Midnight's mask

CHAPTER 13

The water swallowed them. The surface fell away. Cale held his breath out of instinct and it took a conscious effort of will to inhale water. When he did, the fluid stung his nose as it rushed into his lungs. He could not control a reflexive fit of coughing. It passed soon enough, and after only a few deep breaths, inhaling water felt as natural to him as breathing air, save that his chest felt heavier.

Strange sensation, he said to Jak, and the little man nodded as they fell.

Pulled by the weight of the anchor, they descended rapidly. The darkness grew profound. Only the lightlessness of the Plane of Shadow compared with the pitch of the depths. Cale's transformed eyes allowed him to see but only to about the distance of a long dagger toss. Shadowy forms moved in and out of his field of vision, all of them finned, and some of them large. They fell through a school of orange fish as big as Cale's forearm. He kept his eyes open for scrags, but saw none. Cale suspected that Magadon had left no survivors.

They descended deeper. Cale looked down and saw only a black abyss. He glanced up and saw only a trail of bubbles left in their wake, spiraling away into the dark. The surface was lost to them. They were alone, sinking into the soundless depths.

Cale had no idea how they would find the slaadi down there.

Trickster's toes, Jak projected. I am at a thirty count and no end in sight. My ears are popping.

Cale nodded. His ears were popping too, and he had deliberately not kept a count. He did not want to know how far down they had gone.

The bottom finally came into view. Cale saw a wasteland of broken rock, hillocks, and rolling dunes of dirt that stretched as far as he could see in every direction. It looked as desolate as a desert.

Cale let go of the anchor before it took them all the way down. He and Jak kicked to end their downward momentum. With their lungs full of water, they hung at equilibrium ten paces above the sea floor. The anchor continued its descent, hit the sand, and in silence sent up a cloud of mud.

They glanced about, looking for any sign of the slaadi. Cale saw nothing. Other than the disturbance caused by the anchor's impact, the sea bottom was as still as a painting-no movement, no life. Cale found the bottom so alien it might as well have been another plane of existence. He was very conscious of the fact that he and Jak were intruders, bringing life and motion to the still death of the bottom.

Eerie down here, Jak projected. An understatement.

Both held their blades in hand. As an experiment, Cale made a stabbing motion with Weaveshear. The water did not interfere with his movement. Jak's spell allowed them to move as easily in the water as they could in air.

Large chunks of broken rock lay embedded in the sea floor below them, scattered across the mud like the gravestones of giants. Several were as large as towers, some as small as a man. Worked stone, too, jutted from the sand: pillars, the limbs and heads of ancient statuary, pedestals, columns.

He remembered Sephris's words and realized that they were looking upon the ruins of a city that had been old when Sembia had been nothing more than a collection of farming hamlets. The sea had kept Sakkors in stasis for centuries.

Cale could see only twenty or so paces in any direction, but he had the sense that the rubble field extended over a vast swath of the bottom. Sakkors must have been a large city, as large as Selgaunt.

What is that? Jak asked, and pointed behind Cale.

Cale turned and saw a diffuse red glow, dimmer than moonlight. He thought it odd that they had not seen it on the way down. Though distance was hard to gauge in the depths, Cale figured the radiance to be a long bowshot away, maybe farther.

Shadows leaked from Weaveshear and flowed lazily in the direction of the light.

Mags, we're on the bottom, heading for a light, Cale projected.

Magadon made no response. Cale and Jak shared a look. The halfling shrugged.

Let's go, Cale said, and they set off, following the rope of shadows that bled from Weaveshear.

Cale saw that they were swimming above a wide furrow torn in the bottom of the sea by the floating city that had crashed into the ocean and rolled along the floor. He did not allow himself to imagine the terror the inhabitants must have felt as they hit the water.

Dark, Jak said. This was no small town. Look at the damage. Imagine the number of people.

Cale nodded. Sakkors was a graveyard for tens of thousands.

The bottom sloped upward as they swam, slightly at first, then more steeply. The light grew brighter with each stroke. They came to a ridge and… the sea floor fell away beneath them.

They stood at the top of a cliff so steep and smooth it looked like the sea floor had been sheared with a vorpal blade. At the bottom of the cliff, easily five hundred paces down, a mass of ruins spread beneath them. Broken buildings lay piled haphazardly on more broken buildings, one after another, until they formed a mountain of ruin. The heap reached a third of the way up the cliff face. Only underwater could such an unstable mass not collapse. The red glow emerged from somewhere within the pile of ruins, near the bottom.

Looking down the cliff face, Cale understood the geography. The smooth cliff must have once faced the sky, part of a massive chunk of mountain that had borne Sakkors through the sky. When the city crashed into the sea, the slab of earth upon which it had been built had come to a stop on its side and much of the city had poured off and slid downward to form a pile at its base.

