The Best of the Realms, Book I

AND THE DARK TIDE RISES

Keith Francis Strohm

7 Eleint, the Year of the Gauntlet

The last rays of the setting sun spun out over thewaters of the Inner Sea, transforming its rippled surface into shimmering gold.Umberlee's Fire, the sailors called it, and considered it a good omen, a signthat the Sea Queen had blessed their work. Morgan Kevlynson stood on the bow ofthe sea-worn fishing dory that had served his family for years and ignored thespectacular display. Absently, he pushed a strand of coal-black hair from hisface, blown there by the swirling, salt-flecked fingers of the wind, and lethis thoughts wander beneath the fiery skin of the sea.

Darkness surrounding, like a cocoon, the wild impulsesof the deep; blue-green presences where sunlight caresses sea-halls.

There were mysteries here. He knew that as surely ashe knew his own name. The sea held an ancient wisdom-wild and untamed; carried dark promisesupon its broad back. And sometimes, when he sailed the waters in silence, theycalled to him.

Today was such a time.

Morgan closed his eyes, absorbed in the dance of windand wave and foam. He felt a familiar emptying, as if some inner tide receded; hisheartbeat pulsed to the rhythm of the sea, slow and insistent, like thewhitecaps that struck the side of the dory, until everything became thatrhythm-heart, boat, sky-the world defined in a single liquid moment.

That's when he saw her: eyes the color of rich kohl,skin as green-tinted as the finest chrysoberyl, and blue-green hair that flowedmore freely than water itself. Yet, there was a sadness, a vulnerability aboutthis creature that set an ache upon him more fierce than any he had ever felt.He was about to ask what he could do to set a smile back upon her face when sheopened her mouth and-

"Tchh, laddie!Lay off yer sea-dreamin' and give us a hand." The voice was deep,resonant, and rough as coral, worn smooth only by the companionable lilt of thefishermen of the Alamber coastline.

Morgan opened his eyes and spun quickly to face thesound, only just catching himself as his sudden movement set the dory rocking.Angus, his grandfather, sat athwart the starboard gunwale stowing line with theease of long practice. The old man's sun-burnished skin covered his face andhands like cracked leather. A thick shock of silver hair crowned the ancientfisherman's bowed head, and his rough woolen clothes were worn thin and dustedwith dried salt. Despite the weathering of years, Angus showed no signs ofslowing down. His wits and his grasp remained firm, as was the way of those whospent their entire lives fishing the rough shores and islands of Alamber.

Despite himself, Morgan smiled at the thought of his grandfatherever needing anyone's assistance.

"But Granda, I was just-"

" 'Tis sure I knew what you were about,lad," the old man interrupted. "Moonin' over the water. 'Tis notnatural. The sea'd just as soon swallow you up as leave you be. Never doubt theright of that, boyo. She's a fickle lover, she is, and a man cannot hope tounderstand her."

Morgan sighed, moved to the small wooden mast at thecenter of the boat, and carefully folded up the coarse cloth that made up thedory's only sail. He had heard this same lecture at least three hundred times.His grandfather would never tire of it. The old man's voice droned on as theyoung fisherman gathered up the now-thick bundle of sailcloth. It was difficultto keep the irritation out of his movements. Morgan was sure that he felt hisgrandfather's disapproving stare when he dropped the cloth a bit too forcefullyinto its storage area beneath the prow.

Still, the old fisherman continued his lecturing. Itwas not fair, really. Morgan had lived nearly eighteen summers-and had sailedfor most of those. He was no land-bred lackaday, ill-prepared for work upon afishing boat, nor was he a pampered merchant's son come to the Alamber coaston holiday. He was a fisherman, born into one of the oldest fishing families onthe Inner Sea. Yet his fascination with the sea seemed to frighten hisgrandfather-and the close-knit inhabitants of Mourktar.

Thinking back, he knew the reason why. The superstitiousvillagers had never really accepted him. His mother dead from the strain ofchildbirth, his father lost in grief so deep that he sailed out into the InnerSea one winter night, never to return, Morgan had grown up wild, spending manya sunset running across the rocks and cliffs that jutted out over the water,listening to the song of the waves and breathing in the salty musk of the wind."Sea-touched," they had called him. Changeling. Pointing to his blackhair and fair skin, so different from the sun-golden complexion and reddish hairof Mourktar's natives, as outward proof of the very thing they whispered softlyto each other in the deep of night, when the wind blew hard across the shore.Even now, Morgan knew that many still made the sign of Hathor behind his backif he gazed too long out at sea or sat on Mourktar's weathered quay in deepthought.

He searched for signs of bitterness, for someresentment of his reputation, but found none. He had grown up with the simplereality that no one understood him. He had friends, conspirators who were happyto while away the time between childhood and manhood by stealing a mug or twoof frothy ale from old Borric's tavern or playing at war amid the scrub-chokeddunes, and there were evenings enough of stolen kisses beneath the docks. Butno one truly knew what went on in his deepest core, that silent part of himthat heard the measured beat of the sea's heart, that felt its inexorable pulllike a vast undertow of need. No one could know these things-except perhapshis father.

