Mel Odom - Forgotten Realms - Threat from the Sea Trilogy 03

Title: "THE SEA DEVIL'S EYE"

Mel Odom

Forgotten Realms - The Threat from the Sea Trilogy - Book Three

2000

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 99-69833

ISBN: 0-7869-1638-9 TSR 21638-620

Scanned, formatted and proofed by Dreamcity

Ebook version 1.1

Release Date: December, 13, 2003

Prologue

The Alamber Sea, Sea of Fallen Stars.

4 Flamerule, the Year of the Gauntlet

A man's dying scream drew Pacys's attention. To his right, the Sharksbane Wall extended across

the sea floor until it disappeared in the gloom. Below and to the left, for as far as Pacys could see, the

wall lay in ruins. Chunks of stone and coral lay in a fan shape, as if a huge hammer had shattered the wall.

"Marthammor Duin," Khlinat breathed somewhere above and behind the old bard, "watch over

them what wander far and foolishly." The dwarf was thick and broad. Unruly gray whiskers stuck out

around his wide face and his hands caressed the hafts of the two hand axes at his waist. He kicked out

with his good foot. A gray-green coral peg took the place of his lower right leg.

Elf, merman, and sahuagin all warred below. From this distance, they looked tiny against the wall,

but Pacys felt their terror and courage. Those emotions transmuted to musical notes in his mind. He

carefully braided and twined them, piecing together the songs that haunted him.

The hum of sahuagin crossbow strings rolled over the sharp clash of coral tridents against stolen or

salvaged spears.

Even the whisk of the sea devils' barbed nets echoed across the terrain, picked up by the old bard's

heightened senses.

For the moment, Pacys was the battle. He was the life and death of every one of the hundreds of

warriors at the Sharksbane Wall. He wore only a sea elf's diaphanous gown of misty blue. The magic of

the emerald bracelet on his wrist allowed him to breathe underwater and kept him comfortable even from

the occasional chill. Though he kept his head and jaw shaved, his silver eyebrows hinted at his age. The

bard was seventy-six years old, still vigorous but in his waning years.

"Hallowed wall, prized from death,

Built on blood and mortised by fear,

Stood broken, shattered, crumbled,

No longer protecting those here.

The loyal warriors warred, sinew against sinew.

They fought, and they died,

Clamped tight between unforgiving fangs

Of those who followed the Taker's dark stride."

It wasn't a song of victory. Despite the excitement at having found another piece of the song he'd

searched for, the old bard's heart grew cold and heavy.

His trained eye noted the whitish colors of the rock, nearly a dozen hues that he could pick out at a

glance, all colored by pearled iridescence from the millennia the wall had stood. The blue sea had texture,

the color of a sky rent by gentle summer rains. The uneven terrain at the foot of the Sharksbane Wall

spilled in dozens of cliffs and gullies where schools of brightly colored fish cowered.

Through it all, clouds of blood twisted and spun, caught by the shifting ocean currents and the

movements of those who fought and died. Even though the bracelet gave him the ability to breathe

underwater, it didn't remove the harsh metallic taste of iron.

In the land engagements he'd witnessed, Pacys had smelled the stench of battle, spiced by the fear

and anger of the men and women who sold and bought lives with a sword stroke. But here, in the

underwater realm of Seros, the kingdoms scattered across the bottom of the Sea of Fallen Stars, death

had flavor.

Pacys steeled himself, gaining control over his lurching stomach. Bright blue light flared like a dying

star to Pacys's left. The old bard turned and spotted Taranath Reefglamor, Senior High Mage among the

High Mages at Sylkiir. The old elf mage wore his silver hair loose. Blade thin, his blue and white flecked

skin hung loose on him. The pointed chin and pointed ears made his face seem harsh and angular. He

thrust a hand out at a knot of a dozen nearby sahuagin that swam toward them.

In the blink of an eye, shark's teeth seemed to form in that part of the water. The teeth were etched

in silvery gleams, bare sketches that still left no doubt as to what they were.

The cone of shark's teeth grew to twice Pacys's height in width and nearly five times that in length.