For a few moments, neither Cale nor Jak said anything. The destruction was too big for comment. The red glow bathed the ruins, cast them in blood. Shadows poured from Cale's blade toward the bottom of the mountain of ruins, toward the red glow.

Jak swam out over the cliff, turned, and looked down.

There are caves carved into the cliff face, he said. Above the ruins.

The scrags' lair, Cale guessed.

Jak gave a start, peered downward.

Cale followed his gaze and saw what had drawn the little man's attention.

Far below them, perhaps a third of the way down the cliff face, three silhouettes knifed through the water. Cale could not see them clearly but the figures were too small for scrags. They swam rapidly, with the speed and undulating movement of something native to the depths.

Is that them? Jak asked.

It has to be, Cale said, but cursed himself for not casting a spell ahead of time that would have allowed him to see dweomers. He might have confirmed for himself that the three humanoids were the shapechanged slaadi and Riven. Now he could cast nothing because he could not give voice to his prayers.

But the darkness would still answer him. Controlling the shadows did not require him to speak. He needed only his will.

Ready yourself, he said to Jak. I'll move us there.

Jak nodded and Cale called upon the shadows. He first molded the darkness of the depths into simulacrums of himself that mirrored his motions. The images flickered about him, continuously changing positions around the real Cale.

Jak tried to follow their motions, failed, shook his head.

Focus on Azriim, Cale said. He will have the Weave Tap seed.

How will we know which is him? Jak asked.

Cale had no answer for that. They would not be able to mark the slaad's unusual eyes underwater.

We will have to improvise, little man.

Jak hefted his blades, nodded.

Cale looked down the cliff, picked his spot, and drew the darkness around them. With an effort of will, he moved them instantly from atop the cliff to the water beside the three forms.

The moment they materialized, the three forms recoiled and shouted a bubble trail. Cale marked Riven as the one-eyed aquatic elf, and the slaadi as the scaled, fanged, and clawed sea devils.

Riven, in the flesh of the aquatic elf, darted backward from the combat and jerked a pair of daggers from his belt. The assassin caught Cale's eye and shook his head as if to say, Not yet!

Cale ignored him, noted a thigh sheath of wands on one of the sahuagin, and knew that was Azriim. He lunged forward and stabbed Weaveshear at the slaad's chest. The surprised slaad responded quickly, darting out of the way of the stab and answering with a claw slash across Cale's exposed forearm. Trailing blood, Cale swung Weaveshear in a reverse slash that bit deeply into the slaad's side. Azriim screamed, bled, kicked, and swam backward away from Cale.

Dolgan gave a roar, audible even underwater, and tried to wrap his arms around Cale. Instead, he grappled a shadow image and it winked out of existence. The big slaad lashed out with a claw rake that struck another image, destroying it.

Jak appeared behind the big slaad and drove dagger and short sword into Dolgan's side. The slaad roared with pain, whirled around, and caught the little man with a backhand slash across the face. Blood poured from Dolgan's wound, trickled from Jak's cheek and lip.

Cale swam toward Azriim.

The slaad held his ground and glared at him around a forced, fang-filled smile.

You truly are proving to be inconvenient, Azriim said, and fired what should have been a bolt of energy from his hand. The water diffused the lightning into a globe that charged the water in a sphere all around the slaad. White light flared and the water sizzled. The discharge popped Cale's eardrums, caused his heart nearly to stop, and left him momentarily stunned. It appeared to have no effect on Azriim, and Riven had backed clear of its effect. A cloud of smoky bubbles raced surfaceward.

Before Cale could recover, Azriim pulled another wand from his thigh sheath and fired it at Cale. Cale could not get Weaveshear into place in time and a thin green beam struck him. Instantly a green glow formed around his body. Cale recognized it as the same type of glow he had seen on the slaadi's ship, the magic that had prevented him from shadow stepping through patches of darkness.

Cursing, Cale swam for the slaad, Weaveshear held high. Azriim swam backward, his form much more adept in the water than Cale's. The slaad easily kept the distance between them as he pulled his teleportation rod and worked its dials.

Enjoy the scrags, priest, Azriim said, and vanished.

Cale cursed aloud, and it came out as merely an inarticulate shout and a stream of bubbles. He turned back to Jak and saw the little man swimming a few strokes away. Riven and Dolgan were also gone.

I'm fine, Jak said, in answer to Cale's look. The halfling appeared to have suffered no wounds other than the scratch to his face. Jak, too, must have been clear of the effect of Azriim's spell. Strong whoreson, that slaad. What about you?

Fine, Cale answered. His ears tickled as the drums regenerated. But that is the last time we let those bastards escape us. Done?

Done, Jak answered. The little man looked past Cale toward the cliff face and his eyes went wide.

