Rising Tide

by Mel Odom

  Overpowered by the invasion in her mind, Laaqueel couldn’t answer.

  You couldn’t understand the sacrifices I have made in order to insure my continued survival in that ineffectual mind you possess, the man said. Even now, wasted as I am, I am the most powerful being you have ever been in the presence of. Now, by my grace, you will spend your life that I spare so generously that you may serve me, and then only as long as you serve me well, little thief. Long have I been gone from this world, for thousands of years, and I will have back that which was stolen from me. You will give me succor, or I will see you sacrificed toward that end anyway. His single eye bored into hers, mesmerizing and horribly vacant at the same time.

  Struggling against the glamour the man projected, the malenti fought, trying to break free of his grip. Her fingers and talons only scraped across the hard flesh, unable to break the skin. Her toe claws raked his chest but skittered harmlessly across.

  He plucked an eyelash from his single eye, then said words unlike any Laaqueel had ever heard. The tattoos covering his body glowed with a dim, unearthly light. When it stopped, he held a thin sliver of a black quill in his free hand instead of an eyelash. He let her see it for just a moment, then his hand darted forward and he buried the quill in the tender flesh below her left breast.

  Laaqueel felt the quill penetrate her flesh, hot and cold at the same time. All resistance faded from her as her body went lax. None of her limbs were her own anymore.

  The man took his hand back from her flesh and gestured at the sliver’s entry point. The malenti felt it move again, sliding more deeply into her body, coiling and nestling next to her heart like a poisonous worm. She stared at the man holding her so effortlessly with one hand.

  I am Iakhovas, he told her in his deep, whispering voice. You will call me master.

  I

  The Sea of Swords

  9 Mirtul, the Year of the Gauntlet (1369 DR)

  “How much for a few hours of your time, boy?”

  Jherek stopped coiling the thin rope he was going to use to repair the ship’s rigging and looked at the young Amnian woman who’d stopped in front of him. His heart seemed to hang in his throat. He’d watched her during the voyage, never dreaming such a wealthy and pretty woman would ever notice him, much less speak to him.

  Barely over nineteen, he stood nearly six feet tall and his lean frame was corded with muscle from the hard work he’d done since he’d been a boy. His light brown hair was threaded through with sun-bleached highlights from constant exposure to the salt and sun. He wore only an abbreviated leather ship’s apron that hung to his mid-thighs and held numerous pockets for the tools he needed and a short-sleeved shirt. The sun had burned his skin a dark bronze and made the pale gray ice of his eyes stand out even more. He went shaven, not liking the facial hair worn by most of the other sailors. Gold hoop earrings hung from both ears.

  “Lady,” he said formally, after giving careful consideration to his words, “if there is anything you need, Captain Finaren and his first mate will see that you have it. You and your party have hired the best—”

  “We’ve hired the best sea captain in all of the Duchy of Cape Velen. Yes, we’ve all been told that.” The woman waved his words away, rolling her dark eyes skyward as if bored.

  Jherek felt embarrassed and awkward, partly that she’d turned his words and made them sound small in that Amnian accent of hers, and because she was so incredibly beautiful.

  He figured she wasn’t much older than he was, surely no more than five years his senior. She wore a turban as was the custom of the Amnian wealthy, festooned with gold and silver coins and small jewels to further show her ranking even among the merchant class. Her hair was pulled up under the turban, leaving her delicate face uncovered. Her eyes were big dark moons of liquid fire and she had a nose that some might consider too short but that Jherek found attractive. Her red silk cape fluttered around her, caught by the soft southerly breeze coming across the Sea of Swords. Bracelets sewn into the cape kept it around her, but it didn’t conceal her slender, womanly figure. Even that was barely restrained in a beaded bodice and gauze pantaloons over a matching girdle. Delicate slippers encased her feet.

  “If I’d thought your precious Captain Finaren could have given me what I needed,” the Amnian woman said, “I’d have gone straight to him.”

