Under Fallen Stars (5 page)

A bloody grin warped Iakhovas’s face, and touched even the dark hollow of his missing eye. He stood his ground and hooked his fingers between the trident’s tines. Muscle rippled along his arms as he shoved the weapon back and pulled the barbed tines free.

Though the misting blood partially obscured her view, Laaqueel watched as the gaping wounds on Iakhovas’s chest pulled back together, knitting the flesh, sinew, and bone. The ring she’d first placed on his finger when she’d discovered him glowed briefly, and she doubted that anyone but her saw it.

“Weak,” Iakhovas taunted in a ragged voice that almost belied the injuries he’d sustained. He maintained his hold on the trident even against Huaanton’s great strength.

The Royal Black Tridents stood back, unable to interfere in a blood challenge. It was one of the most sacred of the sahuagin practices.

Huaanton lifted a webbed foot and lashed out with the razor-edged talons on his toes. He ripped gouges across Iakhovas’s face, narrowly missing his eye.

Fearful then, obviously in high regard of his remaining vision, Iakhovas reluctantly released the trident and stepped back. Still, the confident look never left his face as he set himself for another attack.

Huaanton launched himself up into the water, rising above Iakhovas. He was well within the kraken’s reach, and Laaqueel knew the sahuagin king was no coward. He kept the trident before him. “Come, Iakhovas, come join me in our dance of death. Let the tides decide our fates.”

Iakhovas leaped after the sahuagin king without hesitation. He eeled through the water with grace and speed that was totally unexpected. He slipped long-bladed knives from his belt and held them point down from his fists. Huaanton thrust the trident at him again. Iakhovas blocked the effort with one of the knives, then lashed out at the sahuagin king’s midsection with the other.

Huaanton had to move quickly, but the knife slid harmlessly by. Before Iakhovas could recover, Huaanton swung a backhand at him filled with claws. Iakhovas got his arm up in time to save his face, but the claws sank deeply into his flesh, slashing to the bone. He maintained his grip on the knife, though, and brought it down and across in a move designed to disembowel the sahuagin king. The knife blade tracked a bloody furrow across Huaanton’s stomach, but it wasn’t deep enough to spill his guts.

Spreading the webs between his toes, Huaanton cut through the water, streaking behind Iakhovas. The sahuagin king levered an arm under Iakhovas’s chin and popped his finger claws out. Before Huaanton could drag his claws across Iakhovas’s throat, Iakhovas slashed the back of the sahuagin king’s forearm, cutting through the ligaments that controlled the claws and fingers. Huaanton’s claws recessed and his fingers unbent.

Iakhovas broke free of his opponent’s grip while Huaanton was stunned by the severity of the wound he’d been dealt. If Iakhovas had used his magic, Laaqueel knew, the fight wouldn’t have lasted this long.

Still in motion, Iakhovas swam around Huaanton. As the sahuagin twisted to confront him, Iakhovas drove one of his knives home between Huaanton’s ribs, trying for the heart. He left the knife in place, and foggy blood spewed out into the water.

Even wounded as he was, Huaanton didn’t give up. Laaqueel felt pride fill her as she watched the sahuagin king. Despite the fact that he didn’t trust in Sekolah as he should, she felt Huaanton epitomized everything that was strong and good about the sahuagin.

Lashing out with the trident, Huaanton caught Iakhovas in the legs. He put enough force behind the blow to send the tines completely through one leg just below the knee, then nailed it to the other. With both legs pinned together, Iakhovas couldn’t move to escape Huaanton’s attack.

The sahuagin king pulled on the trident’s haft, not hard enough to rip the barbed ends free of Iakhovas’s flesh, but enough to turn Iakhovas in the water. Moving quickly, his fighting skill apparent in the economical grace he used, Huaanton yanked the blade from his side, then buried it deep in Iakhovas’s back.

The kraken fluttered in the water. For a moment Laaqueel thought the creature was going to interfere in the battle. If it did, it would undermine everything Iakhovas hoped to win.

Don’t count me out of the running yet, little malenti. Iakhovas’s pain-wracked voice filled Laaqueel’s mind. Torn between a king who refused to give as much credence to Sekolah as the Great Shark demanded and a mysterious being she’d inadvertently staked her future on, Laaqueel instead turned to her prayers.

