by Mel Odom
She avoided the running water in the center of the duct and was grateful she was sucking air through her lungs instead of water because the stench would have been even stronger. The glowing globe caught the attention of the long-bodied rats creeping through the duct and placed jade fires in their eyes.
Only a little farther on, Iakhovas stopped again. He gazed at the wall to his left.
With some effort, Laaqueel spotted the rune marked there. It wasn’t a glyph with any power, but it marked an area of some importance. Iakhovas stepped off a measured distance, then stomped his foot down, creating a hollow thump. Moving quickly, he reached down and seized the slab of stone. With a show of incredible strength, he lifted the man-sized slab and shoved it to the side. The glowing globe obediently moved, providing illumination that looked down into the opening.
Stepping around him, her nose wrinkling in disgust from the bitter stench that erupted from the opening, Laaqueel peered down into it. Fully six feet or more down, the jade light reflected against a white powder floor and walls.
“A lime pit,” Iakhovas explained. “It took me some time to find out the things I needed to know that brought us here, but I did. In the doing of it, I learned of this pit. A man named Nantrin Bellowglyn owns the Three Old Kegs, an inn nearby, and he prospers by renting out this as well. Lime breaks a corpse down faster than anything expect carrion eaters.” He chanted briefly, his voice carrying power.
A moment passed, and when he finished, he gazed into the lime pit. Laaqueel watched as well, wondering what magery he’d wrought. A low, pain-filled groan escaped from the lime pit. Then, incredibly, the malenti priestess watched as a sticklike figure pushed itself up from the white powder around it.
Skeletal, half-formed bones constructing the basic framework of a human being pushed through the lime powder body. The thing glared up at Iakhovas through the hollows of the half-dissolved skull that sat on the bony neck. The thing’s voice when it spoke was a mixture of hoarse, raspy anger and disgust.
“What do you want of me?” the thing demanded.
VII
4 Kythorn, the Year of the Gauntlet
Jherek braced himself as Khlinat drove the wagon team into the irregular line of sahuagin blocking the mouth of the alley that let out into Baldur’s Gate harbor. They’d passed most of them already, but the sea devils had taken refuge up against the buildings on either side of the alley, fighting hand-to-hand with citizens predominantly dressed in the Flaming Fist’s colors.
The sahuagin group at the end of the alley was wedged too tightly to scatter, and Jherek knew if the dwarf slowed they’d be overrun in heartbeats. The young sailor blocked trident thrusts with his hook and hacked at heads and limbs that got close enough. He’d left at least four sahuagin lying behind the wagon.
The dwarf squalled in anger as a sahuagin grabbed hold of the wagon and tried to pull aboard. Sonshal’s arquebus banged as Jherek went to Khlinat’s aid. The big bullet cored through the sahuagin’s head, punching it back off the wagon.
The horses kept to their pace, urged on by the dwarf slapping leather across their rumps. Their headlong run pushed the sea devils down before them, and their iron-shod hooves dealt grievous and mortal injury. The sahuagin clicked and whistled in pain and surprise, but two of them reacted quickly enough to catch hold of the animals. They popped their claws out and set to their bloody work.
“Swabbie!” Khlinat yelled.
Jherek was already in motion. With sure-footed grace, he stepped out onto the horse’s back like it was a deck pitching in a wild storm. He kept himself centered, then dropped onto the horse’s back and locked his legs with the skill he’d acquired riding up from Athkatla with the caravan. He swung the sword, coming down and cleaving the sahuagin from crown to chin.
The body twitched and fell away, but the moonlight glinted on the blood streaming from the horse’s neck. Jherek realized the animal was dead already and didn’t know it. There was no way to staunch the blood flow.
The young sailor turned his attention to the other horse. He reached out with the hook and caught the sahuagin in the muscles that joined the head and shoulder, tearing the flesh cruelly as he found a hold. He yanked and twisted, pulling the sea devil from the horse. One webbed foot pushed against the ground, and the sahuagin sprang at the young sailor more quickly than he thought possible.
