by Mel Odom
Catching a trident thrust by another sahuagin with the hook, Jherek turned it aside and kicked the sea devil in the face. He followed with a thrust through the creature's heart. Thrusting the hook through the sahuagin's harness, he dragged the body to the railing to clear it from the stern deck. He sheathed the cutlass and grabbed one of the corpse's legs and levered the body over the railing.
A sahuagin net spun up at him from a sea devil clinging to the ship's stern. It settled over the young sailor before he had a chance to move. Cruel fish hooks woven into the net bit into his flesh. Blood flowed from a dozen small injuries as the net drew tight.
Jherek screamed in pain, instinctively pulling back against the net in an attempt to escape. The effort only drove the hooks more deeply into his flesh. Luckily, there was no burn of sahuagin poison, but the weight and the strength of the sahuagin at the other end pulled him forward. He caught the edge of the railing in one hand and with the hook, watching as the hooked bits of his skin stood out. The pain ripped another scream from his throat.
A cold voice entered his mind. Live, that you may serve.
Fire leaped from one of the burning sahuagin still on deck onto the net. The strands parted like hairs over an open flame.
Jherek stumbled back onto the deck. The pain from the hooks was sharp and tearing, almost blinding in its intensity, but he saw that the sailors had successfully broken the sahuagin attack. The manta still burned in the distance, looking like a single torch in the night. Sea devil corpses littered Butterfly's wake, catching the pallor of the lightning flashing through the wine-dark clouds overhead.
Claustrophobia tightened over Jherek more tightly than the net. He didn't like closed in places. Hooking his fingers in the net, he started pulling, hoping to dislodge some of the hooks.
"Stand easy, lad," Finaren ordered, striding close. "Damned nets are hard to get away from. Lucky that this one got burned the way it did."
Jherek took a deep breath and relaxed the way Malorrie had taught him. He distanced the fear, giving himself over to the peaceful pitch and yaw of Butterfly's rolling deck. Finaren hadn't seen the way the net had parted.
"Carthos, Himtap," Finaren called out, "get some snips and get the lad free of that net." The captain regarded Jherek. "You stay here, lad. I got the rest of me crew to look in on, and some of them need burying. I got to save them what I can."
"Aye, sir." Jherek started to nod, then stopped when the hooks pulled at his flesh. One of them had embedded in the back of his head.
Finaren walked away.
Jherek crouched and slid his knife free of the shin sheath. Hagagne joined him, working gently to cut away the strands of the net. The first thing to do was cut sections of it away, then go after the individual hooks.
Malorrie's training allowed him to ignore the majority of the pain, but it was still difficult. Cutting the strands became automatic, and he turned his thoughts to the cold voice that had whispered to him.
Live, that you may serve.
He'd heard the command before. The first time had been when he was a child, fallen from his father's ship during a battle and nearly drowned. The voice had been more gentle, then, but perhaps he only remembered it that way. At that time, a dolphin had swum close to him and nosed him to the surface. His life had been spared then, as it had probably been spared this night, and there was no clue why, or by whom.
It had been three years since he'd last heard the voice. He'd thought it might be gone for good, with no explanation of why it had involved itself with him. Even Madame litaar with all her magic, and Malorrie with his insight, could offer no illumination concerning the voice. All of them, however, did what they had to, drawn together by whatever mystery linked them. Both his mentors had offered only the consolation that when the time came to know, he would.
Live, that you may serve.
But serve what? And why hadn't he been given more direction?
"You saved my daughter's life, and for that I owe you."
Jherek shivered as Hagagne poured whiskey from Captain Finaren's private stock onto the small wounds made by the fish hooks. Twenty-three of them had been removed from the young sailor's flesh. The process had been demanding and painful. Once free of the sahuagin net, the ends of the hooks had been snipped, then the barbs twisted around and pressed back out the flesh at a different spot than the entry point. The wounds had doubled in number. He stood in the stern castle, stripped to the leather work apron that had been proof against the net hooks.
