Tangled Webs (21 page)

The illithid sent a silent summons into the deep water. After a few minutes the surface of the pool rippled, and a pair of long, thin tentacles snaked out onto the tiled floor. Like thin arms they flexed, heaving and straining in an effort to drag the rest of the creature out of the water. Another pair of tentacles emerged to join in the struggle, and finally an enormous, bulbous head protruded. A large tail, fluked like that of a whale, flailed and slapped at the water as the creature humped and wriggled and dragged its way out onto the marble tiles.

The aboleth-for such it was-turned its three slitlike eyes upon the immobilized merrow. These eyes were stacked one above the other, and they glowed with a strange purple light that intensified as the creature began to cast a charm. The sea ogre’s face went vacant at once as it fell under the spell, but several moments passed before it took the first jerky step toward the fishlike creature. Sometimes it took a good while for the aboleth’s innate magic to wrest its prey from the grasp of the illithid.

This was a game Vestress and the aboleth played often. It amused them both and gave them what they most coveted. The illithid watched as one of the aboleth’s tentacles curled back and snapped, whiplike, toward the merrow. The sea ogre jolted as the incredibly potent venom coursed through its body and shuddered convulsively as the poison took effect-rapidly transforming the merrow’s thick and scaly hide into a slimy, transparent membrane. The creature’s innards were clearly visible, but just for a moment. Bone softened, and the merrow’s form began to sag like a melted candle.

Still under the aboleth’s spell, the sea ogre oozed its way over to the edge of the pool and splashed into the water. The aboleth dragged itself back to the water to feed. For all its fearsome appearance, the aboleth did not have any teeth, and its mouth was hidden on its underbelly. It could consume only victims that had been reduced to the consistency of mucus, and it could not eat except in the water. Vestress sat calmly while her playmate sucked the merrow dry. The wait was usually well rewarded. The aboleth might be ungainly, but it was one of the most potent sources of information in all ofVestress’s vast network. An aboleth acquired all the knowledge possessed by any creature it ate. No aboleth willingly gave up these secrets, but Vestress was exceptionally skilled—even for an illithid-at pulling information from an unwilling mind. The aboleth enjoyed the challenge of going mind-to-mind with the powerful illithid, and occasionally it agreed to hunt and consume some intelligent seagoing creature that might yield up-posthumously-information of special interest to Vestress. In all, it was an arrangement that suited them both.

Again the aboleth dragged itself out of the pool, moving more slowly now that it had gorged itself on a nine-foot ogre. It locked stares with the illithid, and the battle for mental supremacy began.

Vestress reached out with her psionic powers, touching the impressive shields that guarded the sea creature’s mental treasure trove. She pressed, nudged, battered at the wall-all to no avail.

At last the illithid turned away, admitting defeat. Sometimes she won, sometimes not. It was no coincidence, however, that she usually lost when the prize was a creature such as this merrow-and after she had extracted from its mind any information of value.

The aboleth did not seem to care about such distinctions. The victorious fish-thing slithered back into the water, leaving a trail of gray slime on the marble tile, and then disappeared into the depths beyond the pool. Oddly enough, it was this disgusting substance that had prompted Vestress to summon the aboleth in the first place. Although the slime smelled disgustingly like rancid lard, it was useful in making potions of waterbreathing, and Vestress had it collected after each of the aboleth’s visits. Vestress sent a mental summons into the antechamber for her newest slave. The slave was human, a strong, pale. haired female who’d fought entertainingly against the illithid’s mental control. No matter-the female had succumbed as did all. Now docile and efficient, the woman knelt on the tile and began to scrape up the grayish slime. When the marble floor was spotless and shining, the welltrained slave took the bottled slime and headed off for Vestress’s alchemy chamber, where it would be transformed into a potion of waterbreathing.

The illithid was in particular need of such a potion. Her last one had been used to create a ring ofwater-breathing, a valuable item lost to the drow whom the slain merrow and his band had failed to kidnap. This drow-indeed, the entire crew of the Ruathen ship-had surprised Vestress more than once. That situation, however, was about to change.

