Tangled Webs (30 page)

“How long must I wait for my prisoner?” she snarled at Rethnor. “What purpose this delay?”

The black-bearded human regarded her somberly for a long moment; then he pushed back from the table. “Come,” he said and strode from the dining hall.

Shakti hissed a curse, then rose to follow. The man led her through a labyrinth of corridors to the most peculiar room the drow had yet seen. Her first impression was annoyance. She was assaulted by faint green light too bright for comfort and too thick with energy to be anything but magical. The air was humid, and heavy with the scent of salt and of growing things. This piqued Shakti’s interest. Agriculture was, after all, her original passion and area of expertise.

The drow edged into the strange room. It was a vast chamber whose walls and high-arched ceiling were made of thick, translucent crystal. The entire room was filled with rows of long, narrow vats. Curious, Shakti stepped closer and peered into the nearest container. It was full of salt-scented water, in which was growing a curious type of weed.

Rethnor reached in and plucked off a bit of the plant, a tightly whorled frond at the end of a long stem. “This is a kelpie,” he informed her. “A rare form of seaweed. They are grown here, and sprouts such as this one are sent to Ruathym, where they are placed into the waters surrounding the island.”

“What is that to me?” demanded the drow.

The Northman beckoned to a nearby slave, a fairhaired man nearly his own height and girth, and ordered him to approach the large vat at the far end of the room. The slave’s eyes widened in terror, but he did not disobey. “Watch carefully,” Rethnor advised the drow. “You should find this most entertaining.”

As the curious priestess looked on, lank strands of weed rose, of their own accord, from the vat, writhing sinuously in the humid air. They quickly took the form of a green-clad woman. It was not an impressive illusion-the innate magical immunity of the drow allowed Shakti to see through it at once-but the slave’s face took on a look of rapt obsession as he contemplated the creature before him, as if the rather pathetic imitation were the true embodiment of his deepest, unspoken longings.

“A charm spell,” Shakti muttered, watching as the kelpie woman beckoned the slave into her embrace. He went to her eagerly, and they tumbled together into the vat of water. There was no struggle, no sign of life but for a rift of bubbles that ended soon enough. The surface went still and remained so. The man had drowned-quickly, quietly, blissfully content with his fate.

“Kelpies,” Rethnor repeated. “They have lured many Ruathen warriors and sailors to their deaths. This is but one of the strategies used against our foe. In due time, they will weaken, and we will attack.”

“Very impressive,” she sneered. “You have demonstrated that human males are fools, but this I knew already. I want the Baenre princess, now!”

As do I, said a calm and feminine voice, speaking directly into the drow’s mind. Both Shakti and Rethnor tumed as the illithid glided toward them, her lavender robes trailing behind her in a silken whisper.

The conquest of Ruathym is important. We are agreed on that, Vestress continued. The Kraken Society would benefit from a western outpost, and we also wish to reward Rethnor’s efforts. Luskan is an important trade partner; and you have proven yourself a valuable agent. But mark me, Lord High Captain: we grow impatient with your tactics. The pirate ship escaped you. You should pray that her captain did not recognize you or your ship, and that he is not even now spreading word of Luskan ‘s perfidy among his people. The task of conquest will be more difficult if the islanders are forewarned. Do not delay much longer; else you lose all we have worked to accomplish.

The man scowled. “Then why do you not attack at once?” he demanded. “I have seen your forces-a hundred sea ogres, twice as many human and elven slaves, gargoyles, strange water creatures from other worlds. Send them through your portal, if you can, and let them lay waste the island this very day!”

Do not presume to instruct me, Vestress advised him, her mental voice icy. Bring me the drow wizard soon, or see the valuable resources of Ascarle and the Kraken Society slip forever beyond your grasping hands!

With royal hauteur, the illithid swept from the chamber. As Shakti watched her go, her dark fingers clutched the pendant hanging over her heart, a small disk of obsidian, engraved with the shape of a half-mask.

“It is as I thought,” she said in a deeply troubled voice. “The illithid needs Liriel Baenre’s wizardly spells to open that portal. And she will have them, caring not whether Liriel is alive or dead at the time.”

Rethnor’s lips tightened in a small, hard smile. “I have often thought the only good wizard is a dead one, but I fail to see how this one’s death will aid Vestress.”