"You don't owe me anything," Jherek replied, returning Merchant Lelayn's gaze full measure. "Captain Finaren takes care of his passengers."
"Take something? Hagagne whispered hoarsely as he sloshed the whiskey over the wounds in the young sailor's back. "By Umberlee's eyes, you jumped into a sea of sharks to save the bi-girl."
Jherek knew he couldn't. Anything he took would only tie him to the memory of the young Amnian woman and what had gone between them, and he didn't want that. He'd been wrong about her and that confused him. His passion toward her, toward what he thought she was, had seemed true. Even if he'd chosen not to act on it, the memory of her face would have filled some of the empty nights he experienced these days. Now he would remember only her harsh words and the slap. The price was too high. He shook his head.
"I can be very generous, boy."
"I'm sure that you can, sir," Jherek said, "but there's nothing I need."
"You're a deckhand, for Lliira's sake," the Amnian merchant blustered. "Surely there's something you could use."
A turban covered his head and a fiercely forked beard thrust out from the bottom of his chin. He was a fat man dressed in silks, and Jherek smelled the perfumes and spices he wore on his body.
"No," he said softly. "I thank you for the offer."
Finished with Hagagne's ministrations and wanting to get away from Yeill's hostile gaze, not really understanding how she could be angry with him, Jherek picked up his cutlass and the hook. Both weapons badly needed cleaning.
Yeill and her father talked behind him, a frenzy of conversation that he chose to ignore. Four men had died in the sahuagin attack. The ship's crew had packed their bodies in the hold, to take back to their families in Velen. Wet sand covered the scorched places in the deck where the fire projector and the mage's spell had started brief fires. Finaren already had his ship's mage out assessing the damage, which appeared minimal to Jherek.
Hagagne followed Jherek. "You're a hero, lad, you should take something."
Jherek made his voice hard. "No."
"They'll view it as disrespectful."
Turning to the man, the young sailor said, "I can't take anything from them. Don't you understand?"
Hagagne looked back into Jherek's eyes, then gave a heartfelt sigh. "Aye, lad, I guess that maybe I'm not so old that I've forgotten how harsh that first bloom of youth can be. I've an alternative, though, if you're willing to hear it."
Jherek listened.
"Take something for the crew," Hagagne urged. "Saving Ulnay and Morrin used up the last of the healing potions the cap'n had on hand. He wouldn't admit it and doesn't know that I know that, but I do. Them Amnians, they took on a shipment of healing potions in Baldur's Gate. They can spare some to replace what we used defending them."
The option made sense, but Jherek still didn't like it. He wanted nothing more to do with the Amnians. He took a deep breath to collect himself, then turned back to Merchant Lelayn and Yeill and said, "There is something."
"Name it," the Amnian merchant stated.
Jherek noticed the reluctance in the man's demeanor, though. Merchant Lelayn didn't mind offering to give, but the giving left him cold. "Healing potion, sir."
"A smart lad could do all right by himself reselling it." The Amman merchant nodded in grudging approval and said, "How much do you want for saving my favorite daughter's life?"
"Whatever you think you can spare, sir," Jherek replied. "I won't haggle with you."
The answer seemed
to surprise the merchant. He snapped his fingers and one of his men came forward. "Take ten healing potions from our stores and see that the boy gets them."
Jherek bowed his head in thanks. At the price the potions could command, Merchant Lelayn was being quite generous.
Captain Finaren joined them, his blouse stained with burn holes from the fire that had splattered from the lantern he'd smashed. Soot and blood stained his beard and face.
Merchant Lelayn turned to the captain. "Do you know how the sahuagin came to attack this vessel out of those upon the sea today?"
Finaren's eyes narrowed. "Anybody who travels the Sword Coast knows that the sahuagin are a danger. A man making his living at sea, he's taking risks. I've never encountered them before today, and maybe I was well overdue."
"You profess it to be merely bad luck, Captain?" Lelayn challenged.
