by Mel Odom
“No. I know you’ve been generous.” Jherek also recalled that the ship didn’t have any healing potions aboard, and for every one he tried to sell, he’d be forced to think about Yeill again. He didn’t want that either.
“You might be able to double your money on those potions,” Finaren pointed out.
“One of the things you always taught me was to take the money up front if I wasn’t sure where I’d be the next day.”
“Good lad,” the old captain congratulated. “I kept the crew aboard Butterfly till just before I came to meet you here, but they’ll be telling tales up and down the docks tonight. You might warn your ma that some angry people could show up at her house.”
For the first time, the cold realization that he might not have a choice about staying in Velen struck Jherek. The town had been Madame Iitaar’s home for dozens of years. She’d buried a husband there, and other family as well. Malorrie had been buried there himself. Neither of them might be willing to move.
Finaren read the look on his face. “You hadn’t thought about that, had you, lad? About the fact that once this is out in this town, you might be forced to move?”
“No,” Jherek replied honestly. He looked out the dirty window and tried to imagine living anywhere else. He couldn’t. The only life he’d known before Velen was his father’s ship.
“Even if someone here don’t try to kill you,” Finaren warned, “didn’t you say Falkane might come looking if he knew where you were?”
The possibility seemed small now, but Jherek remembered how much it had frightened him when he was younger. “I don’t know.”
“Get out of town, lad,” Finaren said. “That’s my advice. For what it’s worth.”
“I’ll think about it.” The stubborn streak that had helped Jherek survive the hardships he’d experienced up to now surfaced.
Finaren started to argue. Jherek could tell by the way the captain’s lips jerked and his eyes narrow. Then the older man shrugged. “As you think, lad.” He stoppered his bottle. “As for me, I’ve got to go so you can be going.”
Jherek nodded, not wanting the man to walk away from him, but knowing there was no way to hold him.
“You put that purse away and keep it safe,” Finaren ordered as he rose from his chair.
“Thank you.”
“Know something else, Jherek: if there’s ever a time I can be of help to you—in any way—you don’t hesitate to come to me. Right now, I’ve done all I can.”
“I know.”
“Come here, lad, that I can say a proper good-bye.”
Jherek stood, hugging the old man back as fiercely as Finaren hugged him He didn’t know if it was Finaren’s tight hold or his throat swelling with emotion that shut off his wind.
Finaren cuffed him on the back of the head and stepped back. Tears gleamed in the old man’s eyes and ran down unashamedly into the rough crags of his weathered face. “I want you to know something else, lad,” he said in a thick, hoarse voice. “If me wee boy that Umberlee had taken from me so long ago had turned out to be anything like the kind of man you are, there wouldn’t have been a prouder da in all of Faerûn.”
“Thank you,” Jherek said with difficulty. His heart felt like lead in his chest, stillborn and heavy. He hadn’t even known Finaren had lost a son or even been married. He watched helplessly as the captain grabbed his bottle from the table and turned around. He walked away, his legs still bent from all the days at sea.
Jherek tucked the purse inside his shirt and left a couple silvers on the table for the serving girl. He wiped his face and walked outside. The smell of the sea hit him more strongly when he walked outside. Full dark had descended on Velen while he’d been waiting in the tavern. Several ships occupied the small port, their rigging beating rhythmically against the masts in the strong breeze.
His steps turned automatically toward the alleys he’d often traveled to the docks from Madame Iitaar’s house. When he’d worked for Shipwright Makim, he’d spent most of his evenings watching the ships put out to sea. When he’d gone to Madame Iitaar’s to live after being hired to repair her roof, he’d often stolen away when she wasn’t looking to spend time at the docks. When he’d put together enough money to buy a small skiff, he’d sailed it every evening and every free day he had.
