Tangled Webs (22 page)

Well met, Rethnor; intoned a familiar, feminine voice in his mind.

The High Captain gaped at the strange creature, unable to hide his distaste. This was the regal woman who had guided so many of his recent plans? Was it possible that this malformed beast was the famed head of the Kraken Society?

We thought you might be more comfortable conversing with a form similar to your own, the illithid explained. In answer to your rather tactless, if unspoken, question, I rule this place as Regent. Do not underestimate my power; or that of those I serve.

Rethnors left arm jerked up to one side, without his will and of its own accord, revealing the stump where his sword hand had once been.

We see you have been careless with the scrying ring we gave you, the illithid continued. It is well we had the foresight to provide you with a second device. But let us speak on matters of import. You have come to seek assistance. We are ready to provide it.

A silent summons from the illithid brought two more, even stranger creatures into the room. A glasslike nymph glided toward the throne, and at her side stalked a female drow.

Rethnor had no opinions on nymphs, but he held a Northman’s dislike of elves, drow or otherwise. They were scrawny, wispy, ugly things, to his mind more like shadows than real creatures in the way they flitted about, utterly despicable for their effete dependence upon magic. But this female was more substantial than any elf he’d ever laid eyes on, with a tread you could hear and a solid form that approached human proportions. She was plump and curvy enough to draw the eye of any hearty male, but there was not a bit of softness about her. The drow’s eyes were red, as hard and cold as rubies, and bright with feral intelligence. On the dark canvas of her face was painted barely controlled fury. Despite his innate prejudices, Rethnor was intrigued.

We will provision your ship and provide you with fresh sailors and fighters from among the people ofTrisk, so that you might continue your pursuit of the Ruathen ship. These two will go to help ensure your success.

“What need have I of two females?” Rethnor demanded, appalled by the very idea of setting sail with these creatures aboard.

Iskor; the water wraith, can speak with the creatures of the sea and locate the ship you seek in moments. She can also summon powerful beings from her native plane. Perhaps such can succeed where you, to date, have not. Shakti, the drow, has yet to prove her worth, but you will take her all the same.

Rethnor glowered at the elf. His fierce glare had turned aside powerful warriors, cooled the battle ardor of hardened Northmen. But the drow’s strange red gaze did not falter; indeed, she seemed to grow only more angry as she regarded the man.

“This insult is past bearing,” she spat, speaking in harsh, badly accented Common. As she spoke, she fingered the silver cuff that clung to one pointed ear-no doubt some magical device that translated her speech, Rethnor surmised.

“I sought partnership with a water wraith, offering value for value, and how am I repaid?” the drow continued bitterly. “Taken to this… faerie city and apprenticed to a human? A male!”

Do you not wish to capture your runaway drow ? She is on the ship this man seeks. You need him, and he you. I strongly suggest you find a way to work together; the illithid commanded.

The Northman and the drow locked stares, taking furious measure of each other. Rethnor was the first to speak. “When we find the ship, the berserker warrior is mine to slay. Keep your foul magic away from him,” he ordered.. “What is a human fighter to me? But touch the yelloweyed bitch, and you die!” snarled Shakti in return.

Well, lvell, observed the illithid’s mental voice, showing the first note of humor Rethnor had ever perceived in it. It would seem that you two have found common ground already.

The Elfmaid kept a steady course upon the warm waters of the River, rounding the island of Gundarlun without incident and then turning southward toward Ruathym. Despite the loss of the large profit the herring would have brought them, the crew seemed cheerful and eager for the return home.

All but young Bjorn, who usually spent the long days at his carving or painting. Unusually restless, he paced the deck for hours at a time, looking toward the sky as if there were words written there that only he could read.

At twilight of the third day, Hrolf could bear no more of this. “Out with it, lad! If there’s a storm coming, say so and be done with it!”

The young sailor looked troubled. “Not a storm,” he said hesitantly. “But something. I know not what.” He shrugged, sheepish as a child pressed to confess the details of an unremembered nightmare.

