Extinction

"We're no farther ahead than when we started," Quenthel said. "You should have kept questioning Belshazu about gates. This rothe-dung story about a ship of chaos was obviously just a lie to throw us off the track."

"Off the track of what?" Pharaun asked, glaring back. "The only gate around here is the one in your imagination. And it was your bright idea to have me summon a demon in the first place."

Valas didn't like the look in the mage's eyes. Once again, Pharaun and Quenthel were on the verge of coming to blows. The Master of Sorcere let a hand drift behind his back and had his fingers flexed, ready to cast a spell. Jeggred crouched behind his aunt, clearly ready to spring at Pharaun's throat if any suspicious move was made. Danifae, meanwhile, folded her arms across her chest and stared defiantly at Pharaun?while simultaneously edging out of the path of whatever spell he was about to cast.

Valas, sick of their endless bickering and ready to die anyway, having delivered his report, slammed the flat of his dagger against the stone floor of the tunnel. Sparks exploded out from the blade like ripples from a rock hurled into a pond, crackling against both Pharaun's and Quenthel's feet. Each jumped back?Quenthel immediately drawing her whip.

"Insolent male," she sneered.

The vipers spat, their fangs dripping venom.

Valas could see she was itching to use the whip against him.

Please do, he signed. It is the swiftest way.

Quenthel frowned, confused by his reply, but Pharaun's mind proved the quicker again.

"There is no need for that, valued mercenary," the wizard said. "I can restore you to your proper, air-breathing, drow form."

Valas blinked, all thoughts of the viper whip driven from his mind.

You can? the scout signed. But you don't have healing magic.

"That's true, but I can?"

Quenthel spun?an awkward movement, forced to crouch as she was by the low ceiling?and said to the mage, "You can do nothing. You will do nothing. Valas will return to the lake and continue to search for the ship."

"He'll only be captured if you send him back," Pharaun objected. "He has no way to protect himself. The aboleth will eat him this time."

He paused, and a thoughtful look crossed his face.

"Just as," the Master of Sorcere went on, "they have eaten others who dared trespass in their waters. Including, perhaps, any manes who survived after the shipwreck. And if they did eat any of these petty demons and thus acquired their memories. .»

Quenthel at last understood.

"The aboleth would know where the ship of chaos sank," she finished for him even as her vipers writhed in anticipation.

Pharaun turned back to Valas and asked, "What is the name of the city's matriarch?"

Using sign, Valas spelled the name out phonetically. O-o-t-h-o-o-n.

Pharaun nodded, then stared out over the lake. It was clear to Valas what the mage was thinking. Pharaun intended to meet with Zanhoriloch's matriarch himself, to ask her for information. Pharaun had powerful spells, including one he seemed confident would shield him against the aboleth's mind magic. The scout was certain the mage could handle the situation, but then Valas had thought the same of himself.

Then came a surprise.

"I will go, too," Danifae said.

Quenthel started to object, then gave the Melarn battle-captive a long, pondering look. After one glance at the uncertain motions of the vipers in the high priestess's whip, Valas could guess the questions that must have been coming to Quenthel's mind.

Was Danifae offering to keep an eye on Pharaun to ensure that he remained loyal to Quenthel, in the hope of regaining her superior's favor? Or did she have some ulterior, even more selfish motive in mind? In the end it seemed not to matter, for Quenthel nodded.

Valas ducked his head for another breath, then he reached out and tapped on the mage's boot.

You said you had something other than healing magic that could help me, he reminded Pharaun.

Pharaun's lips parted in an "ah," and he nodded. He reached into a pocket of his piwafwi and pulled out a small brown cocoon. Crumbling it between thumb and forefinger, he let the fragments drift down onto Valas's head. Then, waving his hands over the flakes that stuck to the mercenary's wet scalp, he began a spell.

Kneeling, Pharaun leaned over Valas and shouted in his ear, "Exhale! Quickly!"

Valas did and an instant later felt a powerful wrench shudder through his body as the spell took effect. His tail sucked back into his rear like a snail retreating into its shell and his fused fingers sprang apart, the webs disappearing. Hair erupted on the top of his head, and the skin of his arms, legs, and chest tingled as he membrane that had been cloaking his body disappeared.

The scout was coughing violently, retching the last of the lake water from his lungs. Even though it hurt, he didn't care. Instead he was filled with relief. Pharaun had restored him to drow form?his body was his own once more.