Queen of the Depths

CHAPTER 5

iomeday, when Shandri Clayhill had taken enough prizes, when other captains sailed aboard vessels she’d provided in exchange for a cut of the plunder, when she was as a grandee by the standards of Dragon Isle, she’d have her own coquina mansion, swarming with flunkies, slaves, and sycophants. For now, though, when she had business to conduct ashore, it was necessary either to hire a room in a tavern or borrow space in Vurgrom’s mansion.

The latter was plainly more suitable for divvying up the spoils from the red caravel and the Thayan enclave, even if she disliked having her blustering chieftain sitting to one side, cup in hand, overseeing the proceedings. It would be too easy for him to countermand one of her decisions or offer “advice” that would effectively preclude her making one in the first place.

But really, how likely was that, in the wake of her triumph? So let the fat fool watch and reflect on the fact that, for all his boasting, it had been a long while since he’d taken such a prize. Maybe then he’d stop patronizing her and treat as he did the otherthe malecaptains who’d pledged him their fealty.

She resolved to stop chafing at his presence and focus on the task at hand. To whit, supervising her crew, who for the most part looked happy enough as they pawed through the bags and coffers heaped in the middle of the floor, raking out gleaming gold coins and other treasure. Some playfully donned oddments of sparkling jewelry. For an instant, she scowled, wondering if they were doing so in mockery of the way she customarily adorned herself, but then decided they probably meant no harm.

An ore unstoppered a pewter vial, took a sip, then jumped so high he slammed his head against a rafter. His friends laughed as he dropped back down to the floor. Sealmid fingered the edge of a broadsword. The enchanted blades the Thayans manufactured in quantity were inferior compared to truly splendid arms such as Kassur’s spear or Anton’s cutlass, but wickedly sharp nonetheless. The minimal contact sufficed to slice the first mate’s skin, and grinning, he raised his hand to display the welling blood.

Of course, it was fairly easy to divide specie or even minor potions and talismans seized by the dozen. If anyone chose to quarrel, it would be over the more potent magic the Red Wizards and their chief lieutenants had reserved for their own use. But after stuffing their pouches and sea bags with silver, gold, and gems, the ordinary gentlemen of fortune had no claim on the more precious enchanted articles, and surely the voyage had yielded enough of the latter to satisfy even a complement of officers as acquisitive as those who served aboard Shark’s Bliss.

As captain, Shandri got first pick. She advanced to the table, took up a greatsword, and pulled it from its scabbard. She didn’t actually need to since she and her lieutenants had already examined all of the items, but she felt a certain theatricality was appropriate to the occasion.

She spoke the wordMask only knew what it meantgraven on the blade just above the leather ricasso. Darkness swirled inside the steel, and she sensed the sentient weapon’s eagerness to kill, a gleeful malevolence directed at all the world but her.

It was a magnificent sword, and a big one, too, nearly as long as she was tall. If she fought with it, no one could possibly think of her as a fat old man’s dainty concubine. She brandished it, and everyone gave a cheer.

She also chose an onyx ring that would enable her to see in the dark like an owl, and she reckoned, she was through. She beckoned for Sealmid to take his turn.

The first mate chose a bowseemingly made of polished amethyst though it flexed like yewand the purple quiver of arrows that went with it. Durth, who fancied himself the finest archer in all the Pirate Isles, cursed, and the human gave him a mocking toothless grin. The lookout strode forward, clenching his gray-skinned fists.

“No!” Shandri snapped. “I called him; he chose; that’s the end of it.”

The ore took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes, Captain,” he muttered.

“You can pick last, to remind you to keep a grip on your temper.” She cast about. “Anton.”

Anton sauntered to the table, made a show of inspecting the remaining articles, then grinned, selected a cape, and spun it around his shoulders. The garment was a vivid scarlet, a fitting wrap for a Red Wizard, but shot though with threads gleaming gray like steel. The magic in the weave could absorb the force of a cut or blow as if the cloth were a piece of plate armor.

He then picked up three red-bound books and a wand.

A deafening boom thundered through the room. The floor shook, and Shandri staggered a step. Taking advantage of its new mistress’s sudden lack of balance, trying to reach for the nearest potential victim, the greatsword shifted in her grasp. No! she thought, and it abandoned the effort. She sensed the mind inside the blade, half sheepish, but likewise half amused.

There was no time to think about that now. She pivoted to see what had caused the bang. Chadrezzan stood glaring, gripping his serpent-girded staff with both gaunt hands. From his stance, she surmised the mute had disrupted the proceedings by striking the butt of the rusty rod on the floor.

“What are you doing?” Shandri demanded.

Chadrezzan jabbed a long, skinny finger at Anton.

“What he means,” Kassur said, “is that the wand and grimoires should rightfully go to him.”

“Nonsense,” Anton said. “He’s not an officer. He doesn’t get a double share.”