The answer was soon to come. Liriel saw it first, for the range of her elven vision was longer than even that of the farsighted sailors. A dark wall of water raced toward them from the northwest, gaining height and power as it came. The pirates watched its approach stoically, knowing their seamanship to be no match for the killing wave. Liriel was not so accepting of her fate. She seized the Windwalker and began to chant, calling upon the strongest defensive sea-magic spells she had studied and stored in the amulet. A bubble of energy, glowing faintly with the faerie fire of drow magic, encircled the ship like a giant dome.

“To retain air around the ship, and keep us from being swept under,” Liriel explained tersely. “It gives us a chance, no more.”

Hrolf wrapped an arm around her tense shoulder and gave her a quick, grateful squeeze. “That’s more than we had a moment earlier. Grab ahold, lads, and prepare to get bounced around some!” he roared.

As the echoes of his voice reverberated through the magical bubble, the captain dropped facedown to the deck and took hold of a secured rope line. Elsewhere, the other sailors followed his example, bracing themselves as best they could for the coming onslaught.

The wave swept under the Elfmaid and lifted her up with breath-stealing speed. To the astonishment of all, the ship did not plunge back down into the sea; the massive wave continued to hold them aloft.

Then the Wa.Ve shifted and began to take on humanoid form. Eyes the size of war shields gazed down at the stunned crew, and enormous watery hands cradled the ship-which was still encased in its glowing orb-as easily as a child might hold an oversized plaything. With an odd, undulating movement, the creature began to move toward the northeast, its arms and body lengthening and shortening as it went, like the ebb and flow of the tide.

“What in the Nine bloody Hells is that thing?” Hrolf demanded. His usually ebullient voice was reduced to a harsh whisper.

“An elemental,” Liriel returned. She had seen stone elementals and knew the incredible strength of such creatures. She even had the magic to conjure and command such a being. But it had never occurred to her that such could be called from the other elements, and she was astonished by the sheer size and power of this one. The elemental’s fluid shape was hard to measure, but she guessed it stood at least twenty feet above the waves, with arms at least twice that long.

The ship settled down into a gentle swaying motion, and one by one the sailors left their secure holds and came to cluster around their captain. Their expressions were fearful, but confident.

“How d’we fight this one, Captain?” Olvir asked for them all. Despite the tremor in his voice, the seagoing skald asked the question with the tone of one who fully expected an answer. Their captain had led them through many unorthodox adventures and provided Olvir with tales enough to while away the nights of the longest winter.

But this time the light of battle did not come to Hrolrs eyes. The captain felt an unaccustomed lack of optimism. The Elfmaid had lost five good men to the fighting so far on this trip, bringing their number down to under twenty. There were enough remaining to man the ship-barelybut not enough to take into battle against such a foe. Indeed, Hrolfhad no idea how a force of any size could trim the sails of this watery monster. But he stifled his own fear and faced the men with a confidence he did not feel.

“No fighting just yet,” he said firmly, casting a stern glance in Fyodor’s direction. “We’re not exactly under attack, to my way of thinking. Seems as if this thing wants to take us for a ride. We wait it out, weather this delay same as any other storm. Go about your business best you can, but keep your weapons sharp and ready. Once this wet bastard puts us down,” he promised with a touch ofhis customary battle glee, “it had best be ready to block, duck, or bleed!”

The men responded with a halfuearted cheer. Hrolf sent them off to do little-needed tasks. When all were occupied, he pulled Liriel aside. “Can you do aught to stop this thing, lass?”

The drow shook her head, thinking of the unlearned spells in her pilfered book of sea magic. “Not yet. I’ll check my spellbooks for ideas, though.”

Hrolf cast a glance at the sky. His weathered brow creased as he made some calculations. “Looks as if you’ll have time to ponder over it. Unless I miss my guess, from the direction we’re headed I’d have to say this thing plans to take us to the Purple Rocks.”

“What are they?”

The captain met her curious gaze without a trace of his usual humor. “A place best avoided,” he said grimly as he placed one hand on her shoulder. “Go look through them magic books, my girl. But read fast, or Umberlee will have us all.”

Do you know anything about this?” demanded Khelben “Blackstaff” Arunsun, archmage ofWaterdeep, as he thrust a sheet of parchment into his nephew’s hands.