The sorcery ripped through the sahuagin, shredding flesh and breaking bone. Severed limbs and heads

exploded out from the corpses, and mutilated torsos came apart in chunks.

Surviving sahuagin swam at them, clutching their tridents to their chests. Fangs filled their broad

mouths to overflowing, showing bone-white and ivory against the teal and pale green of their skins. Fins

stuck out from their arms and legs, sharp-edged appendages they used to slice open their prey.

Built broad and squat, hammered into near indestructibility by the pressure of the uncaring ocean,

the sahuagin moved gracefully through the water. Webbed feet and hands pulled at the sea. Their

magnetic black eyes sucked the light from the depths, black holes that held no mercy.

Pacys brought his staff up. There wasn't time to run.

"Die hu-maan!" the lead sahuagin snarled.

"Friend Pacys!" Khlinat cried.

From the corner of his eye, Pacys watched the dwarf struggling to swim through the water to reach

his side. They'd met in Baldur's Gate, at the time of the attack that destroyed the city's harbor, and they'd

remained together since.

Pacys struck with the staff, lodging it in the tines of the trident his opponent carried. The old bard

pushed away from the attack.

The sahuagin flew past him, streaking toward the dwarf who was clawing up to an even keel.

Pacys reached into the bag of holding at his waist, took out a piece of slate and a fingernail clipping,

and held them in his fist.

Pointing with the forefinger of the fist that held the ingredients to his spell, Pacys scribed a powerful

symbol in the water that flared pale violet for a moment. He mouthed half a dozen words, then felt the

explosion in his fist as the spell claimed the materials in his hand.

Gray ash spilled from his hand as a shimmering wall formed in the water before him. A dull roar

blasted out from the other side of the shimmering wall.

The sahuagin trapped there writhed in agony. The sahuagin, like many sea creatures, had lateral lines

that ran the length of their bodies. Those lines sensed vibrations in the water, and the roar was agony to

them.Pacys swam for Khlinat.

"Foul devilspawn," Khlinat roared in a voice only a dwarf in full battle frenzy could muster. "I'll

keelhaul ye and have yer guts for garters, I will. I'm one of the Iron-eater clan, one of the fiercest,

fightingest dwarven clans ever blessed by Marthammor Duin!"

"Die!" the sahuagin replied in its raspy voice.

The bard gripped his staff in the middle and twisted. Foot-long, razor-edged blades shot from both

ends.The sahuagin released its hold on Khlinat's hand axe, then ran its talons down the dwarfs arm.

Yelping with pain and surprise, Khlinat brought his knees up, then shoved his claw coral peg into the

sahuagin's chest. The peg burst through the sahuagin's back. Blood roiled out and settled in a cloud

around the creature's upper body.

"I done for ye," Khlinat declared, putting his other foot on the sahuagin's face and kicking out.

"Behind ye, song-smith, and be right quick about it, too."

Moving with the fluid grace of a dancer, Pacys whipped the staff around. The razor-edged blade

sank into the sahuagin's shoulder next to its thick neck.

The creature's momentum and speed shoved Pacys back and down as he held onto the staff. The

old bard ripped the staff free, and let his momentum carry him around. The staff flashed as the sahuagin

swam over his head. The keen blade ripped across the creature's stomach, spilling its entrails in a loose

tangle.

Two sahuagin who'd been close to the one Pacys disemboweled were overcome by the bloodlust

that fired their species. Their predatory instincts sent them after the easier prey of their own kind rather

than the bard. Their jaws snapped and clicked, biting into the tender flesh released into the sea. They

followed their dying comrade toward the seabed below.

Pacys moved the staff in his hands, keeping himself loose, but his head played the song that would

be part of the fall of the Sharksbane Wall. It was not a song of victory. The music was a dirge, a song of

defeat and death.

A dozen sahuagin surrounded the bard and the dwarf. Pacys swam toward Khlinat, putting his back

to the dwarfs.

One of the sahuagin in front of the bard lunged forward.

"I've got 'im, songsmith," Khlinat said. "Mind you watch yerself."

