by Mel Odom
"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, fear 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.
Without warning, the girl slipped through Jherek's fingers. The clam closed over her again, a fort protecting her from the approaching dreadnought.
Before Jherek could move, the shark was on him. It opened its fanged mouth and swallowed him whole. Trapped in the shark's teeth, he discovered whatever ability had let him breathe underwater was now gone.
Death came for him.
Jherek fingered the scabbed and itching cut along his throat, remembering the Amman sellsword's blade from three days ago. Nightmares had continued to plague him the previous nights, and he knew there'd be no relief tonight either. They'd put in at Athkatla two nights before, then made the journey on into Velen.
He sat at a back table in the Figureheadless Tavern and looked out the dirty window at the eastern dock walk over the waves lapping up onto the beaches of Velen. His stomach knotted and clenched repeatedly as he considered all his ill luck of the past few days.
It would have been better, he thought dismally, if Captain Finaren had let the sellsword slit his throat that day. Butterfly's captain had talked with the Amnian merchants, explaining that Jherek had never been a true part of Falkane's crew aboard Bunyip, only a captured youth pressed into service on the pirate vessel who'd managed to escape with his life.
Lelayn had reluctantly accepted the story. There was no proof to the reports that Captain Falkane was in league with the sahuagin, but the Amnian merchant had demanded that Jherek be held in the ship's brig. Though Finaren hadn't been happy about complying with the order, the brig was where the young sailor had found himself.
Jherek had lain on the hard bed with no light to read his books and no company. The ship's crew had been busy with repairs, and probably no one wanted to speak with him now anyway. With nothing to occupy his hands or mind, the darkness that always waited to consume his soul had riven him, tearing at him with the gale fury of a summer squall and as persistent as the seasonal rains. His grip on the world around him had come loose, freeing many of the old demons that he'd walled away with Madame litaar's and Malorrie's help and guidance. He hadn't forgotten the old fears that lived with him, but he had been surprised at how fierce they seemed now. Where the nightmares had come from was no mystery, but the one with the shark continued to gnaw at him.
Even Captain Finaren hadn't come to see him. The Amnian sellswords had rotated at guard duty over the brig as well on Lelayn's orders, insuring that Jherek hadn't been working with anyone else aboard Butterfly.
He hadn't seen Yeill again either, and he'd had mixed feelings about that, which surprised him. Both father and daughter had conveniently forgotten that he'd risked his life to save her's and he couldn't bring himself to remind them of it. That kind of chest-thumping behavior didn't sit well with him.
After the Amnian trading party had been unloaded in Athkatla, Finaren had released him from the ship's brig. The captain had apologized, saying he'd had no choice in the matter. Jherek had accepted the declaration stoically, with not a word said other than thanks for releasing him. Finaren had also ordered the crew not to be asking a lot of questions. He went on to tell them that all of them had stories and secrets they'd rather not have out in public without a couple drafts of mead to cushion the experience.
Finaren went on again to tell them that Jherek had never been a pirate, only someone captured by Falkane's vicious crew. That had been a bald-faced lie, though, and Jherek knew they both were aware of it.
Rather than face the crew, the young sailor had retreated to the crow's nest, pulling extra duty there, and spending the rest of his time mending nets and sleeping out on the deck in a hammock. No one talked to anyone mending nets. Finaren had a standing rule aboard Butterfly that men who could talk to someone mending nets could join in. A wagging tongue didn't stop fingers from working.
Jherek had wanted things to heal aboard Butterfly. He also knew that he'd have to take steps to make sure that happened, but he couldn't. That tattoo upon his arm marked him as different from those men in these waters. Falkane and his men had reputations as being the fiercest, blood-thirstiest pirates in the Sea of Swords, and they had some of the largest bounties offered for them. Rumor had it that even other pirates of the Nelanther feared Falkane and Bunyip's crew.
