"Realms of the Deep - Philip Athans.2.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anthologies)

persuasion Shemsen had told her how the power she wielded with Sekolah's
blessing could destroy it. Shemsen did not add that one surface ship and all the
sahuagin-crewed fliers in the sea would not be enough against the might of
Waterdeep. He doubted the priestess would have believed him. One of the few
traits sea elves and sahuagin shared was a bred-in-the-bone disdain toward
magic, and it was magic that fueled Waterdeep's greatest defenses.
Shemsen thought he'd done well, serving the unknown prince without truly
betraying the cold water harbor that had become his most unlikely home, but the
priestess hadn't finished.
The ship and the fliers aren't all. Prince Iakhovas commands a second army . .
."
Many years had passed since Shemsen's survival had depended on his ability to
read emotions from a sahuagin's rigid face, still he would swear-even to the
goddess as She ransacked his memories-that the priestess feared the new prince's
second army, and feared the prince even more. He'd begun to wonder what he'd do
if she'd demanded that he swim away with her. Death, he'd thought, might be a
wiser choice than serving a prince who put that kind of fear in a yellow-tailed
priestess.
In the end, she hadn't asked him to make that choice.
"Prince Iakhovas commands the attack in eleven days' passing. There will have
been a festival?"
Shemsen had nodded, and wondered how many other malenti were spying in
Waterdeep. "The Eve of Fleetswake. The harbor will be thronged and drunk. A good
time for a surprise attack."
"Of course," the priestess had countered, reminding Shemsen of the contempt
properly shaped sahuagin directed at malenti. "I will wait for you here as the
sun sets after this Fleetswake, and you will guide the second army into the
harbor. Fail me, and Sekolah will find you-in death. He will find you and bring
you to Prince Iakhovas."
The memory echoed hi Shemsen's mind, overriding the scenes that followed: the
destruction of the beacon, the feast on fallen comrades. He'd been gone too
long. His gut rebelled against the taste of sentient flesh. He'd chosen to die
rather than serve Prince Iakhovas. Yet Shemsen had not told the whole truth to
the mermen, nor spilled his conscience to the harbor guard. With the priestess's
dire threats swirling hi his memory, Shemsen had come here, to Umberlee.
Umberlee showed no mercy. With blinding, numbing speed She unraveled the strands
of Shemsen's life back to the hatchling pools and the garden where he'd learned
what it meant to be malenti. She compelled him to relive the black-cloud night
in such detail that he cried out and lost consciousness. He recovered with the
strange name, Iakhovas, vibrating in his skull and a thumb-size conch shell hung
before his eyes, glowing with its own light.
Take it.
Shemsen needed both hands to grasp the goddess's token, but as soon as its
warmth was against his flesh
the darkness was lifted. He saw himself in a chamber of wonders: of gold and
gems enough to sate the greediest pirate, of weapons to stir the blood of any
warrior, and magic of the most potent sort. In the corners of his eyes, Shemsen
saw life, men and women stripped naked and helpless. He closed bis eyes, but the
images lingered.
Ask no questions, the goddess warned. You will do as Sekolah expects. You may