Iskor liked this new world and her role in it. She even liked the illithid that watched her with expressionless white eyes. Evil and ambitious Vestress was a marvelous creature, even if she was an air-breather.
The water wraith assumed corporeal form little by little as she emerged from the water. Her face and body took the form of a sylph—a beautiful water nymph—but with skin and hair as transparent as finest glass. Iskor would have been invisible, but for the tiny, effervescent bubbles that whirled through her. She looked like a fountain contained within some exquisite sculpture.
Iskor smiled at the illithid and came forward to grasp both of the creature’s purple hands in her glassy fingers. “Oh, Vestress, you will be so pleased at my news!”
The illithid disentangled herself as inconspicuously as possible. By all means, continue. Good news has been scarce enough of late.
“I recently met a most unusual traveler to my home plane,” the water wraith continued with girlish enthusiasm. “A drow! A priestess who makes the Underdark her home! At first she was rather tiresome—all threats and demands—but now she offers information on her dark realm in exchange for services that only creatures of the sea can provide. Would she not make a wonderful addition to the Kraken Society?”
Indeed, Vestress was more than a little intrigued by the prospect of adding a drow to her band of informants. The illithid herself had left the Underdark many, many years ago, under circumstances that did not permit her to maintain ties with her homeland. It would certainly be very useful to have such an informant. But Vestress did not like to offer Iskor too much encouragement, lest the annoyingly bubbly creature spin off into new heights of euphoria.
And what might these services be? the illithid inquired, her mental voice projecting extreme disinterest.
“The priestess seeks the return of a drow female who escaped the Underdark. She was last seen in a city known as Skullport. Do you know it?”
Well.
“Splendid! The runaway is a drow wizard by the name of Liriel Baenre. She is young and easily marked by her golden eyes. It is believed that she took to the sea—where bound, no one knows. Upon this drow’s return to the Underdark, my new contact—Shakti—will pledge herself to the Kraken Society. I took the liberty of telling her about the society and offering her this honor,” Iskor concluded, beaming.
You may tell your contact we will see to Liriel Baenre, Vestress agreed, steeling herself for Iskor’s response. The water wraith, predictably enough, gave out shrieks of glee and spun in a giddy little dance.
In all, this struck Vestress as a promise easily kept, for the illithid had already received Rethnor’s report and she knew that a female drow sailed aboard the Ruathen ship that was inexplicably causing so much trouble. Vestress intended to send forces to intercept the pirate ship and capture the drow; as it happened, she had need of the services of a drow wizard.
The only part of the bargain Vestress disliked was that she must return the wizard to the Underdark. But, no matter. Iskor’s new acquaintance sounded promising: devious, innovative. It might be amusing, mused the illithid, to bring this Shakti to Ascarle, as well. Surely one of them—wizard or priestess—could rid Vestress of her little problem on Ruathym. If there was an existing conflict between the two elven females, so much the better. In the illithid’s opinion, there was nothing like a deadly competition to sharpen wits and skills.
And so Vestress waited calmly until the water wraith’s glee wound down, and then she laid out to Iskor the terms meant to entice an Underdark drow to travel to the realm of the Kraken.
Xzorsh pursued the Elfmaid with all possible haste, for he was eager to rid himself of the grisly trophy in his bag. He was also concerned by the sudden appearance of the merrow, for he suspected those four might be part of a larger band. He had his duty to Hrolf, but he also wished to return to the ranger outpost to see what had become of Sittl. The promised reinforcements had not arrived, and Xzorsh feared for his friend’s safety.
It was night when the sea elf found the ship. The drow girl stood alone at the rail, gazing out over the water as if deep in thought. But Xzorsh did not doubt that she was watching for him, or that she knew he was near—drow eyes were reputed to be even sharper than those of the sea folk. She gave no indication that she saw him, but she stretched languidly and dropped her cloak to the deck, then spun away and began to dance in the moonlight. Never had Xzorsh seen anything so entrancing as the drow’s graceful, lyric movements, and he gazed at her with wonderment. Many moments passed before he realized that he was not the only one so affected: the eyes of every sailor still on duty were fixed upon the elf. Suddenly it occurred to him that Liriel’s dance had taken her—and the attention of the crew—to the far side of the ship. Xzorsh understood that she wished to keep their meeting a secret.
