Queen of the Depths (14 page)

“I prompted Shandri Clayhill to refuse when Vurgrom calls her to his bed. Once she was out of the way, I began the process of fixing his interest on me.”

“I don’t understand. Our two peoples aren’t drawn to one another in that way.”

“Normally, no. But I know spells to enhance my personal magnetism to such an extent that it will not matter what is natural and what is not. At least, not to Vurgrom. Captain Clayhill says he often makes loves to females of other races, and if that is not enough, I mean to persuade him I am the key to realizing his aspirations. Desire and ambition will twine together in his mind, each deepening the other. Then, as I tease him and lead him on, I will cozen his secrets out of him.”

Anton shook his head. “It’s a bad idea, for all sorts of reasons. For one, you don’t know Vurgrom’s sitting on the information we need, so you can’t justify the added risk.”

“He is one of the two most important men on Dragon Isle, and the one to whom Umberlee led me.”

“
led you to Vurgrom simply because it was likely his faction was recruiting.”p>

“But you are Umberlee’s agent, and even were you not, she reveals herself through chance.”

“I can’t be sure about that, but I do know enough about divine magic to understand that when you cast a spell to increase your force of personality, everybody’s going to feel the pull. Some other priest or wizard is likely to realize you’re trying to enthrall Vurgrom and give him a warning.”

“I will approach Vurgrom at quiet moments, and fade into the shadows when our discourse is through. Other folk will have little opportunity to scrutinize me while the magic lends me grace.”

“What about Captain Clayhill? It doesn’t matter that she’s rejected him. I guarantee you, given what they’ve shared together, she’s still keeping an eye on him. She’ll notice what’s going on and realize you convinced her to end the affair, not for her benefit, but to open up opportunities for yourself.”

“That,” said Tu’ala’keth, “is where you come in.

Shandri Clayhill is worried about keeping you aboard Shark’s Bliss, and as her history attests, she is willing to use her charms to secure her ends. Encourage her to seduce you; then keep her out of my way.”

“What if I’m not the sort of man who lights her candle?”

“She gave herself to Vurgrom. How particular can she be?”

He laughed. “There is that. I’m going to be busy, playing jump-in-the-daisies with her and palavering with the other factions, too. But since I see I can’t talk you out of this, we’ll try it. Just be wary. Maybe you look at Vurgrom and see a fat, randy sot, but he’s dangerous. He’s murdered dozens in his time, and if he suspects you of tampering with his mind, a carnal itch won’t stop him from adding you to the tally.”

O- ŚŠŚ ŚŠŚ Ś&

A caravel such as Shark’s Bliss could never go unattended, even in port. She always needed a hand or two to guard and maintain her. But while her crew had loot to squander in the stews and taverns of Immurk’s Hold, they had no interest in staying aboard a minute longer than necessary.

Such being the case, Anton wasn’t particularly surprised to see Captain Clayhill alone on deck. Someone else was surely aboard, but maybe he was working below.

The absence of her underlings gave the pirate a reasonable amount of room to practice with her new greatsword. Grunting, face intent, she stamped back and forth, circled, blocked, and cut. Her ridiculous skirts swirled about her legs, and her jewels sparkled in the hot afternoon sunshine. The enormous blade, however, didn’t gleam even when bathed in brightness. A murky dullness oozed inside the steel.

Anton rowed straight on toward the ship floating at anchor in the harbor. The breakrocks, a system of artificial reefs, lurked beneath the waves to rend the hull of any large vessel whose pilot hadn’t learned to thread the maze, but his little boat didn’t draw enough water for it to matter. He shipped the oars, tied his craft to Shark’s Bliss, and swarmed up a rope onto the larger vessel.

By that time, of course, Shandri Clayhill had long since seen him coming. Still, as he swung himself over the rail, she took a lurching step toward him. The greatsword twitched an inch or two upward, as if she were contemplating a head cut, and her jittery nerves had given away her intent.

Anton grinned. “Easy, Captain! It’s not the Sembian navy paying a call, only your ship’s mage.”

“I see that!” she snapped. She grabbed the greatsword’s scabbard, shoved the weapon in hard enough to clank the guard against the silver mouth of the sheath, and set it down on the deck. “I’m simply surprised. I haven’t seen much of you lately.”

