Tangled Webs (18 page)

Such thoughts continued to trouble Xzorsh throughout the day and well into the next night. Then he came upon the charred ruins of the ship that Liriel’s magic had set aflame, and the remains of the vessel that he himself had scuttled, and he had no more time to devote to such musings.

The task the drow had given him was difficult. Many were the bodies trapped among the wreckage, and sifting through them for a single, severed hand was grim and dangerous work. Xzorsh had no way of knowing what other scavengers might have been drawn to the wreckage, or what creatures might even now be watching him.

So he went about his work quickly, ignoring the treasure in weapons and jewelry and concentrating on the macabre prize that the drow had commissioned. To his astonishment, he found what he sought. Entangled in a web of torn lines was a large, severed left hand. Dark hairs covered the back of it, and two fine rings decked the fmgers. Xzorsh pocketed these rings—he could use them for trade—and placed the hand in a small bag.

Although intent on his discovery, Xzorsh quickly sensed the dark figures that emerged stealthily from the wreckage. There were four of them: hideous, manshaped creatures with thick scale-covered hide and webbed hands and feet. They were merrow-aquatic cousins of ogres, but faster and more fierce than their land-dwelling kin. These four were an elite force; all had small ivory horns protruding from their foreheads, the mark of the most powerful males. Keen black tusks curved up from their underslung jaws, and they were armed not only with their black talons-the traditional weapon of the merrow-but also with human-made spears and even the silvery trident of a triton.

Xzorsh reached over his shoulder for the short spear strapped to his back and awaited the attack. As he expected, all four came at him in a swimming charge, their weapons leveled at him.

The sea elf waited for the last possible moment. Then he twisted, agile as an eel, in a downward circle that took him below the reach of the weapons. As he went, he thrust out with his spear. He felt the impact, then the sudden softness as the point plunged through the merrow’s scaly armor to the flesh below.

The three surviving creatures dropped their weapons and closed in, taloned hands reaching down for him and jaws flung open wide in preparation for rending bites. Xzorsh snatched at the trident as it floated down past him and braced the long handle against his hip. The lead merrow back paddled fast to keep from impaling itself on the weapon. This was the opportunity Xzorsh wanted; he leaped upward, thrusting out high and hard.

The trident’s middle prong sank deep into the merrow’s unprotected throat and up into its head. Xzorsh pushed until the prong met the back of the creature’s skull; then he whipped his feet forward and planted them against the dying merrow’s chest. He shoved with all his strength, pulling the trident free and sending himself hurtling back through the water, beyond reach of the grasping hands and snapping jaws.

Xzorsh whipped the trident around to face the two remaining sea ogres. The creatures were more cautious now; circling their prey like humanoid sharks, they waited for an opening.

The sea elf thought frantically; He had seldom encountered merrow-most of the creatures lived in fresh water, and the few that had adapted to the sea usually laired in caves and shallow waters. Stupid creatures who lived only to kill and to eat, merrow sometimes fell in with more powerful beings who offered opportunities for murder and plunder beyond the ogres’ limited imagination, or payment in glittering trinkets. Xzorsh had no idea who commanded these merrow, but one of them carried the weapon of a triton-a creature from the elemental plane of water. The implications of this were utterly beyond the sea elf’s ken, and suddenly he wished the drow were with him. If anyone he knew could make sense of the twisted alliance this suggested, it would be she.

A quick, searing pain slashed across the sea elf’s shoulders. Xzorsh arched backward, teeth gritted against the sudden agony. One of the merrow had managed to get within talon’s reach. The sea elf whirled and stabbed out with the trident, but his attacker had already retreated beyond range. Xzorsh’s fighter’s instinct kicked in, and he looked back over his shoulder to find himself nearly faceto-fang with the second merrow. The elf pushed back hard with the butt of the trident and caught the merrow in the gut. The silver handle thudded against the creature’s scaled abdomen, pushing the merrow away and buying Xzorsh a moment’s time.

The sea elf reached for one of the drow’s magic crabs and tore it free from the braided reed that secured it to his belt. He darted under the merrow’s grasping hands, twisting around to swim up behind it. With a quick one-two move, he placed the crab-shaped object between the merrow’s shoulder blades with one hand, and with the other hand punched down hard. The barbed legs sank deep into scales and flesh, then began to move as the enchanted weapon dug its way through.

