The Medusa Plague

Chapter Two

"There it is!" breathed the old fisherman, pointing knobby finger to the churning water off the New Coast peninsula. "The Boil above Itzan Klertal."

Lyim Rhistadt looked over the bow of the small fishing boat to where a swath of sea appeared to boil in a wide, dark, frothing circle. Dead fish and other sea creatures bubbled to the top as if in a stewpot. Since its birth more than three hundred fifty years before, New Sea had roiled here, like an eternal flame, to mark the spot where the evil city once known as Klertal had stood. Lyim had never seen anything like this angry black water, and it fascinated him.

"Take me closer," he ordered the fishermen he'd paid handsomely to ferry him to this locally feared triangle of sea. Lyim's eyes never left the spot where angry black water boiled and churned.

"This is near enough," hissed the sailor's son, a thin lad with a wispy mustache and fly-away hair the color of mouse fur. His eyes grew wide as he saw bloody bits of fish float nearer their small boat. His lips trembled. "We'd best turn back, Pa."

Lyim's left hand stopped the old man as he leaned into the oars to turn the small craft. "I paid you a year's wages to take me to the Boil."

"And that we have done," said the old fisherman, beads of sweat forming on his upper lip. "Any closer, and we'll surely be pulled into the maelstrom."

"If it's a closer look he wants, I say push him in and let him swim," grumbled the man's other son, a surly, suspicious lad with thick, veined forearms. He had strongly opposed his father accepting the job from the first, when the strange, secretive man had approached them on the dock back in the tiny fishing village of Balnakyle.

Lyim's coal-dark eyes pierced the burly son's, saying what his lips did not. I have not searched five long years to let your pitiful fear stop me now. The surly lad drew back to the farthest corner of the dinghy, and still it was not far enough from the shrouded man who hid his right hand.

"You'll take me wherever I say." Lyim turned his back on all three of the fishermen dismissively, mentally measuring the distance to the angrily boiling waters. He could easily swim the distance, and yet it was the principle of the thing. He had paid these fainthearts well.

The boat shifted abruptly. It was too silent behind him. Lyim whirled around to find father and sons, hands outstretched, closing in on him slowly. They froze in the dark shadow of Lyim's gaze.

The mage's left hand reached into his dark shroud and withdrew a small, wrapped cocoon. He didn't hesitate for a heartbeat before locking his eyes on the surly son and mumbling the words to the spell that had come to mind. There came one short, high-pitched scream, then a hideous slurping and popping sound. Where once stood a dark-haired human was now a flapping mass of tentacles trying desperately to support a heavy, soft body with bulging eyes. The squid fell against the side of the dinghy, then slipped overboard into the sea.

"Maginus?" yelped the father, leaning overboard with his other son. Both desperately searched the surface of the rippling sea. When Maginus didn't answer, his family drew back from the edge in horror and looked to Lyim's face. The mage sat and calmly crossed his legs.

Lyim derived great pleasure from watching them realize his profession. The sailors looked fearfully from him to the seething water and back, as if trying to decide which was more dangerous, a mage or the angry boiling sea. They decided to take their chances with the sea, because both men wordlessly snatched up the oars and paddled the dinghy closer to the roiling water.

Satisfied at last, Lyim stood carefully once more and shrugged the simple shroud he wore down from his shoulders, letting it dangle from his forearms. He was naked from the waist up and oblivious to the quaking fishermen. The mage closed his eyes and concentrated on the remembered pattern of the spell he sought; its only component was verbal, so it was more important than ever to be precise. At last Lyim opened his eyes and let the shroud slip to the bottom of the dinghy. He saw the men's eyes shift from his nakedness, searching for the source of the odd hissing sound. Both gasped aloud when they found it at the end of Lyim's right arm.

The appendage that was no longer an arm.

The limb was a writhing thing covered not with flesh, but with scales of brown, red, and gold, patterned symmetrically in rings and swirls. At the end of the limb, where a hand should have been, thrashed the head of a snake, its eyes inky black and malevolent. Sighting the two frightened fishermen, the hideous creature hissed and flicked its tongue.

The younger man backpedaled in undisguised horror. The father had to grab his son's arm to keep him from falling overboard and joining aginus.

Lyim had never grown used to the looks of revulsion his snake arm drew. He had a difficult time not recoiling from it himself. Nearly six years had passed since his own master, Belize, had viciously thrust Lyim's right arm into a magical portal at Stonecliff. When then-apprentice Lyim had been allowed to withdraw his arm from the extradimensional bridge, he found his limb had been replaced by a living snake.

