Mel Odom - Forgotten Realms - Threat from the Sea Trilogy 02 - Under Fallen Stars

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Under Fallen Stars
Mel Odom
Forgotten Realms - The Threat from the Sea Trilogy - Book Two
1999
Scanned, formatted and proofed by Dreamcity
Ebook version 1.0
Release Date: December, 10, 2003
Additional proofing by Sithicus
Version 1.1 August, 28, 2004
Prologue
Seros (The Sea of Fallen Stars)
15 Tarsakh, the Year of the Gauntlet
Flyys raked his webbed hands through the water and kicked out with his finned feet. The young
triton knifed through the shallows of the ocean but knew it wasn't enough to escape his pursuers. Even
though he tried not to, he glanced over his shoulder.
The morkoth swam after him. There were six of them now; too many for him to try to fight in the
ocean. All of them were vaguely humanoid in shape, with bulbous heads that reminded Flyys of locathah,
except for the squidlike beaks that filled their faces. The huge eyes on either side of their heads focused
on him, moving independently. The dorsal fins on their backs looked like knife blades on edge.
They each had four arms, two of those arms equipped with thick pincers that identified them as the
morkoth warrior class. Six tentacles flared out from their lower bodies, then pushed against the water.
They looked deep purple in the light of the shallows, and iridescence flowed over them where the light
struck, turning them almost pearl pale. Every now and again, the morkoth pulled the ocean brine through
their gills and used it to propel themselves in the same manner as squid.
Flyys knew they could have easily overtaken him but had chosen to wear him down. His only solace
was that they were evidently loathe to die capturing him. He knew he couldn't get away unless Persana
chose to favor him. The Guardian of the Deep, creator of the triton people, couldn't ride with every tide,
though. Sometimes those tangled nets Persana cast upon the water required sacrifices be made by his
people so that greater works might be wrought. Persana was a master architect, not only of structures,
but of fates as well. The young triton's belief told him this was so.
Glancing desperately at the ocean floor less than twenty feet below, Flyys searched for inspiration.
Here in the shallows the morning sunlight gleamed down to the brackish silt below. Colorful fish, their
hues given more life by the sun, darted in all directions as he neared them, but all of them avoided the
greenish-gray claw coral mounds sprouting from the ocean bed.
The surface dwellers called the claw coral "hydra's stone" because of the seven collective offshoots
that grew from its center. Sharply edged facets covered every inch of those coral fingers and even the
slightest touch could open flesh to the bone. A number of the undersea races in Seros used claw coral to
make weapons.
Spotting a thick copse of the claw coral ahead, Flyys turned and swam for it. Ahead lay only open
water and certain capture before he could ever get out of the shallows and into deeper Seros.
Little more than five feet long, the young triton knew he wouldn't be a match for the morkoth
warriors. One on one he felt confident he could have held his own, but the morkoth didn't fight that way.
Flyys had heard stories that the morkoth in the outer seas lived solitary lives, much different than the
morkoth who dwelled in Seros. In the Sea of Fallen Stars, they lived in the Arcanum of Olleth, on the
lowest reaches of the Hmur Plateau along western Seros, a community that fought and conquered
together.
He grabbed fistfuls of water again, altering his swimming stroke into a finfirst descent in the middle of
the claw coral he'd chosen as his impromptu fortress. He drifted down to the soft silt below, carefully
avoiding the sides of the claw coral. He nestled quietly into the coral like a hermit crab taking on a new
shell, then he waited.
He gazed up, wishing he wasn't so frightened. A warrior wasn't supposed to be frightened, but he'd
barely made it through his training before he'd been sent on his first mission.
His shoulder-length dark blue hair was tied back in a ponytail to keep it from his brilliant blue eyes.
His skin was only a few shades of blue lighter. He was broad across the shoulders from living in the sea,
and wore a shell-covered cloth girdle fitted with a belt because he'd been in the shallows, where surface
dwellers, uncomfortable with nakedness, might see him. Still, he had appreciated the pockets in the girdle
for carrying some small shells he'd found along the way.
Flyys drew the tapal from his belt as the morkoth gathered overhead. The weapon was uniquely
triton. Formed of crystal, it was shaped into a curve like a surface dweller's fishhook. Two handles, set in
the middle of the tapal and inside the curved end, allowed usage of either end of the weapon. A trained
triton warrior could use the tapal as a long sword, dagger, or spear by spinning it around in his hands.