Chadrezzan gestured to himself, then to the priest of Talos.

“He’s pointing out,” said Kassur, “that neither one of us is weighted down with gold. In fact, we haven’t pocketed a single copper. That was so we could fairly claim the spellbooks and wand.”

“That’s too bad,” Anton said, “because it still doesn’t give you the right to choose ahead of me.”

“Be rational!” snapped the priest. “Thanks to a fluke, you can call yourself ship’s mage, but your handful of paltry spells doesn’t derive from the learning of a true wizard. They’re just a bit of freakishness, like an extra toe.”

“It makes no difference,” Anton said.

“It does!” At the most peaceful of times, Kassur stamped about glowering, seemingly full of anger he could barely contain. Now his face was brick red, and as he shouted, spittle flew from his lips. “You can’t profit from the lore in those volumes or use the wand either!”

“I can profit from it all if I sell it.”

“Chadrezzan will use it to augment his abilities.” Kassur pivoted toward Shandri. “Captain, you saw the magic he threw at the Thayans and how potent it was. We never could have won without him.”

“We never would have won,” said Anton, “if I hadn’t opened up the house.”

“That was one spell,” said Kassur, without diverting his monocular gaze from Shandri. “Chadrezzan cast more than a dozen. Imagine what he’ll be able to accomplish for us all once he masters the secrets of the Red Wizards. It’s stupidand selfishto deny him the chance.”

Some of the company clamored in agreement, but as many appeared to favor Anton. Durth said, “If I had to give up the bow, then your friend can do without the stinking books.”

“As well as the wand,” Kassur retorted, “and the cape? If you can’t see anything else, it should at least be clear to you that the greedy bastard’s laying claim to too much.”

Shandri thought he might well be right, but with the disparate items involved, it was difficult to be sure.

She was certain she didn’t want to lose Chadrezzan or Anton from the ship’s company or appear less than fair and impartial in the eyes of her crew. She also did not want to do anything Vurgrom would view as a mistake. Feeling overwhelmed, she hesitated.

The tiny image of one of the oil lamps reflecting in each black lens of her goggles, Tu’ala’keth stepped forth from the crowd. “This squabble is foolish.”

Anton grinned. “That’s what I’m trying to tell them.”

The shalarin gave him a stare. “I mean it is you who are the fool. I told you at the start, we have come to Dragon Isle to craft an instrument of sacrifice. To spill blood upon the waters for the glory of Umberlee. Anything that strengthens Shark’s Bliss serves our purpose. Accordingly, Chadrezzan shall have his tools.”

The declaration resolved Shandri’s doubts. If Anton’s closest ally, who was likewise the voice of a goddess and the harbinger of Shandri’s destiny, said he was in the wrong, then wrong he must surely be.

“Yes,” Shandri said. “The spellbooks and wand go to Chadrezzan and Kassur, as their entire shares. Anton, you’ll have to content yourself with the cape. Or put it back and take something else.”

Anton looked back and forth between her and Tu’ala’keth as if astonished they hadn’t supported him. “I planned the raid. We wouldn’t have any of this swag, not one particle of gold, if it wasn’t for me.”

It sounded as if he were claiming to be the leader, and Shandri’s belly tightened in anger. “Everyone contributed to our successunder my direction. If you want to keep your position, remember that.”

“Otherwise,” said Tu’ala’keth, “the Queen of the Depths will discard you and find a weapon more to her liking.”

“To Baator with the both of you.” Anton turned toward Vurgrom, who lounged smirking as if the argument were a play staged for his amusement. “Sir, we all know you’re the one who’s really in charge. You tell us: Who’s in the right?”

Vurgrom stroked his chin. “Well, after my famous raid on Yhaunn”

Velvet skirt flapping around her legs, Shandri dashed the few paces separating her from Anton. The greatsword shot up over her head. She didn’t feel she was lifting it, but rather that it flew and pulled her hands along. Yet it was nonetheless expressing her ire, and the sensation was exhilarating.

It was only when the dark blade flashed down at her lieutenant’s head that a measure of clarity returned, and she realized she didn’t truly want to slay him. She strained to cut wide of the mark, and Anton, though startled, managed a scrambling step backward. The sword missed.

“All right!” Anton cried, raising his hands. “If you’re willing to chop me to pieces over it, Chadrezzan can have what he wants!”

“I” Shandri faltered. She’d started to say she hadn’t intended to strike at him, but realized blaming it on the influence of the sword would make her seem weak. “Good. Then we can put this squabble behind us.”

“As you say. I have my share of the loot, and I’m tired. I believe I’ll find a place to lay my head.” He turned and stalked toward the door.

Shandri disliked seeing him depart in such a bitter mood, but knew she couldn’t call or scurry after him. That too would create the wrong impression.