The dwarf sliced his right axe across, shearing off two of the sahuagin's fingers. Before Khlinat could

recover his balance, another sahuagin threw one of the barbed nets over him.

Khlinat bawled in rage and pain. He slid his fingers through the openings in the net and tried to pull it

away, but succeeded only in sinking a dozen or more of the bone hooks into his own flesh.

Pacys ripped free the keen-edged, dark gray coral knife from his belt and raked the blade at the net

strands, parting a handful of them.

A sahuagin swam across the top of the net, grabbed the loose line floating at the top of the seaweed

hemp, and dragged Khlinat easily after it.

Another sahuagin swam up from under the net and rammed its trident into the old bard's right thigh.

The sahuagin swam backward and yanked hard on the cord. The pain hit Pacys with blinding intensity.

Suddenly, a fan-shaped spray of bright red, gold, green, and red-violet lanced through the water.

Pacys experienced a sudden vertigo, then the feeling passed and he only felt slightly dizzy. The sahuagin

pulling him lost its bearing and started flailing helplessly in the water.

"Easy, Taleweaver."

The old bard recognized Reefglamor's voice and turned in time to see the Senior High Mage swim

toward him. A group of mermen and sea elves were with him. They moved among the disoriented

sahuagin and stabbed their swords and knives through the creatures' gill slits, then ripped all the way

through, bleeding them out.

Reefglamor laid his hand on the trident that impaled Pacys's leg. He spoke a few words, and a pale

green fire leaped from the High Mage's fingers and quickly enveloped the offending trident. In the next

heartbeat, the trident was gone, leaving only gray-black ash to drift along the ocean's currents. Two

mermen freed Khlinat from the net.

Further down below, the battle raging across the fallen section of the Sharksbane Wall continued.

"We are losing this fight," Reefglamor stated in a low voice.

"Yes," Pacys agreed reluctantly.

"Senior," Pharom Ildacer called. His fondness for food and drink made him more round than most

sea elves. Black strands still stained his silver hair and he wore a deep purple weave. Anxiety colored his

features. "We can't stay. The guards here can't hold their positions."

"I know," Reefglamor said. "Gather who we can, and let's save as many of them as we are able."

Ildacer nodded and swam away.

The music inside Pacys's head continued, mournful and hollow. He was certain the song would

stand in the memories of its listeners as strongly as the fall of Cormanthyr and the flight of the elves.

"There! Do you see it then?" one of the nearby mermen asked, pointing with the trident he held.

"That's the Taker's ship."

Pacys spotted the great galley cutting through the water. It was strange to see the big ship

completely submerged, yet moving like a great black shadow.

And somewhere aboard her, Pacys knew, the Taker savored his victory. The threat from the sea

was a threat no longer, and death now traveled through the world of Seros, powered by sharp fins and

devouring fangs.

I

4 Flamerule, the Year of the Gauntlet

"What you want here, boy? Is it enough for ye to take a man's rightful belongings, or are ye gonna

cut an honest man's throat too?"

Jherek pressed the older man up against the back wall of the Bare Bosom and held a scaling knife

hard against the man's bewhiskered throat.

The man was in his early forties and his breath stank of beer. A skull and crossbones tattooed over

his heart advertised his chosen profession.

Jherek breathed hard, and struggled to keep his hand from shaking. Full night had descended over

the pirate city of Immurk's Hold hours ago. Clouds covered all but a handful of blue-white stars.

Shadows filled the narrow alley behind the tavern.

Even at nineteen, Jherek was bigger and broader than the pirate, his muscles made hard from years

of working as both shipwright and sailor. His light brown hair caught the silver gleam of the stars in the

highlights bleached by the sun, and hung past his shoulders now. His pale gray eyes belonged to a wolf

living in the wild. He wore leather armor under a dark blue cloak that reached to the tops of his boots. A

cutlass hung at his side.

"If it's me purse ye want," the pirate offered, swallowing hard, "yer gonna find it light tonight. I been

swilling old Kascher's homemade beer and dallying with them women what he keeps upstairs."