As stealthily as possible, he crept aboard ship and eagerly donned the glittering cloak she had left there for him. He knew it was a cloak of invisibility, but this knowledge did not fully prepare him for the experience of wearing it. It was odd, unnerving, to look down at his feet and see nothing but the small, wet prints he left on the deck. Wonderingly, Xzorsh held his webbed hand at eye level and spread the fingers wide. Nothing. He grinned, glad the drow could not see his antics.
Liriel concluded her dance with a whirling leap, falling to her knees with her head flung back and her hands outstretched toward the moon. She held the position for a moment as her long white hair swirled around her like a storm-tossed cloud. Then, with an abrupt change of mood, the drow stood and nonchalantly smoothed her wild locks back into place as she bade a good-night to the openmouthed young sailor who stood watch. Xzorsh, still grinning with delight, followed the drow down into the hold and into Hrolf’s cabin. She shut and bolted the door, then turned to him and held out a hand for her piwafwi.
“All this time you could see me?” he asked with a touch of embarrassment.
Liriel lifted one snowy brow. “You’re standing in a puddle,” she pointed out.
“Oh.” Both relieved and chagrinned, the sea elf shrugged off the borrowed cloak, then handed over the bag.
He knelt near the cot and watched, fascinated, as the drow went to work. She spread a small mat on the cot and sprinkled it with some dried, spicy-smelling herbs. On this she dumped the contents of the bag. After sharply bidding Xzorsh to keep his distance and hold his tongue, she closed her eyes and began a soft and rhythmic chanting. Her dark form swayed. One of her hands clasped the engraved black jewel that she wore as a pendant, the other entwined fingers with the severed hand in a grotesque parody of a lovers’ handclasp.
Then, to his astonishment, Xzorsh felt the magic in the room—a strange, cold tingling that made the thin air almost as alive and expressive as water. He felt it flow toward the drow, and he watched with shining eyes as she continued her chant and bent the eldritch current to her will. Then abruptly she fell silent, and the magic was gone. Xzorsh felt an odd sense of loss.
“Tell me,” he entreated.
Liriel turned her eyes toward him, but Xzorsh doubted that she saw him. Her gaze was troubled, distant.
“Nothing,” she murmured.
Xzorsh studied her, puzzled by the strange effect the casting of the spell had on her. “Nothing at all?”
She blinked several times, and at last her eyes focused on him. “The man still lives. Where he is, or what he intends, I do not know. But I got the feeling that he is not yet finished with me, that he and his want something from me. As does Lloth,” she added in a distracted whisper.
It was in Xzorsh’s mind to ask her about this Lloth, but at that moment a hideous face appeared in the cabin’s portal and sent all other thoughts into instant banishment.
“Merrow!” he said as he leaped to his feet. When Liriel shot him a puzzled look, he repeated urgently, “Merrow. Ogres of the sea.”
“Damn!” spat the drow. She reached under her mattress and pulled out a long, keen knife, one even finer than the one Xzorsh had coveted. �
�Seems like a good time to break this in,” she said with a touch of grim humor as she pressed it into his hands.
And then she was gone, sprinting through the hold and up the ladder to the deck, shouting an alarm as she went. In the cramped quarters beyond her cabin, pirates spilled out of their hammocks and seized weapons.
“What are we fighting, lass?” Hrolf asked happily, tucking his shirt into his breeches and falling into step with the drow as she hurried toward the rack of harpoons.
“Sea ogres.”
Hrolf stopped in midstride. “Merrow? What in the Nine Hells are they doing in these waters?”
Before Liriel could answer, six pairs of enormous webbed and scaly hands slapped onto the ship’s rail. Six merrow leaped onto the deck, quick and nimble as giant frogs.
“Mother Lloth,” Liriel breathed as she looked up at the hideous faces. The merrow were as large as their land cousins—all were well over nine feet tall—and they moved with a speed and agility that no ogre could match.
