DEEP WATERS

 

In the waters far below Leaping Narwhal, Xzorsh swam eastward, intent upon ensuring that the drow's journey continued on a relatively sedate course. All around him, however, was evidence that his chosen task would not be an easy one.

Bullywug carcasses drifted lazily downward, and blood spiraled out into the dark water. The sharks would soon gather, harbingers of slower but even more fearsome scavengers.

Human sailors knew the surface of the sea and understood something of her moods and caprices. The depths were a mystery to them, a vast and unfathomable place described in song and story as the "silent halls of Umber-lee." The sea Xzorsh knew was far from silent. Bubbles murmured and popped on their path toward the stars. The subtle swish of current-tossed sea grass gave a precise report of tides, currents, depths. Fish clicked and squealed as they schooled through the dark waters. A low chorus of grumbling croaks, fading in the distance, marked the bullywugs' retreat. Whale-song from a distant pod rose and fell in a haunting, plaintive melody. Last, a discreet clicking pattern, almost inaudible above the complex murmur of the sea, warned Xzorsh of the ambush ahead.

He loosened the weapons on his belt: a fine knife, fire-forged by land-dwelling elves, and one of his precious throwing crabs. Seizing the element of surprise in his own webbed hands, he pulled his spear and dived toward a thick stand of sea grass.

Several sea elves erupted from their hiding place, scattering and then regrouping to surround Xzorsh. One of them, a large female whose head was shaved to better display her skin's dramatic green-and-silver markings, was known to him. He noted the trident in her hands, the grim purpose on her face.

Xzorsh tipped his spear skyward in a gesture of peace. "Greetings, Coralay. Do you seek me in particular, or did I swim into the wrong trap?"

The female lowered her trident but kept it at the ready. "A bul-lywug swarm gathered and sang songs of war. Why didn't you summon help?"

"None was needed," Xzorsh said.

Another elf swam to Coralay's side, a young male with a seagoing swagger and a spear still unblemished by battle. "What need has Xzorsh, the great sea ranger, of our help?" he said scornfully. "What need for sea elves at all, when Xzorsh counts every monster of the deep among his friends?"

Xzorsh stiffened at this sneering reference to Sittl, his long-time friend and partner, recently revealed as a deadly traitor to the Sea People. Sittl had been a malenti, a mutant of the evil sahuagin race. Like all malenti, Sittl hid a dark heart beneath the fair form of a sea elf.

"If you accuse me of treason," Xzorsh asked coolly, "you speak at cross currents with the Council of Waves. The court has heard the matter and declared me blameless."

"The malenti made a fool of you," persisted the youth.

"He fooled us all," Coralay said in a tone that demanded an end to the matter. She fixed a steady gaze upon the scout. "We're not here to swim yesterday's tides."

Xzorsh nodded, encouraging her to continue.

"Many bullywugs attacked that ship. Only eleven returned to the sea, dead or alive. You are known as a friend to human folk. You would not have left one of their ships in the hands of those monsters while you could still stand and fight."

"For those words, I thank you," Xzorsh said cautiously.

"Yet here you are."

For long moments they faced each other. "The bullywugs were defeated," he said at last.

"That many?" she said incredulously. "What manner of humankind sails that ship?"

"Northmen pirates, for the most part. With them sails a warrior from a land far to the east, and a powerful wizard."

The female's face hardened. "Speak of this magic user."

Xzorsh spread his hands. "The battle was won. What more need be said?"

"I have heard wordier tales told of another battle recently won," Coralay countered, "a battle fought on the shores and seas of Ruathym. There was magic there, as well. Tell me plainly: Is the drow priestess of Ruathym aboard that ship?"

"Why do you seek this knowledge? What use will you make of it?"

Coralay's eyes narrowed. "A strange response from a ranger, whose duty it is to inform the People."

"To inform, yes, but also to protect," Xzorsh added. To ensure that his meaning left no room for doubt, he lowered his spear back to guard position.

Astonished rifts of bubbles burst from the sea folk. "You would defend an evil drow against your own people?" one of them demanded.

The sea elf ranger turned his gaze toward the speaker. "Have you ever met this dark elf?"

The other elf blinked. "No."

"In that case, I respectfully suggest that you are in no position to judge her. Liriel is a princess in her land, trained since childhood in the ways of magic. She is a proven friend both to the humans of Ruathym and to the Sea People. It might interest you to know that she too was raised on stories of evil, deadly elves, with one difference: The villains of her childhood tales were the fair-skinned elves of the sky and sea!"

Coralay scowled. "It is not the same thing."