"I'm not after your purse," Jherek whispered. The very idea of robbing the man turned his stomach.

"Slice his damned throat."

Jherek cut his gaze over to the left, startled by the harshness of the words.

Talif stood near the building, fitting in neatly with the shadows. A sharp short sword was in his fist.

He was one of Captain Azla's pirate crew. The ship's hand had stringy black hair and a triangular face

covered with stubble.

"He lives-or we live. Which is it going to be?" Talif sneered.

Sabyna Truesail sat at a table in a hostel across the cobblestone street from the Bare Bosom and

tried to relax. Nothing worked; she still worried.

The hostel was small, and at this time of night most of the guests meandered over to the Bare

Bosom for more ribald festivities. The rest had called it a night in favor of an early morning. Sabyna,

Captain Azla of Black Champion, and Sir Glawinn-a paladin in the service of Lathander-were half the

crowd in the common room of the hostel. The scents of spiced meat and smoked fish warred against the

stench of pipeweed and bitter ale. The tavern crowd could be heard easily from across the street,

screamed curses mixed in with shouts of glee.

"I believe your attention would be better served elsewhere," Glawinn stated softly.

The paladin was middle aged but only a couple inches taller than Sabyna. He possessed a medium

build, but carried himself with confidence, every inch a soldier. His black beard was short-cropped.

Tonight he wore leather armor with a dark gray cloak over it. He used a brooch with Lathander's

morning sun colors to hold the cloak around his shoulders.

"Where should I look?" Sabyna asked.

She stood a little more than five and a half feet tall, with copper-colored curls shorn well short of her

shoulders. Seasons spent with the sun and sea had darkened her skin, but a spattering of freckles still

crossed the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. Light from the big stone fireplace that warmed the hostel

against the wet chill of the sea ignited reddish brown flames in her eyes. Her clothing was loose and

baggy, worn that way so it wouldn't draw attention to her femininity.

Beside them, Azla wrinkled her nose in distaste. She held a half-drunk schooner of ale curled neatly

in one gloved hand.

"He means you need to stop looking out that window so much," the pirate captain stated. "You're

going to draw attention." Azla was a half-elf, bearing the characteristic pointed ears and slender build of

her elf parent. Her features were beautiful and dusky, made even darker by a dozen years and more in

the sun and wind. Silky black hair hung just to her shoulders, cut straight across. She wore a green

blouse so dark it was almost black, and leather breeches dyed dark blue.

"The thing that worries me," Sabyna said, "is that he doesn't seem to be himself."

"No," the paladin said, "our young warrior is torn."

"By what?" Sabyna asked.

She risked another glance at the Bare Bosom, watching a sailor stride drunkenly from the

establishment in the company of a serving wench doing her best to prop him up. The girl's fingers found

the man's coin purse.

"There are things I feel a man should be willing to discuss on his own without having others discuss

them for him," Glawinn answered.

"He could get killed over there tonight," Azla warned coldly.

"True enough," Glawinn replied, "but sometimes you have to rely on faith."

Azla snorted. "Faith isn't as certain as cold steel."

"It is for some." Glawinn's words were soft, but strong.

"Faith has never done well by me," Azla went on. A trace of bitterness threaded through her words.

Sabyna knew the captain hadn't always been a pirate. Azla had grown up in the Dalelands, but

events and her own guilt forced her down to the Sea of Fallen Stars and into a pirate's life. Glawinn had

no way of knowing that.

"The problem could be that you're not supposed to expect faith to do well by you," the paladin said.

"You're supposed to do well by your faith."

"I am a mage," Sabyna said. "My faith is strong enough, but I'm no cleric to be led around by

looking at a chicken's entrails to figure out what my chosen god wants me to do. I believe in knowledge.

Our gods choose what knowledge to put in our paths, but it's up to us to learn it and choose what to do

with it."

"My faith is not that way," Glawinn said. "I choose to let Lathander set me upon a path, trusting in

the Morninglord that I will know what to do when the time comes."

"More men have died from conflicting beliefs than over gold and silver," Azla said. "Trusting a god is

a very dangerous thing."

