Rising Tide by Mel Odom Page B

she’d ever seen the true being she knew as Iakhovas. The sahuagin recognized him as a fellow being, and the wererats and other humanoids saw him as one of their own, even when they were all standing in the same place, and no one questioned it.
    “Why should any sahuagin die if it’s not necessary?” she asked.
    “Because, little malenti, I have need of their deaths, and they must prove their fealty to me if I’m to champion their cause in this world.” Iakhovas surveyed the nearing warning lights of Waterdeep Harbor. Anchored buoys clanged in the distance near Deepwater Isle, warning of the shallows there. “Sacrifices must be made. As I’ve learned, this is the last day in Ches, a time of holidays in Deepwater.”
    Laaqueel had learned that even as Iakhovas had. The Waterdhavians called the festival Fleetswake. During that time the mariners and the city gave homage to Umberlee, the dread sea goddess. Umberlee’s Cache lay in the belly of the sloping bowl of Deepwater Harbor on the other side of Darkwater Isle. In years past, offerings to Umberlee had been dropped on the harbor floor, then mermaid shamans had broken that floor open to the great cavern system below that no one had ever mapped out. Every now and again, the malenti spotted the magical beam of the lighthouse near Umberlee’s Cache skate below the dark waters ahead of them. It was used to guide the merfolk that were part of Waterdeep’s defense hierarchy.
    “The promise and bounty of Fleetswake convokes ships from over all Faerun, giving the surface dwellers a dream of shared peace and prosperity,” Iakhovas went on. “Traders, warriors, craftsmen, bards, and thieves, all will be represented on those cobblestone streets. There will be many in Waterdeep to tell the tale of the battle this night. They will spread that tale to the corners of all Toril, their wagging tongues making the story larger and more intense as it is passed along.”
    “The surface dwellers could be incited to hunt the sahuagin down.”
    Iakhovas laughed loudly. “Little malenti, let them come. Let them rise above their cowardice, strap their weapons about their loins, and sail out into these seas that I have marked as mine. If they sail out into the sea after us, they sail only to their deaths. In fact, it will only help my cause if part of this war is played out in our element. We can bare our teeth and our claws, and show them the foolishness of any sort of resistance. It will also serve to threaten the other sahuagin tribes who haven’t seen fit to join our effort.”
    “The surface dwellers could unite.”
    Iakhovas shook his head. “Not according to everything I’ve studied about these jealous cultures,” he told her. “These nations of surface dwellers have long histories of bitter feuds and rivalry over trade agreements, religion, and politics. What countries can hope to survive if they follow a path laden with those traps and snares? No, even should they endeavor to agree on a common enemy, we shall own the seas. In their limited intelligence and greed, the surface dwellers may have learned to cross the oceans, but they’ll never master them, never the way I have.”
    Laaqueel had other doubts that she almost voiced. She didn’t, though, since she knew Iakhovas would counter each of them with an argument of his own.
    “Ready yourself, little malenti,” Iakhovas ordered, pointing at the approaching small lateen-sailed galley bearing Waterdhavian colors. The galleys supported the navy rakers that provided protection for the harbor.
    The malenti moved forward, standing at her master’s side and holding her trident at the ready. She carried a sword belted at her waist. She didn’t much care for the weapon, but she’d been trained to use it.
    “Ahoy, Drifting Eel,” a mariner wearing the uniform of the Waterdeep Guard called out. A dozen other men stood in the galley’s prow, armed with heavy crossbows and swords. The crew aboard her matched speeds with the