"Now," Huaanton warned as he turned to grasp the trident's haft more firmly, "now we'll see whose truth speaks more strongly." He yanked the barbed tines free of Iakhovas's legs, pulling a roiling boil of blood and shredded flesh after them. Gripping the trident, the sahuagin king held the haft in both hands high over his head, preparing to run it down into Iakhovas's chest.

The black quill next to Laaqueel's heart stilled its beating, froze the cycle of water through her gills. She wanted to scream in denial, but she couldn't honestly say if it was because Iakhovas's doom looked imminent, or if it was the grin on Iakhovas's face, so filled with fiery cunning.

Huaanton brought the trident down, arcing it fiercely.

Iakhovas's movement was so swift that Laaqueel almost didn't see it. He thrust his right hand out, pushing against the constricting strands of the barbed net. His hand and arm blurred, becoming something else that was hard and sharp. The wedge-shaped appendage slashed easily through the net and plunged on into Huaanton's trachea and air bladder.

The impact staggered Huaanton's own attempt to stab the trident into Iakhovas. His life's blood poured out of him in a rush, flowing from the huge hole Iakhovas's blow had made.

When Laaqueel blinked again, Iakhovas's arm was back to normal. He fought the net as Huaanton's body went limp in the water near him. Barbs wrenched free of his flesh, leaving bloody tears behind. The malenti knew the effort hurt him; she felt part of his pain through the quill's magic that connected them.

Silence reigned over the amphitheater as the sahuagin spectators waited to see what would happen next.

Still only partially free of the ensnaring net, Iakhovas regained his feet and turned to face the amphitheater. He reached out and seized the trident from Huaanton's dead hand. He held it proudly thrust above him as the kraken spread out its tentacles and formed a loose but protective embrace around him, guarding his back.

"My people," Iakhovas said in a strong voice, "you have seen the Great Shark's will today. By right of blood challenge, and by right of Sekolah's ordained destiny for We Who Eat in our battle against the surface world to reclaim the seas, I name myself king! Let any who disagree with that stand and face me now!"

Laaqueel stared at the sahuagin, knowing none would come forward to stand against Iakhovas in his weakened condition. Sahuagin custom dictated against taking advantage of a wounded member of their community even for a blood challenge.

The response started, low at first, then continuing to gain power as the decision swept through the crowd. "Iakhovas, Exalted One of We Who Eat. Iakhovas, Exalted One of We Who Eat."

Iakhovas turned and grinned at Laaqueel. Ah, little malenti, do you see the greatness we have wrought? We forge our new destinies from this point on. You and I, both castaways, have risen to the greatest positions among the largest and fiercest sahuagin in the Claarteeros Sea. No one may stop us now. No one!

If it is what Sekolah wills, she replied.

His single eye burned into hers. You have doubts?

Not in the Great Shark. Perhaps in myself.

Then, little malenti, when you find yourself too weak to believe in yourself, believe in me. Iakhovas raised both hands above his head, holding the trident proudly. "I am king!" he roared. "None shall stand against us. The surface world shall quake in fear of We Who Eat, for they shall surely come to know that only their deaths await them in the seas we claim!"

The sahuagin cheered him, and Laaqueel watched as the fervor gripped her people. There was no turning back now, she knew. Iakhovas wouldn't allow it, and now he controlled everything.

"And our next victory," Iakhovas declared, "shall be at Baldur's Gate!"

The cheering rose in thunderous approval again.

Turning, Iakhovas hacked Huaanton's body to pieces and gave them up to the currents around him. The sahuagin surged from their seats, swimming to him rapidly to take part in devouring their last king.

"Come," Iakhovas invited as he continued to slash at the dwindling corpse. "We must be strong for our coming battles. Meat is meat!"

II

3 Mirtul, the Year of the Gauntlet

"You're pushing yourself too hard, old friend. If I could, I'd like to talk you out of this present course of action."

Taranath Reefglamor, senior High Mage of Seros, the undersea world in the region known as the Sea of Fallen Stars, glanced at his companion and pierced him with his barbed gaze. Over the centuries, the look he gave the younger man was reputed to have withered even past Coronals who'd ruled over the sea elven kingdom where he lived. "If I'd wanted your counsel, Pharom Ildacer, I trust you know that I'd have requested it. As I'd have asked you to address me so casually, as if the station I've worked so hard to attain didn't matter."

Ildacer's round face blanched and his posture suddenly straightened. "Yes, Senior Reefglamor. If I've erred in any way, I offer my deepest apologies."

"Offer all you may," Reefglamor replied, "you cannot take back words once spoken. I know you learned that at my knee."

Inclining his head, Ildacer said, "It is indeed as you say, Senior Reefglamor."

Reefglamor leaned back in his chair, trying to find comfort in the seaweed padding it seemed he couldn't live without these days. He looked old and wizened, ravaged by time's ceaseless hand and the battles he'd undertaken while defending his people. The studies he'd conducted to become senior mage had been no less strenuous.

He possessed the thin build, pointed chin and pointed ears exhibited by so many of the alu'tel'quessir. The blue skin with white patches further marked him with his sea elven heritage. His silver-white hair was bound back by a beaten gold circlet with carved glyphs and hung down nearly to his waist. Though shrouded by fatigue and red lines that seemed more like scars these days, his dark green eyes never wavered. He wore a pale blue diaphanous silken weave that bore the purple and black stripes of his office and the crystal clear dolphin that was the chosen symbol of Deep Sashelas for those few who didn't immediately know him by sight.

They sat at a round table in his sanctum. The room was generous but still filled to overflowing with the accoutrements and trappings of his chosen path. It was rumored, and rightly so, that he had almost as many volumes on magery in his home as were possessed in the temple of Deep Sashelas at Sylkiir. Shelves and bookcases covered every wall, designed to hold every tome whether it was inscribed on cut stone or on delicate gold foil. Round glass globes filled with luminescent pale blue lichens lighted the room.

Reefglamor ran his hand across the stone surface of the table. It hadn't always been smooth, but centuries of working at it, reading and studying, conversing with those few of whom he thought well enough to invite there, had worn away the roughness. Only his own contentious personality seemed to be unscathed by time.

That, he amended, and the ever-present threat of the Ravager.

"I shall need you at your best," Reefglamor said. "You may need to act with all the focus I've trained in you in order to salvage anything of this in case things go awry."

"Senior," Ildacer said quietly. He was rounder than most alu'tel'quessir because he had an appetite for food and drink that was legendary in its own right. His blue skin was paler than Reefglamor's and his silver hair still yet held stands of black. He wore a deep purple silken weave. "I know I risk your considerable displeasure by venting my own thoughts in this matter."

"You risk far more than that," Reefglamor warned.

"You asked me here, Senior, and I think that means you believe you can't do this without me." Ildacer's gaze met Reefglamor's glare and only flinched a little.