Even in a despairing rage, he could never hurt Alicia, and in point of fact, he knew that he would take no action against Brandon either. Yet it mollified him a little to imagine it.
Realizing that the celebration had lost its allure for him, Keane made his farewells and wandered off to his bed.
'How often do they come to you?' inquired Tristan, after Marqillor had regained his strength from the dousing of water. The merman's skin glowed, his eyes shone, and his voice came forth with a vigor that had not been there minutes earlier.
'Not often.' The merman shrugged. 'Perhaps every three days, though of course it's hard to tell down here.'
'Recently?'
'No. That's why you found me in such bad shape. I'd suspect it won't be long now.'
'How many at a time?'
'Just one.' Marqillor's eyes flashed as he began to understand Tristan's point. 'A big scrag. He comes out of the water and taunts me for a bit, kicks me and the like. Then he throws the water over me so I'll stay alive until the next time.'
Tristan looked around, seeking something-anything-that he could use as a weapon. He had heard of the sea trolls, of course, and now he felt reasonably certain that the beast that had brought him his food was one as well. He had battled enough trolls in his life to identify the scrag as an aquatic cousin of that obscene race.
The only thing he found was the large bucket of hammered copper he had used to throw the water over the merman. 'I'd rather have a sword,' he observed, ruefully examining the distressingly flimsy container. He was weighing the fact that he would have to bear it in his single hand.
Tristan turned his attention to the metal brackets holding Marqillor's hands. Despite the corrosive rinsings, the manacles remained gleaming and clean, displaying a high level of craftsmanship.
'It's no use,' said the merman with another awkward shrug. 'I've spent weeks tugging on them myself. The only way to get them off is with the key.'
'Does that scrag carry the keys with him?'
'Yes-and a big knife, too.' The merman's face creased into a slight smile. 'He keeps the knife in the back of his belt, probably so that a prisoner doesn't try to grab it from him. Maybe that can work to your advantage.'
At Marqillor's affirmation, the basics of their plan were set. Tristan took the bucket and crossed the cell, making himself as comfortable as possible in a shadowy niche beside the pool. He settled down for a long wait, yet strove to remain ready to scramble out at a moment's notice, trying not to let his mind dwell on the coming fight.
Still, images of horror and shock raced through his mind. Previously he had vanquished trolls while wearing metal armor, bearing a mighty sword, and more often than not, mounted on a stalwart charger, aided by resolute companions. The prospect of attacking one of the creatures unarmored and virtually bare-handed-one-handed, in point of fact! — struck him as rash to the point of insanity. Not insanity, he corrected himself-just brutal necessity.
Marqillor leaned back against the wall, trying to relax. Time passed with imperceptible speed. Tristan struggled to remain alert, holding the bucket, watching the water, silent but ready to spring forward.
The scrag came out of the water so quickly that it had fully emerged and stood dripping at the rim of the pool before Tristan even noticed beast's arrival.
Then his mind blanked momentarily in sheer panic at the size of the monster. It stood at least nine feet high. The creature possessed considerably more muscle than did the land-bound trolls he had encountered. Strapping bands of sinew rippled under its dark, fishlike skin as it stepped toward the imprisoned merman. Its feet and hands were webbed and tipped with long, wicked talons, and a burst of weedy hair covered the nape of the neck and extended halfway down the broad green back.
A wide belt was the scrag's only garment, and true to Marqillor's prediction, a silver-bladed, bone-handled knife was stuck through the waistband at the small of the creature's back. On the right side, looped through the belt, gleamed a keyring.
Tristan had no time to waste. The beast was certain to look around for the bucket and discover him, costing Tristan his only advantage.
At the same instant he came to the conclusion, Tristan acted. Holding the pail inverted in his hand, balancing it with the stump of his left wrist, Tristan sprinted from the niche, leaping toward the monster's shoulders. He brought the bucket down full over the monster's large, shaggy head. Bashing it with his wrist, ignoring the pain that shot like fire up his arm, he forced the metal container tightly onto the creature's great skull, where it stuck like a bizarre helm.
Immediately the scrag whirled, reaching for Tristan with two talon-studded hands, but the High King wrapped his arms around the beast's waist, following it through its spin and staying beyond the reach of those deadly claws. The scrag snarled as it turned, making a sound like water sucked down a drainhole.
Then the man grabbed the handle of the creature's knife and sprang away, bringing the wickedly curved weapon with him. The hilt felt rough to the touch, but the weight of a blade seemed natural in Tristan's hand. The monster, still snarling, reached for him with one talon-studded paw, and the human swung with all his strength. Keen steel sliced scale-covered flesh, a savage blow that lopped the limb off at the forearm. He heard Marqillor's shout of encouragement, but then his vision filled with the tooth-studded horror springing toward him, the creature's sharklike mouth gaping wide. Though the bucket still covered the monster's eyes, it did nothing to block the grotesque mouth.
As savagely as any berserk northman, the sea troll attacked the insolent human. If the creature felt any surprise at Tristan's presence, the fact didn't delay a furious reaction. The High King fell back, whipping the blade this way and that to block the monster's flailing attacks. Each time the sharp steel bit into the scrag's flesh, but the wounds did nothing to diminish the fury of the attack.
In fact, Tristan felt a shudder of piercing horror when he looked at the stump of the thing's wrist, where moments before the human had severed the hand. Tiny claws already sprouted there, growing longer as he watched. Soon they wiggled grotesquely as the bleeding wound gradually regenerated the hand.
For a moment, the monster paused, raising its hand to the bucket and tugging at the obstruction. Tristan took advantage of the moment to strike, driving the blade into the scrag's good arm, chopping deep into flesh and bone-though not with enough force this time to slice off the limb. With an angry howl, the beast kicked outward, and the man barely evaded the blow.
Both wounds were temporary, but for the moment, the creature's hands were useless. It could neither attack nor lift the bucket from its head. It paused, gasping for breath, its mouth gaping to reveal rows of triangular teeth, fangs gleaming faintly even in the pale emerald light. For a moment, the sea troll turned its face to the water, obviously considering the merits of a tactical withdrawal. The latter possibility meant disaster, Tristan realized, for if the creature escaped and returned with assistance, they were lost.
But in the monster's temporary halt, he saw his chance and dove forward, thrusting the stump of his arm through the large keyring. He used his momentum to carry him past the beast, spinning it in a circle as he charged.
The scrag dropped its blunt nose to bite this pesky attacker, but the monster's own steel dagger darted in to stab the creature's soft tongue. With a strangled gasp, the sea troll lurched backward, and the keys broke free from the belt as the wounded creature thudded heavily to the floor.
'Don't let if get to the water!' hissed Marqillor desperately, watching the monster wriggle toward the pool.
Tristan leaped on the thing's back and drove the dagger through the scaly skin, into the base of its wicked brain. Instantly the scrag stiffened, jerking reflexively for a moment and then growing still.
Although Tristan had seen the horror of regeneration in trolls, it seemed even more sickening in this monstrous creature from the sea. Desperately he searched through several keys-fortunately there were only half a dozen on the ring-and found the one that clicked the manacle free.
'Kill it again!' barked Marqillor as the scrag started to kick and groan before the second bracket was