"Isn't it?" persisted Xzorsh. "People are not always what they seem. Night-black skin does not prove an evil heart any more than a fair, familiar face offers guarantee of friendship. The malenti Sittl wrote this lesson in runes of blood."

The elf war leader regarded him in silence for a long moment. "We will consider your words. Will you also consider mine?"

Xzorsh inclined his head respectfully.

"As you say, people are not always what they seem. We often see what we expect to see, or what we wish to see. Perhaps you are right about this drow. She has fought at your side and given you weapons of magic. It is even said that she promised to teach you the Lost Art." She lifted one green eyebrow quizzically.

"That is true," Xzorsh admitted.

"Fine things all," she agreed. "Perhaps we are wrong to look upon this dark elf and see only evil, but is it not possible that you see only the good things she has offered and refuse to swim the depths beneath?"

Xzorsh wanted to deny these words, to reject them utterly. Perhaps he might have been able to do so had he not seen the battle on Ruathyni's shore.

"It is my duty to protect," he said slowly, "and it is possible that the best service I can do the People is to guard Liriel well. While I live, no harm will come to her—or from her."

At last Coralay lowered her trident. "That is all I wished to hear. Go, and do."

A fair-haired young man, green-clad in garments of fine summer silk, whistled a popular tavern ballad as he sauntered toward Blackstaff Tower. The rounded black keep was a Water-deep landmark, an ancient marvel of smooth black stone unmarked by either windows or doors.

The visitor walked straight toward the tower as if he intended to pass through solid stone. He hit the wall hard and staggered back a few steps, clutching his head with bejeweled hands and cursing with great vigor and imagination.

His next few attempts were more tentative—a prod here, a careful kick there. Finally a slim feminine hand thrust out of the wall and seized a handful of his tunic. His guide tugged him through the invisible door.

Danilo Thann looked down into the indulgent face of Sharlarra Vindrith, an elf wizard apprenticed to Khelben "Blackstaff" Arun-sun. He removed her hand from his tunic, gazed into her eyes—violet with flecks of gold, he noted—and raised her fingers to his lips.

"Lovely Sharlarra," he murmured, "once lauded as the most beautiful elfin Waterdeep."

Still smiling, she lifted one brow in challenge. "Once?"

"Well, naturally." Danilo gingerly touched his forehead. "Since I'm seeing two of you today, you'll have to share the honors."

The elf laughed and tucked her arm into his. "I assure you, there is no one else quite like me," she purred.

"Pity. The possibilities were, to say the least, intriguing."

"Are you both quite finished?"

The question was spoken by a deep male voice made familiar by a slight burr and a certain irritation of tone. Sharlarra let out a startled gasp and spun to face her master.

Khelben Arunsun was, or appeared to be, a powerfully built man in late middle years. His dark hair was touched with gray and a streak of silver divided his neatly trimmed beard.

"The potions?" he reminded Sharlarra, pantomiming a stirring motion with one hand.

The elf bowed and hurried off to tend her duties. Danilo watched her go with a smirk that loudly bespoke masculine appreciation. The moment she left the room, however, his smile dropped away.

"What is it, Uncle? The urgency spell affixed to your summons nearly set the parchment afire."

"This came from the harbor merfolk." The archmage lifted one hand, snapped his fingers, and plucked a sealskin parchment from the air.

Danilo took the offered document and skimmed the message. After a moment, he raised incredulous eyes to his mentor's face.

"Apparently you made quite an impression on this visiting drow wizard," Khelben said in a sour tone.

The young man smiled complacently. "Women have frequently described me as an unforgettable experience."

"I've heard the same said of camp fever and the galloping flux. You will not meet the drow at the harbor."

"I won't?"

"No. Do not challenge me on this matter, Danilo. There is more at stake here than you know."

"There usually is," he murmured. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. "Just for novelty's sake, would you care to enlighten me?"

The archmage linked his hands behind his back and began to pace. "Caladorn Cassalanter sails with the drow. He was very displeased by your involvement with the drow, and none too flattering in his assessment. I thought you two were friends."

"So we were, and so we will be again," Danilo said easily. "But Caladorn was sniffing around Judith, and I responded as any younger brother might. Any brother who possessed knowledge of magic," he amended, "and one whose spell components included an ample supply of saltpeter."

"No wonder Caladorn went to sea," Laerel murmured. "Nothing better to do."

"A good lad, Caladorn is, with a sharp eye and a sense of responsibility that you'd do well to emulate," Khelben scolded.

"They also credit Caladorn as the chief arbiter of style," Danilo said with mock gravity. "I expect that nautical attire will be all the rage this season."