“Some of the crew,” said Anton, “wanted to burn the compound to the ground.” He emptied his mug of grog, and one of his admiring listeners refilled it, slopping a bit of the clear, pungent liquor onto his hand. “Shandri Clayhill was willing to go along with it. But I convinced everyone it would be wiser to sail out before anybody else showed up to hinder us. Besides, leave the Thayans a cozy nest to come home to, and we’d know right where to find them when we want to rob them again next year.”

His audience laughed then fell silent as they noticed the newcomer at the fringe of the circle. Anton, too, felt a pang of surprise. Upon entering the tavern, a stuffy, murky, candlelit shack of a place stinking of spilled beer, he had, with a spy’s reflexive caution, taken inventory of the folk inside, and afterward tried to keep track of departures and new arrivals. Still, up until this moment, he hadn’t spotted the tall, lean, grizzled man fastidiously clad in blacks and grays. Either the old fellow had an exceptional talent for creeping about unobtrusively, or he employed magic to accomplish it.

Or in all likelihood, both, for the newcomer with his wry, shred, weather-beaten face was Teldar, chieftain of the largest faction on Dragon Isle. On previous missions, Anton had seen the legendary freebooter from a distance but never up close.

Like everyone else lucky enough to have a seat, he rose in respect. With a murmur of vague apology to the hairy, amber-eyed hobgoblin he was dispossessing, Teldar appropriated a chair and motioned for everyone else to take his ease. Peg leg thumping the floor, the tavernmaster came rushing with a straw-wrapped bottle of wine and a silver goblet. Apparently he knew from past visits what the great man liked to drink.

The tavernmaster was no sommelier. The shaking he’d given the bottle while conveying it to the table demonstrated that. Still he evidently thought that for Teldar, with his gentlemanly airs, he ought to make an effort. He ceremoniously poured a small measure of red wine into the cup and waited for the old pirate to sip and give approval. Teldar played along with some blather about the bouquet, the aftertaste, and grapes growing on the sunny side of the hill, meanwhile giving Anton a wink. The tavernmaster limped away, beaming.

“Aelthias sailed with me,” Teldar said, “before his injury. A mage aboard a Cormyrean Freesail pretty much burned his leg out from under him, and the healer had to cut off what was left. I helped set him up here.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Captain,” Anton said.

Teldar waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. You’re the hero of the hour, conducting a successful raid on a Thayan outpost. Or I suppose I should say, one of the heroes. I’m surprised to find you drinking with this lot, fine fellows though they are, instead of celebrating with your shipmates up in Vurgrom’s house.”

Anton frowned as if reluctant to explain. “I had a… disagreement with Captain Clayhill.”

Teldar nodded. “Ah. Well, of course, she’s only just assumed command of Shark’s Bliss. I suspect you’re a more experienced freebooter than she is. Though I don’t believe you and I have met before.”

“Until recently, I sailed out of Mirg Isle. It’s just where I happened to wash up when I decided to try my hand as a gentleman of fortune.”

“That explains it. Is Mirg Isle where you met the shalarin priestess?”

Anton grinned. “Just how long did you lurk about listening to my tale before deciding to reveal yourself?”

Teldar smiled in return. “You must think me a sorcerer like yourself. Not long at all, actually. But all Immurk’s Hold has at least heard rumors of the raid on the Red Wizards. It’s a shame you and your captain fell out after achieving such a coup.”

“I didn’t want to quarrel with the bitch. I simply wanted my due.” He told the tale of his supposed grudge. “We were just talking, and she tried to cleave me in two! When what I’d asked was only the hundredth part of what I deserve!”

Teldar sipped his wine. “What is it you think you deserve?”

“The red caravel. Or, at any rate, some ship of my own. Naturally, Shandri Clayhill and Vurgrom would thereafter receive a share of the prizes I took.”

“You came to Dragon Isle only a few tendays ago. Do you think anyone rises to a captaincy so quickly?”

“I don’t see why not, if he can plan a successful foray against folk as dangerous as the Red Wizards. I’ll wager these lads would sail under my flag.”

Tipsy with the rounds he’d bought them, a number of the pirates cried out in agreement.

Teldar rubbed his shoulders as if trying to work out an ache. Perhaps, spry as he still seemed, arthritis had begun to trouble him. “I suppose that’s my cue to declare that if you’ll join my faction, I’ll give you a ship.”

“I don’t know about that, but I doubt we met here by chance. I believe you have some reason for talking to me.”

“You’re right. But it was to take your measure, nothing more.”

“Well, then: Do I pass muster?”

“You have courage and intelligence, qualities I hold in esteem, and ambition, one I regard with a degree of ambivalence.”

“You must have been ambitious yourself to become the most powerful man in the Pirate Isles.”

“But I’ve never tried to eliminate the other factions here in the Hold. Well, except for when some fool attempted to murder me. I’ve never proclaimed myself ‘pirate lord.’ I’ve never endeavored to bring the corsairs on the other islands under my sway and forge us all into one great brotherhood, a fleet to rival that of Impiltur, Sembia, or any kingdom on the Sea of Fallen Stars.

