“You’re too hard on yourself. You talk about the beauty and grandeur manifest in Umberlee’s cruelty, but surely you understand that no matter how eloquently you describe it, most people will never understand.” The Grandmaster knew, he didn’t. “They’ll keep praying to her solely out of fear, and look for excuses to turn away.”
“Hmm. It may be so.”
“Anyway, don’t fret over what you told me. It was just one tiny, insignificant deception in a whole life of lies, hearing and telling them both.” He sighed.
“Plainly, I do not understand humans. I hoped conversation would brighten your mood, but thus far, I have failed at that as well. Does it help to reflect that you only knew Shandri Clayhill briefly and that she never really knew you at all?”
“No, because that’s true every time I take a lover. I’m always playing a part, and I always slip away when my job in that port is finished. But I’ll tell you what does cheer and frighten me at the same time: I may be done with it now. Out of the game.”
“Spying, you mean?”
He nodded. “I know two ways to go about it. The first is to be as inconspicuous as a mouseor ratand sniff around the edges of secrets. It’s safer, and because nobody really notices you, you can come back and spy on the same rogues another day.
“So that’s the way I’ve always preferred, but it won’t always yield the information you need in time to do anybody any good. When it won’t serve, you have to hobnob with the chief scoundrels. You have to establish yourself as a friend, an important accomplice… or a lover.”
“But then,” said Tu’ala’keth, “it is more likely your foes will recognize you for what you truly are and remember you thereafter.”
“Yes, and that’s what’s happened to me. I can’t spy on pirates and smugglers anymore, not with Teldar and Vurgrom themselves knowing my identity. Of course, Turmish has other enemies. My masters could reassign me somewhere removed from the sea. But I don’t know if I want that. Maybe this turn of events is a sign it’s time to try something else.”
“My friend,” said Tu’ala’keth, her cool contralto voice unusually gentle, “you must remember: Your life is not your own to use as you wish. You belong to Umberlee. Someday, if we are victorious, she may release you from her service. But for now, perhaps it is unwise to anticipate, lest it make you discontent.”
“Right.” He realized he had more to say to her, and even though he knew it would be futile and counterproductive, the sudden urge was too strong to resist. “Tu’ala’keth, our errand… I warned you before, the Cult of the Dragon will never help you kill wyrms. It’s contrary to everything they believe.”
“They pay homage to the dark powers. They will bow to the will of Umberlee.”
“No, they won’t. They may have priests among them, but even so, their truest gods are dragons and their own delusions. You need an impressive achievement to convince the other shalarins to return to your faith, I understand that, but helping me fight the cult will do it. I explained they’re a threat to your world as much as mine.”
“Even if that is true,” said Tu’ala’keth, “no one in Seros knows of the menace, so no one would notice its elimination. What people do perceive is the dragon flight, slaughtering everything in its path. That is the doom we must avert.”
“All right, I’ll concede that. But after the Turmian navy takes the cult enclave, you and I can pore over the papers, spellbooks, and what have you. Maybe the answer’s in there.”
“What if they destroy the records when they see their cause is lost? What if the only man who could help us dies in the assault? What if it takes so long to summon your fleet that Seros perishes in the meantime? No. We will do it my way.”
“Let’s at least approach the cultists like spies as opposed to rapping on their front gate like peddlers.”
“Impossible. They are members of a secret fellowship ensconced in a remote and hidden stronghold. How could we, or any strangers, pass among them without attracting notice? Oh, we could scout their fortress from a distance, perhaps even sneak in and out in the middle of the night, but that will not further our purpose.”
“It might. Somehow.”
She smiled, her teeth a gleam of white in the gloom. “I realize you think I am reckless, foolish” “Suicidal.”
“But you must have faith. Never forget you are Umberlee’s knight, now graced with her sacred sword, a mark of greater favor even than the blade she permitted you to take from her altar.”
Enough of this, he thought. I tried, but you wouldn’t listen. What happens next is your own fault.
They talked a little more then fell into a weary, companionable silence. Sail distended, propelled by the wind Tu’ala’keth had conjured, the boat rose and fell as it cut through the swell. The motion was soothing, and he hoped it might soon rock her to sleep.
Tu’ala’keth marveled as Anton, face cold and intent, cut down the pirates. He’d always been a formidable fighter, but at this moment, with the greatsword in hand, he was magnificent. She’d never been more certain that Umberlee had appointed him to be her comrade.
Then, unexpectedly, her pride in him gave way to a twinge of apprehension then to full-blown dread. Her emotions changed for no reason she could comprehend until the filthy street transformed into Captain Teldar’s sailboat, with the mast rising above her recumbent form like a finger pointing at the stars.
The slumber of her people differed somewhat from that of mermen, or, she assumed, humans, because of the membrane that veiled a shalarin’s eyes. Unlike those flaps of opaque flesh called eyelids, it was translucent enough to allow unconscious recognition of prominent shapes, which often then figured in the sleeper’s dreams.
Thus, she’d registered Anton’s proximity. The spy had risen from the bow, drawn the greatsword, and crept to within reach of her. Now he was poising the blade for a death stroke. The mast and triangular sail were in the way, hampering the sort of cut for which the weapon was designed, but he’d evidently decided a thrust would do.
She tried to spring to her feet, but her wounded leg throbbed and made the action slow and awkward. She realized she had no chance of avoiding the blade.
In desperation, she silently called to the wind. She’d conjured it sometime ago, long enough that it might no longer heed her, but it seemed her only chance.
The wind howled, gusting from a different quadrant than before, and the boat bucked violently. Anton lurched off balance and flailed, fighting to avoid toppling overboard. In such a condition, he couldn’t complete the attack, and Tu’ala’keth dived over the side.
As always, she felt a thrill of relief as the sea embraced her. She belonged in the water, and no silverweave or goggles, no matter how artfully crafted, could make it seem otherwise. But she didn’t pause to savor the familiar sensations of her natural environment, the caress of the currents and the perpetual background drone. She was too angry.
After all they’d endured together, she’d believed Anton accepted his role in Umberlee’s plan. She’d certainly done everything in her power to teach, inspire, and reassure him. Yet evidently her efforts had gone for naught. The human had betrayed herand, far more important, the goddessas soon as he discovered an opportunity.
He could have known glory as Umberlee’s faithful champion. Now, by his own choosing, he was only a tool for Tu’ala’keth to use, of no more intrinsic worth or significance than Vurgrom or Shandri Clayhill.
He was a tool, moreover, that had evidently outlived its function when they escaped from Dragon Isle. Now the intelligent course of action was to kill him, just to ensure he never found another chance to hinder her schemes.
She sneered to think how easy it would be. She was safe below the waves where he couldn’t reach or even see her, and he was afloat on a vast expanse of water that would answer to her whims. Her battles in Immurk’s Hold had depleted both her magic and her stamina, but she had enough of both remaining to obliterate a single apostate air-breather.