Queen of the Depths Page 11

  He lumbered up onto the verandah and flopped down in his chair, which creaked under his weight. He picked up the wineskin he’d left beside his battle-axe and squeezed a spray of a tart Sembian white into his mouth.

  “Captain Clayhill,” murmured a contralto voice, “is disrespectful.”

  Vurgrom turned. It was Tu’ala’keth who’d crept up behind him. But she looked different—even stranger and less human, maybe, because of her spindly frame, dorsal fin, and lustrous black eyes.

  Vurgrom realized he was staring and shifted his gaze a little. “It’s good for morale,” he said, “when the captain celebrates with the crew. Shandri’s shrewd to dance with the orc.”

  The shalarin smiled. “You are generous, and she is ungrateful.”

  “Well … maybe a bit.” It was poor leadership to discuss Shandri with someone of lesser rank, particularly an officer under her command. But Tu’ala’keth had expressed his own opinion so succinctly it was difficult not to agree with her.

  Besides, he now recognized that she didn’t seem different so much as more … pleasant to look on, maybe, or at least sympathetic. Her frame wasn’t gaunt, as he’d always imagined, but rather slim and graceful, like the body of an elf, and her dark, narrow features conveyed warmth and empathy despite the impediment of the goggles.

  “I marvel at her arrogance,” the shalarin said. “By Umberlee’s grace, she has conducted one successful raid, and now she deems herself better than the benefactor who made it possible, who has taken more plunder than she can even imagine, whose dread name is spoken even in Serôs beneath the waves.”

  Tickled by the flattery, Vurgrom grinned. “It’s because of my victories that I can afford to indulge her foolishness.” He supposed it was truer than not. He’d taken his share of ships and sacked his share of hamlets, even if his adventures hadn’t been quite as glorious or profitable as he liked to claim.

  “Your forbearance does you credit. Unless it reaches a point where others believe you weak. Then the lesser men who have always feared your strength will swarm on you.”

  “I didn’t need that bit of advice, but thank you, anyway.” For a newcomer and a member of an exotic species, she betrayed an admirable comprehension of the realities of life on Dragon Isle. “I wonder, though, why you gave it to me. I thought you’d decided Shandri is the Bitch Queen’s pet and, therefore, entitled to your loyalty.”

  “Umberlee inspires,” said Tu’ala’keth. “When it pleases her, she grants strength and luck to her petitioners. But she owes no loyalty to small, limited beings like ourselves. She has no compunction about abandoning us if ever we fall short of her requirements.”

  Glistening membranes flicked across Tu’ala’keth’s eyes. The silvery flicker fascinated Vurgrom, and for a moment, he almost lost the thread of the conversation.

  “Has Shandri fallen short?” he managed.

  “It may be so. I came to your house that first day because the goddess whispered that herein, I might discover a spirit like a shark’s tooth. But if it belonged to Captain Clayhill, would I constantly need to coax and urge her onward?”

  “Maybe,” Vurgrom said, “you found the right house, but the wrong soul.”

  “That possibility,” said Tu’ala’keth, “has occurred to me.”

  “Let’s speak plainly, then. Sail with me, not one of my underlings. I can use your counsel and magic, and I promise Umberlee blood aplenty.” It would be a joy to see Shandri’s face when she found out he’d lured her prized ship’s cleric away.

  But to his chagrin, Tu’ala’keth seemed in no hurry to agree to his proposal. Instead, she studied him thoughtfully. “You may be the one,” she said. “I would like it to be so. But my preferences are irrelevant. What matters is that this time I see clearly and waste no more of my mistress’s grace.”

  “You must have heard tales of my exploits.”

  “How could I avoid it, abiding in this house?” He wasn’t sure if she was mocking him or not. If so, it didn’t anger him the way it usually did. “More importantly, I have seen you, and the strength in your limbs.” She ran a fingertip along his forearm.

  Her webbed hand of midnight blue made his flesh look bone-white by contrast. Her skin was cool and silky smooth, almost slippery, as though still wet from the sea. The light, gliding contact afforded him a wholly unexpected thrill of sensual pleasure.

