Riven masked a laugh with a cough. Even Azriim had to admit that he was laying it on pretty heavily.
"More coin does drowned men no good," Sertan answered, though the sly look in his eye belied his words. "And I no more want you to drown than me."
I will eat him, Dolgan projected. And you take his form.
Shut up, Azriim answered his broodmate.
Dolgan crossed his arms and huffed.
"Come now, you are no ordinary seaman," Azriim said. "And this is no ordinary crew. Dolphin's Coffer can cut a path through that, I have no doubt. Triple the pay when we return to a Sembian port."
Sertan frowned, but licked his lips greedily.
"I thought you were disembarking? You will be returning to the ship then?"
"Of course," Azriim lied, smiling. "We will disembark for a time, descend below the waves, and return. How else would we get back to land?"
Sertan chewed his moustache.
"Come, my friend," Azriim chided. "Nothing dared, nothing won. Isn't that right? I'm offering all I have. It's that important to me."
Sertan's Sembian greed and Azriim's enchantment made the outcome a foregone conclusion. After only a few moments, Sertan nodded and said, "Done. And we'll get you through."
To the crew, Sertan shouted, "String some lines, lads, and reinforce the sail rigging! Get the boys out of the nests! No one on the masts! We're sailing down that storm's gullet and out its arse."
Azriim allowed himself a smile. He had won the only battle with Sertan that he would have to fight. Once the storm had a grip on Dolphin's Coffer, there would be no turning back.
* * * * *
Outside the former temple of Cyric, Vhostym prepared to cast one of the most powerful spells known to any caster on any world. The magic defied categorization. In the end, it brought into being what Vhostym willed-but within limits.
The casting required for its power a small tithe of the wizard's own being. Vhostym, of course, had only so much to give, or would have had only so much to give, if it had been his being that would power the spell. But it would not. Instead, he would draw on the stored power contained in the Weave Tap. The artifact would power the spell, sparing Vhostym the necessity of sacrificing some of his already dwindling lifespan.
Unfortunately, the spell brought with it certain peculiarities. The magic could have only limited effects on sentient beings. Perhaps that suggested something about the power inherent in a self-aware creature, but Vhostym chose to ignore the implication. Too, the spell could be capricious. The magic required that the caster articulate his will. Sometimes the spell answered the caster's intent, and sometimes-when the caster tried to do too much-the spell answered a strict interpretation of the caster's words, which often led to a perversion of the caster's intent.
Still, Vhostym had no choice but to use the spell. No other magic could accomplish what he wished. He readied himself and began.
In his mind's eye, he pictured the uninhabited island that he had chosen to be the site of his triumph and his death. He pictured it as though seeing it from far above, as he had often done in his scrying lens-a sheer-sided, mountainous chunk of land that rose high from the sea. Human sailors called it the Wayrock. Vhostym called it his.
He looked upon the temple before him-empty, dark, also his. He sensed the latent amplification properties present in the stone. Properly awakened, that power would turn the temple into the largest magical focus ever made or conceived. And Vhostym would need it. For the spell he was about to cast was feeble compared to the spell he planned to cast after all the pieces of his plan were in place. With it, he would create and control a Crown of Flame.
He focused, and opened the connection between his mind and the primitive sentience of the Weave Tap. The artifact reached across Mystra's web and drew power from the mantle of Skullport, where its seed had been planted. It channeled that power to Vhostym.
Arcane energy rushed into him until he was nearly aglow with it. Holding his hands out before him, ignoring the pain of his failing body, he spoke the short stanza of his spell.
Power continued to gather in him as he spoke, enough to obliterate an army. He controlled it, concentrated it, projected it outward to the temple.
The magic took hold and the temple vibrated under the magical onslaught. The stone shimmered silver. Vhostym gave voice to his will. "Let this tower and all of its current contents be removed at once to the Wayrock. Let a suitable foundation be prepared there upon which the tower can safely stand as it does before me now, and let the tower so stand."
Vhostym's hands shook, glowed white with the power they channeled. The tower shook, flared brightly, then . . . disappeared.
The magic departed Vhostym. He sagged and disconnected himself from the Weave Tap.
He allowed a smile to split his thin lips. He was close now. Very close.
Only a jagged hole in the soil indicated that the western Tower of the Eternal Eclipse had ever stood in the vale. Vhostym had erased it.
He took a moment to let his strength return, then spoke the words to a spell that would transport him to the Wayrock.
He wanted to prepare his new spell focus for his next casting.
CHAPTER 11
THE GATHERING STORM
The wind rose as the sun sank below the horizon. The storm swallowed the stars and the sea grew increasingly rough. Demon Binder sailed headlong into the storm's teeth. The rain started slowly, thick dollops that felt like sling bullets, but soon fell in wind-driven sheets. Immense swells alternately lifted the ship up to touch the sky or sent it careening down to nearly bury the bow in the waves. Foam sprayed. The decks were awash. Through it all, Cale held station in the bow, leaning out over the prow, trying to increase the ship's speed through sheer force of will. His stomach fluttered every time they descended a swell, but he refused to give ground to the storm. Jak stood beside him, clutching the rail with white knuckles and groaning with every roll of the ship.
The rain hit Cale's face so hard it felt like hail. His soaked cloak felt as though it were filled with stones. He looked ahead, blinking in the rain, the spray, the foam. They had to be gaining on the slaadi. They had to be.
There!
Atop a distant swell he spotted a green glow. He strained to see. He was not certain that his eyes had not deceived him.
Lightning ripped through the sky, silhouetting a dark shape atop a mountainous swell-a ship, the slaadi's ship! Like Demon Binder, it had all of its sails unfurled and was riding straight into the waves.
"There!" Cale shouted above the storm, in his excitement using his voice rather than the mindlink.
"I see it," Jak hollered in answer. The little man slipped and nearly fell as Demon Binder slid down a trough. The slaadi's ship was lost to their sight.
Did you see it? Cale asked Magadon. We are closing.
I saw it, Magadon answered. So did Evrel. He's concerned for the ship, Erevis. And his crew.
Cale knew. He was concerned for them too.
Above them, the billowing square sails strained to contain the fierce wind without shredding. Rigging frayed. The masts creaked, bending under the force of the wind. Thunder rolled. Cale did not know how much more the ship or its crew could endure.
Below them, the water elementals Jak had summoned pulled Demon Binder through the churning sea, keeping her prow square to the waves. Watery appendages stuck out of the rolling sea to clutch the hull. Cale caught snippets of their rushing voices above the storm. They, too, must have been shouting to one another.
Tell him to hold on, Mags, Cale projected. We're getting close. We'll have them soon.
Before Magadon could reply, Cale felt a pressure in his temples, an itching under his skull. He looked to Jak, whose expression told him that he was feeling much the same thing. At first Cale thought it was a side effect of the storm, but the pressure intensified, as did the itching. Both grew painful. Cale squinted, clutched his brow.
"You feel that?" he shouted to Jak.
Jak nodded, holding two fingers to his temple and wincing with pain.