Cale whirled and saw a dozen scrags swimming out of the caves toward them. They probably smelled blood in the water.

Cale cursed. Glowing green with the effect of Azriim's wand, he knew he must look like a beacon to the trolls. He could not use the shadows to move them from place to place while Azriim's spell still enshrouded him. And neither he nor Jak could attempt to dispel the effect until they reached the surface. He touched Weaveshear's blade to the glow, hoping it would absorb the spell. It had no effect.

Move! Cale said.

They turned their backs to the trolls and swam as fast as they could downward, toward the ruins and the source of the red glow. Despite the spells that aided them underwater, Cale still felt that he was moving too slowly. He spared a glance back.

The trolls' powerful bodies undulated and the creatures cut through the water. Their fangs-many as long as a finger-jutted from their open mouths and promised Cale and Jak a painful, bloody end. Their thick-lidded, yellow eyes focused on Cale and Jak with the intensity that all predators regarded their prey.

Move, Jak! Move! Cale said.

But the trolls were gaining.

The awakening Source, perhaps out of instinct, blocked Ssessimyth's parasitic use of its mental powers. Ssessimyth's expanded consciousness ceased functioning. He could no longer sense the ships above him; he could no longer sense his minions in the caves near him, in the waters above. It was as if someone else were drinking the mind of the Source, stealing it from Ssessimyth.

He shifted his tentacles and pressed his head farther into the Source, trying to hold onto whatever it had left to give him.

His dream was ending. He was no longer content.

Azriim, Dolgan, and Riven materialized where Azriim had intended-near the base of the mountain of ruins. Slabs of stone, columns, statues, broken rock, and millennia of detritus lay piled against the cliff face in a towering heap. The whole reminded Azriim of a monstrous hive.

As they swam in place, framed in the red light leaking from the pile, much of the heap unexpectedly shifted and rumbled, as if shook by a small earthquake. Stones cracked, rock grated against rock. A few large slabs of stone slid from the top of the pile and crashed to lower positions. A cloud of dirt rose up and befouled the water.

The pile resettled, and the tremor did not recur.

What was that? Riven asked.

Azriim only shrugged.

The ruins lay in a messy jumble and the pile featured innumerable openings, crevices, and tunnels. Red light leaked from several of the cracks near the bottom, casting red beams into the surrounding water. The largest of the tunnels opened at the very base of the ruins. The light was brightest there. That was their route in. Somewhere within that tunnel, they would find the heart of Sakkors's mantle.

Not far from the tunnel lay a haphazard stack of immense bones, picked entirely clean. Spines as long as ships rested alongside jawbones that could have contained a dozen men.

Whale bones, Riven observed.

Azriim nodded. The scrags must have been voracious eaters. The bones of at least a dozen dead whales littered the sea floor.

I wonder what a whale's brain tastes like, Dolgan said, eyeing a skull curiously.

Azriim ignored his broodmate and looked upward, through the swirling dirt. High above them he saw Cale, glowing green beside the halfling, swimming downward. A dozen or more scrags trailed them. The trolls were gaining with every stroke.

Follow me, Azriim said, and he swam for the large tunnel. He would have teleported directly to the mantle's origin but saw no need to risk a blind transport in such close quarters. They could swim to it. It would not be far.

Cale and Jak swam through the cloud of mud and dirt that floated up from the bottom. Whatever had caused the tremor had destabilized the mountain of ruins. Jak and Cale swam clear of it as they descended, to avoid falling stones or shifting rock.

What in the Hells caused that? Jak asked.

Cale shook his head and kept swimming. He spared another glance back and saw through the hazy water that the trolls had closed the distance. Their long arms threw water behind them with alarming efficiency.

Cale looked ahead and down, toward the red glow emitted from the bottom of the ruins. He thought he caught a glimpse of three figures entering a tunnel at the base of the ruins but could not be certain. He was certain that he and Jak would not make it. The trolls would catch them first.

As always, Jak knew what he was thinking.

Go, said the little man. He pulled up and started to turn around. Stop the slaadi. I'll hold the trolls here.

Cale did not slow. He grabbed Jak by the shirt and pulled him along.

Not a chance, Cale said. We pick a spot and make our stand together.

We have to stop the slaadi, Jak answered.

Cale nodded. We will.

But-

Save it, Jak, Cale snapped. Neither of us is dying today.

Like Jak, Cale wanted to stop the slaadi. He had said himself that something large was at stake. But he would not sacrifice a friend to do it.

There, Cale said, and pointed down to a pocket formed in the ruins. A pile of pillars and statues created a shallow tunnel. If they could reach it, the trolls would be able to attack them from only one direction.

Jak nodded and they angled toward it.

Behind them, the trolls roared. And continued to close.

