Richard Byers: Queen of the Depths

Tu’ala’keth nodded. “We are going to win. But there are many dragons left. The sooner they die, the less harm they will cause. Shall we rejoin the battle?”

Anton grinned. “Why not?”

Yhe festival of thanksgiving proved to be as solemn an observance as any cleric might have wished, and it seemed to Anton that for the most part, Myth Nantar offered at the Bitch Queen’s altars willingly enough. Even Morgan Ildacer wasn’t overtly grudging.

After the prayers and sacrifices, however, solemnity gave way to jubilation, and the human enjoyed that a good deal more, especially since he didn’t lack for companionship It turned out that a good many folk regarded him as a hero even if they were vague on precisely how he’d helped Tu’ala’keth procure the poison and other weapons that had saved the city. His well-wishers gave him morsels of spiced shrimp and candied sea urchin as intoxicating as any brandy, and sea-elf ladies and mermaidsthe latter coping superbly despite the obvious handicapstendered more intimate rewards.

But eventually even such exotic delights lost a bit of their savor. Maybe it was because he craved the sight of the sky and the touch of the sun or heard duty whispering it was past time to report to his superiors, but in any case he felt in his gut it was time to go.

Fortunately, nobody had asked for the bone mask back. He’d mastered the tricks of riding a seahorse, and he knew where Tu’ala’keth kept her animals when not in use. He could leave whenever he liked. He threw himself into a final night of revelry then swam into Umberlee’s house early the following morning.

The sanctuary positively glittered with new offeringsso many that the vast majority had to sit on the floor. But that wouldn’t do for his purposes. He cleared a space on the largest and most sacred of the altars then laid the greatsword down. Wordless thought surged into his mind, reminding him how brilliantly he fought with the blade in his grasp and what ecstasy it was to kill with it, pleading with him to reconsider. Then he took his hand away, and the psychic voice fell silent.

“Are you sure?” asked Tu’ala’keth.

He turned to see her floating in a doorway. In her own shrine, her own home, she had no need of silverweave or a trident, but the drowned man’s hand hung on her breast as always.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll never have a better sword, but I’m not myself when I use it. I’m worried that eventually I wouldn’t be me even when it was in the scabbard.”

“You might be something greater. If you wished, you could remain here, continue to bear the blade in Umberlee’s service… but I see that is not what you desire.”

“No. I’m sorry, but I never felt what you feel. Not once.” If it wasn’t quite true, it was certainly true enough.

“I know, and you have Umberlee’s blessing to depart. But if you are leaving her service, you may not wear her badge. Allow me.” She swam to him, murmured a prayer, and stroked his forearm with her fingertip. His all-but-forgotten octopus tattoo, inscribed when they’d first reached Dragon Isle, vanished in a flash of burning pain.

He rubbed his smarting skin. “If you’d asked, I could have erased it, and it wouldn’t have stung.”

“My apologies,” she said, though he almost thought he heard a hint of laughter in her voice. “What will you do now? Will you stop being a spy as you have ceased serving Umberlee? Be your own man in every respect?”

He shrugged. “I’m going to have to think about it. In many ways, I’m sick of spying. But bringing down those whoresons on Tan, helping at least some of the captives to freedom, was… satisfying. Maybe I’m not finished quite yet.

“I don’t need to ask what you’ll do,” he continued. “Your destiny is clear. You’ll go down in the annals as the greatest priestess Seros has ever seen.”

“You speak as if my work is done.”

“Well, the hard part. Isn’t it?”

“I have won a year, during which the shalarin people must pray at Umberlee’s altars and listen to me preach whether they want to or not. It remains to be seen whether they will continue when the time expires. I suppose it depends on my eloquence. On whether I can show them the goddess as I know her to be, or failing that, at least persuade them of her limitless might and appetite for slaughtering those who neglect her worship.”

“You’ll manage it.”

“I pray so. At least I have my chance. No one can ask more.”

“Well…” He had the witless feeling, which often came to him at partings, that he ought to say more but didn’t know what. At length he settled for: “We fought well. Better than well. Checkmate’s edge, we’re dragon slayers! How many folk can claim that?”

She smiled. “All the warriors in Myth Nantar now but perhaps not with as much justification.” Then, to his utter astonishment, she opened her long blue spindly arms for a parting embrace. He took care returning it so as not to crush the fin running down her spine.