by Mel Odom
Iakhovas touched the brain coral and the image changed again. When it cleared once more, it showed a massive wall lying under a stretch of ocean, only a short distance from the surface. The wall looked smooth, obviously manmade and constructed with care. She knew how massive it was from comparing the fish and the hated sea elves swimming nearby.
“We Who Eat of Serôs are held captive in a tiny portion of all that is available. The elves and surface dwellers call the area the Alamber Sea. None of the sahuagin trapped inside it have ever been allowed to leave that area in any great numbers. Only hunting groups in twos and threes have escaped through the sea elf guards that man the wall.”
Laaqueel was horrified. “But if they’re not allowed to migrate, how do they live? If they’re not careful, they could over-hunt an area—”
“And die?”
Laaqueel said nothing. It was too ghastly to put into words. When sahuagin over-hunted a region—which was seldom—there were whispered stories of how they’d turned on each other, eating the young and the weak until the region repopulated and the hunting was good again. It was one thing to eat another after death, or after a blood challenge, but preying on each other as a food source wasn’t permitted except under the harshest of circumstances.
“Yes, little malenti. Those of your brethren have had to be careful over the years. The horrors you imagine, they’ve had to live through. That wall is over a hundred miles long, sixty feet tall, and a hundred feet thick. The sea elves and their allies have kept garrisons along it two miles apart to patrol. They call it the Sharksbane Wall.”
Laaqueel burned the name into her memory, knowing it would forever live in infamy among the sahuagin.
“Until now, the elves and their allies have believed that wall to be impenetrable, but no more. I’m going to change that.”
“You must tell the others,” Laaqueel said, knowing the outrage would fire the blood of the warriors.
“I will. When the time is right. Now I am telling you.”
“When we free them, what then? They will be hunted.”
Iakhovas nodded. “Yes, they will. Probably more hunted than anything ever before in the history of Serôs. The sea elves and most of the other underwater races fear nothing more than We Who Eat.”
“That is as it should be,” Laaqueel stated proudly, “but they will have many enemies.”
“Only the inadequate fail, little malenti.”
Laaqueel looked at the long wall revealed in the crystal brain coral. “It is as you say, as Sekolah wills.”
“Don’t be so taken aback,” Iakhovas suggested. “I’ve not come this far merely to free them from their prison that they might be killed. I’ve arranged allies for them. Other races in Serôs who would like to see the haughty sea elves brought to their knees. The elves have a city there—Myth Nantar.”
Cold dread closed in around Laaqueel. She’d heard of the city, and of the dangers that lay there. “The lost city of the elves?”
“One of them,” Iakhovas acknowledged. “Myth Nantar is special to the Serôsian sea elves. What have you heard of it?”
“That its elves were driven from it by wild magic they and their allies unleashed during one of their wars.”
Iakhovas gazed into the brain coral. “When Myth Nantar began its fall and the magic ranged out of the sea elves’ control, the sahuagin who are now trapped behind that wall raided there often. They helped drive out the last of the sea elves and claimed many treasures as their own.”
“Still, they fell against the greater numbers of the sea elves and their allies.”
“Yes, but then We Who Eat stood alone. It’s not that way now. According to the prophecies of the sea elves, Myth Nantar will be returned to them in time to usher in a new period of greatness for their culture. They even believe they have a weapon there that will defeat me.”
“Defeat you?” Laaqueel asked, trying to absorb everything she was being told. “We have no reason to journey to Myth Nantar.”
“We will, little malenti. You’ll see.” Iakhovas gazed at her, resolutely and calm. “We can’t free our people without taking the war we’ll be waging to Myth Nantar. The sea elves must be broken again.”
“What about the weapon they have?”
“That weapon …” Iakhovas mused. “I depend on that weapon of theirs, little malenti, and I depend on their faith to use it against me.”