The drow tumed a somber crimson glare upon him. “The illithid can read your mind; through the power of my god, I can read hers. Vestress will have Liriel, whether you manage to deliver her up or not. There are more ways than one for her to gain knowledge of the magic the wizard wields. And if Liriel dies, I lose my prey.”

“What is that to me?” Rethnor replied mockingly, tuming Shakti’s recent words back against her.

The drow’s eyes narrowed.

A tingling shock of pain exploded in Rethnor’s new hand, sending the five fingers jerking out straight. He watched, horrified, as the fingers curved and reached for the handle of a knife tucked into his weapon belt. Without his will, against his will, the treacherous hand began to lift the knife toward his own throat. Rethnor strained the muscles ofhis left arm, seized the advancing wrist with his own strong right hand and tried to force it away-all to no avail. The hand that had become as much a part of him as his implacable ambition had utterly betrayed him. He felt the cold, sharp sting of the knife against his throat, felt the warm welling of blood as the blade slid gently across his skin.

“I will not lose my prey,” Shakti said softly, emphatically, her eyes glowing with malevolent satisfaction. “Do whatever you must, but bring Liriel to me alive!”

With that, the drow priestess spun and stalked out of the kelpie nursery.

The knife clattered to the floor as Rethnor’s arm fell to his side. He flexed his fingers, bent his arm and bunched the formidable muscles, and was relieved to find that all were once again at his command.

For now.

Xzorsh was in a quandary. The young sea ranger had received disturbing reports through the Relay-the complex chain of information that intelligent sea creatures passed along great distances with astonishing speed. HrolPs ship had been attacked off the coast of Gundarlun by yet another creature of the elemental plane of water. The sea ranger had seen many things in his years of patrolling the waters, but the strange happenings of recent days lay far beyond his ken.

Even more astounding was the news that the beleaguered ship had simply disappeared. Xzorsh suspected the drow girl’s magic was behind this, and he was eager to know the truth of the matter. His curiosity, however, was but one of his motivations. He had his pledge to Hrolf to consider.

And therein lay the dilemma. Xzorsh had not seen Sittl since the day the Elfmaid had been attacked by three warships, and then later by the band of merrow. The reinforcements Sittl had promised to send had not appeared. Nor had any ofXzorsh’s inquiries yielded information on Sittl’s whereabouts. Not even the Relay had news of the missing sea elf. Xzorsh was worried about his partner, fearing mightily that the other ranger might have fallen foul of the sea ogres. With two friends in trouble, which was Xzorsh to seek out?

After much deliberation, the ranger set out for the west, heading for the remote cluster of islets where he had delivered the surviving seal hunters. Beneath these islands, in vast water-filled cavems, was hidden a seaelven city. The coral catacombs in which they entombed their dead were in the open seas nearby. Xzorsh hoped Sittl might have made his way there, perhaps to moum his slain lover and child. The ranger believed he might find his friend there. Not coincidentally, the islands also lay along the shortest route to Ruathym.

With all possible speed, Xzorsh set out for the nearest island in the tiny archipelago. Here, in a rock formation hidden in a sheltered cove, he and Sittl often left messages for each other that were too sensitive to trust to the open Relay. There was nothing, and he cast his eyes toward the sky in a gesture of frustration that he’d learned from his human charges. To his astonishment, a familiar ovoid shape floated overhead: the skiff that had brought the marooned Waterdhavians to the island!

The sea elf swam for the light and waded quickly ashore. Not far from the water’s edge, three men were huddled around a small fire. One of them, a tall man whose haggard, sunbumed face was nearly the same shade of weathered reddish-brown as his hair, rose when the ranger approached and faced him down.

“Lord Caladom,” Xzorsh murmured. “I had no idea you and your men would still be here!”

“Only three of us remain,” the young lord said coldly.

“The others have died waiting for the merfolk ofWaterdeep harbor to inform the city of our survival. Or did you even so much as try to send word?”

Xzorsh nodded, but his worry increased fourfold. Sittl was supposed to have handled this matter. “My deepest regrets, Lord Caladom, but you must believe me when I tell you that the Sea People did not forget you! Something has gone very wrong; I fear for the safety of my messenger. But I myself will find a ship to retum you to the mainland,” he promised. “Ruathym is the nearest land. I should be able to reach the island in a few days. Sooner, with the help of sea creatures who are even faster than I.”