"Give up, longmane," one of the morkoth advised, "and your death will be mercifully swift."
Wishing he had a gallant reply readily on his lips, Flyys lifted the tapal in defiance. Sunlight caught
the wide, curved end. "I know not to trust the word of kraknyth." Kraken were mortal enemies of the
triton, and the triton considered morkoth to be kraken-kin.
The morkoth undulated in the water, their tentacles splaying out and curling reflexively in the
currents. They carried spears, but Flyys knew it was the savage beaks and pincers he most had to fear.
Sunlight gleamed over their bodies, creating hypnotic patterns on their purple skin.
"We'll have more time with you than we did with your fellow spies, longmane," the morkoth warned.
The death screams of the three tritons who had taken him with them echoed in the young triton's
ears. They'd been discovered aboard a pirate ship near Dragonisle in the early hours of that morning.
Junnas had immediately thrown Flyys overboard, instructing him to swim to Pumanath as quickly as
possible and tell the nobles what they'd learned. Junnas and the others had stayed behind to die.
Flyys stared into the creature's eyes, having to switch focus often as it turned its head from side to
side to view him. The morkoth drifted down closer. The claw coral extended beyond the young triton's
reach even with the tapal.
"We can take time with your death," the morkoth promised, its gaze drawing him in.
The promise sent a chill down the young triton's back. Flyys remembered the stories he'd been told
even as a child about the morkoth, about the ways they'd learned to rip flesh from their prisoners with
their beaks and pincers, bringing death while extending the agony. They knew how an enemy's body was
put together, and how best to take it apart.
"You've allied yourselves with the Taker," Flyys accused, glaring up at the morkoth. "According to
the legends of Seros, there won't be much time for anyone if he makes his way here."
"He's coming," the morkoth said, shifting in the current again, "but the legends also say that the
Taker will offer death only to those who stand against him. We shall stand with him."
"The legends say he will bring nothing but death and destruction to Seros." Flyys knew the legends,
though he didn't much believe in them. Even though he'd been sent to investigate the morkoth interest in
the Taker, the tritons had their own agenda. Persana had given them the task of watching over the great
evil that slept at the bottom of Seros.
"Wrong," the morkoth said. "The Taker comes to reshape the destinies of everyone in and around
Seros." The head continued turning from side to side, more slowly now.
Flyys felt himself going limp. He chose to go with it, knowing it might be his only chance. A warm
lassitude crept through his limbs, relaxing his muscles. He kept his gaze locked on the morkoth.
"Your best choice is acceptance," the creature crooned. Its voice held a muted cadence that
beckoned to the young triton.
Flyys relaxed his arms, letting the currents gliding between the edged fingers of the claw coral pull at
him. The morkoth came closer. A tingle raced through the triton's legs, then they turned numb. Fear made
his heart hammer inside his chest as he continued to take bis chance against its hypnotic powers.
Swimming effortlessly, the morkoth descended till it could touch him. The creature slid its heavy
pincer against the side of Flyys's face. He felt the hard chitin graze his cheek with almost enough force to
break his skin. Still, it wasn't close enough. He stared into first one bulbous eye, then the other as the
morkoth dropped down and seemed almost to embrace him.
Moving lithely, with all the skill he'd had the chance to acquire in his handful of years, Flyys gripped
the tapal's center handle and spun the weapon around so that it lay along his arm. Before the morkoth
could move, confident that it had him in its thrall, the young triton raised his hands with the keen blade
wrapped around the outside of his arm.
Flyys punched forward with all his strength. He felt the tapal's blade bite into flesh, and blood
swirled into the water around him, obscuring his vision. Still, he saw the morkoth's head leave its
shoulders and float away. The head glanced off one of the claw coral spires, shearing away flesh in a long
strip. Before it had a chance to settle into the silt, the nearby small scavengers were already at work.
The other morkoth gathered, drawing closer.
Flyys shrugged the tapal through the water to spread the blood cloud out farther and tried not to be
sick. The morkoth was his first kill. The young triton had never expected to experience the nausea that
filled him as his gills drew in the bloodstained water. The taint of old copper raced through his breathing
passages. He glanced up at the approaching morkoth group and set himself. The numbness that had
threatened to fill his body had left as soon as the morkoth died.
"Hold!"