Morgan shuddered at that thought and shook himselffree of his reverie. His frustration and resentment drained out of him, leavingbehind only emptiness and a numbing chill. The sun had nearly fallen beneaththe horizon, and he looked up to find his grandfather staring expectantly athim in the purplish haze of twilight, his discourse apparently finished.

"I said, 'tis a fierce storm'll blow tonight, andwe'd best be finishing soon." The old man shook his head and mutteredsomething else under his breath before opening the waterproof tarp they used tocover the boat.

Morgan hmmphed guiltily and moved to help hisgrandfather, threading a thin rope through the small holes around the tarp'sedge and running it around the metal ringlets attached to the sides of theboat. In truth, not a single cloud floated anywhere in the twilit sky, but thecoastal breeze had picked up, bringing with it a sharpening chill. He had longago stopped doubting his grandfather's ability to guess the weather.

Once he'd finished securing the tarp, the old man spatand walked down the quay toward Mourktar.

"Come lad, we've a fair catch to bring home, andthere's a dark tide running in. Besides, I've a yearning for some of yer gran'sfish stew."

Morgan bent and hefted the sack of freshly caught fishover his shoulder, thanking the gods that they had sold the rest of the day'scatch to the merchants earlier. As he turned to look one last time at the dory,rising and falling to the swelling of the waves, he caught sight of afurtive movement near the boat. He was about to call to his grandfather,fearing the mischievous vandalizing of a sea lion, when he caught sight of ahead bobbing just above the surface of the water. Morgan couldn't make out anymore of this strange creature, but that didn't matter. Staring at him in thefading light, he saw the face of his dream.

In a moment, she was gone, and he turned back to hisgrandfather. Though the two walked back to the village in silence, Morgan'smind was a jumble of confusion and disbelief.

The storm raged throughout the night, battering therough thatch of the simple hut. Morgan tossed fitfully under his thick quiltwhile the wind howled like a wolf through the dirt lanes and footpaths ofMourktar. His grandparents slept deeply in the main room. He could hear theirthroaty snores, a rough counterpoint to the storm's fury. Sleep, however,refused to grant Morgan similar relief. Instead, he lay there curled up into aball, feeling lost and alone, and very small against the night.

It had been like that the entire evening. When he andAngus had arrived at their family's hut for supper, storm clouds had alreadyblotted out the newly shining stars. Morgan had barely noticed. The vision ofthe sea woman's face had flared brightly in his mind since he'd left the docks,and his thoughts burned with her unearthly beauty. Everything else seemed dullin comparison, hollow and worn as the cast off shell of a hermit crab.

He had sat through supper mostly in silence, distractedby the rising song of the wind. Several times he had almost gasped in horror,for he heard in that mournful susurrus the slow exhalation of his nameushering forth from the liquid throat of the sea. His grandparents had bornethis mood for as long as they could. Morgan's muttered responses to his gran'squestions, however, had finally earned him a cuff from Angus. Though even that blow had feltmore like an echo of his granda's anger, a memory of some past punishment.Frustrated, the old fisherman stormed away from the driftwood table, cursing.Morgan mumbled some excuse soon after and staggered to his cot, seeking reliefin the cool release of sleep.

He failed.

Thoughts of her consumed him, and his skinburned with the promise of her touch. She wanted him, called to him in a voicefull of moonlight and foam and the soft, subtle urging of the sea. He lay therefor hours, trying to hide from her, trying to retreat into the hidden places ofhis mind. But she followed, uttering his name, holding it forth like a lamp.

Morgan, come!

Come, my heart-home!

Come!

Briefly, irrationally, he wondered if his father hadheard the same voice on the night he stole a boat and, broken by grief, sailedout to his death on the winter sea. Perhaps, Morgan thought wildly, thismadness was hereditary.

Come!

The voice. Stronger this time, driving away allthought except obedience. With a cry, he flung himself out of the cot, nolonger able to resist the siren call. The compulsion took a hold of him now,drove him out of the hut into the gray stillness of false dawn. The storm hadspent itself. Wind and rain no longer lashed the shore. The world held itsbreath, waiting.

Waiting for what? Morgan thought.

In an instant he knew. It waited for him. Rubbing hisarms briskly to ward off the predawn chill, he followed the dirt road down tothe docks. Every step brought Morgan closer to her. He ignored thedowned branches, shattered trunks, and other detritus that littered the road,and began to run. He had no choice.

And yet, there was a sense of promise to this call, ahint of mystery unveiled. If he was going to end his life sea-mad like hisfather, he would at least receive something in return, a gift from the darkwaters that had been his true home these past eighteen seasons more trulythan the insular huts and close-minded folk of Mourktar. He understood thatnow, and the notion filled him with equal parts terror and fascination.

At last, he reached the end of the dock, sweat soakedand gasping for breath. He cast about desperately, hoping to catch some glimpseof the mysterious creature that haunted both his waking and dreaming, proofthat he had not simply lost his wits. She was there, floating idly tothe left of his family's dory.