Soon, Lyim reminded himself, people would no longer draw back from him in horror. Below, in Itzan Klertal, he would learn the secret for removing, once and for all, the hideous thing his arm had become.

The thought propelled the mage on, made him mumble the words that would polymorph him into a sea creature. The sensation was an odd, painless stretching that sounded worse than it felt, with all manner of pops and crackles. Lyim grew to tower nearly twice the height of the witless men in the little dinghy. He gingerly passed his thick, insensitive tongue over hundreds of needle-sharp teeth. Though he could feel nothing through his thick, green-scaled hide, he knew the luxurious mane of hair of which he was so proud was now like limp seaweed. His left arm had lengthened as if made of hot taffy; he could touch his wide, webbed feet, so useful for swimming, without even bending.

But no amount of research had prepared the mage for what it would feel like to be a scrag, a water troll. Despite years of living with his repulsive limb, Lyim was still vain enough to be glad he couldn't see how grotesque he must look now. Yet the water troll was the safest form to adopt to explore the ruins of Itzan Klertal in search of the Coral Oracle.

The boat was pitching dangerously with the added weight of Lyim's new, ten-foot-tall form, not to mention the fishermen's frantic scrabbling to get away from him. Lyim threw himself overboard, heedless of the huge wave he left in his wake. The men were as good as dead anyway.

The mage-turned-scrag instinctively reached out his long, green arm toward the swirling maelstrom and drew powerful downward strokes, kicking his wide, webbed feet. Lyim wasn't surprised to see that even as a scrag, his snake arm remained. Nothing he had tried in nearly six years had removed it for more than a day. He had starved himself, but while he withered, the limb flourished. He had chopped off the snake, even doused it in oil and burned it in his desperation, willing to live with only one arm. But the grotesque limb always regenerated. Illusionary spells to disguise it simply misfired, even when cast by the most powerful mages he could bribe. He had journeyed far and wide looking for anyone who might know how to fix his magically mutated limb. Each fruitless trip left him more bitter and frustrated. He hoped fervently that this trip to the sunken city would end that pattern.

Strangely, the failure that had left him the most bitter was the first. Oh, the Council of Three had been kind enough when he'd agreed to return to Wayreth with Justarius after the fiasco that had caused the mutation at Stonecliff. They'd taken him under their wing, so to speak. Par-Salian, LaDonna, and Justarius had given him lodging for more than a month while they searched their books and their collective memories for some way to banish the snake from his limb. Justarius had even encouraged him to take his Test while they searched. Despite the handicap of his right arm during spellcast- ing, Lyim's natural ability had helped him to struggle successfully through the arduous trial of magic taken by all mages who wished to progress beyond rudimentary spells. He saw it as vindication for all that he had suffered, and somehow he connected that positive sign with the belief that the Council of Three would find some way to cure him.

That was why Lyim had been stunned-beyond stunned-when they called him into the Hall of Mages to inform him that they had been stymied in all efforts to discover a cure for his hand. The problem was, they said, none of them knew what Belize had done, what spell had caused the mutation. Though Justarius specialized in rearranging magical patterns to create new spells, he needed to see the old pattern, which was known only by Belize, who had been tried in a tribunal and put to death.

Justarius had concluded the meeting by encouraging Lyim to overlook the handicap and get on with his life; obviously it had hindered Lyim little in his Test. The newly appointed Master of the Red Robes had even pointed to his own crippled leg and said, "We've all given up things for the magic."

Justarius knew nothing about Lyim, if he didn't realize how much the mutation had altered his life. How could anyone compare a game leg with the monstrosity that was Lyim's hand? Night and day the thing hissed and thrashed, until he could hear nothing else, until he thought he would go mad. Nodding numbly, Lyim had backed out of the Hall of Mages and left Wayreth without another word exchanged.

Lyim believed they had spoken honestly, that Par- Salian, LaDonna, and Justarius had tried. What he could neither understand nor forgive was that the three most powerfu/ mages on Ansafon were unabfe to find a solution to his problem. It confirmed what he had always suspected: You had only yourself. For the umpteenth time in his life, Lyim had set off alone to alter the cards the cruel fates had dealt him. That day had been the first of the five-and-a-half-year search that led Lyim to a city sunk by the Cataclysm.