“I know,” he said, putting on a rueful expression. “The truth is, after the way I acted when we divvied up the swag, I was ashamed to face you. I was greedy and arrogant, and I’m sorry.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. She plainly hadn’t expected an attempt at conciliation and wasn’t certain what to make of it. “If you’re so sorry,” she said, “tell me what became of Kassur and Chadrezzan. I know they didn’t simply run off. The mute wouldn’t leave his grimoires behind.”

Anton had already decided to give her a version of the truth. In his experience, such confidences opened the way for other forms of intimacy.

He made a show of hesitation then said, “I killed them. I killed them in self-defense. They came after me. But after offending you, I feared to tell you.”

“So why do it now?”

“To regain your trust, if it isn’t too late.”

“You’re more likely to make me angry all over again. If you hadn’t stormed out that night, it needn’t have come to slaughter.”

“I truly regret quarreling with you but not because it would have averted trouble with the Talassans. We were going to fight eventually. I think you knew that.”

“Well, maybe the wrong party survived. I’ve lost two valuable officers, each a more powerful spellcaster than you.”

“But neither as wily a tactician nor as sprightly a dancer.” He smiled. “Besides, Tu’ala’keth says you don’t need Kassur or anyone else in particular. The Queen of the Depths has marked you for greatness. Why, then, would you worry about attracting followers? We lesser mortals must vie to convince you we’re worthy to sail under your command.”

Her lips quirked upward. He could tell she liked the flattery but doubted its sincerity. “If you’re eager to remain aboard Shark’s Bliss, then why spend your time reveling with the chieftains of the other factions?”

He shrugged. “I told you: I felt sheepish hanging around Vurgrom’s mansion after making a jackass of myself. Besides, if folk want to stand me drinks and praise me as if I were Immurk come again, why would I say no? It’s a pleasant way to pass the time. But it means nothing. In fact, it’s beginning to bore me.

“We should go back to work. This is the height of the raiding season. Even with dragon flights wreaking havoc, the sea lanes are fat with trading vessels. Yet Shark’s Bliss sits in the harbor.”

She pulled a sour face. “I want to go out again. We can’t build a lasting reputation on one venture, no matter how bold or successful. But the crew still has plenty of gold to spend.”

“It doesn’t matter. They’ll go if you tell them to. They believe in you.”

Yet she, for whatever buried reason, found it difficult to believe in herself. She wanted to be strong, and in reality, she was. Yet she sported the impractical gown and the rest of her regalia to conjure the image of a colorful, eccentric pirate captain out of legend, because she feared the underlying reality would impress no one. More important, she hungered for avowals of admiration and fidelity.

It was all Anton needed to discern to worm his way into her affections. The rest was simply a matter of glibness.

“Then we’ll sail,” she said. “We’ll buy provisions and lay our plans.”

“I’m glad. But I should go now. I interrupted your weapons practice and you’re probably eager to get back to it.” He looked for a twist of disappointment in her face and found it readily enough. “Unless you’d like to spar?”

She grinned. “I would. I have wooden swords in my cabin.”

“Why not use live blades? We’re skillful enough to avoid cutting each other, and with a new sword to learn, you ought to practice some parries against a real weapon.”

He’d watched her dogged training—her near-obsessive labor to make herself as formidable a combatant as any in the Pirate Isles—enough to notice she only practiced with the greatsword while isolated aboard Shark’s Bliss. Since he’d handled the weapon itself before she’d claimed it, he reckoned he knew why.

She averted her gaze a little, as though abashed, and he was certain of it. “That’s not a good idea,” she said.

“Why not? Because of the spirit inside the blade?”

“Yes. It’s… bloodthirsty. I’ve decided it’s dangerous to draw it except when I’m alone or have foes to kill.”

“But Shandri,” he said, “you’re the mistress of the sword as surely as you’re the mistress of this ship. It can’t do anything you don’t permit. But I imagine it’s like a dog. It will keep testing you and trying to get its own way until you prove you’re in control.”

“Do you truly think so?”

“Yes, so let’s fence.” He picked up the greatsword and tossed it to her then drew his cutlass. “Just take it slow at first.”