Laaqueel controlled her fears through discipline learned in her calling. Her lack of faith in Iakhovas himself was lessened as he revealed everything to her so calmly. He was undertaking the effort to free the other sahuagin in spite of all the odds against him. There could be no greater task that Sekolah would put before him.
Or her.
The realization of that made her proud. The Great Shark had tested her in the past, given her a birth defect that should have caused her death either as a hatchling or at any time growing up, and he’d given her all her massive doubts to overcome. Now that she knew what it was all for, she realized it had only been to make her stronger—strong enough to go to a land-locked sea and free those who’d never known freedom, to fulfill the future of her people while shattering the prophecies of the hated sea elves.
“Most Exalted One,” Laaqueel said, assuming the open and defenseless stance of a sahuagin facing another in a position of authority, spreading her arms out to her sides to leave herself open to attack. She kept her eyes down out of deference to him. “In the past I’ve been doubtful and borderline rebellious toward you. I now pledge to you my complete allegiance and my promise never to work against you.”
“And your doubts? Will those continue to plague you?”
“I swear by Sekolah the Uncaring that I will struggle with those,” Laaqueel said. She stared at the wall, and her hatred grew anew for all the surface dwellers. This wall was blasphemy.
“That’s good enough for me,” Iakhovas said. “In return, I promise that through us the Great Shark will find a way to destroy that wall and free those who have been trapped there for so long.” He touched the crystal brain coral.
Slowly, the image held inside dimmed, but Laaqueel knew she would never forget that hateful wall.
Iakhovas pushed himself up from his chair. “Come, Most Sacred One.”
The malenti was surprised to hear him use the title with such respect. She straightened herself, accepting the responsibility of the office she’d been thrown into. Her doubts could no longer confine her, no longer take away her strength. She was a child of Sekolah, and the Great Shark had designed a grand current for her to ride. She would follow it with straight fins and without hesitation. Anyone who tried to stop her would die.
“Let us allow our warriors to see us in our coming glory that their hearts may be strengthened before we take them into the land of fire. We have many plans to make.”
She followed him, certain with every stroke that she was going toward her destiny.
XXIV
28 Kythorn, the Year of the Gauntlet
“Your lady doesn’t approve of you working on this ship. I think she believes you should only be a passenger.”
Jherek felt a flush of embarrassment when he realized Azla was standing beside him. The ship’s captain wore tight black breeches with flaring cuffs over boots and a black leather vest with silver embroidery. Her scimitar and dirk hung at her side.
“She’s not my lady,” Jherek replied, “we’re merely friends.” He glanced up at the stern castle where Sabyna stood and felt guilty. Sabyna definitely didn’t like the idea of the young sailor working around the pirate vessel. However, Sabyna had been working with Azla’s own ship’s mage, an old man named Arthoris who’d spent his entire life on the Sea of Fallen Stars. It took both their efforts to keep Black Champion racing after Vurgrom’s pirate ships. The small pirate fleet consisted of four vessels, headed up by Maelstrom, Vurgrom’s personal ship. So far, none of the pirate vessels had seemed to spot them. Black Champion trailed out of sight, locked onto its prey by a spell Ar
thoris had cast.
Azla crossed her arms over her breasts and glanced up in irritation at Sabyna. “Aye, I hear you,” she said, “but that’s not the understanding I get when I look at her. Either I’m wrong or you’re mistaken.” She turned her dark gaze back on him. “Would you care to put a wager on which likelihood is more correct?”
Jherek flushed again. “No, lady.”
He tried to return his attention to the sail he was mending. The cloth was in fairly good shape, showing some definite time put to hard use at sea, but it was serviceable. At least, it would be after all the great rents were repaired.
“No, Cap’n,” Azla corrected without rancor but with definite steel in her voice.
“No, Captain,” Jherek said. He drew more of the thick thread for his needle, measured off a length, then knotted the end of the twin strands. He returned his attention to his sewing.
“I’ll tell you now,” Azla said, dropping a hand to her scimitar, “I’ve never suffered the presence of anyone on my ship who made me feel ill at ease.”