Reacting instinctively, Jherek whipped his other hand across and caught the sahuagin in the face with his fist. Pain shot up his arm, but the sea devil went down under the horses’ hooves.
They broke through the sea devils at the harbor. Khlinat whipped the horses one last time, hauling them away from the dock, and the carcass of a small cargo ship that had burned nearly to the waterline. The horse beneath Jherek stumbled and almost fell, but fear drove the creature over the harbor’s side.
The wagon followed, and Khlinat yelled hoarsely in rebellion and fear, covering over Sonshal’s own shouts.
* * * * *
Laaqueel stared at the resurrected dead thing in the lime pit with revulsion so strong it nearly caused her to empty her stomach again. She stood through willpower alone.
Dead things weren’t meant to walk. Sekolah’s teachings were clear about that. Dead things were meant to be eaten as quickly as possible, whether they were from outside the sahuagin family or from in it. She’d heard stories about the dead being brought back to unlife, about vampires and ghouls, and she’d once been attacked by a group of drowned ones while scavenging shipwrecks with a band of humans she’d spied on and eventually handed over to Huaanton when he’d still been baron.
Iakhovas glared at her and gestured.
Instantly, the quill next to her heart twisted and the nausea went away. At least, the physical effects of it did, leaving her stomach resting quietly. Mentally, she still couldn’t stand the sight of the thing waiting quietly in the pit. Surface dwelling priests and priestesses had the ability to turn the undead, as did the hated sea elves, but as a priestess for Sekolah, she had no such ability. The drowned ones had nearly killed her before one of the humans she’d been working with turned them back.
“I would have something from you,” Iakhovas told the thing.
“I have nothing.”
“It was yours at one time,” Iakhovas argued. “I was told it still resided with your body.”
The thing ran its misshapen hands over its body. “I was killed and robbed. I don’t even remember being brought here.”
“Your name,” Iakhovas said, “was Cuthbert Drin and you were brother to Halbazzer Drin, the owner of Sorcerous Sundries here in Baldur’s Gate.”
“I’m in Baldur’s Gate?”
“Yes.”
The dead thing moved uncertainly. Its face took on features as the rest of it sharpened into shape as well. Laaqueel realized whatever magic Iakhovas had laid on it was continuing to work.
“Release me,” the thing ordered, knotting its crooked fingers and hands into fists. “This hurts.”
“No,” Iakhovas said.
“The lime burns!” The dead thing suddenly broke into a frenzy of activity, pacing and scratching itself. In places, the fingers penetrated the lime-covered skin. Tendrils of old blood wormed out, marring the white luster of the lime in the glowing globe’s glare.
“Of course it burns,” Iakhovas said. “It’s a struggle to keep you alive at all.”
“You can’t keep me like this.”
“Yes,” Iakhovas said. “I can.”
The dead thing moved faster, almost up to a run in the small area. It clawed at the walls of the pit, seeking some way to get out. “What do you want?”
“The ship you had with you on the day you were killed,” Iakhovas answered. “It’s mine, and I’ve come to claim it.”
“It was taken,” the dead thing argued.
“No,” Iakhovas replied. “I traced your steps, Cuthbert Drin, through the ordinary means of agents planted here at Baldur’s Gate, and through scrying and divining into the past. After I
had the facts, I found the moment in time you discovered the bottle high in the Orsraun Mountains near the Vilhon Reach. You and your brother, Halbazzer, found mention of the bottled ship in scrolls that came into your hands at the shop. Even twenty years ago, his rigorous adventuring days were behind him, robbed by the poisoned knife of an assassin hired to kill him. The damage was so great he never fully recovered from the attack. You had the bottled ship the day you died, and your murderers didn’t find it.”
“How do you know this?”
“I found two of your murderers,” Iakhovas said. “I took the time to question them, and I made certain of the veracity of their stories as I stripped their lives from them one layer at a time. Both stories, in the end, were screamed out and agreed on the fact that the killers hadn’t seen the bottled ship.”