“I could do it even now, and some days I still feel the temptation. But I remember what happened to Urdo-gen the Red and his ilk. Provoke the lands we plunder, or other proud, ambitious reavers, beyond a certain point, and they’ll go to any lengths to butcher you and all who follow you. Whereas I’ve lived a lengthy, prosperous life.”

Anton spread his hands. “I just want to be a captain like any other.”

“The average captain avoids annoying Red Wizards. It was a splendid accomplishment, and I admire you for it, but we of Dragon Isle may yet pay a toll in blood and misery because of it.”

“I don’t see how. We came under cover of night, aboard one of the Thayans’ own vessels, wearing their own clothes, and killed nearly everyone we found. It would be a good trick to trace us back here.” He paused a beat. “May I speak frankly?”

Teldar chuckled. “I thought you were already.”

“Maybe I am ambitious. I see opportunities. Of late, the gods have blessed the Pirate Isles. Dragon flights have attacked the coastal realms but left us alone. They’ve weakened our prey while we remain strong. Of course I want a ship, now, not months or years hence, to make my fortune while the pickings are easy. More than that, I want to follow a leader with the boldness and vision to commit all his strength to raid whole cities or any target a lone ship couldn’t overwhelm.”

Now Teldar laughed outright. “Are you saying you wouldn’t condescend to accept a ship from me even if I offered?”

“No, sir. I know you’re a great man, the most respected in these isles. Anyone would be proud to join your faction. I’m just saying I mean to look out for myself. To catch the freshest wind that blows my way and snatch every coin that rolls within reach.”

“My house is your house,” said Teldar, “whenever you feel inclined to visit. We’ll talk further. But for now… well, I’m afraid I’ve grown too old and dyspeptic to drink the night away as a pirate should. But you young cutthroats enjoy yourselves.” He rose and dropped a handful of clattering silver on the table.

A cool breeze blew, bearing the damp, salty tang of the sea. Lathander, god of the dawn, had just begun silvering the eastern horizon. Soon Tu’ala’keth would need her goggles. At the moment, though, they dangled from her neck beneath the hooded cloak she’d found in Vurgrom’s house. She hoped that with her face shadowed by her cowl and her crest of fin squashed down, she looked unremarkable in the the itchy, confining mantle.

She prowled from one tavern, brothel, and gambling den to the next, most still roaring despite the hour. Anton was supposed to be in one of them, but she couldn’t go inside to find out which. Her rudimentary disguise was unlikely to deceive even the most inebriated observer at close range.

Finally, up ahead, a big, black-haired man stumbled from a torch-lit doorway. His cape was red with strands of gleaming gray in the weave, and an octopus tattoo writhed its tentacles down his arm. He wandered into the nearest alley and relieved himself against a wall.

Tu’ala’keth strode toward him. “Anton!” she whispered.

His head jerked around. “Oh, it’s you. I truly must be drunk. I didn’t spot you muffled up in all that black.” He fastened up his breeches, turned, and blinked at her. “What in the name of the Lanceboard are you doing here? You and I are supposed to be quarreling, remember?”

Anton had needed a dispute with his shipmates to create the impression he was dissatisfied. Now the other factions would seek to recruit him. In the process, they’d boast of their enterprises, and give him the opportunity to pry into their secrets. Meanwhile, Tu’ala’keth, still a prized and trusted member of Vurgrom’s organization, would find chances to investigate his activities. At some point during the course of it all, she or the Turmian would uncover information that pointed to the Cult of the Dragon’s secret lair.

That was the plan, anyway. But it wasn’t what mattered at the moment.

“Listen to me,” said Tu’ala’keth. “After you left, I made a point of keeping an eye on Kassur and Chadrezzan.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re our enemies, and because, unlike everyone elseunlike you, obviouslythey only drank a cup or two of liquor.”

“I had to buy drinks and keep pace with everyone else. That’s how you give the impression of good fellowship. I know a charm to sober up, and I cast it from time to time. But I used up the power then still couldn’t get away.” He belched then eyed her quizzically. “You said something about Cha… Chadrezzdandan?”

She gripped her skeletal amulet, recited a prayer, and planted her other hand in the center of his chest with its repulsive bristling hairs. The spell would purge poison from a shalarin’s system, and she hoped it would wash alcohol out of a human’s veins as well.

Her fingers tingled and glowed blue-green, and he jerked back from her touch as if she’d struck him, banging up against the wall. “Ouch!” he said. “Thanks. That helped. Now what about the Talassans?”

“They stayed sober and eventually slipped away from the celebration. I believe they mean to kill you.”

“You could be right. I never spotted them peeking in at me or stalking me, but that means little. Curse it, anyway. I knew they’d try to murder one or both of us eventually, but why did it have to be so soon?”