“She doesn’t mean anything by it.” Jherek fumbled for words, desperately seeking some answer to the problem the two women had presented him. Over the past few days, both women had sought him out and talked to him about the other. When he’d asked Glawinn for advice, the paladin had only smiled at him and lifted his sword to begin Jherek’s training anew. The young sailor had been thankful for the swordplay. At least for a time it had taken his thoughts from the friction between the two women, even if it left him bone-tired afterward.
“I don’t see how that could be true,” Azla snapped. “Her disapproval of me isn’t unintentional.”
Jherek blew out a tight breath, wondering if he was about to make matters worse. “It isn’t you she disapproves of, Captain. It’s pirates in general. Her brother was killed by one.”
Azla returned his gaze.
“Sabyna was just a child when it happened,” Jherek explained. “She saw the whole thing. She’ll never forget that.”
Surprisingly, Azla’s face softened. She looked away from Jherek and back up at the young woman standing in Black Champion’s stern. “Aye, then she’ll never forget or forgive.”
“No,” Jherek said, knowing it was true. “I don’t think she will.”
Azla was quiet for a moment, alone with thoughts that captured all of her attention. She shook her head slightly and grimaced. “Who was the pirate?”
Jherek focused on mending the sail again. “A man named Falkane. He’s called Bloody Falkane and the Salt Wolf.”
“I’ve not heard of him,” Azla said.
“Falkane’s well known along the Sword Coast.” Jherek took up another stitch, pulling the sailcloth neatly together. The spacing was important if the sail was to fit correctly again.
“He’s still alive?”
“Aye.” Jherek remembered seeing Bunyip in Baldur’s Gate, and the eerie wail echoed again in his mind. He shivered in spite of the balmy heat that lay over the Sea of Fallen Stars.
“That must be a hard burden to carry,” Azla commented, then called out briefly to her crew, ordering sails trimmed.
“Anything associated with Falkane is a hard burden.”
Jherek tried not to let too much bitterness sound in his voice, but knew he failed. He hadn’t even intended to speak his thoughts, but they’d been too strong to remain mute. Thankfully Azla seemed so busy with her crew for the moment that she didn’t notice. He took out more of the thick thread.
“You’ve got a steady hand with that needle,” Azla told him a moment later.
“Thank you.” Jherek took up another stitch, gathering the material. Black Champion’s speed increased and she slid across a large swell that lifted her up and set her back down quickly enough to roll the young sailor’s stomach slightly.
“You’re a sailor then?” she asked him. “Not like your paladin friend?”
“Aye. Nearly all I’ve known is the sea.”
“And you like it here?”
“More than any other place I’ve been.”
Her line of questioning made Jherek believe that she hadn’t always known the sea. Yet, with the grace and certainty she displayed on the deck, he couldn’t imagine her not in command of a ship. As Finaren often declared, ships’ captains were born and made, hammered into shape by events rather than through book learning.
Azla nodded and said, “But you’re young. There are probably few places you’ve actually been.”
Jherek tied off another stitch as he gave consideration to what she’d said. “I’ve been up and down the Sword Coast a number of times. I’ve been to Waterdeep, Baldur’s Gate, Athkatla, and a number of cities to the north. I’ve seen my share of things.”
“And now you’re here in the Sea of Fallen Stars to see yet more.”
“As the gods will it.”
An icy chill touched Jherek again as he remembered the great voice that had haunted him upon occasion since he was a child.
“Personally,” Azla informed him in a flat tone, “I don’t believe the gods take an interest in anyone.”
Jherek shrugged, then touched the praying hands of Ilmater hanging on the thong around his neck. “I have my beliefs.”
“Do you find your god shading the luck and opportunities you have in your favor?”
Jherek considered the question gravely. Religious matters were important and he wanted to answer the question most correctly. “At times I have thought so.”
“But you don’t know?”
“No.”
“Then how can you profess to believe?”
