She felt a witless urge to remind him he had a ship full of servants he could use to slake his thirst but knew it would do no good. She was the mortal whose blood he’d seen and smelled with the vileness of the Abyss reverberating through his mind, and she was the one he craved.
She steeled herself with the certainty that he wouldn’t kill her. Even in the grip of his thirst, he had a wizard’s self-control, and she was useful. Nor would he transform her into a thing like himself. In his eyes, she hadn’t earned it yet. Then she tugged her cloak and robe away from her throat and went into his embrace. There was nothing else she could do.
“I knew the trick had worked,” Anton continued, “when I heard a great scraping and grinding, the Sembian ship lurched to a sudden stop, and her crew went staggering across the deck. Some even tumbled over the rail. As I’d hoped, the fact that they drew a finger length more than we did made all the difference. They had to stay hung up on those rocks and watch the Iron Jest sail away into the night.”
Stedd grinned. “Tell another story.”
“I can’t think of any more,” Anton lied. When he’d decided to play the part of the boy’s friend as opposed to his captor, it hadn’t occurred to him that the role would involve providing entertainment.
In fairness, he could scarcely blame the lad for seeking some distraction from the misery of trudging mile after wet, hungry, weary mile. Look as they might, they could find nothing growing wild that looked edible, nor even a forsaken cottage or shepherd’s lean- to to provide a respite from the cold, stinging rain. The only structures that came into view were offshore, where the thatched rooftops of drowned villages resisted, for a little while longer, the shoving and dragging of the surf.
But curse it, Anton wasn’t some wandering busker, and he was miserable, too. Too miserable to chatter endlessly for a child’s amusement.
Stepping around a mud puddle, Stedd said, “Then what about things that happened to other pirates? There are a lot of you, aren’t there?”
“I thought you were supposed to be holy,” Anton growled. “Are you even allowed to enjoy tales of cutthroats preying on innocent folk?”
Stedd blinked. “I … I’ve liked tales of pirates and outlaws ever since I was little. Since long before Lathander spoke to me. Do you think it’s bad?”
Anton reminded himself that he was trying to keep the child calm and cooperative, not upset him. “No, there’s no harm in it. I doubt a few stories will twist you out of true.” He smiled a crooked smile. “When I was your age, I relished tales of the brave heroes of the Turmishan navy hunting down fiendish pirates, so plainly, their influence was minimal.”
Stedd mulled that over for several paces. Then he said, “Tell one of those stories.”
Anton scowled. “Curse it, lad,” he began, and then saw the boy had stopped listening to him.
That was because the landscape ahead had snagged his attention. Anton knew little about farming. He’d spent his childhood in Alaghôn, the capital of Turmish, and his adult life at sea. But now that Stedd had drawn his attention to it, even he could see a difference between the terrain they’d covered since coming ashore and what lay before them.
The marshy fields at their backs were either abandoned or had never known cultivation in the first place. Up ahead, somebody was still trying to grow barley and peas, even though the combination of meager sunlight and relentless, battering rain made both crops look anemic.
“Good eye,” Anton said. “Someone still lives hereabouts. Farther along this very trail, I imagine.” He drew his new cutlass an inch to make sure it was loose in the scabbard, then slid it back. The curved brass guard clicked against the mouth of the sheath.
Stedd frowned. “Why did you do that?”
“I have some coin, and I’ll buy food and a cloak for you if the folk up ahead will sell them. But I’ve heard reports of people hoarding food who won’t part with it at any price.”
The boy frowned. “We can’t just steal it.”
Clearly, Stedd was in little danger of growing up to be a pirate. “Aren’t you an important person?” Anton asked. “Don’t I need to get you to Sapra, no matter what it takes?”
“It … it doesn’t work like that. I’m not special, just my work is, and anyway, you can’t walk the wrong path and get to the right place.”
“Whatever that means. Look, I’m not an idiot. I’d prefer not to have to take on the task of terrorizing an entire hamlet all by myself. Why don’t we just walk on and see what we see?”
The boy nodded. “All right.”
