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  One Who Swims With Sekolah

  In the light given off by the glow lamp, a shadowy figure took shape out of the darkness. Instead of being illuminated, it seemed to take the darkness into itself, turning darker even than black pearl.

  “What is it, favored one?” Saanaa called from behind.

  “A man,” Laaqueel answered.

  “Not a sahuagin?”

  “No.” The malenti let the disappointment sound in her voice. She knew she’d spoken the truth, yet that didn’t explain the fear that cut through her.

  “Maybe we should look for another chamber,” Viiklee said. “There must be others.”

  Laaqueel stared at the stones hovering over the top of the still figure of the man.

  Seek Out One Who Swims With Sekolah

  SEEK OUT ONE WHO SWIMS WITH SEKOLAH

  The stones came to an abrupt stop, and the silence struck as forcibly as a whale sounding.

  Live, That You May Serve

  Jherek screamed in pain, instinctively pulling back against the net in an attempt to escape. The effort only drove the hooks more deeply into his flesh. Luckily, there was no burn of sahuagin poison, but the weight and the strength of the sahuagin at the other end pulled him forward. He caught the edge of the railing in one hand and with the hook, watching as the hooked bits of his skin stood out. The pain ripped another scream from his throat.

  A cold voice entered his mind. Live, that you may serve.

  Fire leaped from one of the burning sahuagin still on deck onto the net. The strands parted like hairs over an open flame.

  RISING TIDE

  The Threat from the Sea, Book I

  ©1999 TSR, Inc.

  All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Published by Wizards of the Coast LLC. Hasbro SA, represented by Hasbro Europe, Stockley Park, UB11 1AZ. UK.

  FORGOTTEN REALMS, Wizards of the Coast, D&D, their respective logos, and TSR, Inc. are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast LLC in the U.S.A. and other countries.

  All Wizards of the Coast characters and their distinctive likenesses are property of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Cover art by: Don Maitz

  eISBN: 978-0-7869-6396-6

  640A2881000001 EN

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  www.DungeonsandDragons.com

  v3.1

  Dear Chandler Lewis Odom,

  I’m dedicating this book to you, my child, on the eve of your first birthday. In this last year, I’ve seen you change so much, from the little Burrito Baby we brought home all wrapped in swaddling—to the pint-sized tornado that blazes through our house on two short legs with incredible speed.

  And through it all, be it jam-smeared or glinting with irrepressible mischief, I love that smile of yours. Blond hair and blue eyes, face of an angel and the occasional soul of a scamp, you’re the perfect combination to be you.

  With this book, I offer you my wishes in your life. That it be long and filled with wonderment, that you reach up and touch stars if you’ve a mind, that you never know loneliness or pain that can’t be shared with friends. And that you never in a day of your life have cause to doubt your father’s love for you.

  Love,

  Dad

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books in the Series

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Map

  Prologue

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Chapter XX

  Chapter XXI

  Chapter XXII

  Chapter XXIII

  Chapter XXIV

  Chapter XXV

  Chapter XXVI

  Chapter XXVII

  Chapter XXVIII

  Chapter XXIX

  Chapter XXX

  Chapter XXXI

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Veemeeros Sea (The Shining Sea)

  26 Eleasias, the Year of the Bow (1354 DR)

  “You have followed a lie all these months, Priestess Laaqueel, or a figment dreamed up by your deformed malenti mind. We have had enough. We go no further.”

  The harsh words challenged Laaqueel’s self-control as she stood in the mud covering the ocean floor. Malenti, uttered like a curse, still cut through her. Her heritage was all sahuagin despite her appearance. As fierce and hard inside as any of her people, her body and face came from the unfathomable tie between the sahuagin race and the sea elves. Only her unique mutation had further deformed her. Instead of the greenish-silver or blue skin of the aquatic elves, her skin took on the pinkish hue of surface dwellers, setting her even more apart and making her a target among her own people.

  Little light from the surface world penetrated the murky depths around her and all that it touched held a bluish cast deepening toward indigo. Reds seldom penetrated the gloom at that depth. She stared at the abyssal hills surrounding the party, created from the line of volcanoes that still racked the savage land of Chult a hundred miles and more to the west.

  Crustaceans roamed those hills, moving slowly under the great pressure of the depths. Every now and again one disappeared, seized and dragged into burrows dug into the mud by hidden predators. Manta rays and eels glided through the water, staying well away from the sahuagin party.

  Somewhere out there, Laaqueel felt certain, lay the prize she’d come so far to claim. She took a deep breath through her mouth, flushing fresh saltwater into her system and the excess through her gills, and turned to the three sahuagin priestesses assigned to her quest.

  “I am senior among you, Thuur,” Laaqueel announced. “As long as I remain such, no one may speak to me the way you have.”

