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

"Whatever happens tonight," Shemsen said earnestly, "know that I have come to
think of you as a friend, as I had never imagined I would have a friend, and I
would be angry-unhappy-if I thought something happened to you. Stay here. Lie
low, and be safe."
"What are you talking about?" Eshono shouted after him, but Shemsen had found
the estuary current and was headed for open water.
The conch shell restored Shemsen whenever his strength faltered, and he used it
often. Remembering what the priestess had said about the sahuagin plans, Shemsen
took a longer route that steered him clear of both ship channels and long-range
patrols.
The sun was setting when he emerged from a shortcut rift. Its light turned the
overhead surface into a dazzling mirror pocked with dark splotches. Shemsen was
heaving too hard-drawing too much water over his labored gills-to focus his eyes
clearly. He dug out the shell and clutched it against his heart. Calmed and
restored, he looked up again.
One ship, yes-a wallowing pentekonter with a gaping hole amidships where its
sahuagin crew could arrive and depart without breathing air. Behind the
pentekonter, a single file of oval, wooden fliers, each capable of holding
several hundred warriors. Shemsen did the arithmetic. Waterdeep would
survive-he'd seen demonstrations of what the lords of the city could bring to a
battle-but the harbor would run red first.
And this, if Shemsen believed the priestess, was only the first army. He shaped
a prayer to the Sea Queen and breathed it into the conch shell.
Then, what? He could have swum to a working beacon and told them that several
thousand sahuagin were headed up the main channel. Assuming he was believed, the
beacons could give Waterdeep a few hours to prepare. What could even Khelben
Black-staff, his Lady, Maskar Wands, Piergeiron Paladinson, and all their ilk do
to forestall the sahuagin attack, Shemsen asked himself. Notions leaped to his
mind, but none stronger than the memory of Umberlee's voice.
You will do as Sekolah expects .. .
Shemsen rose from the seaweed and swam toward the outpost. The yellow-tailed
priestess was waiting. She berated him for being late. Between his kind and
hers, it was usually wisest to answer contempt with contempt. He snarled that he
saw no signs of a second army.
There were others, the priestess admitted, leading the second force across open
water. They weren't expected until twilight. Then they'd await a signal from
Prince Iakhovas.
The conch shell weighed like iron against Shemsen's hip. You will know the
moment... Did Umberlee expect him to intercept the prince's signal? No. You will
lead them to me . . .
The priestess-she gave her name as Quaanteel-
offered Shemsen meat. He declined and settled against the same stones where he'd
waited for the mermen. With a final, reddish flash, the day ended. Night gloom
settled quickly as clouds massed above to block the moon and stars. Sekolah's
power did not reach above the waves, but Umberlee could summon a storm, if She
chose.
And so could any great mage of Waterdeep.
Shemsen nestled deeper into his lair. The sea was cold and full of shadows.
Every slight change in the water brought them all to attention. The priestess
invariably looked to the southwest, so Shemsen chose a different stone and