Rising Tide (19 page)

Malorrie followed along at his side. As usual, the phantom’s feet never even stirred the grass. He didn’t try to help. “Gods, but you’re an obstinate boy.”

Jherek ignored him and grabbed a sapling. He pulled himself up further, then seized branches and used them to make his way. Spots swam in his vision by the time he reached the crest.

A four foot high wooden fence painted a pristine white surrounded Madame litaar’s front yard. Upkeep of that fence had been one of Jherek’s first chores after he’d gone to live with the woman. Over the years, he’d painted and mended it several times, taking pride in what he’d been able to accomplish. Rose bushes and flowers filled crushed clamshell beds, and a small pond occupied the northeastern corner. Tall steps led up to the front porch where handmade rocking chairs looked out to sea.

Jherek staggered across the narrow and rutted wagon road that wove up through Widow’s Hill. He paused at the gate, unable to focus enough to work the simple lock that held it closed.

“Allow me.” Malorrie flicked it open, then shoved the gate aside.

As Jherek walked past the small pond, a watery coil slithered up from the mossy depths and thrust itself in his direction. Instantly the cold chill he always got when the water weird’s full attention settled on him cut through him like a knife. He’d never liked the creature, but Madame litaar maintained it as a guardian against footpads. He kept his eyes on the creature’s wedge-shaped head as it stared at him while he went up the steps to the porch.

Perspiration filmed his face by the time he reached the top step. His vision was so blurred that he thought he was seeing things at first. In the shadows laying across the expansive porch, the table and chairs weren’t immediately noticeable.

His travel kit sat on the table, neatly packed and squared away. The backpack beside it bulged. Over the years, he hadn’t bothered to collect many personal things because anything that didn’t fit in a pack couldn’t go with him if he had to leave. He didn’t doubt that all of his possessions had been gathered on the table.

Seeing them there took away the last of his flagging strength and he sat numbly on the porch. His breath rasped hollowly in his ears.

He’d always thought of his stay with Madame litaar as transitory at best. He supposed he should have been surprised that his stay had lasted as long as it had. Obviously, now it was over.

Word from Finaren’s crew had already climbed Widow’s Hill.

XII

Laaqueel stared at the approaching black plague wagon, her heart hammering in her chest. She clenched the short sword in her fist as she said a prayer and prepared one of the spells that had been given her by Sekolah.

“Do not waste your fears or spells on that thing, my little malenti,” Iakhovas growled behind her. “What you see before you in all its gaudy trappings is an apparition, a bad dream without substance. This alley was named for that worthless abuse of power.”

Laaqueel drew back uncertainly. The wagon unnerved her, but so did Iakhovas’s knowledge of it. She’d helped prepare him regarding Waterdeep and she’d never heard of it.

“My time is wasting away,” the wizard told her. He waved an arm, drawing his wererats to him. “You’ve already stepped over the line this night by questioning that damned woman, little malenti; have a care not make another such mistake. Tolerance is a virtue and I am not a champion of virtues. I judge you on your worth, and it’s only outweighed by your frivolity or incompetence.”

Ducking her head to avoid the cold gaze of his eye, Laaqueel remained still as the plague wagon passed her. She thought she saw the bones of the dead littering the wagon bed, but it might only have been a trick of the moonlight. When the wagon reached the end of the alley, it shimmered once and disappeared, taking with it the mournful creak of the wheels.

Iakhovas took the lead again without hesitation. He passed the first building across the alley on the left and stopped in front of the door to the second.

Laaqueel stopped behind him. She felt the dryness of her eyes as the lids dragged across them. Her skin felt tight as the. harsh winds from the storm out in the harbor whistled up through the narrow streets and alleys leading up the inclines. She glanced back at the harbor. From her position, she could barely see the harbor, but it spread out from the Dock Ward, the flatness of the water contrasting sharply with the rolling pitch of the hills the city had been built on.