He paused on a familiar promontory on a hillock in back of Hient’s Glass Shop. The breeze cut across from the east, coming in over the Drake Gate that lead overland out of the city. He thought about traveling through the forest, knowing he might not be safe on any ship. He disliked the idea immediately. The sea was his life. It had birthed him and held an attraction he couldn’t shake.
A woman’s scream cut through the night from the east. He turned at once, tracking the scream as the echoes died around him. With all the noise coming from the docks, he doubted anyone else heard. He moved through the alleys, unable to ignore the plea for help, dreading the place he was sure it was taking him to.
VI
30 Ches, the Year of the Gauntlet
Laaqueel felt grateful as the salty sea closed over her when she dived into the ocean through the hole in bottom of Drifting Eel. She didn’t even mind the terrific cold. She took a deep draught in through her mouth and blew the excess out through her gills, soaking them. Sahuagin warriors filled the water around her.
She swam toward Smuggler’s Bane Tower quickly, following the retreating line of chain nets. The nets left streamers of bubbles in the water that helped mask her approach. She took what cover she could, knowing the glamour Iakhovas had over the ship wouldn’t extend much past the hull of the pentekonter.
The next few minutes would tell the success of the invasion or the death of thousands of sahuagin. The malenti thought it would be worth it if Iakhovas’s own death could be guaranteed. The ebony quill near her heart quivered, as if the sorcerer was letting her know he could sense her traitorous intentions. She regretted the thought immediately. Sekolah had never indicated that Iakhovas’s quest in any way went against the desires of the Great Shark.
When she reached the sandy beach on the inside of the great harbor, she unfurled one of the hook-filled nets from her side and shook it out. She raced up onto the beach without breaking stride. The harsh clanking of the steel nets filled the air.
Five men wearing the uniform of the Waterdhavian Guard lounged at an open area talking and filling pipes. A small lantern hung from a pole overhead, providing them a small light to congregate by. One of them spotted the malenti as she ran up onto the beach. He started to yell a warning to his companions.
Still in motion, Laaqueel moved smoothly, drawing her trident back and letting fly. She was as skilled with the weapon above water as she was below. Her weapons masters had seen to that.
A heartbeat after leaving her hand, the trident slammed into the guard’s chest and drove him backward against the stone wall.
Trained and efficient, the guard members went into action at once. Having both hands free, Laaqueel whirled her net over her head and threw it. The net splayed out, the lantern light reflecting from the dozens of sharp barbs tied in the mesh. It hit the man in front, then the weighted ends swung around the man nearest him, trapping them together. Both men went down screaming as the other’s struggles only set the hooks more deeply.
A sahuagin spear took a fourth man high in the chest, entering from the side and ripping through his lungs. He didn’t have enough breath left to scream in pain.
The fifth man made it up the short flight of steps carved into the stone at the base of the Smuggler’s Bane Tower. A quarrel fletched his back as he dashed through the doorway at the top of the steps. His yells for help were audible even above the clanking retreat of the nets.
The door slammed shut as Laaqueel freed her short sword and started up the stone steps. She turned to Bounndaar, raising her voice so she could be clearly heard. “Get crossbowmen along the shoreline. Those men in the tower are going to know about us in a moment.”
“At once, most
favored one.” Bounndaar turned and yelled orders to his men.
Laaqueel faced the door, standing on the small porch area before it. The windlass controls to raise and lower the nets occupied the lower section of the tower. Two narrow, winding staircases led to the floors above. Saying a quick prayer and calling on Sekolah to allow her power to be strong, she threw her open hand against the iron-bound wooden door blocking entrance to the tower.
She felt the magical wards protecting the door resist her spell, then felt them collapse on themselves. Immediately, the door warped, sprung out of its hinges by her magic. She said another prayer when she took up a small hammer from her harness, using up another of her spells. Concentrating hard, not as familiar with this spell because she seldom used it, ignoring the bustle of activity on the other side of the door, she imagined the glowing force around the hammer, making herself see it in her mind.
