The Coral Kingdom - Douglas Niles [70]
An image came to him of surf, of long white breakers pouring onto a beach, and blocky objects in the water-like this thing that made his bed.
Coral. The word came to him, and he felt a small measure of pleasure.
A noise sounded somewhere in the distance, and once again he reached reflexively for the sword. But something was strange in that motion, something beyond the fact that he had no weapon.
He looked down, and his eyes widened in shock. The movement felt unnatural, he realized, because he had only one hand! His left arm ended at the wrist, in a clean, well-healed wound that was nevertheless none too old.
Again the man looked around, at the strange canopy overhead and the walls of solid coral. He noticed a pool of still, dark water. There seemed to be no other way in or out of the chamber.
And then a deeper question came, beyond the wheres and the whys. The man slumped to the coral bed with a groan, but he resisted the urge to lower his head. Instead, he raised his face to the ceiling and spoke.
"Who am I?" he asked.
But no one and nothing answered.
* * * * *
Mastery of Caer Callidyrr was an idle pastime to Deirdre. The offices of her mother and father in truth required little attention during these summer days. Royal court was not in session, nor were there any pressing matters of diplomacy or war to concern her.
Instead, she found time for the tasks that were dear to her-the study of her magic, and the contemplation of the world she saw in her mirror.
It was to the latter that she found herself drawn more and more, as if she sensed that she could learn more from the glass than from any dense tome or musty volume.
Shortly after she had teleported from Corwell to Callidyrr, she located the Princess of Moonshae in the mirror. The image, she learned, displayed an easy affinity for locating Deirdre's mother or her sister. As soon as she imagined the wide expanse of Corwell Firth-and, on later days, the Trackless Sea-the image of the sleek longship came into focus. As always, she could move closer, like a gull diving toward the wavetops, and steady her vision with as much detail as she desired.
But that proved rather a mundane activity. There was little variance, as the days passed, in the activities of the crew or passengers on the long voyage. Even the weather remained fixed in its clear sky and light, favorable wind.
Deirdre had quickly thought of using the mirror to seek her father, but she found no such link as with her female kin. Instead, she probed the depths of the ocean, but saw only vast seas, giant fish, and a dark, featureless floor.
There was one more whom Deirdre desired to seek through the glass, yet thus far she had lacked the courage. Still, she remembered the tingle of recognition when she had spied him at the Corwell festival. This was the one she had called Malawar. There had been a powerful affinity in that sensation, as well as very real fear.
Deirdre felt nothing romantic nor even vaguely affectionate in that attraction. Rather, she thought of Malawar as a mighty source of power, a source that she had barely mastered once, and then only to send it away. But now her mind had begun to think more ambitious thoughts: If she could but capture that power, channel it to her own ends…
The possibilities seemed unlimited.
* * * * *
The being that so occupied Deirdre's thoughts remained in the seas below the Princess of Moonshae. Sinioth lurked in the depths, awaiting the progress of the Mantaships with growing impatience. The gap narrowed, but too slowly for the avatar's desires. Sythissal, king of the sahuagin, remained below the sea with his master, while Krell-Bane commanded the attacking force on the surface.
It was the power of the accursed goddess, he knew, that sustained the unnatural wind. Normally the sleek rafts of the scrags should have overtaken the longship by now. But instead,