Several griffons from Waterdeep’s air corps filled the air over the harbor. Their distinctive eagle wings and heads on their lions’ bodies made them stand out against the smoke-filled night sky. Catapults still threw flaming missiles into the water inside the harbor and further out to sea where more sea creatures had gathered. Fire spread along the Dock Ward, burning buildings as well as ships at anchor. Laaqueel knew Iakhovas had spoken the truth when he said Waterdeep would bear the scars of the night’s attack for years to come. It would become a symbol to her people that the hated surface dwellers could be driven from their own territory.

It would strike fear into the hearts of the humans.

She didn’t delude herself, though. She knew she wasn’t sure that Iakhovas was there because of Sekolah. The wizard had never denied knowing the Great Shark, but neither had he spoken of what relationship might exist between them.

The glyphs on the doors and wall surrounding them suddenly blazed with lambent emerald light. Laaqueel turned, raising her free hand in her defense with a spell at the ready.

“Be still, little malenti,” Iakhovas commanded.

He centered himself in front of the door and spoke in that language Laaqueel had never been able to identify. Tattoos on his cheek, neck, and left forearm glowed with a matching green light, then shot out in beams no wider than a forefinger. The tattoos’ beams touched the guardian glyphs built into the door and calmed them to dim glows.

Intrigued, Laaqueel glanced up at the battered sign hanging overhead: Serpentil Books & Folios. Constructed of sandstone, the shop’s exterior showed signs of suffering through harsh weather conditions and dozens of years. The wares window where goods were normally displayed to attract passersby was crudely boarded over, leaving her with the impression that the business had been closed for a long time.

Iakhovas gestured at the door. In response, it opened with a creak and a flash of hot, bright light. The stench of burned clams swirled through the air for an instant. Without hesitation, the wizard strode into the building. He waved the wererats into position at the doorway.

“Come,” he ordered Laaqueel.

The malenti followed him carefully, aware of the warning prickles running through her nervous system. The room was filled with books. Deep-hued bookshelves lined the wood-paneled walls and stood in stacks across the floor. Laaqueel had never seen so many books in her life. Only a few of the titles were visible to her, formed of raised gilt letters in gold, silver, and brightly colored thread. All of them seemed to concentrate on the hated field of magic.

A soft glow of blue light intensified in the back of the long room.

“You dare enter my sanctum unannounced?” a raspy voice challenged.

Turning, bringing her short sword up into the ready position, Laaqueel stared through the weak blue light.

A man sat at the other end of the long room. Piles of books occupied the shelves staggered all around him and stood in stacks across the rectangular table in front of him. The light came from glowing globes that floated behind him, leaving him only a featureless silhouette. Two empty chairs sat across the table from him.

“You know me, Serpentil,” Iakhovas offered, “and it will be your mistake if you do not. I scheduled this meeting with you at this time.” He walked closer to the table.

The silhouette sat silent and dark for a moment. Laaqueel noted the thin-fingered hand that rested lightly on a slim black volume closest to the man, then the man pointed at the glowing globes behind him. Obediently, the globes floated higher and forward, shedding more light over the table and the man sitting there.

He was dark complexioned and long faced like a sea horse. Hooded eyes halfway concealed a burning gaze. His long black hair hung to his shoulders and his chin sported an aggressive tuft of beard. His clothing was simple and unadorned. He indicated the chairs across from him.

“You may sit.”

Iakhovas ignored the chairs and remained standing. “I’ve not time to be taken liberties with. If you’re Jannaxil Serpentil then we should conclude our business with haste.”

“I’m Jannaxil,” the man said. He kept the slim black volume in his hand, stoking it absently. “What business is that?”

“I’ve never found coyness becoming,” Iakhovas warned.

“And I’ve never found admitting guilt to someone who could be with the Waterdhavian Watch to be especially profitable,” Jannaxil stated. His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know you.”

Iakhovas reached into his magical cloak and brought out two heavy books. “Then let your greed recognize these and provide me all the introduction I require for this transaction.” He laid them on the table. Jannaxil immediately reached for them, larceny in his darting eyes.