A whispered conversation in a dark Nerakan inn had brought him here. There had he met Ardn Amur- chin, an evil mage who resided in the corrupt city dominated by volcanoes. Amurchin was a sinister and hideously wizened old dark elf who told Lyim at their first meeting that he knew of one who had an answer to every question. At a second meeting, Amurchin divulged the secret of an oracle who was trapped in the submerged city of Itzan Klertal. Of course, he revealed this only after Lyim handed over three of his best magical scrolls. Eager for any lead that might cure him, Lyim had readily paid the mage.

He was eager, but not hasty. Lyim had first traveled back to Palanthas, to the Great Library. He found pre- Cataclysm encyclopedic entries written by the city leaders to be unrevealing whitewash, though he did learn that before the gods' wrath had reshaped the world, the city he sought had been known only as Klertal. The prefix Itzan, meaning 'submerged' in old Kharolian, was added to the name of the ruins after the Cataclysm, as well as to all nearby cities that suffered a similar fate.

Lyim's most fruitful research came from recovered journals written by traveling clerics and merchants. By all those accounts, Klertal had been an old, highly developed inland city, a cynical place of cutthroats and

thieves. It had been the primary city along a busy trade route between Xak Tsaroth and Tarsis. One account referred to Klertal as a "blasphemous place, without morals or redemption." Obscene wealth abutted rank poverty. As a rule, everyone, including city officials, cheated and lied.

Including the potentates. Unlike kings, who were born to their stations, the leaders of Klertal apparently bought, bartered, or beheaded their way into the position. Each remained ruler as long as he staved off his enemies. The last potentate, Sullento the Profane, was evidently exceptionally good at squashing rebellions; he held the position for nearly ten years.

Lyim found one entry, written by a merchant who had dealt directly with Sullento, particularly interesting. Although there was no mention of an official oracle in Klertal, the merchant recalled having had the rare honor of meeting one of Sullento's concubines. Reported to be the potentate's favorite, she claimed to be something of a seeress. The merchant recalled the meeting clearly, primarily because the woman had accurately predicted that a world-shaking cataclysm was imminent. Of course, no one had believed the dire predictions of a concubine. Luckily, the merchant had traveled on, thus living to tell his tale.

Lyim stroked the chilling water with his strong, elongated arm, kicking with his webbed feet. He looked for the city ahead in the dim, murky light of the sea. Bubbles from his own many-toothed mouth swirled about his head, obscuring his view. He turned his head to release breaths, and at last got a view of the citv of Klertal.

Even if the citizens of Klertal had believed the concubine's prediction, it wouldn't have prevented their city from becoming the rolling expanse of kelp-covered rubble Lyim was now seeing. Former streets were distinguishable only as the clear spaces where debris had fallen three centuries before. Seaweed waved and bowed in patchy forests scattered across the tumbled city. Schools of fish, undaunted by the area's sinister reputation, darted above the sunken city like madly dashing clouds. Aside from them, the ruins were unnaturally quiet and dark, save for a soft glow that radiated from a spongy green moss that crawled across the surface of every crumbled stone. There was no sign of the source of the churning water on the surface of New Sea.

Lyim realized now that he had seen a miniature version of the sunken city in the wizened mage's home in Neraka. Amurchin had built a glass-sided water tank in his laboratory, filled it with exotic fish (for spell components, he said), and constructed shipwrecks and buildings for them to swim through. Lyim had thought it an odd hobby at the time, but for reasons of his own, the old mage had apparently recreated the sunken city in his home. It was a minor thing, but it spoke volumes about the significance Amurchin placed on the underwater ruins.

Lyim paused in his descent to orient himself above the ruins. There were very few two-story structures; most buildings of any size had long ago crumbled under their own weight and the debilitating effect of the sea. What remained of the city was obviously very old. The architecture was an ancient, classical style, not unlike that used in Palanthas. Given the journal entry that cited tumbledown shacks surrounding great opulence, Lyim realized he must be seeing the ruins of the wealthier homes and official city buildings; the shacks would have long ago been swept away by the sea.

Off in the distance, Lyim spotted the broken remains of an open-ended oval-shaped colonnade. It led to a lone structure that rose above the others, reminding him of the pre-Cataclysm woodcut print of the potentate's palace he'd found at the Great Library. Though greatly reduced by both the earthquakes and the years underwater, the palace retained a suggestion of its former opulence. A double-sided central staircase led to a small balcony, where potentates had undoubtedly once addressed the citizens of Klertal. Behind the balcony, seven narrow archways still rose three stories above the courtyard encircled by the colonnade. Lyim was too far away to discern more, but he was determined to make his way through the endless debris to reach the palace.

