by Mel Odom
He considered the ships out in the harbor, his eyes drawn to one in particular.
XXX
13 Tarsakh, the Year of the Gauntlet
Laaqueel surveyed her image in the mirror with growing distaste. Iakhovas’s magic had woven an illusion over her that even she couldn’t pierce. She held her hand up to her reflection. Looking at her hand, she saw the webbing between her fingers, but the mirror image didn’t have it. Her fingers looked clean and smooth, grotesquely human, without any means of real defense. The hated tan color that marked her as different from the aquatic elves she was supposed to resemble most took on a hue that was more brown in the reflection. Cosmetics adorned the totally elven face she spied in the mirror, emphasizing her eyes and making them suddenly seem too large, her lips too full. Rose blush touched her pronounced cheekbones.
Thankfully, she wore the combat leathers Iakhovas had bade her wear while they were in the city. After they’d arrived, he’d ushered her into the suite, telling her there was not much time. The garments were of dark brown leather that was creased and worn, supple in its age. They covered her trunk and legs, leaving her breasts partially bared. Knee-high boots with flaring sides encased her feet too tightly. A long sword hung at her hip, almost touching the hardwood floor. A russet-colored cloak hung to her ankles, heavy with all the throwing knives, caltrops, and garrotes that she’d stored in the secret pockets she’d discovered.
“Despite what you yourself might think, little malenti, you look ravishing.”
Keeping her expression neutral, not wanting to show the anger she felt or the unrest caused by the fact she hadn’t heard him enter, Laaqueel turned to face her master and said, “I only hope to look satisfactory.”
Iakhovas nearly filled the door opening into the large suite. He looked like himself to her, and she wondered if he was covered by an illusion as well. He was taller than most men, taller even than the occasional Northman she’d encountered in her spying efforts along the Sword Coast.
“Wearing a true human’s guise is hard,” he said, “especially when you know you are so much more.”
His garments were azure and black, the colors bold and striking. His two-toned cape held the color scheme, black on the outside and azure on the inside. For once, he looked as though he had two eyes, and she knew the intensity of his illusion was deeply layered but built on the way she was normally allowed to see him. It reminded her again that she might not have ever truly seen his real face.
“Trust me when I say you look more than satisfactory.” Iakhovas walked to one of the room’s many windows and pulled the curtain back. Beyond the glass a cityscape spread out, the streets and alleys seen below their position stringing out to reach the sea. Wagons and dray horses lined those streets as the dockhands and sailors went about their business.
“Where are we?” she asked.
He kept his back to her and lifted one of the windows. The salty ocean breeze wafted into the room, washing out the stench of incense that had made it hard for Laaqueel to breathe. She hadn’t been able to lift the window herself and guessed that he’d used his magic to ward them closed. Wherever they were, the increased power of his illusion and the security he was maintaining told her he didn’t entirely feel safe there.
Nearly a tenday had passed since the confrontation with Huaanton. Iakhovas had not spoken of the sahuagin king any more, but he’d been absent from her much, not telling her where he’d traveled, and acting even more driven than she’d ever seen him. Every day he’d been gone had been agony for Laaqueel, not knowing what he was doing but knowing how tightly her fate was woven with his. The time when he was supposed to deliver the “miracle” to the sahuagin king was only five days away.
Laaqueel had seen no miracles on the horizon.
Then, this morning, he’d stepped back through one of the dimensional doors he kept in his sahuagin palace and commanded her to come with him. He’d given no explanation of where he’d been or what he’d been doing. Having no choice, Laaqueel had stepped through the dimensional door and ended up in this city only an hour ago.
“We’re in Skaug,” he replied.
The malenti knew of the city from her travels above the sea, but she couldn’t imagine what would bring them there. “The pirate capital of the Nelanther Isles?” she asked.
The mainlanders along the Sword Coast feared the place, and merchant ships lived in dread of the pirates who found a home port in Skaug. Only the most vicious and fearsome claimed the city as home, and the Skaug Corsairs protected the shores viciously from even those who pursued the pirates for crimes committed at sea and in their own countries. The Skaug Corsairs turned them all back, charging fees to those who stayed there.
