Rising Tide

by Mel Odom

  “We still take their ships,” the sahuagin king pointed out.

  “Only because they foolishly continue to believe they maintain control over the seas,” Iakhovas replied. “In this we need to be thankful for their own egotistical designs. We do not have to take the fight to them; they bring it into our home territory with every ship they sail. Still, they must be broken of this inflated view of themselves.”

  “But the ships appear in less numbers than before.”

  “In what they call the Sea of Swords,” Iakhovas said, “your summation is true. However, even that is too much. All that is needed is for a few ships, or perhaps only one, to brave the sea successfully and they will forget the message that has been delivered to them. A human’s memory isn’t as long or as gifted as that of a sahuagin’s. A human will forget and believe again that they can venture out onto the sea. We need to raid their shores, raze their communities, and see them run broken and splintered before us.” He paused. “Sekolah demands no less of his children if they are truly to be his children.”

  “You claim the ear of Sekolah,” Huaanton said, “when none of my priestesses claim any such contact.”

  “Not his ear,” Iakhovas responded, “his voice. He speaks to me through my priestess. I seek only to obey, as should any true sahuagin.”

  The sahuagin king turned slowly toward Laaqueel, his tail flipping through the water in annoyance. That slight gesture was enough to emphasize the difference between him and her.

  Huaanton spoke slowly, giving his words weight. “Why speak through such a … flawed vessel?”

  Laaqueel instantly dropped her eyes as was the sahuagin custom. She let her arms drift away from her body at her sides, leaving herself defenseless. “I don’t know, Exalted One,” she replied, and that was partially the truth. As Iakhovas had pointed out, how could she have found him without Sekolah’s intervention? Why hadn’t another found the story of One Who Swims With Sekolah? What had made him choose her over the two true sahuagin priestesses who had been with her?

  “Have you heard the Great Shark?” Huaanton demanded.

  “No,” Laaqueel answered, “though I have been given visions.”

  Those visions of combat and strife, of the sahuagin killing surface dwellers at the sides of massive beasts, had been constant for the last year. It could have been nightmares, brought on by listening to Iakhovas’s plans for the sahuagin, but they could have been visions as well.

  “Do you believe in these visions?”

  Next to her heart, the black quill Iakhovas had inserted under her breast stirred in warning. A chill ran down her spine and her face went numb. “Yes,” she replied. She knew to answer in any other fashion would have meant sudden death. She believed in Sekolah and she believed in her place in the Great Shark’s plans. Wherever Iakhovas led, she believed it would only strengthen the sahuagin. He was a harsh taskmaster, and his chosen war would only strengthen her people.

  She felt Huaanton’s eyes on her, but she knew he could go no further without opening the way to a challenge from either herself or Iakhovas.

  “I live only to serve the will of Sekolah,” Iakhovas stated. “Should anything try to stand in the way of that, I would be honor bound to see that thing—that person—destroyed as one of the Great Shark’s enemies.”

  When her lateral lines signaled that Huaanton had turned from her, Laaqueel glanced back up and saw Iakhovas squarely meeting the sahuagin king’s gaze.

  “Since you’ve been among us,” Huaanton said, “you’ve been overly ambitious.”

  “You lay that ambition so easily at my fins,” Iakhovas replied slowly, “but I claim no part of it. The ambition, as you incorrectly call it, is merely the doctrine I’ve been given by my god to obey. I will not turn away from it.”

  “Twelve years of age,” Huaanton said, “and you’re already a prince.”

  “I’ve taken on the challenges Sekolah has laid before me, and they led me into those positions as the currents dictated,” Iakhovas replied. “I rose from warrior to lieutenant, to baronial guard, to chieftain, and then baron because there was a need and because the Great Shark expected no less of the tool he would shape me into.”

  “You challenged and killed everyone who stood in your way.”

  “Fairly,” Iakhovas said, “and obviously with Sekolah’s blessing or I would not have survived. Three years ago, when Slaartiig came to your village where you then ruled as baron and laid claim to the crystal ball your warriors salvaged from a surface vessel they’d sunk, I challenged him for you because his claim to your property was unjust, as fits the rules that Sekolah has handed down to our people. No one expected me to live against such odds as that. Yet I did.”