Where the streets were not littered with rubble, Lyim spotted many skeletons of humans, elves, and dwarves. The mage assumed them to be the original inhabitants who ran in panic into the streets as the city submerged. But there had been no escape from the city's doom. Even large ships would have been dragged below in the massive wake, as evidenced by the many rotting hulks scattered incongruously across the empty streets and rooftops.

Movement caught Lyim's eye as he surveyed the scene. Several blocks from where he floated, a large body of creatures was swimming slowly, following the path of an old street. He swam toward the group until he could see that these, too, were original inhabitants of the city. But these had not been not lucky enough to die in the Cataclysm. Somehow they had gained a state of unlife, and now lurched down the avenue as zombies. The bloated and discolored beings ranged in age from the very young to the very old, but all had empty eye sockets, and most had twisted or missing limbs, injuries suffered during the Cataclysm that caused their deaths.

Around and above them swam a dozen or more sahuagin, herding the zombies toward an unknown destination. Lyim had never seen these legendary fish- men before, but had heard tales of their rapacious attacks on coastal towns and their utter brutality. He also knew they had a paralyzing fear of magic, and so he drifted in for a closer look.

Their backs were blackish green, shading to white on their bellies. A dorsal-like fin, black at the base and shading outward to red at the spiny tips, marked each of their spines. Webbed fingers and toes made them fast swimmers; mouths filled with sharp fangs made them dangerous. That, and the assortment of crossbows, daggers, and spears they carried. Though in the body of a scrag, Lyim drew back instinctively behind some kelp-covered rubble.

He didn't see the shark until it was nearly too late. The mage could feel something part the water behind him. Spinning about slowly, he spied the frighteningly sleek and speedy creature rushing toward him, jaws spread wide. The polymorphed mage twisted aside, narrowly avoiding the razorlike teeth in that gigantic maw. His own huge claws raked across the shark's flank as it sped past. Now spewing a thick plume of crimson, the shark turned and attacked again. But even its speed and power were no match for the brutal strength of the scrag. As it closed again, Lyim's claws slipped beneath the creature's belly and tore it open with one long slash. Thrashing wildly, the monster disappeared in a churning red cloud that sank slowly to the buildings below.

Unfortunately, the brief fight had drawn the attention of the sahuagin guards. Immediately they abandoned their mindless zombie captives and rushed to attack the scrag, one of their most hated enemies. Half a dozen maneuvered to the left, another half a dozen to the right, with the rest coming straight on.

Normally, this would have been a titanic struggle, given a scrag's ability to regenerate itself almost instantly. The sahuagin, even with the advantage of numbers, would be hard-pressed to actually kill the sea troll. But Lyim was not in fact a scrag; he only had the form and strength of that monster. Without its regenerative power, he would quickly be overcome by small wounds.

But the last thing the sahuagin expected from this foe was magic. Among the few things Lyim knew about sahuagin was that they detested light almost as much as they feared magic. Lyim's claws raked out. He snatched up a handful of the faintly glowing moss that grew all over the ruins, then he muttered a single magical word. A ball of light erupted within the front ranks of onrushing fish-men. It was a simple light spell, one of the first that any apprentice learned. On land, it cast a pale blue light. Here, where light had not shone for hundreds of years, it seemed as if the sun had just risen in their midst.

With hideous shrieks and guttural curses, the sahuagin scattered away from the hated brightness-all except the one on whom Lyim had actually cast the spell. Unable to escape, blinded, nearly insane with rage, it thrashed and writhed like a hooked fish.

Another band of sahuagin now burst from the ruins to Lyim's right and approached warily. Their foe was obviously no normal scrag. They appeared to be considering how best to attack when a bolt of lightning ripped into their ranks as a ball of flame, boiling the water around them. Five charred and stewed sahuagin sank slowly while the rest scattered toward cover.