“Because you offended them anew, and like me, they worship a deity of Fury. Whenever possible, we act on our anger without delay.”

“But they’ll have to delay if we can make it back to Vurgrom’s house. They can’t strike us down in front of our shipmates. The question is how to sneak there? I think, skirt the edge of town, the way we did our first day here, then come downhill.”

“I can fill the streets with an early-morning fog.”

He frowned, pondering, then shook his head. “No. It worked in Saerloon, but in this situation, I’m not willing to blind Kassur and Chadrezzan if it means blinding us as well. We’ll keep to the shadows and hope for the best.”

“As you wish.”

They skulked forward. Her pulse ticking in her neck, Tu’ala’keth peered back and forth and up and down, checking doorways, windows, the mouths of alleys, and rooftops. She told herself it was no different than playing hide-and-seek with an enemy amid the maze-like twists and cavities of a coral reef. She was not at a disadvantage in this alien environment, nor was she frightened.

“Thanks for coming to warn me,” Anton murmured.

“You are my partner in Umberlee’s sacred work.”

“Right. But thank you, anyway.”

A shadow shifted at the edge of her vision, where the stifling wool hood cut it off. She jerked around, and Anton pivoted with her. Reacting to the sudden motion, a small four-legged animal bounded away.

“Just a cat,” Anton said.

“I see that now,” she said stiffly.

They crept onward. Somewhere in the ramshackle settlement, a chickenno, the proper term, she had learned, was roostercrowed. Up ahead, where the narrow lane intersected another, a man in rags lay motionless on the ground. Perhaps he was a reveler stupefied by drink. Or maybe someone had murdered him. In theory, Immurk’s Hold was a haven where all pirates, even the bitterest rivals, observed a truce, but as Tu’ala’keth’s own situation demonstrated, the reality was otherwise. If a reaver wished to slay an enemy, the town simply asked that he pursue the vendetta with a modicum of discretion.

In any event, the important thing was that the human sprawled in the intersection wasn’t Kassur or Chadrezzan. He was too short and pudgy and dressed in grubby, nondescript clothing, not vestments decorated with jagged stripes and spangles or a cloak adorned with serpents. She was just about to turn her attention elsewhere when he heaved himself up into a sitting position.

She saw then that the thing wasn’t plump but rather bloated with the progress of decay. Sores, the marks of the sickness that had ended its life, mottled the puffy, discolored face. The mouth hung open, and dark fluid had oozed forth to stain the chin. The glazed eyes were empty.

It was a corpse, surely reanimated by Kassur’s magic. He probably hadn’t even needed to kill it or dig it up. The inhabitants of Immurk’s Hold could be lackadaisical when it came to disposing of their dead.

The cadaver gripped a dented tin pot in one swollen hand and a black iron skillet in the other. It fumbled them over its lolling head and banged them together. The clanking seemed preternaturally loud in the empty predawn streets.

Anton snatched his cutlass from its scabbard. No doubt he meant to silence Kassur’s sentinel by cutting it to pieces, but Tu’ala’keth had a faster way. She gripped her amulet and willed forth a blaze of spiritual power. The corpse finished rotting in a heartbeat, corrupt flesh eroding away in strips, bones crumbling to powder.

Still the dead thing’s sudden action had taken her by surprise, and she knew she hadn’t acted quickly enough. She turned to Anton and said, “Kassur and Chadrezzan surely heard that.”

“I know. We need to get under cover.” He cast about.

By making for the edge of town, they’d distanced themselves from coquina mansions, solidly constructed warehouses, barracoons, chandleries, and the like. The structures on the perimeter were a motley collection of shacks pieced together from driftwood, logs harvested from the interior of the island, and whatever other materials came to hand. Tu’ala’keth saw little reason to prefer one to another.

“There,” Anton said and led her to the flimsiest of all. It looked as if the builder, though initially intending to erect a proper cottage, had grown slothful partway through the process. The facade and one other wall were made of wood, but the remaining two and the roof were simply flapping canvas stretched over a frame, thus creating a structure half house and half tent.

Anton tried the door and found it fastened. He whispered his spell of openingTu’ala’keth found it marginally encouraging that he hadn’t squandered all his magic resisting the effects of dissipationand on the other side of the panel, a bar squeaked as it slid in its brackets. That noise sounded jarringly loud as well, but she knew it was just because of her nerves.

She and Anton scrambled into the houseall one sparsely furnished room, with rushes strewn on the dirt floorand he shot the bar behind them. A human mother and two small, snaggletoothed boys of mixed blood sat up from their pallets to goggle at the intruders. Perhaps the children’s ore father was away at sea.

Anton pointed his cutlass at the family. “Stay where you are, and don’t make a sound,” he said.

White-faced, the woman gave a nod.

The windows facing the street were made of canvas as well, so as to admit a little light. Anton cut a peephole in one then knelt behind it. Tu’ala’keth crouched beside him.