The largest of them, a male with two ivory horns protruding like hideous thumbs from its forehead, took a step forward. “Where be the dead elveses?” it demanded in a low-pitched gurgle. “Want them, we do!”
Xzorsh, his hand resting easily on the hilt of his new knife, went forward to face the merrow chieftain. Though he was but half the creature’s size, his eyes offered a challenge that the sea ogre did not disdain. “The People are no longer on this ship,” he said firmly. “They have been returned to the sea. You are relieved of the task of taking them to your master, whoever he might be.”
The merrow chief actually looked pleased by this news. It turned and grunted something to the others.
Liriel listened carefully—ogre slaves were common in Menzoberranzan, and she knew enough of their dialect to make out a few words of the merrow’s guttural speech. Her eyes widened in shock as she divined this one’s intentions. She barely had time to whip the harpoon up in a defensive position before all six merrow darted toward her.
The chieftain lunged at Liriel, massive arms spread wide. Her ready harpoon clunked into its scaly abdomen, but skidded across the tough hide without penetration. Fortunately for Liriel, the harpoon was longer than the creature’s reach, and it kept those lethal black talons from closing on her. Even so, the speed and force of the attack sent the tiny drow reeling back. The butt of her weapon hit the mast hard, and the onrushing merrow supplied the force needed to push the barbed weapon through its scaly hide.
Liriel let go of the harpoon and rolled aside as the impaled merrow came crashing to the deck. But five of the merrow remained, and all were as fast as the drow. A large, webbed hand slapped down and seized her ankle. She was dragged facedown across the deck and then swept up, kicking and cursing, into a merrow’s arms. The creature easily slung the thrashing elf over its shoulder. It dropped into a half-crouch, then sprang up over the rail and into the sea.
They plunged deep into the icy water. Above her Liriel heard two more splashes, and then no more. The pirates were no doubt dealing with the merrow remaining on board. This gave her a certain amount of grim satisfaction, but did nothing to improve her situation. Not that she faulted the humans—the attack had taken no more than a few seconds. The sea ogres were incredibly fast fighters. They were even faster in water. Hrolf’s men tossed out nets in a desperate attempt to ensnare and retrieve the merrow and their captive, but the merrow were beyond reach almost as soon as they hit the water.
Suddenly her captor thrust her away. Liriel wriggled beyond its reach and swam frantically toward the surface, her lungs burning for air.
But the sea ogres were not through with her. Two of the creatures flanked her and seized her wrists. They pulled her taut between them so she could not reach any of her weapons or even get in a decent kick. The third merrow produced a small silver ring and jammed it onto the middle finger of her hand. Then, grinning horribly, it punched her in the stomach.
The drow doubled over, expelling the last of her precious air with an audible oof! and a rush of bubbles. Water flowed into her lungs to fill the void. To her astonishment, she found that she could breathe it!
So this was how the merrow intended to kidnap her, she realized. From some unknown and powerful source, they had acquired a ring of water-breathing. She had heard of such trinkets. The trio encircled her, indicated with grunts and gestures that she was to accompany them.
Now that the immediate threat of death was past, Liriel’s mind began to race over possible ways to escape. She would have to outthink them; she could not overcome three creatures of such size and power in battle.
Then, suddenly, something exploded from her captor’s chest with a terrible cracking of ribs and a spray of blood. Liriel recognized one of her own throwing spiders. She seized the weapon—ignoring the clinging bits of flesh and sinew—and whirled upon the nearest sea ogre.
But the creature was fast and in its native element; the drow’s movements were slowed by the unfamiliar heaviness of the water. The merrow seized Liriel’s wrist. The drow slapped downward with her hand, but the spider did no more than touch the ogre’s scaly forearm.
Then Xzorsh swam into view, his spear held ready. With a quick thrust, he struck the spider and drove its barbed legs deep. The enchantment triggered, and the spider began to burrow its way through the sea ogre’s flesh.
