Rising tide - Mel Odom [124]
The voice was so soft that Pacys at first didn't realize it had been spoken. He quieted the yarting with a palm pressed against the strings, then approached the dock's edge.
A merman swam in the water in the shallows. His upper body was well developed, broad from swimming beneath the waters and from the hard life such a being lived, but his waist and below belonged to a fish. Faded pink scars striped his torso, cutting through the tan skin of his upper body and leading down to the silver scales that covered his lower half. He flicked his tail casually, keeping his head and shoulders above the waterline. Dark brown hair trailed wetly down his back, matched by a full beard. A necklace of coral and shells matched the ones wrapping his wrists, each piece carefully selected to match elegantly. He carried a trident in one hand.
"You know me," the merman said, sweeping his tail with just enough energy to remain atop the water, "from a night fourteen years gone."
"Yes," Pacys replied. It wasn't hard to remember the merman. Pacys had helped save his life when the mermen came into the harbor fleeing some great evil that had pursued them from the Sea of Swords. "I'd thought you were going to die back then."
The merman nodded, a grim smile on his face. "I almost did, and I had the chance again only a few nights ago."
"All of us did."
"I recognized you from your song," the merman said.
The old bard knew the mermen treasured songs as part of their culture. He'd borrowed some of their music and tales for his own over the years and was no stranger to their race.
"You played some of that song the night we arrived," the merman said.
Pacys was genuinely surprised the merman remembered. He'd sat quietly on the shore those many years ago, watching as the injured mermen were pulled from the water for treatment, asking for asylum from whatever had pursued them. He'd discovered the first of the song then.
"Yes," the old bard said. "You've a good ear for music."
"You are part of this," the merman said.
Pacys didn't deny the charge.
"I am shaman to my people," the merman said. "I'm called Narros."
Pacys gave his own name, then sat at the edge of the dock so they could be closer. None of the sailors around them paid any special attention to their conversation, but they remained wary. Over the last few days, the sailors in the harbor had accidentally attacked the mermen and other underwater denizens living in the shallows, fearing them to be returning sahuagin. So far there'd been no deaths on either side, but tensions and suspicions were running high.
"It won't end with the attack of a few days ago," Narros said.
"I know," the old bard replied. "Many of these people think it will. The rest all hope so."
The merman shook his head, flicking water from his hair. "It's already escalating. My people have been foraging along the Sea of Swords, seeking out information as Lord Piergeiron requested. More and more ships are being taken at sea." "By the sahuagin?"
"And other things," Narros answered. He hesitated for a moment. "There are few survivors."
Pacys waited impatiently, wondering what had brought the merman to him. Usually they didn't have much to do with humans or other surface dwellers past whatever trade they needed to do.
"The evil reaching out now," Narros said, "was prophesied by my people. We knew when it rose against us fourteen years ago, despite the warding we created, that it had arrived. Now it has grown even stronger."
Intrigued, Pacys focused on the man. "Could I hear that prophecy?"
"Yes," Narros replied. "You have to. In my prayers of late I've discovered that you are part of it."
XXVII
17 Mirtul, the Year of the Gauntlet
Jherek watched Aysel draw the double-bitted battle-axe back with both hands. Blood still poured down the sailor's chin from his split lips.
The floor around the fight cleared immediately. Even Aysel's cronies must not have trusted