“You know the mystery of the bottle?” the dead thing asked, picking at the lime-encrusted shreds of flesh hanging off it. “Though I tried any number of ways, I never succeeded in opening it. Even the glass wouldn’t shatter.”
“I know the secret of the bottle,” Iakhovas said. “I petitioned the elemental beings who created it, trading with them for their services.” He narrowed his single eye and deepened his voice. “Now give it to me or I’ll leave you there like that, unable to ever escape the fiery kiss of the lime that ate away your flesh and bones.”
“No!” The dead thing slapped and massaged at itself, still walking, still uncomfortable.
“Then burn.” Iakhovas started to walk away.
“Wait,” the dead thing whined.
Laaqueel watched as the dead thing dug down into the lime ashes and found a small bottle. The dead thing tossed it up to Iakhovas.
Stretching out a hand, Iakhovas said a word. Instantly the lime-encrusted bottle stopped, hovering above and not quite touching his palm. He took out a cloth from his cloak with his other hand, then wrapped it around the bottle and put it away without getting burned.
“I’ve done what you asked of me, wizard,” the dead thing said, wrapping its arms around itself and rocking with the pain. “Where is my release?”
Iakhovas gestured and spoke.
Immediately the dead thing disappeared in a cloud of whirling white lime.
Iakhovas replaced the stone slab that covered the hole. “Come, little malenti,” he growled in anticipation, “we’ve tarried here long enough.” He turned and strode back down the passageway in the direction they’d come, the glowing globe keeping pace with him.
Still unnerved by her experience and not wanting to confront any undead in the tight tunnel by herself, Laaqueel hurried after her master.
* * * * *
As the horses and wagon tumbled the eight or ten feet to the black harbor water, Jherek gathered himself and dived from the horse’s back. He plummeted toward the water and hit it cleanly, going under at once. Kicking out, he swam for the thrashing horses, aware of the sahuagin and the other sea creatures filling the water around him. Some of them changed course and headed for him.
He shoved the hook in the sash around his waist and closed on the horses with his sword. Grabbing the traces, he dragged the heavy sword blade across them, parting the leather in seconds. One of the horses swam away, but the other gave in to the wounds the sahuagin had inflicted on it and went still in the water.
Turning his attention back to the wagon, Jherek gratefully saw that it was tight enough at the sideboards and light enough to float—at least for the moment. Still, if the powder kegs had gotten too wet, Khlinat’s plan wouldn’t work.
The young sailor kicked out and swam to the wagon ahead of a pair of sahuagin. He grabbed the side with his empty hand and expertly pulled his weight aboard without tipping the wagon over. Sonshal worked among the kegs, stuffing fuses into their lids. The slow match coiled over his shoulder glowed orange more brightly when he blew on it to get the coal at its hottest.
Jherek dripped on the wagon. Two inches of water swirled around his boots as the impromptu craft took on water like a sieve. “We don’t have much time,” he told Sonshal.
“I’m aware of that, boy,” the man said, “but if these fuses aren’t measured off properly and cut right, we’re not going to get the effect your friend is wanting.”
Jherek glanced around. “Where is he?” He had to shout over the screams and hoarse yells of sailors and the men on the docks.
“I don’t know.” Sonshal took a brief respite to boot a sahuagin who was trying to climb onto the wagon, knocking the sea devil back into the water. “I lost sight of him when we hit the water and barely managed to stay with the wagon myself.” He poked another fuse into the next barrel.
Concerned, Jherek peered into the water, uncertain if he’d see the dwarf for sure. Too many warring shades of light and darkness overlapped the dark harbor water, turning it alternately into a bright, reflective surface or into a dark and depthless one. Men died quickly out there, on sahuagin claws or tridents, broken and torn apart by the great creatures that had been summoned from the river.
A hand broke the surface only a few feet away.
Jherek reached out and caught the hand, then balanced his weight on the wagon as he took on the dwarf’s weight and pulled him from the water. Khlinat’s face was masked with fresh blood mixed with water that ran quickly down his chin and throat. He blew his nose noisily and freed his hand axes. Bellowing curses, the peg-legged dwarf hurled himself at their foes.
Jherek defended the other side, keeping the sea devils from Sonshal’s back and from the wagon. He ignored the fatigue that filled him, and the throbbing pain that came from the laceration by his eye. In his mind, he imagined Malorrie there, guiding his hand by voice control.
“It’s done!” Sonshal roared in warning. “Get overboard!” He dived over himself, setting the example. Khlinat hit the water next.
Jherek took a final glance over his shoulder and watched the smoke streaming from the fuses tucked securely in the powder kegs. He didn’t know if the dwarf’s plan was going to work, but he knew nothing else that would either. He said a prayer to Ilmater and leaped as sahuagin pulled themselves up into the wagon where water was already halfway up the barrels.
Jherek went deep, swimming for the bottom of the harbor. Khlinat had said he’d seen men use small amounts of the smoke powder to fish with. With the explosions, the concussive force rippled through the water and overloaded the sensitive lateral lines that ran the length of a fish’s body, stunning the creatures. Since sahuagin were reputed to have lateral lines as well, which made them so deadly in their home territory, the dwarf had hoped the blast would have the same effect.
Traveling through the water, the sound of the detonations came in rapid succession to Jherek’s ears. He held his breath tightly, knowing the blast force would only be a second or two after.
A heartbeat later, it hit him like a brick wall. He struggled to hold onto his consciousness but everything went black.
* * * * *
Pulling back in the alley quickly, Pacys let the sahuagin’s trident rip the air harmlessly in his face. The old bard moved with fluid economy, echoing the triumphant cadence of the song that echoed within his head.
Lifting the staff, he blocked the sea devil’s second slash then slid the weapon to the side and slammed the iron-capped end into his opponent’s face. While the sahuagin remained dazed, Pacys twisted the staff in the middle. Foot-long blades sprang out of either end. He took another step back, set himself, and rammed one blade into the creature’s thorax, penetrating the heart.
Still, the sahuagin remained determined to get to its opponent. It raked the air with its claws as Pacys held it back with the staff. The oily black eyes eventually dimmed and the sahuagin draped over the weapon.
Pacys shoved the corpse to the alley floor, aware that other sahuagin already crowded forward. He used the staff with lethal efficiency, clearing a space around him and winning the respect of his savage adversaries. Still, he burned inside to be moving, to pursue the young man he’d spotted
on the wagon.
During a brief lull, he knelt down quickly and pinched up some sand from the cobblestones. “Oghma, grant that my spell be strong.” He flicked the sand out as he said the words. When he finished, he thought he saw a shimmer wash over the combatants in the alley.
In the next instant, nearly two thirds of their number stumbled and fell, asleep by the time they hit the cobblestones. With the way much clearer, Pacys ran toward the docks.
At the end of the alley, the old bard spotted the sahuagin standing at the dock’s edge and peering down, but he didn’t see the wagon with the young man in it. The old bard went forward, drawn by the music that grew still stronger inside his head. Fearful of what might have taken place, he told himself that nothing could have happened to the young man without causing the song in his heart and his head to go away.
As long as the tune lived, so did the young man. He felt that had to be true, but he wasn’t certain. Staying down from the clustered sahuagin, he raced to the edge of the dark quay and peered down into the water as they were doing. With the wavering light from so many of the nearby buildings and ships that had been torched, to say nothing of the docks in places, it took him a moment to spot the wagon.
It floated, although the amount of water it was taking on as its weight dragged it down testified that it wouldn’t float long. The sahuagin jumping after it from the docks made that time even less. The old bard barely made out the gray streamers of smoke curling up from the small barrels in the back.
In the next instant, though, the barrels detonated one by one. The series of explosions threw up geysers of water, smoke, wood chips, and a wave of force that blew Pacys from his feet.
* * * * *
Live, that you may serve.