"On that issue, Captain," Glawinn said gravely, "I fear we'll have to disagree."

Sabyna pulled her cloak more tightly around her against the night's chill. More than anything she

wanted to be up and around, doing something but not knowing what. "He's changed so much since I first

met him," she whispered.

"How so?" Glawinn asked.

Across the street, a handful of cargo handlers deep in conversation walked across the uneven

boardwalk in front of the Bare Bosom. One of them carried a shielded candle hanging from a crooked

stick that barely beat back the night.

"When he first came aboard Breezerunner, there was a quiet desperation in him," Sabyna said. "I

didn't understand that, now I understand his feelings even less after seeing how he handled himself aboard

Breezerunner. He stood up against Vurgrom and his pirate crew in the middle of a maelstrom and never

faltered. Now he seems ..."

"Afraid?" A faint smile twisted Glawinn's lips. "He's a warrior, lady."

"Then why should he be afraid?"

"So that he might live, of course." Glawinn sipped his drink. "Warriors live with fear as they might a

lover. They never forget that fear, else they step closer to Cyric's cold embrace."

The ship's mage wrapped her arms even tighter around herself, losing the battle against the night's

chill creeping in against the banked coals filling the hostel's fireplace.

"Then where does that leave him?" she asked.

"He's dangerous," Azla commented. "He's dangerous to himself and to us."

"I don't think that's entirely true," Glawinn said.

The pirate captain shook her head. "I don't mean to disparage your beliefs, Sir Glawinn, but men

believe what they want to believe. Sometimes purely because they have nothing else to believe in."

"And to live a life with nothing to believe in?" The paladin looked directly at her and asked, "What

kind of life is that?"

Azla broke the eye contact, put on a deprecating smile, and said, "A very profitable one. If you're a

pirate."

"Gold and silver assuages a wounded heart?"

Azla's eyes turned cold and hard. "You step over lines here, paladin."

"Forgive me, lady," Glawinn replied, though he showed no remorse, "I do indeed."

Sabyna watched the exchange in silence. She didn't know how Glawinn knew so much about the

pirate captain, but she was aware how close he was to the truth. Azla's own life was filled with tragedy.

The ship's mage reached for the hot tea she'd ordered and sipped it only to find that it was now cold.

"The thing that most concerns me is that your young friend didn't come here to take that pearl disk

back from Vurgrom," Azla said.

"Then what?" Sabyna asked.

Azla kept her voice quiet and still. "I think it's very possible that your young friend came here to die

as nobly as he can."

*****

"I can't kill him," Jherek said. He stood in the alley, his body pressed up against the man, and silently

damned all the events and the false pride that led to the point of holding a man's life at the edge of his

knife."Then let me." Talif stepped forward and lifted the short sword.

The man in Jherek's grip tensed, on the verge of fleeing and taking his chances.

Jherek swung his empty hand, balling it into a fist and rolling his shoulder to get most of his weight

behind the blow. His fist caught the pirate on the point of his chin and dropped him.

Talif knelt and grabbed the man by the hair. He swung his short sword toward the man's exposed

throat.

Jherek kicked Talif in the chest, knocking him back across the hard-packed earth of the alley. Talif

rolled instantly, coming up from the ground like a trained acrobat. His triangular face was a mask of rage.

The short sword came around in a glittering arc.

The young sailor stepped in close and brought up his left arm. His open hand smacked into Talif's

wrist and blocked the sword strike. Talif grunted in pain and anger. Before the mate could recover,

Jherek slipped his free arm under the man's outstretched one and flipped him over his shoulder.

Carried by his own weight and momentum, pulled by Jherek's strength, Talif landed hard on the

ground on his back. Murderous rage gleamed in his black eyes. "You're a fool," Talif snarled.

"That remains to be seen," Jherek said, "but I do know I am no murderer."

Talif struggled a moment to get free but couldn't.

"You knocked that man out, boy, but I've seen men knocked cold like that before. Sometimes they

come around in just minutes, none the worse for it. He could still come into the tavern after us and let

them all know we're among them."

