a ball. The landing would either save or kill him.
Water, deep blue and icy even in summer, closed around him. His sword dragged him down, but he dared not jettison it. He kicked his way to the surface, then he made himself relax, lie back, and breathe regularly. He kicked forcefully, away from shore.
The captain of the guard ordered the goblins and hob shy;goblins into the lake after their quarry. Tarscenian heard
the goblin's shrill refusals, and the hobgoblin's deep shout, 'Water. Hobgoblin. No. Lake hobgoblin. Wait, see, masterguard.'
Tarscenian's sword dragged him down. At this rate, he would tire and drown long before he reached the western shore. 'Paladine, please,' he prayed, gasping for air. 'Ancilla still lives. Let me save … Let us save … We have to …' Then he halted in wonderment.
A spell, long-forgotten, floated into his mind. Tarscen-ian gulped air and raised his arms. With his fingers, he pounded a tattoo on the water surface until the muscles in his forearms threatened to cramp. All the while, he repeated the chant that played through his mind.
'Fotatol aerifon hexicadi pfeatherlit. Fotatol aerifon hexi shy;cadi pfeatherlit. Fotatol aerifon hexicadi pfeatherlit.'
He paused to breathe and drew in a lungful of water. He coughed and sputtered, but chanted on.
'Fotatol aerifon hexicadi pfeatherlit.'
He felt his wig disguise wash loose from his scalp. A cramp began to hurt his side. He speeded up his chant shy;ing.
Suddenly his muscles eased. He was borne up in the water as though the giant hand of a god had scooped him up. The heavy sword weighed nothing. His sodden garments ceased to hamper him. He glanced back toward Solace. There was no sign of his pursuers.
Suddenly, a craft floated before him.
'A canoe?' Tarscenian muttered. 'I don't recall this part of the spell.'
He paddled over to it. The canoe appeared to be birch-bark. It glided easily on the water. A plain plank seat spanned the widest section of the canoe. The other seat, at the stern, was marked with a red star.
Tarscenian treaded water while he unbuckled the belt that held his scabbard and sword, and slung the weapon and holder into the craft. Then he grasped the side of the canoe and hauled himself up.
Suddenly the canoe went askew. Tarscenian hurriedly released the craft, treading water again while it bobbed back into position. Clearly, this business of climbing into a canoe from the water was no simple task. He was a landsman, mystified by most things aquatic.
Tarscenian took a deep breath, let himself sink below the surface, and kicked as hard as he could. He shot up through the water and lunged enough above the surface to clutch the plank seat itself.
For an instant, the technique seemed to work. Then Tarscenian, cursing, felt himself sliding back toward the water as the canoe tipped slowly toward him. Once more he let himself slip back into the lake.
Once again he tried. This time he placed more and more of his weight upon the canoe until the waters of Crys-talmir Lake lapped into the boat. The boat sank in the water. When the craft was half-full, it floated low enough in the lake for Tarscenian to slip over the side.
Soon he was seated on the middle plank, shin-deep in cold water. He had nothing to bail with, and his pur shy;suers would soon be after him. He decided to try pad shy;dling despite the heavy load of water, then reached toward the craft's floor-and swore. 'No paddles, by the Old Gods?'
Tarscenian dug deep into his pouches. Everything in his pockets was sodden. Marjoram, thyme, pepper, and pine-he had them all still, despite his dunking. He spread the items on the other seat, the plank with the star insignia, then passed his hands over them, chanting. 'Elvi nahana teta, i'a min bidyang. Bidyang d'a mina.' He turned his hands over and raised them slowly. He'd not performed a levitation spell in a long time, but the boat began to lift off the water.
The boat rose, but only a few inches. The craft bulged at the center. For a moment Tarscenian feared that the heavy burden of man and water would cause the canoe to burst. He grabbed his sword from the bottom of the canoe and plunged the weapon into the craft's side.
The water gushed from the canoe back into the lake, and the craft rose higher until it reached a foot above the surface. 'Good,' he murmured. 'Now if I can manage to put the craft in motion …'
Tarscenian gazed north toward Erolydon. The sun was almost down. He had a hunch how to get into the temple, but he'd need some light to find his way. Every moment was important. 'Ebal gi entoknoken ty xorent.' The boat did not move. 'Ebal gi entoknoken ty wrent.' Still the craft remained motionless.
'All right,' he muttered to himself. 'Fine.' He clapped his hands. 'Quantenol sinafit.'
The sun touched the horizon. Rays of pink and red immediately shot into the sky. Tarscenian pondered. What could he be doing wrong? He gazed around. His stare fell on the starred plank. A quizzical look came over his face, then he shrugged. 'It's worth a try,' he said.
He moved to the other seat, the one marked with the star, and sat squarely upon the decoration. Tarscenian closed his eyes and concentrated. 'Ebal gi entoknoken ty wrent. Ebal gi entoknoken ty wrent. Quantenol sinafit.' Again he clapped. The boat raised itself slightly higher above the water.
Tarscenian imagined the craft speeding across the water, heading northward. He imagined the breeze across his bare head, felt the spray wash over him when the craft struck an upflung wave. He imagined Eroly shy;don coming into view, and in his mind he saw the canoe, coming to a stop just outside the walls that extended into the sea. He saw the grounds of Erolydon devoid of people, the temple empty after the evening's revelations.
Tarscenian opened his eyes to find the white marble wall rising smoothly before him. All was as he'd imag shy;ined it. The sun was only a fraction lower in the sky, but he had arrived at Erolydon. 'The magic worked,' he whispered, smiling.
But where should he search? Tarscenian remembered the Praxis, and recalled how Hederick had taken particu shy;lar passages to heart. 'Moral purity is impossible with shy;out physical cleanliness,' the Praxis taught.
There must be discharge tunnels, then, to guide waste from the temple. And what was the most logical place to deposit the filth? Tarscenian knew Hederick would want the refuse emptied as far away from his own quarters as possible.
Tarscenian considered the expanse of wall before him. He leaned over to lower himself into the water and take a look.
Suddenly something burst up out of the water beneath the boat, which shattered, dumping Tarscenian in the water. As he swam to the surface, he saw his sheathed sword disappear into the muck far below him. His spell- casting components floated on the surface.
A shadow warned him that he was no longer alone, and he lurched backward. A lance, barbed like a har shy;poon, whisked past his face.
At first Tarscenian thought the hobgoblin from Solace had caught up with him, but this creature circling him now had gills. Webbed fingers held the barbed lance and a small shield. Tarscenian realized the creature's toes were webbed, too.
He searched his memory. Koalinth, that was it. An aquatic hobgoblin. Of course Hederick would have no compunctions about employing the entire goblin race.
The koalinth stabbed its lance efficiently through the water. Tarscenian had given his dagger to Mynx and now he had no sword, either. He would have to surface to breathe. Each gulp of air would leave him vulnerable to the gill-breather.
I didn't come this far to be stopped by an overgrown rish, Tarscenian thought.
Then the creature stopped circling and came at him.
Chapter 18
The rocking of the centaur's gait nearly lulled Mynx to sleep, especially curled up as she was inside the Diamond Dragon.
