the area that had been left by his people.
The sea elves often tried to raid the shipwrecks in the area controlled by We Who Eat. King Kromes had even taken to seeking out magic items himself, identified by the priestesses, and hoarded them as further temptation to the sea elves and surface dwellers alike. T'Kalah knew for certain that the number of magic items stored at the palace was considerable.
Spreading his fingers and toes so the webbing would better catch the water, T'Kalah swam for the sea elf.
Something must have given away his approach because the elf tried to turn and bring up a bone knife. 'Black Claws!' the elf said, calling the big warrior by the name the surface world knew him by.
T'Kalah showed the elf no mercy, placing the trident before him and shoving it into the sea elf s chest. It was a quicker death than T'Kalah had intended. He would have preferred to make the elf beg for a time, taste the salt of his tears mixed in with the ocean before he'd ever tasted his victim's blood. Still, he held the elf at the end of the trident and shook him viciously until his death was apparent.
Climbing to the top of the rocks overlooking Vahaxtyl, T'Kalah shoved the end of the trident into a crack so that it supported the elf s corpse. He sat on a rock beside the dead man, popped his claws, and cut chunks from his unexpected feast.
T'Kalah shoved the gobbets of flesh into his mouth and swallowed them nearly whole. The blood scent in the water would draw other predators soon. Though the sharks knew better than to bother him, it was the little fish with all their darting around that annoyed him most. No matter how quickly he tried to eat a meal, they were always there scrounging for whatever they could get. He ate the soft parts first, knowing the little fish would go for those first as well.
His lateral lines picked up the changes in pressure even though he didn't immediately recognize what it was. He did know it came from the direction of Vahaxtyl.
The city was built on a shelf of rock it shared with the volcano the surface dwellers called the Ship of the Gods. His people called it Cliitaan, Cursed Fire. Besides the changes in pressure, his delicate olfactory senses also picked up the stench of sulfur. Scents spread quickly in the water much as sound did. As he watched, a red glow seemed to center midway up the Ship of the Gods. It grew rapidly, turning redder.
T'Kalah watched, mesmerized, wondering if Sekolah had started a new current-one that would change his life.
Laaqueel lost her footing when Tarjana's prow slammed into the left side of the opening at the bottom of the Lake of Steam. Though the ship itself wasn't hurt by the collision, she was lifted from the deck and tossed into the current that hurled her toward the stern.
All around her, filling the tunnel the mudship plunged through, molten lava glowed orange-yellow. The heat crisped fish that had been unlucky enough to be sucked in after them. Her senses were moving so quickly that even while she was turning in the vicious current herself she could see the flesh peeling back from the fish while they still lived, baring the skeletons beneath.
Just as she thought she was lost forever and about to share a similar fate as the fish, a strong grip wrapped around her left ankle.
'I've got you, my priestess.' Straining, the effort pulling horribly on Laaqueel's ligaments and muscles, Iakhovas drew her beside him. He kept her curled protectively in his arms when he returned her to the deck. 'Are you well?'
Overly aware of Iakhovas's body next to hers and its effects on hers, Laaqueel said, 'Yes. Thank you.' She didn't try to push away from him, letting him shelter her in his embrace.
Iakhovas remained standing, facing the wild current and staring into the heart of the liquid fire tunnel they followed. 'We're traveling through the lines of volcanic fault. It was the fastest and truest way to gate into Seros. When we reach the end of this tunnel, well be in the Alamber Sea.'
Glancing over his shoulder, Laaqueel saw the line of fliers speeding after them. The sahuagin aboard them were shielding their eyes from the bright magma swirling around them.
'Will this gate remain open long enough for all of them to get through?' she asked. She'd never before heard of the mode of travel they were using now.
'Probably.'
Laaqueel thought of what it would be like to be suddenly boiled alive when the lava closed in.
'If that should happen,' Iakhovas told her, 'be assured that it will be over before they know it. There are some risks that we must take, and some losses that we must endure.'
'To become stronger,' Laaqueel said, 'as Sekolah has so designed.'
'Yes.'
Looking ahead again, Laaqueel kept herself strong in her faith, not thinking about the potential for failure, but for the promise of success. At the other end of the tunnel, made bright by the whirling lava walls, she saw the dead end. A roiling mass of lava and hard rock blocked the way.
'Isn't it supposed to be open?' she asked.
'Yes.' Iakhovas's tattoos glowed deeper green, looking like they were burning into his flesh. 'It will be.'
Tarjana bore down on the blockage and Iakhovas kept his hand steady on the wheel. Laaqueel felt the rush of heat when the ship collided with the end of the gate.
XXVI
1 Flamerule, the Year of the Gauntlet
Pacys the Bard sat in the small sea elf tavern down in the heart of Telvanlu and almost felt at home. The sea elves, he'd found, were a quieter lot than he was used to, but as it turned out they appreciated his music.
The bar was like a lot he'd played in on the surface world and the crowd wasn't that much different, but none of the sounds were the same. Voices echoed through the water much more easily so the listeners had to be more polite, and there was no shuffling sound of feet across a sawdust-covered floor. After having been in the water for so long he was getting accustomed to feeling the currents change around him, and how someone passing nearby could affect them.
He sat, at the owner's invitation, at the end of the bar. The bartender passed out drinks packaged in fish bladders treated so they were clear enough to see the contents. A patron drank from the bladder by squeezing the bottom and opening the seal at the top. It had taken some getting used to when he'd first arrived in Faenasuor, but now the bard drank quite easily. Learning not to lick his lips afterward still took concentration, though.
Telvanlu was the capital of Naramyr, the sea elven lands in the Lake of Dragons in Serds, and was located two hundred feet down and forty miles southwest of Suzail. The city was moderately sized as elven dwellings went, but the architecture was definitely inspired by the sea.
Clamshell-like buildings hugged the silt, deliberately low to avoid the shipping that took place constantly between the coastal cities overhead. The architecture hadn't been all that agreeable to the elves. Some of them wanted taller buildings so they wouldn't have to be spread out. Many of them didn't like the fact that they had to live more or less two-dimensionally as the surface dwellers did. The trade with the surface dwellers was good, so though a lot of complaining was done, none of the buildings went any taller.
One of the things that surprised Pacys most had been the laws regarding weapons and armor. None were allowed in the elven city, and it was strictly enforced. Aravae Daudil, Coronal of Telvanlu, made sure her guards carried out her orders to the letter.
Pacys tapped the crystals of the saceddar, picking out the notes for 'Lady Who Shed Golden Tears,' an old elven song about the flight from Cormanthyr after the fall of Myth Drannor. Despite whatever cultural differences now separated the surface elves from their aquatic cousins, the song found favorable response among the listeners by tying into their common history.
As the last note faded away, passing through the open windows cut into the coral walls, they hooted their appreciation. Clapping took up too much energy to fight the water and stirred up currents that moved wildly within a contained area.