Immediately the merrow let out a gurgling yelp and dropped its hold on Liriel. Bracing its wounded arm against its hip, the ogre seized the spider’s metal body and frantically tried to pull it free. If the merrow had had the time and wit to consider the matter, it might have realized the folly of this strategy. Whereas the spider might have eaten through the arm and been content, it now continued on its path and dug its way deep into the creature’s groin.
It was odd, Liriel thought as the merrow’s howls echoed through the water, that she’d always thought of the sea as a silent place.
She left the merrow to its fate and swam toward the two fighters that grappled in unequal combat. Pulling her short sword, she prepared to even the score against the sole surviving merrow. To her way of thinking, two elves just about made up one of the sea ogres.
But Xzorsh seemed to have the battle well in hand. His new knife flashed and wove in a compelling—if entirely unfamiliar—pattern as he nimbly dodged the merrow’s lunging bites and the swiping blows of its taloned hands.
As Liriel watched, she began to make sense of the battle. The sea elf shadowed many of the larger creature’s movements, using the currents and eddies caused by the merrow’s attacks to speed his own knife. It was a complicated and multilayered school of swordplay, one the drow had not even considered. Of course, there was little call for underwater combat in Menzoberranzan. Yet Xzorsh, in his native setting, was fully the match of any drow fighter Liriel had seen at play.
At last the elaborate dance of feint and double-feint came to a close. Xzorsh buried his knife to the hilt in the base of the merrow’s skull. Bloody bubbles gushed from the creature’s mouth, and the massive arms floated limply out to its sides. The sea elf braced both feet against the dead merrow’s back and pulled his knife free.
Liriel retrieved the now-dormant throwing spider and swam to the sea elf’s side. “Your magic crab,” she told him, smiling delightedly at the sound of her voice bubbling through the water. By way of explanation, she held up her hand, wiggling the fingers to show off her new ring.
Xzorsh might not know much of magic, but he realized the power of the ring. For a moment the elves merely faced each other, smiling as they shared the exhilaration of a battle won. Then the ranger tied the precious magic spider to his belt and held out a hand to Liriel.
“Come. The others will be worried about you,” he said.
Without hesitation she took his hand—or, more accurately, his wrist, for the ranger’s webbed fingers forbade a traditional handclasp. As they swam together toward the starlight, Liriel marveled at the strange turns her journey had taken. Not long ago, she had looked to
the tunnels beyond Menzoberranzan for adventure. How narrow that ambition seemed now that she could see the wonders of the night sky, walk upon the surface lands, and swim the sea as effortlessly as a fish! Strange, too, were the friends she had picked up along the way. She’d never given much thought to faerie elves, beyond the realization that if she ever met one she’d probably have to kill it. The possibility that she might actually consider befriending such a being had never entered her imagination. Nor did she ever imagine that she would have a friend such as Fyodor—a human, and a male at that—or that the ebullient Hrolf would come to regard her with the sort of fatherly pride and affection she had always sought, tentatively and with utter futility, from her drow sire. How odd it all was, Liriel mused.
Stranger still was the rune that was beginning to take shape in the drow’s mind, little by little with each day that passed. Every tiny line and curve was clear to her, although the whole was far from complete. The shaping of it was not of her making. In fact, Liriel felt a bit like a spellbook, receiving the ink from the pen of some cosmic scribe. Nothing in her wizardly training had prepared her for this or for the feeling that this magic was not so much a force to be exploited, but an outcome woven from the threads of her life. It was all foreign to the drow, and she did not understand the half of it. But exciting, it was! she concluded happily. As foreign as this was, it was just the sort of adventure she’d dreamed of all her life.
A contented sigh escaped her, sending a ripple of bubbles racing toward the starlit sky.
CHAPTER TEN
THE PURPLE ROCKS
The illithid’s purple hands gripped the arms of her throne as she sent a brief burst of mental power toward the merrow warrior—just a puff, just enough to send the sea ogre reeling back a step. Merrow were proud creatures, and this one had not wanted to admit that its band had met failure. Foolish creature, to think it could hide anything from the Regent of Ascarle!
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