The power was awakened.
He nearly ended the ritual there but decided to do something more, something he had not contemplated initially, something for his sons-a final gift from their adoptive father. They had earned it.
Vhostym knew that slaadi spent most of their lives striving to metamorphose from their current form-whatever that might be-into the next, higher form. Azriim and Dolgan thought they would find contentment with their full transformation into gray slaadi, but Vhostym knew better. The change to gray would itself birth in them another drive, a need to transform yet again into another, higher species of slaad. That form was the most powerful his sons could attain, and only in that form could they find the contentment that Vhostym hoped to find when he brought forth the Crown of Flame.
He decided that he would spare them the lengthy search for the means of that transformation. Instead, he would transform them, and that would be his legacy.
He changed the cadence of his incantation and laced into the words a second spell, one that would take effect when his sons appeared within the tower. After only a short time within the tower, they would be transformed from gray slaadi into death slaadi.
Vhostym imagined the pleasure his sons would feel, and the thought made him smile.
When he finished the spell, he sat up, dizzy and lightheaded. He took a few breaths to recover, then attuned his vision to see dweomers. He immediately saw not active magic but a complex matrix of magical lines that crisscrossed the tower's walls, ceilings, floor.
The entire tower was now a focus that Vhostym could use to amplify the power he soon would draw from the Weave Tap.
He rose cautiously to his feet. Behind him, he saw that he had left a silhouette of his body pressed into the stone. He stared for a time at the image of his body. He had not realized how frail he had become.
It does not matter anymore, he thought, and looked away. His work was nearly done. All was prepared. He had only to wait for his sons to plant the second seed of the Weave Tap in Sakkors's mantle.
Then he would summon the Crown of Flame.
A second ship had joined the first. Ssessimyth sensed the tiny vessels floating on the sea far above him-floating on his sea, drawing the attention of the Source. The storm he had sent had not dissuaded the crews. They had sailed into its teeth and survived. He knew the ships had come to take the Source from him. What else could be their purpose?
He had ended the storm as his minions neared the surface. They would find it easier to attack a becalmed ship than a moving one. He used the dreaming Source's power to fill his minions with rage, hunger for manflesh.
Feast, my children, he sent to them. Feast.
Frustratingly, the Source continued to feed him only half-measures, realities that Ssessimyth felt but did not live. His anger swelled. He tried and failed again to pull the attention of the Source back to himself alone, to share its dreams with only him. It resisted and Ssessimyth's body jerked in agitation. He became conscious for the first time in a long while of the throbbing pain in his head, of the ruins around him, the coldness of the water, the darkness of the deep. His waking dream-more beautiful than reality ever had been-was ending. At least temporarily. As it did, he felt something he had not felt in centuries: rage. He would not let his universe slip away easily.
If his servants did not kill those who dared try to share the Source with him, he would kill them himself. He knew that at least one creature aboard the ships was in contact with the Source, stealing its visions from Ssessimyth. He would not tolerate it much longer.
CHAPTER 12
Cale and Jak shared a look
What kind of presence? Cale asked Magadon. Under the sea? Is that what the slaadi are after?
I am not sure, the guide answered, and curiosity colored his tone. There's a consciousness here, Erevis. It's primitive, almost childlike, but very powerful. It's also torpid, as if sleeping. It does not communicate in a way that I can make sense of, but it makes itself. . available.
What does that mean? Cale asked.
Magadon answered, I am not certain yet. I need some time.
Cale did not think they had time to spare.
"It is breaking!" shouted a sailor from the forecastle. "There, look!"
Cale followed the man's gesture and saw a hole in the clouds ahead. Stars peeked through.
As if in answer to the sailor's words, the rain slowed, stopped. The wind, too, died. Cale put a hand on Jak's shoulder and smiled. Demon Binder had made it through.
From the maindeck behind them, Cale heard Evrel ordering a headcount.
Do what you must, Cale projected to Magadon. But do not lose track of the slaadi.
I won't, the guide answered.
Cale turned and looked out on the calming sea, where the swells already were settling.
That was when he saw it.
The slaadi's ship floated not more than three bowshots away, glowing green on the black waves. And Demon Binder was closing fast. Despite the lack of wind, Jak's elementals propelled the vessel rapidly over the sea.
The light from the slaadi's ship was growing larger, brighter.
"Tell the elementals to stop us, Jak," Cale ordered. "Right now." To Magadon, he projected, Mags, tell the captain to snuff all lights aboard ship and to keep the crew quiet. Now.
Cale knew that light and sound traveled far across a calm sea. As though to make his point, a cheer carried across the water from the slaadi's ship.
Cale unhooked the lanterns from the prow and let them fall into the sea. Within moments, the crew had snuffed all other lights aboard Demon Binder. The ship's forward progress stopped. Jak must have dismissed his spell and released the elementals from their service. Demon Binder bobbed in silence on a calm sea, within eyeshot of the slaadi.
Cale and Jak doffed their cloaks and wrung them out, checked their gear. Cale eyed the sea suspiciously as he did so.
"Like it's waiting," Jak said, reading Cale's expression.
Cale nodded. What is Riven doing, Mags? he asked.
Before Magadon answered, Cale felt a thump against the ship's timbers. Another.
"That's from below the waterline," Jak said.
Another thump.
Confused shouts sounded from the maindeck. Cale cursed, fearing the slaadi would hear.
Splashing sounded from below, the crack of splintering wood. Bestial grunts carried up from the sea and caused Cale's heart to accelerate.
Something was coming out of the water.
Cale and Jak leaned out over the side as far as they could and looked along the hull of the ship.
A dozen or more dripping, green-skinned creatures were scaling the hull. Thin, overlong arms and legs ridged with muscle and sinew ended in long claws that dug furrows in the ship's side as the creatures climbed. Long, straggly hair the color of seaweed sprouted from their round heads. Their fang-filled mouths could take off a head at one bite.