  She took a step closer to him and traced a line with her forefinger down from his lower lip, across his chin, and down to his chest, toying briefly with the ceramic teardrop as big as her thumb that hung from a leather thong around his neck. Her hand continued dropping to the flat planes of his stomach.

  Jherek stepped back before she could go any further. He was suddenly acutely aware of the other ship’s mates halting their work to watch. Even the other Amnians aboard paused in their endless conversations of money and exchange rates to watch him.

  “Instead,” the Amnian woman said, “I came to you. You should be flattered.”

  “Lady,” Jherek said helplessly. He felt certain that he was the brunt of some joke he didn’t understand, but he had no idea what to do about it.

  “I am called Yeill,” she said. “I am the favorite daughter of Merchant Lelayn.” She raised an arched eyebrow. “You are familiar with Merchant Lelayn, aren’t you?”

  “Aye,” Jherek replied. “Of course.” Merchant Lelayn had hired Finaren’s Butterfly to take the Amnian party to Baldur’s Gate for trading, then bring their cargo back home to Athkatla, also known as the City of Coin, in Amn. He wished he’d been quicker with the ropes and had gone back up into the rigging before the woman had caught him, but he had no one to blame but himself. Over the last few days of the trip she must have seen him gazing at her.

  “Good,” Yeill stated. “I thought there might be some brains inside that pretty head of yours, though they aren’t all that necessary for what I have in mind.” She placed a hand on his bicep, squeezing the muscles there. “You are in very good shape.”

  Jherek flushed red, feeling the burn across his cheeks, like he’d faced the wind for an entire shift at the tiller. He gazed past her, noting a small group of white heggrims flying low around the cog. The birds kept pace with the ship, waiting for any garbage that might be thrown overboard.

  Finaren’s Butterfly skimmed smoothly across the water, rocking back and forth across the swells. The ship’s colorful sails gave her her name and the few remaining that weren’t damaged from the recent storm belled out, catching the wind. Other hands hung in the rigging, repairing the storm damage.

  “So how much for a few hours of your time, boy?” she asked again. “I’m willing to pay you, though after the way I’ve seen you mooning after me, I know I wouldn’t have to.”

  It was his fault. Jherek dropped his eyes from hers, no longer able to look at her even out of politeness. She had caught him gazing at her. It was his ill luck that had followed him all of his life showing itself again. There was never a day that he wasn’t forced to remember that it dogged his every step. His tongue felt thick, and no words came to it.

  “I have heard you called Jherek,” she said. “Is that your name?”

  “Aye, lady.” Jherek struggled to get the words through his tight throat. “If I’ve offered you any affront, I apologize. The captain would have the skin from my back for such a thing.”

  She smiled. “I’ve no doubt that he would. Your Captain Finaren seems a man the Amnian can easily understand. His life revolves around his bottom line, and how well he can line his pockets, but you’ve offered me no affront.”

  Jherek felt relieved, only wanting to scurry up the rigging and get away from the woman’s gaze. He’d fought pirates and sea creatures for the future of Finaren’s Butterfly, but he felt naked and outmatched talking to the woman.

  “Thank you, lady.”

  “Yet,” she added, lifting both brows again. Curious lights, like embers, flew through her dark eyes. “Would you deny me the pleasure of your company then, young Jherek?”

  “La
dy, I have no way with social graces, and I lack in my education,” Jherek said honestly. He knew he was lying, though. Madame Iitaar and Malorrie had seen to his education since he was twelve, and they had both been demanding taskmasters.

  “I’m not looking for a gifted conversationalist, Jherek.” Yeill swirled her cape around herself, revealing the lean body cloaked beneath. “My father has done well with his trading in Baldur’s Gate. I can afford to be generous.”

  “There are many other crewmen,” Jherek said.

  “You are by far the most handsome.”

  Jherek flushed again. Never had a woman been so shameless in her pursuit. Even the scullery maids of the Figureheadless Tavern along the eastern dock walk in Velen were not so forceful.

  “Perhaps you’ve not seen me in good light, lady,” he said.

