by Mel Odom
“Why should any sahuagin die if it’s not necessary?” she asked.
“Because, little malenti, I have need of their deaths, and they must prove their fealty to me if I’m to champion their cause in this world.” Iakhovas surveyed the nearing warning lights of Waterdeep Harbor. Anchored buoys clanged in the distance near Deepwater Isle, warning of the shallows there. “Sacrifices must be made. As I’ve learned, this is the last day in Ches, a time of holidays in Deepwater.”
Laaqueel had learned that even as Iakhovas had. The Waterdhavians called the festival Fleetswake. During that time the mariners and the city gave homage to Umberlee, the dread sea goddess. Umberlee’s Cache lay in the belly of the sloping bowl of Deepwater Harbor on the other side of Darkwater Isle. In years past, offerings to Umberlee had been dropped on the harbor floor, then mermaid shamans had broken that floor open to the great cavern system below that no one had ever mapped out. Every now and again, the malenti spotted the magical beam of the lighthouse near Umberlee’s Cache skate below the dark waters ahead of them. It was used to guide the merfolk that were part of Waterdeep’s defense hierarchy.
“The promise and bounty of Fleetswake convokes ships from over all Faerûn, giving the surface dwellers a dream of shared peace and prosperity,” Iakhovas went on. “Traders, warriors, craftsmen, bards, and thieves, all will be represented on those cobblestone streets. There will be many in Waterdeep to tell the tale of the battle this night. They will spread that tale to the corners of all Toril, their wagging tongues making the story larger and more intense as it is passed along.”
“The surface dwellers could be incited to hunt the sahuagin down.”
Iakhovas laughed loudly. “Little malenti, let them come. Let them rise above their cowardice, strap their weapons about their loins, and sail out into these seas that I have marked as mine. If they sail out into the sea after us, they sail only to their deaths. In fact, it will only help my cause if part of this war is played out in our element. We can bare our teeth and our claws, and show them the foolishness of any sort of resistance. It will also serve to threaten the other sahuagin tribes who haven’t seen fit to join our effort.”
“The surface dwellers could unite.”
Iakhovas shook his head. “Not according to everything I’ve studied about these jealous cultures,” he told her. “These nations of surface dwellers have long histories of bitter feuds and rivalry over trade agreements, religion, and politics. What countries can hope to survive if they follow a path laden with those traps and snares? No, even should they endeavor to agree on a common enemy, we shall own the seas. In their limited intelligence and greed, the surface dwellers may have learned to cross the oceans, but they’ll never master them, never the way I have.”
Laaqueel had other doubts that she almost voiced. She didn’t, though, since she knew Iakhovas would counter each of them with an argument of his own.
“Ready yourself, little malenti,” Iakhovas ordered, pointing at the approaching small lateen-sailed galley bearing Waterdhavian colors. The galleys supported the navy rakers that provided protection for the harbor.
The malenti moved forward, standing at her master’s side and holding her trident at the ready. She carried a sword belted at her waist. She didn’t much care for the weapon, but she’d been trained to use it.
“Ahoy, Drifting Eel,” a mariner wearing the uniform of the Waterdeep Guard called out. A dozen other men stood in the galley’s prow, armed with heavy crossbows and swords. The crew aboard her matched speeds with the pentekonter easily, pulling alongside and remaining only a few yards out from the bigger ship’s oars.
“Ahoy,” Iakhovas called back.
“State your name, home port, and business within Waterdeep Harbor,” the guard ordered, waving men into action who shined bulls-eye lanterns over the pentekonter.
“I stand before you, birth-named Iakhovas, captain of Drifting Eel. As for a home port, we hail from Snowdown, in the Moonshaes. Why we’re here? Why, man, it’s Fleetswake, a time of revel and a time of profit for a man who’s got coin to be spent and a cargo worth buying. I’d not forsake Waterdeep’s hospitality at this time for anything.”
The guard smiled and looked tired. “You’re getting here late,” he said.