The slaadi and Riven swam abreast through the broad passage. Slabs of broken stone lined the tunnel walls and braced the ceiling. Statues, their features long ago worn away, jutted from the ruins like specters rising from the grave. The movement of the threesome through the tunnel disturbed the fine sediment of the sea floor. They left a fog of dirt in their wake.

Between the sea water, the slash from Cale's blade, and the ubiquitous dirt, Azriim despaired for his clothes. Then he realized he was becoming giddy and took control of his emotions.

The red light grew brighter and drew them in. The tunnel angled slightly downward. Azriim wondered why the trolls-if the trolls were responsible-had cleared the passage. Perhaps they worshiped at the mantle's source. They were simpletons, after all.

Ahead, an opening beckoned, as wide as the mouth of a dragon. Light poured from it. Azriim picked up his pace, swam through the portal, and found himself at the end of a large hemispherical pocket, at the very root of the ruins. Dolgan and Riven followed.

Across the chamber was the provenance of the mantle-a red shard of glowing crystal as large around as the trunk of a mature oak. One end of it jutted out of a strange mound that made up the far wall of the chamber, and the other end disappeared into the rock of the sea floor. Only part of the shard's middle section was visible. Its length must have been three or four times Azriim's height.

Invisible magical energy soaked the chamber. Azriim's body tingled in the concentrated power. Swirls and eddies of crimson and orange flowed deep within the crystal's exposed facets. Azriim found the movement hypnotic.

The wall from which the crystal extended must have been transmogrified in some way by long exposure to the magic of the source crystal. Azriim thought it some kind of unusual coral mound, for it had literally grown around the crystal. Where crystal and coral met, the coral's edge was thin and ragged, and tendrils grew out of the mound and onto the surface of the crystal. From afar, the surface of the coral looked almost like leather. Azriim had never seen anything like it.

Riven, as though reading the slaad's mind, said, That's not stone, is it?

Azriim did not bother to answer. He shook the clawed hand upon which he wore his fingerless magical glove. The movement and Azriim's mental command summoned the silver, black-veined seed of the Weave Tap. He closed his fist over it. It vibrated slightly in his hand, perhaps in response to the mantle's energy.

Beside him, Dolgan stabbed the claws of one hand into the palm of the other. Blood leaked into the water.

Do it, his broodmate projected, his excitement palpable.

Azriim nodded and swam forward. Before he had gotten halfway across the chamber, a faint shudder shook the mound out of which the shard jutted, a pulse that sent a ripple along the rock. The shard flared crimson at the movement.

That shudder looked like something an animal might do.

Understanding dawned, and Azriim stopped cold in the center of the chamber. He looked hard at the tendrils and saw them for what they really were-veins. The implications settled on him.

The wall mound was not coral; it was flesh, the flesh of an enormous animal that had melded with the crystal. Perhaps the mantle was not sentient at all. Perhaps the creature used the magic of the mantle to project its consciousness surfaceward.

But then why had it taken no notice of Azriim and his companions?

What was that? Riven projected.

Azriim shook his head. He was not certain what it was.

He stared at the wall of flesh, astounded despite himself at the size of the creature that must be buried beneath the ruins. It was so large that its size had become a disguise. It was like looking at a speck of soil and trying to infer a farm.

Azriim understood now the source of the tremors. He also realized what had eaten the whales. Probably the scrags brought the creature food, perhaps as an offering. Azriim was pleased that the source crystal did not share whatever chamber afforded access to the creature's mouth.

What are you waiting for? Dolgan asked.

Azriim swam forward. The aura of magical energy emitted by the source crystal grew more intense as he neared it. So too did the pressure in his brain. He blocked it out as best he could. Azriim felt as if he were swimming against a current. His eyes ached; his vision grew cloudy. One stroke, another.

A second ripple ran through the flesh of the beast and somewhere, deep within a hidden part of the ruins, the rest of the creature's body began to stir. The entire pile of rock shook. Debris and chunks of stone rained from the ceiling. Azriim feared the entire mountain would collapse atop him. He, Riven, and Dolgan darted out of the way of several blocks of falling stone and covered their heads.

The tremor passed. The chamber remained intact.

Do what you came to do, Riven said.

Have your teleportation rods in hand, Azriim answered. The moment I plant the seed, we return to. .

He remembered that the Sojourner had told him not to return to the pocket plane. The slaadi's father was to provide them with a new location for their return. Unfortunately, Azriim had been unable to contact his father.

. . Selgaunt. We return to Selgaunt's wharves. We will contact the Sojourner there.

Azriim withdrew his own teleportation rod and turned the dials until he had only a single half-turn remaining to activate it.

Ready to retreat, he eyed the crystal, thought of what it would mean when he planted the seed: full transformation to gray, freedom from the Sojourner. The fact that the mantle was sentient, or that tapping it might kill the huge creature, bothered Azriim not at all.