The man’s ravaged, accusing visage softened. “I thank you for this, but I know of the Northmen’s hatred of elves. Even for the chance to see Waterdeep again, I would not have you put yourself at risk.”

“Do not fear for me; there is no need,” Xzorsh said simply. “Are you so certain of this? The barrels holding your slain kindred were of Ruathen make.”

“That may be so, but none of it was Captain HrolPs doing. Yet I thank you for your warnings.” The sea elf paused, and a smile lit his thin, intense face. “You are much akin, you and Hrolf. Both of you possess a degree of honor that-forgive me-is rare among humankind. You may trust in him, and in me.”

Caladorn was silent for a moment; then he extended his hand to Xzorsh as to a comrade. “Then we will await your return.”

The sea elf nodded acceptance of the man’s trust, but waved aside the offered handclasp. “I cannot,” he said with a wistful smile, holding up his own hand and spreading the fmgers wide so Caladom could see the webbing between. Then he turned and dove once again beneath the waves.

As he swam rapidly toward the west, Xzorsh found himself contemplating his hands, wondering if his webbed fingers could learn to shape magic. What was it, he mused, that kept the sea folk from learning this art? All his life, he had been fascinated with magic and felt for it the same deep affinity, albeit unfulfilled, that a land-dwelling elf had for starlight. And he could feel the magic, like an eldritch current in the usually thin and lifeless air, when the drow wizard had summoned it. Perhaps this meant he had some small aptitude. Perhaps Liriel would agree to teach him.

A rueful smile came quickly in the wake of this thought. Try as he might, Xzorsh could not imagine the fiery drow in the role of tutor. But he did not abandon such thoughts altogether, for they sweetened his dreams and sped his way toward Ruathym.

The kelpie stretched, watching idly as her graceful fronds undulated in the still, cold waters. A passing fish nipped at one of the green limbs, tearing off a chunk of bloodless, leafy flesh. The kelpie grimaced but did.not, m truth, feel pain. She was well accustomed to grazmg sea creatures. If anything, the hungry fish served to remind her that it had been far too long since she herself had fed. The kelpie swirled in the water, tearing up the shallow roots she put down from time to time, and began to drift in closer to the shore. Somewhere, out beyond the waves, was some hapless male as ravenous as she. She’d possessed two such men herself, and she had dim memories of the eager meals her parent kelpie had consumed. All those victims, she remembered, had had eyes that were bright with a strange hunger. The kelpie didn’t quite understand this, for they never attempted to feed upon her.

A stirring of the currents drew the kelpie’s attention from the shoreline ahead. To her surprise and delight, a male swam toward her. And she had not yet attempted to charm him!

Long, supple fronds reached out to enfold him; the male batted them away; When she persisted, he drew a knIfe and began to hack away at her. Puzzled, the kelpie cast h.er charm. The male’s flailing arm slowed, and the knIfe slipped from his webbed fmgers. His eyes widened as he looked upon her, then darkened with desire. She wondered, briefly, how he perceived her: as a woman, or a green horse, or perhaps a hippocampus-a sea mount that appeared to be a cross between a giant seahorse and a dolphin. But as he gazed at the illusion-enhanced kelpie, he spoke an unfamiliar word in a harsh, sibilant tongue, a name that suggested his heart’s desire was something. other than .the usual choices. No matter. The kelpie smIled and waited expectantly for her latest conquest to drown.

He did not oblige her.

This confused the kelpie, and she released the strangely resilient creature. But the charmed male seized one of her longest fronds, entwined himself with it, fought passionately her every attempt to dislodge him.

The kelpie considered this odd turn of events for severallong moments, and decided it might not be such a bad thing. The male would protect her from hungry fish, perhaps even hunt for her. Surely there was other, similar prey in these waters. Let him find her another like himself, that she might eat.

Dawn had not yet silvered the water when the fisherfolk dragged their boats into the sea. It was early for such labor, but the waters around Ruathym, usually so benevolent, had become as miserly as a dwarven moneylender. Feeding the village was growing ever more difficult, and the Ruathen in their little boats ventured farther out than usual into the icy waters in hope of finding food.