Kicking across the room, Huaanton sat in the open shark's mouth throne. He kept the inlaid gold and shark bone trident upright beside him.
"I want a sign that this is what Sekolah wants," he demanded.
"Sacrilege!" Laaqueel exploded, moving toward the sahuagin king with enough fire in her voice and menace in her approach that the royal guards moved quickly to intercept her.
Her emotion came out of the conviction of her office. Born a malenti, an automatic outcast from her own people, she'd been given nothing but the Great Shark to believe in, and she did believe. Even with the involvement of Iakhovas, she believed that there had been some reason she'd been allowed to glimpse the truth of the legend and find the ancient wizard, though she couldn't recognize that reason at the time.
"Sekolah freed the sahuagin into these waters and gave them the strength and the ferocity to go forth and take what they needed," she said. "That is the only sign a true believer should ever need!"
Huaanton swiveled his great head to her. The guards' tridents stopped within inches of the high priestess.
She raised her hand in warning, the sound of her praying voice loud enough to carry on the currents that filled the room. Their instinctive fear of even her magic made them drop into nervous defensive positions, but they readied to charge, obviously wanting to deal with her quickly.
"Stop!" Huaanton ordered.
Reluctantly yet relieved, the royal guard stepped back, but they didn't put their weapons away.
"You run the risk of insult, priestess." The sahuagin king glowered at her.
Laaqueel thought quickly. "I run that risk only to keep you from blaspheming, Exalted One. Our two positions- the warrior's to lead the sahuagin race, and the priestess's to guide the sahuagin in their beliefs-are both necessary. A warrior keeps the sahuagin alive in the now, and a priestess keeps the sahuagin alive forever. Our two paths must never work at cross purposes."
"I agree," Huaanton said. "That's why I want Sekolah to give some sign to my priestesses before this next battle takes place."
"Sekolah is not a god you can put demands on."
Laaqueel assumed a level stance, no longer subservient to the sahuagin king. Her eyes met his. The Great Shark would demand no less. In the past, the warrior's way and the priestess's way often conflicted. Both drew on the same resource of followers, but during most of those times compromises could be worked out.
"He doesn't want parasites as his worshipers; he wants warriors."
"I agree," Huaanton said, "but I see before me a malenti, a birth defect, claiming to be a conduit for a god. Wouldn't you question that?"
The insult hit Laaqueel like a physical blow. She didn't trust herself to speak until she'd dealt with the anger that filled her.
"Then, at your own peril, you'll have your sign," Iakhovas said.
Huaanton looked at the wizard as if wanting to question whether the statement had been a threat. Instead, he asked, "When?"
Laaqueel didn't dare look at Iakhovas, afraid that her doubt and fear would be apparent to everyone. How could Iakhovas promise something like that?
"A tenday from now," Iakhovas went on. "It will be here, in your city, for all sahuagin to see." He paused, his eyes rebelliously focused on Huaanton's. "When that sign is delivered, there will be no doubt about what is to be done."
"I will look for you here," the sahuagin king said. "You'll be guests at the palace."
For Laaqueel the offer translated simply that they'd be prisoners of the palace. She watched numbly as Iakhovas excused them from the sahuagin king's audience chamber. They were accompanied by the royal guard through the maze of tunnels, swimming back to where the flier was tied up.
I perceive my error now, little malenti, Iakhovas said in her mind.
By promising a sign from Sekolah? she asked. If we don't come here in a tenday, Huaanton will rightly have us hunted down and brought to him. We'll be thrown into the gladiatorial amphitheater and used as sport. Should we show up and there's no sign, we'll end up in the same place.
Little malenti, Iakhovas mocked, you concern yourself overmuch with matters that are entirely trivial. I have cared for you fifteen years, elevated you into the position of high priestess for a prince from being a junior priestess and spy for a baron. Miracles are easy to accomplish if you have those who wish to believe in them.
Laaqueel resented the words, but knew they carried the strength of truth.
No, he said confidently, there will be a sign. My chief oversight lay in reasoning that I could accomplish everything I need to as anything less than king.
She stared at him through the darkness filling the maze tunnel. He smiled, and his single eye blazed with conviction.
XXV
Jherek pushed in through the double doors of the Copper Coronet in the row of festhalls fronting Athkatla's docks and opened his eyes to their fullest against the darkness that clung to the tavern's interior. Raucous voices in a dozen and more languages spilled over into the street beyond the doors, beaten back only by the street vendors hawking their wares to wandering ships' crews.
He waited a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. Even at midday, the tavern's darkness appeared to be an inviting cool, a place where secrets and guilt could be shared. Pipeweed smoke, dimly lit from candles on the scarred tables and wall sconces, curled toward the stained ceiling. Sea-roughened men reached for waitresses, cracking off-color jokes or making half serious offers given the benefit of graphic gestures. The waitresses for their part flirted with the men, working for the small tips that came their way.
The Copper Coronet was one of Athkatla's many dives. Pirates and smugglers met there to arrange business, and journeymen cutpurses gathered there to find victims. Sawdust covered the floor, sopping up spilled ale or blood as the need arose.
Jherek breathed shallowly through his nose. He'd never felt at home in such a place. Even the taverns in Velen had never become overly familiar or comfortable. He'd gone because Finaren had often concluded ship's business there, and sometimes to briefly share in celebrations he'd been invited to.
Men stood at the sturdy bar that lined the other side of the room, hoisting tankards of ale and laughing at witticisms or stories told by others. The bartender was a short, broad man with a bald head and flaring mustache. He regarded Jherek with a flat, uninviting gaze as he wiped an ale tankard out with a frayed and stained towel. A copper crown, evidently the item the tavern took its name from, rested haphazardly on the yellowed ivory skull of a crocodile jutting from the wall behind the bartender. A handful of teeth were broken in the reptilian grin.
A slim waitress approached Jherek, balancing a tray on one bony hip. Her skirt was cut short enough to embarrass the young sailor, and he kept his eyes on hers. She smiled at him, showing a missing front tooth. Dark sandy hair flared out across her shoulders.
"Can I get something for you, sailor?"
"No," Jherek replied. "I'm looking for the crew of Breezerunner."
"I think I noticed them earlier," she admitted, moving close enough that Jherek could feel the heat from her body.
Involuntarily, he took a step back. Dropping his eyes from hers, he couldn't help glancing at the long legs revealed by the short skirt. They were white from not having seen enough sun but still held the roundness of youth.