Here we go, he said, and reached out his hand toward the crystal.

He touched the silvery seed to an exposed facet and the source crystal exploded in blinding red light. Beams of crimson fired in all directions. In an instant, the current of magical energy became a maelstrom and Azriim had to kick frantically to hold his position. He watched through squinted, aching eyes as the Weave Tap seed merged with the crystal, spread its black veins throughout the facets, entwined around and strangled the veins of the creature that had melded with the crystal.

The creature gave a lurch that shook the entirety of the ruins. The sudden movement tore the beast's flesh where it had grown over and into the crystal. Red blood poured from the wound and clouded the water, mixed with the maddening red light. The mountain of ruins quaked, shook, began to collapse.

The creature was waking.

Azriim turned the dial on his teleportation rod, felt the familiar quiver in his stomach, and was gone from that place in an instant.

The Source's consciousness moved groggily toward wakefulness and as it did, the power of its nearly conscious dreams sent mental energy pouring up from the sea bottom. The energy soaked Magadon, filled him, saturated him. He opened his mind and drank it in. He felt the Source's power weaken as the Weave Tap seed took hold, but even then its consciousness was more powerful than any Magadon had ever encountered.

Ages of history and knowledge passed through his memory in little more than a flash. He understood the nature of the Source. It was a sentient Netherese mythallar, unique in Faerun's history. Its mental and magical energy could be diffused over an entire city- enough to keep a metropolis afloat, or render nonmagical items mildly magical. Or, unlike an ordinary mythallar, its power could be concentrated in a single item or person. Its sentience allowed it to answer the wants of its creator. But in its dreaming state, it did not recognize its creator, and sent its energy forth for any to use.

Magadon seized all the energy he could, and as he absorbed more, he became able to contain and control still more power, and more. He felt as though his mind had expanded to the size of the multiverse. He shouted, not with pain, but with the ecstasy of revelation. The power in his voice shredded Demon Binder's sails. Around him, the ship's crew fell to the deck screaming, bleeding from their ears.

"What are you doing, man?" Evrel shouted.

Magadon did not respond. Instead, he drank in more power, and more.

Cale and Jak reached the cave, turned, and went shoulder to shoulder. The trolls were right behind them. Cale still had a few shadow images flitting about him, but they would be of little use in such close quarters. The pocket was little more than a cul-de-sac, with shards of stone and pillars jutting from the walls. The trolls would be able to attack them only through the cave mouth, and only two or three at a time. The glow from the magical effect on Cale cast the cave in green.

Cale held Weaveshear before him. Shadows poured from the blade. Jak brandished his dagger and shortsword.

The trolls appeared in moments. Two charged the opening, claws extended, fanged mouths wide. Cale and Jak, their movement magically free of water resistance, easily dodged under the scrags' claws and answered with shouts and steel. Cale severed an arm from one of the trolls and Jak drove both of his blades into the chest of the other. The creatures snapped and thrashed, destroying two of Cale's images and opening a gash in Jak's chest. Their bulk pushed Cale and Jak backward. The small cave became filled with bubbles, floating sediment, a cloud of troll and human blood. Cale stabbed blindly with Weaveshear, felt it bite into troll flesh. Beside him, Jak shouted, stabbed with his dagger.

Unexpectedly the trolls darted backward out of the cave and swam away, trailing streams of blood. Their wounds closed as they swam away and Cale understood their strategy. Able to regenerate underwater, the scrags would continually attack and withdraw, until Cale and Jak were too tired or too wounded to defend themselves.

Regenerating, Jak said. Dark and empty! We've boxed ourselves in.

Cale nodded, thinking fast. He came up with little.

We'll have to charge them, he said to Jak. Cut our way through and make a dash for the surface.

Jak looked at him and nodded, but Cale could see in his face that the little man understood how unlikely they were to make it. The trolls were faster swimmers and stronger combatants, albeit less skilled.

Still, both of them understood that they had no choice. If they stayed in the cave, the trolls would eventually kill them.

The scrags-Cale counted fourteen of the hulking creatures-swarmed the waters about ten paces from the cave mouth. They looked to be squabbling over which of them would attack next. Bestial eyes glared at Cale and Jak. Fangs jutted from cavernous mouths.

Without warning, the red glow from the base of the mountain flared, turning the sea to blood. Cale and Jak shared a look, unsure of what to make of it. The trolls, too, gave a start and went wide-eyed. They gestured toward the base of the ruins and grunted frantically to each other in their bubbly, guttural tongue. Two of them started downward and swam out of sight.