  “Can it be?” she asked with obvious delight. “Handsome and modest?” She wrinkled her brow, then a smile dawned on her crimson lips. “Or is there more to it?”

  Jherek shouldered the rope. “I have to get back to work, otherwise it will be the barnacle detail for a month for me if the captain finds me dallying.”

  Yeill’s voice sharpened. “You’ll stay here till I say you can go, boy.”

  Part of the old resentment at being unfairly commanded and ordered welled up in Jherek, and it almost loosened his tongue before he seized control of it. “Aye, lady.”

  “My father hired this ship and all the men aboard it to see to our needs during our voyage,” the Amnian woman stated. “That work won’t be shirked.”

  Jherek bowed his head, using the motion to break the eye contact. “Aye, lady.”

  “How old are you, boy?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “Yet you are only a deckhand, not a mate.”

  “I’ve not had the promise of potential.”

  “Then your captain lacks ability in picking his men. When the storm wracked this ship yesterday morn, you were the first to climb up into the rigging and cut the ropes to save at least some of the sails.”

  “I don’t think I was the first.” Jherek knew that he was, though. The rigging held no fears for him, even in the worst of storms.

  She ran her eyes over him again, lingering on the apron across his narrow hips. “Tell me, boy, have you never been with a woman before?”

  Jherek steeled himself and faced her. His answers had to be his own and truthful, and she was demanding them. “No.”

  She stroked his face with the back of her hand. “With your looks, that has to be by choice.”

  Jherek reached up and captured her hand in his, then slowly removed it from his face. “Aye.”

  “You do like women?”

  “Not all of those I’ve met,” Jherek told her, skating the thin line of insubordination, “but in the way you mean, aye.”

  “Do you find me unattractive then?”

  “I think you’re a very beautiful woman.”

  “So you’re content to merely look at me?” Her gaze mocked him.

  “I don’t know you,” Jherek said, “nor do you know me.”

  “I’m willing to get to know you,” Yeill stated forcefully, “and pay you for the opportunity.”

  “I’m not for sale. Not that way.” Jherek released her hand and took a step back, just out of her reach. Nausea touched his stomach in response to her offer.

  “Ridiculous,” the Amnian woman snapped. “Everyone is for sale.”

  “Not me,” Jherek said.

  She raked him with her fiery eyes. “You tread in dangerous waters, boy. Maybe you don’t remember who you’re dealing with.”

  “I remember.”

  “Do you realize the insult you offer me, boy?”

  “There’s no insult intended. You asked for something that I’m not prepared to sell.”

  “You think so much of it, then?”

  Jherek wished he could have said more. She would have understood had she been where he’d been, had lived on as little as he’d been given in his early life. There was so little left that was truly his.

  “What you ask for can’t be bought, lady, only given.”

  “You speak of hearts, boy.”

  “I speak of love.”

  She laughed at him derisively and asked, “You believe such a thing exists?”

  “I want to believe,” Jherek said. In truth, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t prepared to settle for anything less than the true love Malorrie’s tales had told of.

  “A fool believes in love.”

  He let some of the anger out then, in his own defense. “You would trouble yourself over a fool, lady?”

  She smiled at him, prettily, but her eyes were hard and cutting as barnacles. “If he had a handsome face and a soft touch,” she answered, “and I had the price. Trust me, boy, I do have your price.”

  Jherek settled the ropes more securely about his shoulder. “Lady, I mean no offense, but I must get to work.” Behind her, he saw Captain Finaren step onto the main deck, leaning on the railing and looking down at him.

  “You’re a foolish boy,” Yeill stated. “You’ll regret this.” Without warning, she slapped him.

  Jherek saw the blow coming and chose not to dodge it entirely. Malorrie’s martial training included close-in fighting as well as the blade. Her open hand collided with his cheek and he felt one of her rings cut his face. Blood trickled down his cheek and he tasted it inside his mouth as well. She’d hit harder than he’d expected.

  “Tell your fellow sailors that you made an improper advance toward me,” the Amnian woman whispered roughly. “If you don’t, trust me when I say that you’ll regret it.”