Lyim knew that, underwater, the usual bolt of lightning became a fiery ball and would not harm him if he cast it to form at least ten paces away from himself. He didn't know that behind him, a third group rushed on unabated, perhaps thinking that speed was their only salvation. Before Lyim was even aware that they were within striking distance, a heavy net of woven kelp was drawn tightly around him. Both his snake and long scrag arms were pinned to his sides, despite the scrag's great strength. He could not break free. Without freedom to move, Lyim could not cast spells. His struggles increased until the sharp claws on his webbed feet shredded the lower portion of the net, but still he remained tightly wrapped. His snake arm's wild hissing erupted as bubbles. The sahuagin, true to their reputation, watched his plight with cruel amusement while anxiously fingering their wickedly barbed spears and tridents.

Let the hitman pass.

Lyim was startled to hear another creature's voice inside his head. He was certain he'd not heard it with his ears, and yet it conveyed a direction, as if it were coming from behind him. He struggled to paddle himself around inside the net. Lyim's sharp scrag eyes fell on the remains of the palace through the broken colonnade.

Apparently the sahuagin heard the voice as well, because they immediately released their net lines and paddled away from Lyim and into the shadows of the rubble.

Come to me, the voice commanded. This time it clearly came from the palace. Lyim freed himself from the slackened net and paddled through the broken sections of columns, swimming toward the palace. Rubble filled the courtyard within the colonnade, but Lyim floated above it unaware, eyes and thoughts focused on his destination. He set his long flat feet upon the right side of the crumbling staircase, stopping upon the balcony. Just beyond the seven archways was a towering central double door. He approached it slowly, walking instead of swimming across the undulating mosaic floor. Lyim was mildly surprised when the mossy doors swung open smoothly though slowly with only a light push.

The room beyond was round, not unlike the rotunda of Lyim's villa in Palanthas, which he appropriated after Belize's death. In the center of the vast room was a dais, and upon it a throne, its carved marble back to Lyim. He kicked his scrag legs and swam around the dais. What he saw upon the seat of majesty made him gasp, bubbles hissing in a torrent through his razor- sharp teeth.

Seated in the throne was a woman-assuming she had once been human-pinned to the marble seat-back by a harpoon through her chest. Hundreds of slender tendrils of living orange coral wrapped around the entire throne, as if the stuff had been dripped over the oracle like candle wax. Her head was unfettered, but it was as pale as death and bloated like the zombies. Her hair looked to be made of barnacles. Amurchin had dubbed her the Coral Oracle.

"I thank you for your aid," Lyim said smoothly, "though I could have managed the situation myself."

I think not, said the vaporous voice inside his head. That form severely hampers your magical abilities, Lyim Rhistadt. Though she resembled a zombie, the oracle's eyes shifted with a light the undead did not possess as she evaluated the scrag.

Her familiarity startled him. "How do you know my name?" Though she spoke telepathically to him, his words came out in bubbles. When the woman didn't respond, only continued to stare, Lyim realized the answer himself and was encouraged. A legitimate seer would know who he was, and much more.

"I've come," he said, "to ask you to reveal the cure for my mutated hand."

I know. The oracle slowly blinked. Hold the limb in question to my cheek, she instructed. I must draw a sense of it.

Cbc CftedusA pkguc

Reluctantly, the mage-turned-scrag swept his colorful snake hand up to one of her belly-white cheeks. To his surprise, the snake, though usually driven into a frenzy by others, was uncharacteristically calm and content. Lyim derived no sensation through the snake's flesh, but he had a good imagination; she must feel like a bloated corpse.

The woman's expression softened slightly, as if the contact were pleasant for her as well. Abruptly she blinked again. I have the answer you seek.

Lyim glided backward to a four-foot remove from the oracle and waited anxiously for her to continue, his bulbous scrag eyes searching her bloated face. "Tell me, please!"

First you must do something for me.

Lyim dropped back still farther, his fist clenching at his side. He had done more "favors" for self-serving informants and doddering mages over the last five years than he could remember, all in exchange for vague, often useless, snippets of information. "What is it you ask me to do?"

A human must remove the harpoon from my chest to lift the curse that holds me here.

Lyim paddled around to get a closer look at the encrusted weapon. "This"-Lyim indicated her predicament with a graceful sweep of his elongated left arm- "was the result of a curse?"

My entrapment here was, yes. My ability as a seer came to me naturally and was, in fact, partially the cause of the curse. It is a long tale-the story of my entire life-but 1 will tell it to you simply. I was Potentate Sullento's favorite concubine, for more than the usual reasons.

"1 read about you!" exclaimed Lyim.