Khelben shot a glare at the young man. "In addition to the message before you, Caladorn sent word of Clipper's fate. You may recall that name as one of the Waterdhavian ships gone missing this season. It was set adrift as a ghost ship, with barrels aboard containing the bodies of over a dozen sea elves preserved in brine."

The young man's face darkened. "The Northmen are no friends to the fair folk, but I hadn't realized matters were in such dismal state."

"Northmen and elves," Khelben repeated. "When are matters ever so simple as that?"

"Until you get hold of them?" his nephew suggested helpfully.

"Do you want to hear this, or not?"

Danilo lifted one hand and traced a circular flourish that indicated the archmage should go on.

"According to the Harple thesis on Underdark cultures, the destruction of the surface elves is a guiding principle of drow life, second only to the domination of the underground realms."

Danilo pushed away from the wall. "You believe that our pretty little wizard is joining forces with the Northmen to this end? That she was a partner in the deaths of those sea elves?"

"Truly? No. I don't see the First Axes of Ruathym making more than a passing alliance with any elf, of any color, for any reason. As an old Northman saying advises, If you use a wolf to hunt a wolf, keep two arrows near to hand."

"Charming sentiment, catchy rhythm. I must set that to music straightaway," Danilo murmured. "Assuming there is no such alliance, what, in your opinion, is she about?"

"Therein lays the problem," grumbled Khelben. "I have no idea what motivates the female."

A feminine chuckle informed the men that they were no longer alone. Laerel Silverhand leaned against the doorpost, her arms crossed and her eyes bright with amusement.

The archmage's lady, herself a mage of legendary power, was fully as tall as her lord. Though the day was young, she was clad in a scant, silvery dancing gown the precise hue of her hair, which spilled in lustrous waves down to her knees.

"Are we discussing females in general, or did you have a particular one in mind?" she inquired.

"I was speaking of the drow."

Something in Khelben's voice stole the humor from Laerel's face. "If you are speaking of my sister Qilué—again, I might add— you might wish to amend your tone."

"Let's not plow this furrow again," the wizard said testily.

"Does this mean you have no interest in my latest family visit?"

Khelben's face turned even more somber. "You've been to Skull-port again?"

"Yes, I've only just returned. Qilué is very concerned about her young friend. Someone is looking for Liriel, someone capable of casting a very large net. My sister intends to help Liriel safely to her destination."

"There you go, Uncle," Danilo broke in. "Problem solved."

"It is my observation," the archmage said darkly, "that Qilué solves fewer problems than she creates. She might be Mystra's own, but she is drow to the core: impulsive, temperamental, vengeful, and illogical."

"She speaks well of you, too," Laerel said with exaggerated sweetness.

Khelben refused to be baited. "Tell me all."

The lady mage paused for a long-suffering sigh. "Qilué said that inquiries have been made, bribes paid. She believes the search for Liriel has spread to Waterdeep. Have you been listening to the tavern songs, Dan?"

"Yes, but I don't understand all I hear," he admitted. "There appears to be a very impressive bounty on someone named Raven. I couldn't make out more than that."

"That's enough to tell the tale." Laerel sighed again and tucked a silver lock behind one ear. "Qilué's young friend will be sought by every unlawful faction in Waterdeep, not to mention every scoundrel looking for a way to pay his gambling debts."

"Not to mention those folks who consider battling evil, which by most lights would include all dark elves, to be their righteous duty," Dan put in.

The woman grimaced. "I was hoping no one would mention them."

"Waterdeep's well-intentioned are the least of our problems." Khelben took a small mesh bag of gems from a hidden pocket in his sleeve. "This is part of a deepdragon's treasure hoard, used by Liriel to purchase the freedom of Elfmaid, a Ruathymaar pirate ship owned by Hrolf the Unruly. Since these gems were in the drow's possession for several days, they can be enspelled to seek her out. More than that: They can show us who also seeks her by means both magical and mundane."

Danilo watched intently as Khelben sped through the gestures of a spell. In moments there floated before the archmage a wondrous map, a miniature landscape showing the islands and coastal lands of the northern sea. Khelben produced a vial from his bag and took from it a pinch of sparkling powder. This he tossed over the map. Tiny, falling lights twinkled down over the illusion, releasing a complex aroma into the tower chamber.

The young man studied the illusion, watching as threads of silver raced across land and sea. He pointed to a particularly bright web connecting Luskan and Ruathym.

"The recent sea invasion, I would imagine. What is the connection between these two old enemies and our new friend?"

"The captain in charge of the assault was Rethnor," Khelben said, "one of the Five Lords of Luskan."

