by Mel Odom
Pressing forward, Khlinat engaged the first sahuagin to place a webbed foot on the dock.
“Have at ye, then,” the dwarf growled.
He whirled the hand axes before him, gripping them midway up the hafts. His furious onslaught battered through the sea devil’s defenses and turned the trident aside. In another moment, he stretched up and buried one of the hand axes at the base of the sahuagin’s throat. The lights dimmed in the oily black eyes, but there were plenty more to take that sahuagin’s place.
Jherek joined Khlinat, lending his sword arm, feeling his wounds burn. Blood still flowed from the cut beside his eye, threatening to blind him. He wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve.
Khlinat kicked his peg leg up to the center of the dead sahuagin’s chest, then pushed his opponent off the hand axe and back into the water.
“We can’t hold this position,” Jherek told him, blocking trident thrusts with his sword.
The motions came swiftly and certainly to him as they always did. Malorrie had trained him well, giving him one of the first instances of confidence he’d ever known.
“I know it, swabbie,” the dwarf replied, “but we’ll hold it long enough mayhap for them what’s got heart to set up a skirmish line we can fall back to. Just don’t go getting yerself killed afore we’ve got a chance to make our grand escape.”
Jherek gave himself over to the battle, fighting past the homesickness and uncertainty. If the destiny he’d been given was to die here, this night, then he was going to see that it was done rightly and well. Malorrie had trained him to always sell his life dearly.
He batted a trident aside with a deft move of his wrist, setting himself up for a lightning riposte that spilled the sahuagin’s life’s blood from its throat. When the creature grabbed its throat, suddenly more interested in staying alive than in fighting, Jherek grabbed the dying sea devil and used it as a shield.
“Now, swabbie!” Khlinat yelled.
Taking a step back, getting a brief respite from the other sahuagin by hurling their dead comrade among them, Jherek glanced at the end of the dock where men had shoved cargo crates into a defensive line.
“Quick as you can!” Khlinat turned and followed his own advice, sprinting for the crates.
Jherek didn’t hesitate. He deflected a pair of thrusts from two different tridents, took a step to the side, and cut the hamstrings of both legs on a third sea devil as the creature tried to turn and face him. Wheeling, drawing his blade back, he strode forward, putting a shoulder into the sahuagin’s midriff and knocking it back into the others.
Slipping in the blood covering the dock for only a moment, Jherek got his feet under him and ran.
A dozen more sahuagin climbed over the railing behind him. Glancing down the quay, he saw the swarm of sea devils pulling up onto the docks. Weapons gleamed in the moonlight and from the fires that were spreading through the warehouses.
* * * * *
Praying to summon the power given her by obedience to Sekolah, Laaqueel held up her palm and thrust it toward the big surface dweller rushing at her with his upraised hammer. She felt the molten heat leave her hand. It only caused a slight visible ripple as it passed.
The spell struck Fyidler Tross with physical impact and dropped the big Flaming Fist mercenary to his knees. He screamed in pain, trying desperately to hang onto his warhammer. Huge blisters covered his flesh, bursting as they filled to capacity, then filling again the way the malenti had seen surface dwellers fry their eggs.
He called on his gods in a faltering voice, then crumpled to the deck, already dead. The other mercenaries gave his death no heed, absolutely fearless in their attack. They engaged the sahuagin with bloodthirsty enthusiasm, yelling curses and impugning their heritage.
Laaqueel set herself, regretting that the battle had to take place on the ship’s deck. She was much more at home in the water where she had the opportunity to attack from above or below instead of merely in a horizontal line. Most surface dwellers never knew how truly intricate the act of battle could be.
Holding the trident in both hands, she blocked a swordsman’s overhand sweep. The blade struck sparks from her trident haft while another man closed in from her left. He’d intended to take advantage of the diversion his comrade created. Instead, Laaqueel ducked under his sword swipe, tangled his legs with the trident haft, and pulled him from his feet unceremoniously. The first man thrust at her, putting all his weight behind his sword.