“Aye,” Iakhovas replied, “and had the parsimonious storm we had the ill-favor to encounter and embrace two days ago had been more inclined than I, I’d not be here at all.”
“How much damage did you take on?” the guard asked. A frown creased his face. “I don’t want any lagging ships standing in the way of the shipping lanes. If you’re not all together, you can moor up outside the harbor and pay passage on some of the service boats to get inside the city.”
“Trust me,” Iakhovas answered. “Should anything go wrong with this vessel, you’ll be the first to know. I’ve seen to the repairs, and now I’m ready to make back the losses I’ve incurred.”
The harbor guard shined his lantern at the pentekonter’s water line. “You’re riding low, Cap’n Iakhovas.”
Even the modified outriggers hadn’t been able to compensate for the ship’s increased draw made necessary to keep the sahuagin rowers aboard underwater. Laaqueel had hoped it wouldn’t be as apparent when they arrived at night, but the surface dwellers knew their vessels.
“My dear fellow, the sheer amount of cargo we’re carrying is justification enough to force us to sit low in the water,” Iakhovas replied.
“You must have brought a lot.”
“Everything we found we were able to pack into the hold.”
“I’m Civilar Nöth of the Waterdeep Guard,” the man said. “Prepare to be boarded and present your manifests.”
Iakhovas called out the order to lower the rope ladder. One of the wererats kicked it and sent the rope ladder bundle spilling down the side of the pentekonter. The bottom several rungs landed in the water with a flat splat.
The civilar and two of his people swarmed up the ladder with practiced ease. Laaqueel noted that they kept their hands on the hilts of their short swords, and something magical clung to one or more of them. Her priestess training had made her sensitive to magic auras. She considered invoking the gifts given to her from Sekolah but didn’t. The spells the Shark God had given her needed to be held for a later time.
Iakhovas’s magic seemed to know no bounds, though. The malenti remembered in the beginning, after she’d found him, that his powers had been so scarce she’d nearly escaped him half a dozen times. Now he commanded large amounts of magic easily, and that seemed to grow with each item he recovered.
The glamour Iakhovas had cast over the pentekonter held, making Drifting Eel look like a normal ship with a normal crew.
The civilar crossed the deck and took out the blank sheet of paper Iakhovas handed him. “Everything here’s satisfactory,” he declared after a moment. “I’d like to take a look at the hold.”
“Of course.” Iakhovas raised his one-eyed gaze to Laaqueel. “My associate will show you the way, if you please.”
Laaqueel nodded, but remained silent. She didn’t know if Iakhovas’s spell rendered her as a male or female and she didn’t want her voice to betray it, if that was possible. The sorcerer’s abilities had never failed. She led the Waterdhavian Guardsmen down into the hold, readying her own spells if she needed them.
If the civilar and his entourage noticed her duck away from the lantern’s bright light when they brought it close, they didn’t give any indication. She paused at the bottom of the hold, looking out over the sahuagin still working at the oars. They kept up the cadence, seated in the murky water that lapped over their heads.
The civilar and his companions halted on the steps, held back by the illusion Iakhovas maintained over the pentekonter. “You people worked hard to get all these things in here,” he said appreciatively.
Laaqueel only gave him a slight nod, not having a clue what the man thought he saw.
“May Tymora smile on you and bless you with her favors,” the civ
ilar said. He turned and went back up the steps.
“I presume all below decks was found to be in good standing?” Iakhovas asked when they walked back on deck.
“It was fine,” the civilar said. “I’ll get you clear of the East Torch Tower gate.”
Iakhovas glanced at the man, fixing his single eye upon him and making a gesture with two fingers. “You mean the Stormhaven Island gate.”
“Of course I do,” the civilar responded.
“Passage for all four ships,” Iakhovas went on.
“Aye. Passage for all four ships.”
“And you’ll stay with us to make sure we get through.”
“I’ll stay with you,” the civilar said. “In the last few hours our orders were to take everyone through the East Torch Tower gate except under special circumstances.”