The young man scanned the elegant, slanted script that could only have come from the quill of Baron Khaufros, one of Waterdeep’s staunchest northern allies. “I don’t believe it,” he said flatly.

“Oh? And what basis have you for doubt?”

“I have met the drow in question, and my instincts where women are concerned are impeccable,” the younger man declared comfortably, laying down the parchment so that he might attend to a blond lock that had strayed onto his forehead. His fastidious preening only deepened the archmage’s scowl.

“She caused a bit of trouble down in Skullport,” Khelben reminded him.

“My point precisely. According to the Dark Sister, this lovely young drow played a pivotal part in the raid that took out a nest of Vhaeraun worshipers and freed a shipload of children destined for slavery. Oh, I’ve been following her progress,” he said in response to the archmage’s incredulous gaze, and his voice lost every hint of its lazy drawl. “Did you think I would send a strange drow to the Promenade Temple and not follow through to ensure that my original judgment was sound?”

Khelben ceded this point with a nod, but the worry lines creasing his forehead did not disappear. “I do not doubt that you did your job, Danilo. But did you know that this drow also singlehandedly rescued a criminal from Skullport’s dungeon, then booked passage upon this man’s pirate ship and used some sort of powerful gate spell to remove it from the underground port?”

“No,” the youth admitted and grimaced. “I stopped gathering information after the battle, assuming that the lovely lady had achieved happily-ever-after, as the bards are wont to say.”

Khelben lifted one eyebrow at Danilo’s reference to bards, but for once the archmage refrained from giving his opinion on the matter of bardic reliability. “It is the drow’s magical escape from Skullport that concerns me and gives credence to the baron’s report. Anyone who commands power enough to bypass Halaster’s gates is a potential danger.”

The young man nodded somberly as he picked up the parchment. Once again he read the reports of increased drow activity in the area of the River Dessarin. There had been sightings of a raiding party traveling the Dessarin, and the bodies of several drow males had been discovered in the hills east of the river. Several different bands of human adventurers were apparently squabbling over bragging rights for this victory. The small town of Trollbridge had claimed an attack by a drow female who wielded powerful magic and who had apparently enspelled a young swordsman to do her bidding.

Danilo did not doubt that the pair described were the same he had met less than a month before. By all accounts, the pretty little drow had been busy. But he could not credit to her the atrocities that Baron Khaufros reported or accept the baron’s suggestion that the dark sorceress would take over the wills of whatever men she happened to meet. But he did understand Khelben’s concern about the girl’s magical ability. A powerful wizard, drow or otherwise, was always a wild card, and the game currently playing out in the northern seas was complicated enough.

“She should be watched,” Danilo admitted.

“She should be stopped,” the archmage retorted and then paused. “There is something else you should know. We have received word from the harbor merfolk that a Waterdhavian hunting vessel known as the Cutter was scuttled by pirates. There were no survivors; all of the men aboard were put to the sword. The captain of the attacking ship was Hrolf the Unruly, the man your drow rescued from Skullport’s dungeons.”

The young man’s face went very still. “Wasn’t Caladorn aboard that ship?”

“I’m afraid so,” Khelben said somberly. “Since the young fool has his mind set on adventuring at sea, the Lords of there was, in truth, little for them to do. At length they fell to drinking and the telling of grim tales.

For once Fyodor took no part in the storytelling. The old legends of Rashemen, however, were very much on his mind. He took a solitary post on the forecastle, gazing at the horizon with sightless eyes as he sought inspiration in his country’s rich treasury oflore. Fyodor had learned that no matter what puzzle life offered him, he could usually find an answer in the remembered deeds of ancient gods and heroes.

Alone in Hrolrs cabin, Liriel frantically studied her book of sea magic for the means to overcome a water elemental. There were no spells listed that could accomplish this feat. Nor could she send it back to its home planeapparently the preferred method of dealing with such creatures-for few drow studied the elemental planes, and water was hardly their favored element. Liriel knew little of the sea, and less about the plane of water and its creatures. The drow resolved to redress this lack, if and when she reached Ruathym. At the moment, though, she was severely taxed by the double effort of maintaining the bubble shield that enclosed the ship and devising a way to escape from the elemental.