The malenti glided to the side, missing the familiar feel of the ocean around her. The sword slid through her hair. Before the man had a chance to protect himself, she spiked him with the trident, twisting viciously to tear the wounds open further.
Other mercenaries trampled over their fallen comrades in their zeal to get to her. Laaqueel retreated before them and reached into her harness pouch. She took out a straight piece of iron she kept there. She prayed over it as the men charged her, then released the energy through it. The iron dissolved, consumed by the spell.
Four of the attacking mercenaries froze in place, becoming a momentary blockade for their comrades. The four affected mercenaries fell like statues, their limbs locked around their weapons. Five mercenaries pushed over the other men, still not losing the courage they displayed.
They weren’t like other humans, Laaqueel knew. After seeing the power she wielded, most other surface dwellers would have broken off the attack.
Those men you see before you are Flaming Fists, little malenti, Iakhovas said in her mind. Warriors tried and true. They make up fully a tenth of this city’s population, and they’ll give their life’s blood to see Baldur’s Gate stand. They’ll gladly spill yours for the same reason.
Laaqueel blocked a sword slash, maneuvering to use the remaining five against each other so they couldn’t all attack at once. She kept her trident before her in both hands, blocking rapidly, then burying it in one man’s chest. Letting go of the trident, the malenti priestess popped her retractable claws from her fingers and toes. When it came to close-in fighting, few were naturally more dangerous than the sahuagin.
V
4 Kythorn, the Year of the Gauntlet
Dodging another sword thrust, a prayer to Sekolah already on her lips, Laaqueel reached into her pouch and removed a small portion of oak bark. As she finished the prayer, the bark was consumed in a small burst of heat. Instantly she felt the effects as her skin tingled. A sword she couldn’t stop in time rattled against her side with the dulled thunk of an axe hitting a tree, but it didn’t break her skin.
Confident of the new protection she’d summoned, secure in her belief in the Shark God, Laaqueel gave herself over to the blood frenzy that was her heritage as a sahuagin. She dived into the mass of surface dwellers, using their proximity to each other as a weapon. Hand and foot claws slashed at the five men, turning their flesh to ribbons. Daggers found her, and the occasional sword’s edge, but none of them did any real damage to her.
In seconds it was over. She stood on the blood-spattered deck above the dead and the dying, her gills flaring as they tried to meet the increased demand of her body. She glanced around the deck, seeing that the other sahuagin had successfully beaten back the Flaming Fist attack. There were already other boats in the water streaking for that ship as well as the other pirate vessels. She saw their standards now, a red fist wreathed in yellow flames emblazoned against a red spearpoint.
The cog sailed on into the harbor, cutting through water filled with sahuagin, sharks, sea snakes, giant water spiders, dragonfish, giant gar, and smaller crustaceans that scurried across the ocean floor at Iakhovas’s bidding.
“Where were you while we were fighting these men?” Laaqueel demanded, turning her gaze to the stern castle where the man stood looking out over the carnage spread before him.
Dressed in black and aquamarine, a long sable cloak drifting in the storm winds behind him, Iakhovas appeared pleased. The black sapphire circlet he wore had small shark figures chipped into it twining
about each other. She knew it gave him the power he needed to control the sea creatures that had invaded Baldur’s Gate.
Iakhovas turned his hard face toward her. A cruel, mirthless smile touched his lips and he said, “Little malenti, do not presume too much. I am and will be your master.”
Deep within her, Laaqueel felt the black quill spin and prick her heart. Pain and nausea drove her to her knees and she voided her stomach.
“Favored one,” a nearby sahuagin shouted, coming to her aid.
“No,” Laaqueel said, holding up a hand to halt the warrior’s attempt to reach her. She didn’t know what Iakhovas would do to him for interfering. She regained her feet with difficulty, making herself remember that everything she was involved with was at Sekolah’s bidding. She locked eyes with Iakhovas. “Forgive me. I spoke in haste.”
The pain clutching her heart disappeared. She inhaled through her gills more easily.
