Black Wizards (12 page)

Gasping, she gathered her gown about her and stumbled toward the cottage, leaving him bound by the spell.

“Come on!”

Tristan was propelling himself toward the castle even before Daryth spoke, too surprised to wonder if the grand structure was illusion or reality. Canthus and Pontswain swam beside them, their weariness forgotten. Soon the men and the dog reached the foot of the massive, smoothly hewn wall. The shining pink surface rose straight into the air above them and seemed to continue underwater as far as they could see.

“Rosy quartz,” muttered the Calishite. “There’ll be no climbing it here.”

“Where—?” began the prince, dismayed at the thought of succor so close at hand yet possibly unreachable.

“Let’s try the gate,” suggested Daryth, swimming easily along the base of the wall. Pontswain followed, while Tristan and Canthus sputtered and splashed in the rear.

The Calishite reached the gate first. The prince watched him rise slowly from the water, pulling himself gradually up the wall. With a supple swing, the Calishite carried himself over the gate and out of Tristan’s sight.

Tristan heard nothing for a few seconds, but then the portal began to drop with a steady creaking. In a moment, he could see his friend operating the smooth iron winch that patiently fed chain to the lowering gate. In another moment, Tristan, Pontswain, and Canthus had pulled themselves onto the flattened entryway and squirmed quickly into the castle proper.

“Is it real?” asked the lord.

“I don’t know,” replied the prince, unconsciously whispering. A sense of awe possessed him. The rosy stonework of the castle was bathed in a pale mist, shot through by slanting rays of early morning sunlight. The place was mystical yet somehow welcoming.

“This place is amazing!” commented Daryth, looking around at the high balconies, ornate columns, and sweeping stairways that surrounded
the small courtyard before them. “What is it?”

“I remember a legend I heard once. I was just a child, so I can’t vouch for the details,” Pontswain said slowly, his voice unusually subdued. “It was about a young queen, bride of Cymrych Hugh. I think her name was Allisynn.

“The king erected a mighty castle, full of wondrous towers and lofty balconies, for her as his wedding gift. But she died soon after they were married. This was why Cymrych Hugh did not leave an heir.

“The king was so distraught by her death,” Pontswain continued, “that he ordered the castle to become her tomb. It stood upon a tiny island between Gwynneth and Alaron, and, with the aid of the Great Druids of all the isles, he commanded the castle to sink below the waves, forever hiding and preserving the resting place of his beloved.”

“The very stone feels sacred,” said Daryth. “Like a shrine.”

“Legends tell of fishermen and sailors occasionally sighting a castle here in the strait, but none have been verified. I don’t recall hearing about it happening during my lifetime.” Pontswain still spoke with quiet reverence.

“How do you know so much about this?” asked the prince, surprised at Pontswain’s knowledge.

“I listen to the bards,” said the lord simply.

“That’s fascinating. I’ve only heard vague stories about a castle in the sea—never the details.”

“What good will it do us?” snapped Pontswain. “If the legends are true, the castle will stay here for a few hours and then sink. We’ll be right back in the water.”

“Let’s find something to float on, then,” suggested Daryth, pragmatically turning to look around them.

Shallow pools of water covered most of the surface, and strands of seaweed lay everywhere. Here and there a fish lay still, gills widespread, or flopped out its last strength on the hard stones. Across the courtyard, a mist-enshrouded stairway rose toward a balcony or entryway. The fog parted enough to give them a look at a pair of huge doors.

“Let’s check inside,” suggested the Calishite. “We might find something we can use as a raft.”

“Or a weapon.”

They reached the balcony and saw a pair of huge doors made of solid oak, strapped with gleaming bronze, and uncorroded by their immersion in the brine.

“We might as well try these first,” muttered the Calishite, looking pessimistically at the massive portals.

A whirling blur of green was Tristan’s first warning of attack. A savage shape slashed outward from the shadow of one of the columns.

“Look out!” cried the prince, bounding backward.

Daryth dove forward and somersaulted out of the creature’s path. Tristan saw that the attacker was a humanlike creature covered with green scales. Wide gills gaped like wounds in its neck, and on the top of its head, trailing in a line down its backbone, was an array of barbed spikes. Wide, white eyes hung open like some ghastly blinding affliction, but the creature leaped after Daryth as if it could see very well. Its wide mouth gaped, displaying row after row of needlelike teeth. Webbed hands, studded with long, curving claws, sought the flesh of the Calishite, while similar feet slapped across the wet stone.

It wore only an oiled belt, and several silver bracelets lined its arms. Carrying a spearlike weapon, it moved haltingly, as if unaccustomed to movement outside of the sea.