“Yes,” Iakhovas said, turned, and grinned. “Little malenti, you’ve never known a time when you kept pace with any and all of my plans and machinations, but you’re going to learn more now. I’m feeling generous.” He grinned again broadly, full of self-confidence and purpose. “You’re not to know everything, but more than you have been allowed to know in the past.”
She refused to react to his statement because it was true. Of late, she’d been constantly reminded of how true that was. A newborn hatchling still trapped in its nursery with its voracious siblings had more control over its future.
“What are we doing here?” she asked.
“I, little malenti,” he rebuked her in a voice that sounded as gentle as steel encased in silk. “What am I doing here?”
She bowed her head, breaking eye contact in true sahuagin fashion. “Of course,” she said. “Forgive me.”
“Now you may ask me your question more properly.”
Anger flooded through the malenti priestess, but it wasn’t enough to quench her fear, or to make her forget that she’d have nothing without him. “What are you doing here, most honored one?”
“Marshaling the forces of yet another army I direct,” he told her expansively. “The sahuagin aren’t the only ones who follow me, nor only the creatures of the seas. There are dark cults spread around this world, among the surface dwellers, that know aspects of me. I’ve spoken with them of late, given notice to those as well to help me recover all that was taken from me. My war is escalating, my little malenti, and I shall break and shatter the surface dwellers.”
Laaqueel recognized it as the truth even as he spoke the words. She knew he’d had dealings with the druids of the Vilhon Reach, gathering more information in his dark quest and striking bargains. He also had an agent of sorts in the Sea of Fallen Stars, a pirate called Vurgrom. She had seen Iakhovas talking to the blustering pirate a handful of times through a crystal ball kept at the sahuagin palace. Most of the conversations had revolved around another pirate captain, a half-elf woman called Azla, who seemed determined to work at cross purposes to Vurgrom. Laaqueel had never been part of those conversations, though. Vurgrom had also delivered some of the items Iakhovas searched for by way of dimensional doors.
Iakhovas had a number of maps of the Sea of Fallen Stars in his private quarters. The few times she’d been allowed to view them only briefly, she’d seen notations scattered across the charts.
“Time to go,” the wizard announced. “They’re waiting for us and these are not men to be kept waiting.” He gestured to the door.
Laaqueel went, but she kept the gifts bestowed upon her by Sekolah close to hand, fearing she would have to use them. Iakhovas followed closely behind her.
A carriage awaited them at the front of the inn. The inlaid wood and the draped windows advertised the presence of wealth. The driver was clad in sky blue and crimson finery and wore a cap. His eyes never met Iakhovas’s or Laaqueel’s. Two crossbowmen stood at the back of the carriage, their weapons naked and ready.
Laaqueel hesitated when the driver opened the door. Riding in the carriage would mark them instantly as wealthy targets in the pirate city. She didn’t like the idea of being trapped in Skaug’s streets in terrain that she was so unused to.
“My lady,”
the driver said, offering his hand like a proper gentleman.
“Get into the carriage,” Iakhovas commanded. “No one who lives on this island will dare attack it.”
Reluctantly, Laaqueel allowed the driver to help her into the carriage. She sat back on one of the plush seats and gazed out the window. Taverns, festhalls and boarding houses lined the street, rubbing shoulder to shoulder with trade shops and mercantiles that offered services and goods. The promontory the inn was on provided a good view of the docks, showing the general portage offered to the pirate vessels as well as the private docks for the corsairs. Many of the sailors and passersby gave the carriage a lot of attention, but none seemed willing to draw attention themselves. The malenti closed her hand around the haft of her long sword.
Iakhovas sat across from her, arms spreading across the backrest of the bench. He appeared relaxed and totally content.
The carriage tilted slightly on its springs as the driver pulled himself up into the seat. A moment more and the carriage rocked forward. The horses’ hooves rang against the rocky street.
