Rising Tide (10 page)

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.

Iakhovas had assembled these men even as he had the four ships that made up their invasion force. All of them suffered from the curse of lycanthropy, changing forms between human and rat as easily as a sahuagin might strap on another harness.

Laaqueel would rather have taken the whole shipload of wererats to the bottom of the Sea of Swords and drowned them. She went up the stairs leading out of the hold onto the deck. Giving her sight a moment to adjust to the surface conditions, she turned and found Iakhovas standing in the prow.

“Laaqueel,” he called out to her in that strong, whispering voice. He stood with his arms folded over his chest, staring out over the port city. He sensed her without facing her.

“I’m here, exalted one,” she said.

“Of course you are.” Iakhovas turned to her, a smile on his hard face.

He’d grown since she’d found him those years ago. In fifteen years, he’d grown stronger as he found those things that had been lost to him. She accompanied him on some of those forays, following him to hidden places in the sea where they found objects that still remained mysterious to her.

One of the first had been a circlet that gave him control of some sea creatures, giving him the power to communicate and order them about. He’d taken that from some of the mermen who’d relocated to Waterdeep and now lived in underwater caves off Waterdeep Isle. Another had been the bloodstone globe that allowed him to control weather that Laaqueel had to assassinate a Calishite gem merchant for when he raised his price to something more than she could afford. She’d narrowly escaped with her life during that mission.

Iakhovas had never taken her into his confidence, though, never explained himself to her. Nor did he tell her much of the objects he had collected. Later, he’d employed groups that went out to retrieve the objects for him, using any who could be bought or bribed, including the morkoth who were lifelong enemies of the sahuagin. He still did.

One group of pirates worked in the Sea of Fallen Stars for him, gathering objects as well as information. When they had an object, they sent it through a dimensional door that connected the pirate’s ship to the sahuagin palace. With those objects in his possession, Iakhovas had grown more powerful, and he’d grown physically. At first, Laaqueel hadn’t been certain of the correlation, but she was certain now. Though she’d tried to spy on him, she couldn’t. She even thought he’d been leading her on at times, letting her almost see, tantalizing her with his secrets only to take them away at the last moment.

At present he was head and shoulders taller than Laaqueel, and he no longer looked emaciated. His body had filled out, becoming broad and supple. The runic tattoos spread out to fill the extra skin, but still hadn’t become any more legible to her. He wore a black silk blouse and black breeches with silver buckles and chains over black boots. A sea-green cloak hung from his shoulders to his ankles, more an affectation than any real comfort from the cool breezes swirling through the port city.

Laaqueel stopped in front of him and waited.

Only running lanterns glowed on board the pentekonter, enough to obey the Waterdhavian harbor rules. Little of the deck was occupied, but the sailors were more of the wererats Iakhovas had involved in the raid.

The weak light traced patterns across Iakhovas’s face. He would have been handsome by human standards, Laaqueel knew, even with the scars that tracked his features. No matter what magic he’d worked over the past fifteen years to rebuild himself, he hadn’t been able to remove those scars. He’d grown a short beard and mustache that covered some of them. A sea-green patch that matched his cloak covered his empty eye socket. Even his hair had grown, filling in the patchy areas and dropping past his shoulders now, turned coal black.

“How may I aid you, exalted one?” she asked.

“Why, little malenti, I merely wanted you to join me at the beginning of our triumph over the surface dwellers,” he stated. He shifted, lithe as a dancer on his feet in spite of the moving deck. “You have your own desires for power, though it’s remained somewhat elusive for you in spite of the fact I’ve raised your station in life and among your own people. I’ve recognized you for your worth though they didn’t. For all of your years of support, you deserve that.” He waved a hand at the port city, then clasped it into a fist. “I would offer you a kingdom, little malenti, if I ever cared enough to share.”

Laaqueel knew him well enough to know that was the real reason. Iakhovas wanted an audience for his conquest-an audience who knew all of the truths, or at least knew more of the truths than the sahuagin tribes who’d listened to him did. He loved the complexities of his own plotting, and the layers of subterfuge he manipulated seemingly so easily, loved the way his whispering voice seemed to have a hypnotic effect on those who listened. He had the power to advance his ideas and make others believe they’d thought of them.