Laaqueel recognized the books. She had been wondering about them for the last month. Three months ago, she’d succeeded in attacking a surface dweller cargo ship and taking the ship’s scribe prisoner. It had been at Iakhovas’s request. Back in the sahuagin village where Iakhovas ruled as a prince, the wizard had put the scribe to work copying two of the ancient texts they had found in different places over the years at his direction. The malenti hadn’t seen the use in any of them because she couldn’t read them, much less in duplicating their contents. A month ago, Iakhovas had killed the scribe and fed him to the sharks that had been charmed into watching over the village.

Jannaxil flipped through the texts with a practiced eye. “These are not the originals.”

“No,” Iakhovas agreed. “You don’t have the price for the originals.”

“If these copies exist, there could be others,” the book dealer replied shrewdly.

“After I deliver these to you,” Iakhovas agreed, “even more copies could be made, each of which you could sell. Do not make the mistake of trifling with me.”

Jannaxil closed the books and leaned back in his chair. His eyes flicked to Laaqueel and she felt him evaluating her. She was aware of the way he held his right hand protectively, and of the old knife scar that showed there. He cut his gaze back to Iakhovas. “Tell me something of the nature of the thing I’m trading you for these.”

“The nature?” Iakhovas repeated. “What you have is mine. I’ve come to claim it. Be glad that I’m willing to give you anything for it instead of just taking it and your life.”

“Perhaps taking it wouldn’t be as easy as you believe,” Jannaxil said. “It may look like I’m here alone, but trust me when I say this place is safeguarded.”

“Not against me,” Iakhovas whispered in his cold, malevolent voice, getting closer, threatening the other man by his sheer size. “Never against me and all that I could bring to bear on you, human. The war that’s going on in the harbor I delivered it unto Waterdeep’s door. I control forces and powers that you’ve yet to see in your shallow life. Give me the talisman while you still have a bargain laid before you.”

The book dealer looked ready to argue more, then grew deathly quiet as he stared at Iakhovas.

Though Laaqueel didn’t see the wizard change, she noticed that Iakhovas’s shadows on the wall of shelves behind them suddenly swelled to gigantic proportions. There was a symmetry to the new shadow, but it possessed harsh angles as well. The overall shape seemed familiar, but it was gone again before the malenti could figure out the pattern.

“I’ll not trouble myself to ask for it again,” Iakhovas warned.

Pale and contrite, Jannaxil said, “Of course.” The book dealer tapped a section of his desk three times with a forefinger. In response, a drawer opened up in the table top, looking much deeper than the table was thick. The book dealer called out a name. “Wonvorl.” A triangular talisman of diamond and pink coral floated up from the magical drawer. He took it from the air and tossed it to Iakhovas.

The wizard caught the talisman easily. He rolled his left sleeve back, revealing a gold-worked band that encircled his arm above his bicep. In the weak light of the floating globes, Laaqueel couldn’t make out the details of the scrollwork cut into the band. There appeared to be a number of slots cut for different items. Some of them had been filled, but nearly all were empty. The triangular talisman fit into its appointed slot easily. A bright spark flashed against Iakhovas’s palm, then quickly died away. He rolled his sleeve back down.

“What is that?” Jannaxil asked hoarsely. “That talisman was without a doubt one of the oldest things I’ve ever seen. And that band, I’ve never seen workmanship like that.”

“Nor will you ever see its like again,” Iakhovas stated. He turned and walked from the book shop. Laaqueel fell into step behind him.

Outside, Iakhovas headed back down Book Street, retracing, their path to the docks. The wererats formed a loose perimeter around them. The streets were filled with Waterdhavian citizens with weapons, all running frantically in the direction of the harbor.

“We came here for that?” Laaqueel asked after a short time.

“Yes.” The wizard glanced at her, a cruel smile on his face mocking her. “Don’t be mislead by the talisman’s size, my little malenti. Even small keys are known to open big doors.”

Laaqueel’s anger ignited within her. “What is it?”

“Perhaps, someday, I’ll let you know, if it amuses me to do so.”

She spoke again without pausing to think. “My people have fought and died this night for that thing. We should at least know-“

Iakhovas wheeled on her, using his size to tower above her. “You think perhaps you should at least be allowed to know what they’ve fought and died for? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

Laaqueel felt her face tighten even further under the rampant emotions that surged through her. She tried to speak but couldn’t.