  He met her gaze. “If you think that I would choose to dishonor you,” he told her in an equally low voice, “you still show your ignorance of the kind of man I choose to be.”

  “You’re no man,” she said. “A man would have come to me himself, days ago.” She turned sharply and walked away from him.

  Jherek stood there, his face burning crimson, and listened to the jeering catcalls of the other sailors. Shaking a little with the anger and fear that nearly consumed him, he walked to the nearest rigging and leaped up into the ropes. He climbed swiftly, edging out to the area that he’d been assigned to repair.

  When he showed no sign of responding to the catcalls and off-color comments, the other sailors gave up baiting him. High above the deck, feeling the morning sun soak into him, he let go of the emotions, pushing them out of his body. Madame Iitaar had been the first to get him past the fear that had become his birthright. She had taught him to trust himself, and gradually a handful of others, but he was at his best when he was alone.

  His fingers worked cleverly, almost without him thinking about it. He braided the new rope in with the old rigging, then cut away the frayed pieces. The cries of the heggrims, following after Finaran’s Butterfly for the garbage that was dumped every morning and after every meal, soothed him. He chose a new piece of rope and paused long enough to gaze out across the water.

  The ocean spread rolling and green. He loved the sea, loved the sailor’s life, loved the autonomy of living aboard ship. Those things took him away from large groups of people. Interacting with others, especially when they didn’t make sense, drained him and often left him dispirited.

  He breathed in the salt air and felt invigorated. The Amnians would be gone soon, and they’d be home in Velen for a few days. He found he was looking forward to it more than usual.

  “What happened betwixt you and that girl, lad?”

  Jherek sat in the rigging, tied in now as he worked the more narrow and more tricky spots on the mast. The storm yesterday morning had been unforgiving, ripping across the cog’s decks and doing exterior damage that would be repaired at a later time.

  “What’s she saying?” Jherek asked carefully.

  Captain Virne Finaren stood on the nearby mast arm, a short burly man of sixty and more years who hadn’t given up any aspect of his duties to his ship. The captain still hand-trained
the more capable of his crew. He’d taught Jherek the few things the boy hadn’t known about ships.

  “She’s saying that you made improper advances toward her,” Finaren said.

  He wore a full beard the yellow color of Calim Desert sand, spotted now with winter silver. The sun had tightened his eyes, making them slits across copper pupils. His face was seamed from exposure to the elements and a dagger thrust had left a harsh scar above his right eyebrow. He wore a doublet, breeches, and boots. A red kerchief kept his long hair from his eyes.

  Jherek didn’t say anything, keeping his hands busy.

  “I’m caught in a bit of a muddle,” the captain admitted as he went on.

  “Why?” Jherek asked.

  “A crewman of mine making advances against a woman on my ship, he’s a crewman going to get a taste of the cat.”

  Jherek knew Finaren was referring to the cat-o’-ninetails he kept for ship’s discipline. “Very well,” he said.

  “Very well?” Finaren repeated after a moment.

  “Aye,” Jherek said.

  “You’d let me take the hide from your back, and we both knowing that pretty little tramp is lying like a rug?”

  “I didn’t say she was lying,” Jherek pointed out.

  “Lad,” Finaren said, “we both know she’s lying. You’ve never offered any man or woman—or beast, that I know of—anything in the way of an insult. Even them that you’ve killed in a fight you’ve never slurred before, during, or after.”

  Jherek said nothing, feeling bad that his ill luck was affecting Finaren as well. “I was looking at her,” he admitted. “Maybe if I hadn’t been doing that, she wouldn’t have embarrassed herself.”

  “Valkur’s brass buttons, boy!” Finaren exploded. “You’re a seaman. You spend a netful of your life away from kith and kin, and the sight of a good woman. Even a sailor clinging to a sinking spar would gaze on Umberlee with favor, and her the cold bitch goddess she is that spares no man venturing out on the ocean. When we go out on the salt as a way of life, we know what we’re giving up.”