“Because believing is different than knowing,” Jherek answered. “Once I know, how can I believe? Knowledge isn’t faith.”
Azla regarded him in silence. “You’ve been talking to soothsayers far too long.”
Jherek shrugged, taking no offense. “Captain, I learned a long time ago that each man has to build within himself the things he’ll need to get through life. Part of that is a way of thinking, certain skills that are meant to put food on the table and a roof over his head, other skills that keep him free from the tyranny of other men. Belief has to be in there as well, to shape a man’s destiny and lead him forward.”
“And what if that destiny is a bent or broken one?” Azla asked. “Where does belief fit in then?”
The question lit a new fire under all the doubts that Jherek tried to keep buried within him. He hesitated for a moment, then gave her the answer Malorrie had always given him. “A man’s belief helps him through, helps him remain himself in spite of the trials around him.”
“What about you?” she asked him. “Is your belief helping you so far?”
“Aye.” Jherek’s answer was given with far less confidence than he would have liked to admit.
“Good, then maybe it’ll be enough for us all.”
XXV
1 Flamerule, the Year of the Gauntlet
Laaqueel stood on Tarjana’s deck and looked out at the Lake of Steam. Thick, heated gray mist hung over the lake and clouded the surrounding lands with perpetual fog. Ahead of them in the distance, she could barely see Arnrock Island, which was the major source of all the volcanic activity in the area. Gray-white smoke with searing orange embers belched continuously into the air, creating the black cinders that swirled endlessly over the lake and filled the water with dark speckles.
She wrapped her arms around herself, already feeling her skin drying out from exposure to the steam. The other sahuagin stayed underwater on the mantas. Even there, the temperatures were hot enough to be uncomfortable and would tend to encourage parasitic growth inside gill tissue. For some of the spells Iakhovas had to do in order to open the gate for them that would take them to Serôs, he needed to be out of the water.
He’d also needed the things he had stored aboard the mudship. He’d summoned it after they’d entered the lake, praising it to the sahuagin as an item taken in battle from Baldur’s Gate.
Laaqueel prayed constantly, clingin
g to her belief so much easier now that she’d discovered why Iakhovas had come among them. Freeing the captive sahuagin had preyed upon her mind since he’d told her about them, allowing her to focus on something more than her own doubts.
“Priestess.”
Laaqueel turned, hearing unaccustomed fatigue in Iakhovas’s voice. “Yes, Most Exalted One.”
He walked out onto the deck from the cabin where he’d been working. “It’s done. All the preparations have been made. The gate will open as soon as Vurgrom has his piece in place in the Alamber Sea.”
“Is there anything I can do, Most Exalted One?” Looking at him, Laaqueel wished she could take away some of the tiredness that clung to him. He’d worked hard for the last week, never stopping even to sleep.
“No, but thank you for your kindness, priestess. Now all that may be done is the waiting.”
Despite the low burning that covered her skin, she went to stand beside him.
* * * * *
“He’s dropping his sails,” Jherek said, staring through the telescope he held.
He stood on Black Champion’s foredeck, the bright blue-green of the Alamber Sea spreading out around him. Vurgrom’s flagship, Maelstrom, dropped anchor after another few moments, flanked by the three smaller craft floating around it. They all flew the skull and crossbones on a field of black. In the distance behind the pirates, the volcanic island that was called the Ship of the Gods spewed vile smoke into the air.
“That’s foolish,” Azla snapped, looking irritated. “Sitting out here like this, he’d be a target for any sahuagin who chose to attack. This is the Alamber Sea, and it literally crawls with them.”
She scanned the sea in all directions, as if expecting some proof of her statement. The farther Vurgrom had led them from Westgate, the wilder their speculations had gotten about where he was going and why. They tried guessing at possible allies the pirate had in the coastal nations around the Alamber Sea. Finally they’d had to give up and admit defeat. None of the nations Azla could name would have aligned themselves with the sahuagin.