“All right.” She took hold of the leather-wrapped hilt and pulled the long weapon from the scabbard. As she came on guard, it quivered, and darkness billowed up the blade like blood dispersing through water. Anton felt a pang of unease and wondered if what he’d suggested was as stupid as it suddenly seemed. But even if so, it was too late to back out now.

She slowly cut at his flank, and he brought the cutlass across in a leisurely parry. The greatsword leaped high, above the defense, and hacked at his head. He sprang backward, and the vicious stroke hurtled down, missing by a matter of inches. Shandri started to rush after him then jerked herself to a halt. The dark blade shuddered in her grasp.

“You see?” she gasped, shame in her voice.

“I see the hound slipped the leash for a second, but then you regained control. Let’s try some more.”

For a few slow exchanges, everything was all right. Then, when they sped up a little, the greatsword spun downward, trying to sever his foot at the ankle. This time, though, the muscles in her bare, tattooed arms bunching, Shandri stopped it in mid-stroke.

“No!” she screamed. She wrenched herself around, marched to the mast, and hammered the flat of the sword against the wood. “Bad dog! Bad dog!”

In response to its punishment, evidently, the blade

turned pitch black. When she finished beating it, the pirate glared at the weapon. Anton surmised that she and the sword were speaking mind to mind.

After a minute, she turned back around. “Once more,” she said.

From that point forward, the greatsword refrained from trying to kill him, even when sparring at full speed. At the end, eyes shining, face exultant, Shandri set the weapon aside and gripped his forearms. It was almost a hug, the implication of an embrace from a woman who wasn’t certain he’d welcome the familiarity.

She needn’t have held back. He was now sure they’d be lovers by the end of the evening. But with that certainty came a sudden, unexpected spasm of self-disgust.

Maybe it was because, in a vague way, her lack of self-worth reminded him of the boy he’d been, hating himself when the other novices prattled of mystical communion with Torm and he had nothing to say, when they started conjuring wisps of light or healing sores and scratches with a glowing touch while he tried repeatedly and failed. Or maybe it was because he’d seduced too many trusting women over the years. Whatever the reason, he didn’t want to use and ultimately betray Shandri in the same way.

But it was his work, and if the means were shabby, the ends were important, or so he had always striven to believe. He smiled back at her and brushed a lock of sweaty bronze hair away from her eye.

Ś<§>ŚŚŠŚ ŚŠŚ

A slender, gleaming shadow in the moonlight, coral tunic glinting, Tu’ala’keth picked at her plate of raw, spiced shrimp and perch. Born in a world without fire, she had no taste for cooked food and preferred a seat

without a back so as to avoid compressing the sweeping fin running down her spine. Vurgrom had learned these details and dozens of others over the course of the past few days, yet in the ways that mattered most, she remained a mystery. Maybe that was why she fascinated him.

It wasn’t an entirely comfortable fascination. He wasn’t used to lying sleepless, imagining the pleasures a wench had withheld in actuality. He’d always taken what he wanted when he wanted it.

But Tu’ala’keth was different: a shalarin waveservant, the partner he needed to topple Teldar at last. He had to treat to her with circumspection.

Or so it had seemed at first. But she’d made it plain she was judging him, assessing his fitness to champion her savage, relentless goddess, and in the middle of a tossing, feverish night, it had finally dawned on him just what sort of test it might actually be.

Still, when her long, dark fingers reached for a certain dark green morsel, he almost stopped her. Because what if his understanding was deficient? He took a drink of brandy to drown his doubts, and as he swallowed, she did, too. Now it was too late for second thoughts.

“Did you like that?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, black eyes reflecting the teardrop glow of the candle in the center of the table. “We pickle seaweed in As’arem, also. Tell me more of the smugglers on Kelthann. Do they dispose of all the plundered goods our faction seizes?”

Vurgrom snorted. “Don’t you ever get bored, talking about raiding and the like? It’s a beautiful night.” Perched on a balcony at the top of the house, they had a fine view of bright Selune and her tears shining in a cloudless sky, the wavering yellow lights of Immurk’s Hold running down to the harbor, the dark, heaving vastness of the sea, and the waves crumbling to pearly

froth near the shore. Far out on the water, a ship’s lanterns glowed at the bow and stern. “Too beautiful for my list of gripes about greedy, thieving, gutless go-betweens.” He covered her cool, silken hand with his own, and experienced the usual pang of excitement.