The great voice filled the surrounding area. Immediately, the morkoth drew back, opening the way
for another morkoth which descended upon the young triton's refuge.
Flyys studied the newcomer. The young triton's fear tripled when he noticed the human-shaped
hands at the ends of the morkoth's four arms. Where the pincers signified the warrior class among the
kraknyth, human-shaped hands nearly always denoted a morkoth mage.
Flyys's education included lessons in spellcraft as well as warcraft. So far he'd only learned the spell
for identifying magical things, to better search the wrecked ships that the surface dwellers lost in battles
and storms. All Serosian races that worked magic raided the fallen ships surface dwellers didn't ransack
themselves, or lose in the currents. Flyys had been told his own magic was strong and that his potential
would be marked by the mages in Pumanath.
"Ignorant whelpling," the morkoth snarled in a voice hoarse with age. Taking a small piece of metal
from the conch shell belted at its side, the morkoth mage gestured and spoke arcane words Flyys didn't
know. The metal flamed despite the surrounding water, disappearing into a haze of blackened bubbles
that roiled to the surface.
Flyys felt the spell slam into his body, vibrating along his bones. He couldn't move, couldn't blink. At
first he thought he'd been struck dead, then he realized his heart still hammered in his chest and his gills
still drew in water.
"Get him," the morkoth mage commanded.
One of the morkoth warriors swam down and wrapped two of its tentacles around Flyys's upper
body. Though he fought against the spell, the young triton remained bound.
Frozen in place, he watched helplessly as the morkoth swam to the surface with him.
The shadow of a ship lay heavily on the turquoise water, sketching its shape along the surface. He
recognized it as a cog, a craft well designed for trading along the shores of Seros. Turned to float partially
on his back, Flyys saw sailors clustered along the side. A net was quickly lowered, then he and the
morkoth mage were drawn up.
The young triton fought to regain the use of his limbs, but couldn't. He knew from his studies that the
spell he was under wouldn't last long, but it lasted long enough for the sailors to secure him to the
mainmast with loops of rope.
As the sailors finished their knots, feeling returned to Flyys's body. He pulled hesitantly against the
ropes and found them too tight to escape. Under the glare of the morning sun and left out in the breeze,
his skin started drying almost at once.
"Khorrch," a man bellowed.
The morkoth turned and gazed up to the ship's stern castle. "Yes, Vurgrom," it replied in the human
tongue.
Flyys spoke the language himself. Everyone who traded in Seros learned the human tongue. With
the enmity that existed between the undersea cultures at times over Seros's long past, it proved to be as
common a tongue below the waves as above it. He also recognized the name.
Vurgrom the Mighty was chief of the pirates among the surface world. He was also the man Flyys
and his companions had been sent to spy on. Though Vurgrom hadn't been on board the ship they'd
invaded during the night, his minions had been.
"This is one of them?" Vurgrom walked down the steps leading up to the stern castle. He stood tall
and broad, with a huge chest that sloped down to a massive stomach. Still, he moved lightly enough on
the ship's rolling deck that Flyys knew the bulk would throw off most of his opponents. Vurgrom's
reputation was fierce and savage, built on the number of deaths he'd ordered over the years. Many of
them he'd taken part in himself.
"Yes," Khorrch answered.
The wind stirred the wild red hair on the pirate captain's head, ruffled the long, untamed beard. He
stopped in front of Flyys. "He knows where the Eye is?"
The young triton tried not to let the fear inside him show, but he knew that the morkoth mage and
the pirate captain both sensed it in him. He swallowed hard, feeling his mouth and throat dry as his gills
sucked in air instead of liquid.
"I believe he does," Khorrch said. "When the Taker was banished all those thousands of years ago
by Umberlee, stories and tales of him were passed among those who lived in the sea. No one race got
everything, and each was given something to protect-something that would keep the Taker from regaining
his full strength. Our legends of the Taker tell us the longmanes were given some of the secrets of the
Taker's missing Eye."
Flyys struggled against the ropes that held him but still didn't find any slack. Though he was not a
great believer in the menace that the Taker represented-primarily because the evil his people guarded
against was even larger-he preferred death to talking.
" 'Some of the secrets'?" Vurgrom repeated irritably. "I thought they knew what we needed to find
out." The morkoth drew itself up to its full height on its six tentacles, but it still didn't stand as tall as the
pirate captain. "They know where it is," Khorrch declared. "Without it, all the things we've gathered here
in the Sea of Fallen Stars will be useless."