  “I can well believe,” she continued, “this arm has slain a thousand men and could slaughter a thousand more.”

  “Well, then,” he said, his voice thick in his throat.

  She took her hand away. “But when folk speak of the greatest corsairs on the Sea of Fallen Stars, they name Teldar first and Vurgrom the Mighty second. You have sought to supplant him for years and never accomplished your purpose. I wonder then, can you truly be brave and merciless enough to serve as Umberlee’s blade?”

  “Yes! If you—and she—will only help me, I’ll master all the Pirate Isles and plunder every prize my ships can reach.”

  The shalarin smiled. “Well said. I will ponder the matter, and we will speak again.” She turned and walked back into the mansion. In a moment, the shadows swallowed her.

  Tu’ala’keth had quarters in Vurgrom’s mansion, but preferred to rest in the sea. Anton knew the route she took from the sprawling coquina house down to the water and thus could intercept her along the way when they wanted to confer unobserved.

  Even though it was summer, the night air carried a chill. He hunkered down in the usual shadowy notch between two buildings; wrapped himself in his scarlet cape; and reflecting sourly on just how much of his life had been spent in uncomfortable circumstances, and settled himself to wait.

  For a long while, he had nothing but scurrying, chittering rats and the rhythmic boom and hiss of the surf to keep him company. Finally, though, when the stars were fading and the eastern sky was lightening to gray, the shalarin came striding down the street, head held high, trident canted over her shoulder.

  Anton rose and stepped out into the open. “I expected you sooner,” he said.

  “Have you learned something?” she asked.

  “Unfortunately, no. I just wanted to find out if you’ve had any luck.”

  “Not yet. That is why I am attempting a new ploy.”

  Anton frowned. “I don’t like the sound of that. I know the pirates. You don’t. You need to check with me before you make a move.”

  “You could not have dissuaded me, for the need to try something different is obvious. We won a place among the reavers and killed the foes who resented us for it. It was a good beginning, but since then we have accomplished nothing at all.

  “Indeed,” she continued, “I do not know how you expected to. The affairs of Immurk’s Hold are too complicated. Ships constantly set sail for undisclosed destinations, and every captain keeps his particular secrets. To make it even worse, Dragon Isle is only one of several pirate strongholds. We must rely on hearsay to assess what’s happening on Alphar Isle and Mirg Isle, and most of the time, we can’t even ask directly for news of the Cult of the Dragon, lest our curiosity arouse suspicion. I do not understand how spies ever discover anything about anything.”

  “You have to be patient,” Anton said. “We poke about and poke about, and it seems nothing’s happening. Then, if we’re lucky, we peek in the right window, and suddenly we have the answer. Trust me, that’s the way it works.”

  “The wyrms ravage Serôs,” she replied. “Umberlee’s altars stand neglected. I cannot afford patience beyond a certain point.”

  He sighed. “You’d better tell me what you did.”

  “I prompted Shandri Clayhill to refuse when Vurgrom calls her to his bed. Once she was out of the way, I began the process of fixing his interest on me.”

  “I don’t understand. Our two peoples aren’t drawn to one another in that way.”

  “Normally, no. But I know spells to enhance my personal magnetism to such an extent that it will not matter what is natural and what is not. At le
ast, not to Vurgrom. Captain Clayhill says he often makes loves to females of other races, and if that is not enough, I mean to persuade him I am the key to realizing his aspirations. Desire and ambition will twine together in his mind, each deepening the other. Then, as I tease him and lead him on, I will cozen his secrets out of him.”

  Anton shook his head. “It’s a bad idea, for all sorts of reasons. For one, you don’t know Vurgrom’s sitting on the information we need, so you can’t justify the added risk.”

  “He is one of the two most important men on Dragon Isle, and the one to whom Umberlee led me.”

  “I led you to Vurgrom simply because it was likely his faction was recruiting.”

  “But you are Umberlee’s agent, and even were you not, she reveals herself through chance.”

  “I can’t be sure about that, but I do know enough about divine magic to understand that when you cast a spell to increase your force of personality, everybody’s going to feel the pull. Some other priest or wizard is likely to realize you’re trying to enthrall Vurgrom and give him a warning.”