"He doesn't know who we are," Jherek said quietly.

"By Leira's razor kiss, you fool, that man has seen me. He'll know I sail with Cap'n Azla."

"So you say." Jherek shook his head. "Maybe that's just your pride talking. We'll take our chances."

Talif cursed him soundly, using invective that would have shamed even most sailors.

Jherek maintained his grip even though Talif sought to shake out of it. "You think me a fool for letting

this man live, but keep in mind that should a man attack me willingly with a sword in his fist, I'll not be so

generous."

"A man doesn't always see the sword that cleaves him, boy," Talif threatened.

Jherek nodded. "But Glawinn would know." Azla's pirates walked lightly around the paladin.

"Umberlee take you both," Talif snarled. "The two of you think you're so high and mighty."

Jherek felt even more embarrassed. Glawinn was a paladin, a noble and courageous man who lived

for honor and served a god who put quests and challenges before him. The young sailor knew he didn't

belong in such company. He was only a foolish boy with misbegotten pride and an ill luck that followed

him all his life as a birthright from his pirate father.

"Standing among men such as yourself," Jherek said in a harsh voice, "Sir Glawinn has no choice but

to shine. I'd keep a civil tongue in your head, otherwise I'm going to feel that you're questioning his honor.

That's something I won't allow."

Talif started to say something, but he glanced into Jherek's eyes, swallowed his words, and looked

away.

Jherek released the man and stood with easy grace. He slipped the scaling knife back into his boot,

then turned and walked toward the tavern's back door. He knew Talif thought about attacking him, but

he counted on his own hearing and the dim shadows that moved on the alley wall to warn him if the man

tried. And, truth to tell, maybe he didn't care.

Talif straightened his clothing and followed him a heartbeat later.

A short flight of steps led up to the tavern's back door. The door was narrow and made of scarred

hardwood that showed years of abuse by guests and thieves and the neglect of uncaring employees.

Azla proved most resourceful as a pirate captain, though, and had provided Jherek a key that let

him pass. He opened the door and stepped inside. A mixture of spicy odors tweaked his nose, almost

drawing a sneeze. The aroma filling the room also held the scent of jerked beef and the strong odor of

seafood. The stink of smoky grease overlaid everything.

Sand covered grease spills on the stained wooden floor. Grit rolled and crunched under Jherek's

boots as he walked toward the narrow door on the east wall. He found the latch with his fingers and

slipped it open with a tiny screech that he knew wasn't heard over the uproar in the tavern's main serving

area.Quietly, he went up the narrow and winding staircase, making himself go when every thought in his

mind was to turn and leave. Kascher, Azla had assured him, used the hidden passageway to serve meals

to guests who preferred to remain incognito. The man the young sailor was after was such a man.

Kascher's Bare Bosom tavern stood three stories tall, shouldered between the warehouses along the

natural harbor at the center of Immurk's Hold.

On the top floor, Jherek paused at the door, listening. Muted voices echoed in the hall as footsteps

passed.

The young sailor let himself out into the passageway. His eyes narrowed briefly even against the dim

brightness of the small oil lamps hanging on the walls.

He glanced at the door on the right, reading the numbers. According to the information Azla gave

him, the room he wanted was at the end.

The door at the end of the corridor was heavy oak, reinforced with bands of beaten iron.

"One side, pup," Talif said arrogantly. "Let a man do his job."

Grudgingly, Jherek stepped aside, leaving the door open to Talif. The thief moved to the door with a

small smile curling his thin lips.

"Ah, pup," he whispered, "there's nothing like the sensation of being someplace you ought not be."

Thin pieces of metal glinted briefly in his gloved hands. "Gladdens a man's heart, it does. The chance to

prowl through another's secrets, steal kisses from another man's woman . .. there's nothing more sweet."

Shamed and furious, Jherek turned away. He heard the thin scratches of metal and tried to ignore

them. The subtle arts Talif practiced went against everything Jherek believed in. Yet here he was,

depending and hoping on the man's skills that he might set a greater wrong right.

The young sailor glanced out a window at the city.