Cale was just about to call for a dash when a tremor, more powerful than the last, wracked the entire mountain of ruins. The ceiling of the cave shifted, and two huge chunks of stone fell. A block clipped Jak's shoulder and the little man screamed a stream of bubbles. A large slab struck Cale squarely in the back and drove him face-first to the cave floor. The shadows surrounding him saved his ribs from breaking, and his shadow-enhanced strength allowed him to shake the slab loose. He rose to all fours.

The shaking intensified.

What in the Hells is that? Jak asked, eyes wide.

Cale had no idea, but he did know that they had to get out of the cave. He found his feet.

Outside the cave, the scrags' wide eyes showed fear and surprise. Their attention was turned from Jak and Cale toward the base of the ruins. They were as vulnerable as they could be.

The trolls, Jak! Cale said. Right now!

Side by side, Jak and Cale darted out of the cave and charged the dozen remaining trolls.

Cale stabbed one through the chest, jerked his blade free, and unleashed a cross cut that severed the troll's head. Black blood poured from the stump and the body began to sink. Jak plunged his blades into the throat and ribs of another troll. It roared, arched its back, tried to swim clear of Jak.

The attack disconcerted the already fearful trolls. As one, they growled and fled in the direction of their caves. Cale and Jak floated in the cloud of troll blood, stunned. Cale could not believe their luck.

The Lady is smiling on us, Cale, Jak said. Let's get the Hells out of-

Below them, above them, around them, the entire mountain of rubble shook, lurched as if the earth were trying to dislodge from the ruins. Rock and finished stone rained down from the heights. A cloud of dirt went up from the base of the mountain, dimming the red light, obscuring the bottom, mixing with the troll blood. Cale watched the headless corpse of the troll he had killed spiral into the depths.

Stones crashed against each other, splintered, grated on each other with a deafening roar. The entire mountain seemed ready to be uprooted.

The underwater landslide continued for several moments, then silence.

Cale had seen enough. He would find the slaadi on the surface. He grabbed Jak's shirt and pulled him upward.

By the gods, Jak said, and Cale heard awe in his voice.

Cale turned, followed Jak's gaze downward. What he saw froze him. His numb hand fell from Jak's shirt. No wonder the scrags had fled.

A virtual mountain of flesh was squirming itself loose from the rubble. Cale had never seen a creature so large. He recalled the size of the shadow dragon they had encountered on the Plane of Shadow. This creature was easily several times that size.

Kraken, Jak said, and the word turned Cale's body cold.

The ruins that made up the base of the mountain had been blown outward by a lurch of the creature's immense body, exposing its form. Eight tentacles, each as big around as a tree trunk, sprouted from the bottom of a cylindrical body topped with a sleek, arrow-shaped head. The body alone stretched the distance of several bowshots, and the two longest of its eight tentacles-the outer two-could have reached halfway across Selgaunt.

The source of the red glow, too, was exposed-a huge shard of glowing red crystal, partially embedded in the sea floor and partially embedded in the top of the kraken's head. The open gash in which the crystal rested reminded Cale of a dragon's maw. The crystal itself called to mind the orange crystal that had been the source of Skullport's mantle.

Cale knew that the slaadi had come to tap this crystal the same way the other had been tapped. He knew, too, that they must have succeeded, and in so doing, had awakened a monster.

Tentacles squirmed amidst the ruins, casually brushed aside blocks of stone that a team of oxen could not have moved. The kraken emitted a high-pitched shriek so loud, so full of rage that it made Cale wince.

The creature levered itself against the sea floor with its inner tentacles and gave a powerful lurch, either to detach its head from the crystal or to detach the crystal from the sea floor.

We have to go, Jak said, and pulled at Cale's shirt. Cale nodded and started to swim surfaceward. But he could not take his eyes from the kraken.

The flesh of the creature's head gave way before the rock of the sea floor. Skin tore partially away from the crystal. Blood poured from the gash. The kraken emitted another shriek and contorted itself to reach around its head with its two outer tentacles. They twined themselves around the crystal. The creature was going to pull it from the sea bed.

And after that, it would be free to move.

The image of the kraken swimming free in the same sea as Cale and Jak brought Cale back to himself.

Move, Jak, he said, tearing his eyes from the kraken. Now. Move!

They turned their feet to the ruins and swam. They threw water behind them as fast as they could.

Too slow, Cale's mind kept repeating. Too slow.

Another screech from the kraken filled the sea. The ruins rumbled as the movement of the creature's body shook the pile. A sharp crack sounded and the kraken uttered another shriek, this one in exultation. Cale knew what it signified-it had torn the crystal free of the sea bed.

Faster, Cale! Jak said, his voice filled with panic.

But both of them knew they already were swimming as fast as they could.

Magadon, Cale projected to the surface, but received no response. Mags! If you can hear me, get the ship out of here. Right now. Something is coming, something. . big.