  “I will approach Vurgrom at quiet moments, and fade into the shadows when our discourse is through. Other folk will have little opportunity to scrutinize me while the magic lends me grace.”

  “What about Captain Clayhill? It doesn’t matter that she’s rejected him. I guarantee you, given what they’ve shared together, she’s still keeping an eye on him. She’ll notice what’s going on and realize you convinced her to end the affair, not for her benefit, but to open up opportunities for yourself.”

  “That,” said Tu’ala’keth, “is where you come in. Shandri Clayhill is worried about keeping you aboard Shark’s Bliss, and as her history attests, she is willing to use her charms to secure her ends. Encourage her to seduce you; then keep her out of my way.”

  “What if I’m not the sort of man who lights her candle?”

  “She gave herself to Vurgrom. How particular can she be?”

  He laughed. “There is that. I’m going to be busy, playing jump-in-the-daisies with her and palavering with the other factions, too. But since I see I can’t talk you out of this, we’ll try it. Just be wary. Maybe you look at Vurgrom and see a fat, randy sot, but he’s dangerous. He’s murdered dozens in his time, and if he suspects you of tampering with his mind, a carnal itch won’t stop him from adding you to the tally.”

  A caravel such as Shark’s Bliss could never go unattended, even in port. She always needed a hand or two to guard and maintain her. But while her crew had loot to squander in the stews and taverns of Immurk’s Hold, they had no interest in staying aboard a minute longer than necessary.

  Such being the case, Anton wasn’t particularly surprised to see Captain Clayhill alone on deck. Someone else was surely aboard, but maybe he was working below.

  The absence of her underlings gave the pirate a reasonable amount of room to practice with her new greatsword. Grunting, face intent, she stamped back and forth, circled, blocked, and cut. Her ridiculous skirts swirled about her legs, and her jewels sparkled in the hot afternoon sunshine. The enormous blade, however, didn’t gleam even when bathed in brightness. A murky dullness oozed inside the steel.

  Anton rowed straight on toward the ship floating at anchor in the harbor. The breakrocks, a system of artificial reefs, lurked beneath the waves to rend the hull of any large vessel whose pilot hadn’t learned to thread the maze, but his little boat didn’t draw enough water for it to matter. He shipped the oars, tied his craft to Shark’s Bliss, and swarmed up a rope onto the larger vessel.

  By that time, of course, Shandri Clayhill had long since seen him coming. Still, as he swung himself over the rail, she took a lurching step toward him. The greatsword twitched an inch or two upward, as if she were contemplating a head cut, and her jittery nerves had given away her intent.

  Anton grinned. “Easy, Captain! It’s not the Sembian navy paying a call, only your ship’s mage.”

  “I see that!” she snapped. She grabbed the greatsword’s scabbard, shoved the weapon in hard enough to clank the guard against the silver mouth of the sheath, and set it down on the deck. “I’m simply surprised. I haven’t seen much of you lately.”

  “I know,” he said, putting on a rueful expression. “The truth is, after the way I acted when we divvied up the swag, I was ashamed to face you. I was greedy and arrogant, and I’m sorry.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. She plainly hadn’t expected an attempt at conciliation and wasn’t certain what to make of it. “If you’re so sorry,” she said, “tell me what became of Kassur and Chadrezzan. I know they didn’t simply run off. The mute wouldn’t leave his grimoires behind.”

  Anton had already decided to give her a version of the truth. In his experience, such confidences opened the way for other forms of intimacy.

  He made a show of hesitation then said, “I killed them. I killed them in self-defense. They came after me. But after offending you, I feared to tell you.”

  “So why do it now?”

  “To regain your trust, if it isn’t too late.”

  “You’re more likely to make me angry all over again. If you hadn’t stormed out that night, it needn’t have come to slaughter.”

  “I truly regret quarreling with you but not because it would have averted trouble with the Talassans. We were going to fight eventually. I think you knew that.”

  “Well, maybe the wrong party survived. I’ve lost two valuable officers, each a more powerful spellcaster than you.”