Vurgrom switched his glare back to Flyys. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell us on your own,
would you, boy?"
Flyys wanted to answer but he didn't trust his voice. He felt certain it would crack and shake.
Vurgrom smiled, sunlight dancing from the gold hoops in his ears. "We could let you stay out here
and dry out, boy." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "I got lads here wouldn't mind betting on how
long it takes till your skin starts to peel off. Maybe we could even hang you out on the prow. The gulls,
they get scent of you, they'd be down for a little snack."
Despite his best efforts not to, Flyys shivered at the prospect. He knew he wouldn't be the first
triton to be treated in that fashion. However, it was preferable to being ripped apart by the morkoth.
"Time is of the essence," Khorrch stated.
Vurgrom crossed his huge arms over his barrel chest and said, "Aye, I know. Iakhovas is a harsh
taskmaster."
"But his rewards are good," Khorrch pointed out.
Vurgrom smiled, a rictus of humor that belonged on a shark's mouth. "Get it done, then."
Expecting the morkoth to use its hypnotic powers or perhaps magically command him to speak,
Flyys closed his eyes and prayed to Persana to deliver him from his fate quickly. One way or the other.
Khorrch spoke words of power that started small fires under Flyys's skin. The young triton's eyes
snapped open, commanded by a force outside himself. He watched in swiftly growing horror as Khorrch
took a small copper piece from the conch shell at his side.
The morkoth laid the copper piece on one of his human palms and continued his spellcasting. His
voice rose, and he curled his fingers over the copper piece, holding tight. In the next instant the copper
piece vanished in a brief burst of flame. Khorrch opened his palm, revealing unblemished skin.
Then Flyys felt as though someone had buried a spear in his head, bursting through bone and flesh.
He screamed and shivered against the ropes.
"Tell me of the Eye," the morkoth ordered harshly. "Tell me of the Taker's Eye. Tell me where I may
find it."
Gasping, fighting against the pain that filled his mind, thinking his skull must surely be peeling back
like an onion against the creature's magical assault, Flyys tried to think of anything but the triton legends
about the Taker's Eye. It proved impossible.
"The Taker's ... Eye," Flyys heard his own voice saying, "is . . . kept ... in Myth Nantar!" Once the
words had been forced through his clenched teeth, the spell's force left him. He sagged weakly against
the mast, hung there by the ropes.
"Myth Nantar," Vurgrom said. "I've never heard of it." "You shouldn't have," Khorrch said. "The city
is magical, something that wasn't for the eyes of the surface dwellers. If they had known, it would have
been raided long ago."
"Aye, but who's to say this place hasn't been raided by another race?" Vurgrom demanded. "One
that makes its home beneath these waters?"
The morkoth shook its head in a very humanlike gesture. "No. That's not possible."
"Why?" the pirate captain persisted.
"Because," Flyys croaked, feeling some of his confidence return, "Myth Nantar was lost to everyone
thousands of years ago. It lies hidden and barred. No one may enter it. Now or ever."
"You're wrong, longmane whelpling," Khorrch snarled. "There is one who may enter."
"Not the Taker," Flyys promised. "Our legends tell us the walls will hold against even his might."
"Not him," the morkoth mage agreed, "but there will be another who will bring its walls down. One
whose destiny lies with the Taker's, their futures so intertwined that one may not live on without the
other."
Flyys wanted to rail against the morkoth's words, but he didn't have the strength. He had lost his
friends, betrayed some of the legacy that had been left to him. Only the dying remained. He was certain
neither Vurgrom or Khorrch would suffer him to live.
As if some of the mental bond that had existed between them still remained, Khorrch gazed into the
young triton's eyes and hissed, "Ah, longmane, there yet remains one service you may do for my people."
Flyys tried to summon up enough liquid to spit, but his throat was already too dry from exposure in
the wind.
The morkoth mage crossed to the ship's railing where the net had brought them aboard. The
creature gestured. A moment later the net was hoisted again, lifting yet another morkoth to the deck.
"Stay back from her," Khorcch warned the ship's crew.
Immediately the sailors stepped back from the new arrival, some of them making the signs of their
gods and calling out their names.