“Good,” Iakhovas said in a quiet, low voice. “Signal your men and secure passage for us.”
The civilar took two torches from a waterproof pouch on his back. They reeked of oil. He struck a flint and the sparks leaped onto the first torch, catching immediately. He lit the second torch with the first.
Laaqueel took an involuntary step back when the combined torches blazed up. The acrid smoke dried the back of her throat and irritated her gills. Smoke made breathing in the open air even less tolerable.
Waving the torches in a brief pattern, the civilar stepped back. “You can proceed, my lord.”
Laaqueel didn’t miss the address. She could tell from Iakhovas’s cruel smile that she wasn’t supposed to.
None of the other members of the Guard said anything, just stood at military attention.
“Puppets,” Iakhovas stated. “They say what I want and hear only what I want them to, and never a thought enters their heads unless I place it there myself.”
The wererat crew milled on the deck as Drifting Eel’s pilot brought them around to the Stormhaven Island gate. The gate was strategically located for Iakhovas’s plan. The Waterdhavian Naval Harbor lay immediately to the northwest of the outer gate. Once the outer gate was taken down, the full thrust of the waiting attack would begin. By that time the sahuagin warrior groups circling Waterdeep by way of the mud flats to the north would attack the West Gate and split the city’s forces.
North of the naval harbor, the great, bald craggy mountain where Waterdeep Castle had been built stood overlooking the entire city. Lights burned in various places along Piergeiron’s Palace, announcing only some of the City Watch secured areas. Closer to the shore along the Dock Ward, the Watching Tower, the Harborwatch Tower, and Smuggler’s Bane Tower all looked out over the Great Harbor. A grim fortification occupied the right side of Stormhaven Island gate.
Despite the iron control she’d developed as a sahuagin, a spy, a priestess, and as the only one who knew more of Iakhovas’s secrets than anyone else, Laaqueel’s stomach fluttered as she watched the huge metal nets that served as gates lower out of their way to the sea bed below. When they were up, getting a ship through was almost impossible.
Surface dwellers occupied the fortifications and towers above the harbor waters. Mermen, mermaids, and sea elves kept patrol in the depths. The proof of the attack, Laaqueel knew, would be learned in the next handful of minutes.
“It’s time, little malenti,” Iakhovas said, “assume command of your forces and insure that these gates remain open so that the rest of our navy will be able to join us. Do not fail me.”
She nodded, her eyes meeting his solitary gaze. “I won’t.”
The Waterdhavian Guard members gave no notice of having overheard the conversation.
Laaqueel left the deck and went down the stairs. The sahuagin warriors gathered in the hold looked up at her expectantly. “It’s time. No one lives. Only our enemies are around us.”
“We are ready to slay in the name of Great Sekolah, most favored one,” a four-armed chieftain roared. “Meat is meat. Our enemies will regret meeting We Who Eat.”
The malenti remembered his name as Bouundaar, an aggressive male who’d worked his way up in rank quickly. The overly aggressive ones always did under Iakhovas’s watchful eye. “Three teams, Chieftain Bouundaar, quickly.”
“It has already been done, most favored one.”
“Then come. You and your team are with me. The others go to attack the defenses at the bottom of the harbor and the fortification to the east.”
“It shall be as you say, most favored one.”
Laaqueel dived into the cold water without another word, and the battle for Waterdeep Harbor began.
V
11 Mirtul, the Year of the Gauntlet
The dream overtook Jherek while he lay in Butterfly’s brig, filling him with the same cold dread that all memories of his father did when they haunted his sleep.
He swam in the blue-green of a sea. He didn’t know which sea it was, nor did he care. He was free. He’d spent days in the brig at the insistence of the Amnian merchant.
He took joy in the feel of the warmth of the sea against his skin, at the currents that brushed against him. He knew at once it was a dream because he could breathe underwater. Looking up, he couldn’t see the surface, and looking down he found a sea bed scattered with coral and fish.
