Rising Tide

by Mel Odom

  “Our being attacked was no mere bad luck,” the Amnian sellsword stated angrily. “We were set up, Merchant Lelayn, and here’s the evidence of it.”

  Jherek realized for the first time that he’d been walking around without his shirt. That fact was brought home to him even more when another Amnian sellsword grabbed his left arm and twisted it viciously. The sellsword held a torch close to reveal the colorful tattoo inside Jherek’s left bicep.

  The tattoo featured a flaming skull wearing a mask of chains leaving only the eyes and fanged mouth unbound. It didn’t look like anything human. It wasn’t supposed to. It was part of the legacy left him by his father.

  “Do you recognize this mark, Merchant Lelayn?” the sellsword asked.

  “Falkane’s claiming mark,” the merchant spat. “There’s a price on the head of any pirate from Falkane’s ship.” He turned back to Finaren. “Maybe you’d like to explain how you came to get one of the bloodiest pirates of the Sea of Swords aboard your ship … as part of your crew.”

  Jherek’s breath tightened in his throat. He glanced around at Butterfly’s crew, seeing the surprised looks on their faces. None of them had known. It had been his secret, his and Finaren’s. Now the secret was out and very likely to get him killed. His bad luck still claimed him, leaving him no one to turn to.

  The knife at his throat didn’t waver.

  IV

  30 Ches, the Year of the Gauntlet

  (40 days earlier)

  Laaqueel glided through the dark waters outside Waterdeep Harbor, staying in the shadow of the pentekonter on the surface above her and mentally preparing herself for the coming battle. She swam just under the ship, between the oars that swept the water on either side of it. Her pale skin made her stand out in the darkness, not blending in like her fellow sahuagin did or even a sea elf would. Below her, the ocean floor looked dark and was kept clean of debris. She knew the mermen who lived in the waters around Waterdeep helped keep the area orderly. They were also one of the major threats to the subterfuge they were attempting.

  The unaccustomed cold of the northern waters chilled her. This early in the year, chunks of ice still floated whole through the Sea of Swords, frozen islands reminding her of how far from home she’d swam.

  The cold numbed her body, but her mind ran unfettered by discomfort. Her thoughts were filled with grim doubts and she murmured a constant prayer to Sekolah that they might be granted success.

  The pentekonter was sixty feet long and stood tall in the water. It had a rounded prow that made it look sluggish, but whether pushed by wind or pulled by oars, it moved quickly for a surface dweller’s craft. Two banks of oars, one of them below the raised deck, allowed even greater speed when necessary. Hollow outriggers helped the ship maintain stability, and promoted the use of the second bank of oars.

  Big as it was, the ship provided plenty of cover for the malenti and the dozen or so sahuagin that had needed to immerse themselves in the life-giving sea again for a short time during their voyage. Less than two hundred yards away, her sensitive vision picked up the underwater torches marking the boundaries of Deepwater Isle. Along with the warships that patrolled the nearby waters, it was Waterdeep’s first line of defense.

  In all of her life, she’d never been this close to the city. Waterdeep was called the City of Splendors, and from her vigil aboard the pentekonter, she knew the name was well deserved.

  Some of the tall buildings in the different wards were impressive. They jutted up from the cityscape, possessing color and character that were unique. Those in the Castle Ward, especially Waterdeep Castle, were works of art even to her eyes. The daring plunge from the cliffs to the sea in the North Ward had taken her breath away even seeing the area from afar. Sahuagin villages were built close to the ocean floor, depending on tunnels to link them. In the water, heights only gave an enemy more area to attack. Gravity wasn’t as forceful in the ocean as it was in the air.

  At another time she thought she might have liked to walk along the winding and hilly streets of the city just to see what was there. It was a city worth exploring—after the surface dwellers had been driven from it.

  That was what Iakhovas intended to do this very night.

  She was certain that Iakhovas wasn’t telling all he knew, or revealing all that he wanted in tonight’s raid. He never did. Waterdeep had over one hundred thousand people in the city, more than four times the forces Iakhovas had gathered for the attack.