“Who are we going to see?” Laaqueel asked.
“A man named Burlor Maliceprow,” Iakhovas answered. “He’s called the Portmaster of Skaug, and even though this island empire knows no official ruler, Maliceprow’s word bonds everyone who lives here. He’s assembled the men we’re to meet.”
“Who are these men?” Laaqueel asked.
“Pirates,” he answered. “The fiercest bunch of men I’ve been able to rally to my standard. Maliceprow has relationships with all of them.”
“When did you arrange this?”
“Years ago.” Iakhovas smiled at her with that disconcerting, two-eyed gaze. “I’ve been known, little malenti, by a number of names throughout my life. Some of the undersea races know me as ‘the Taker.’ You know me as Iakhovas, or One Who Swims with Sekolah. The sahuagin know me as a prince. Here I have adopted the identity of Black Alaric.”
Laaqueel shook her head, struggling to believe everything he told her, yet knowing it was true.
“I must tell you, Black Alaric has had almost as many lives as I.” Iakhovas looked out through the window. “The first Black Alaric died in the Year of Giant’s Rage, over fourteen hundred years ago. He was the pirate king and captain who brought the pirates to the Nelanther after they were turned away from the Velen Peninsula, then there was the Black Alaric that brought down House Ithal in the Year of Scarlet Scourges. Other Black Alarics followed, each purporting to be the original and the legend continued to grow until it was believed he’s a man who cannot die. He has united the pirates in seven major wars along the Sword Coast in the last fourteen centuries.”
“You propose to become this Black Alaric?” Laaqueel asked.
Iakhovas took a black crepe bandanna from his pocket and tied it over his lower face. He pulled his cowl over his hair and the top of his face, cinching it tight so that only his eyes were revealed. “Little malenti, I am Black Alaric.”
Laaqueel remained silent, thinking, realizing that his masquerade had them both at risk here in the pirate stronghold.
“It had been nearly a hundred years since the last Black Alaric was heard from,” Iakhovas said. “Five years ago, after I’d decided what I was going to do about the Sword Coast and knew that the item I got from Serpentil was somewhere in that area, I found the newest man who dared to wear this mask and killed him.” He smiled, cold and evil. “Not only am I a sahuagin prince, little malenti, but I am a pirate king.”
The carriage came to a stop. Hurrying, the driver climbed down and opened Iakhovas’s door.
The wizard stepped out in the mask, and the driver moved back in fear. “Black Alaric,” he whispered before he caught himself.
Laaqueel climbed out of the carriage behind him, her hand never far from her long sword. She gazed in wide-eyed wonder at the great house before her.
It was set on a slope on the east side of the port. High walls surrounded the estate, enclosing grounds that had been well tended. Flowering shrubs and trees of every color covered the landscape, leaving room for inlaid brick walks that effectively divided the estate into various areas. From where she stood, Laaqueel saw one such meeting place that contained stone benches and a large stone table.
Standing four stories tall, the house loomed over the estate, carefully crafted so that many of the rooms had views out over the sea. Where most of the houses in Skaug had been built of wood, Maliceprow Manor and its stables and outbuildings had been constructed of cut stone elegantly laid. Guards stood at their posts.
Iakhovas led the way up the stairs to the main house, showing an easy familiarity with the place. Having no choice, Laaqueel followed, feeling out of her depth. She had no business there and felt the wizard should have left her at the palace where she could have gone about the preparations she needed to make for the upcoming battle.
“Alaric, join us over here, if you please.”
Turning on the verandah, Laaqueel spotted the speaker. He was a wide man with hard lines and a life of luxury that had let him go to fat, but the way he moved to stand from the small table where he’d been sitting let Laaqueel know he was still quick on his feet. His hair had been soft brown but was now going to gray in streaks, cut squared off at his jawline. Hazel eyes swept over the malenti daring enough to almost make her blush, something she hadn’t experienced in decades.
She thought perhaps it might be because she was aware of the illusion Iakhovas had wrapped around her with his glamour, knowing how her clothes revealed her upper body.