  “But neither as wily a tactician nor as sprightly a dancer.” He smiled. “Besides, Tu’ala’keth says you don’t need Kassur or anyone else in particular. The Queen of the Depths has marked you for greatness. Why, then, would you worry about attracting followers? We lesser mortals must vie to convince you we’re worthy to sail under your command.”

  Her lips quirked upward. He could tell she liked the flattery but doubted its sincerity. “If you’re eager to remain aboard Shark’s Bliss, then why spend your time reveling with the chieftains of the other factions?”

  He shrugged. “I told you: I felt sheepish hanging around Vurgrom’s mansion after making a jackass of myself. Besides, if folk want to stand me drinks and praise me as if I were Immurk come again, why would I say no? It’s a pleasant way to pass the time. But it means nothing. In fact, it’s beginning to bore me.

  “We should go back to work. This is the height of the raiding season. Even with dragon flights wreaking havoc, the sea lanes are fat with trading vessels. Yet Shark’s Bliss sits in the harbor.”

  She pulled a sour face. “I want to go out again. We can’t build a lasting reputation on one venture, no matter how bold or successful. But the crew still has plenty of gold to spend.”

  “It doesn’t matter. They’ll go if you tell them to. They believe in you.”

  Yet she, for whatever buried reason, found it difficult to believe in herself. She wanted to be strong, and in reality, she was. Yet she sported the impractical gown and the rest of her regalia to conjure the image of a colorful, eccentric pirate captain out of legend, because she feared the underlying reality would impress no one. More important, she hungered for avowals of admiration and fidelity.

  It was all Anton needed to discern to worm his way into her affections. The rest was simply a matter of glibness.

  “Then we’ll sail,” she said. “We’ll buy provisions and lay our plans.”

  “I’m glad. But I should go now. I interrupted your weapons practice and you’re probably eager to get back to it.” He looked for a twist of disappointment in her face and found it readily enough. “Unless you’d like to spar?”

  She grinned. “I would. I have wooden swords in my cabin.”

  “Why not use live blades? We’re skillful enough to avoid cutting each other, and with a new sword to learn, you ought to practice some parries against a real weapon.”

  He’d watched her dogged training—her near-obsessive labor to make herself as formidable a combatant as any in the
Pirate Isles—enough to notice she only practiced with the greatsword while isolated aboard Shark’s Bliss. Since he’d handled the weapon itself before she’d claimed it, he reckoned he knew why.

  She averted her gaze a little, as though abashed, and he was certain of it. “That’s not a good idea,” she said.

  “Why not? Because of the spirit inside the blade?”

  “Yes. It’s … bloodthirsty. I’ve decided it’s dangerous to draw it except when I’m alone or have foes to kill.”

  “But Shandri,” he said, “you’re the mistress of the sword as surely as you’re the mistress of this ship. It can’t do anything you don’t permit. But I imagine it’s like a dog. It will keep testing you and trying to get its own way until you prove you’re in control.”

  “Do you truly think so?”

  “Yes, so let’s fence.” He picked up the greatsword and tossed it to her then drew his cutlass. “Just take it slow at first.”

  “All right.” She took hold of the leather-wrapped hilt and pulled the long weapon from the scabbard. As she came on guard, it quivered, and darkness billowed up the blade like blood dispersing through water. Anton felt a pang of unease and wondered if what he’d suggested was as stupid as it suddenly seemed. But even if so, it was too late to back out now.

  She slowly cut at his flank, and he brought the cutlass across in a leisurely parry. The greatsword leaped high, above the defense, and hacked at his head. He sprang backward, and the vicious stroke hurtled down, missing by a matter of inches. Shandri started to rush after him then jerked herself to a halt. The dark blade shuddered in her grasp.

  “You see?” she gasped, shame in her voice.

  “I see the hound slipped the leash for a second, but then you regained control. Let’s try some more.”

  For a few slow exchanges, everything was all right. Then, when they sped up a little, the greatsword spun downward, trying to sever his foot at the ankle. This time, though, the muscles in her bare, tattooed arms bunching, Shandri stopped it in mid-stroke.