  Thanks to the humans Iakhovas and his other malenti spies had paid off over the last three years in preparing for tonight, they had good maps of the city. Iakhovas had made certain of that. Even now thinking of him and knowing how he schemed and sacrificed her people made the obsidian quill lodged next to her heart grow too hot to be comfortable. Over the years of their relationship, she’d learned the quill allowed him to control her through pain and kept him informed on when she told truth or falsehood. Never a day had gone by that she didn’t know it was there.

  She breathed in through her mouth, taking the water and pushing it through her gills, flushing her system. For fifteen years, since that night in the underground tomb in the Shining Sea, she’d served him, watching him grow and take the power she’d wanted and was prevented from having by an accident of birth.

  Still, there had been changes that benefited her. She was now High Priestess in her village. Iakhovas had made himself one of the nine princes, and that was only during the times he deigned to stay with the sahuagin. There were plenty of absences he had that were never explained. Nor was she in a position to demand answers, though at times she sorely wanted to.

  “Most favored one,” a nearby sahuagin called to her.

  “Yes,” she asked.

  The sahuagin male bowed his head in deference and said, “Prince Iakhovas requests that you join him.”

  She dismissed him with a wave of her hand then swam toward the opening in the bottom of the ship above her. The sahuagin had captured the vessel in the Moonshae Isles almost two years ago then quietly sunk it so the repairs Iakhovas wanted could be done. One of those changes had been the construction of a water well amidships that allowed sahuagin entry to the ocean. They could stay out of water for four hours at a time, but immersion for an equal amount of time was required before they were back at full strength.

  Swimming through the well, Laaqueel continued on through the submerged lower compartment where sahuagin rowers worked the massive oars to propel the craft. They all looked at her, respect in their silvery eyes. The pentekonter’s outriggers were attached to the hull and had been specially modified to compensate for the hole in the ship’s hull, letting the ship ride lower in the water.

  Grabbing the ladder leading up to the ship’s second level, Laaqueel pulled herself from the water, automatically feeling the dryness in the air even at sea level, and the extra weight from sheer gravity. She hated being out of the water, resonating with the fear that never quite left her no matter how much experience she had with being on the surface.

  Her breath tightened as it ran through her gills. Breathing air was hard work, and she always remained conscious of having to inhale and exhale. In addition, her movements were no longer as fluid as they were in the water. She felt heavier on the surface. She was always acutely aware that her lateral lines no longer sent information to her. Water dripped from her as she walked, draining from her hair and body, and the sahuagin harness she wore.

  Thirty men occupied the ship’s upper hold. Short and thin, dressed in common clothing and carrying short swords, they didn’t look threatening, but the sewer stench that clung to them made everyone give them a wide berth. All of them furtively stared after her with lust because of her near-nudity.

  She ignored their interest. Choosing to dress as a sahuagin had been her choice, and she wasn’t going to be bothered by them. They knew their place in the forces of Prince Iakhovas, and they knew their place around her after she’d killed the first one who’d touched her.

  Iakho
vas had assembled these men even as he had the four ships that made up their invasion force. All of them suffered from the curse of lycanthropy, changing forms between human and rat as easily as a sahuagin might strap on another harness.

  Laaqueel would rather have taken the whole shipload of wererats to the bottom of the Sea of Swords and drowned them. She went up the stairs leading out of the hold onto the deck. Giving her sight a moment to adjust to the surface conditions, she turned and found Iakhovas standing in the prow.

  “Laaqueel,” he called out to her in that strong, whispering voice. He stood with his arms folded over his chest, staring out over the port city. He sensed her without facing her.

  “I’m here, exalted one,” she said.

  “Of course you are.” Iakhovas turned to her, a smile on his hard face.

  He’d grown since she’d found him those years ago. In fifteen years, he’d grown stronger as he found those things that had been lost to him. She accompanied him on some of those forays, following him to hidden places in the sea where they found objects that still remained mysterious to her.