  That wasn’t all the story, Laaqueel knew. Iakhovas had actually targeted the surface vessel for the sahuagin raiders, then helped them take it. They’d later used the ship in the raid against Waterdeep, but it also had something on board that he’d laid claim to without the warriors seeing. Only she’d known, and then only because he’d told her, relishing his victory.

  The crystal ball had been an additional find, one that Iakhovas hadn’t been overly interested in. It allowed the viewer to see many places, but they lacked the magic phrases to unlock all its secrets to make it into the weapon Huaanton had hoped it would be. If Iakhovas knew the secret of the crystal ball, he never told.

  “You killed Slaartiig,” Huaanton said.

  “And my actions justified my reasons for defending you in the eyes of the Great Shark and our people,” Iakhovas pointed out. No matter what the illusion his spellwork painted for the sahuagin, Laaqueel saw the anger in his scarred face. “You challenged the old king over a matter of cowardice, and you yourself ripped free the trident that you now hold as a sign of your office from his dead hand, proclaiming yourself king. None of the other princes challenged for your position. They recognized your right to be king, read in the currents of everything that had happened that it was what you were destined for.”

  The other eight sahuagin princes also, Laaqueel remembered, recognized that Iakhovas had been the first to lay his trident at Huaanton’s feet, swearing to defend him against all enemies. They already knew what kind of fighter the wizard was.

  “You yourself appointed me prince,” Iakhovas said, “with every confidence that I’d carry out the demands of that position and support you in every way, which, if you’ll review my actions since that time, I have done. Why hesitate to believe in me now, when another victory is within our reach?”

  “We fight our battles to win,” Huaanton stated. “The one you seek to set before us is unwinnable.”

  “We fight to sharpen our claws and prove our worth to Sekolah,” Iakhovas said, and his words rang true in Laaqueel’s ears. “Waterdeep was only the first step. There need to be many more.”

  “What would you suggest?” the sahuagin king asked.

  “Again you confuse the issue before you, Exalted One. These are the wishes—nay, the commands—of Sekolah himself. He speaks through my high priestess.”

  Huaanton turned to Laaqueel and asked, “How does he instruct you?”

  “He doesn’t say anything, Exalted One,” the malenti said, hating her part in the present subterfuge. “He gave me a vision of a human city called Baldur’s Gate.”

  “Where is this city?”

  “Along what the surface dwellers call the Sword Coast,” Laaqueel answered. “It’s south of Waterdeep.”

  “This place is important to the surface dwellers?”

  “Yes.”

  Huaanton shifted, his tail lashing out restlessly. “How so?”

  “Between Waterdeep and the country they call Amn, Baldur’s Gate is the last city of any size that the surface dwellers can use as a stronghold,” Iakhovas stated. “It lies almost sixty miles inland, on a flow of moving freshwater they call Chionthar.”

  “We can’t go into fresh water,” Huaanton argued.

  “The priestess has had the vision,” Iakhovas said. “
We cannot deny Sekolah’s wishes. When we put an army there, we have to trust that a way will be made.”

  “That army would also be exposed to the surface dwellers. Waters trapped by land don’t run as deeply as the sea.”

  “We shall strike at night, at a time when their defenses will be most relaxed. The surface dwellers won’t see us clearly but we will see them easily. Also, Baldur’s Gate lacks the size and protection that Waterdeep possessed. They are as a hatchling to a full-grown warrior. It will not be a battle, it will be a ruination.”

  Huaanton appeared to consider Iakhovas’s words, but Laaqueel knew enough about the sahuagin king to know that he wasn’t overjoyed at them either. A lot was at stake.

  “You’re asking too much,” the king said finally.

  Iakhovas grimaced. Laaqueel felt certain that the illusion he was projecting to the rest of those in the room didn’t show the anger. “Exalted One,” he said carefully and quietly, “I need to remind you I’m not the one doing the asking. It is more along the lines of a command than any conjecture requiring sufferance on your behalf.”