“You must realize,” she whispered, “this structure is no refuge. Chadrezzan can blast it apart with a flick of his fingers.”

“I know,” he said, “but first he and Kassur have to find us, and that’s the point. With luck, they’ll need to get close, and we’ll have a better chance than we would with them lobbing flame and lightning from a hundred paces away.”

“I understand.”

“Then hush and use your ears. We may well hear them coming before we’re able to see them.”

He was right. After a few moments, something hissed out on the street. At first she couldn’t see it, but then Anton tore the peephole larger, expanding their field of vision.

It was fire making the sibilant sound. Shrouded in yellow flame, turning his head from side to side, Chadrezzan stalked along with a look of intense concentration on his face. Kassur followed behind, spear at the ready. He too had cast some sort of defensive enchantment, revealing itself as an outline of scarlet phosphorescence around his body.

“They are not peering into doors or windows,” whispered Tu’ala’keth. “They must be seeking us with magic. My guess is Chadrezzan has given himself the ability to read minds. He is sifting through all the thoughts in the area, trying to pick out ours, while

Kassur labors to sense the enchantments in your cutlass and my silverweave.”

“That’s how it looks to me, too. Here’s what we’ll do: I’m going to go out the back and circle around. Give me a few seconds then start thinking, Umberlee, help me, over and over again. If Chadrezzan is listening to thoughts, that should point him at you. You should cast spells, too, to snag Kassur’s attentiondefensive magic, if you’ve got some prepared. The Grandmaster knows, you’re likely to need it.”

“I am to distract the Talassans while you take them from behind.”

“Right. As soon as I do, you hit them, too.” He turned toward the rear of the home.

“Wait.” She murmured a prayer and wrote a glyph on his brow with her fingertip. It glowed blue for a moment then faded. “A ward against flame… I’ve had them ready for the casting ever since we first quarreled with the Talassans.”

“Thanks.” He scuttled to the rear of the cottage, slashed through the canvas wall, and disappeared.

She counted to ten then started doing as he’d instructed her, invoking the goddess and shielding herself in a structure of interlocking enchantments like the components of a suit of plate. Before long, it had the desired effect. Kassur whirled in her direction and pointed with his spear.

“Yes, storm priest,” she called, “we see you, too, and we are ready for you. Flee before I call the wrath of Umberlee down on your heads.”

Kassur laughed. “Such threats might be more intimidating if you weren’t cowering behind a wall. As if that could save you.” Declaiming rhymes in some grating, infernal language, he raised his lance over his head, and the weapon flashed bright as lightning. Chadrezzan planted the butt of his iron staff on the ground, and the soil writhed at its touch. Power pulsed from the two humans, blurring Tu’ala’keth’s vision and cramping her guts. Gripping her drowned man’s hand, she commenced her own spell.

Then a shaft of force, visible as rippling distortion in the air, shot from the shadows behind the Talassans. It slammed into the center of Chadrezzan’s back and knocked him stumbling forward, spoilingTu’ala’keth hopedhis silent conjuration. Anton instantly charged out into the open to continue the work his spell had begun.

Kassur surely realized what was happening, but didn’t permit it to distract him from continuing his own conjuring. He and Tu’ala’keth finished simultaneously.

Glare and heat blazed at her. The stained, torn cloth in the window frame burned to ash in an instant, but that was the second she needed to save her sensitive deepwater vision. She frantically twisted away from the flash, and though the magic seared and blistered her skin, afterward, she could still see. She pulled her goggles back onstupid not to have replaced them beforeand peered out the opening.

The flying trident of luminous force she’d conjured jabbed at Kassur. He had two bloody grazes on his arm where it had gored him already. He parried with the lance and shouted words of power at it, trying to dispel it.

Meanwhile, Anton rushed Chadrezzan. But the wizard didn’t rely solely on his burning aura to protect him. Instead, he sneered and soared up into the air. Tu’ala’keth had wondered how the Talassans had arrived on the scene so quickly, and now she knew at least a part of the answer. Chadrezzan had empowered himself with the ability to fly.

She chanted a counterspell to strip the enchantment away, but before she could reach the end, a wave of sickening terror assailed her. She faltered in her recitation, and the botched magic wasted itself in a feeble flickering.

Kassur had exerted his power to chastise the denizens of the sea. Shuddering, Tu’ala’keth silently cried out to Umberlee, praying for the strength to shake off the crippling fear. A measure of the deity’s own inexhaustible wrath surged into her and washed the dread away.

In her fury, she yearned to kill Kassur up close, with her hands. Unfortunately, on Dragon Isle, her stone trident was too conspicuous a weapon to carry if she hoped to walk abroad incognito, so she’d left it behind in Vurgrom’s mansion. But her magic could arm her. She whispered a prayer, the air seethed green, and sharp, bony spines extruded themselves from her skin. It hurt for a moment, but the pain didn’t balk her. It only served to heighten her rage.