"Captain Rethnor," Danilo said thoughtfully. "He is said to be subtle and devious, the sort of man unlikely to accept blame for his failures. And what better scapegoat than a drow?"

"Waterdeep," Khelben said, as if Danilo's question had sought an answer. "Even now, he spreads rumors that Ruathym has made powerful and dangerous alliances—alliances that justified this attempt on their sovereignty. Rethnor claims that Ruathym is allied with dark elves and that Waterdeep gives tacit approval, perhaps even support, to their dark schemes. Liriel set sail from Waterdeep. If she is accepted back into the city and allowed to go her way, we give credence to his words."

"That's absurd!" Danilo protested. "Who would believe such reasoning?"

Khelben let out a derisive sniff. "Since when did logic govern the path of rumor? If a thing is said often enough, there are fools aplenty who will believe it to be true."

"So what do you propose to do? Turn Liriel over to Captain Rethnor?"

"There are many who would gladly sell her, and not just to Rethnor." Khelben intoned another arcane phrase. Silvery threads filled the sea like fishermen's nets and sank deep into soil and stone.

"The Kraken society," Danilo reasoned, nodding toward the sea, "and the underground network, I suppose, would be the drow. It would seem that Liriel has been busy."

"Would that she had stopped there." Khelben tossed another pinch of powder, and the map took on yet another aspect.

Several translucent spheres overlapped, the images overlaying each other like multi-layered rainbows. Threads streamed from all these planes of existence and converged in a shadowy tangle in the sea just to the east of Waterdeep. The overall shape resembled a spider's web.

"This can't be good," the young man muttered.

"It could hardly be worse! This divination suggests that our young wizard has drawn the special interest of a certain drow goddess."

The ire faded from Laerel's silver-green eyes as she met Khel-ben's somber gaze. "You're saying that wherever Liriel goes, Lolth is likely to follow."

"That is my fear," Khelben agreed. "It has been long years since the drow goddess turned her attention to the surface world. Liriel must be followed and if necessary stopped."

"Very well." Danilo took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "Allow me a hour or so to pack, and I'll be off."

The archmage shook his head. "Not you, Dan, not this time. The elves of the Pantheon Temple have an agent of their own."

Khelben turned his gaze toward the chamber door. His apprentice appeared in response to his silent summons. "Bid our guest attend."

In moments Sharlarra returned, a tall female elf at her side. The newcomer was raven-haired, clad in well-worn leathers and a chain-mail vest and armed with sword and bow. Her long black hair was loose except for one silver lock, which had been gathered into a neat braid.

"This is Thorn, a champion of Eilistraee, lately come from Ruathym," Khelben announced. "You will leave this matter in her capable hands."

"As you say, Uncle," Danilo agreed. He turned his most charming smile upon the newcomer. "It's a great relief to know that Liriel has made friends among Eilistraee's own."

"As to that, I could not say," the elf responded in a husky, oddly accented voice. "I never met her."

"But you have come from Ruathym?"

"What of it? She is a quarry, not a comrade." The elf's strange eyes, a color more gold than green, narrowed at him. "Most humans outgrow the need to ask endless questions when they leave childhood behind. Or perhaps it just appears to be so because the inquisitive seldom survive for long."

"You say that as if it were a warning," Danilo observed.

In a lightning-quick move, the elf swept her bow off her shoulder and sent an arrow spinning toward the young man. It dived between his boots, piercing the ancient oak planking and quivering fast enough to produce an audible hum.

"That," she said, "was a warning."

Danilo took a careful, belated step backward. "What bard or diplomat in all of Waterdeep could match elven subtlety?" he said in admiring tones. "Obviously, the good archmage is quite right: I must not meet our drow friend at the harbor. Lady Huntress, my Lord and Lady Arunsun, lovely Sharlarra, I bid you all a good day."

The rainbow layers of the illusionary map filtered over him as he bowed deeply, first to the elf warrior then to the wizards. As he strode from the room, he gave Laerel a friendly kiss on the cheek and Sharlarra a kiss that was friendlier still. The elf girl watched him go, then sent an inquiring glance at her mistress.

Laerel sent her apprentice off with an absent-minded wave and turned her attention to the warrior. "It has been long years since the Dark Maiden took a champion."

"You know the history of the People," Thorn observed. "You must also know that an equal amount of time has passed since Lolth granted the powers of a Chosen to any mortal."

The color drained from Laeral's face. "You don't mean to suggest that Liriel..."

"I do not suggest," the elf said coldly. "I know. I saw. Her path led to Skullport then out to sea. I followed until my ship was captured by sea ogres. Those aboard who were not killed were imprisoned in the undersea realms of Ascarle. A band of sea elves freed the prisoners and led us through a magical gate to Ruathym. We joined the battle between the Northmen of Ruathym and Luskan. I saw this drow channel the power and fury of Lolth against the invaders."