He swam for a time, racing fish and finding that he was faster than them. Exuberant, he flashed through the water, diving and twisting and rolling through the ocean in great loops.
Only a short time later, he spotted the largest clam he’d ever seen. It was ten feet across, nearly that deep, and possessed a ridged alabaster shell. Curiosity gripped him and he was drawn to it. As he watched, it started to slowly open.
Jherek floated in the water, mesmerized by what was happening. Even before the clam was halfway open, he spotted the woman inside.
She was beautiful, close to his age, and had platinum blond hair that framed a nut-brown complexion. Since she wasn’t dressed, he could see all her generous curves and womanly gifts.
Jherek was embarrassed, but somehow he felt it was right to simply gaze at her.
She smiled at him and waved. “Jherek,” she cooed.
He heard his name plainly. Even his unconscious mind knew it was a dream, but he couldn’t ignore that siren call. He swam down to her, realizing that she was a mermaid, her lower body that of a fish, all sheathed in iridescent green scales.
Instead of being appalled, he found her nature made her even more attractive to him. He stopped just short of her, gazing in wonder as she sat on the pink bed of the clam.
She reached out to him, laying her palm along the side of his face. Her touch was warm, soft. A string of shaped fire coral figurines lay between her breasts.
“Lady,” he said in a thick voice.
“Shhhh,” she admonished him, “I’m here to talk to you, to warn you.”
“Warn me of what?” Jherek asked. “I’ve already been locked in Butterfly’s brig. When I get back home, I’ll probably be hanged in the dockyards.”
“No,” she told him. “That’s not going to happen. You’ve made friends, Jherek, and they’ll stand you in good stead. You must not lose heart or hope. Things have been given to you, but you must seek out the key that opens the understanding you need.”
He shook his head. “No. This is only a dream. Something my mind has culled from one of Malorrie’s romantic stories.”
“Dear, sweet Jherek,” she rebuked softly, “so much doubt.”
He felt guilty at her tone. “Aye,” he agreed, “but I’ve got reasons.”
“You’ll understand in time,” she assured him. “You’ve been given the burdens you carry only so that you may become who you should be. Running water shapes stone but it doesn’t do so overnight.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will. You must trust that.”
The look she gave him drew the promise, “I’ll try.”
Her face took on a more somber look. “Know, too, that there are those who would stop you in your journey,” she said. “They fear you, fea
r what you will become, and with good cause because your life will touch the lives of many. I came to you in this dream so that you may take heart in this time of despair. There is a darkness out there, greater than any darkness you’ve known. It has already moved against part of the world you know, and it will be your crucible. Should you live, understanding and more will be yours.”
“And should I die, lady?”
She looked at him, gave him a small smile, and said simply, “Don’t.”
Jherek wanted to talk to her further, to explain things as he saw them and to tell her of the ill fortune that had been his birthright, but she looked away from him. Cold horror now shaped her features.
He looked up instinctively, his attention drawn to whatever she saw.
At first, it was only a dim shape lost in the horizonless vast of the sea, then it came closer with astonishing speed. He realized it was a shark when it was still a distance away, recognizing the dorsal fins. He’d dreamed of sahuagin and sharks a lot since the recent attack on Butterfly. Reaching down to where he normally carried his shin knife, he found only bare skin. He had no weapons.
He reached for the girl. “Come, lady,” he said, “while there is yet time.”
She resisted, pulling against him, and said, “No, Jherek. This is not a thing that can be fled from. This is something that you must face.”
He grabbed her wrist, desperately wanting to pull her to the sea bed below. The great shark was bigger than he’d thought, swelling into sight. Fear took him then when he saw that it was thirty, forty, or more feet in length.
Its skin was a stained gray, like ivory that had been rubbed with charcoal, the black coloring worked into the veins and scratches. When it came closer, he saw that the veins and scratches were tattooed runes and old scars. One eye was liquid black, malignant, magnetic. The other was only a puckered hole, dark with the hollow and the scarring around it.