Sardinakh carefully did not glance at Mlawerlath's approaching form as he said in a cool, almost flippant tone, "Why don't you?"
Both sahuagin hissed to show their displeasure at that, but when he neither looked at them or made any reaction, they were forced to move on. Their black eyes were staring, always staring. Ineffectual gogglers. He turned his back on them to show fish-heads held no fear for this wrinkled old tako.
"There is newsss both good and bad from our ssspiesss assshore," Narardiir began stiffly. "The dragon Hoondarrh, the one called 'the Red Rage of Mintarn,' has not long ago begun a Long Sssleep in his cave. Ssshould we invade, he won't intervene."
"The good news," Sardinakh agreed calmly, his eyes now on Mlawerlath as the tako passed over the outermost sentries, regarded but unchallenged. "And the bad?"
The other sahuagin spoke this time-and, by the mercy of whatever god governed sea refuse, did so plainly. "Recent dryland pirate smuggling and slaving has driven the human Tarnheel Embuirhan, who styles himself the Tyrant of Mintarn and is the dryland ruler of the isle, to hire a company of mercenaries to serve Mintarn as a harbor garrison. A human force, and highly-trained, by name the 'Black Buckler Band.' It is thought, and we concur, that they won't hesitate to wake the dragon if beset by foes who seem on the verge of victory."
"There isss little elssse to report," Narardiir added, "but-"
"That is a good thing," Sardinakh interrupted smoothly, "because Mlawerlath is here."
As he spoke, the younger tako flung out his tentacles in all directions, to serve as a brake to his powerfu journeying, and slid into Sardinakh's office with hi: tentacles rippling, water swirling around them, am grace hurled to the currents.
Befitting an underling in disgrace, Mlawerlatl passed between the hissing sahuagin and Sardinakh': desk, and struck the far wall of the chamber with i solid thump. The old but coral-buttressed bulkhea(scarcely quivered.
"Hail Sardinakh, master of all our voyages, Mlawerlath said hastily, venting many bubbles in hii haste and nervousness. This one salutes you and a the same time humbly beseeches your pardon at nr lateness. This one has devised a cunning plan, a! promised, and has come to unfold it before you."
He glanced at the two sahuagin and blushed a littli in his nervousness. His purpling promptly deepene‹ when the fish-heads hissed mockingly, "Cunning plan cunning plan," and leaned forward to hear with exag gerated sculling of their webbed claws.
"My officers are somewhat excited," Sardinakh ex plained in dry tones, ignoring fish-head glares. "Ignon them, and speak freely. Keep me not waiting."
Mlawerlath jetted forth bubbles in a sigh, slid somi tentacles around the nearest mast-pillar, more for thi reassurance an anchor-point brought than for any thing else, and said, "This one's plan should eliminati both the merfolk who dwell in the harbor, and the nev dryland garrison of human mercenaries."
The sahuagin hissed loudly at the thought tha their news was obviously old tidings elsewhere ii Downfoam, and Sardinakh took care that the beak fluttering that signified tako mirth was well hiddei from his underling. Mlawerlath's tone of speech woul‹ have better matched the announcement: "This one has devised a plan that this one hopes will win this one back a place in good favor with Sardinakh."
"Please excuse this one's plain recitation of simple facts," Mlawerlath began haltingly. "It is intended as no insult, but to anchor the scheme. Thus, then; for some years, the merfolk of Mintarn have praised and hungrily devoured oysters brought from the Shining Sea nigh eastern Calimshan and the Border Kingdoms, where the waters are warmed by the outflow of the Lake of Steam. Suldolphans-the humans of the city whose dwellers harvest most of the oysters-like these oysters, which have somehow acquired the name 'Mabadann,' done in lemon. So, too, do the merfolk of Mintarn."
The two sahuagin showed their fangs in unison, hen, in great yawns designed to display their bore-lorn. Sardinakh ignored them, but Mlawerlath, obviously flustered, continued his speech in stammering haste. "I-in the friendship feasts th-they hosted to welcome the new garrison, whom after all they must trust ind work with, the merfolk fed the human warriors these oysters."
In his quickening enthusiasm, the young tako forsook his anchor to flail the canted deck with his tentacles as he moved restlessly across the room, then back again. The humans so dote on these oysters now that the water-filled barrels of live Mabadann oysters are the most eagerly awaited shipments into Mintarn. The drylanders have even taken to sneaking some shipments past the merfolk to get more for themselves."
The sahuagin were drifting a little closer now, their heads turning to hear better; a sure sign of interest.
Mlawerlath wanned to his telling. "Now, in coasta caves nigh Suldolphor dwells a malenti, Jilurgah Rluroon by name, who owes this one a debt. Long age she perfected a magic that puts creatures into stasis- unbreathing, unseeing, as if dead-for short times with set trigger conditions."
The tako's tentacles were almost dancing with ex citement now. "If she can be induced to cast her spell or a hundred or so armed bullywugs," Mlawerlath added his voice rising, "of those who dwell near at hand, or the Border Kingdoms coast, south of Yallasch-anc Jilurgala sets its trigger to awaken them when theii barrel is opened, they can be the next shipment of oys ters smuggled past the merfolk and into the drylandei kitchens of Mintarn."
It is rare for a tako's mirth to be loud, but Sardi-nakh's quivering, loud venting of raging bubbles was uproarious laughter. It drowned out the amused hooting of the sahuagin, and left the commander of Down-foam barely able to signal his approval to his flushed and quivering underling.
To it, O Master of Oysters!" Sardinakh roared, tearing apart a waterlogged bench with a sudden surge oi his tentacles. "Go, and come back victorious!"
"Truly," Brandor muttered, as two of the tallest, most muscular Black Buckler warriors minced out oi his way, twirling their hands in mockeries of spellcast-ing and crying out as if in mortal fear as they rolled their eyes and grinned at him, "this is The Place Where Guards Snore At Their Posts."
He ignored their shouts of laughter and the inevitable bruising of hilt-first daggers bouncing off his slender shoulders-insulting reminders that as a Black Buckler himself, Brandor had recently been publicly reminded by a senior warrior that he must be ready to do battle with his fingers and dagger, should his spells prove too pitiful. The apprentice pounded down the slippery steps that led to the kitchens… and his current punishment.
Brandor was forever collecting punishments. Since the arrival of the Bucklers on seawind-swept Mintarn, his daily acquisitions of reprimands and duty-tasks had reached a truly impressive rate, even for the youngest weakling ever to wear the Black Buckler badge.
It did not help that he was the sole apprentice of the accomplished but aging Druskin, supreme sorcerer of the Black Buckler Band. That made the other two band mages see "the little grinning fool Brandor" as a future rival, to be ridiculed and discredited at every opportunity. Most of the strapping Buckler warriors, he knew, saw him as a pitiful excuse for a man, to be made sport of until he fled into the sea and rid them of his face and his pranks.
Ah, yes, his pranks-his only source of fun, and his only weapons. Long ago he'd fallen into the habit of responding to bullying with his quick wits and nimble fingers. Those who pestered Brandor the Fool paid the price, be they ever so mighty-and their colleagues roared with laughter.
Mintarn was small and mostly bleak, its folk suspicious of armed outsiders and guarded in their deeds, slow to welcome curious wanderers-and slower still to welcome one who wore both the Black Buckler badge and the robes of a wizard. Boredom had led