Jherek chose to walk away, not believing the Amnian merchant could waver between being so generous, then turning so petty. His wounds stung. In truth, some of them hurt badly and a couple needed stitches that Finaren had put in himself. Once he got back to Velen, he knew Madame litaar would finish healing him properly.
He stood by the mast, watching Yeill. Even in her wet clothes, the merchant's daughter was beautiful. His wounds and the fatigue that always settled in after a battle dulled his senses. He was grabbed roughly from behind before he knew it, and someone slid a knife up under his chin.
"Don't you try anything," a gruff voice commanded. "Or I'll slit you from wind to water."
Jherek froze, the knife biting lightly into his flesh. He smelled the spice and perfume that covered the man holding him, knowing at once that he was one of the Amnian party. His guess that the man was one of the sell-swords employed by the Amnians was proven correct when he saw the man's bracer with the house crest on it.
Finaren turned toward them, his bearded face brimming with anger. "What in the nine hells do you think you're doing?" His voice cracked with authority, and every sailor within hearing distance turned at once, their hands upon their swords and daggers.
"Our being attacked was no mere bad luck," the Amnian sellsword stated angrily. "We were set up, Merchant Lelayn, and here's the evidence of it."
Jherek realized for the first time that he'd been walking around without his shirt. That fact was brought home to him even more when another Amnian sellsword grabbed his left arm and twisted it viciously. The sellsword held a torch close to reveal the colorful tattoo inside Jherek's left bicep.
The tattoo featured a flaming skull wearing a mask of chains leaving only the eyes and fanged mouth unbound. It didn't look like anything human. It wasn't supposed to. It was part of the legacy left him by his father.
"Do you recognize this mark, Merchant Lelayn?" the sellsword asked.
"Falkane's claiming mark," the merchant spat. "There's a price on the head of any pirate from Falkane's ship." He turned back to Finaren. "Maybe you'd like to explain how you came to get one of the bloodiest pirates of the Sea of Swords aboard your ship… as part of your crew."
Jherek's breath tightened in his throat. He glanced around at Butterfly's crew, seeing the surprised looks on their faces. None of them had known. It had been his secret, his and Finaren's. Now the secret was out and very likely to get him killed. His bad luck still claimed him, leaving him no one to turn to. The knife at his throat didn't waver.
IV
3 °Ches, the Year of the Gauntlet (40 days earlier)
Laaqueel glided through the dark waters outside Waterdeep Harbor, staying in the shadow of the pentekonter on the surface above her and mentally preparing herself for the coming battle. She swam just under the ship, between the oars that swept the water on either side of it. Her pale skin made her stand out in the darkness, not blending in like her fellow sahuagin did or even a sea elf would. Below her, the ocean floor looked dark and was kept clean of debris. She knew the mermen who lived in the waters around Waterdeep helped keep the area orderly. They were also one of the major threats to the subterfuge they were attempting.
The unaccustomed cold of the northern waters chilled her. This early in the year, chunks of ice still floated whole through the Sea of Swords, frozen islands reminding her of how far from home she'd swam.
The cold numbed her body, but her mind ran unfettered by discomfort. Her thoughts were filled with grim doubts and she murmured a constant prayer to Sekolah that they might be granted success.
The pentekonter was sixty feet long and stood tall in the water. It had a rounded prow that made it look sluggish, but whether pushed by wind or pulled by oars, it moved quickly for a surface dweller's craft. Two banks of oars, one of them below the raised deck, allowed even greater speed when necessary. Hollow outriggers helped the ship maintain stability, and promoted the use of the second bank of oars.
Big as it was, the ship provided plenty of cover for the malenti and the dozen or so sahuagin that had needed to immerse themselves in the life-giving sea again for a short time during their voyage. Less than two hundred yards away, her sensitive vision picked up the underwater torches marking the boundaries of Deepwater Isle. Along with the warships that patrolled the nearby waters, it was Waterdeep's first line of defense.
