Under Fallen Stars (22 page)

In his present guise, Iakhovas was taller than any man there, dressed in azure and black garments complete with a cloak that carried the colors, black on the outside and azure on the inside. He wore rolled-top black boots that gleamed. A black crepe bandanna covered his lower face and his cloak hood was pulled tight so that only his eyes were revealed. It was the presence of those two eyes that let Laaqueel know the appearance was at least part illusion.

They stood in the spacious galley of Grimshroud, the flagship of the Nelanther Isles pirates. The sahuagin army Iakhovas had led into Baldur’s Gate was already far from them, sent on ahead while Iakhovas ventured on to Skaug, the pirate capital of the Nelanther Isles.

“The attack didn’t go as well as I’d hoped,” Iakhovas admitted.

Laaqueel felt a chill when she heard that admission, Iakhovas wasn’t one to admit mistakes. Not without someone else’s bloodshed.

Bloody Falkane hung uncharacteristically back out of the limelight. The malenti priestess tried to keep her eyes from his, but they still touched upon occasion. It was awkward, and she got the sense that the pirate captain enjoyed her discomfort.

Burlor Maliceprow sat in an ornate chair at the head of the long table. He was the only person in the room allowed to sit. His given title was Portmaster of Skaug, but he was the controlling power of the Nelanther Isles. In his youth he’d been a wide man with hard lines that had gone to fat through his successes. His soft brown hair, sheared off at the jawline, carried gray streaks in it now. Hazel eyes glinted with the hardness of a newly minted coin. His clothes, despite his size, fit him well.

“You convinced us of this strike,” Maliceprow said in his soft voice, barely heard above the ship’s creaks and groans.

“I merely pointed out the opportunity,” Iakhovas replied. “You convinced yourselves.”

Maliceprow’s eyes narrowed. “You say you don’t accept the blame for this?”

Iakhovas reached out and pulled back a chair, ignoring the four guards around Maliceprow who moved to defend him. Iakhovas sat across from the portmaster, every eye in the galley on him. “I only accept my share of the blame. You knew there would be risks.”

“I thought there would be less risk involved,” Maliceprow stated, waving at his guards to stand down. He hadn’t achieved his position by being afraid. “You said those damned sea devils and their creatures would chew up more of the city’s defenses than they did.”

Laaqueel felt her face grow hot at the disrespect the man obviously held for her people.

Easy, little malenti. You have even less respect for him.

Only the discipline Laaqueel had learned through serving Sekolah helped to keep her mouth closed and harsh words unsaid.

Iakhovas replied easily. “They incurred even greater losses than your pirates, Portmaster.”

“And there’s a balance to be struck here?” Maliceprow demanded.

“They went there to go to war with their enemies,” Iakhovas said. “You went there out of greed to sack Baldur’s Gate. Even with the losses you took, you made a profit.”

Maliceprow said nothing.

“I’d call your attack a success.”

“Except that every city and country along the Sword Coast is going to be more interested than ever in the Nelanther Isles,” Falkane said.

Iakhovas smiled at the pirate captain. “I thought you took pride in the amount of the bounty offered for your head, Captain Falkane. Surely that amount will go up once the Sword Coast learns you were involved in the attack.”

A smile spread across Falkane’s thin lips. The yellow light from the lanterns mounted on the walls painted shadows on the wall behind him. He gave Iakhovas a small salute, fingers briefly touching his forehead. “A pirate’s reputation is worth its weight in gold.”

“Exactly,” Iakhovas said. “After the attack on Baldur’s Gate, all of your reputations have been enhanced, and you’ve made a profit.”

“Not enough of one,” Maliceprow growled. “I don’t give a damn that you’re supposed to be some kind of unkillable legend, Alaric. There will be an accounting here-or mayhap we’ll see the evidence of those myths.”

“I’m not a man to be pushed,” Iakhovas said quietly, maintaining his steady gaze on Maliceprow.

For a moment Laaqueel’s breath caught. She felt certain that violence was about to erupt in the galley.

After a long breath, Maliceprow leaned back in his chair and said, “Your alliance with the sea devils is of benefit to us.”

“Of course it is,” Iakhovas replied. “So far none of the pirate ships from the Nelanther Isles have been attacked by the sahuagin, or any other creature from the sea.”