A second monster moved forward on the heels of its companion, but Canthus lunged at this one and carried it to the floor. Clawed, webbed hands sank into the moorhound’s flanks, but Canthus’s white fangs drove toward the throat of the thing.

The first attacker whirled around, turning suddenly to strike at Tristan with a long trident. The three-pronged fork nearly cut the prince’s chest, but at the last moment Pontswain darted forward. The trident caught the lord on the temple, and Pontswain crashed like a stone to the ground. Tristan stared into the monster’s face, the least human aspect of its appearance. It was a fish-face; the blank eyes and gaping maw belonged upon no other animal.

Canthus yelped as his opponent succeeded in pushing the dog to the side, but then the moorhound growled and lunged into the attack. The pair rolled several times across the wet stones, neither gaining a clear advantage. The monster attacking the two men darted forward aggressively, flicking its trident first at one, then the other. His weariness forgotten, the prince crouched to face the monster. “We’ll do it
same as we got the Northmen!” he panted to Daryth.

The Calishite remembered that battle well. “Ready!” he answered quickly.

Tristan darted to the side, and the trident followed him. At the same time Daryth dove and rolled. The creature swung his weapon back, but it passed cleanly over the Calishite, who came out of his roll to smash his head into the creature’s midriff.

Tristan dashed at the monster, and now both of its opponents were closer than the dangerous end of the weapon. The prince seized the wooden haft and wrested the trident from the creature’s grip as Daryth tackled it.

Daryth lay across the monster’s abdomen, as its claws dug into his back. Tristan dropped his knees upon the thing’s chest and then brought the heft of the trident down heavily upon its neck. He heard the cracking of bone. The monster’s eyes bulged briefly outward before it stiffened and died.

The prince leaped to his feet, ready to run to the aid of his dog, but Canthus arose from the body of the other fish-man and shook himself. His wounds did not look too deep.

“Pontswain?” Tristan asked, kneeling beside the motionless lord. He saw that the man was breathing, but his eyes were closed. A deep purple bruise spread across his temple and cheek.

“What happened?” Daryth asked, joining Tristan.

“He saved my life—at least, he took a blow intended for me. Perhaps I underestimated him.”

“More likely he didn’t think it through before he acted,” suggested the Calishite.

“What were those things?” Tristan asked, after determining that Daryth was not hurt seriously either.

“I’ve never seen them before, but I’ve heard about creatures like them called sahuagin. They’re supposed to live underwater. Sometimes they come out to raid ships or land. They’re very bloodthirsty.”

“You won’t get any argument out of me. Though the fight had drained him physically, Tristan began to feel more confident than he had since they had taken to the water.

“At least we’re armed now,” mused Daryth, picking up the trident of the second sahuagin. They gently moved Pontswain into a small alcove
in the wall of the keep, out of sight from the main courtyard. They could do no more for him at the moment,

“The keep, then,” the prince suggested.

They stepped forward, and each grasped one of the huge bronze rings hanging from the doors. To their amazement, each of the heavy portals swung smoothly open. Before them they saw a long hall with scattered pools of water on the stone floor and several pairs of doors along either wall.

Then they fell.

With the first shock, Tristan thought that the castle had begun to sink again, but he quickly saw that only he, Daryth, and Canthus were falling—not the entire castle. They plummeted down a wide shaft, a trap that had been triggered when they opened the doors to the keep, Tristan realized.

Abruptly, they smashed into a pool of cold water, hitting the surface with stunning force. Tristan felt the trident slip from his hands as he struggled to reach the surface. Daryth and Canthus quickly surfaced beside him, Daryth still holding his trident. Gasping and choking, it was all Tristan could do to simply stay afloat.

“That was stupid,” coughed the Calishite. “I should have seen that from a mile away. Damn my carelessness!”

“Let’s find a way out of here,” said the prince. “And don’t blame yourself—I didn’t notice anything either.”

They were in a small cavern, about thirty feet across. The smooth walls were far too steep to climb, and offered no doors or other passages.

“I’d say we’ve been caught,” growled the Calishite.

Far from Gehenna, there existed a region of peace and healing, a land where the god grows mightier from acts of virtue and kindness, not murder. This deity, like Bhaal, had worshippers throughout the Realms and all the other planes of the universe as well. Her name was Chauntea, goddess of agriculture and growth. She was the patron of all things whole and healthy
.

Chauntea had great concentrations of power in many lands, places where her clerics preached the doctrine of her faith to all. These lands, without exception, benefited from
her benign nature. And in other places, where Chauntea was not all-powerful or even universally known, she sent her missionaries to bring the words and acts of her faith
.

One of these places was the Moonshaes
.

he black water seemed to penetrate Tristan’s flesh with freezing numbness. His arms grew leaden from the constant motion of treading water. He knew that he would die in this castle, for there seemed to be no way out of the trap.