The merrow spun to face the sea elf, its hideous face contorted with astonishment. Its fanged mouth opened again and again in grating, bubbling screams as the magic crab tore through its chest. The crab burst free in a spray of blood, a still-beating heart clinging to one of the barbed legs. When it met no further resistance, the weapon became inanimate metal once again.

Xzorsh snatched up the fearsome thing, brandishing it in the face of the last merrow. The creature halted its attack, regarding the unexpectedly resourceful sea elf cautiously. Then it turned and fled.

The ranger watched the merrow go, relishing thoughts of the report that the creature would give to its unknown commander. Let them know, Xzorsh exulted silently, that magic has come once again into the hands of the sea folk!

Patience was not among Liriel’s strengths, and she had a good deal to say about Hrolf’s insistence that she stay abed until moonrise. The captain merely laughed at her diatribes, promising her that the price of waiting would be paid in full.

At last the twilight colors beyond the cabin’s portal gave way to darkness. Liriel leaped from her cot and quickly dressed and armed herself: Although Hrolf clearly thought the surprise would be a good thing, Liriel could not forget that not all the pirates had intentions that mirrored those of their captain.

Fyodor was waiting for her at the top of the ladder. He met her with a smile, but his eyes were deeply shadowed. She gave him a quick, cautious hug-for he moved stiffiy and was bandaged in a dozen places—and an inquisitive look.

“It is nothing,” he said softly. “A dream.”

“Something about Ibn tossing me overboard in a tuna net?” she whispered back. She’d wondered if anyone had seen the attack, but Hrolf had said nothing to her of Ibn’s treachery, and the first mate stood at the rudder, his redbearded face as inscrutable as usual.

Fyodor recoiled. “It is true, then. I promise you, little raven, the traitor will not live out the day!” he said with grim earnest.

The drow smiled and claimed her friend’s arm. “Oh, yes he will, and many days to follow! There’s an old drow saying, ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold.’ That usually means revenge is more fun if you take the time to cool down, to plan and savor the act, but it works in other ways, too. Let Ibn wonder and worry. That will serve him better than hot steel and a quick death. And he is needed until the Elfmaid makes port; for all his faults, he’s a capable sailor,” the pragmatic drow added. “In the meanwhile his failed attack will keep him in line—although it might be wise to let him know that you are aware of what he did, so he doesn’t think his secret will die with me. Now, let’s see Hrolf’s surprise!”

Fyodor looked doubtful, but he held his opinions to himself and led her through the broadly grinning pirates, up to the prow of the ship. Bjorn stood there, clearly embarrassed to be the focus of all eyes. His face gleamed red beneath the yellow tufts of his virgin beard, and behind him loomed his latest-and largest-work of art.

The elf-maid figurehead, inanimate once again and back in her proper place, had been repainted to resemble a drow with golden eyes. The flowing wooden locks were now white, and the still-wet paint of the face a glossy black. Some attempt had even been made to whittle the figurehead’s lavish curves down to something more closely approximating Liriel’s lithe form.

An unfamiliar emotion tightened the drow’s throat as she gazed up at her own likeness.

Hrolf came to drape a massive arm around her shoulder. “Looks good on the old girl, doesn’t it?” he said happily. “And by Tempus, won’t the new elf maid spook damn near anyone we happen to meet! Umberlee take me if I shouldn’t ha’ thought of this years ago!”

The Cutlass sped toward the Purple Rocks, its skeleton crew spurred to exhaustion and beyond by their grimfaced captain. Rethnor was determined to reach Trisk in record time, for there was much at stake. He had lost not only his sword hand, but also his magical onyx ring-his only means of receiving messages from the westem command center of the Kraken Society.

The captain could send missives-the magic pendant that he wore hidden under his tunic would relay his words to the western outpost-but this was not enough to meet his needs. He sailed to Trisk, not only to replace the scrying device, but also to enlist the help of Kraken agents who lived on the remote island.

Or, more to the point, around the island.