Torches gleamed brightly along the wharf. From the tavern room, Jherek saw ships at anchor, men

scurrying about aboard them, carrying crates and other prizes they'd no doubt taken from some luckless

merchanter. His father, he knew, would have been perfectly at home here.

Farther into the interior of the city, fewer torches gleamed. The houses were ramshackle affairs for

the most part, places cast together by seafaring men for families formed more by desperation than any

emotion.

The men who worked the night were down by the harbor and the others lay abed or in the dozens

of taverns throughout the city. Shadowy figures crossed the narrow, twisting streets below, some of them

in groups but most of them alone. Thin wails of bawdy pirate chanteys drifted over the rooftops. The only

thing that seemed normal to Jherek was the salt smell that lingered in the air.

"I'm done, pup. Do you want to join me?" Talif's whisper barely carried to Jherek's ears.

"Aye."

The young sailor drew his cutlass, the razor edge sliding free of the sash he used to bind it to his

waist. He filled his other hand with the wickedly curved boat hook.

Pausing, Jherek nudged up the thin glass protecting the oil lamp's wick and flame. He blew it out,

then replaced the glass cover. That end of the room darkened immediately.

"You have more skills at this kind of skullduggery than you'd think, pup," Talif said as he eased the

door open. "Maybe you're not so honest as I thought, or you'd like to believe."

Jherek didn't argue, but he felt a sick lurching inside his stomach. Pirate's get and thief-he didn't

really deserve any other label. Except maybe fool.

Talif led the way into the room, and Jherek covered his back. The young sailor heard the hoarse

rasp of deep breathing as he gently closed the door.

Reaching back, Talif pressed a finger against Jherek's chest. "Wait," the man hissed.

Jherek breathed shallowly, taking in the sour odor of unwashed flesh and old rotgut whiskey. The

stench of pipe-weed clung to the room, salted with the flavor of cheap perfume.

"Not alone," Talif whispered. "I smell a woman."

For a moment, Jherek considered leaving the room. Catching the man they were after, even with

everything Azla had ferreted out, had been difficult and risky enough. Endangering an innocent wasn't

something he was prepared to do.

Talif's finger left his chest and the man glided silently across the room, a swiftly moving shadow.

Jherek moved immediately. His own vision quickly adjusted to the dark. The room was spacious

but held only a couple trunks, an armoire that listed badly to one side, and a four-poster bed shrouded in

mosquito netting.

"Alive," Jherek warned.

Reluctantly, Talif nodded. He moved to the left of the bed, while Jherek moved to the right.

Jherek put the hook back in his sash, then reached for the sleeping figure, brushing aside the

mosquito netting with the blade of the cutlass. He clamped his hand on a face that he suddenly realized

was too small, too smooth, and without whiskers.

At the other end of his arm, the young woman he'd grabbed by mistake opened her eyes wide in

fear. She tried to sit up in bed. Jherek was so surprised by the turn of events that he didn't resist,

watching in horror and embarrassment as the sheets fell away from her bare breasts.

The other form in the bed lurched up, a wickedly curved scimitar sliding free of the space between

the feather-filled mattress and the carved headboard. Jorn Frennik was a large man, broad shouldered

and beefy from a dozen years and more of living the savage life of a pirate.

Like the woman, he was naked, but he wore his calf-high boots. Bed covers flew as the pirate

forced himself to his feet in the middle of the bed, yelling in rage and fear. He drew his scimitar back to

swing.

II

4 Flamerule, the Year of the Gauntlet

Jorn Frennick's scimitar cleaved the air sharply, and Jherek met the yelling pirate's steel with his

own. Sparks flared from the blades.

Despite the shadows and darkness filling the room, Jherek read the pirate's moves. Keeping track

of the woman on the bed was harder, but he managed.

"Kill him!" Talif croaked hoarsely as he jockeyed for position.

"No," Jherek ordered. "We need him alive."

Frennick shifted on the bed, kicking at the frightened woman and forcing her away from him. She

screamed in pain and covered her head with her hands.