"Then Caladorn did well to persuade the captain to dock in Waterdeep," Khelben said. "Lolth's power will be considerably stronger in the underground city."

Laerel's eyes widened. One slender hand flew to the cheek Danilo had kissed.

The archmage noted her chagrin. "Problem?"

"You might say that." Laerel lowered her hand, fist clenched. "Liriel will go straight to Qilué. We must get word to my sister at once!"

Khelben frowned. "You know that isn't possible. It takes hours for a mere message to bypass Qilué's wards and magical diversions. No one can teleport directly into the Promenade Temple."

"I can," Laerel said grimly, "using the ear cuff my sister gave me—the cuff I was wearing just moments ago." She unclenched her fist. Her hand was empty.

The archmage's brows knit in puzzlement then flew up as he realized what had happened. "Danilo said he would not meet the drow! Goddess knows the boy has his faults, but he has never gone back on his word."

His lady cast her eyes skyward. "He agreed he would not meet the drow at the harbor. Khelben dearest, you really must learn to speak Rogue. Consider this: Where is your powdered essence of sky, sea, and stone? Where are Liriel's gems? Where is the missive the merfolk brought from Caladorn's ship? Where are all the things that will enable one wizard to find Liriel's ship—and ensure that another wizard cannot?"

Khelben's gaze darted from the writing table to the scrying platform. The delicate vial was gone, as were the bag of gemstones and the sealskin parchment.

He uttered a single word—a barnyard epithet delivered with great force and little regard for the dignity of his high rank.

"The boy's gone straight to the ship! Damn and blast it! Why did I entrust Mystra's Art to such a hopeless fool!"

Laerel fingered the unadorned curve of her ear. "Now that you mention it, I probably shouldn't have taught him those pickpocket tricks, either."

"It would seem that your overschooled protege has a few lessons yet coming," Thorn announced. She plucked her bowstring, which sang like a battle harp.

Khelben's irritation disappeared, chased from his face by a flash of paternal panic. Power rose like mist around him, creating an illusion of an imperious, elf-blooded wizard, ancient and mighty beyond words—an illusion that held more truth than his familiar form.

"Whatever comes of this, the boy is to be spared," he demanded in a voice ringing with power.

The elf champion shrugged, unimpressed. "If possible," she said. As she strode from the room, she repeated, "If possible—and provided he doesn't annoy me overmuch!"

Khelben's enhanced image dissipated like a sigh, leaving his mortal facade looking old and careworn. He sent a troubled glance toward his lady. "Do you suppose she meant those terms quite literally?"

"Well, she does seem give her threats a bit more emphasis, but how many elves have you met who don't mean precisely what they say?"

The archmage nodded as if he'd expected this response. "In that case," he muttered, "the boy's as good as dead."

Laerel shook her head as another thought occurred to her. "Sharlarra has been getting restless of late."

Khelben stared at her as if she had gone moonmad. "And you mention this because ..."

"I go to Skullport from time to time. I need to, and not just for the information I can find there."

He nodded, acknowledging the side of his lady that he did not share and could not quite understand.

"Did I ever tell you where I met Sharlarra?"

"Lady Sharlarra of the Vindrith clan? I had assumed Evermeet, but something tells me that would not be the correct answer."

She laughed shortly. "Hardly. We met in Skullport."

"No! A gold elf, in that cesspool of a city? What the Nine bloody Hells was she doing there?"

"Surviving," Laerel retorted, "and doing a damn good job of it. She lifted my purse. The thing was magically warded, and she still almost got away with it."

The archmage huffed indignantly. "That convinced you to bring her to my tower as an apprentice?"

"Why not? Talent is talent. For that matter, Sharlarra isn't a gold elf. But we're getting sidetracked. Sharlarra stood right over there while your light-fingered nephew robbed us blind. If she hasn't gone to reclaim the goodies, I'll shave my head."

Khelben lifted one brow. "It has not escaped my attention that you spoke of Sharlarra's boredom. Will you place the same wager that your Skullport protegee will return these stolen items at first opportunity?"

Laerel took a thick handful of silver mane in each hand and draped it over the archmage's shoulders. She entwined her arms around his neck and gave him a lascivious wink. "You should probably bear in mind that it would take me two hundred years to grow it back to this length."

A reluctant smile tugged at one corner of Khelben's lips. "In other words, no deal."

The wizard sighed and lowered her bright head to his chest.

"Afraid not."