Richard Byers - The Reaver

“We are. She’s feeble and useless. She takes food from the mouths of those who still contribute to the village. She needs to die.”

“No,” said Stedd, “you mustn’t do it. It’s wrong.”

The priest’s mouth tightened. “No, child, it isn’t. Listen and learn. Umberlee has become the greatest deity hereabouts, and, I truly believe, in all the world. The wise know this because the sea keeps rising to demonstrate her power. Thus, her will-her creed-is right by definition. And she teaches us to love strength, hate weakness, and worship her before all other gods or goddesses. Those who follow her path will thrive. Misery and death await all others.”

“But that isn’t true,” argued Stedd, addressing not just the waveservant but everyone within earshot. “Umberlee isn’t making it rain. The world is being reborn, and the Great Rain is part of the birth pains. Like all such pains, it will come to an end, and when it does, we can live in a time better than any we’ve known before. But it depends on how we act now. If we hold onto kindness and hope even when it’s hard, tomorrow will be good. But if we turn vicious and hurt even our own neighbors, then it won’t matter that the sun is shining and the crops are growing, because we’ll still be like wild starving dogs on the inside.”

Anton’s eyes narrowed in surprise. Aboard the Jest , Stedd had demonstrated a remarkable ability to heal, but in the time since, he’d mostly seemed like a normal little boy. Now, however, the wandering prophet who’d annoyed the church of Umberlee by preaching a doctrine diametrically opposed to its own stood revealed, with a confidence in his stance and a conviction in his voice that lent weight to his words despite his youth. In fact, it was possible the contrast served to make his entreaty all the more impressive.

Certainly, some of the villagers looked interested if not dumbfounded. The waveservant, however, laughed a nasty laugh. Before the Great Rain, he’d likely lived a relatively unassuming life. The other villagers would have turned to him when it was time to sacrifice to his savage goddess for a safe voyage or good fishing but wouldn’t have tolerated him trying to tell them what to believe or order them around. Now, however, he seemed confident-indeed, arrogant-in his new leadership role.

“Madness,” he said, “madness and impudence. I am a priest . The wisdom of a deity informs every word I say. Can you say the same, little boy? If not, I suggest you shut your mouth.”

“Yes,” Anton said, “do that.” He took hold of Stedd’s shoulder to pull him back.

But the boy twisted away with surprising strength. “I can ‘say the same.’ Because Lathander speaks through me.”

That declaration brought another moment of quiet, and then the waveservant laughed again. “If you’re going to trade in blasphemy, you should at least bring your lies up to date. The Morninglord died a hundred years ago.”

Stedd shook his head. “He didn’t. For a while, he had to stop being what he was, but now he can be again. He can shine the light he shined before.”

“Gibberish.” The priest shifted his gaze to Anton. “But blasphemy nonetheless. Take your lunatic ward away from here before my duty obliges me to take him from you.”

“Everyone is looking at me,” said Stedd, once more addressing the crowd at large. “Don’t. Look in the eyes of the kinswoman and neighbor you’re about to kill. And if you’re too ashamed to do it, learn from that. It’s the good part of your soul trying to stop you from doing something awful.”

Villagers muttered to one another. Then a woman who held a couple of the ceramic pots said, “I don’t … I mean, Aggie is kin to me on my mother’s side.”

“To me, too,” said a runt of a man bundled up in gray. With a deferential if not apologetic demeanor, he turned to the waveservant. “I know we complain, Saer, but we’re not starving yet. We catch some fish.”

The priest sneered. “And how long do you think that will last if you fail to honor the Queen of the Depths?”

“We could sacrifice something else,” the small man said. “Maybe a chicken. I have an old hen that’s stopped laying.”

“Quiet!” the cleric snapped, and the word carried a charge of magic like the crack of a whip. The runt jerked and made a choking sound as the command momentarily deprived him of the power of speech. Other villagers flinched.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Stedd. “The waveservant is trying to bully you into doing what he wants. But if you say no, the Morninglord will protect you.”

The priest scowled. “Let’s put that lie to the test. Let’s see your dead god protect you .” He snatched a little seashell from a pocket of his cloak and squeezed it in his fist until it cracked. Three streaks of greenish blur wavered into being in the air before him, then, in just a heartbeat, put on definition and solidity.

The sahuagin were the size of men, with shark-like heads complete with fangs, crests of fin running down their spines, and tridents in their clawed, webbed fingers. Gill slits dilated and contracted in the sides of their scaly necks, but they were entirely capable of surviving out of water long enough to make an example of a “blasphemer” and his hapless companion.

Somehow comprehending without being told what their summoner desired, the sea devils lumbered forward. Peasants screamed and scrambled to distance themselves from the creatures.

Anton shot Stedd a glance. “You said your god would protect us.”

“Yes,” said Stedd, his blue eyes wide, “but not through me! I couldn’t get my magic back because I had to bail out the rowboat.”

For an instant, Anton imagined himself stepping aside and waving the sahuagin on by to stab and claw the boy to pieces. But satisfying as that might be, it would mean giving up the bounty.

He yanked his cutlass from its scabbard. “Stay back!” he said, and then the sea devils shambled into striking distance.

In his experience, these brutes were strong, ferocious, and skillful with their chosen weapons, but not especially agile on land. That appeared to be the only advantage he possessed, but maybe if he maneuvered constantly and forced the sahuagin to keep turning back and forth, it would be enough. He parried an initial trident thrust, dodged right, and slashed.

His target jerked back from the blade, and a cut that might have been lethal merely split the leathery hide above its ribs. He lunged to make a follow-up attack, but the sea devil blocked quarterstaff-style with the shaft of its trident, then jammed the length of wood into him and heaved him staggering backward.

Anton struggled to recover his balance as his feet slipped in the mud. He was still floundering when his adversary’s trident leaped at his face.

Incapable of any other defense, he threw himself down in the muck, and the three-pointed weapon shot over him. He rolled to one knee and slashed. The cutlass sliced the sea devil’s leg, and it staggered and roared.

By that time, the other two sahuagin had circled their comrade to threaten Anton anew, but they faltered for a heartbeat as though his dive to the ground had surprised them. It gave him time to jump up and scramble left, obliging them to change their facing once more.

He scored twice more in the moments that followed, once on the hobbling foe he’d wounded initially and once on a fresh one. But, armored by their scales, neither dropped.

Curse it, he had to dispatch the enemy faster than this or they’d surely kill him instead. Energized by combat, he no longer felt weary and hungry but recognized that for the illusion it was. Soon, he was going to slow down, the sea devils would finally succeed in surrounding him, and that would be that.