Richard Byers: Queen of the Depths

“Anyway, a couple months back, the paladins of Impiltura land on the northern shorediscovered that of late, the cultists have been more active and advanced their schemes farther than any sane person could have imagined. They’ve established a number of hidden strongholds across Faerun. The purpose of the refuges is to transform dragons into liches, and supposedly, wyrms have been flocking to them and consenting to the change as never before, because they fear losing their minds to frenzy. Evidently undead dragons are immune.

“The Rage has produced destruction and misery enoughyou shalarins seem to know all about that but it’s nothing compared to what a horde of dracoliches will do. So the Lords of Impiltur sent out the word: People in every realm need to find and destroy the cult enclaves before they can accomplish their task.”

“You were one of the seekers.”

Anton grinned. “Yes, and it was just my rotten luck that it turns out the whoresons do have a stronghold somewhere in the region. My guess is on one of the Pirate Isles. If I were pursuing a plan to topple every monarch and ruling council in the world, I’d hide out in a place without governance or law.”

“You say you guess. You did not learn for certain?”

“No. I had a lead and tried to follow up. At some point I apparently made a mistake, and some cultist tumbled to the fact that I was sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. The maniacs sent abishaiwinged demons with a dash of dragon thrown into deal with me.

“They caught up with me on a carrack sailing out of Procampur. We fought, and I got the worst of it. Finally they cornered me against the rail, and I jumped overboard. If I hadn’t, they would have torn me apart.

“The move worked, after a fashion. For whatever reason, they didn’t keep after me. But the ship didn’t come back for me either. Maybe the abishai killed all the sailors. Or perhaps the captain decided he didn’t need a passenger who lured demons down on his vessel.

“The rest you know. I drifted, and you found me.” Tu’ala’keth floated silently, pondering. Suddenly she grinned. “Of course! It is clear!” “What is?”

“This Cult of the Dragon. They must be mighty wizards with a profound knowledge of wyrms to warp their lives into undeath and leave their minds intact.”

“I suppose.”

“You will help me find them, for that is your craft. They will then tell me how to stop the dragons threatening Seros. I will do so in Umberlee’s name, and afterwards, the other shalarins will return to her altars in penance and thanksgiving.”

Anton shook his head. “You don’t understand. There’s no reason to assume the cult has what you need, and it wouldn’t matter even if they do. They worship dragons. They won’t help anybody hurt or hinder them.”

“If they won’t give up their secrets willingly, we will take them.”

He laughed. “Just you and me, you mean, against a dragon or three, a whole coven of spellcasters, and the Grandmaster only knows what else? I know you’re a reasonably powerful cleric in your own right, but that’s ridiculous.”

“You only believe so,” she said, “because your lack of faith blinds you. You look at this moment and you see only chancecoincidence. These elements are there, but they make a pattern, and the pattern conveys meaning.”

“Look: If we were to march into the cult’s fortress and announce ourselves, all it would do is alert them to the fact that people are searching for them, and that they haven’t covered their trail well enough to keep from being found. Then, after they killed us, they’d take additional precautions. That would make it all the more difficult for somebody else to locate them, descend on them in force, and wipe them out.

“And that needs to happen, for everyone’s sake. A horde of dracoliches will pose a threat to your Seros and Myth Nantar as much as the surface world.”

“What matters is the restoration of Umberlee’s worship. Everything else must fall out as it will.”

“Lady, I respectfully disagree.”

Tu’ala’keth peered at him as if honestly mystified by his intransigence. “You must help. As I explained, your life, like mine, belongs to the Queen of the Depths to spend as she sees fit. If I must punish you to convince you, I will.”

“No. You won’t. I’m leaving.” He swam toward the arch, and she centered herself in the space to bar his way.

Hoping it would persuade her to stand aside, he pulled the cutlass from its scabbard. At the moment, she had no weapon but her spells. Of course, those were formidable enough.

She sneered. “Do you truly believe a blade Umberlee put in your hand will cut a waveservant?”

“I think it might,” he said, though her apparent faith in her own invulnerability, crazy as it appeared, was almost enough to make him wonder.

“Think on this, then. Even if you could kill me, what would happen then?”

“Myth Nantar is supposedly full of sea-elves, mermen, and by your own account shalarins who don’t care a snake’s toenail about Umberlee anymore. Maybe I can talk one of them into helping me back to dry land.”

“After you’ve killed one of their own? How would your folk treat a stranger who’d done the same? Even if somebody did decide to help you, do you really believe it would do any good? You, the slayer of Umberlee’s servant, would still be at the bottom of the sea, where all creatures live only at her sufferance. Rest assured she would avenge me before you could escape.”

He hesitated. If it was a bluff, she was selling it well.

Maybe the sensible course was to play along at least until he was back on land. It was possible that with her powers, Tu’ala’keth could even help him locate the cult’s lair. Tymora knew, he hadn’t had any luck on his own.

He let his shoulders slump as if in resignation. “All right. You win. I’m at yourand your goddess’s service.”

For now. But, Lady, you will never see your goal.

When they reached the shallows, Tu’ala’keth stroked the neck of her seahorse, and the animal obediently came to a halt. Anton stopped more awkwardly, nearly slipping from the back of his steed, and the creature tossed its ruddy, black-eyed head in annoyance.

The riders dismounted, Tu’ala’keth waved her hand in dismissal, and the seahorses swam away to roam and forage as they would so long as they didn’t stray too far from the island. She wanted them to hear and come if she called.

That accomplished, she and the human swam up the slope of the seabed. They soon reached a point where a person could set his feet down and wade with the upper part of his body out of the water, and Anton chose to do so.

She compelled herself to do likewise, meanwhile striving to conceal her trepidation. Such an emotion was weak and unworthy. She had come on Umberlee’s business, and the goddess would protect her.

Still it was one thing to be certain of her deity’s power and another to place her confidence in the contrivances of the Arcane Caste. If the talismans they’d provided failed to work properly, she was in for discomfort, even pain.

When she raised her upper body out of water the sun was even brighter, but with her goggles in place, she could see. The air passing through her gill slits felt strange, thin, but sustained her nonetheless. The latter benefit was due to the enchantment woven into her silverweave armor, a fine mesh tunic of worked coral.

Anton made a retching sound and, as she turned to look, finished coughing the water from his lungs. He straightened up, wiped his mouth and shaggy black whiskers, and asked, “Are you doing all right?”

“Of course.” She hefted her stone trident. “Onward.”