Quietly, he sat down in the small boat. The early morningwind raked his now bare arms and neck. His thin, short-sleeved undertunicoffered him little protection against the seasonal cold. Morgan ignored thechill, however, and began to row. There were several shallow sea caves not farfrom the docks. He would take Avadriel there, away from the prying eyes andfearful minds of Mourktar's inhabitants. He would tend to her wounds, and whenshe awakened, he would travel to the ends of Toril for her. He remembered herimpassioned plea. He was needed.
Blood. The scent of it filled the water, thick, heavy,and rich. T'lakk floated idly amid the waving kelp strands, savoring the headyaroma, sucking it in with each flap of his gill slits. It stirred somethingdeep within his hunter's heart, an ancient hunger, older than the sea itself.He waited, letting it grow, letting it build, until the hunger sang withinhim-tooth and claw and rending flesh, a savage, primal tune.
Quickly, he shook his green-scaled head, refusing togo into the Place of Madness. Though it cost him great effort, the creaturefocused his senses back on the hunt. He still had work to do, and the masterwould be displeased if he failed in this task. Three long clicks summoned theother hunters from their search along the rocky sea floor. Balefully, he eyedeach one as they arrived, satisfied that they approached with the properhumility. He would brook no challenges now. Not when their quarry lay so close.
He smiled grimly, revealing several rows of needle-sharpteeth, as the assembled hunters scented the blood. A quick signal sent themarrowing through the water to follow the trail. Soon, T'lakk thought gleefullyas he swam after his companions. Soon the Hunt would be over.
Morgan sat in the damp cave, watching the measuredrise and fall of Avadriel's chest as she slept. A battered lantern lay at hisfeet, perched precariously between two slime-covered stalagmites. Its rudelight licked the jagged rocks of the cavern, revealing several twisted stoneshelves surrounding a small tidal pool.
He had arrived at the bank of sea caves just as themorning sun crested the horizon, grateful that he was able to reach shelterbefore most of the village boats sailed through the area in search of theirday's fishing. Once he had maneuvered his small craft deep enough into one ofthe caves to shield it from sight, Morgan had gently lifted Avadriel out of thedinghy, placed her on a low, relatively flat lip of stone overhanging thetidal pool, and set about binding her wound as best he could.
Now he sat stiff-necked and attentive, anxiouslywaiting for the sea elf to awaken. The silence of his vigil was broken only bythe slow drip of water echoing hollowly in the enclosed space. Hisgrandparents would be frantic by now-though Morgan knew that his granda wouldno doubt have sailed the boat out to sea, not willing to miss the day'sfishing, thinking all the while of ways to box his grandson's lazy head. Still,he thought in the foreboding chill of the cavern, he would gladly suffer agreat deal more than his grandfather's wrath for Avadriel's sake.
As Morgan kept a cold, damp watch over the sleepingsea elf, he marveled at how much his life had changed in such a short time.Yesterday, he had given no thought to the world beyond the coastal waters ofMourktar. Today, he found himself hiding in a cave with a wounded sea elf,ready to leave behind everything for the beauty of a creature he'd neverthought he would actually see.
When Avadriel finally awoke, several hours later, thewater level in the tidal pool had risen, lapping gently around her body. Shesat up with a start, looking rather confused and frightened, until her eyes metMorgan's. He smiled, hoping he didn't look as foolish as he felt, andapproached her carefully, determined not to turn his ankle on the slipperyrocks in his eagerness.
If he had expected a long litany of thanks and gratefulness,he would have been disappointed. Though there was a softness about the seaelf's face, a gentle hint of a smile in answer to his own, her words wereabrupt and as hard as steel.
"You must leave at once," she said."Before it is too late."
Morgan stared at Avadriel once again. He didn't understand-didn'twant to understand. He only knew that his place was by her side.
"Leave?" he asked incredulously. "ButAvadriel, you're still hurt. Perhaps once you have healed a bit we could traveltogether."
He tried to keep the wistfulness out of his voice,failing miserably.
"If only that were possible, Morgan, but we don'thave that much time. You must go to Firestorm Isle and tell the wizard Dhavrimthat Avarnoth has fallen. An ancient evil is free once again. Its black army iseven now poised to strike at Faerûn, and the wizards must be warned." Shepaused, then added, "Please, Morgan. I need your help."
Silently, he cursed the luck that separated him fromhis heart's desire the moment he had discovered it. It would be difficult toleave, but Morgan knew that he would do it. Too much was at stake.
Avadriel smiled then, as if reading the young man'sthoughts, and drew herself closer.
"Thank you," she said simply, and brushedher lips lightly over his.
Morgan closed his eyes at her touch. Avadriel's scentsurrounded him, intoxicating in its subtlety. Their lips met each other'sagain, firmer this time. A wave of desire crested through him, wild and strongas a riptide. The world faded away in the wake of that desire, leaving only theebb and flow of bodies.
After a time, Avadriel pulled away.
"Morgan," she whispered softly, sadly intothe shadows of the cave.
He nodded once, and wiped a blossoming tear from hereye.
"I know … it's time." With that, he stoodand climbed into the waiting boat. "I shall return as soon as I can."
Slowly, he rowed out into harsh light of day.
With a grunt of effort, Morgan let the rhythmic slapof oar on water carry him through another hour of rowing. The sea surged andfoamed around him, threatening to turn aside the small force of his craft.Spume sprayed his face as the boat's bow bounced hard against the trough of arolling black wave. Insistent burn of chest and arm muscles long-since spent,harsh gasp of salted air into lungs, sting of wood chafing raw skin-these werehis offerings, sacrificial prayers to the gods of his people.
They ignored him.
Slowly, he made his way across the churning water,more by force of will than anything else. When his energy flagged and the oarsseemed to weigh as much as an iron anchor, he summoned a picture of Avadriel'sface. The memory of her lips on his, the salted taste of her tongue, renewedhis determination. Too much lay at stake, for his heart and his home. He wouldnot fail.
By mid afternoon, the heat of the sun had dried the sweatfrom his body, and his tongue felt thick and swollen, like a piece of boiledleather. With a deep sigh, he pulled up the oars and gave his knotted muscles abrief rest. Shielding his eyes from the sun's glare, he scanned the horizon.
Several years before, he had stolen out with a fewfriends and sailed to the wizard's island on a dare. Though none of theintrepid band of explorers had set foot on the island, Morgan alone sailed hisship around the rocky shore of that forbidden place.
Even now, amid the burning heat of the sun, he shiveredwith the memory. Dhavrim's tower had stood stark and terrifying, thrusting upfrom the coral of the island like the tooth of some giant whale. As Morgan hadguided his craft around the island, he couldn't help but wonder if the wizardwould send some deadly spell arcing out from his demesne to punish thetrespassing boat.
The upsurge of a wave snapped Morgan out of hisreverie. He still had a fair distance to row before he reached the island, andhe felt as if time were running out.
By late afternoon, when the sun began its lazydescent, a calm fell over the waters. Morgan quickly wiped his brow andsurveyed the silent scene. The sea lay placid and serene, its gently stippledsurface resembling nothing so much as the facet of a blue-green gem in thesunlight. In the distance, he could make out a small shadow, a black pimple onthe horizon that could only be Dhavrim's tower. Before Morgan could evencelebrate his good fortune, he caught sight of something that tore an oath outof his parched throat. There in the distance, dark and ominous, a roiling wallof haze bore down on him.