She strode to the door, unbarred it, threw it open, and found herself facing Kassur, now rid of the harassment of the disembodied trident. Judging from the way he held his spear, he’d planned to use it to force his way in. He gaped at Tu’ala’keth in surprise, no doubt because he’d expected to find her still crippled with fear.

She shouted a shalarin battle cry and sprang at him.

Her first blow ripped open his face to the bone, snatched away the patch that was a part of his regalia, and revealed what appeared to be a normal, functional eye underneath. She drove in again, trying to grapple, so dozens of the spines jutting from her body could pierce him all at once.

He scrambled back and swung the spear into line to threaten her. She struck at it and knocked it away from her heart, but the point still slid into her biceps. The lance flashed and sizzled, and her body shook. The odor of her burning flesh mingled with the smell of ozone.

The spear went dark, its power expended until the next thrust. Kassur yanked it back out of her arm. Her knees buckled, dumping her on the ground. Blooding streaming from his shredded profile, the storm priest lifted his weapon for a killing stroke.

Tu’ala’keth kicked at his lower leg, the only part of him she could reach. Thanks to the paralyzing effect of the lightning pent in the spear, it was a spastic, floundering attack. But she still had her goddess-granted fury to lend her strength, and the thorns on her foot sliced deep into the limb. Kassur gasped and toppled down beside her.

Now she had her chance to wrestle, to pull and grind him against her and let the blades cut. She clambered on top of him.

The spear, though deadly, was too long to wield at such close quarters. He dropped it and snatched a dagger from somewhere. The point banged against her silverweave, surely bruising her ribs but as yet, not piercing the coral armor.

He was all bloody gashes and punctures now, yet fought on with a ferocity akin to her own. He gasped out the opening syllables of a spell.

She resolved to silence him short of the conclusion, cut the tongue from his mouth or mangle the larynx in his throat if necessary. But then, as they thrashed and rolled, she caught a glimpse of Anton and Chadrezzan.

Still suspended in the air, the mute pointed the wand stolen from the Red Wizards at the foe below his feet. Jagged flares of shadow exploded from the tip of the arcane weapon, while Anton lunged back and forth, trying to dodge. When a discharge caught him anyway, he convulsed.

It was plain he had no chance, not while Chadrezzan hovered above his reach. Tu’ala’keth gathered her spiritual strength and screamed, “Fall!”

The magical command smashed through the wizard’s psychic defenses, and momentarily helpless to disobey, he allowed himself to plummet. He slammed down hard enough to snap bone but evidently not to kill or even stun him, for he immediately rose once more. Supported solely by his gift of levitation and not his flopping, shattered legs, he resembled a marionette hauled upward by its strings.

Despite the punishment he’d taken, Anton somehow found the strength to charge and, when Chadrezzan soared above his head, to leap. He caught hold of the burning wizard’s garments with his free hand, and his foe carried him aloft as well. He slashed and stabbed with his cutlass, and Chadrezzanwho must have lost the wand when he’d fallenjabbed and battered with the butt of the serpent-wrapped staff.

At which point, agony ripped through Tu’ala’keth’s body. By diverting her attention to Anton and Chadrezzan, she’d given Kassur the chance to complete his spell, a blast of malignancy that savaged her from the inside out.

For a moment, the pain made her spastic. Kassur broke free of her spiked embrace and scrambled to his feet, nearly fell again when the torn leg threatened to give way, but shifted his weight to compensate. He snarled an incantation, and a fan of flame exploded from his outthrust hands.

Flame. Thanks to her wards, she was in some measure immune to it. But Kassur presumably didn’t know that.

Though she might have tried to roll aside, she let the hot, hungry flare wash right over her. Its kiss seared her, but it was bearable. She screamed and flailed as if it weren’t then lay shaking, to all appearances incapacitated, or so she hoped.

Kassur scrutinized her then looked about for his spear. He surely didn’t mean to take his eyes off her, and only did so for an instant. Still it was the opening she needed.

She reared up onto her knees, flung herself forward, tackled him, and carried him back to the ground. He banged his head, and perhaps that finally jolted some of the fight out of him, for she landed a slice across the throat, ripped his eyes away, and hammered her fists on his chest, driving her spikes between the ribs and into the heart and lungs.

Some time after that, her fury abated sufficiently for her to comprehend it was impossible to hurt him any further. She looked around for Anton and Chadrezzan then froze in dismay.

The spy and the wizard, his corona of flame now extinguished, lay tangled together on the ground. Neither was moving, and it was impossible to tell if either was alive.

She tried to stand. The world seemed to tilt, and she flopped back down. She was on the verge of passing out and would have to help herself before she could aid another.

She chanted, and vigor surged through her limbs. It wasn’t enough to silence all her pains, but that could wait. She rose and hurried to Anton.