As they advanced, the village gradually took shape amid the rain. The rising waters of the Inner Sea had nearly encroached on its northern edge, and a few small boats were beached there, but nothing capable of weathering serious storms, eluding the Iron Jest, and reaching Pirate Isle. If the locals had ever possessed a proper fishing vessel, they’d lost it in the upheavals of the last few years.
Closer still, and Anton caught the clamor of raised voices. Though it was difficult to make out words amid the hiss of the rain, he didn’t think he and Stedd were the cause of the excitement. So far, he could see no sign that anyone had spotted their approach. Still, he made sure the boy prophet walked behind him, lest he lose Evendur Highcastle’s bounty to a nervous peasant’s sling stone or javelin.
The noise subsided to a degree before Anton peeked warily around the corner of a house and found its source. Maybe that was because the gaunt, white-haired woman slumped in the grips of two strong men had screamed pleas and vilifications until her voice gave out. Now she simply watched with tears steaming down her wrinkled face as a line of her neighbors carried a stool, a spinning wheel, garments, a wilted-looking cabbage, and some ceramic jars that likely held preserved or pickled foodstuffs out of her cottage. An Umberlant priest armed with a trident and wrapped in a blue-green mantle patterned to resemble fish scale watched the despoliation, too, but his square, middle-aged face with its wide mouth and fringe of beard wore a smirk of satisfaction.
Anton’s mouth watered at the sight of the food, but the presence of the waveservant interested him even more. Had the cleric heard about Stedd? Did he know that the new leader of the church of Umberlee wanted him?
Unfortunately, it was possible that even a priest in this obscure little settlement knew about every aspect of the situation, the bounty included, and would be happy to claim every copper of it for himself. After being betrayed once, Anton was reluctant to seek help from anyone else who might do the same. He needed to find his own way back to Immurk’s Hold and deliver Stedd to Evendur Highcastle with his own two hands.
He wondered if the waveservant would recognize the lad on sight. Maybe, their hunger notwithstanding, it would be wiser to withdraw and—
Stedd rendered such deliberations moot by darting around Anton and out into the open. “Stop!” he cried, his child’s voice shrill.
CHAPTER THREE
STARTLED, THE VILLAGERS GAWKED AT STEDD. ANTON HURRIED up to stand beside him. “This is none of our business,” he said from the corner of his mouth.
Although he didn’t mean for anyone but the boy to hear it, the warning made the waveservant sneer. “Indeed it isn’t, stranger. Indeed it isn’t. You and the child stay out of it. Unless you care to come to the shore and offer with the rest of us.”
Perhaps it was the fact that Anton had only just escaped the identical fate that made him feel a pang of disgust. “You’re going to drown the old woman?”
“We are. She’s feeble and useless. She takes food from the mouths of those who still contribute to the village. She needs to die.”
“No,” said Stedd, “you mustn’t do it. It’s wrong.”
The priest’s mouth tightened. “No, child, it isn’t. Listen and learn. Umberlee has become the greatest deity hereabouts, and, I truly believe, in all the world. The wise know this because the sea keeps rising to demonstrate her power. Thus, her will—her creed—is right by definition. And she teaches us to love strength, hate
weakness, and worship her before all other gods or goddesses. Those who follow her path will thrive. Misery and death await all others.”
“But that isn’t true,” argued Stedd, addressing not just the waveservant but everyone within earshot. “Umberlee isn’t making it rain. The world is being reborn, and the Great Rain is part of the birth pains. Like all such pains, it will come to an end, and when it does, we can live in a time better than any we’ve known before. But it depends on how we act now. If we hold onto kindness and hope even when it’s hard, tomorrow will be good. But if we turn vicious and hurt even our own neighbors, then it won’t matter that the sun is shining and the crops are growing, because we’ll still be like wild starving dogs on the inside.”