Flyys stared at the morkoth. It was noticeably smaller than the mage, and possessed only tentacles
instead of hands. It swayed drunkenly across the deck as it approached the young triton.
"No!" the young triton yelled. He wrenched against the ropes again, but it was in vain. Instead, he
concentrated on Persana and prayed. He couldn't close his eyes even though he knew what was going to
happen.
The female morkoth's abdomen belled out, looking as though the creature had just eaten a big meal.
Flyys knew that wasn't true. It came closer, reaching out tentatively with all four tentacles. The rubbery
flesh slid syrup-sticky across Flyys's face and chest as it investigated him.
The morkoth mage stood nearby, though obviously not in any proximity. It clutched a long-bladed
knife defensively. "Don't be fooled by his age," Khorrch told the female. "He's young, but the magic is
strong in him."
The female morkoth seemed to nod in agreement. Its tentacles continued to rove over Flyys.
The young triton had never seen what was about to happen, but there had been plenty of stories
about it. The event was only one more reason to make war against the kraknyth.
Slowly, the female morkoth's abdomen flexed. Scaled flesh peeled back, opening like a mouth. A
wicked appendage with a spike at the end slid free. It wavered for a moment out in the open as if
uncertain. Female morkoth never had the opportunity to practice the maneuver. It was only done once,
and it was guided by instinct.
Flyys tried to move but couldn't. In the next heartbeat, the appendage flared out and stabbed deeply
into the young triton's abdomen. He screamed at the pain and felt warm blood seep down his midsection
and thighs. The appendage writhed within him, seeking out the various internal organs, not damaging any
of them.
The female morkoth held him as if in a lover's embrace. The appendage pulsed as it began laying her
eggs, scattering them among his internal organs. Flyys tried to fight against it in vain. He gazed into the
female morkoth's black eyes, almost hypnotized, and watched as they dimmed, watched as life left it.
When all of the eggs were laid, the female morkoth fell backward, dead before she hit the deck. The
appendage wrenched free of Flyys.
Filled with horror, the young triton gazed down at his wound. As he watched, it closed up and
sealed, healing instantly as the final part of the cycle pumped into him. After all, it wouldn't do to have a
host body die or become infected before the eggs could hatch.
"Get rid of it," Vurgrom commanded.
Reluctantly, his men came forward. They grabbed the dead female morkoth and heaved it over the
railing. The splash barely carried above the ship's creaks and the sails snapping overhead.
Khorrch peered into Flyys's eyes. "You've been given a great gift, longmane."
"You've killed me," the young triton whispered hoarsely.
"Mayhap," the morkoth mage admitted. "Even should you live after the young hatch inside you and
eat their way free, you would only be reimplanted with eggs or killed outright."
Flyys knew it was true. The morkoth young would feed on his flesh and tear their way out of his
body. Even if he could get free of the morkoth, he knew of no spells or mendicants that would kill the
morkoth young and let him live. Still, if he could get free, he might survive their birthing.
"You may know where the Taker's Eye is," the young triton said, "but you'll never get it."
"The Taker will."
"Your precious Taker," Flyys said, the certainty of his own doom freeing him from the fear that had
filled him, "will turn on you in the end. He is only after those things that matter to him. You and the other
kraknyth are only a means to an end."
Murderous rage gleamed in the morkoth mage's eyes. "You lie."
"You yourself said that no one undersea race knows all about the Taker's past or his future," Flyys
went on, "but we know this. You will pay for your greed and for your mistakes.
Myth Nantar shall never reopen."
"Enough prattle," Vurgrom declared. "We've got leagues to go if we're to get where we need to be."
He gestured at his men. 'Take the triton belowdecks and stow him."
Flyys waited until they untied him, then tried to break free. He preferred death now to birthing the
morkoth young, but everything he'd been through had left him drained. One of the pirates slammed the
flat of his heavy cutlass against his head and consciousness abandoned the young triton.
I
Claarteeros Sea (Trackless Sea)
17 Tarsakh, the Year of the Gauntlet
"Meat is meat!"
The roar of sahuagin thumps, ticks, pings and whistles that served as their communication filled the
walls of the open amphitheater, almost deafening Laaqueel as she stood in the sahuagin king's retinue. It
was pure bloodlust, fired from their king's promise of the coming deaths in the amphitheater.