  Kicking across the room, Huaanton sat in the open shark’s mouth throne. He kept the inlaid gold and shark bone trident upright beside him.

  “I want a sign that this is what Sekolah wants,” he demanded.

  “Sacrilege!” Laaqueel exploded, moving toward the sahuagin king with enough fire in her voice and menace in her approach that the royal guards moved quickly to intercept her.

  Her emotion came out of the conviction of her office. Born a malenti, an automatic outcast from her own people, she’d been given nothing but the Great Shark to believe in, and she did believe. Even with the involvement of Iakhovas, she believed that there had been some reason she’d been allowed to glimpse the truth of the legend and find the ancient wizard, though she couldn’t recognize that reason at the time.

  “Sekolah freed the sahuagin into these waters and gave them the strength and the ferocity to go forth and take what they needed,” she said. “That is the only sign a true believer should ever need!”

  Huaanton swiveled his great head to her. The guards’ tridents stopped within inches of the high priestess.

  She raised her hand in warning, the sound of her praying voice loud enough to carry on the currents that filled the room. Their instinctive fear of even her magic made them drop into nervous defensive positions, but they readied to charge, obviously wanting to deal with her quickly.

  “Stop!” Huaanton ordered.

  Reluctantly yet relieved, the royal guard stepped back, but they didn’t put their weapons away.

  “You run the risk of insult, priestess.” The sahuagin king glowered at her.

  Laaqueel thought quickly. “I run that risk only to keep you from blaspheming, Exalted One. Our two positions—the warrior’s to lead the sahuagin race, and the priestess’s to guide the sahuagin in their beliefs—are both necessary. A warrior keeps the sahuagin alive in the now, and a priestess keeps the sahuagin alive forever. Our two paths must never work at cross purposes.”

  “I agree,” Huaanton said. “That’s why I want Sekolah to give some sign to my priestesses before this next battle takes place.”

  “Sekolah is not a god you can put demands on.”

  Laaqueel assumed a level stance, no longer subservient to the sahuagin king. Her eyes met his. The Great Shark would demand no less. In the past, the warrior’s way and the priestess’s way often conflicted. Both drew on the same resource of followers, but during most of those times compromises could be worked out.

  “He doesn’t want parasites as his worshipers; he wants warriors.”

  “I agree,” Huaanton said, “but I see before me a malenti, a birth defect, claiming to be a conduit for a god. Wouldn’t you question that?”

  The insult hit Laaqueel like a physical blow. She didn’t trust herself to speak until she’d dealt with the anger that filled her.

  “Then, at your own peril, you’ll have your sign,” Iakhovas said.

  Huaanton looked at the wizard as if wanting to question whether the statement had been a threat. Instead, he asked, “When?”

  Laaqueel didn’t dare look at Iakhovas, afraid that her doubt and fear would be apparent to everyone. How could Iakhovas promise something like that?

  “A tenday from now,” Iakhovas went on. “It will be here, in your city, for all sahuagin to see.” He paused, his eyes rebelliously focused on Huaanton’s. “When that sign is delivered, there will be no doubt about what is to be done.”

  “I will look for you here,” the sahuagin king said. “You’ll be guests at the palace.”

  For Laaqueel the offer translated simply that they’d be prisoners of the palace. She watched numbly as Iakhovas excused them from the sahuagin king’s audience chamber. They were accompanied by the royal guard through the maze of tunnels, swimming back to where the flier was tied up.

  I perceive my error now, little malenti, Iakhovas said in her mind.

  By promising a sign from Sekolah? she asked. If we don’t come here in a tenday, Huaanton will rightly have us hunted down and brought to him. We’ll be thrown into the gladiatorial amphitheater and used as sport. Should we show up and there’s no sign, we’ll end up in the same place.

  Little malenti, Iakhovas mocked, you concern yourself overmuch with matters that are entirely trivial. I have cared for you fifteen years, elevated you into the position of high priestess for a prince from being a junior priestess and spy for a baron. Miracles are easy to accomplish if you have those who wish to believe in them.

