Thank the Sea Mother! In the Spellplague's wake, many whips had lost the ability to co-generate the storm's sword. But not her, and not Curampah. Its call to destruction burned away the aftereffects of the mind flayer's blast.
The illithid undead slowed its approach, its tentacles suddenly writhing in some new configuration.
Nogah drew back her hand, and the lightning bridged the two whips. The crackling arc widened, then began to curve, bowing out toward the approaching illithid. The creature's tentacles writhed so fast now, the water began to froth. The hollows of its empty eyes glimmered with red light.
The connecting spark widened, grew into a ravening bolt that seared the water, creating a shroud of twinkling bubbles. Jittering shadows danced madly across the cavity's walls.
Nogah released the bolt. The stroke discharged the full brunt of her and Curampah's redoubled strength into the mind flayer's necrotic flesh. Its left arm, half its torso, and its left leg flashed away into ash.
Another mental assault blossomed from the illithid, but its aim was off. Only the merest edge of the psionic cacophony brushed her awareness.
'Finish it,' she commanded. But what could they do? They couldn't produce another lightning stroke immediately. They would have to call on ranged battle prayers-
Curampah tensed to launch himself from the sea coach's deck. Nogah snagged his harness with her free hand, restraining him. She hissed, 'Fool! Don't stray from the coach or the sea's heavy foot will smash you!'
The illithid squealed something, a warning, Nogah thought, then melted into a column of spinning water. The column widened and dispersed, leaving nothing behind but drifting silt and sediment.
'That was more than a corpse reanimated by chance,' breathed Curampah. 'It was dead, yet could still call upon the mental abilities it possessed in life. I think it may have been partially vampiric. Yet we defeated it!'
'We chased it away-but we failed to destroy it,' interrupted Nogah. 'Because of your incompetence.' She pointed at the junior whip with her staff. 'If I were less merciful, I would slay you here and now and offer your unworthy hide as a sacrifice to the Sea Mother.'
The junior whip froze, uncertain. He knew she didn't make threats lightly.
Nogah considered ramming the pincer tip through his throat, despite her talk about being merciful. No-but it wasn't mercy that stayed her hand. It was practicality. Despite nearly killing himself, and allowing the undead illithid to slip away, she still needed him. If Curampah hadn't been present, the illithid would likely even now be supping on the contents of her skull.
'Bah,' she said. 'We wounded the thing, nearly tore it apart. It won't seek us out again soon, at least until it has regained its strength and form. We have some time. Let's investigate what it guarded all alone down here in the depths.'
The structure was nestled into the great cavity's rear wall. Though some of its outer rooms had crumbled, an inner core structure of greenish stone remained intact. A jade dome emerged from the rougher surrounding stone. Tools were scattered everywhere: shovels, picks, buckets, and a variety of more arcane equipment apparently useful for digging. Most had almost rusted away. Nogah also finally recognized the strange mounds arranged around the greenish outcrop. They were tailing piles, the refuse of a mining operation.
She saw no open mine tunnel. The mine mouth must be under the dome.
'The illithids thought they were digging up something special here,' she murmured. 'Special enough to protect the mine mouth with this building. Not that it offered much protection when the water broke in.'
'The dome reminds me of a temple, almost,' volunteered Curampah. He gestured. 'It even has a ceremonial entrance.'
A six-sided extension protruded from the side of the smooth green rock like a tumor.
Nogah guided the sea coach to rest next to the extension and saw Curampah was correct. Within the protrusion was a dull black metal door, also six-sided. It was apparently still sealed against the surrounding water. She leaned over and touched the door's matte black iron. A familiar feeling thrilled up her arm and into her heart.
The strange influence of her dreams lived behind the door! The Sea Mother had guided her truly.
'We must enter,' she directed.
'How, Daughter of the Sea? If we stray from the nautilus…' Curampah finished by squeezing his hands together. 'Do you think I am so ill-prepared?' Curampah looked at her with half-lidded eyes, waiting. 'Bring me my chest. Be quick!'
The junior whip soon returned from the nautilus's interior with a delicate chest fashioned of polished mother-of-pearl plates and placed it at her feet. Nogah whispered the pass phrase that bypassed the magical trap, and popped the lid.
Amid the clutter of needful things lay several vials. She selected a few and closed the chest before Curampah was able to see and understand the nature of all her treasures.
'These,' explained Nogah, 'are magical draughts brewed in Sembia. I got them from Captain Thoster. You remember Thoster? His birth was an unlooked-for complication, but it has proved useful. In any event, if imbibed, this liquid allows humanoids to breathe water.'
Curampah merely blinked, but Nogah recognized the confusion that tightened his scales.
'You wonder what use these are to us; after all, as a superior breed, we can already breathe air and water both. However, another effect of the elixir renders the imbiber immune to the crushing weight of extreme watery depths. It shall work for us as well as for any humanoid.'
She handed the junior whip one of the vials. He carefully removed the wax-sealed stopper and sucked its contents down without mixing too much of it with the surrounding water. She did the same with her own elixir. It tasted of salt and kelp.
Curampah examined his hands and scaled forearms. He said, 'I feel no different.' 'We shall see,' she replied.
Nogah gave a slight tug on the reins, enough that the nautilus shell moved several body lengths away from the green stone and the black six-sided door.
'Now, Curampah-open that metallic door. Let us discover what these mind flayers worked so feverishly to uncover.' She gestured to the entrance with her staff.
The junior whip pushed away from the coach deck and swam toward the door embedded in the green mantle stone. To his credit, he merely hesitated, saying nothing, when he realized he swam alone while she remained behind, watching.
She judged the protective effect surrounding the coach ended somewhere half-way between the nautilus and the door.
When he made it all the way to the six-sided valve without ill effect, Nogah joined him.
Unsealing the valve was a lengthy process. Having no other way to force it, the two whips were finally reduced to directing co-generated strokes of lightning against the dull metal. Again. And again. They rested between each blast just long enough to rekindle their capacity to produce the next electrical discharge. Each subsequent blast showed some effect, just enough to hint that persistence would eventually sear the metal through. The only question was, how many bolts?
Nogah fretted. The effects of the elixir were temporary. Worse, the undead mind flayer was likely regenerating its own strength while they spent theirs against the stubborn entranceway.
Finally, the valve seared through.
In-rushing water snatched both her and Curampah, wrenching them through the irregular, red-hot puncture. Agonizing heat seared her flank. A mesh of madly spinning bubbles blinded her. The inrushing water dredged her forward, down an irregularly dug tunnel. She tumbled wildly, end over end. She flailed, trying to get a hold on something, anything. A muffled scream sounded somewhere within the roar of rushing water. Was it Curam-
A jutting rock smashed her temple, and she screamed too. She was hurtled along, her voice lost in the boil of crushing water. Nogah's mind whirled as she tried to gain her bearings.
She was able to do so only when the inrushing water finally filled the space beyond the door. Though remnants of turbulence still spiraled around the narrow tunnel, Nogah managed to halt her forward momentum.
Bruised and burnt, the whip praised the Sea Mother for her survival. She floated in cold darkness. A figure drifted past her, limp and slowly revolving. It was Curampah. His arms were broken, and his head bore a terrible puncture from which dark fluid thickly jetted into the water, spiraling around his drifting body.
