The Coral Kingdom

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.

15

Embark to the Underdeep

'We'll be ready to sail as soon as the drydock fills with water,' Brandon announced late in the afternoon of the day following the Helm of Zulae's arrival. 'Knaff's rigged up the horizontal rudder, so the Princess is as good as new-maybe better.'

Despite the fact that this was the culmination of all their endeavors, and Alicia had been eager to proceed all week, she found that the northman's announcement caused a melancholy reaction. Indeed, she was not alone. The longship's entire complement seemed to take the news like a dousing of ice water.

'We'll wait for first light, I presume,' ventured Hanrald, standing beside Brigit. The sister knight looked around their grotto, and Alicia saw a trace of panic in her eyes, as if the elfwoman would suffer deeply upon their departure.

'Aye-and the tide, a few hours beyond. But we'll be well away from shore before noon,' replied the captain. Even Brandon seemed to bite back a trace of wistfulness at the notion of leaving the idyllic elvenhome.

But of course there was no choice, nor really did Alicia welcome the thought of any further delay in her father's rescue. It was more that the sensations of the past eight days had been so pleasant, so relaxing, that the reality of a return to their quest seemed to loom like a many-headed hydra, threatening them with a dozen different fates, all of them bleak.

'Ready to get back to sea?' asked Keane, looking surprisingly undismayed by the prospect of sailing. 'It should be-'

'No, I'm not ready!' Alicia snapped, annoyed that for once Keane should be prepared to embark on an adventure while she felt a deep reluctance. She looked at his pallid skin, at the circles under his eyes. 'Where have you been all week, anyway?' she demanded, knowing full well that he had engrossed himself in tomes loaned to him by the command of the queen. Alicia's frustrations welled up and, as had so often happened during her childhood and adolescence, all of that anger focused on the convenient scapegoat of her familiar tutor. 'We've been sailing the seas, living outside, and you're still pale!'

The magic-user turned away, hurt, and Alicia wondered why she had spoken to him so harshly. She felt little better after her outburst; her temper still smoldered with a low flame. Why does he let me do it? she wondered, wishing that for once the man would respond to her with anger of his own.

She threw herself into the frenzy of preparation and found release for her tension there. They had water barrels to fill, food to pack and load, and a final inventory, repair, sharpening, and polishing of weapons and armor to make.

'I'm not sure I relish a return to hardtack and stale bread,' observed Brigit as they looked over their provisions, which had been unloaded when they beached the longship. Now they started to pass the heavy crates back into the hull.

Before dusk of that last night in the elvenhome, one of the great cargo canoes sailed into the grotto, propelled by its usual complement of elves. Trillhalla and Palentor stood in the bow, and as it neared the dock, the humans saw a wide variety of foodstuffs-melons of all sizes, large wheels of cheese, kegs of butter and honey-piled high in the center of the boat.

'A gift from Queen Amlaruil,' announced Trillhalla, stepping lightly onto the dock. 'Delicacies for the palate that may make your journey a little more pleasant.'