  At a few inches under six feet in height, the malenti was the shortest of the group. She wore her long dark hair tied back in a single braid. Besides her breasts, the long hair was the biggest difference between herself and her tribal sisters. She was cursed with the ugly body of a sea elf as well; all rounded and soft looking, wrapped in that pale complexion. If she spent too long under the sea without spending time in the sun, that color paled to the color of a frog’s stomach. On this journey she’d chosen to wear only the traditional sahuagin harness to carry her gear. The decision further flaunted the differences between her and her kin, but she had learned over her long life that those differences couldn’t be hidden. She had used them to make herself stronger in her faith and her convictions.

  “Senior you may be,” Thuur replied, “but you are no
longer fit to command us.”

  Laaqueel felt the sahuagin priestess move through the water behind her. Even though she resembled a sea elf, much of her senses remained those of her own people. The lateral lines that ran from her neck to her hips picked up the motion, and she was already gliding into a defensive position.

  “Beware what you say,” Laaqueel warned harshly as she turned to face the other priestess. She tightened her grip on the metal trident she carried. “You’ve already said enough that your words might be construed as a blood challenge between us.”

  Thuur stood tallest among them. Her anterior fins lay back against her head, and her huge mouth was partially open to reveal her ferocious fangs. Her black eyes gleamed with cruel light. She wore the true colors of the sahuagin race, the nearly black green on her back that turned a truer green on her flat stomach. The fins on her shoulders, arms, and legs were black. Her tail was deep yellow, telling any sahuagin male that she was past the age for mating. As a female now, her worth lay in whatever office she laid claim to. For the last ten years or more Thuur hungered for the senior priestess position Laaqueel now held within the tribe.

  Saanaa and Viiklee, the other two priestesses, held their own council, but they didn’t stand with Laaqueel as they should have.

  “I know what I say,” Thuur said. Her broad, finned feet slid through the greasy black mud, assuming an attack stance. “I think we should turn back now.” She touched the loaded crossbow hanging from her waist.

  The lateral lines in Laaqueel’s body turned more sensitive, reading every flicker of movement Thuur made. “We won’t turn back until we’ve found what we’ve come for,” she said steadily.

  “You’re dooming us to wander these forsaken hills forever.”

  “Has your faith been shaken, Sister?” Laaqueel made her voice harsh and challenging. With Thuur, she knew there was no way to speak of reason. “Sekolah guides this quest. You should trust that.”

  “I trust Sekolah, not some diseased abomination who has been given status by Baron Huaanton purely by accident of her birth.”

  “That status was earned,” Laaqueel said, “not given as freely as you say. As a malenti, I was trained to be an assassin from the moment I was born. I’ve lived among the surface dwellers as a spy and helped our village grow. I’ve slain our enemies, and I’ve stolen their secrets. If High Priestess Ghaataag had not seen the promise in me to better serve Sekolah, I would still be among the hated elves as Haaunton’s dagger.”

  In truth, the training spy was somewhat wasted. Laaqueel’s deception among the surface dwellers had been limited to brief excursions. With her pale skin, she’d been forced to adopt disguises and pass herself off as a surface dwelling elf among the sea elves, or a sea elf among the surface dwellers. She’d been the least effectual of all the malenti in her tribe. Had Priestess Ghaataag not sensed Sekolah’s blessed fin moving in her as a hatchling, she’d have been put to death the moment she’d been discovered among the newborn.

  Thuur continued moving, turning Laaqueel to put the malenti’s back to Saanaa and Viiklee. “You worked a glamour over the high priestess,” Thuur accused. “She would never have granted you the position otherwise.”

  “Sekolah granted my position,” Laaqueel argued. “High Priestess Ghaataag only followed his direction.”

  “You lie!” Thuur declared, sneering and throwing an accusatory clawed hand toward her. “Long have we known Sekolah as an uncaring god. He gave us courage and fierceness in battle, and fertility to make sure that our numbers would always be strong in our wars. How dare you even suggest Sekolah would care enough to intercede on behalf of an ill-bred malenti over his true children. It’s sacrilege.”

  Laaqueel continued moving. The insult cut through to her heart, touching all the insecurities she’d carried for the long years of her life. If not for the calling of the priesthood and her belief in Sekolah, there would have been no place in all the world for her. “We can settle this when we return to our village.”

  Thuur laughed derisively, the effort causing her to expel bubbles into the surrounding ocean that quickly floated toward the surface. “If we continue on this insane quest, you know we’ll never return home.” She shook her great head, her black eyes steady on Laaqueel’s emerald ones. “No, we’ll settle this now.”

  “There can be only one way between us, then.” Laaqueel crouched, her senses flaring. She brought her trident up, the three tines facing the other priestess.

  “To the death, malenti,” Thuur agreed, issuing the blood challenge. “I say that you are weak and unable to fulfill the duties of your office. Further, I charge that you have no business living among true sahuagin.” She kicked free of the mud, taking to the water where her battle skills were most effective. “If you wish, I’ll spare your life and you may live it among those elves you say you despise so much.”