As a malenti, an accident of birth among the sahuagin caused from being born too close to a
community of sea elves, she immediately stood out from the hulking sahuagin around her. Even though
she was only a few inches under six feet in height, all of the sahuagin nearby were at least a foot or more
taller.She looked supple and slender, and knew from past experience that she turned the male heads of
surface dwellers as well as sea elves. It was cruel injustice that the form she wore was so hideous to her,
yet so pleasing to the enemies of her people. She wore only the simple sahuagin harness, making even
more evident the curvaceous form that set her apart from the other priestesses allowed at the king's side.
Her coal black hair lay in a long braid at her back, bound up by artificed fish bones and carved bits
of coral. Instead of the usual blue or green skin coloring granted a malenti, her deformity had cursed her
even further. She had the pale complexion of a hated surface dweller.
Standing in front of her, King Huaanton towered almost nine feet and was built broad with muscles
sculpted and hardened from hundreds of years spent living under the sea's constant pressure. Sahuagin
survived the harsh sea only by being the most feared predators there. Skin so green it was nearly black
stretched across his back, showing a few scars from past battles. Rising to a kingship within the sahuagin
culture was not without blood price. Keeping that office required even more blood be spilled into the
salty ocean. The skin over his stomach was lighter green. The fins on his back, shoulders, arms, and legs
were black, as was his tail.
He wore a combat harness with the seal of Sekolah, the sahuagin Shark God, decorated with
shark's teeth and rare shells. His white gold crown flared up in four separate talons that cruelly hooked at
the end. The crown rode low on his savage face, creating a half-mask that drew even more attention to
the oily black eyes planted on both sides of his head. His mouth held razor-sharp fangs.
"Meat is meat!" King Huaanton roared again, lifting high the bone and inlaid yellow gold trident that
was his seal of office.
"Meat is meat!" came the thunderous return cry from the hundreds of sahuagin seated out in the
amphitheater. They shifted and waved their arms on the stone tiers that surrounded the center court of the
structure.
"I bring to you," Huaanton went on when the response died down, "part of the spoils of our past
victories against the surface world." The war against the surface dwellers along the Sword Coast was
only two tendays old, but there had been many strikes, many triumphs. Waterdeep still reeled from the
raid that had been their first blow. Huaanton gestured toward the center court with his trident.
Immediately, gates at the left side of the amphitheater opened, releasing a half-dozen humans.
Laaqueel watched them with interest, noting the way they swam so clumsily. These, then, were true
surface dwellers that had rarely entered the oceans. The malenti priestess knew several of the sailors who
regularly crossed the Claarteeros Sea didn't know how to swim at all. These creatures possessed no
grace and precious little skill at cleaving through the water. They fought the sea as if it were an opponent
instead of taking grace and speed from the currents that constantly swept through it.
The sahuagin in the amphitheater made their displeasure known by slapping their webbed feet
against the stone and emitting more thunderous clicks and whistles. Even though the humans didn't know
the sahuagin tongue, Laaqueel knew the intent behind the cries couldn't be misunderstood.
The surface dwellers swam uncertainly, staying within a group near the coral-tiled floor. The builders
had designed the floor meticulously, creating a swirl pattern of light and dark coral pieces. At something
more than three hundred feet below the surface, little light penetrated the depths. None of it held the
colors that were available in the dry world, but the light and dark pattern of the tiled floor showed clearly.
A sahuagin guard glided effortlessly among the surface dwellers and passed out simple knives.
Before they'd been released into the amphitheater, Laaqueel knew the humans had been exposed to an
aboleth's mucus cloud. After they'd captured the humans, Huaanton had demanded that an aboleth be
captured as well, then ordered the creature's mucus used to give the humans water-breathing ability that
would last for at least an hour and maybe as long as three hours. Until then, the surface dwellers had
been held captive in special dungeon cells that had air.
Either way, Laaqueel knew, the humans wouldn't live long enough for the temporary magical effects
of the aboleth mucus to wear off. Normally, the sahuagin hated magic and anything resembling magic, but
Huaanton had made concessions in that area to promote the torture he had in mind. After all, the aboleth
mucus was found in nature, not forged from it by some arcane means.
After the sahuagin passed out the next to last knife, the young human he'd given it to attacked the
guard the moment his back was presented. The young surface dweller swam well enough and fast
enough, but the sahuagin's lateral line, the sensory organ that allowed him to detect vibration and
movement in the water, warned him.