Anton’s eyes narrowed in surprise. Aboard the Jest, Stedd had demonstrated a remarkable ability to heal, but in the time since, he’d mostly seemed like a normal little boy. Now, however, the wandering prophet who’d annoyed the church of Umberlee by preaching a doctrine diametrically opposed to its own stood revealed, with a confidence in his stance and a conviction in his voice that lent weight to his words despite his youth. In fact, it was possible the contrast served to make his entreaty all the more impressive.
Certainly, some of the villagers looked interested if not dumbfounded. The waveservant, however, laughed a nasty laugh. Before the Great Rain, he’d likely lived a relatively unassuming life. The other villagers would have turned to him when it was time to sacrifice to his savage goddess for a safe voyage or good fishing but wouldn’t have tolerated him trying to tell them what to believe or order them around. Now, however, he seemed confident—indeed, arrogant—in his new leadership role.
“Madness,” he said, “madness and impudence. I am a priest. The wisdom of a deity informs every word I say. Can you say the same, little boy? If not, I suggest you shut your mouth.”
“Yes,” Anton said, “do that.” He took hold of Stedd’s shoulder to pull him back.
But the boy twisted away with surprising strength. “I can ‘say the same.’ Because Lathander speaks through me.”
That declaration brought another moment of quiet, and then the waveservant laughed again. “If you’re going to trade in blasphemy, you should at least bring your lies up to date. The Morninglord died a hundred years ago.”
Stedd shook his head. “He didn’t. For a while, he had to stop being what he was, but now he can be again. He can shine the light he shined before.”
“Gibberish.” The priest shifted his gaze to Anton. “But blasphemy nonetheless. Take your lunatic ward away from here before my duty obliges me to take him from you.”
“Everyone is looking at me,” said Stedd, once more addressing the crowd at large. “Don’t. Look in the eyes of the kinswoman and neighbor you’re about to kill. And if you’re too ashamed to do it, learn from that. It’s the good part of your soul trying to stop you from doing something awful.”
Villagers muttered to one another. Then a woman who held a couple of the ceramic pots said, “I don’t … I mean, Aggie is kin to me on my mother’s side.”
“To me, too,” said a runt of a man bundled up in gray. With a deferential if not apologetic demeanor, he turned to the waveservant. “I know we complain, Saer, but we’re not starving yet. We catch some fish.”
The priest sneered. “And how long do you think that will last if you fail to honor the Queen of the Depths?”
“We could sacrifice something else,” the small man said. “Maybe a chicken. I have an old hen that’s stopped laying.”
“Quiet!” the cleric snapped, and the word carried a charge of magic like the crack of a whip. The runt jerked and made a choking sound as the command momentarily deprived him of the power of speech. Other villagers flinched.
“Don’t be afraid,” said Stedd. “The waveservant is trying to bully you into doing what he wants. But if you say no, the Morninglord will protect you.”
The priest scowled. “Let’s put that lie to the test. Let’s see your dead god protect you.” He snatched a little seashell from a pocket of his cloak and squeezed it in his fist until it cracked. Three streaks of greenish blur wavered into being in the air before him, then, in just a heartbeat, put on definition and solidity.
The sahuagin were the size of men, with shark-like heads complete with fangs, crests of fin running down their spines, and tridents in their clawed, webbed fingers. Gill slits dilated and contracted in the sides of their scaly necks, but they were entirely capable of surviving out of water long enough to make an example of a “blasphemer” and his hapless companion.
Somehow comprehending without being told what their summoner desired, the sea devils lumbered forward. Peasants screamed and scrambled to distance themselves from the creatures.
Anton shot Stedd a glance. “You said your god would protect us.”
“Yes,” said Stedd, his blue eyes wide, “but not through me! I couldn’t get my magic back because I had to bail out the rowboat.”
For an instant, Anton imagined himself stepping aside and waving the sahuagin on by to stab and claw the boy to pieces. But satisfying as that might be, it would mean giving up the bounty.
He yanked his cutlass from its scabbard. “Stay back!” he said, and then the sea devils shambled into striking distance.
In his experience, these brutes were strong, ferocious, and skillful with their chosen weapons, but not especially agile on land. That appeared to be the only advantage he possessed, but maybe if he maneuvered constantly and forced the sahuagin to keep turning back and forth, it would be enough. He parried an initial trident thrust, dodged right, and slashed.