  The offer was a further insult. Laaqueel expected no less. When Ghaataag had assigned Thuur, who was her bitterest rival, the high priestess had explained that the problem would take care of itself during the quest—one way or another.

  Laaqueel expanded her trachea and air bladder to increase her buoyancy. Though her legs weren’t jointed in two places as well as her ankle like a true sahuagin and she had no tail, her training and experience in underwater combat were extensive. She’d faced more combatants than Thuur and had slain a greater variety of them.

  Opposite Thuur in the sea’s cold embrace, she held her trident in one hand. “Let Sekolah take the weakest among us that the tribe may grow ever stronger.”

  Thuur reached for the crossbow dangling from her waist and brought it up. She snapped off her shot as soon as she had it level.

  Laaqueel focused on the quarrel as it erupted from the crossbow. She reached into the water with her free hand, spreading her fingers so the webbing between them could be more effective. Her toes spread as well as she kicked her legs. Her body turned, allowing the barbed quarrel to flash past her, missing her by only inches.

  Thuur dropped the crossbow as soon as she fired it, seizing her trident and swimming to the attack. Laaqueel met her, choosing not to use any of the spells she had available to her as priestess. There were greater things to fear in the ocean than a jealous rival.

  Thuur shoved her trident viciously at Laaqueel’s midsection, intending to impale her. The malenti shoved her own trident at her opponent’s weapon, interlocking the tines. Using the momentum of Thuur’s greater weight and strength in the water, Laaqueel bent her body and flipped over the junior priestess.

  The malenti kept hold of her trident with one hand as Thuur managed to disengage the weapons. Before the other priestess could turn, Laaqueel slipped a broad-bladed knife free of her shin sheath. Coming down behind Thuur, she hacked at the priestess, slashing her across the back and cutting deeply into her dorsal fin. Blood filmed the water in a dark and murky haze.

  Thuur screamed in pain and rage. She kicked the water, churning hard, and flipped around. Getting the trident in front of her again, she swam at Laaqueel.

  The malenti used her trident to batter the other weapon away, and allowed Thuur to come close. When the priestess was within range, Laaqueel buried the broad-bladed knife between her opponent’s ribs. She tried to draw it out, but the ribs and tough muscle trapped the blade.

  Laaqueel released the weapon and swam away as Thuur turned on her again. Before she could get completely clear, Thuur landed a backhanded blow against the side of her face. Pain wracked the malenti, but she remained in control of herself.

  “You’ll die for that, malenti!” Thuur screeched. She tore the knife from her body, then flipped gracefully in the water and threw it at Laaqueel.

  The knife sped through the water at the malenti’s throat. She lifted the bracer that covered her left arm from wrist to elbow and deflected the knife. The impact still sent a shock wave that partially numbed her arm. She forced herself into motion, drawing the trident back as she flipped. When she came forward again Thuur had moved,
but Laaqueel’s lateral lines had already picked up the priestess’s new position. The malenti hurled the trident with all her strength.

  The three-tined weapon sped true, impaling Thuur through the heart. She jerked spasmodically as the blow sent death thundering through her system. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she stared at the trident that claimed her life. She wrapped both hands around it but lacked the strength to pull it free. Her mouth opened, gulping down water, and fresh blood streamed from the gills on the sides of her neck.

  “Finish it,” Thuur croaked as she held onto the trident’s haft. “I deserve that much from you. Don’t let me suffer.”

  “Your heresies condemn you,” Laaqueel said as she closed on the priestess. “I am merely your judgment.” She popped the retractable claws from her fingers, another physical difference that separated her from the hated sea elves. She stared into Thuur’s black gaze.

  “Your quest is true, honored one,” Thuur gasped as she settled gently onto the ocean’s mud floor, no longer able to stand or swim. Silt dusted around her in a small cloud. “May Sekolah grant that you find it.”

  “And may the Great Shark you take with him into the Wild Hunt that you may forever taste the fresh flesh of our enemies,” Laaqueel answered.

  “Meat is meat,” Thuur said. “Let me make you stronger.”

  With great speed and care, she raked her claws across Thuur’s throat. “Meat is meat. You will never leave us.”

  Blood misted out at once, spreading through the ocean. Laaqueel smelled and tasted it even in the saltwater. Hunger pains vibrated in her stomach. She took the dead priestess’s knife and began slicing.

  “Come, my sisters,” she invited. “Meat is meat.”

  The other two joined her, wolfing down the gobbets of flesh as she sliced them free. More blood stained the water, spreading outward. Even a drop of it in thousands of gallons of water, Laaqueel knew, would draw predators, and they came. Some crawled on multi-jointed legs while others slithered through the water and still more finned their way to the death site.