She continued as if uninterrupted. From the start Sullento believed in and relied heavily on my skills as a seer- ess to manage the city. However, I was not his first or only mistress, but his fifth. The other four, old and fat shrews, grew more and more jealous as he turned all his attention away from them and entirely upon me. For a time I alone satisfied his every need. Not maliciously to deny them, I will tell you, but because it was my duty and my honor.

But they, of course, did not see the diminishment of their power that way. Together, they whispered in his ear, whenever they were near enough, that I was no prophetess at all. They told him I was betraying him with a mage who made my predictions come true. The prophetess shrugged away a span of time and truthlessness with a blink of her eerie eyes. It was only a matter of time before Sullento, who for all his power was no more confident than any man, came to believe their lies, instead of my truthful denials.

"You tried also to warn them of an approaching cataclysm," interjected Lyim.

She blinked again as if nodding. By then, Sullento no longer believed in me. To punish me and warn all others that no one was beyond his wrath, he bade his court wizard cast the curse whose first step imprisoned me thus. In a public ceremony Sullento himself inflicted the harpoon that sealed the curse. You see, he could not bring himself to kill me outright, and yet he knew no human would dare remove the harpoon and free me while he was ruler, for fear of retribution. And then the cataclysm struck, as I predicted, and there were no humans left alive to free me.

"Surely I'm not the first to come seeking answers?"

The first to seek me, no. Many have arrived over the centuries, but Itzan Klertal's underwater inhabitants are even more inhospitable than the surface dwellers of Klertal were. Only two survived to reach me before you. One was a clever little dark-skinned elf named Amurchin, and the other was a denizen of the Abyss in the service of a human mage master. Neither could lift the curse. But you can; the curse will recognize your true human form.

Lyim could certainly appreciate her desire to have the curse lifted, but he was reminded again of the useless leads for which he'd paid dearly. "Give me my answer first, and if it is adequate, I will gladly do as you ask."

I will not, she said firmly, the first true inflection in her voice.

Lyim's lips pulled back in a scowl that exposed his needlelike teeth. "I could destroy you with one spell!"

That would be punishment for you and liberation of a kind for me, she said without guile.

"What if 1 refuse?" he demanded, feeling backed into a corner.

Then I will remain here, and you will still have no hand.

Lyim heaved an inward sigh and briefly pondered his options, which were slim to none. He would never willingly leave without his answer. He consoled himself for giving in with the thought that he could always obliterate her afterward, if her words proved pointless.

Planting his webbed feet at the base of the slick, kelp-covered throne, he wrapped the long green fingers of his left hand around the smooth harpoon shaft and tugged. It didn't budge. Surprised at the difficulty, Lyim tucked the pole under his arm more firmly and pulled with all his might. The lance shifted. Summoning even more strength, Lyim was rewarded for his efforts when he felt the weapon shudder slightly. Probably a barb breaking off, he thought. And then it slid back, slowly at first but gaining speed. At last he wrenched the harpoon from the oracle's chest. The effort sent Lyim spinning away from the dais. He dropped the harpoon and righted himself so that his eyes locked on the oracle in the throne.

The vivid coral that crawled across her pale form, pinning her, cracked like glass and sank to the dais at her feet; the bloated woman broke free of the throne. Whatever dress she had once worn had disintegrated during more than three hundred years in salt water. Her hideous, blue-white body spun away, circling the room with a slow, jerky motion.

I had forgot what it felt like to move, she breathed softly, examining every nook and cranny of the room with a child's delight. The oracle paddled slowly, stiffly toward the wide-open door that led out to the sunken city, eager to see what was beyond.

"Wait!" cried Lyim, swimming after her. "I freed you. Now pay me what you owe me!"

The oracle paddled halfway about and regarded him over the hardness of her barnacle locks. You have been searching for a cure without knowing the true cause of your malady. The answer, and your arm, still lie within the dimensional bridge where it was lost. Seek the builder of the bridge.

"Belize?" cried Lyim. "But he's dead!"

The dead are not beyond the reach of those who wield magic. The oracle's eyes were focused over Lyim's shoulder, at the world that lay beyond this room. No one knows that better than I, who have waited more than three centuries to punish the spirits of four shrews. Fare- thee-well, Lyim Rhistadt.

Lyim's dark scrag eyes watched her vaguely as she slithered out the door and disappeared into the murky city. The answer that had eluded him for so long had been under his nose from the start. Strangely, the realization left him with more questions than he'd had before coming to blasphemous Itzan Klertal.