  One of the first had been a circlet that gave him control of some sea creatures, giving him the power to communicate and order them about. He’d taken that from some of the mermen who’d relocated to Waterdeep and now lived in underwater caves off Waterdeep Isle. Another had been the bloodstone globe that allowed him to control weather that Laaqueel had to assassinate a Calishite gem merchant for when he raised his price to something more than she could afford. She’d narrowly escaped with her life during that mission.

  Iakhovas had never taken her into his confidence, though, never explained himself to her. Nor did he tell her much of the objects he had collected. Later, he’d employed groups that went out to retrieve the objects for him, using any who could be bought or bribed, including the morkoth who were lifelong enemies of the sahuagin. He still did.

  One group of pirates worked in the Sea of Fallen Stars for him, gathering objects as well as information. When they had an object, they sent it through a dimensional door that connected the pirate’s ship to the sahuagin palace. With those objects in his possession, Iakhovas had grown more powerful, and he’d grown physically. At first, Laaqueel hadn’t been certain of the correlation, but she was certain now. Though she’d tried to spy on him, she couldn’t. She even thought he’d been leading her on at times, letting her almost see, tantalizing her with his secrets only to take them away at the last moment.

  At present he was head and shoulders taller than Laaqueel, and he no longer looked emaciated. His body had filled out, becoming broad and supple. The runic tattoos spread out to fill the extra skin, but still hadn’t become any more legible to her. He wore a black silk blouse and black breeches with silver buckles and chains over black boots. A sea-green cloak hung from his shoulders to his ankles, more an affectation than any real comfort from the cool breezes swirling through the port city.

  Laaqueel stopped in front of him and waited.

  Only running lanterns glowed on board the pentekonter, enough to obey the Waterdhavian harbor rules. Little of the deck was occupied, but the sailors were more of the wererats Iakhovas had involved in the raid.

  The weak light traced patterns across Iakhovas’s face. He would have been handsome by human standards, Laaqueel knew, even with the scars that tracked his features. No matter what magic he’d worked over the past fifteen years to rebuild himself, he hadn’t been able to remove those scars. He’d grown a short beard and mustache that covered some of them. A sea-green patch that matched his cloak covered his empty eye socket. Even his hair had grown, filling in the patchy areas and dropping past his shoulders now, turned coal black.

  “How may I aid you, exalted one?” she asked.

  “Why, little malenti, I merely wanted you to join me at the beginning of our triumph over the surface dwellers,” he stated. He shifted, lithe as a dancer on his feet in spite of the moving deck. “You have your own desires for power, though it’s remained somewhat elusive for you in spite of the fact I’ve raised your station in life and among your own people. I’ve recognized you for your worth though they didn’t. For all of your years of support, you deserve that.” He waved a hand at the port city, then clasped it into a fist. “I would offer you a kingdom, little malenti, if I ever cared enough to share.”

  Laaqueel knew him well enough to know that was the real reason. Iakhovas wanted an audience for his conquest—an audience who knew all of the truths, or at least knew more of the truths than the sahuagin tribes who’d listened to him did. He loved the complexities of his own plotting, and the layers of subterfuge he manipulated seemingly so easily, loved the way his whispering voice seemed to have a hypnotic effect on those who listened. He had the power to advance his ideas and make others believe they’d thought of them.

  “Gaze upon Waterdeep, little malenti, which the surface dwellers descry and proclaim as the crown jewel of all Faerûn,” Iakhovas said. “I have been told that people journey to this place, expecting to enjoy pleasures they don’t have at home, and feel safe and secure in their rented beds.” He smiled, and the expression was filled with evil. “Ah, but tonight, tonight we strip that from them, never more to return, as we shatter the spine of her navy.”

  The Waterdhavian Naval Harbor lay farther to the north, managing two water gates of its own. The navy was one of the chief concerns the malenti had about the night’s raid. The Waterdhavian Navy had always defended the shores of the city well, and of course there were the mermen.