Even before the young human could strike, the sahuagin flicked his tail and clawed the water with his
free webbed hand and both webbed feet. The sahuagin rose steeply, ascending over his foe and drawing
the trident in line. Wrapping both hands about the trident's shaft, the sahuagin brought the tines down
quickly, driving them through the human's back and into his heart and lungs, splitting the flesh easily.
Blood erupted from the wounds, spilling a dark cloud into the water. The human struggled, trying to
get away from the barbed tines, but he was solidly hooked.
The sahuagin spectators cheered lustily and slapped their huge webbed feet against the stone seating
tiers in appreciation. Clicks and whistles rose in anticipation.
Laaqueel watched closely, knowing she would have enjoyed the festivities more if she wasn't facing
fears of her own. But she knew her own fate might be as dismal as that of the surface dwellers-unless a
miracle did happen here tonight. After all, Iakhovas had promised Huaanton a divine sign from Sekolah
himself to prove that the raids the sahuagin staged against the surface world were what the Shark God
wanted.
The other humans stayed back instead of going to help their comrade. The sahuagin guard pulled the
corpse along by the trident's handle, streaming dark bloody strings after it that twisted in the currents. He
flicked out his claws and carved great gobbets of flesh from the dead man, then hurled them into the
crowd. "Meat is meat!" he cried.
"Meat is meat!" the crowd cried in joyful acceptance of the offering.
Small sahuagin darted forth to claim the unexpected treats. Some of them were fast enough to get
the pieces they were after, but others ended up locked in mortal combat while the adults watched on in
approval. The sahuagin life was supposed to be hard, and they learned to kill their enemies by first killing
each other. That vicious cycle started in the domed nurseries with newborn hatchlings. Only the best and
strongest survived to carry on their fierce race.
After slashing the corpse to chunks, the guard saved the heart for himself, shoving it into his great
fanged mouth as he floated above the amphitheater. Blood gushed from his mouth and nose as he choked
down the impromptu meal.
Her senses as acute as any sahuagin's, Laaqueel smelled the blood in the water. The scent caused
further excitement within her. Though her appearance masked her true nature, the malenti was sahuagin.
"And now," Huaanton stated, "I bring to you a champion!" He pointed again.
On the opposite side of the amphitheater, another set of gates released a huge diamond-shaped
manta ray that streaked out into the open center court. The combined noises of displeasure from the
sahuagin spectators were even louder. Manta rays closely resembled the sahuagin's sworn enemies, the
ixitxachitls.
The sahuagin guards immediately backpedaled through the water, pulling back and above the
amphitheater. Getting its bearings almost at once, obviously starved for days, the manta ray flipped its
broad fins and closed on the group of surface dwellers.
The sea creature was among them before they could scatter. It seized one of the surface dwellers in
its mouth, swallowing the man in a single gulp as it cruised through. Another man of the surviving four
attacked, gripping one of the leather wings in one hand as the creature passed, then pulling himself to its
back. The manta ray flicked out its stinger and barbed a man. In seconds the stricken man succumbed to
the tail's paralytic effects and hung motionless in the water.
The man clinging to the manta ray's back dug in with his knife. Laaqueel admired the man's tenacity.
He was meeting his death with a bravery and anger a sahuagin could respect.
Wounds reluctantly opened up in the manta ray's back. Blood gushed in threads behind it, curling
and fragmenting in the wake. Flicking its wings again, the manta ray increased its speed, obviously hoping
to shake its attacker from its back. Graceful and desperate, the creature planed through the water, curling
back to where it had first encountered the humans. Blood spilled out in a fog behind it as the human kept
sinking his blade home.
As they watched the deadly duel taking shape in the amphitheater, the sahuagin seated in the tiers
cheered loudly and slapped their feet encouragingly. Even though they hated the surface dwellers, the
humans were the underdogs in the battle, and the sahuagin respected that all too familiar position.
Pride and hope flared anew in Laaqueel, driving away the fear that Iakhovas's promise for the day
had instilled in her. This was Sekolah's promise to his chosen people. Born and bred for battle, the death
matches that played out in the amphitheaters of all the cities remained proof of their eventual destiny to
conquer. She watched and prayed to the Shark God, begging for forgiveness for ever allowing even a
shred of doubt to enter her heart. Whether Iakhovas's claim to be acting on the will of Sekolah was true
or false, she would know in only a short time. However it turned out, she chose to put her faith in the
Shark God. She watched the battle in rapt attention.