Bracing herself, she swung the hammer wrapped in magical force against the warped door. The door tore free of its moorings at once, exploding back into the foyer beyond and striking down half a dozen human guardsmen.
Laaqueel, her strike force gathering behind her, stepped through the door, her sword naked in her fist. “Bouundaar,” she croaked in a dry voice. The effort necessitated by maintaining the hammer of magical force gave her a headache, knotting muscles through her shoulders and back. The headache was made worse by the lanterns clinging to the walls. She slitted her eyes against the brightness as she sought targets for the hammer.
She struck without mercy, knowing the Great Shark would approve. Every time the hammer landed, guards died and their blood spattered over her. She spared none of them. Bouundaar, seeing that she was weakened by her efforts, placed himself directly in front of her and ordered two sahuagin warriors into place on either side of her. They kept the humans back with tridents and spears.
Feeling the hammer fading from her, slipping through her mental grip, she flung it one last time, knocking a surface dweller from the circular staircase. He flew backward, then smashed against the torch and the wall behind him and dropped lifeless to the floor. The torch sconce dropped from the wall, showering him with sparks and filling the foyer with the stink of burned hair.
Laaqueel regretfully let go of the hammer of force, feeling it disappear from the physical plane. She started another prayer and pushed her way through Bouundaar. She pointed at the staircase, telling the chieftain to put sahuagin on guard there. By the time she reached the flight of stairs leading down into the area where the windlass that controlled the nets was, she had her next spell ready.
The windlass room was large, forty feet by forty feet, she estimated. The device was in the center of the room, constructed of several ratcheting gears that clanked hurriedly as the three men operating it tried to raise the nets again. The nets held wards that normally repelled most fish from the harbor, allowing no sharks or other predatory marine creatures, but they wouldn’t stop the sahuagin forces.
“Damned fish-heads!” one of the men bawled in warning.
Laaqueel heard the thrum of crossbows behind her and watched as the short quarrels buried their vicious barbs in flesh and wood. She thrust out a hand and the magic spewed from her palm, plunging the room into total blackness. With their greater night vision, the sahuagin weren’t totally blinded. The light spilling in the door leading down to the windlass area was enough.
The crossbow quarrels put another man down at the windlass. Laaqueel vaulted to the floor, silent as her own shadow, and swung her sword. The keen edge hamstrung the man trying desperately to turn the ten-foot tall wheel. He screamed and reached for his injured feet. The malenti ended the screaming by slashing his throat.
Without remorse, she grabbed one of the Waterdhavian Guardsmen on the floor, locating him by the string of curses and pained cries that came from him. She levered the man up in one hand, then unerringly shoved him into the grind of gears operating the nets.
The man screamed anew as the big gears bit into him, but the sounds quickly went away as the gears drew him in. Bone crunched and the metallic strain of the gears trying to mesh filled the basement.
The gears stopped.
Bouundaar’s men worked efficiently in the darkness, talking to each other in their own tongue as they covered the floor and tracked down the last of the surface dwellers. All of them were dead by the time Laaqueel reached the top of the stairs.
More sahuagin held the bottom of the dual stairwells. Nets stretched above them, blocking entrance into the room.
Laaqueel ran back out onto the sandy beach in front of Smuggler’s Bane Tower. Her gaze raked across Waterdeep Harbor and spied Drifting Eel at once. Mermen attacked the vessel, some of them riding the giant sea horses they used as mounts. Thankfully there weren’t as many of them as Laaqueel had feared. The advance party group had struck the mermen hard, as Iakhovas had planned.
The one-eyed prince remained standing in the prow of the pentekonter, his massive cloak billowing in the breeze behind him. The other three ships followed sedately behind, disgorging more sahuagin into the great harbor.
Suddenly the malenti’s vision cleared even more and she saw the sorcerer plainly. Ah, there you are, little malenti, her master’s voice sounded in her mind. You’ve endeavored so fiercely these past years to always keep me in your sight, do not give up the race now.