  Laaqueel resented the words, but knew they carried the strength of truth.

  No, he said confidently, there will be a sign. My chief oversight lay in reasoning that I could accomplish everything I need to as anything less than king.

  She stared at him through the darkness filling the maze tunnel. He smiled, and his single eye blazed with conviction.

  XXV

  17 Mirtul, the Year of the Gauntlet

  Jherek pushed in through the double doors of the Copper Coronet in the row of festhalls fronting Athkatla’s docks and opened his eyes to their fullest against the darkness that clung to the tavern’s interior. Raucous voices in a dozen and more languages spilled over into the street beyond the doors, beaten back only by the street vendors hawking their wares to wandering ships’ crews.

  He waited a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. Even at midday, the tavern’s darkness appeared to be an inviting cool, a place where secrets and guilt could be shared. Pipeweed smoke, dimly lit from candles on the scarred tables and wall sconces, curled toward the stained ceiling. Sea-roughened men reached for waitresses, cracking off-color jokes or making half serious offers given the benefit of graphic gestures. The waitresses for their part flirted with the men, working for the small tips that came their way.

  The Copper Coronet was one of Athkatla’s many dives. Pirates and smugglers met there to arrange business, and journeymen cutpurses gathered there to find victims. Sawdust covered the floor, sopping up spilled ale or blood as the need arose.

  Jherek breathed shallowly through his nose. He’d never felt at home in such a place. Even the taverns in Velen had never become overly familiar or comfortable. He’d gone because Finaren had often concluded ship’s business there, and sometimes to briefly share in celebrations he’d been invited to.

  Men stood at the sturdy bar that lined the other side of the room, hoisting tankards of ale and laughing at witticisms or stories told by others. The bartender was a short, broad man with a bald head and flaring mustache. He regarded Jherek with a flat, uninviting gaze as he wiped an ale tankard out with a frayed and stained towel. A copper crown, evidently the item the tavern took its name from, rested haphazardly on the yellowed ivory skull of a crocodile jutting from the wall behind the bartender. A handful of teeth were broken in the reptilian grin.

  A slim waitress approached Jherek, balancing a tray on one bony hip. Her skirt was cut short enough to embarrass the
young sailor, and he kept his eyes on hers. She smiled at him, showing a missing front tooth. Dark sandy hair flared out across her shoulders.

  “Can I get something for you, sailor?”

  “No,” Jherek replied. “I’m looking for the crew of Breezerunner.”

  “I think I noticed them earlier,” she admitted, moving close enough that Jherek could feel the heat from her body.

  Involuntarily, he took a step back. Dropping his eyes from hers, he couldn’t help glancing at the long legs revealed by the short skirt. They were white from not having seen enough sun but still held the roundness of youth. He glanced up at her again and saw she was smiling even more broadly.

  “I need to find them,” he told her.

  Beyond the waitress, other men in the tavern were starting to look at him, evidently noticing his distress at handling her and her attentions. One old sailor with a peg leg slapped his leg with glee, watching intently.

  “I’ll give you a hand,” the waitress replied. She reached forward, dragging her fingers across his stomach.

  He felt the heat of her touch through his shirt. Taking another step back, he broke the contact.

  “I thought you wanted my help,” she challenged. Above her smile, he noticed her eyes had taken on cold, calculating lights.

  “Aye,” Jherek answered nervously. “Could you point me in the right direction?”

  “Yes. I can get you pointed in the right direction.”

  Her hand dropped to the front of his breeches, seizing his belt and pulling him forward till their bodies met. Before Jherek could decide how he could easily break out of her grip without hurting her or appearing too rude, she leaned in and kissed him, biting gently at his lips.

  “Enough!” he said with iron in his voice.

  He took her wrist in his hand and broke her grip, lifting her arm between them to use as a lever to keep her away.

  “Are you sure?” she taunted. Her smile seemed brighter and colder than ever.

  Blood pounded in Jherek’s temples. He was embarrassed and angry, not understanding what he’d done to deserve such treatment at the serving girl’s hands. Over the roar of anger that filled his ears, he also heard the rollicking laughter of the sailors.