The Regent glided toward the pool that led to Iskor’s watery realm. She would summon the water wraith and persuade her to bring the drow Shakti to Ascarle at once. What better, more entertaining way to learn more about her new drow foe-and her new drow ally-than to pit them against each other?

The Cutlass made port on Trisk, the main island in the Purple Rocks archipelago, in record time. With the assistance of an efficient dockmaster, Rethnor sent a messenger to the palace requesting an immediate audience with King

Selger, the nominal ruler of Trisk. As he suspected, the monarch sent a coach at once to bring the High Captain of Luskan in state.

This was Rethnor’s first visit to the island, and as the royal coach crested the rocky hillsides of the coast and rolled through the green valley beyond, all that he saw confumed his suspicions about the island’s place in the Kraken Society. The people ofTrisk were cheerful and industrious. Never had Rethnor encountered so pristine a harbor, or farms and homesteads so well tended. At first glance, the island appeared to be a place of remarkable contentment-a paradise.

But Rethnor had not achieved his position by accepting fIrst appearances. He noticed the strain behind the smiles, the frantic striving at excellence, the watchfulness on every face. And he noticed that the emblem of the Kraken Society-a many-tentacled purple squid-was worn in some form by every person he set eyes upon. Rethnor did not think that these simple, isolated folk had become Kraken agents through personal ambition, or even by choice.

So much the better.

He found King Selger to be much as he’d expecteddelighted with the impromptu visit, eager to please, clearly aware of the importance of maintaining Luskan’s goodwill. Rethnor intended to see how far the king would go to keep it.

The High Captain waved away repeated and lavish offers of food, mead, and various entertainments. “My time is short. I need to meet with the head of the Kraken Society,” he said bluntly.

Stunned silence met his words, then carefully worded disclaimers. Rethnor would have none of it. He badgered, ordered, threatened-and finally King Selger yielded.

“We will do what we can to aid you,” the king said cautiously, “but upon your own head be the consequences.”

“I accept them,” Rethnor said, and then added dryly, “Perhaps it will set your mind at ease to know that these consequences, whatever they may be, will not affect the island’s trade status with Luskan.”

The kings face turned deep red at these words-even a puppet monarch had his pride, Rethnor noted-but he did not try to deny their truth. His only caveat was that Rethnor must wait for low tide. Nothing the captain could do or say would make Selger budge on that point.

And so shortly before the following dawn, a servant summoned Rethnor and showed him to the royal stables. The two men selected their mounts from among the stout, shaggy ponies indigenous to the island, and then rode off in silence. Rethnor tried to extract information from the servant, but the man did not speak the Common trade language and Rethnor knew only a few words of the obscure dialect spoken on Trisk. The High Captain suspected the servant had been chosen specifically for his lack of linguistic skills. Although King Selger had little choice but to cooperate with this powerful ally, he apparently intended to do all he could to protect the secrets entrusted to him. The two men rode in silence to the island’s northern coast. It was a dismal, deserted place, a long stretch of rock-strewn sand that was eerily devoid of life. No seabirds wheeled and quarreled overhead, no crabs scuttled along the still-damp sand. Rethnor’s lone escort took him to a rocky ledge that dropped off suddenly and dramatically into the sea. He pointed out the caves that were revealed only when the tides were at their lowest ebb.

As soon as Rethnor swung down from his mount, the servant seized the pony’s reins. Wheeling his own mount about, he bolted back toward the safety of the town. Rethnor briefly considered throwing a knife into the coward’s back, but the man was out of range too quickly. With a curse and a shrug, the Luskar let the matter pass. He took a pine-pitch torch from his pack and lit it; then he dropped into the water.

Even at low tide, the sea was waist-deep at the cave’s entrance. Holding the torch high, Rethnor slogged onward into the darkness. The cave was larger than he had anticipated, and the vast blackness seemed to swallow the flickering light. Just as the Captain began to wonder whether the king had sent him on a fool’s errand, the chamber narrowed, and the light of his torch reflected off the walls of a wondrously carved stone passage.