“Never forget, little malenti,” Iakhovas warned. “Too many things are coming together now for me to worry about you and your indiscretions. I am king of your people, and I suffer your presence only as long as it is in my favor.”
“I understand.”
“You will address me as Exalted One,” Iakhovas commanded. “I am your king, and you will recognize that as well.”
“Exalted One,” Laaqueel said.
Arrows ripped through the rigging as archers at the Seatower of Balduran got the range. Sahuagin crossbowmen knelt and returned fire.
“Subservience in a menial is a good trait,” Iakhovas said. “Don’t forget it. As to helping you, remember that in helping you I am also helping myself. I’ve been giving aid in ways that will be known presently, and I’ve been inconvenienced over the last few tendays.”
She knew he was talking about the injuries he’d suffered at Huaanton’s hands when he’d become king of the sahuagin. Though he hadn’t shown it at the time, Laaqueel learned it had taken more out of him than he would admit.
“I’m going,” Iakhovas said.
“You’re leaving the battle?” Laaqueel couldn’t believe it. He’d done the same thing in Waterdeep, though, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise.
In the distance, a flaming warehouse collapsed in a rush of fire and smoke. People who’d taken shelter inside it from the invaders were crushed or burned to death. The high-pitched keening coming from the few survivors barely penetrated the agonized screams of fear that rolled over the docks.
“They don’t need me here,” Iakhovas said. “Man, dwarf, elf, sahuagin, and sea creature, they all know how to kill each other without any guidance on my part.”
“But, Exalted One, you’re their king. They’ll notice your absence.”
Iakhovas smiled. “I don’t think so. Even should they look for me, little malenti, I am here for them.”
He gestured, releasing something from his hand that suddenly swirled around on its own axis. In the blink of an eye, a huge, fierce looking sahuagin appeared beside Iakhovas. Laaqueel understood immediately that the replica was how he looked in his sahuagin form to the rest of her community. Gazing at the harsh features, she realized Iakhovas had deliberately made himself handsome by sahuagin standards. He hadn’t done that at Waterdeep, and Laaqueel thought it was mute testimony that his powers had dramatically increased since then.
“Now,” Iakhovas said, “we can go.”
“Where?”
“To pursue my own interests.”
Iakhovas released a sea gull feather into the wind, then he leaped into the air and hung there for a moment. Fear ran like ice through Laaqueel’s veins. If the sahuagin saw Iakhovas openly doing magic, he would lose their trust immediately. Even most warriors regarded a priestess’s powers with suspicion.
“Don’t panic,” Iakhovas said. “I’ve taken precautions. None of those around you can see either of us anymore. Come.”
He gestured again, pointing at a place near the malenti as he glided above the deck. He flicked his finger, and a silver blob was flung off. Laaqueel watched as the tiny silver blob sailed through the air, then splashed against an invisible surface three feet above the ground. It glimmered and disappeared, consumed by the spell.
“Get on, little malenti,” Iakhovas ordered.
Hesitantly, Laaqueel moved in the direction of where the silvery blob had disappeared. Even though she guessed that it was there, she was surprised when she bumped into an invisible object. Running her hands around it, she discovered that it was circular in shape but only had two dimensions, curved slightly concave like a clamshell.
“Hurry,” Iakhovas urged.
Only the fear of his disapproval made Laaqueel climb onto the magic platform. Her weight shifted it only a little as it floated, but it quickly righted itself.
Without another word, Iakhovas flew forward, staying low over the water as he aimed them northwest toward the city proper. Glancing below, she spotted another Flaming Fist ship as it was boarded by sahuagin. The ship’s defenders held the line for a moment, then broke as the sahuagin grabbed them in claws and jaws.
Laaqueel stayed hunkered down on the platform, praying to Sekolah to guide her. She wasn’t surprised that Iakhovas had his own agenda tonight—he always did—but Baldur’s Gate hadn’t been taken quite as much by surprise as Waterdeep had.
* * * * *
“We can make a stand here, damn ye!” Khlinat roared as he chopped at a sahuagin hand that reached across the crates blocking that section of the harbor. Sea devil fingers splattered to the dock.
Standing beside him, Jherek concentrated on his swordplay, batting aside the trident thrusts. Other men stood shoulder to shoulder with him, making a tight line to hold back the sahuagin attackers. So far they’d managed to hold their position despite the mass of sea devils on the other side.
Only now a bearded man in chain mail with the Flaming Fist standard on his tabard was trying to get them to break ranks. He carried a broadsword in one scarred fist.
“Stand down and fall back!” the man roared.
“Who the hell do ye think ye are to be giving us orders?” Khlinat demanded. Several other sailors echoed his sentiments, adding various curses.
“I’m Sergeant Hobias Churchstone,” the grizzled man said, “of the Flaming Fist Mercenary Company.”
Spotting a familiar shape at the base of the crates he defended, Jherek stooped and caught up the boat hook that had been abandoned there. It slid into his hand naturally, curving up from between his spread fingers.
“Get some oil!” one of the sailors yelled. “We’ll get us a proper bonfire going.”
Out in the harbor, the distinctive bunyip roar sounded again. A thousand fear-filled memories charged through Jherek’s mind, whipping by like a school of startled fish, shaking him to his very core. Everything he remembered about his father scared him, from the memories he actually had of the man to what he’d later learned of him in stories.
He’d been four when his father had lashed a man to the mainmast then made Jherek stand by while he whipped him to death. The man had stolen from his bunkmate, a crime that Bloody Falkane didn’t put up with. Steal from anyone else and it was all right, but never from Bunyip’s crew. The only blood spilled aboard Bunyip had been with Bloody Falkane’s blessings.
After the man had died, the pirate captain ordered the body hung from the mast by its feet, a grim reminder to all the crew about where their loyalties lay. It had taken weeks for the carrion birds that regularly followed ships at sea to finish stripping the meat from the corpse.
A sahuagin thrust at Jherek again, shoving a trident across the stacked crates. Jherek twisted and slipped the blow, then captured the trident’s haft behind the fork with his hook. Yanking the sahuagin off-balance, he swung his sword, cleaving his opponent’s skull.
“Fall back!” Churchstone ordered. “You can hold this position for only a few minutes more. They’re starting to close in from the sides.”
Glancing over his shoulders in both directions, Jherek
knew the pronouncement was true. The sahuagin had battled across other boats and sections of the docks, climbing onto the mainland in front of the shops and warehouses that lined the harbor district. Fire claimed the interiors of more buildings.
“Where would ye be after leading us?” Khlinat roared.
“To the warehouse behind you,” Churchstone said. “We’re better prepared for them there.”
Jherek risked a glance at the warehouse, noting its disheveled appearance and the open bay doors. The interior was dark and immense. He turned to the dwarf, knowing Khlinat had fallen into the leadership role for the group of dockworkers surrounding them through his prowess and loud voice. The Flaming Fist sergeant had recognized it as well.
“Khlinat,” Jherek said, blocking another trident thrust and pinning the weapon against the crate. Before the sahuagin had a chance of pulling the trident back, the young sailor flicked the hook out and caught his opponent through the gills. Jherek gave a twist and a yank that tore the sahuagin’s throat out. “Retreating does make sense. We made this line and we held them. Now it’s time to fall back and meet them again.”
The dwarf fought gamely, avoiding a thrown javelin, then batting aside a trident thrust and slamming home another hand axe into the sahuagin’s thorax. “Aye, swab, ye have the right of it.” He blocked another blow and missed one of his own. “At times, I’m a prideful man. I don’t like backing away from no fight.”
“By Tymora’s favored smile and grace, you sawed-off runt!” Churchstone roared. “You’re not retreating from a damned fight. You’re moving to better wage it.”
“Have a care as to how ye address me,” the dwarf roared back. “Else, if ye should survive the blades of these sea devils, ye will soon have another fight on yer hands.”
