"I beg to disagree." Hagris brandished his sword. "I have this ship. I have you. Soon, I'll know where the rest of it is."
Suddenly, the itchy feel of the magicks being worked around Skyreach gave way to a feeling of lassitude. "No," she replied calmly, "you won't ever have any of those things."
As if sensing the subtle change in the ephemeral himself, Hagris craned his head to glance out at the roiling sea. The waves were coming more huge now, buoying the two ships up higher, washing over the decks in increased rage. Masts gave way on both ships, timbers tangling in the sailcloth.
"What have you done?" Hagris demanded, shifting his attention to the restless ocean.
"My duty to my great-grandfather," Skyreach answered. "Having the cargo aboard this ship fall into the hands of others is unacceptable. I will not allow it."
A jagged streak of white-hot lightning seared the sky, showing two giant tentacles emerging from the ivory-capped foam. Both tentacles latched securely onto Chalice of the Crowns.
"Squid!" one of the pirates bellowed in terror.
The cargo ship suddenly jumped, then dropped abruptly, tugged deeper into the crashing waves. Water filled the holds, but Skyreach knew the cargo would be protected by Cylthik's spells and wards. The mage had bound powerful forces to his bidding, including the giant squid that was pulling the cargo ship under.
Hagris turned to Skyreach. "You selfish wench, you've undone us all!"
Skyreach eyed him coldly. "You're the second man tonight to accuse me of that. No one will have my great-grandfather's legacy. No one who is not deserving and worthy, and not until Toril is ready for it once again."
With an inarticulate cry of rage, Hagris threw himself at her.
Skyreach met his challenge with steel, sparks flaring from their blades. His fellow pirates had fled, running across the decks toward the dubious safety of their own ship. Maybe they would have time to cut loose before the squid pulled Chalice of the Crowns to the briny deep, but Skyreach doubted it. Her arm moved her long sword, countering Hagris's blows but finding herself unable to land any as well. They were too evenly matched.
Then the sea rose from their knees to their chests.
Hagris tried to turn and flee, but couldn't. "My feet are stuck to the deck!" he blurted in horror.
Skyreach tried to move her own feet, and found that Hagris's predicament was hers as well. She glanced at the rest of the ship, finding pirates and elven warriors and ship's crew likewise adhered to the deck. Everyone aboard was doomed, held like flies in amber.
Fear swelled within her, but she kept it at bay, accepting the fate that lay before her. It was all part of keeping her duty to her great-grandfather. Then the sea closed over her head, at first cold to the touch and leeching the warmth from her body. Instinctively, she struggled against it, fought against drawing the briny liquid into her lungs.
The time came when she could no longer fight the impulse to breathe. She drew in great draughts of the salt water, filling her veins with ice.
And she began to change, to become something both stronger and weaker, something that would hide her great-grandfather's legacy forever.
1
We've been followed.
Resting his shovel in the dark, fresh-turned earth of the tree-covered hillside, Baylee Arnvold gazed up at his companion. We weren't followed.
I told you back at Waymoot that I thought it was a possibility.
Yes, you did, Xuxa, Baylee replied calmly in the telepathic communication that his companion excelled in, and the candle maker that you believed to be following us had the scare of his life when I jumped him in the alley behind Beruintar's Bone Warmer. If I hadn't been worn out from doing without sleep over the past days, I would never have fallen for your paranoia.
Have you ever noticed that you never call it my paranoia when I'm right? Xuxa sounded put out. She was an azmyth bat and had been — with him for a handful of years, taking part in a number of excavations and explorations. She was three feet tall, twin-tailed, and her body colored emerald green, her wings only slightly lighter in color, like the beard at her throat Her intelligence was high, but her telepathic communications with him usually interpreted themselves with his words to ease in understanding. Still, a few strictly bat-thoughts occasionally intruded into their conversations. She was his companion by choice, in no way a possession. Blessed with a life span of over a hundred years, she was decades older than Baylee and sometimes grew irritated that he did not give that more credence when they disagreed. Like now.
Baylee didn't reply. His companion was right, but he'd be damned if he gave Xuxa the satisfaction of admitting it. At least, not right away.
He was following us. Xuxa sniffed in disdain, a delicate snuffling sound that hardly carried beyond their current site.
He was going to the back door of the inn to sell a tenday's supply of candles.
The man got you to believe that I am not so gullible. And here we are, out in the open on this hillock with no place to turn.
Baylee knew his companion was right about being alone. Seventeen miles north of Waymoot, six miles west of Ranger's Way (the trail they'd followed into the city) there was no one around save a few hunters they'd passed hours ago. They'd taken pains to see that the hunters never saw them, even though he still didn't believe they'd been followed. Still, there were many who would have killed for the piece of lore he hoped to uncover tonight.
He gazed at the surrounding forest, the setting sun adding a red and purple haze to the darkening sky. He felt at home here, though he'd only visited this part of Cormyr rarely. His true home in his heart was the Sword Coast, filled with all the old histories and wars that had left scars still to be found on the earth.
And there were the various treasures left to be uncovered as well. Those provided a siren call Baylee found irresistible. No matter how often he followed a barely tangible lead to a dead-end, every success, regardless how small, served to drive him on.
The wind shifted, blowing more toward Baylee. His sensitive nostrils picked up the faint scent that did not mix in well with the fragrance of the surrounding foliage.
You smell it too, Xuxa said.
Yes. Baylee admitted it readily. Mixed in with the scent of trees and blossoms and grasses, with the musk of wild deer going into season, he smelled human sweat A few moments more, with the wind just right, and he would have known whether there was one or more, whether it was male or female.
Then it was gone.
The way the scent disappeared, with nothing visible on the horizon, let him know the disappearance was deliberate. The knowledge raised the hackles at the back of his neck. Even if he hadn't admitted being wrong, Xuxa would sense his reaction and know. He cursed and turned his attention back to the shovel and the excavation he'd worked so diligently on for hours. His leather gloves and armor chafed at his sweat-drenched skin, and his muscles ached from days of hard travel and the effort of digging deep into the hillside.
He picked up the shovel and wiped his brow, as if he was reluctant to contemplate returning to his task. The whiff of the scent returned to his nostrils. This time he was sure: it was definitely feminine. A faint waft of Arabellan herb soap traveled with it, letting him know the stalker was no stranger to good, and expensive, hygiene. It was a solid clue to the stalker's identity. Local brigands didn't care much for cleanliness.
He took his waterskin from his pack on the ground and drank deeply, using the movement to mask his gaze roving over the surrounding tree line. Forests provided much in the way of natural hiding spots to someone who knew how to use them. And evidently the person or persons stalking him knew the wind changed and took steps to prevent being found out.