Laaqueel watched as the threat rolled over the gathered captains. She saw that they understood Iakhovas wielded more power over them than they’d before believed.

“Our arrangement guarantees your continued safe passage on the seas,” Iakhovas went on. “You’re free to continue to plunder the Sword Coast, secure in the knowledge that whoever decides to pursue any of you will become targets for the sahuagin. You yourselves have no cause to worry about them.”

Maliceprow nodded slightly, but Laaqueel knew he didn’t like his position and perhaps suddenly realized how untenable it was.

“Surely that’s worth something,” Iakhovas pointed out.

“Maybe it is,” Falkane stated, “but you have to ask yourself, what’s it worth to you to walk out of this galley alive?”

Laaqueel’s heart sped up at the bald-faced threat.

Turning his head, Iakhovas stared at the pirate captain. “Your absence wouldn’t go unnoticed. You’d be a hard man to replace.”

Silence stretched in the galley, filling it. Laaqueel watched Falkane, knowing the pirate captain was fully confident enough to act.

“We want more,” Falkane said. “Your precious sea devils took things from Baldur’s Gate as well. We want a share. They don’t need all that they took.”

Maliceprow glanced at the younger man in irritation, obviously unhappy at having his authority or decisions questioned.

“Perhaps,” Iakhovas said smoothly, “it would be interesting to humble you.”

“You speak as though it could be done,” Falkane interrupted.

“But not today,” Iakhovas went on. “There’s still need of you.” He reached under his cloak and took out a green velvet bag. “All of you will have your share.” He loosened the drawstrings on the bag and poured.

Gold and silver coins spilled to the galley floor, bouncing and rolling when they hit. Gems and jewelry followed them. The bag was obviously magical because it continued to pour even though it had already emptied more than twenty times its own ability to hold.

The pirates scrambled forward, each searching through the treasures that cascaded across the floor. Only Maliceprow and Falkane didn’t move.

Iakhovas tossed the bag to one of the nearest pirates. “Hire more pirates to take the places of those you’ve lost. Build, buy, or steal more ships to replace those sitting at the bottom of Baldur’s Gate’s harbor.”

Disappointment marked the man’s face when the bag appeared to have emptied at last. When he upended it again and more valuables tumbled out, he shouted out in glee, joined by others.

“I pay my debts,” Iakhovas said, “but I also call in the favors that are owed me. Beware some of the items you find there. They’re magical in nature.” He smiled cruelly. “You wouldn’t want to destroy your ship before you return home.”

Laaqueel relaxed somewhat, surprised yet again by how easily Iakhovas manipulated those around him. Sekolah was surely watching over him, even though the Shark God had never watched over anyone.

Maliceprow watched the wealth spilling across his ship’s floor and said, “I shall look forward to continued business with you, Alaric.”

Iakhovas pushed himself up from the table and turned toward the door. “Of course you do, Portmaster. I knew there’d be no other answer.”

As Iakhovas left the room, Laaqueel lingered. She told herself it was to guard Iakhovas’s back, but she couldn’t resist a final glance into Falkane’s dark eyes. They haunted her, and she’d come to enjoy the slight shiver that look gave her.

Then she turned and went out the door as well. Despite Iakhovas’s generosity, the malenti priestess knew no love was lost between Iakhovas and Bloody Falkane.

Jherek dreamed, trapped by fatigue and by the fever that gripped him off and on still. Part of him knew he lay in Breezerunner’s hold and that Tynnel and most of the crew sat around him. They constantly moved and grumbled among themselves, ill at ease at being trapped in the ship’s belly where no seafaring man would want to be. He felt sunlight across his legs where it streamed down from the bars overhead.

In the dream, he was five again, running across Bunyip’s decks with a bucket of wet sand. The pirates had surprised a cargo ship that carried a surprise of its own hi the form of a passenger who was a mage of some renown. It was the first time Jherek had ever seen fireballs shoot through the air. Fear filled him again, but it was more than just the fear he’d known as a five-year-old. Even though everything seemed the same, he knew it was subtly different.

The voices and sounds blurred as they sometimes did in dreams, but the images were clear, full of color. His father stood on the stern castle, calling out orders to the men working to cut the flaming rigging free to save the sails and to the men he’d assembled for the boarding party.