The Source is awakening, Erevis, replied Magadon, and his mental voice boomed inside of Cale's head. I understand its language now, its purpose, its powers. I can use it-

Mags, forget all of that, Cale said. Just get the ship out of there. Right now. Make for Selgaunt. We'll meet you.

Cale said that last though he did not expect to survive. Bubbles streamed from his mouth; shadows leaked from his skin. He kicked, threw his arms out and down. Already his limbs felt like lead. His muscles were burning. How long had they been swimming upward? Where in the Hells was the surface?

He glanced downward just as the kraken squirmed its body entirely free from the ruins. The pile started to collapse, the roar of falling stone loud enough to hurt Cale's ears. Sakkors was lost in a cloud of silt.

The kraken, with one powerful undulation of its enormous body and tentacles, wiggled free of the destruction. It swam backwards, leading with its head, and the glowing red crystal stuck out of the gash in its head like a unicorn's horn. The two outer tentacles ended in diamond-shaped pads covered in suckers the size of kite shields. The creature swam an arc around the ruins, as if testing out a body long atrophied through lack of use. It angled upward and its eyes-as large as wagons-seemed to fix on Cale and Jak.

Keep going! screamed Jak.

They swam with an energy born of terror.

Another shriek of rage filled the deep. Cale looked down to see the kraken undulate its body and swim after them. Its huge form cut through the water as cleanly as a razor. It matched a bowshot with each undulation. Its eyes never left them.

Cale looked up and saw nothing to indicate that they were nearing the surface. No light, no anything. Terror birthed panic.

The kraken was closing, eating up the distance. Cale could feel it.

They were dead, he knew it.

Still, he kept kicking. It was not in him to surrender. He kicked, swung his arms, swam for all he was worth. His heart must surely burst.

He looked back and saw nothing but the kraken's eyes, the pupils as big across as he was tall.

They breached the surface. Air. Starlight.

Gasping, spent, Cale did not allow his astonishment to cloud his thinking.

"Dispel it, Jak!" he shouted. "Hurry!"

Jak pulled his holy symbol and began to cast. Both of them knew that if Jak's spell failed to overcome the magic of the slaad's wand, they would die right there.

As Jak mouthed the words to his spell between gasps, Cale tried to look out over the water, to spot Demon Binder. He did not see it. He hoped Magadon and Evrel had gotten the ship clear of the area.

Selgaunt, Mags, he projected again, and received no response.

He did not bother to look down. He knew what was underneath them. He knew too what would happen if it reached them. The water was blood red and growing brighter. The kraken, with its horn of glowing crystal, was closing. Cale could feel it coming within his bones, the same way he could feel a storm on the winds.

He drew the darkness around himself and Jak. If Jak's spell succeeded, he would take them into the shadows instantly. If Jak's spell did not succeed, then he would die cloaked in the darkness that had become his constant companion.

Jak shouted the last word to his spell and pointed his holy symbol at Cale.

The green glow that tethered Cale to the Material Plane winked out.

Cale felt the waters rising under them. The kraken was right below them. A scream from the creature rose up from the water and burst into the night air.

Cale hoped never again to hear such a sound.

The shadows around them deepened, swallowed them, and took them away.

Magadon felt it when Jak and Erevis traveled the darkness and vanished. If only Demon Binder could have done the same. There was no wind. The ship had no way to go anywhere.

And the creature that long had held the Source's mind captive was surfacing. Magadon sensed its anger. He saw it in his mind's eye-a body as large as a town, tentacles lined with suckers like shields, a savage, curved beak that could rend a ship in two with a single bite.

Kraken.

And it was bringing the Source with it. Magadon's expanded consciousness sensed that the Source jutted like a narwhal's horn from an open wound in the kraken's head. The Source was awakened and surfacing.

Magadon was terrified at the implications.

A crewman called out from the starboard side of Demon Binder and the rest of the crew pelted past Magadon and across the ship to look over the side. Magadon knew what they saw: The glow of the Source had turned the sea blood red between Demon Binder and the slaadi's ship. Magadon heard the alarmed voices of the crew, sensed their growing fear.

The Source, nearly awake now, was still feeding him. He drank all he could, despite the harm it did to his body. He had never felt anything like it. Knowledge poured into him. His head pounded and he felt blood leaking from his ears, his nose. He hoped the warm fluid running out of his eyes was clear and not red. He groaned with the pain, exulted in the power.

Selgaunt, Mags, Cale had projected.

The crew began to point, shout. The glow was growing brighter. The water off the starboard side roiled. Foam sprayed into the air as tentacles as thick around as kegs burst from the sea. The kraken's glistening body followed, displacing so much water that it sent waves into Demon Binder strong enough to cause it to list. The kraken's huge eyes, half-exposed above the waterline, looked first on Demon Binder, then on the slaadi's ship.

It turned and headed for the other ship.