She knew he mocked her. Even diligent as she’d been about her spying on him, he had managed to hide so many things from her.
Iakhovas stretched a hand out at her before she could move.
Nausea twisted through Laaqueel, and it felt like her air bladder had burst. Her vision blanked for a moment and she took a step back even though she knew what was going on. When her foot touched down again, it wasn’t on sandy beach, but on Drifting Eel’s wooden deck. The quill implanted so close to her heart gave the sorcerer such power over her.
Civilar Nöth and his Waterdhavian Guardsmen stood at attention behind the sorcerer.
“Now,” Iakhovas said, a malevolent spark in his single dark eye, “now I will educate the surface dwellers in the poignancy of true horror, a skill at which I am a unparalleled. I’ve forgotten much more than they’ve ever had the misfortune to experience.”
He reached into the folds of his cloak and brought out an ornate headband chipped from a single black sapphire. Long labor had gone into the creation of the circlet. Not only did it have a perfect circumference, but tiny sharks had been chipped into it in bas relief, creating a twisting serpentine of figures.
Laaqueel recognized the headband as the one he’d forcibly taken from the mermen fourteen years ago, bringing total destruction to their village and sending the few survivors fleeing for their lives. Laaqueel had traveled with him then, knowing that Iakhovas had somehow managed a magical link with the headband and with the other items he searched for so diligently.
The malenti’s attention was drawn to the mermen trying to encircle Drifting Eel. A crossbow shaft leaped from one of them, speeding toward her face. She turned slightly, letting it go past, not caring that it struck one of the wererats. The creatures could only be harmed by silver or magical weapons. The quarrel that buried itself in the creature’s back was only a momentary inconvenience that drew a squeal of pained rage.
Twisting again and moving across the deck, Laaqueel continued praying, putting her skills to use. Taking a pinch of sulfur from one of the waterproof pouches on her harness, she directed the spell at the merman who’d shot at her. A luminescent column formed in the air before her, not even as bright as a glow lamp. It leaped at its target.
Hit by the magical stream of scalding heat, the merman cried out, his skin drying out and blackening. His corpse tumbled through the water, disappearing.
Casting again, knowing how much danger the mermen represented, Laaqueel touched the shark talisman that represented her faith to Sekolah and cast her next spell. She threw a hand outward and a pale lavender stingray burst into being. It sailed through the air and took to the w
ater, attacking the mermen at once. Most of those it touched succumbed to the magic, freezing up in fear and disappearing beneath the water. The remaining mermen were routed, chased off by the crossbows in the hands of the wererats.
Iakhovas put the circlet on and turned to face the open Smuggler’s Bane Tower. Laaqueel wasn’t sure of the extent of the power the headband gave the sorcerer over those he chose to influence, but she’d seen that the effect could be all-consuming, uniting those with intelligence as well as animals who normally didn’t get along well.
“Come,” he crooned, “obey my words and destroy my enemies. Unite with We Who Eat in our labors.”
Laaqueel knew he was projecting his voice, making sure it reached the hearing of the army he’d amassed for the night’s raid. Even Huaanton and the other sahuagin didn’t know the extent of the destruction Iakhovas planned. They knew only about the joined sahuagin tribes. They knew nothing of the aboleths, giant turtles and dragon turtles, eyes of the deep, giant crabs, and dozens of sharks, more than any sahuagin could ever hope to control. She was sure there were others even she didn’t know about.
With the presence of all those creatures she knew the sahuagin would assume Sekolah was aiding in their attack. Iakhovas would become even more favored among her people for being aided by the Great Shark, while she was only tolerated while he looked upon her with generosity. Part of the small hope she’d nurtured inside herself for the last fifteen years, that her own position among her tribe would improve, died then. Every advance she got was at Iakhovas’s behest. She would forever be his puppet. As long as Sekolah willed it, so she would remain alive.