The manta ray scooped up the paralyzed victim on its next pass, gulping him down effortlessly as
well. It flipped its wings again and swam for the outskirts of the amphitheater. Before it could reach the
edges high over the gathered crowd, four sharks under the control of the sahuagin guards swam to meet
it. Reluctantly, the manta ray turned back.
Taking a fresh grip on the leathery wing he held, the human on the manta ray's back pulled himself
forward while the creature turned. The human slithered over the manta's wing, still maintaining his hold.
On the inside of the wing now, a safe distance from the fanged mouth, the human dug in with his knife
again, ripping through the manta's softer underbelly.
Angry and fearful, driven by irrational hunger as well, the manta returned for the two humans who
had gone to ground against the coral tiles. Laaqueel noticed that the manta's movements were no longer
as sure or as quick as they had been. The wounds robbed it of constitution, continuing to leech its
strength away.
The cavernous mouth scooped up a third victim as the man tried to flee. Evidently encouraged by his
comrade's success, the last human grabbed the manta's wing as well, but he didn't have enough skill to do
more than simply hang on.
Long minutes passed and the struggle continued, but in the end there could be no doubt. Starved
and weakened by its captivity, further depleted by the blood loss, the manta gave in to the wounds. It
struggled only weakly as it drifted down and came to a rest against one side of the amphitheater's
coral-tiled floor. With a final flicker of wing movement, the great manta ray died, leaving only the ocean
currents to stir it.
Immediately, a thunderous swell of appreciation and encouragement rose from the sahuagin
spectators. They pushed to their feet and filled the amphitheater with their triumph.
Laaqueel chose to view the battle as a sign. It was not a sign from Sekolah-the Shark God didn't
trouble himself with the affairs of anyone, including his chosen people-but the victory of the surface
dwellers over the giant manta ray, the small versus the large, represented the backbone of sahuagin
ideals. Still, her heart pounded inside her chest at the anticipation of Huaanton's introduction of Iakhovas.
Slowly, the surface dwellers disentangled themselves from the manta ray, partly hidden from sight by
the cloudy blood swirling around them. They swam fearfully, uncertain of what to do next.
Huaanton raised his great trident again, then turned the tines down.
Immediately the sahuagin guards closed in, fanning through 'the water with their webbed hands and
feet. The humans tried to flee, but they didn't have the speed and there was nowhere to go. With a
practiced toss, the closest sahuagin to each man snared their prey with the barbed nets they carried. They
pulled the nets tight, sinking the hooked barbs into flesh and binding their prisoners.
Even winners didn't make it out of the amphitheater alive. It wasn't the sahuagin way. The spectators
cheered again, bloodlust filling them.
The human who'd first attacked the manta ray was brought before Huaanton. The sahuagin king
regarded the bound figure at his feet with contempt. The human spat out curses that Laaqueel knew few
except her understood. She listened as the man alternately called out to his gods for help and for
vengeance.
Huaanton ripped away the barbed net in a practiced fashion. Small trickles of blood ran from the
dozens of wounds covering the surface dweller's body and mixed with the sea, creating a sensory
explosion to Laaqueel. She knew the king's Royal Black Tridents, his personal bodyguards, and the
other priestesses were affected by the taste in the water they breathed.
In a show of amazing defiance, obviously knowing what was to become of him, the surface dweller
plunged his blade toward the sahuagin king's broad chest.
Before even the hardened members of the Royal Black Tridents could move to intercept the strike,
Huaanton lifted the royal trident. After deflecting the knife, the sahuagin king reversed the trident and
swung the tines at the human's neck.
Blood exploded into the water as the jagged edged tines ripped through the pale flesh. Even as
death claimed the surface dweller, Huaanton grabbed the man's head, cracked the spinal column with his
摘要：

UnderFallenStarsMelOdomForgottenRealms-TheThreatfromtheSeaTrilogy-BookTwo1999Scanned,formattedandproofedbyDreamcityEbookversion1.0ReleaseDate:December,10,2003AdditionalproofingbySithicusVersion1.1August,28,2004PrologueSeros(TheSeaofFallenStars)15Tarsakh,theYearoftheGauntletFlyysrakedhiswebbedhandsth...

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