Moving swiftly, Jherek raised a booted foot and slammed it into the center of the man's chest as

hard as he could, getting his weight behind the thrust.

Frennick flew backward off the bed and crashed against the wall. Plaster shattered as he burst the

inner wall and dust roiled up in a great cloud.

Jherek pursued the man, striding across the bed and barely avoiding the naked woman cowering in

the twisted bedding. He slipped through the mosquito netting.

Wheezing, his face a mask of rage, Frennick struggled desperately to push himself up from the

wreckage of the wall.

The young sailor feinted, drawing out Frennick's attack. Jherek stepped back just enough to let the

wickedly curved blade pass by him. He slammed his cutlass broadside against the pirate's scimitar,

trapping it against the left side of Frennick's body.

"I'm gonna kill you, whelp!" the pirate roared. "Gonna have your guts for garters, I am!"

The young sailor ducked his head forward, slamming the top of his skull into Frennick's face. The

pirate's nose broke with a snap. Blood gushed over his beard. Before Frennick could recover, Jherek

drew back his left hand, balled it into a fist, and slammed it against the man's jaw twice. Frennick

staggered. Still in motion, the young sailor grabbed a handful of Frennick's beard and slammed the man's

head up against the wall. He lifted his knee three times in quick succession, driving it into Frennick's

stomach.

Vomit streamed suddenly from Frennick's mouth, a gush of noxious liquid that spilled down his chest

and stomach. The stench of soured hops almost gagged Jherek, but the young sailor breathed shallowly

through his mouth.

The strength drained from Frennick in a rush as he struggled to regain his breath. Jherek kicked the

scimitar from the man's hand. He placed a foot on the back of Frennick's head to hold the pirate in place,

then turned back to the woman on the bed.

Talif leaned over her, holding a pillow over her face. The woman struggled, kicking her feet and

scratching with her fingernails. Talif cursed her in a quiet voice.

Jherek slipped the knife from his boot and threw it. The effort wasn't hidden by his body as Malorrie

and Glawinn had coached.

The knife spun and cut the air.

Cursing, Talif leaped to one side so it wouldn't spear his face. "Umberlee take you," he snarled.

The woman on the bed sucked in her breath in ragged gasps. She peered at the young sailor with

rolling, frightened eyes, not bothering to cover her nakedness at all. Tears tracked down her face, and

she shivered.

Still cursing him, Talif turned his attention to the small chest at the foot of the bed. "If she leaves the

room, she'll warn the tavern-maybe call his mates up here on us."

Jherek gazed at the woman. "Lady," he said softly enough only to be heard over the noise coming

from the tavern below, "I ask that you not leave this room."

Slowly, the woman sank more deeply into the bedding. She shook her head in a small motion that

stirred her dark curls and said, "No, sir. No, I won't try to leave."

The term of respect, applied in such a situation, stung Jherek. He dropped his eyes from the

woman's in shame. To have come so far pursuing what he hoped would have been a clue to his destiny,

only to end up like this, making prisoners of frightened women, it was almost too much. If it were up to

him, he would have left then, but the pearl disk Vurgrom took was not Jherek's to leave.

Talif ransacked the room with quick, knowing movements. Small drawers came out of the chest at

the foot of the bed. Each was checked, inside and under, before being discarded. The thief even went on

to disassemble some of the bigger pieces, checking for hiding places within them.

Frennick remained dazed, sick drool oozing occasionally from the corner of his mouth.

Jherek bound the man's hand behind his back with strips torn from the stained and faded sheets. He

yanked the man to his feet. Frennick swayed drunkenly, like a storm-tossed cog riding out a stiff

crosswind.

"Lady," the young sailor said, "I have one more task to ask of you."

"Yes, sir." She looked at him in bright fear.

"Could you dress him, please?"

Talif's derisive snort filled the room.

Cautiously, the woman climbed from the bed. She left the bedding behind and stood naked,

embarrassing Jherek further. She took the pirate's clothing from a pile beside the bed, choosing the

Mel Odom - Forgotten Realms - Threat from the Sea Trilogy 03 - The Sea Devils

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