The panicked screams of the survivors aboard the slaadi's ship carried over the sea. The kraken cut through the water like a blade. It closed the distance to the slaadi's ship rapidly. Its body dwarfed the vessel. The screams of the ship's crew grew louder. Tentacles thicker than the mainmast squirmed over the deck, crushed men to pulp, wrapped the ship from maindeck to keel. Wood splintered, shattered. The masts toppled. The ship buckled. The creature pulled all of it underwater and fed on what it wished.

The slaughter had taken less than a five count. There was no sign of the slaadi's ship. The kraken swam a tight circle and started for Demon Binder.

The crew shouted in alarm, and alarm quickly turned to panic. Evrel shouted orders but no one heeded. Some stared at the onrushing mountain, some screamed, some milled about, looking for something, anything, that might allow them to be spared.

Magadon stared not at the kraken but at the Source, sticking out of the creature's head. It was still pouring mental energy into him. Magadon knew what he had to do. He knew it might kill him.

The kraken was closing. Several of the crew screamed defiance at the sea, shook their fists at the beast; others wrapped their arms around their bodies, fell to the deck, and awaited death.

Awaken, Magadon said, and used the power granted him by the dreaming Source as a prod to spur the sentience of the crystal awake.

The kraken was two bowshots distant. One.

Awaken!

The Source stirred to wakefulness. The crystal in the kraken's head flared blazing red, a pulse of power and light so bright it seemed for a moment as though a crimson sun had dawned over the sea.

Magadon screamed; the kraken shrieked; the crew wailed.

The awakened Source sent a call into the sky, along the Weave, so powerful that Magadon knew it could be sensed across Faerun. It spoke only a short phrase, in a language-ancient Netherese-that Magadon had learned only moments before.

I am here, it projected. Help me.

Magadon did not know to whom it was speaking-perhaps it had called to no one-and he had no time to consider the implications.

The surge of power emitted from the awakened, fully-conscious Source knocked Magadon to his knees. He lowered his mental defenses and took into his mind everything the Source offered. New mental pathways opened; understanding dawned; realizations struck him, revelations. He grabbed his head and held it, fearful it would fly apart. Sounds were coming from his mouth-gibberish-but he could not stop them. In those few moments he learned more of the Invisible Art, more of himself, than he had learned from a lifetime of study.

But he needed more.

Give it all to me, he projected to the Source, and was astounded at the power contained in his mental voice.

The Source answered.

The power that filled Magadon doubled that which he previously had received. His mind felt aflame. He felt his veins straining. Dagger stabs of pain wracked his skull. Blood gushed from his nose, his ears. His vision went blurry. He forced himself to hold onto consciousness. Despite the pain, he let the power come until the Source had given him everything it had.

The Source dimmed while Magadon glowed with the power contained in his mind. He was soaked in blood, snot, saliva. He did not care. He roared and his voice boomed over the water. The crew turned from the kraken to face him. Their wide eyes showed fear, wonder. Evrel shouted but Magadon could not hear him. He heard only a keening in his ears, punctuated by the drumbeat of his heart. In that instant, he knew that his mental abilities exceeded even those of the Sojourner.

Behind the crew, he saw the mountain of flesh closing on Demon Binder, saw the glowing facets of the Source coming closer.

Magadon looked inward and found his mental focus. It brought him calm. He reached out with his mind in a way he had never before done. As his consciousness expanded, he saw the fluidity of reality, the uncertainty of outcomes, the interconnections not between events but between possible events. He knew he could affect those possibilities; he knew he could make the improbable-even the highly improbable-reality.

At his command, reality conformed to his will. At the bow of Demon Binder, a glowing, golden vertical line appeared. It expanded rapidly in width and height until it formed an oval larger than the ship. The glow wavered, steadied, and an image appeared-a shoreline, the lantern light from a city, a thicket of masts and ships.

Selgaunt Bay. The crew stirred, ran for the bow as if to jump off the ship and into the bay.

Magadon exerted his will and pulled the portal toward Demon Binder.

A golden glow suffused ship and crew as they entered the portal, The kraken's shriek of rage chased them through. A tentacle struck the ship just before the magic took hold and sent it careening forward. The crew fell to the deck, shouting in alarm.

In a blink, Demon Binder floated peacefully on the still waters of Selgaunt Bay. Magadon, wobbly, sealed the portal behind them.

Cut off from the Source, he felt bereft. Knowledge and power flowed out of him, as ephemeral as the memory of dreams. He held on to what he could, but it was disappointingly little.

The crew rose to their feet and looked around with dazed expressions. One cheered, another, another. Soon the whole crew was shouting, singing, thumping each other on the back.

Smiling faces turned to Magadon and lost their mirth. Magadon touched a hand to his face. It came away bloody. His vision blurred and he fell.