  “We’ve not gotten the bulk of our forces past the harbor gate yet,” she reminded.

  Despite the power he held over her and the potential he offered, she couldn’t always simply agree with him. He was no true sahuagin, even though the others believed he was. In the intervening years, she’d come to understand why the sahuagin of her own tribe hadn’t readily accepted her even after Baron Huaanton had named her as a protected ward after her birth. Her own exterior was an accident of birth. Iakhovas only masqueraded as a sahuagin. In her heart, she was sahuagin.

  She’d helped him manage that masquerade only through coercion, and even now it didn’t set well with her. After she’d found him, he’d made her spend two years with him in the Veemeeros where she’d found him, teaching him about Faerûn. Everything seemed new to him, but he was careful not to reveal anything about his own origins. Even Laaqueel’s spy training hadn’t helped her gather information about him.

  Once they’d returned to her village, he’d used his powers to turn himself into a sahuagin hatchling, and she’d introduced him into a hatchling area. He’d maintained his own development in the village, but had kept contact with Laaqueel. She had named him in the brief ceremony after the surviving hatchlings were introduced into the tribe, giving him his own name at his request, though it wasn’t a sahuagin name. Everyone in the village had believed it was because she was malenti, wanting to flaunt her difference, but Baron Huaanton had allowed the name to stand.

  Now, though, Baron Huaanton was King Huaanton and Iakhovas, though only age thirteen in the sahuagin years, was a prince. Normally it took almost three hundred years to attain such a rank by serving the community and taking advantage of events that transpired, but he had used his magic and curried favor with Huaanton by maneuvering a duel with Huaanton’s senior and killing the last prince in battle. Unable to take the position himself because of the sahuagin code regarding such advances, Huaanton had become prince. Huaanton had also realized how dangerous Iakhovas was for the first time and had stood behind Iakhovas’s bid for the baronial vacancy. None of the other chieftains had tried to challenge his right to do that. When Huaanton had slain the last king and taken over the position, he’d promoted Iakhovas again. Laaqueel had never discovered if it was because Huaanton feared Iakhovas, or if the sorcerer had helped place Huaanton on the throne.

  “Oh, little malenti, do you have such a small faith?” he asked.

  “No,” she admitted, choosing not to react to the in
sult. Her faith resided where it always had: with Sekolah. She had received no sign that she wasn’t doing exactly as the Great Shark wanted her to, “but the forces arrayed against us are formidable.”

  He turned and gazed again out across the harbor. “Those forces are only formidable when pitted against a lesser opponent. Make no mistake, little malenti, I’m not that and never have been.” He smiled, oozing confidence. “No one these days has ever seen anything like me. Even in my own day, no one was like me.”

  “But to take Waterdeep …” Laaqueel said.

  “Stand corrected, little malenti, we’re not taking Waterdeep,” Iakhovas said. “We’re presenting the surface world their options, throwing down the gauntlet so to speak. The surface dwellers need to be put on notice that they’re living near these waters only on my sufferance. I will take back that which is rightfully mine no matter how many of them have to perish.” He touched the patch covering his empty socket unconsciously. “I will be made whole again, and I will reclaim my proper station as the oceans’ master.”

  “If we can’t take the city, why send all these sahuagin to their deaths?” she asked.

  “More humans will die this night than sahuagin,” he told her. “You have my promise on that.”

  The way that he always referred to the humans as their species, and a despised one at that, let Laaqueel know he didn’t consider himself one of them. For awhile she’d thought he might be of elven blood, but he had the gills and webbed hands and feet of a sea elf and used magic as easily as a sahuagin spilled blood. The accursed sea elves knew no magic except for that granted to their priests and priestesses.

  He offered no clue as to what he truly was.

  His power of illusion was incredible, steeping him in layers of deceit and trickery. She wasn’t certain if she’d ever seen the true being she knew as Iakhovas. The sahuagin recognized him as a fellow being, and the wererats and other humanoids saw him as one of their own, even when they were all standing in the same place, and no one questioned it.