“Gaze upon Waterdeep, little malenti, which the surface dwellers descry and proclaim as the crown jewel of all Faerun,” Iakhovas said. “I have been told that people journey to this place, expecting to enjoy pleasures they don’t have at home, and feel safe and secure in their rented beds.” He smiled, and the expression was filled with evil. “Ah, but tonight, tonight we strip that from them, never more to return, as we shatter the spine of her navy.”

The Waterdhavian Naval Harbor lay farther to the north, managing two water gates of its own. The navy was one of the chief concerns the malenti had about the night’s raid. The Waterdhavian Navy had always defended the shores of the city well, and of course there were the mermen.

“We’ve not gotten the bulk of our forces past the harbor gate yet,” she reminded.

Despite the power he held over her and the potential he offered, she couldn’t always simply agree with him. He was no true sahuagin, even though the others believed he was. In the intervening years, she’d come to understand why the sahuagin of her own tribe hadn’t readily accepted her even after Baron Huaanton had named her as a protected ward after her birth. Her own exterior was an accident of birth. Iakhovas only masqueraded as a sahuagin. In her heart, she was sahuagin.

She’d helped him manage that masquerade only through coercion, and even now it didn’t set well with her. After she’d found him, he’d made her spend two years with him in the Veemeeros where she’d found him, teaching him about Faerun. Everything seemed new to him, but he was careful not to reveal anything about his own origins. Even Laaqueel’s spy training hadn’t helped her gather information about him.

Once they’d returned to her village, he’d used his powers to turn himself into a sahuagin hatchling, and she’d introduced him into a hatchling area. He’d maintained his own development in the village, but had kept contact with Laaqueel. She had named him in the brief ceremony after the surviving hatchlings were introduced into the tribe, giving him his own name at his request, though it wasn’t a sahuagin name. Everyone in the village had believed it was because she was malenti, wanting to flaunt her difference, but Baron Huaanton had allowed the name to stand.

Now, though, Baron Huaanton was King Huaanton and Iakhovas, though only age thirteen in the sahuagin years, was a prince. Normally it took almost three hundred years to attain such a rank by serving the community and taking advantage of events that transpired, but he had used his magic and curried favor with Huaanton by maneuvering a duel with Huaanton’s senior and killing the last prince in battle. Unable to take the position himself because of the sahuagin code regarding such advances, Huaanton had become prince. Huaanton had also realized how dangerous Iakhovas was for the first time and had stood behind Iakhovas’s bid for the baronial vacancy. None of the other chieftains had tried to challenge his right to do that. When Huaanton had slain the last king and taken over the position, he’d promoted Iakhovas again. Laaqueel had never discovered if it was because Huaanton feared Iakhovas, or if the sorcerer had helped place Huaanton on the throne.

“Oh, little malenti, do you have such a small faith?” he asked.

“No,” she admitted, choosing not to react to the insult. Her faith resided where it always had: with Sekolah. She had received no sign that she wasn’t doing exactly as the Great Shark wanted her to, “but the forces arrayed against us are formidable.”

He turned and gazed again out across the harbor. “Those forces are only formidable when pitted against a lesser opponent. Make no mistake, little malenti, I’m not that and never have been.” He smiled, oozing confidence. “No one these days has ever seen anything like me. Even in my own day, no one was like me.”

“But to take Waterdeep …” Laaqueel said.

“Stand corrected, little malenti, we’re not taking Waterdeep,” Iakhovas said. “We’re presenting the surface world their options, throwing down the gauntlet so to speak. The surface dwellers need to be put on notice that they’re living near these waters only on my sufferance. I will take back that which is rightfully mine no matter how many of them have to perish.” He touched the patch covering his empty socket unconsciously. “I will be made whole again, and I will reclaim my proper station as the oceans’ master.”

“If we can’t take the city, why send all these sahuagin to their deaths?” she asked.

“More humans will die this night than sahuagin,” he told her. “You have my promise on that.”

The way that he always referred to the humans as their species, and a despised one at that, let Laaqueel know he didn’t consider himself one of them. For awhile she’d thought he might be of elven blood, but he had the gills and webbed hands and feet of a sea elf and used magic as easily as a sahuagin spilled blood. The accursed sea elves knew no magic except for that granted to their priests and priestesses.

He offered no clue as to what he truly was.

His power of illusion was incredible, steeping him in layers of deceit and trickery. She wasn’t certain if she’d ever seen the true being she knew as Iakhovas. The sahuagin recognized him as a fellow being, and the wererats and other humanoids saw him as one of their own, even when they were all standing in the same place, and no one questioned it.

“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 Faerun, 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.”