Thick pillars lined the walkway, and curving buttresses met overhead in graceful arcs. All surfaces were carved with intricate designs, detailed scenes, and the curving script of some long-forgotten language. The artistry was breathtaking, and Rethnor could not help but calculate the market price of some of the artifacts he passed as he waded through the silent halls. Just the gargoyles alone would bring a fortune to rival that of the most corrupt Waterdhavian noble.

Rethnor raised his torch for a better look. Marvelously detailed and endlessly varied, the gargoyles perched atop the pillars like silent sentinels watching over the passage. Looming over him was a particularly fearsome statue-a goblinlike creature with an owl’s beak and feet, and wings like a cross between those of a bat and a manta ray. As the torch’s flickering light touched the gargoyle, the stone statue stirred to life. The massive wings snapped out into a tight arch, and the creature leaped from its post. Down it glided toward the stunned man, the talons on its enormous feet flexed and eager.

Too late Rethnor realized his error. These were not statues, but living creatures-kapoacinth, a marine variation on the pure evil that was a gargoyle. As the creature bore down on him, Rethnor flailed at it with his torch. But what weapon was fire to a creature of stone?

As the kapoacinth swooped in, Rethnor understood what a hare must feel just before the strike of a hawk. Giant stone claws closed on the Northman’s shoulders, biting through the protective layers of fur overcoat and leather armor. Rethnor gritted his teeth against the pain as the creature dragged him from the water. His torch flew from his hand and died with a feeble hiss.

The gargoyle flapped heavily into the air with its prey and then glided down the passage. After a time the man’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. He noted that the passage was one ofmany, each with side tunnels branching offhaphazardly on either side. The kapoacinth took many turns, following a convoluted path that Rethnor could not hope to remember. Then, to the High Captain’s greater horror, the creature changed path once again and dove straight for the water. The man filled his lungs with air just as the icy impact struck him.

After the cold, Rethnor’s first sensation was that of incredible speed. The water rushed past him with a force that threatened to tear him from his captor’s claws. Then, suddenly, the motion stopped. Cautiously Rethnor opened his eyes. They had emerged from the tunnel into a large, deep basin. In the dark water ahead Rethnor could make out the shapes of what appeared to be the ruins of a city wall. Once again the kapoacinth dove like a stooping hawk. The creature glided through the remains of a massive portcullis, then swiftly made its way through an enormous labyrinth of ancient stone.

In moments the inner city lay before them-not ruins, but a marvel crafted from crystal and coral, beautiful beyond telling. Like a diamond with a heart of flame, the city lent an eldritch glow to the surrounding water.

The kapoacinth swooped down to a marble walkway that ended in a gleaming arch. Its talons opened, and Rethnor dropped heavily onto the path. With a sharp slap of its barbed tail, the creature sped him through the magic doorway. Rethnor stumbled through the portal and emerged in an airfilled room. The entire underwater journey had taken little more than a minute or two, but the shock of it had quickened his heart and emptied his lungs. Another moment more would have been too much for him. Yet even as he dragged in much-needed air, he placed his one remaining hand on his sword hilt and surveyed the room for potential danger.

Rethnor found himself in a place of surpassing beauty, an antechamber that would have graced any palace in twenty realms. The crystal walls whorled upward in intricate patterns to the peaked ceiling, giving the impression that the room was contained within an enormous gem. Exquisite marble of pink, green, and white was inlaid in exquisite designs on the floor and walls, and rare statues graced the alcoves. Most fair of all was the servant who came to greet Rethnor, a woman of the North, dressed in silken robes that matched the pale gold of her hair. In a strangely toneless voice she bade him follow, her movements wooden as she led the way through ever more wondrous rooms.

Unaccustomed to such splendor, the High Captain was keenly aware of his sodden clothing and bedraggled appearance. He had little thought to spare for such petty emotions, for nothing in this unnatural place felt right, and his warriors instincts screamed out a warning. As the beautiful slave led him down a long passage toward the audience chamber, he strove to still his mind and prepare his wits for the encounter to come.

But nothing could have prepared Rethnor for what awaited. The vast room was dominated by a marble dais and a crystal throne the color of pale amethysts. Seated upon this was a regal-if hideous-creature. A silver diadem rested on its high-domed lavender head, and the four tentacles that made up the lower half of its face writhed in sinuous, graceful patterns.