He was still breathing. Indeed, except for the contusions where the butt of the iron staff had caught him, he was unmarked. Yet even so, his skin was icy and his pulse raced, making it plain he was sorely wounded. Chadrezzan’s wand was surely as lethal a weapon as any crossbow or trident, despite the fact that its shadowy discharge didn’t break the skin.

Gripping the bony symbol of Umberlee’s power, Tu’ala’keth declaimed the most potent charm of healing at her disposal. Anton thrashed, and his eyes flew open. He coughed hard several times as if he had a bone caught in his throat.

When the fit passed, he wiped his teary eyes and said, “Why is it that whenever you heal me, it hurts? The priests of Ilmater are gentle as doves.”

Ilmater, martyr god of the weak and helplessshe sneered at the mention of his name.

“Never mind,” Anton continued. “I’m grateful anyway.”

“What now?”

“It’s convenient that we made for the edge of town. If we can just drag the corpses on into the hills a little ways, we’ll come to a cliff where we can dump them into the sea.”

“As an offering to Umberlee?”

“If you like. But mainly to make life easier for me. People will assume I killed the Talassans, and I want them to. It will help convince the other factions I’d make a valuable recruit. But I don’t want Shandri Clayhill to try to punish me for slaughtering members of her crew. Without any dead bodies to prove Chadrezzan and Kassur didn’t just run off, she probably won’t make an issue of it.”

“What of the woman on whom we intruded? She witnessed what happened, or enough of it.”

“Good point. I’ll threaten her again, and give her some Thayan gold, too. I imagine the combination will keep her mouth shut.” ondering how best to broach the matter at hand, Tu’ala’keth shadowed Captain Clayhill through the benighted house. Long skirt whispering against the floor, jaw clenched, and body stiff, the human strode rapidly, oblivious to the fact that someone was trailing along behind her.

The pirate’s path ended in the deserted, moonlit courtyard, where she took up a boarding pike with a blunted point and edge and squared off against a straw practice dummy. Slashing and stabbing furiously, she grunted and snarled. Her jewelry lashed and clattered about her body, and the muscles in her bare, tattooed arms and shoulders bunched and flexed.

Tu’ala’keth watched from the verandah for a time then asked, “What troubles you, Captain?”

Shandri Clayhill jerked around. “Waveservant. I didn’t know you were there. Nothing’s wrong. I’m just practicing.”

Tu’ala’keth descended the steps into the yard. “You cannot deceive me. I am your shadow. Your destiny, by Umberlee’s command.”

“Well…” The human wiped sweat from her eyes. More of it plastered her bronze-colored hair to her brow. “It galls me to lose Kassur and Chadrezzan.”

“We will have better fortune with Shark’s Bliss, and all who sail aboard her, devoted solely to Umberlee.”

“So you say, but their magic served us well in the fights with the Thayans. It will vex me if we lose Anton, too. It’s his right to seek a place on another ship, but you’re supposed to be his comrade. Can’t you convince him to stay?”

“Perhaps I can. Perhaps I will. But why are you, to whom the Queen of the Depths has given her favor, so concerned? Can you not see that you are the luck and strength of Shark’s Bliss?”

The human’s mouth twisted. “That has a brave sound to it, but I can’t take prizes without good men at my back.”

“You will find many reavers eager to sail with a captain who bested Red Wizards, and were you not distraught, you would know it. Let us speak, then, of that which oppresses you and clouds your visions: of the man you dream of killing when you batter this mannequin. It is plain you have just come from his chamber. I smell him on you.”

Shandri Clayhill glared, and for a moment, Tu’ala’keth wondered if the human would tell her to mind her own affairs. But then she sighed and said, “I thought that after Saerloon, things would be different.”

“Yet Vurgrom still treats you as his harlot.” “Maybe I should have expected it. The Lord of

Shadows knows, I’m not his only woman, but for the past couple years, I’ve been his favorite.” “As you sought to be.”

“I don’t deny it! I meant to use him, and it got me what I wanted. But I didn’t know what I was getting into. He’s fat, getting old, and drinks too much. He’s grown jaded bedding hundreds of women and even females of other races. He often needs… perversity to stir his desire.”

“Daughter, you need feel no shame. You stalked and claimed a victim to satisfy your wants. That is the dance of predator and prey, blessed in the sight of Umberlee, though in this guise a far lesser thing than the bloodshed and slaughter for which she intends you. But if you continue to humble yourself when it is no longer necessary, when your fate beckons you onward, then you truly will be at fault.”

“Can I refuse him when he’s still the chief of our faction? When he could demand that I give back Shark’s Bliss?”

“Yes! Because he lusts for the plunder you will bring him more than he aches for your flesh. Because he knows that if you forsake him, some rival faction will be overjoyed to recruit such a successful captain. You have power now, the power to command respect. You simply have to muster the courage to use it.”

Shandri Clayhill drew a deep breath, as if preparing for some great exertion. “You’re right.”