His target jerked back from the blade, and a cut that might have been lethal merely split the leathery hide above its ribs. He lunged to make a follow-up attack, but the sea devil blocked quarterstaff-style with the shaft of its trident, then jammed the length of wood into him and heaved him staggering backward.
Anton struggled to recover his balance as his feet slipped in the mud. He was still floundering when his adversary’s trident leaped at his face.
Incapable of any other defense, he threw himself down in the muck, and the three-pointed weapon shot over him. He rolled to one knee and slashed. The cutlass sliced the sea devil’s leg, and it staggered and roared.
By that time, the other two sahuagin had circled their comrade to threaten Anton anew, but they faltered for a heartbeat as though his dive to the ground had surprised them. It gave him time to jump up and scramble left, obliging them to change their facing once more.
He scored twice more in the moments that followed, once on the hobbling foe he’d wounded initially and once on a fresh one. But, armored by their scales, neither dropped.
Curse it, he had to dispatch the enemy faster than this or they’d surely kill him instead. Energized by combat, he no longer felt weary and hungry but recognized that for the illusion it was. Soon, he was going to slow down, the sea devils would finally succeed in surrounding him, and that would be that.
Time to take bigger chances, then. He extended the cutlass and hurled himself forward.
The all-out running attack might well be his last if the sahuagin he’d targeted—the lamed one—simply shifted its longer weapon into line to spit him. But it reacted a hair too slowly, and the cutlass punched into its throat and half ripped its head off as he sprinted by.
Grinning, he wrenched himself around. Then his momentary elation gave way to dismay.
One sea devil broke away and started toward Stedd. Sidestepping, its fellow positioned itself and leveled its trident to keep Anton from rushing in pursuit.
Anton stepped into the distance, inviting an attack, and drew one in the form of a stab to the belly. He parried with all his strength, and that was forceful enough not merely to deflect the trident but to make the sahuagin fumble its grip on it. He lunged, cut, and the creature reeled. He charged around it.
By then, the sea devil that was after Stedd had backed him up against a wall. Either the idiot boy hadn’t had sen
se enough to run out of the village or else the shacks and ring of spectators had hemmed him in.
Anton cut into the sahuagin’s spine with its spiny, scalloped fin. The shark man stumbled, shuddered, then fell down into a puddle.
The resulting splash almost covered the sound of footsteps charging up behind Anton as he’d rushed behind the creature he’d just dispatched. Almost, but fortunately, not quite. Realizing that, despite the wound he’d given it the sahuagin that had attempted to bar his path was still on its feet, he whirled to face it.
Sure enough, here it came, with blood pouring down from the gash on the top of its head. Hoping the flow was getting in its yellow eyes and blinding it, he decided to feint high and cut low. But then a strangling pain erupted in his chest, and he doubled over retching brine.
Well behind the creature, the waveservant grinned and brandished his trident over his head. In his struggle to best the shark men, Anton had all but forgotten the foe who’d whisked them to the battlefield, but now he realized Umberlee’s servant had cast a spell on him.
The sahuagin poised its trident for a thrust. Anton feebly waved his cutlass but could do nothing more. Until he finished expelling the conjured seawater from his airways, he’d be as incapable of self-defense as any other drowning man.
Then a high voice screamed, and a different trident pierced the sea devil’s flank at the spot where a human carried his kidney. His face contorted, Stedd worked to shove the heavy, triple-pointed spear deeper into the sahuagin’s flesh. The creature hissed and swung its own weapon high for a counterthrust down at its assailant.
Anton’s chest and throat still burned, and he couldn’t stop gasping. But gasping was breathing, and if he could breathe, he could fight. He hacked the sahuagin’s leg out from under it and finished the job of splitting its skull when it fell.
Then he straightened, smiled at the waveservant, and took satisfaction in the flicker of alarm in the other man’s expression. “What’s the matter,” he rasped, “all out of summoning spells?”
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