, sir.” Jherek started to nod, then stopped when the hooks pulled at his flesh. One of them had embedded in the back of his head.

  Finaren walked away.

  Jherek crouched and slid his knife free of the shin sheath. Hagagne joined him, working gently to cut away the strands of the net. The first thing to do was cut sections of it away, then go after the individual hooks.

  Malorrie’s training allowed him to ignore the majority of the pain, but it was still difficult. Cutting the strands became automatic, and he turned his thoughts to the cold voice that had whispered to him.

  Live, that you may serve.

  He’d heard the command before. The first time had been when he was a child, fallen from his father’s ship during a battle and nearly drowned. The voice had been more gentle, then, but perhaps he only remembered it that way. At that time, a dolphin had swum close to him and nosed him to the surface. His life had been spared then, as it had probably been spared this night, and there was no clue why, or by whom.

  It had been three years since he’d last heard the voice. He’d thought it might be gone for good, with no explanation of why it had involved itself with him. Even Madame Iitaar with all her magic, and Malorrie with his insight, could offer no illumination concerning the voice. All of them, however, did what they had to, drawn together by whatever mystery linked them. Both his mentors had offered only the consolation that when the time came to know, he would.

  Live, that you may serve.

  But serve what? And why hadn’t he been given more direction?

  “You saved my daughter’s life, and for that I owe you.”

  Jherek shivered as Hagagne poured whiskey from Captain Finaren’s private stock onto the small wounds made by the fish hooks. Twenty-three of them had been removed from the young sailor’s flesh. The process had been demanding and painful. Once free of the sahuagin net, the ends of the hooks had been snipped, then the barbs twisted around and pressed back out the flesh at a different spot than the entry point. The wounds had doubled in number. He stood in the stern castle, stripped to the leather work apron that had been proof against the net hooks.

  “You don’t owe me anything,” Jherek replied, returning Merchant Lelayn’s gaze full measure. “Captain Finaren takes care of his passengers.”

  “Take something,” Hagagne whispered hoarsely as he sloshed the whiskey over the wounds in the young sailor’s back. “By Umberlee’s eyes, you jumped into a sea of sharks to save the bi—girl.”

  Jherek knew he couldn’t. Anything he took would only tie him to the memory of the young Amnian woman and what had gone between them, and he didn’t want that. He’d been wrong about her and that confused him. His passion toward her, toward what he thought she was, had seemed true. Even if he’d chosen not to act on it, the memory of her face would have filled some of the empty nights he experienced these days. Now he would remember only her harsh words and the slap. The price was too high. He shook his head.

  “I can be very generous, boy.”

  “I’m sure that you can, sir,” Jherek said, “but there’s nothing I need.”

  “You’re a deckhand, for Lliira’s sake,” the Amnian merchant blustered. “Surely there’s something you could use.”

  A turban covered his head and a fiercely forked beard thrust out from the bottom of his chin. He was a fat man dressed in silks, and Jherek smelled the perfumes and spices he wore on his body.

  “No,” he said softly. “I thank you for the offer.”

  Finished with Hagagne’s ministrations and wanting to get away from Yeill’s hostile gaze, not really understanding how she could be angry with him, Jherek picked up his cutlass and the hook. Both weapons badly needed cleaning.

  Yeill and her father talked behind him, a frenzy of conversation that he chose to ignore. Four men had died in the sahuagin attack. The ship’s crew had packed their bodies in the hold, to take back to their families in Velen. Wet sand covered the scorched places in the deck where the fire projector and the mage’s spell had started brief fires. Finaren already had his ship’s mage out assessing the damage, which appeared minimal to Jherek.

  Hagagne followed Jherek. “You’re a hero, lad, you should take something.”

  Jherek made his voice hard. “No.”

  “They’ll view it as disrespectful.”

  Turning to the man, the young sailor said, “I can’t take anything from them. Don’t you understand?”

  Hagagne looked back into Jherek’s eyes, then gave a heartfelt sigh. “Aye, lad, I guess that maybe I’m not so old that I’ve forgotten how harsh that first bloom of youth can be. I’ve an alternative, though, if you’re willing to hear it.”

  Jherek listened.

  “Take something for the crew,” Hagagne urged. “Saving Ulnay and Morrin used up the last of the healing potions the cap’n had on hand. He wouldn’t admit it and doesn’t know that I know that, but I do. Them Amnians, they took on a shipment of healing potions in Baldur’s Gate. They can spare some to replace what we used defending them.”

  The option made sense, but Jherek still didn’t like it. He wanted nothing more to do with the Amnians. He took a deep breath to collect himself, then turned back to Merchant Lelayn and Yeill and said, “There is something.”

  “Name it,” the Amnian merchant stated.

  Jherek noticed the reluctance in the man’s demeanor, though. Merchant Lelayn didn’t mind offering to give, but the giving left him cold. “Healing potion, sir.”

  “A smart lad could do all right by himself reselling it.” The Amnian merchant nodded in grudging approval and said, “How much do you want for saving my favorite daughter’s life?”

  “Whatever you th
ink you can spare, sir,” Jherek replied. “I won’t haggle with you.”

  The answer seemed to surprise the merchant. He snapped his fingers and one of his men came forward. “Take ten healing potions from our stores and see that the boy gets them.”

  Jherek bowed his head in thanks. At the price the potions could command, Merchant Lelayn was being quite generous.

  Captain Finaren joined them, his blouse stained with burn holes from the fire that had splattered from the lantern he’d smashed. Soot and blood stained his beard and face.

  Merchant Lelayn turned to the captain. “Do you know how the sahuagin came to attack this vessel out of those upon the sea today?”

  Finaren’s eyes narrowed. “Anybody who travels the Sword Coast knows that the sahuagin are a danger. A man making his living at sea, he’s taking risks. I’ve never encountered them before today, and maybe I was well overdue.”

  “You profess it to be merely bad luck, Captain?” Lelayn challenged.

  Jherek chose to walk away, not believing the Amnian merchant could waver between being so generous, then turning so petty. His wounds stung. In truth, some of them hurt badly and a couple needed stitches that Finaren had put in himself. Once he got back to Velen, he knew Madame Iitaar would finish healing him properly.

  He stood by the mast, watching Yeill. Even in her wet clothes, the merchant’s daughter was beautiful. His wounds and the fatigue that always settled in after a battle dulled his senses. He was grabbed roughly from behind before he knew it, and someone slid a knife up under his chin.

  “Don’t you try anything,” a gruff voice commanded. “Or I’ll slit you from wind to water.”

  Jherek froze, the knife biting lightly into his flesh. He smelled the spice and perfume that covered the man holding him, knowing at once that he was one of the Amnian party. His guess that the man was one of the sellswords employed by the Amnians was proven correct when he saw the man’s bracer with the house crest on it.

  Finaren turned toward them, his bearded face brimming with anger. “What in the nine hells do you think you’re doing?” His voice cracked with authority, and every sailor within hearing distance turned at once, their hands upon their swords and daggers.