After Athkatla was behind them and the wind filled Butterfly's sails again, Jherek had hoped that things would return to normal aboard the cog. When they didn't, he was saddened but not surprised. Bad luck ran in his blood, showing in that flaming skull tattoo. Just before they'd docked at Velen, Finaren had told him not to help with the loading and with the rigging and to meet him at the Figureheadless Tavern later.
Finaren's choice of meeting places fit Jherek's mood. The tavern was a dive, queen among the cheap diversions that took the coppers and silvers from a working sailor's purse. He knew that Finaren had been aware of the tension among the crew. Even Hagagne had been quieter than normal, and he'd mentioned nothing more about having Jherek read to him.
The young sailor sat at a back table and nursed a mug of hot tea. He didn't really favor the tea, but he didn't drink mead or the liquors the tavern served. The barkeep kept watch on him. The Figureheadless was a place where pirates met, and where honest work on the sea was discussed at a table where a murder might have been plotted only moments ago.
The walls held no decor except stains from drink, oily hair, and blood. Sawdust covered the heavy walkways and looked like it should have been changed days ago. The tavern's three serving girls had already been by and offered themselves-for a price. He'd politely declined, and his thoughts had wandered inadvertently back to Yeill, wondering how someone so beautiful could look at life the way she did. For the tavern girls, it was just another means to make a couple silvers, and though he couldn't condone it, he at least did understand.
How was it that having wealth and not having wealth so often put the people who had and didn't have it in the same camp? he wondered. He realized it wasn't so much like a camp as it was like the table in front of him. People had to fill the seats on both sides, one giving and the other taking, each in turn, to fulfill the business between them.
In its basest terms, he supposed it was business, like Finaren sitting across from merchants who needed goods shipped to and fro.
It was still no way to live life. Coins were a means, not tools of war and not some counting system in a game. What mattered about life was the way a man lived it.
There were those, he knew, who would never get the chance to live a decent life at all no matter what was in their hearts. H
e felt immediately guilty at that, thinking of the time Madame litaar and Malorrie had spent with him these past years. Closing his eyes, he lowered his head and folded his hands, praying to Ilmater that he have the strength not to find fault with others for his own troubles and that he wouldn't slight what he had been given.
When he blinked his eyes open, he found Finaren standing there. The captain had his hat in his hands as he waited quietly.
"I didn't mean to intrude on your prayers, lad," the older man said in his deep voice.
Jherek pushed himself from his chair and turned up a hand to offer the seat across from him. "You're not intruding, sir."
"I'm not one to get between a man and his god," Finaren said, easing himself into the chair.
Jherek gave him a small smile and took his own seat. "Did you get the repairs set up for Butterfly!"
"Aye, and rogues that they are, they're going to charge a man an arm and a leg to have them done." Finaren waved to one of the serving girls and called, "Wench, you've got a restless man here dying of thirst. Bring me a bottle of your harshest who-hit-Nate and be damned quick about it."
Jherek was surprised at how demanding the captain was. As rough and prickly as he was at sea, he remained the epitome of good manners around children and women.
Finaren looked at him, then sighed. His shoulders slumped. "Being hard on the lass, aren't I?"
The young sailor shrugged, feeling even more nervous than he had when Finaren first sat down. The captain could bluster and yell louder than any man Jherek had ever known, but only in its proper time and place.
"I am and I know it, lad," the captain added. "There's no excuse. Rest assured that she'll see a healthy stipend for any troubles I might offer."
The serving girl brought a bottle and thick glass and put them before Finaren.
The captain thanked her and pulled the cork from the bottle. "Care for a libation, lad? Trust me, I think we're both going to need it."
Jherek's stomach flip-flopped, and he had to force the words out. He'd often seen Finaren take a drink and knew the man kept a ship's keg tapped, but he'd never seen the captain in a drunken stupor. He noticed for the first time the stink of liquor already on Finaren's breath and said, "No, thank you."