In all of her life, she'd never been this close to the city. Waterdeep was called the City of Splendors, and from her vigil aboard the pentekonter, she knew the name was well deserved.
Some of the tall buildings in the different wards were impressive. They jutted up from the cityscape, possessing color and character that were unique. Those in the Castle Ward, especially Waterdeep Castle, were works of art even to her eyes. The daring plunge from the cliffs to the sea in the North Ward had taken her breath away even seeing the area from afar. Sahuagin villages were built close to the ocean floor, depending on tunnels to link them. In the water, heights only gave an enemy more area to attack. Gravity wasn't as forceful in the ocean as it was in the air.
At another time she thought she might have liked to walk along the winding and hilly streets of the city just to see what was there. It was a city worth exploring-after the surface dwellers had been driven from it.
That was what Iakhovas intended to do this very night.
She was certain that Iakhovas wasn't telling all he knew, or revealing all that he wanted in tonight's raid. He never did. Waterdeep had over one hundred thousand people in the city, more than four times the forces Iakhovas had gathered for the attack.
Thanks to the humans Iakhovas and his other malenti spies had paid off over the last three years in preparing for tonight, they had good maps of the city. Iakhovas had made certain of that. Even now thinking of him and knowing how he schemed and sacrificed her people made the obsidian quill lodged next to her heart grow too hot to be comfortable. Over the years of their relationship, she'd learned the quill allowed him to control her through pain and kept him informed on when she told truth or falsehood. Never a day had gone by that she didn't know it was there.
She breathed in through her mouth, taking the water and pushing it through her gills, flushing her system. For fifteen years, since that night in the underground tomb in the Shining Sea, she'd served him, watching him grow and take the power she'd wanted and was prevented from having by an accident of birth.
Still, there had been changes that benefited her. She was now High Priestess in her village. Iakhovas had made himself one of the nine princes, and that was only during the times he deigned to stay with the sahuagin. There were plenty of absences he had that were never explained. Nor was she in a position to demand answers, though at times she sorely wanted to.
"Most favored one," a nearby sahuagin called to her.
"Yes," she asked.
The sahuagin male bowed his head in deference and said, "Prince Iakhovas requests that you join him."
She dismissed him with a wave of her hand then swam toward the opening in the bottom of the ship above her. The sahuagin had captured the vessel in the Moonshae Isles almost two years ago then quietly sunk it s
o the repairs Iakhovas wanted could be done. One of those changes had been the construction of a water well amidships that allowed sahuagin entry to the ocean. They could stay out of water for four hours at a time, but immersion for an equal amount of time was required before they were back at full strength.
Swimming through the well, Laaqueel continued on through the submerged lower compartment where sahuagin rowers worked the massive oars to propel the craft. They all looked at her, respect in their silvery eyes. The pentekonter's outriggers were attached to the hull and had been specially modified to compensate for the hole in the ship's hull, letting the ship ride lower in the water.
Grabbing the ladder leading up to the ship's second level, Laaqueel pulled herself from the water, automatically feeling the dryness in the air even at sea level, and the extra weight from sheer gravity. She hated being out of the water, resonating with the fear that never quite left her no matter how much experience she had with being on the surface.
Her breath tightened as it ran through her gills. Breathing air was hard work, and she always remained conscious of having to inhale and exhale. In addition, her movements were no longer as fluid as they were in the water. She felt heavier on the surface. She was always acutely aware that her lateral lines no longer sent information to her. Water dripped from her as she walked, draining from her hair and body, and the sahuagin harness she wore.
Thirty men occupied the ship's upper hold. Short and thin, dressed in common clothing and carrying short swords, they didn't look threatening, but the sewer stench that clung to them made everyone give them a wide berth. All of them furtively stared after her with lust because of her near-nudity.
She ignored their interest. Choosing to dress as a sahuagin had been her choice, and she wasn't going to be bothered by them. They knew their place in the forces of Prince Iakhovas, and they knew their place around her after she'd killed the first one who'd touched her.