Even from a distance her beauty stung him with itspurity. The skin of her green-tinted face was creamy and smooth as marble, andher delicate features set his fingers twitching, so much did Morgan long totrace the curve of chin, nose, and throat. Long blue-green hair, though mattedwith moisture above the water, floated tenderly over the outline of her body.

Morgan would have dived into the chill sea that verymoment to be with her, had she not opened her full-lipped mouth and spoken.

"Greetings, Man-child, son of Kevlyn. I fearedthat you would not come in time."

Her voice was sweet and clear, her intonation fluid,making it sound to Morgan as if she sang every phrase.

Questions filled his head to bursting. Who was she?How did she know him? Why did she call him here? As he hurriedly tried todecide which one to speak aloud, he realized that the compulsion was gone. Histhoughts were his own.

He looked at the mysterious creature again, noting forthe first time the thick webbing splayed between the fingers of her hands asshe easily tread water. She tilted her head slightly to the side, obviouslywaiting for his response.

Morgan said nothing, letting the moment stretchbetween them, letting the rhythmic slap of water against dock, the wail ofearly rising gulls, and the faint rustling of the coastal wind fill the voidher compulsion had left inside of him.

He was angry, and not a little frightened. Thiscreature had used him, manipulated him, and when at last he spoke, his voicewas full of bitterness. "Of course I came. You gave me no choice."

She laughed at that, though he heard no humor in it,only a tight quaver that sounded suspiciously to his untrained ear likesadness.

"There's little choice any of us have now,lad," the creature said softly, almost too softly to be heard. Thenlouder, "But you must forgive me, Morgan. These are desperate times. Isent out the Call; you came. And a truer Son of Eldath never walked or swamupon the face of Toril."

Now it was her turn to stare, deep-colored eyeslocking on to his. Morgan felt his anger drain away, only to be replaced by hedidn't know what-embarrassment? Shame? He felt like an ungainly boy under theweight of that otherworldly gaze.

"H-how do y-you know my-my name?" hestuttered quickly, trying to focus the creature's attention elsewhere.

The sea woman chuckled, her amusement plain to hear,and said, "You mortals wear your names as plainly as a selkie does herskin. It is child's play to pluck it from you-if you know how to look forit." Her smile faded. "Ahh, but I see that I am being rude. Forgiveme, again, for it has been a long time since I have spoken with a mortal. I amAvadrieliaenvorulandral. You may call me Avadriel. I am Alu'Tel'Quessir, thosefolk your ancestors called 'sea elves,' and I need your help."

Morgan sat on the dock, stunned. Alu'Tel'Quessir. Seaelves. Morgan had only dreamed of ever seeing such a creature, and here hestood, talking to one in the flesh.

"You need my help?" he askedincredulously. "But lady-"

"Avadriel," the creature interrupted."I gave up such formalities centuries ago."

"Avadriel," he continued, choosing to ignorethe implications of the sea elf's last statement. "I'm but afisherman."

Clearly, Morgan thought, this beautiful creature whofloated up out of the depths was mistaken. Soon, she would realize this andreturn to her watery realm, leaving him alone and feeling the fool. At this moment, he didnot know which would be worse.

"A fisherman," Avadriel scoffed. "Youare far more than that, Morgan. You are one of the few mortals left who canhear the Old Song.

"Yes," she continued, noticing his look ofconfusion, "the sea has set its mark upon you, even if others of your kindfear and distrust you because of it. That is why I have come."

Here were words straight out of a bard's fancy, theyoung man thought, but could he laugh them away, dismiss them as so muchnonsense, when they came from the mouth of such a creature? Morgan's world hadspun out of control since he first saw her. He felt caught in the grip of someimplacable tide, carrying him to the depths of a black abyss. Yet, Avadriel'swords rang with the truth, and her presence gave him something to hold on to,an anchor in an otherwise tumultuous sea. Gravely, he nodded, too afraid tospeak.

Avadriel shot him a half smile and said, "It isgood to see that the children of the sun are still brave-though I fear evenbravery may not be enough to save us. You see, Morgan, a great evil hasawakened deep within the blackest abyss of the sea, leading an army of itsdark minions. Already this force has destroyed Avarnoth. Many of my people.."

The sea elf faltered, and Morgan saw the pain she hadbeen hiding burst forth, marring her beautiful features. He looked away, notwishing to intrude. After a few moments, she continued-her voice a tremulouswhisper.

"Many of my people made the journey to Sashelas'shalls, but it will not stop there. This evil grows daily, and it will sweepacross the lands of Faerûn like a tidal wave, destroying everything in itspath."

Something in her voice made Morgan look up. Avadriellooked pale, her face drained of color. He was about to ask her what was wrong,when a large wave pushed her hair aside, revealing a deep gash across her rightshoulder. Flesh, muscle, and vein were ripped apart, exposing thin white bone.

Morgan cursed softly. "Lady-Avadriel, you arewounded!"

He was angry; at himself for not noticing sooner, andat her for concealing such a thing.

How she had managed to carry on with such a grievousinjury was beyond him. Hurriedly, he searched about the wooden wharf for one ofthe small dinghies used to ferry fishermen to boats anchored away from thelimited space of the docks. He soon found one tied off near a set of rustingcrab traps. Adroitly climbing down a rickety rope ladder, the young fishermancast off and rowed the battered dinghy toward the wounded creature.

"Do not concern yourself with my well being,Morgan," Avadriel protested weakly as he neared. "My message is farmore important than my life."

Ignoring the sea elf's instructions, for he hadalready concluded that her life was far more important than his own, the youngman drew close to Avadriel and gently pulled her into the rude craft, carefulnot to further damage her wounded shoulder. The sea elf was surprisinglylight, and, despite her initial protest, offered Morgan no resistance.Carefully, he laid her down, folding his sweater under her head for a pillowand covering her naked body with a weather-worn tarp.

Avadriel's skin was cold to the touch, and her oncebright eyes began to glaze over. Even so, she reached out to him with herwebbed hands, turning her head to reveal three gill slits running througheither side of her delicate throat. He bent down to her, fascinated as theslits sucked noisily in the air.

"Morgan. . you. . must listen," shewhispered unevenly. "There is something you must… do … something…" Her voice trailed off into silence.

At first, he thought she must have died, for her gillslits had stopped opening, but his fears were allayed when her chest began torise and fall shallowly. Avadriel was sorely wounded, but by the gods, Morganthought, she was alive.

Quietly, he sat down in the small boat. The early morningwind raked his now bare arms and neck. His thin, short-sleeved undertunicoffered him little protection against the seasonal cold. Morgan ignored thechill, however, and began to row. There were several shallow sea caves not farfrom the docks. He would take Avadriel there, away from the prying eyes andfearful minds of Mourktar's inhabitants. He would tend to her wounds, and whenshe awakened, he would travel to the ends of Toril for her. He remembered herimpassioned plea. He was needed.

Blood. The scent of it filled the water, thick, heavy,and rich. T'lakk floated idly amid the waving kelp strands, savoring the headyaroma, sucking it in with each flap of his gill slits. It stirred somethingdeep within his hunter's heart, an ancient hunger, older than the sea itself.He waited, letting it grow, letting it build, until the hunger sang withinhim-tooth and claw and rending flesh, a savage, primal tune.

Quickly, he shook his green-scaled head, refusing togo into the Place of Madness. Though it cost him great effort, the creaturefocused his senses back on the hunt. He still had work to do, and the masterwould be displeased if he failed in this task. Three long clicks summoned theother hunters from their search along the rocky sea floor. Balefully, he eyedeach one as they arrived, satisfied that they approached with the properhumility. He would brook no challenges now. Not when their quarry lay so close.

He smiled grimly, revealing several rows of needle-sharpteeth, as the assembled hunters scented the blood. A quick signal sent themarrowing through the water to follow the trail. Soon, T'lakk thought gleefullyas he swam after his companions. Soon the Hunt would be over.

Morgan sat in the damp cave, watching the measuredrise and fall of Avadriel's chest as she slept. A battered lantern lay at hisfeet, perched precariously between two slime-covered stalagmites. Its rudelight licked the jagged rocks of the cavern, revealing several twisted stoneshelves surrounding a small tidal pool.

He had arrived at the bank of sea caves just as themorning sun crested the horizon, grateful that he was able to reach shelterbefore most of the village boats sailed through the area in search of theirday's fishing. Once he had maneuvered his small craft deep enough into one ofthe caves to shield it from sight, Morgan had gently lifted Avadriel out of thedinghy, placed her on a low, relatively flat lip of stone overhanging thetidal pool, and set about binding her wound as best he could.

Now he sat stiff-necked and attentive, anxiouslywaiting for the sea elf to awaken. The silence of his vigil was broken only bythe slow drip of water echoing hollowly in the enclosed space. Hisgrandparents would be frantic by now-though Morgan knew that his granda wouldno doubt have sailed the boat out to sea, not willing to miss the day'sfishing, thinking all the while of ways to box his grandson's lazy head. Still,he thought in the foreboding chill of the cavern, he would gladly suffer agreat deal more than his grandfather's wrath for Avadriel's sake.

As Morgan kept a cold, damp watch over the sleepingsea elf, he marveled at how much his life had changed in such a short time.Yesterday, he had given no thought to the world beyond the coastal waters ofMourktar. Today, he found himself hiding in a cave with a wounded sea elf,ready to leave behind everything for the beauty of a creature he'd neverthought he would actually see.

When Avadriel finally awoke, several hours later, thewater level in the tidal pool had risen, lapping gently around her body. Shesat up with a start, looking rather confused and frightened, until her eyes metMorgan's. He smiled, hoping he didn't look as foolish as he felt, andapproached her carefully, determined not to turn his ankle on the slipperyrocks in his eagerness.

If he had expected a long litany of thanks and gratefulness,he would have been disappointed. Though there was a softness about the seaelf's face, a gentle hint of a smile in answer to his own, her words wereabrupt and as hard as steel.

"You must leave at once," she said."Before it is too late."

Morgan stared at Avadriel once again. He didn't understand-didn'twant to understand. He only knew that his place was by her side.

"Leave?" he asked incredulously. "ButAvadriel, you're still hurt. Perhaps once you have healed a bit we could traveltogether."

He tried to keep the wistfulness out of his voice,failing miserably.

"If only that were possible, Morgan, but we don'thave that much time. You must go to Firestorm Isle and tell the wizard Dhavrimthat Avarnoth has fallen. An ancient evil is free once again. Its black army iseven now poised to strike at Faerûn, and the wizards must be warned." Shepaused, then added, "Please, Morgan. I need your help."

Silently, he cursed the luck that separated him fromhis heart's desire the moment he had discovered it. It would be difficult toleave, but Morgan knew that he would do it. Too much was at stake.

Avadriel smiled then, as if reading the young man'sthoughts, and drew herself closer.

"Thank you," she said simply, and brushedher lips lightly over his.

Morgan closed his eyes at her touch. Avadriel's scentsurrounded him, intoxicating in its subtlety. Their lips met each other'sagain, firmer this time. A wave of desire crested through him, wild and strongas a riptide. The world faded away in the wake of that desire, leaving only theebb and flow of bodies.

After a time, Avadriel pulled away.

"Morgan," she whispered softly, sadly intothe shadows of the cave.

He nodded once, and wiped a blossoming tear from hereye.

"I know … it's time." With that, he stoodand climbed into the waiting boat. "I shall return as soon as I can."

Slowly, he rowed out into harsh light of day.

With a grunt of effort, Morgan let the rhythmic slapof oar on water carry him through another hour of rowing. The sea surged andfoamed around him, threatening to turn aside the small force of his craft.Spume sprayed his face as the boat's bow bounced hard against the trough of arolling black wave. Insistent burn of chest and arm muscles long-since spent,harsh gasp of salted air into lungs, sting of wood chafing raw skin-these werehis offerings, sacrificial prayers to the gods of his people.

They ignored him.

Slowly, he made his way across the churning water,more by force of will than anything else. When his energy flagged and the oarsseemed to weigh as much as an iron anchor, he summoned a picture of Avadriel'sface. The memory of her lips on his, the salted taste of her tongue, renewedhis determination. Too much lay at stake, for his heart and his home. He wouldnot fail.

By mid afternoon, the heat of the sun had dried the sweatfrom his body, and his tongue felt thick and swollen, like a piece of boiledleather. With a deep sigh, he pulled up the oars and gave his knotted muscles abrief rest. Shielding his eyes from the sun's glare, he scanned the horizon.

Several years before, he had stolen out with a fewfriends and sailed to the wizard's island on a dare. Though none of theintrepid band of explorers had set foot on the island, Morgan alone sailed hisship around the rocky shore of that forbidden place.

Even now, amid the burning heat of the sun, he shiveredwith the memory. Dhavrim's tower had stood stark and terrifying, thrusting upfrom the coral of the island like the tooth of some giant whale. As Morgan hadguided his craft around the island, he couldn't help but wonder if the wizardwould send some deadly spell arcing out from his demesne to punish thetrespassing boat.

The upsurge of a wave snapped Morgan out of hisreverie. He still had a fair distance to row before he reached the island, andhe felt as if time were running out.

By late afternoon, when the sun began its lazydescent, a calm fell over the waters. Morgan quickly wiped his brow andsurveyed the silent scene. The sea lay placid and serene, its gently stippledsurface resembling nothing so much as the facet of a blue-green gem in thesunlight. In the distance, he could make out a small shadow, a black pimple onthe horizon that could only be Dhavrim's tower. Before Morgan could evencelebrate his good fortune, he caught sight of something that tore an oath outof his parched throat. There in the distance, dark and ominous, a roiling wallof haze bore down on him.

Terrified, Morgan renewed his efforts, hoping that hecould reach his destination before the line of fog enveloped him. The sailorsof his village called such unnatural weather the Breath of Umberlee. It oftenlured unsuspecting boats to a watery grave. Even the beacon fires set upon thecliff walls of the Alamber coast were often not enough to save the doomedvessels.

With a determined grunt, Morgan bent his back to thetask once again. Whipcord muscles already pushed beyond their limit protestedmightily, but he pressed on. Time seemed to slow in that silent moment, untilhe felt as if he were trapped in some artist's sketch. He continued to row, ofthat he was sure, but the island did not seem to draw any closer. At first hethought himself dreaming, until the first patchy cloud of fog rolled across thebow of his craft, followed soon after by more until the fog drew close aroundhim like a thick blanket. Desperately, he cast about for sign of the island,for any landmark in the sea of gray that surrounded him, but to no avail. Eventhe sun, which had lashed at his skin with its fierce rays, hung muted and dim,a hidden jewel in the murky sky.

Filled with frustration and not a fair bit of rage atthe unfairness of it all, Morgan shouted fiercely at the blanket of fog,"Damn it all! I will not fail. I can not!"

Savagely, he beat his fist against the oarlock and continuedto hurl invectives at the fog, at the gods, at the wizard in his thrice-damnedcastle, but most of all at himself, for agreeing to this fool's errand in thefirst place.

The answering cry of a gull surprised him so much thathe stopped his railing in midsentence. Again, its wail cut through the fog,echoing in the gray murk, followed by a white streak and a light thump as thecreature landed on the bow of his craft. Startled by the gull's appearance,white-crested and intent, Morgan didn't even wonder why such a creature shouldfly out so far from shore.

"Heya, silly bird," the young man saidpitifully. "Fly away before you become stuck like a poor fisherman's sonin a fog bank."

The large gull simply cocked its head slightly andregarded the young man with a serious gaze.

"Go!" he shouted finally at the stupidcreature, letting frustration and anger creep into his voice.

The bird ignored his command and continued to stare athim. Finally, with a soft chirrup, the gull flapped its wings and hoveredgently a few feet from his craft. It was then that Morgan noticed a smallcrystal clutched in the bird's grasp. The jewel began to pulse slightly as hestared at it, softly illuminating the gloom around him.

The bird landed again on the boat, casting a knowingglance at Morgan, before it lifted off once more, now flying a few feet infront of the craft. Surprisingly, the light from the crystal pushed some of thefog away, allowing him the opportunity to see a few paces on all sides.

Confused, but unwilling to pass up this odd gift,Morgan dipped oars to water and followed the gull and its gleaming treasure.Hours passed-or minutes-it was difficult to measure the passing of time in thegray waste that surrounded him, and still the young man rowed after thewitchlight. Without warning, he burst through the spidery maze of fog into thefading evening sunlight. In front of Morgan loomed the great white stretch ofDhavrim's tower, set only fifty feet or so from the shore. A few more quickstrokes brought him scraping onto the rock-strewn beach.

Offering a quick prayer to any god within earshot, hegratefully stumbled out of the boat, stretched knotted muscles, and pulled hiscraft safely onto the shore. Now that he had arrived on the wizard's island,fulfilled part of Avadriel's wish, he felt hopeful. Perhaps the sea elf had chosencorrectly, he thought, as he basked in the pleasurable warmth of sun-bakedsand. The simple fisherman, braving wind, wave, and fog to deliver a desperatemessage. He liked the sound of that, and despite the all-too-real urgency ofthe situation, he could not help but think himself a hero.

The crash of surf on shore reminded him of the reasonfor this journey. Anxiously, he studied the stone structure, searching for someentryway. In the fading light of day, the wizard's tower looked more weatheredthan forbidding. Thick lichen and moss covered parts of the cracked stonestructure in mottled patches, and even from this distance he could make out thelong, thin stalks of hearty scrub vines twining up the tower's base. Gone werethe mystical guardians and arcane wards that had populated his adolescentimaginings, replaced by the mundane reality of sand, rock, and sea-blown wind.Smiling ruefully at his fancies, Morgan the fisherman headed up the path towardthe black tower.

And found himself face-to-face with death.

He had little warning, just a slight scrape of sandand the span of a heartbeat in which to react, before he was struck by apowerful blow. He hit the ground hard, felt the air explode out of his lungs.Gasping and dazed, he struggled to his knees, only to find himself staringinto the heart of a nightmare. It stood nearly six feet, covered in thick greenscales that glistened wetly in the dying light. Deep scars pitted its humanoidface, nearly closing one large eye completely. The other eye fixed Morgan witha baleful stare, its cold black orb seemed to pull what little light remainedinto its depths.

The creature took a step forward, opened its slightlyprotruding jaw. Still kneeling on the ground, Morgan could make out row uponrow of needle-sharp teeth, no doubt eager to rend the flesh from his bones. Hewanted to scream, but the wind was still knocked from him. Instead, he forcedhimself to his feet and stumbled desperately toward the wizard's tower. If hecould just make it from the sandy footing of the beach to the tower's path, hewould have a chance to outrun the creature.

Morgan felt the beast's claws rip through his shirt,scoring the flesh underneath, just as the path came into sight. He twisted tothe side, avoiding the creature's next strike-and tripped. The last thing hesaw before his head exploded into light was the outline of claws against thesky.

By the time the world resolved itself back into color,the sun had set. A pale half moon bathed the island in gentle illumination. Byits light, Morgan could see a figure standing over the smoking corpse of thenightmare creature. The figure, obviously a man by the suggestion of a beardvisible from this distance, prodded the ruined body with the end of a longstaff. The smell of burnt flesh wafted off the corpse, fouling the sea air.

"Ho, I see our visitor has come back to us,"the strange man called out, ending his grisly examination.

Morgan's voice caught in his throat as he tried toreply. Dhavrim Starson-for who else, he reasoned, would he find standing on theshore of the wizard's island- resembled nothing of the legendary mage. Shortand fat, with a deep-jowled, ruddy face and scratchy salt-and-pepper beard, helooked like nothing so much as a drunken wastrel whose appetites had long sinceconsumed him.

The wizard wheezed heavily as he lumbered toward thefallen fisherman. Morgan watched in morbid fascination as the man's prodigiousgirth stretched the fabric of his generous blue robe with each step. OnlyDhavrim's white staff, inlaid with spidery runes that flowed like molten silverdown its length, betrayed the wizard's true power.

That, and his eyes.

Cold and gray, charged with the promise of a hundredstorms, they held the young man frozen beneath their ancient gaze. Morgan felthimself pulled within their depths, felt the weight of the wizard's gaze as itmeasured him, searched him, then cast him aside.

"Can you stand?"

A voice. Calm. Reassuring.

Release.

He felt his body once again, reached for the pudgyhand extended before his face.

"Y-yes, th-thank you," Morgan stammered. Helooked once more at the corpse lying in the sand. "What… what manner ofbeast was that?" he asked unsteadily, not really sure if he wanted to knowthe answer.

Dhavrim followed the young man's gaze. "Those whowish to appear learned call it a sahuagin. Those who truly understand it,simply call it death." The wizard paused for a moment and turned to lookat Morgan once again, one silvered eyebrow arched expressively. "The realquestion, however, is why it followed you here."

Morgan hesitated before answering. Wizards, he knewfrom the old stories, were unpredictable and quick to anger-this one most ofall. For a moment, he was once more that headstrong youth who sailed a smallboat around the mage's isle, fearfully waiting for the wizard's wrath to fall.

I don't belong here!

The moment passed, and Morgan mustered his courageenough to speak-he owed that much to Avadriel.

"I bear a message from the sea elfAvadriel," he said in what he hoped was a firm tone.

Dhavrim's expression grew grave.

"Go on," he replied simply.

The wizard stood in silence as Morgan finishedrecounting his message.

The young man wondered what the wizard could bethinking, but was loath to interrupt the mage's rumination. The silence grew,charging the air with its intensity like the moments before a lightning storm.Morgan's skin prickled as he watched Dhavrim grip his staff tighter.

Abruptly, the wizard spun and began to march back tohis stone tower.

"Come!" he barked commandingly, "thereis much to be done this night."

"Wait!" Morgan called to the retreatingfigure. "What of Avadriel? If these. . sa-sahuagin. ." Morgan

stumbled over the unfamiliar word before continuing,"followed me, then they must surely know where she is. We have to helpher."

"Avadriel is a warrior and daughter of a noblehouse. She can take care of herself," Dhavrim replied, not stopping."But if what she reported is true, then all of Faerûn is in danger. Agreat war is coming, and we must be prepared!"

Morgan ran after the heavyset wizard, the thought ofAvadriel being torn apart by sahuagin driving everything else from his mind.

"She may be a warrior," he shouted atDhavrim, "but right now she's gravely wounded and alone, while thosecreatures are out there ready to tear her apart."

He watched in disbelief as the wizard, only a fewsteps ahead of him, ignored his plea. Avadriel would be killed and the fatcoward refused to do anything about it.

Wizard or no wizard, he thought acidly, I will makehim come with me.

Increasing his pace, Morgan caught up to Dhavrim andjerked hard on the wizard's meaty shoulder.

"Listen to me!" he shouted.

And instantly regretted his decision.

The wizard rounded on Morgan, his eyes flashing dangerouslyin the moonlit sky. Horrified, Morgan took a step back as Dhavrim pointed theglowing tip of his staff right at him-and began to laugh.

"By the gods, boy," Dhavrim managed towheeze in between chortles, "you've great heart, you do. There are fewwarriors who would dare brave the wrath of Dhavrim Starson." Another waveof laughter racked the wizard's frame. Seeing the young man's obviouslyconfused expression, Dhavrim sucked in a huge gulp of air and tried to calmhimself. "You've wisdom, too," he continued, "though I doubt youknow it. Avadriel is perhaps the only witness to the strength of the enemy.Such information is undoubtedly critical."

Morgan stood in stunned disbelief as the wizard, stillquietly chuckling, raised his arm and called out a name. A few moments later, afamiliar white form hurtled out of the night to settle upon Dhavrim's pudgyarm. The wizard whispered something to the gull, then Morgan watched the nightreclaim it as it flew away.

"It is time we were off, boy," Dhavrim saidsoftly.

He started down the path toward the beach, leavingMorgan to wonder briefly at the quicksilver nature of wizards.

Dhavrim stood at the stern of the boat and whispered aword into the deepening night. To Morgan, sitting anxiously in the smallcraft, it sounded like the dark hiss of sea foam-ancient and redolent withpower. The boat surged forward and cut across the waves, eventually piercingthe thick wall of fog. Another word brought light, pale and ghostly, pulsingforth from the silver-shod tip of the wizard's staff. The magelight shreddedboth fog and night. In its path, Morgan watched Dhavrim scan the horizon, grimand rigid as the unyielding stone of his tower.

Despite himself, he could not suppress a shiver offear. The wizard's words had frightened him. War. It was coming, and the tideswould run dark with blood before it was over. Damn it all, he thought,everything and everyone he knew was threatened by a danger he could scarcelycomprehend, let alone fight.

Especially Avadriel.

That's what frightened him the most. The sea elfwounded and alone, while a host of Umberlee's darkest creatures hungered forher flesh. If she should die, he knew that the world would seem empty. Geas ornot, he loved her.

This was madness, he thought bitterly. Perhaps hisfather had it right, sailing into the moonless arms of the sea, silent andalone. Perhaps some forms of madness were better than others.

Lost in the darkness of his thoughts, Morgan was surprisedto hear Dhavrim's voice cut through the night. "We're close now, lad. Keepwatch."

With that, he extinguished the light from his staff.

They had traveled through the thick bank of fog, andthe moon shone once more in the sky. By its light, he could make out theghostly silhouette of the sea caves just ahead.

As they drew nearer, Morgan's blood ran cold. In thepale light, he saw several figures creeping around the rocks near Avadriel'scave. Their movements seemed stiff and awkward, but even at this distance hecould identify them as kin to the creature that had attacked him on Dhavrim'sisland. He reported this to the wizard.

"Aye, lad, I see them," Dhavrim replied."Wait until I give you the signal, then cover your eyes."

Morgan nodded silently and waited as the dinghy drewcloser to the sea cave. His heart pounded heavily in his chest. The names ofseveral gods came to his lips, but he was too scared to utter a prayer. What amI doing here? he thought.

"Now!" shouted Dhavrim.

Hastily, Morgan drew both arms over his eyes. Evenwith this protection, his vision flooded with light. Just as suddenly, itdisappeared. The boat rocked and he heard a splash, followed by the wizard'svoice.

"Row hard for the cave and bring Avadriel out. I'llkeep the foul creatures occupied."

All thought stopped as Morgan struggled to obey thevoice. Quickly, he set the oars to water and rowed toward the cave. Off to hisside he could hear the sibilant hiss of sahuagin and the fierce cries ofDhavrim, but he forced them out of his mind. When he reached the sea cave hecalled out for Avadriel.

A small voice answered, "Morgan? What are youdoing here?"

"Quick, Avadriel, you must get in. I've broughtDhavrim, but the gods-cursed sahuagin are everywhere."

She jumped into the boat. Morgan found it difficultnot to crush her to his chest. Avadriel was alive, he thought, though theirsurvival depended on his strength and the power of an inscrutable wizard.Desperately, he turned around and rowed back out toward the wizard. In the wanmoonlight, he could see the evil creatures lying in crumpled heaps upon therocks. Dhavrim leaned heavily against his glowing staff, a beacon of hope amidthe broken sahuagin bodies.

Relief flooded through Morgan. They were safe.Steadily, he propelled the boat back toward the wizard, thinking all the whileof what his life with Avadriel would be like. He couldn't help but smile as shedrew her body closer to his. He turned toward her, ready to speak his heart,when the water in front of the boat began to froth.

Suddenly, the last sahuagin slavered out of the churningwater into the boat. With a cry, Morgan pushed Avadriel back, drew one of theoars out of the lock, and swung it at the beast.

It glanced off the creature's thick hide with a dullthud.

The sahuagin hissed loudly and brought its scaled armdown upon the oar, snapping it in half. Morgan watched helplessly as the beastmade a grab for Avadriel. Desperately, he took the splintered haft of the oarand jammed it into the creature's chest. This time the wood pierced the beast'sscales, sliding past muscle and bone. The sahuagin roared in pain and lashedout wildly, raking Morgan across his throat, before the boat overturned.

As Morgan struggled feebly to the surface, his throata corona of agony, he cast about for signs of Avadriel. In the distance, hecould still see the glowing tip of the wizard's staff, obscured by the crest ofa black wave. His limbs grew heavy, as if they were weighted anchors,threatening to pull him down, and his head spun from loss of blood. Disorientedand in pain, it took him a few moments to realize that he no longer needed tokeep himself afloat. Silently, Avadriel had come up from behind to supporthim.

Morgan tried to turn and see her, but his sluggish limbswould not respond. Instead, Avadriel gently laid him on his back, and carefullyheld his head above the water. He watched her in silence for a few moments, marvelingat the way her eyes absorbed the crystalline light of the moon, beforespeaking.

"The sahuagin?" he gurgled from the ruinedstrip of flesh and cartilage that remained of his throat.

Avadriel touched a webbed finger to his lips.

"Hush, Morgan. The beasts will trouble us nomore." She paused before saying, "Twice now, I owe you my life."

He tried to protest, to profess his love before thedarkness that danced at the edge of his vision claimed him forever, but aspasm of pain racked his body. All he could do was let out a single, frustratedgasp.

The sea elf gently stroked his forehead, and, as ifreading his mind, spoke gently into the night.

"Do not worry, my love, I, too, hear the callingof my heart." She looked away, but not before Morgan caught the look ofpain and sadness that creased her face. "Come, the wizard has recoveredthe boat. It's time to go."

As she turned her face back toward him, Morgan stareddeeply into her eyes. He nodded, understanding flooding his awareness.

"May Deep Sashelas bless you until we meetagain," Avadriel whispered before touching her lips to his.

At that contact, Morgan felt his pain flow out of him,leaving only a steady, measured sense of peace. Water enfolded him, circlinghim gently like the protective arms of a lover. They had succeeded, he thoughtdully, as his body slid through the depths. The wizards knew of the sahuagininvasion, and Avadriel was safe. Smiling, Morgan floated down into the darkwaters of oblivion.

And beyond.