“Laaqueel,” Iakhovas said in the politest tone the malenti had ever heard him use, “may I introduce you to Portmaster Burlor Maliceprow, our host and the controlling power behind Skaug.”
Maliceprow smiled at the introduction and took Laaqueel’s hands in one of his. The other hand, the malenti noted, had been replaced by a mithral hook that gleamed with a razor’s edge.
“Such a charming lady you have with you, Alaric.” Maliceprow kissed the back of Laaqueel’s hand then released it.
“Thank you,” Laaqueel said, but she’d not prompted her voice. Such courtly manners didn’t come naturally to her. She realized her behavior had to have been caused by Iakhovas’s glamour.
“I have someone for you to meet as well,” Maliceprow announced. “Please sit and I’ll be back with him, then we can get to our meeting.”
Iakhovas sat at the table all laid out with meats and cheese and wines. Laaqueel followed his lead, sitting next to the verandah railing so she couldn’t be trapped against the house. She looked at the sea, judging it to be close enough to run to.
“Relax, little malenti,” Iakhovas said quietly. “You’ll come to no harm here.”
“What are we doing with these people?” she asked. “I didn’t know you were going to be affiliating with surface dwellers.”
He gazed at her with both his eyes, but she could occasionally see behind the missing one into the hollow where it had been. “Little malenti, I’ll deal with anyone who can help me reach my goals. For now, that happens to be, in part, these pirates.” He picked up a bit of meat and ate it. “In four tendays, I’m going to take Baldur’s Gate, and these men are going to help me. When we leave that city, it will not be as Waterdeep. I will destroy everything in that city that touches the river, and a message will be sent that no one is safe. At no time, at no place.”
Laaqueel heard the chill of menace in his words but she was still concerned. She didn’t see how he planned on mixing the sahuagin and the pirates. Before she could ask any of the questions that were on her mind, Maliceprow returned with another man in tow.
The newcomer was a tall man dressed in a scarlet blouse tucked into charcoal gray breeches. A long sword hung at his hip, counterbalanced with three throwing knives on the opposite hip. His black hair was carefully combed, pulled back and held in place by garnet and ivory combs. Silver hoop earrings hung from each ear. His brown eyes returned her gaze with fire. The cruel turn of his feat
ures were partially disguised by the short goatee and mustache that were fastidiously trimmed, but left in plain view the tattoo on his left cheek. It depicted a sharklike creature with a black haired mane twisted in mid-strike.
“I’ve added another ship’s captain to our roster and increased our strength,” Maliceprow said with pride. “I’d like to introduce Captain Falkane, also called the Salt Wolf. His ship is Bunyip. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”
“Bloody Falkane,” Laaqueel said, knowing the pirate for who he was.
Falkane took no offense at the use of his sobriquet. He smiled at her. “A name I’ve fairly won and proudly carry, wench. Make no mistake.”
“Falkane,” Maliceprow said, “will be joining us on the raid on Baldur’s Gate, Alaric.”
“Fine,” Iakhovas said, “then join me in a toast.” He picked up one of the wine bottles from the table and poured drinks all around. He raised his glass and waited until the others followed suit. “To the death of Baldur’s Gate, by sword and by fire!”
XXXI
22 Mirtul, the Year of the Gauntlet
Jherek sat in the morning sun in the small court off the temple of Lathander that overlooked the Athkatlan docks. He felt empty, totally dispirited. The low stone wall he sat on, already soaking up the sun, felt warm. His body was still filled with aches and pains from the fight in the tavern half a tenday ago, but he didn’t give much thought to them. Only some of the swelling and little of the bruising had gone away.
Sabyna, despite Captain Tynnel’s words, never came to see him. Breezerunner sailed that same afternoon. The ship’s mage hadn’t even left a note. That dealt Jherek a harsher blow than he had expected. Her absence, and the lack of a response about his lost passage, struck a hollow resonance inside him that he’d never before experienced, but there was nothing he could do about it.