Rumors were plentiful among the people of the Kraken-this was to be expected in an organization that dealt in information brokering. Many of these were whispered tales of the strange magics and deadly beasts that haunted the western outpost. Even allowing for poetic license and the usual tavem boasting, there was no denying the dangerous nature of the waters around the Purple Rocks. Rethnor believed many of the rumored sea creatures were real and that some of them answered to the bidding of the Kraken Society. And more importantly, he had come to suspect that small and modest Trisk was in reality the primary base for the entire network of spies and assassins.

Rethnor intended to demand an audience with the leader of the society, and he did not think he would be refused. No matter how powerful the dark network of the Kraken might be, the base itself could not survive without trade. And Luskan was the island’s strongest trade partner. In Rethnor’s estimation, he had more than enough leverage to warrant all the demands he intended to make.

The captain pulled his magic pendant from its hiding place and began to dictate his orders into the shining disk, sending messages across the sea to the Purple Rocks and to hidden outposts on the mainland. For the first time he understood why the unknown, unnamed woman with the lavender eyes appeared to him in his scrying crystal. Without such reassurance, it was hard for him to accept that the magical messages truly reached their destinations.

As he looked out over the icy sea, the Northmandespite his inbred distaste for things magical-found himself wishing he had some knowledge of the art so that he could sense the far-reaching ripples that carried his commands to distant shores. Power he had, wealth in abundance, great strength and remarkable fighting prowess. But it occurred to him that these things provided little protection against the might of magic. The thought was new to Rethnor, and deeply disturbing. For some reason it chilled him, and he felt as if he’d heard the call of an unseen raven-the harbinger of a warrior’s death.

The High Captain shook off his dark thoughts and fixed his eyes firmly on the western horizon. No doubt there was magic at work around the Purple Rocks, but there was power to be had, too. If he had to face the one to gain the other, he would take his chances as they came.

The town of Yartar was an important crossroads of the Northlands, located as it was on the River Dessarin and the trade road between Triboar and Silverymoon. Many important goods came through this town, not the least of them information.

Baron Khaufros, Lord ofYartar, was an ambitious man. He had inherited his wealth and title, but he’d earned his position as ruler ofYartar by his ability to build alliances of trade and politics. He was a steadfast member of the Lords’ Alliance, that group of cities that tied their interests closely to those ofWaterdeep. Khaufros was also a member of the Kraken Society, and the hidden chambers and tunnels under his mansions were frequent haunts of those spies and assassins who did the society’s dark work.

At the moment, the baron was alone, engrossed with the pile of messages on his desk. Late spring brought a thawing of the Dessarin and a flow of messages from many towns-and many sources.

Khaufros absently tossed back the contents of his goblet and read the missive from his unknown Luskan contact once again. The plot against Ruathym was proceeding nicely, but for reasons unspecified it was decreed that the blame for many of the island’s troubles was to be affixed upon a certain rogue sea captain of Ruathym. Khaufros was to do whatever he could to augment and support the new “facts” that spoke against this man. The Kraken leader from Luskan was also calling in all markers, demanding that the Ruathen ship be stopped by any means possible before it reached its home port, for the accusations could not be as easily made if the man lived to refute them.

“My lord baron.”

Khaufros instinctively crushed the damning message in his hand and looked to the door of his study. The entrance was flanked by two suits of Cormyrian plate armor, priceless things forged of mithril and tested in battle against the Tuigan horde. Standing between them, utterly dwarfed by their martial glory, stood his elderly and impeccable steward, Cladence.

“The diplomatic courier from Waterdeep is here, m’lord, awaiting your pleasure.”

The baron smiled and leaned back in his chair, the needed plan already forming in his mind. “Show him in, Cladence, and send my scribe in with him. Shut the door after them-we may be in conference for some time.”

The messenger was a young man of common stock, too ignorant of court ways to change his travel-stained gear before seeking audience. Since this was the last mistake the lad was likely to make, Khaufros was inclined to let it pass. The baron accepted the letter from Waterdeep, broke the seal, and quickly scanned the contents. Routine information, for the most part, some of which he had already heard in greater detail from his Kraken Society contacts. Khaufros looked up, his eyes focusing on a point somewhat behind the waiting courier. “Semmonemily, if you will, please,” he said politely: