The Coral Kingdom

PART III: THE UNDERDEEP
14

Working the Princess of Moonshae free from her coral trap proved remarkably easy with the aid of a rising water level and a large contingent of sea elves. High tide occurred at sunset, and by the time the sun touched the horizon, the aquatic folk had lashed a dozen long, supple lines to the stricken longship's transom.

Hundreds of sea elves hauled on the ropes, and gradually the longship slipped gently off the reef, though seawater gushed into the hull from several holes that again dropped below the waterline.

Guided by Trillhalla, the men of Gnarhelm rowed the bruised and waterlogged ship through a wide channel in the coral barrier, a channel so cleverly aligned, Brandon realized, that no sailor in the world would find it.

This was the final layer of Evermeet's defenses, the captain reflected with chagrin-the barrier that had finally stopped them. It had all worked out as well as they could have hoped, of course, but there was something grating to the prince about having his vessel towed from the reef by people who had him at their mercy.

They approached the shore of looming forest, recognizing splendid maples and towering firs among other, more exotic trees. Even the familiar types grew taller than the humans had ever seen, with straight trunks and lush foliage. At first, it seemed as though the Princess steered toward a surf-swept beach, but as they neared the coastline, a channel appeared, slanting sharply to the left, all but invisible from the reef or beyond.

In the growing darkness, they entered the passage. Rugged cliffs of limestone rose as high as the masthead to the left and right, and elves with torches lined the top of the heights, illuminating the watery path as full night soon encloaked them. The crew rowed the weary longship along this channel, watching the firelight reflect from the water in a hypnotically beautiful display. The bright flames illuminated multicolored schools of fish meandering through water as clear as air.

Finally, with the last traces of sunset lost below the horizon, they passed beyond the torches and emerged into a cliff-walled basin. Splashing sounds indicated a waterfall somewhere nearby, invisible in the darkness, though the humans could see the encircling horizon of their deep grotto etched against the starlight above. Once they anchored, it didn't take more than a few minutes before the entire ship's complement found comfortable sleeping places-aboard ship, for most of the northmen; on land for Brigit and all of the Ffolk. Alicia found herself a soft and mossy niche between several rocks, comfortable and spacious enough for her to stretch and move around. Her mother and Tavish found similar alcoves nearby, and they collapsed with a sense of exhaustion mingled with accomplishment.

Alicia awakened to daylight, pleased to find that several thick ferns screened heir bed with as much privacy as she could desire. Rising quickly, she pushed through the verdant growth to emerge onto smooth sand, a stretch of beach just coming under the light of dawn.

Sunrise revealed the true splendor of the voyagers' new surroundings, beauty that took Alicia's breath away as she beheld a small valley, lined all around with limestone cliffs-cliffs that enclosed a tiny enclave of paradise. Her eyes went irresistibly to the three waterfalls trilling into the rock-walled shelter, one sparkling like diamonds in the sun, the other two still cool in the morning shadow. Twin groves of great trees grew on the floor of the grotto, one on each side of the natural harbor where the crystalline water collected.

Much of the pool was surrounded by the same beach she now stood upon. She saw the gap in the rock walls of the grotto where the narrow channel drifted toward the sea and the Princess of Moonshae had made her surreal torchlit passage.

Alicia couldn't imagine a more perfect haven than this secluded grotto. Seeing Brandon, already engaged in discussion with gray-haired Knaff, Alicia walked toward them. The listing Princess of Moonshae sat beyond, in a shallow bay of the main pool, as if she welcomed the chance to rest. A small channel diverted the waterflow from the area around the ship. With a closer look, Alicia saw that it had been dammed off by a cleverly designed gate.

"They must be draining it underground. Within a day that hull will be high and dry," observed Brandon, unable to hide his admiration.

"And they can open this lock here," added Knaff, pointing to a stout wooden gate that held back the waters of the pool. "When she's ready to float again, that'll add the water nice and gently."

Brand looked toward the channel to the sea, but instead saw Alicia coming. " 'Morning," he offered with a grin. "These elves did all that was promised as far as the drydock. Look at this thing!"

The princess could see that the water level under the longship had already dropped several inches below that of the pool. "Can you fix the hull?" she asked. Even to her landlubber's eye, the cracks and splinters in the formerly smooth planking gaped like grievous wounds.

"If they bring us the tools!" grumbled Knaff, again looking toward the seaward channel.

Alicia smiled at his impatience. "It's just dawn, you know. I'm sure they'll be here. I'm going to have a look around. Isn't it beautiful?"

She gestured to the waterfalls and groves, but the two sailors had already turned back to the ship, arguing over the repairs. Irritated in spite of herself, Alicia wandered away from the northmen, exploring.

She realized immediately that there was no easy way out of here except by water, a fact that suited both humans and elves, she felt certain. The high rock walls, carved by years of erosion into images of craggy faces and glowering visages, surrounded them, but allowed plenty of room for the crew to camp comfortably. Lush blossoms grew along the rocky face, and in places, pillows of moss had grown into perfectly formed chairs, couches, and beds. She had stumbled into a typically comfortable niche on the previous night.

Narrow trails twisted through the two groves, and though neither stand contained a huge number of trees, a person could take five steps down one of these paths and find herself surrounded by foliage as thick as the heart of any jungle.

A small portion of the space had been cleared for practical purposes. Northmen already erected tents, and Knaff supervised the construction of a small smithy and carpentry shed.

Alicia saw a silvery form break the surface of the water, and in another moment, Trillhalla reached the shallows. The sea elf splashed toward shore, lolling in the water as she greeted the human princess.

"I bring word-the Queen of Evermeet has ordered that supplies of seasoned lumber, tar, coal, and iron be provided. They are to be sent this morning. . soon."

"That's great," the princess replied with a twinge of guilt. She realized that she didn't want to think about the repairs. She told herself that her father would understand, but the feeling unsettled her. She gestured to the splendor around them. "This place is so beautiful-so perfect. You're very generous to share it with us."

"It was Palentor's suggestion," she said.

"Really?" Alicia was astounded to think that the truculent elven warrior had displayed such kindness.

Trillhalla laughed, sensing her thoughts. "Actually, I'm sure he thought it would keep you confined and allow his scouts to keep an eye on you. But I'm glad if you find the surroundings pleasant."

The princess looked upward at the circle of rocky precipice that surrounded them a hundred feet above. Somehow even the thought of armed and watchful elves up there didn't detract from her pastoral sense of peace.

Brigit emerged from the forest behind them, and Trillhalla urged the pair to join her for a swim. The three females splashed through the water for some time, diving after schools of fish, exploring the coral formations under the pool. Finally they rested, Brigit and Alicia emerging from the water to flop onto the sand, already growing warm in the sun.

"I hope that you will all be comfortable here," said the silver-haired sea elf wistfully, relaxing in the water near the grotto's sandy beach.

Alicia and Brigit laughed. "I can't imagine anyplace more comfortable," replied the princess. Again she remembered her father, and a storm of guilt assailed her. She tried to force it aside, reminding herself that there was nothing they could do until the longship had been made seaworthy.

"Even Synnoria pales by comparison," Brigit added seriously.

For a time, in the warmth of the sun, they found it possible to forget about their quest, about the dangers that lay ahead. They had worked so hard to get this far that a few hours of leisure seemed no more than a just reward.

Trillhalla remained in the water but allowed her shoulders and arms to emerge as she looked at her visitors curiously. "It took great courage and great skill to reach our shores. It's quite a remarkable achievement, you know."

"There was no other way," replied the princess with a shrug. It was hard now for her to remember the tension and fear of their harrowing voyage.

"Your father is a great man. You must love him very much," noted the sea elf.

Alicia looked at her in surprise. Trillhalla spoke with a frankness that disconcerted the human woman. "That's true, I suppose. I–I just had to do something as long as there was any hope of success. I guess we all did."

"I wish you fortune for the remainder of your voyage."

The talk of their mission made Alicia restless again, and she sat up. "When do you think the supplies will get here?" asked the princess.

"Soon now, I should think," Trillhalla explained. "Palentor was placed in charge of their acquisition, and he's a fast and forthright worker."

"Even to aid those he despises?" asked Brigit wryly.

"He is a loyal servant of his queen," Trillhalla replied. "And besides, do not judge him too harshly. He commands the sea elves who patrol this portion of the shoreline. He was quite mortified that your craft made it so close to land."

As if to punctuate the sea elf's explanation, a long canoe came into view down the water channel that connected the grotto to the sea. A scowling Palentor sat in the bow, supervising the dark-haired elves who paddled the craft. The hull of the vessel, Alicia could see, was piled high with stacks of lumber and materials.

The male sea elf, they soon saw, rode the first of four great boats, each wider and heavier than the canoe that had carried the visitors to the Summer Palace. And each contained supplies necessary to repair the bruised longship-barrels of tar, iron for nails, even a bellows to fan Knaff's makeshift forge.

The females went to join Brandon and the others at the grotto's small dock, where the first canoe drew alongside. The boats were so big that they could only be unloaded one at a time, but eager northmen quickly formed a chain of workers, passing the crates and barrels from the elven craft to the work area, where Knaff supervised their organization and placement.

"You must be finished within five days!" barked the sea elf, standing straight before the prince of Gnarhelm and meeting him with his almond-shaped eyes.

"The queen said we could take as long as we needed!" objected Alicia, drawing the sea elf's angry eyes to herself.

He didn't withdraw from her gaze, but Palentor seemed surprised when the human woman stood up to his aggressive stare. Finally he blinked and cleared his throat. "I shall request independent confirmation of that fact. Your presence here is a disruption to our defenses. You place this entire coast in jeopardy!"

"I thought you said we were the first ship to make it this far. What do you guard against, then?" demanded Alicia, heating up to the confrontation.

"The surface of the sea may be blocked," replied the sea elf, his tone sincere, "and the cyclones may raise a barrier into the sky. But we have no control as to what passes beneath the surface of the sea, and it is the sahuagin and their foul kin, the scrags, who are our most persistent enemies."

"It's a relief to hear that humans don't fill that role all the time!" Alicia retorted. "Think-you've just named our enemies as well as your own!"

Palentor flushed, his mottled skin growing dark green. His lips stretched taut across his mouth, and for a second, Alicia wondered if he would strike at her. Her own fists clenched, reacting to the fury of his gaze. But then his expression softened-albeit minimally.

"It's true. Though we have prepared all our lives for the human menace, the only battles we have fought have been against the creatures of the deep."

"Then can't you see that we're not the enemy?" the princess demanded.

Suddenly Palentor's gaze narrowed, and Alicia felt uncomfortable as she saw his eyes boring into her. When he next spoke, it was with passion, not anger. "But for the elves. . don't you see? Evermeet is everything! You humans will claim all the great continents eventually-Toril, Maztica, Kara-Tur. . The elven populations in those places are shrinking, have been for thousands of years."

His voice dropped, but the princess sensed that he really did want her to see. "We must keep Evermeet secure, else our race will die out."

"I understand," she replied sincerely, and for the first time, she started to grasp the millennia-long conflict that had driven the elves to this island. "Please, Palentor-realize that we are not a threat to your island. We're grateful for the help of your queen.. and yourself, but when we leave we won't be coming back."

"But others-"

"We won't tell people how we got here! And no other ship or captain could make it through your cyclones!" the princess argued, with a touch of exasperation.

Palentor looked at Brandon with a hint of respect mingling with the constant suspicion in his eyes. The sea elf turned back to Alicia, his expression hardening to its familiar lines. "I must see to the debarking of cargo," he said stiffly, turning back to the great canoes.

But the princess was gratified when she looked into those green, almond-shaped eyes, because for the first time, besides the anger and suspicion, she saw a hint of doubt.

The prisoner's mind continued to grow as his body purged itself of the memory-suppressing drug. He recalled things-images and sensations-but still had difficulty attaching names to those memories. He knew that he had been a king and sensed that this was a great thing, but he couldn't name his kingdom or remember his subjects.

The loss of his hand had grown in his mind, becoming more than a wound. It was an affront, an attack against his pride that he could not let stand. He had no clear memory of who had cut it off, but when that memory returned, someone-or something-would die. The man knew that he had killed before, and he remembered that killing was not a pleasant task, but sometimes a necessary one.

Most tantalizing of his recent memories was the image of a woman-a person of exquisite beauty and great tenderness. Her hair, long and black and silky, he recalled particularly. His mind drifted to images of that hair, of his hand stroking it, of his woman lying in a sun-speckled field of heather, with birds soaring above and towers of white piercing the sky near them.

It was an idyllic sensation, and for a moment, the recollection swept him along, warming his heart and even bringing an unconscious smile to his face. Then the memory dissipated and he looked around at his dank cell, and once again the rage began to swell.

This fury of his became a constant companion. It drove him to restless periods of pacing when he stalked the confines of his surprisingly large cage. He stared at the pool of water that served as the entrance. Where did it lead? How far did it go? The other features of his chamber provided even less promise. The dark green windows, slanting toward the top of the domed ceiling, swept overhead well beyond his reach. The lump of coral that served as bed, bench, and table was the only other object in the circular room.

Gradually he had noticed a pattern of darkness alternated by dim illumination through the panels in the ceiling, a cycle that seemed to approximate day and night. Once each cycle, shortly after the panels grew light-morning? — a monstrous creature brought him bare sustenance. The creature had the scaly skin of a fish, with thick strands of hair hanging across its scalp, and sharp teeth and claws.

The monster always emerged from the water quickly, surprising the man. The beast rose onto two legs, looming high over his head, glaring down at him with pale, emotionless eyes as it filled a shell cup with fresh water and placed a bowl of fishy gruel beside the pool. Then, with a shake of its bristling head, it dove back into the pool. And every time this jailer departed, the human king found himself staring at the rippled surface of the water. Where did it go?

Of course, his memory couldn't help him there, and to this end, he decided to explore. Water held no inherent fear for him. He knew that he was a proficient, if not a great, swimmer. He broke the surface in a dive, swimming through darkness for several seconds. Immediately, however, he realized that the loss of his hand created a severe handicap, rendering his swimming awkward and clumsy. Desperately he turned around, kicking hard to return to his cell, gasping in near panic.

For a full day, he avoided returning to the water, but after his jailer again brought him his miserable food, the man knew he had no choice but to try again. On this attempt, however, he relied mostly on his feet to propel him, while he felt along the dark passage before him with his hand and wrist.

Several times he repeated the dive, swimming carefully along the tunnel away from the pool. Each time his confidence grew, and he compensated more and more efficiently for his wound, mostly by kicking. He soon found that the tunnel branched, no more than forty feet from his cell, into three other passages. All of the corridors were water-filled from floor to ceiling-at least, at the place where they met the other submerged corridors.

At first, the man swam no farther than this intersection, returning to his cell and gasping for air as he emerged. But he found, as he practiced, that he swam a greater distance each time. His lungs expanded with the rigorous discipline of increasingly prolonged dives, until he explored some length of all three tunnels.

Finally, sensing that his guard would soon return with his food and drink, he paused to rest and consider what he had learned.

One tunnel, the straight route, continued to descend as far as he could follow, and he had nearly drowned the time he followed that passage a hundred feet past the intersection. The tunnels to the right and left, however, began a gentle upward slope after the junction, similar to the approach to the prisoner's cell.

It seemed a reasonable assumption, then, that similar cells might lie to the right and left. Would they be filled with air, like his? He had no way of knowing.

He fully understood the risks. He had already gone as far as he could down each tunnel while still making it back to his cell. If he went farther, he would have no choice but to go forward and either find air at the end of the tunnel or perish.

The decision was easy.

The prisoner spent some time in quiet contemplation. Somewhere he had learned to do this, to empty bis mind and allow his body to fuel itself for maximum efficiency. In a flash, he remembered: The black-haired woman had taught him. His skill had never approached hers, for she was … she had been … a druid.

Robyn!

In the instant of recognition, his mind filled with joy, followed by nearly intolerable pain. He groaned aloud as memories came flooding back-delightful memories, each one of which only increased his anguish. He was here, she was. .

Callidyrr! The Moonshaes!

"I am Tristan Kendrick!" he shouted at his unseen jailers. "I am the High King of the Ffolk, and you shall not have me!" Pictures of two small girls-no, they were young women-came into his mind. One was fair, the other dark like her mother. They were his daughters!

Roughly he pushed the tidal wave of memory aside. He focused on the task before him, studying the water, forcibly quelling his emotions. His heartbeat fell, pulsing slower and slower. Tristan breathed deeply, without thinking, filling his lungs with air, forcing extra oxygen into his blood, grimly determined to press forward to the last gasp of his life.

He dove into the pool, cutting the surface like an arrow and allowing his momentum to propel him halfway down the tunnel leading from his cell. When he kicked, he moved his legs slowly, moving through the dark water with a minimum of exertion. Feeling the wall beside him, he traced the path to the four-way intersection. Here he veered to the right.

The tunnel rose slowly, and he allowed his buoyancy to account for some of his speed, though he still kicked gently. Onward through Stygian darkness he swam, feeling a rough wall with his right hand. Occasionally his back would scrape the abrasive ceiling of the tunnel. The pain he didn't mind so much, but the sensation that he couldn't swim upward he found starkly terrifying.

Tristan swam without thinking, slowly draining the air that filled his lungs to bursting. Pain wrapped steel bands around his chest, slowly constricting until a red haze swam before his eyes. His throat tightened, and the urge to gasp for air swiftly approached irresistible proportions.

How long had he been swimming? At least an hour, it seemed to his oxygen-starved brain. More than that, screamed his lungs, his tortured chest that could no longer supply the needs of his body.

Then abruptly the wall to his right ended. Tristan flailed mindlessly as the depleted air exploded from his lungs, but as he thrashed, he realized that rock no longer pressed against his back. Desperately driving himself upward with the last reserves of his strength, he felt his hand, and then his face and torso, break from the water and burst into an enclosed cavern that was filled with air.

He coughed and choked as he dragged himself onto a dry stone slab beside the surface of water. Dimly his awareness returned, and the king realized that he was in another cell, one very much like his own. The same dim green illumination trickled through the ceiling.

It was only when he stopped gasping that he looked up and saw that the room was occupied. He saw a man's face staring at him-a thin, emaciated visage with great dark circles under his eyes. The fellow was seated, chained to a wall, Tristan saw, with shackles around each of his wrists and his arms held spread-eagled to the sides.

The chained prisoner regarded him impassively. When the fellow shifted slightly, Tristan noticed something odd about his legs, and then his jaw dropped in shock.

The man had no legs-but not because he had lost them in an accident. In fact, his body below the waist had never borne a resemblance to humanity. It was a single, powerful limb, covered with green scales and ending in a broad-finned tail.

The creature, Tristan realized, was a merman.

For six days, the men of Gnarhelm labored on the hull of the longship, and gradually her bruises disappeared, her scuffs and scrapes vanished beneath fresh timber and tar. The Princess of Moonshae seemed to sit taller, prouder on the sandy base of the drydock.

Though the rudimentary forge belched out clouds of black smoke while Brandon supervised his men's making of nails and brackets, a constantly fresh breeze whisked through the grotto, clearing the air of fumes and soot. For the most part, the voyagers had taken little note of their splendorous surroundings once the equipment for repairs had been delivered. Good news had come as soon as the drydock was fully drained; Brandon's inspection showed that the longship's stout keel remained undamaged.

Alicia and Robyn both worked with unspoken urgency, knowing that their quest had a greater chance of success than they had previously dared to hope. Now they hauled firewood, stirred tar in large vats, and helped with other tasks wherever they could. Of course, the actual work on the ship was left to Brandon, Knaff, and a few experienced shipwrights among the crew. The prince would settle for nothing less than perfection.

The two women worked to the point of exhaustion, but even then they found it difficult to sleep. Memories of Tristan, imagined pictures of his current peril, drove them to restlessness. While they were sailing, there had been nothing that either of them could do to speed up their progress. Now, however, it seemed that each extra hour of work might bring them that much closer to departure.

Eventually, however, they realized that no matter how fast they piled up fuel or stoked the forge, the work on the vessel would proceed at a careful and methodical pace. Thus it was that one afternoon late in the week, with plenty of firewood stacked beside the fires and a surplus of heated tar available for the hull, Trillhalla prevailed upon the females-Alicia, Robyn, Brigit, and Tavish-to accompany her for a swim. They splashed through the narrow grotto to a secluded, sandy cove where they could enjoy a few hours of relaxation.

Alicia found that her concerns and fears seemed to fade as she lay in the soothing sun or splashed about in the coral shallows of the grotto, chasing schools of multicolored fish.

"Your captain tells us that the repairs are nearly completed," Trillhalla announced. "Soon Palentor will bring you the Helm of Zulae, the artifact that will enable your vessel to survive underwater. Then I suppose you will be on your way."

The notion of departing sounded the familiar note of guilt to Alicia, and her mother nodded seriously. "Yes. It becomes urgent that we sail. Tristan, I sense, is in terrible danger."

"Even worse than before?" asked Alicia.

"I don't know…" the queen replied, shaking her head as if to disparage the remark. Alicia, however, saw an expression of grave concern, even fear, hidden in the depths of her mother's eyes.

"I am glad for Evermeet that you have come," said Trillhalla bluntly after a few seconds pause. "There are too many of us who group the humans in with scrags and sahuagin. It is good that they see you are different."

"Too many like Palentor, you mean?" Alicia couldn't resist asking.

Trillhalla allowed herself a slight smile. "My poor compatriot has been thrown into a bit of a quandary by your arrival. You see, you've forced him to rethink a few notions about humans that he's held for more centuries than I've been alive."

"I'm glad!" Alicia declared.

"Such learning can flow in two directions." It was Queen Robyn who spoke, and her words were directed to her daughter. "It would be well for us to remember the acts that have driven elves like Palentor to believe as he does. Humanity is not blameless in this strife."

"No-I didn't mean. ." the princess stammered, embarrassed. Of course her mother was right, but in the Moonshaes, the elves were safe in the sanctity of Synnoria. What did her mother's statement have to do with Alicia?

They heard shouts of greeting from the dockside, hidden from their shallow beach by a small outcrop of forest. Curious, they dressed quickly and started over to see what was happening.

"The helm!" Brandon cried as he saw the women. "Palentor's bringing it to the dock!"

They hurried forward and saw the by now familiar cargo canoe easing to wharfside. The taciturn sea elf was in the water, swimming toward the dock to emerge with a smooth, fluid motion. In the center of the craft was a surprisingly small object, covered beneath a well-padded blanket. Several elves of Evermeet lifted the thing from the vessel and placed it on the dock where Palentor waited.

"I hope you appreciate the value of this gift," began Palentor, speaking to Brandon and Robyn.

"Aye, that we do," replied the northman, with a frank look at the elf. "Even as we're surprised that you give it to us."

Palentor regarded Brandon quizzically. Then he bent down and swiftly unwrapped the blanket that had cloaked the Helm of Zulae.

The humans saw a larger than normal silver battle helmet with a full-face visor-so full, in fact, that it was even devoid of eyeholes! A sleek, ribbed fin jutted from the center of the object, sweeping from front to back like the dorsal fin of a fish. The sea elf nodded toward the Princess of Moonshae, with the proud female figurehead rising from the bow.

"Place this over the head of that carved figure," he explained, "and your ship will descend through the surface of the water. A pocket of air will remain over your crew, in the inverted shape of your hull."

"How does she move?" inquired the captain.

"The helm will propel her, although at much slower speeds than on the surface. You'll have to rig a second rudder to guide the ship up and down. Also, you must furl your sail before you submerge, or water pressure will tear it away quickly."

"Slower speeds, you say. How much slower?" asked the Prince of Gnarhelm.

"You'll make perhaps five knots."

"Does it have a time limit?" inquired Keane, staring in obvious fascination at the silver object.

"Indeed. It varies based upon the number of elves-I should say, people-in your crew. For a complement such as yours, I estimate that you will be comfortable for perhaps twelve underwater hours and capable of surviving for another twelve. Beyond that, though the mask will maintain the bubble around your ship, the air becomes stale and useless. Suffocation inevitably results."

Palentor looked them over, ready to challenge anyone to argue with him. None did. The picture he painted created a graphic image in the minds of all his listeners.

"When we're down there, then, we'd best pay attention to the time," Hanrald murmured dryly.

"I think we'll notice when the air starts to go bad!" Brigit affirmed.

The sister knight stood beside the earl, and it occurred to Alicia that they had been together a lot during the stay in Evermeet-at least, when Hanrald wasn't working with the men on the ship repairs.

Alicia's attention drifted to Keane, and she saw that the mage looked peaked, with dark circles under his eyes. He clutched several large tomes to his chest, as if he had been reading, and parted only reluctantly from his texts. Five days ago Trillhalla had brought him some books, and these he had perused ever since with obvious eagerness. Indeed, of all the men, he had been the only one who hadn't worked on the repairs. Instead, he spent his time reading in a secluded part of the grotto. Now, however, he listened carefully to the words of the sea elf.

"I–I feel I should warn you of something," Palentor said, as if he forced himself to speak despite great reluctance. "My scouts have reported a massing of the fishmen armies. Sahuagin and scrags, plus huge schools of sharks, which they use as their scouts, have collected just beyond the cyclone barrier."

The sea elf paused, and for a moment, Alicia wondered if he was preparing to launch a harangue against them for gathering the enemy to his shores. Instead, he spoke with real sincerity.

"We suspect that they await your departure. As I explained before, the cyclone belt is no barrier to undersea intrusion. They are not holding back an attack against us, for their numbers have been stable for several days and they have made no overt move toward the elvenhome. Instead, they screen the entire eastern coast of Evermeet."

"I suspected that might be the case," Keane noted. "Their pursuit was too diligent to break off on the suspicion of our destruction."

Trillhalla offered the next advice. "There may be a way to get you around that barrier," she said tentatively. "I'll have to talk to the queen."

"If not, we're helpless against them under the water, aren't we?" Alicia questioned. "After all, we can barely outrun them on the surface. They could easily catch us when we submerge."

"They can catch us, yes, but we're not exactly helpless," Keane continued. He raised the heavy books in his arms, as if the others might not have noticed them, then smiled at Trillhalla. "Thanks to our friends here, I have been able to learn a few new spells that might aid us. Water breathing, for one, and free action-and several others. If it comes to battle, they may prove very useful."

"Druids are not without useful abilities in this situation as well," Robyn pointed out.

Palentor looked at them all, his eyes wide and an expression of guarded respect on his features. "One thing that has not been exaggerated is the courage of humanity. I… begin to believe that you may accomplish your objective."

"That's a relief," muttered Alicia. She flushed when the sea elf turned his almond eyes toward her, then stared in astonishment as he concluded.

"Even more," Palentor added, with the first smile-albeit a small one-that the visitors had seen on his face. "I hope that you succeed."

With a quiet nod at all of them, the sea elf turned away and sliced through the waters of the grotto in a clean dive.

"Who are you?" croaked the chained figure, his tone weakened almost to the point of death.

"I am-" He wanted to say that he was Tristan Kendrick, High King of the Ffolk. Somehow that fact didn't seem important now. "I'm a prisoner here, like you. Only they didn't chain me."

"They assumed the water would stop you. I need more secure restraint." With a tight smile, the merman gestured with his fishy tail in case Tristan missed the point. "I am Marqillor, of Deepvale," added the prisoner.

"Tristan Kendrick, of the Moonshaes."

"I know those islands."

The words were like a flame of hope to the king. "You do? Where are they? Where are we?"

Marqillor shifted uncomfortably. "We are in the dungeon of Krell-Bane, in the heart of Kyrasti, his great fortress in the Coral Kingdom," the merman explained. "The cells of air, where Krell-Bane's most hated prisoners are kept."

The chained captive leaned his head against the wall, and his mouth worked weakly, as if he struggled for enough air to breathe.

"Can I help you?" Tristan asked, examining the brackets, both of which seemed secure.

"Water. ." The merman gasped weakly and nodded toward the pool where Tristan had emerged. "It almost killed you, I know, but without it, I will die."

The king saw a large bucket near the wall of the cell and went to fill it. "To drink?" he asked as he returned.

Marqillor smiled and shook his head. "Throw it over me," he said. Tristan did so, and immediately he saw the merman's expression grow softer. He leaned back in apparent bliss. "Again. . please?"

The human willingly soaked down his fellow prisoner, amazed at the abrupt transformation. Within moments, Marqillor seemed vibrant and healthy. He strained, albeit fruitlessly, at his bonds.

"Are they trying to kill you?" asked Tristan. "Is that why they keep you out of the water?"

"No. They enjoy the torment, that's all. When I reach the point of complete collapse, they come and revive me. Sometimes I've awakened to find Krell-Bane himself observing me."

"Krell-Bane … tell me about him. Who or what is he?"

The merman described the scrag king and his race. "The sea trolls are the inherent masters of the sahuagin."

"Much the way trolls control orcs and goblins on the surface," Tristan realized. "And this is their palace?"

"Aye," grunted Marqillor. He looked at Tristan quizzically. "Do you know that you're five hundred feet below the surface of the sea?"

Now it was the human's turn to sag wearily backward. "I guess I'm not completely surprised, though how I got here alive I couldn't tell you."

"The scrags have ways," Marqillor stated. "Though normally they don't bother with the effort. They keep only prisoners who they feel will make valuable hostages."

The two captives looked at each other with the same idea.

"I'm High King of the Moonshaes," Tristan stated bluntly.

Marqillor smiled wryly. "And I am the Crown Prince of Deepvale," he concluded.

Sinioth lurked in the depths, seething with impatience. Were the humans dead, slain by the cyclones of Evermeet? Or did they still live, plotting and planning against his master?

The more he agonized, the more he convinced himself that the latter circumstance was the case. These intrepid voyagers would emerge again, he felt, bringing their longship against the aquatic army in their desperate attempt to carve a path to their king.

Yet even as he contemplated his great plan, with thousands of scrags and sahuagin effectively barring the sea east of Evermeet and the fast Manta floating just below the surface in the center of that great deployment, Sinioth's unease grew. They were resourceful, these humans. . they had surprised him before.

More and more, he realized, the avatar of Talos should consider returning to his undersea monarchy. If the humans somehow passed his barrier of predatory sea warriors, he knew that he would finally meet them in the Coral Kingdom.