Iakhovas tried to reach the knife in his back but couldn’t. He struggled to free his legs but didn’t seem capable of that either.

Even though he still bled copiously, Huaanton’s combat instincts took over. He held the trident at arm’s length and pinned Iakhovas to the stone floor of the amphitheater below him. He whipped the barbed net from his side, spreading it out with a quick, practiced snap. He threw it and the weighted ends flared out to encompass his struggling foe. He wrapped Iakhovas expertly, pulling the net tight so that the embedded barbs bit deeply into his flesh.

“Now,” Huaanton warned as he turned to grasp the trident’s haft more firmly, “now we’ll see whose truth speaks more strongly.” He yanked the barbed tines free of Iakhovas’s legs, pulling a roiling boil of blood and shredded flesh after them. Gripping the trident, the sahuagin king held the haft in both hands high over his head, preparing to run it down into Iakhovas’s chest.

The black quill next to Laaqueel’s heart stilled its beating, froze the cycle of water through her gills. She wanted to scream in denial, but she couldn’t honestly say if it was because Iakhovas’s doom looked imminent, or if it was the grin on Iakhovas’s face, so filled with fiery cunning.

Huaanton brought the trident down, arcing it fiercely.

Iakhovas’s movement was so swift that Laaqueel almost didn’t see it. He thrust his right hand out, pushing against the constricting strands of the barbed net. His hand and arm blurred, becoming something else that was hard and sharp. The wedge-shaped appendage slashed easily through the net and plunged on into Huaanton’s trachea and air bladder.

The impact staggered Huaanton’s own attempt to stab the trident into Iakhovas. His life’s blood poured out of him in a rush, flowing from the huge hole Iakhovas’s blow had made.

When Laaqueel blinked again, Iakhovas’s arm was back to normal. He fought the net as Huaanton’s body went limp in the water near him. Barbs wrenched free of his flesh, leaving bloody tears behind. The malenti knew the effort hurt him; she felt part of his pain through the quill’s magic that connected them.

Silence reigned over the amphitheater as the sahuagin spectators waited to see what would happen next.

Still only partially free of the ensnaring net, Iakhovas regained his feet and turned to face the amphitheater. He reached out and seized the trident from Huaanton’s dead hand. He held it proudly thrust above him as the kraken spread out its tentacles and formed a loose but protective embrace around him, guarding his back.

“My people,” Iakhovas said in a strong voice, “you have seen the Great Shark’s will today. By right of blood challenge, and by right of Sekolah’s ordained destiny for We Who Eat in our battle against the surface world to reclaim the seas, I name myself king! Let any who disagree with that stand and face me now!”

Laaqueel stared at the sahuagin, knowing none would come forward to stand against Iakhovas in his weakened condition. Sahuagin custom dictated against taking advantage of a wounded member of their community even for a blood challenge.

The response started, low at first, then continuing to gain power as the decision swept through the crowd. “Iakhovas, Exalted One of We Who Eat. Iakhovas, Exalted One of We Who Eat.”

Iakhovas turned and grinned at Laaqueel. Ah, little malenti, do you see the greatness we have wrought? We forge our new destinies from this point on. You and I, both castaways, have risen to the greatest positions among the largest and fiercest sahuagin in the Claarteeros Sea. No one may stop us now. No one!

If it is what Sekolah wills, she replied.

His single eye burned into hers. You have doubts?

Not in the Great Shark. Perhaps in myself.

Then, little malenti, when you find yourself too weak to believe in yourself, believe in me. Iakhovas raised both hands above his head, holding the trident proudly. “I am king!” he roared. “None shall stand against us. The surface world shall quake in fear of We Who Eat, for they shall surely come to know that only their deaths await them in the seas we claim!”

The sahuagin cheered him, and Laaqueel watched as the fervor gripped her people. There was no turning back now, she knew. Iakhovas wouldn’t allow it, and now he controlled everything.

“And our next victory,” Iakhovas declared, “shall be at Baldur’s Gate!”

The cheering rose in thunderous approval again.

Turning, Iakhovas hacked Huaanton’s body to pieces and gave them up to the currents around him. The sahuagin surged from their seats, swimming to him rapidly to take part in devouring their last king.

“Come,” Iakhovas invited as he continued to slash at the dwindling corpse. “We must be strong for our coming battles. Meat is meat!”

II

“You’re pushing yourself too hard, old friend. If I could, I’d like to talk you out of this present course of action.”

