Mel Odom - Rising Tide

Laaqueel recognized it as the truth even as he spoke the words. She knew he'd had dealings with the druids of the Vilhon Reach, gathering more information in his dark quest and striking bargains. He also had an agent of sorts in the Sea of Fallen Stars, a pirate called Vurgrom. She had seen Iakhovas talking to the blustering pirate a handful of times through a crystal ball kept at the sahuagin palace. Most of the conversations had revolved around another pirate captain, a half-elf woman called Azla, who seemed determined to work at cross purposes to Vurgrom. Laaqueel had never been part of those conversations, though. Vurgrom had also delivered some of the items Iakhovas searched for by way of dimensional doors.

Iakhovas had a number of maps of the Sea of Fallen Stars in his private quarters. The few times she'd been allowed to view them only briefly, she'd seen notations scattered across the charts.

"Time to go," the wizard announced. "They're waiting for us and these are not men to be kept waiting." He gestured to the door.

Laaqueel went, but she kept the gifts bestowed upon her by Sekolah close to hand, fearing she would have to use them. Iakhovas followed closely behind her.

A carriage awaited them at the front of the inn. The inlaid wood and the draped windows advertised the presence of wealth. The driver was clad in sky blue and crimson finery and wore a cap. His eyes never met Iakhovas's or Laaqueel's. Two crossbowmen stood at the back of the carriage, their weapons naked and ready.

Laaqueel hesitated when the driver opened the door. Riding in the carriage would mark them instantly as wealthy targets in the pirate city. She didn't like the idea of being trapped in Skaug's streets in terrain that she was so unused to.

"My lady," the driver said, offering his hand like a proper gentleman.

"Get into the carriage," Iakhovas commanded. "No one who lives on this island will dare attack it."

Reluctantly, Laaqueel allowed the driver to help her into the carriage. She sat back on one of the plush seats and gazed out the window. Taverns, festhalls and boarding houses lined the street, rubbing shoulder to shoulder with trade shops and mercantiles that offered services and goods. The promontory the inn was on provided a good view of the docks, showing the general portage offered to the pirate vessels as well as the private docks for the corsairs. Many of the sailors and passersby gave the carriage a lot of attention, but none seemed willing to draw attention themselves. The malenti closed her hand around the haft of her long sword.

Iakhovas sat across from her, arms spreading across the backrest of the bench. He appeared relaxed and totally content.

The carriage tilted slightly on its springs as the driver pulled himself up into the seat. A moment more and the carriage rocked forward. The horses' hooves rang against the rocky street.

"Who are we going to see?" Laaqueel asked.

"A man named Burlor Maliceprow," Iakhovas answered. "He's called the Portmaster of Skaug, and even though this island empire knows no official ruler, Maliceprow's word bonds everyone who lives here. He's assembled the men we're to meet."

"Who are these men?" Laaqueel asked.

"Pirates," he answered. "The fiercest bunch of men I've been able to rally to my standard. Maliceprow has relationships with all of them."

"When did you arrange this?"

"Years ago." Iakhovas smiled at her with that disconcerting, two-eyed gaze. "I've been known, little malenti, by a number of names throughout my life. Some of the undersea races know me as 'the Taker.' You know me as Iakhovas, or One Who Swims with Sekolah. The sahuagin know me as a prince. Here I have adopted the identity of Black Alaric."

Laaqueel shook her head, struggling to believe everything he told her, yet knowing it was true.

"I must tell you, Black Alaric has had almost as many lives as I." Iakhovas looked out through the window. "The first Black Alaric died in the Year of Giant's Rage, over fourteen hundred years ago. He was the pirate king and captain who brought the pirates to the Nelanther after they were turned away from the Velen Peninsula, then there was the Black Alaric that brought down House Ithal in the Year of Scarlet Scourges. Other Black Alarics followed, each purporting to be the original and the legend continued to grow until it was believed he's a man who cannot die. He has united the pirates in seven major wars along the Sword Coast in the last fourteen centuries."

"You propose to become this Black Alaric?" Laaqueel asked.

Iakhovas took a black crepe bandanna from his pocket and tied it over his lower face. He pulled his cowl over his hair and the top of his face, cinching it tight so that only his eyes were revealed. "Little malenti, I am Black Alaric."

Laaqueel remained silent, thinking, realizing that his masquerade had them both at risk here in the pirate stronghold.

"It had been nearly a hundred years since the last Black Alaric was heard from," Iakhovas said. "Five years ago, after I'd decided what I was going to do about the Sword Coast and knew that the item I got from Serpentil was somewhere in that area, I found the newest man who dared to wear this mask and killed him." He smiled, cold and evil. "Not only am I a sahuagin prince, little malenti, but I am a pirate king."

The carriage came to a stop. Hurrying, the driver climbed down and opened Iakhovas's door.

The wizard stepped out in the mask, and the driver moved back in fear. "Black Alaric," he whispered before he caught himself.

Laaqueel climbed out of the carriage behind him, her hand never far from her long sword. She gazed in wide-eyed wonder at the great house before her.

It was set on a slope on the east side of the port. High walls surrounded the estate, enclosing grounds that had been well tended. Flowering shrubs and trees of every color covered the landscape, leaving room for inlaid brick walks that effectively divided the estate into various areas. From where she stood, Laaqueel saw one such meeting place that contained stone benches and a large stone table.

Standing four stories tall, the house loomed over the estate, carefully crafted so that many of the rooms had views out over the sea. Where most of the houses in Skaug had been built of wood, Maliceprow Manor and its stables and outbuildings had been constructed of cut stone elegantly laid. Guards stood at their posts.

Iakhovas led the way up the stairs to the main house, showing an easy familiarity with the place. Having no choice, Laaqueel followed, feeling out of her depth. She had no business there and felt the wizard should have left her at the palace where she could have gone about the preparations she needed to make for the upcoming battle.

"Alaric, join us over here, if you please."

Turning on the verandah, Laaqueel spotted the speaker. He was a wide man with hard lines and a life of luxury that had let him go to fat, but the way he moved to stand from the small table where he'd been sitting let Laaqueel know he was still quick on his feet. His hair had been soft brown but was now going to gray in streaks, cut squared off at his jawline. Hazel eyes swept over the malenti daring enough to almost make her blush, something she hadn't experienced in decades.

She thought perhaps it might be because she was aware of the illusion Iakhovas had wrapped around her with his glamour, knowing how her clothes revealed her upper body.

"Laaqueel," Iakhovas said in the politest tone the malenti had ever heard him use, "may I introduce you to Portmaster Burlor Maliceprow, our host and the controlling power behind Skaug."

Maliceprow smiled at the introduction and took Laaqueel's hands in one of his. The other hand, the malenti noted, had been replaced by a mithral hook that gleamed with a razor's edge.

"Such a charming lady you have with you, Alaric." Maliceprow kissed the back of Laaqueel's hand then released it.