Jherek ran as fast as he could. Despite all the activity taking place on both decks, his father would know how he performed. Flames hugged the deck near the port railing in front of him, already blistering the finish. He threw his bucket of brine-soaked sand over it, then raced back to the large crate amidships where more was kept.

His bare feet slapped against the deck, hard and callused from not wearing shoes and working the ship. At five, he already knew how to mend sails and nets. He also worked on the cleaning crews and in the galley. Days went by in those times when he’d never spoken a word. Even then it was mostly a quickly bellowed, “Aye sir!” followed by the smart salute his father had taught him.

He dipped the bucket into the crate of wet sand, scraping it up, then hurried back to the fire. The first bucketful had smothered some of the fire, but it was still in danger of spreading.

Bunyip caught a wave crossways, wallowing in the trough of rough water for a moment. Jherek stumbled at the railing, nearly spilling the bucket of sand overboard. He fought to keep hold of it, knowing his father would punish him if he didn’t.

The pirate ship bore down on the merchantman. Bunyip closed rapidly when she got behind the other vessel and stripped the wind from her. Jherek’s stomach twisted when he realized the killing would start soon. They had more buckets of sand for any blood that was spilled on Bunyip’s deck, and a stiff-bristled brush to scrub it away before it dried in.

Jherek tossed the sand over the fire. As he turned, Bunyip slammed into her prey with an explosive, hollow boom that splintered wood. Bunyip heeled over from the impact, then caught another crossways wave that tossed her high for a moment.

Without any chance to save himself, Jherek went over. He plummeted, splashing into the ocean. As he went under, he saw the shadowy shapes of the two ships come together again above him. Another boom, this one altered by its passage through water, crashed around him.

He kept his hand locked around the bucket. If he lost it, Bloody Falkane would whip him. Out of reflex, he tried to swim, but he was caught in an undercurrent, one of the vast movements that constantly shaped the undersea. Unable to use his other hand, he couldn’t make any headway in the water.

In Breezerunner’s brig, Jherek felt the fever cover him in a sheen of perspiration. He struggled to wake from the dream, but was trapped by it. Waiting in the back of his mind, he knew what would happen next. At five, he’d given up, unwilling to release the bucket.

Bubbles streamed from his mouth as his vision darkened.

Still, he kept himself from breathing. Then, in the distance, he saw a gliding gray shape streaking toward him. All those years ago, that shape had belonged to the dolphin that had turned up out of nowhere and saved him. He’d heard the mysterious voice for the first time in his life then.

Live, that you may serve.

Now, it wasn’t a dolphin. Even though part of Jherek knew it was only a dream, part of him also knew what he was experiencing was something else as well.

The shape came closer, dolphinlike in its first appearance. It knifed through the water, and Jherek saw the hard lines of it. He remembered seeing it before, when he’d been held prisoner in Butterfly’s brig after the Amnians had discovered the tattoo he wore.

The shark was at least forty feet long, hard-muscled and gray as three-day-old death. Black lines etched its body, looking like scars at first, then becoming runes carved deep into the flesh. One eye glared at him coldly, but the other eye was gone, ripped away by claws or teeth. Still, the hollow raked him savagely with its gaze. The shark stopped, hanging motionless in the sea, the silhouettes of the two ships farther away as they continued sailing.

Don’t think to fool yourself, boy, the shark told Jherek in a cold and malevolent voice that echoed inside his head. I know about you. I’ve always known about you. Turn back while you still can.

Jherek wanted to ask the shark what it was he was supposed to turn back from, but he couldn’t. The dream had him in its thrall and fear closed his voice. He still held the bucket, unable to let it go even now. His father’s rules still controlled him.

The shark opened its mouth, revealing rows of sharp teeth eight or nine inches long. It flicked its tail, speeding around him in a circle. Without warning, the shark dived for him, letting him know it was going to take him in one gulp.

Then die, boy, the shark said, that you might be eaten!

Blackness blotted out Jherek’s consciousness.

Coming to in the brig, Jherek wheezed and fought for his breath, drawing in great rattling draughts. He sat up, drenched in sweat from the fever. He blinked at the sunlight, finding everything too bright.