Tangled webs - Elaine Cunningham [13]
Caladorn pushed back his sleeves and plunged both hands into the brine, getting a good grip on the coarse green stuff. He hauled sharply upward, expecting to pull a clump of the peculiar seaweed from the brine. To his horror, he found himself looking into the open, sightless eyes of a female sea elf
Even in death she was beautiful, her delicate features and the intricate mottled pattern of her skin perfectly preserved by the brine. Caladorn was of no mind to notice this fact. His hands shook as he lowered the elf gently back into her macabre coffin. After giving himself a long moment to compose his wits and settle his innards, he opened the rest of the barrels, some dozen in all. All of them were stuffed with pickled sea elves.
The young Lord's thoughts whirled as he tried to sort out the meaning of this atrocity. It was no secret that the Northmen held little love for elves. This was as true of the tundra barbarians as it was of the seafaring folk of Luskan, Ruathym, and the northern Moonshaes. But who would do such a thing, and for what reason? And why would they leave the dead sea elves for a Waterdhavian ship to find?
Many possible suggestions came to mind, each more dire than the last. There had been reports of recent attacks on sea-elf communities. Perhaps this was a plea for help; perhaps the elves themselves had left their slain comrades behind after a battle, hoping to send a grim message to Waterdeep that they dared not take in person. After all, a port flag flown so far from home was a well recognized distress signal. But Caladorn rejected this notion almost as soon as the thought formed. It seemed unlikely that the proud elves would subject any of their kindred to such an indignity.
Perhaps some faction within the Northmen had declared war upon the sea elves, possibly in a dispute over fishing rights or, more likely, just for the sport of it. The Northmen gloried in feats of arms-many of them vener-
ated Tempus, god ofbattle-and they had been deprived of warfare for an uncomfortably long time. Several years earlier, Waterdeep and her allied cities had enforced a peace between the warring kindred of Ruathym and Luskan. Since then, piracy had risen sharply, and raids on small coastal villages had become commonplace. Life was easier, Caladorn thought grimly, when the Northmen fought among themselves and left others alone.
He carefully replaced the lids and began the process of loading the barrels aboard the Cutte1: There was no question in his mind that the bodies must be taken to Waterdeep. Caladorn knew elves were reticent to disturb those who had moved past this life, but perhaps a cleric at the elven pantheon temple would be willing to seek out the spirit of one of these slain elves. And if no priest would yield to reason, Caladorn would find one who could be persuaded at the point of a sword.
Let the other Lords worry about diplomacy. This puzzle involved his beloved city, and he resolved to have the answer, at whatever cost.
*****
Rethnor stamped the snow from his boots as he strode into the council chamber. It was a simple room, constructed according to the Northmen taste with an intricate webbing of exposed wooden beams and furnished with a massive pine table and five unpadded chairs. The only concessions to comfort were the fire blazing in the fieldstone hearth that lined one full wall and the presence of a serving girl who would bring ale or mead upon command. Rethnor thrust his fur hat into her hands and took his place at the table where the other High Captains of Luskan awaited him.
There were five Captains, men whose task it was to rule the city and oversee its trade and its ambitions. Luskan was a strong and prosperous port, controlling much of the valuable trade of the northern lands. Silver from the mines of Mirabar, timber taken from the edges of the vast Lurkwood forest, scrimshaw from Ten Towns, dwarf-crafted weapons-all passed through the customs of Luskan and went out upon her ships. Yet no man seated in this room was content with Luskan's