Taranath Reefglamor, senior High Mage of Seros, the undersea world in the region known as the Sea of Fallen Stars, glanced at his companion and pierced him with his barbed gaze. Over the centuries, the look he gave the younger man was reputed to have withered even past Coronals who’d ruled over the sea elven kingdom where he lived. “If I’d wanted your counsel, Pharom Ildacer, I trust you know that I’d have requested it. As I’d have asked you to address me so casually, as if the station I’ve worked so hard to attain didn’t matter.”

Ildacer’s round face blanched and his posture suddenly straightened. “Yes, Senior Reefglamor. If I’ve erred in any way, I offer my deepest apologies.”

“Offer all you may,” Reefglamor replied, “you cannot take back words once spoken. I know you learned that at my knee.”

Inclining his head, Ildacer said, “It is indeed as you say, Senior Reefglamor.”

Reefglamor leaned back in his chair, trying to find comfort in the seaweed padding it seemed he couldn’t live without these days. He looked old and wizened, ravaged by time’s ceaseless hand and the battles he’d undertaken while defending his people. The studies he’d conducted to become senior mage had been no less strenuous.

He possessed the thin build, pointed chin and pointed ears exhibited by so many of the alu’tel’quessir. The blue skin with white patches further marked him with his sea elven heritage. His silver-white hair was bound back by a beaten gold circlet with carved glyphs and hung down nearly to his waist. Though shrouded by fatigue and red lines that seemed more like scars these days, his dark green eyes never wavered. He wore a pale blue diaphanous silken weave that bore the purple and black stripes of his office and the crystal clear dolphin that was the chosen symbol of Deep Sashelas for those few who didn’t immediately know him by sight.

They sat at a round table in his sanctum. The room was generous but still filled to overflowing with the accoutrements and trappings of his chosen path. It was rumored, and rightly so, that he had almost as many volumes on magery in his home as were possessed in the temple of Deep Sashelas at Sylkiir. Shelves and bookcases covered every wall, designed to hold every tome whether it was inscribed on cut stone or on delicate gold foil. Round glass globes filled with luminescent pale blue lichens lighted the room.

Reefglamor ran his hand across the stone surface of the table. It hadn’t always been smooth, but centuries of working at it, reading and studying, conversing with those few of whom he thought well enough to invite there, had worn away the roughness. Only his own contentious personality seemed to be unscathed by time.

That, he amended, and the ever-present threat of the Ravager.

“I shall need you at your best,” Reefglamor said. “You may need to act with all the focus I’ve trained in you in order to salvage anything of this in case things go awry.”

“Senior,” Ildacer said quietly. He was rounder than most alu’tel’quessir because he had an appetite for food and drink that was legendary in its own right. His blue skin was paler than Reefglamor’s and his silver hair still yet held stands of black. He wore a deep purple silken weave. “I know I risk your considerable displeasure by venting my own thoughts in this matter.”

“You risk far more than that,” Reefglamor warned.

“You asked me here, Senior, and I think that means you believe you can’t do this without me.” Ildacer’s gaze met Reefglamor’s glare and only flinched a little.

“And you think this gives you some sway over me?”

“No, but I hoped that it might influence you.” Ildacer hesitated. “If only a little.”

Reefglamor waved a hand at him. A few minutes of the junior mage’s prattle wouldn’t mean much in the scheme of dangers that faced them. “Speak, but cogently and with brevity, and always with respect in mind. I lack even more patience than usual.”

“Thank you, Senior. I believe you should rethink your decision to try to summon a vision about the Ravager. We’ve gone all these centuries without success in that regard.”

“I’ve never before attempted it,” Reefglamor pointed out. However, he hadn’t with good reason. It was only the great danger he felt now that prompted him to make this decision.

“But others have,” Ildacer hurried on. “Six that I can think of. Four were driven mad. One slew himself, and the final one was drawn into a gate that had never existed before or ever existed afterward. There have been no successes connected with attempting to learn more of the Ravager. It was those attempts that brought the number of High Mages so dangerously low in these past years.”

Reefglamor considered the younger man’s words. They carried only the truth. He spoke softly, persuasive instead of demanding for the first time in centuries. “The Time of Tempering is upon us. We’ve done as much as we can do in every other avenue we’ve had open to us. There lies ahead only this way.”