In fact, Tristan felt a shudder of piercing horror when he looked at the stump of the thing's wrist, where moments before the human had severed the hand. Tiny claws already sprouted there, growing longer as he watched. Soon they wiggled grotesquely as the bleeding wound gradually regenerated the hand.
For a moment, the monster paused, raising its hand to the bucket and tugging at the obstruction. Tristan took advantage of the moment to strike, driving the blade into the scrag's good arm, chopping deep into flesh and bone-though not with enough force this time to slice off the limb. With an angry howl, the beast kicked outward, and the man barely evaded the blow.
Both wounds were temporary, but for the moment, the creature's hands were useless. It could neither attack nor lift the bucket from its head. It paused, gasping for breath, its mouth gaping to reveal rows of triangular teeth, fangs gleaming faintly even in the pale emerald light. For a moment, the sea troll turned its face to the water, obviously considering the merits of a tactical withdrawal. The latter possibility meant disaster, Tristan realized, for if the creature escaped and returned with assistance, they were lost.
But in the monster's temporary halt, he saw his chance and dove forward, thrusting the stump of his arm through the large keyring. He used his momentum to carry him past the beast, spinning it in a circle as he charged.
The scrag dropped its blunt nose to bite this pesky attacker, but the monster's own steel dagger darted in to stab the creature's soft tongue. With a strangled gasp, the sea troll lurched backward, and the keys broke free from the belt as the wounded creature thudded heavily to the floor.
"Don't let if get to the water!" hissed Marqillor desperately, watching the monster wriggle toward the pool.
Tristan leaped on the thing's back and drove the dagger through the scaly skin, into the base of its wicked brain. Instantly the scrag stiffened, jerking reflexively for a moment and then growing still.
"Hurry!" urged the merman, straining in his iron brackets. "It'll be up again in a few minutes!"
Although Tristan had seen the horror of regeneration in trolls, it seemed even more sickening in this monstrous creature from the sea. Desperately he searched through several keys-fortunately there were only half a dozen on the ring-and found the one that clicked the manacle free.
"Kill it again!" barked Marqillor as the scrag started to kick and groan before the second bracket was released. Tristan left the keys with the merman and returned to dispatch the monster with another thrust to its brain. By the time he finished, Marqillor had succeeded in working himself free of the final bracket.
"Thank you, friend," said the merman, using his long tail and his hands to propel himself over to Tristan and the troll. He looked up at the human for a moment. "You wait here," he said, and then he slipped silently into the water and disappeared.
For a moment, Tristan was too shocked by the merman's disappearance to react, and by then it was too late. All he saw were the spreading rings on the surface of the pool.
And then once again, beside him, the sea troll began to stir.
The secret passages through the coral reefs would have been impossible to find, according to Brandon, without the guidance of the sea elf Palentor.
"The thing is, they look like shallows," the Prince of Gnarhelm explained in amazement. "And what looks like the passage as often as not is studded with those great spires of rock or coral. That's what caught us on the way in."
The Prince of Gnarhelm had been garrulous and friendly since they had departed from Evermeet, as if on their last night together he and Alicia had settled all of their doubts. To the princess, however, the situation was exactly the reverse. The unease she had felt before was magnified tenfold now, into a raging chorus of tension and anxiety.
Her disquiet increased as she began to suspect how much her dalliance with Brandon had hurt Keane. The magic-user had spoken barely two sentences to her since they had boarded the ship, but she noticed him looking at her frequently, though he dropped his eyes quickly whenever she tried to meet his gaze. His unhappiness brought guilt into Alicia's emotional maelstrom, and finally she devoted herself to the voyage, spending a great deal of her time in the bow, watching the sea elves guide them through the narrow channels and gaps.
For two days, the Princess of Moonshae continued to slip southward, hugging the shoreline and working through the mazelike pattern of reefs, shallows, and channels. The tall trees of the Elvenhome rose off to their right, never more than a mile away. By keeping this close to shore, Palentor informed them, they should avoid observation by any scouts that the seaborne army might have sent to search for them. Palentor told them that he had dispatched squads of sea elves to patrol the seas beside their route in a further attempt to avoid observation.
So far they seemed to have been successful. There had been sign of neither scrag nor sahuagin. Frequently a blanket of thin mist obscured the reaches of the sea, further securing their progress from detection.
Now Alicia couldn't wait to get on with their task, across the open sea and then. . down. None of them had talked about it very much, but they all felt some apprehension about the efficacy of the Helm of Zulae. Of course they believed it would work-otherwise the entire mission would have gone for nothing-but nevertheless, the unnatural method of travel couldn't help but disturb sailors used only to the sunswept expanse of the surface.
The horizontal rudder installed by Knaff trailed behind them, just above the water level so it wouldn't impede their progress on the surface. Yet a disturbing fact was forcibly reminded to each voyager when they saw the silver helmet gleaming in the middle of the hull. They would be voluntarily sinking their ship!
Still, progress remained steady, and always the heavy bank of land lay to the west. Then on the second day out from the grotto, they began to notice that the land swept away, no longer running north to south but instead commencing a great curve away from them-the southern terminus of Evermeet. A low, rocky horizon loomed to the south-the Guardian Isle of Belintholme, according to the sea elf.
"Sail due south for two or three hours from here," Palentor instructed the Prince of Gnarhelm, Brandon. "That'll take you beyond the reefs. Then you can swing your course around to the east and a little south."
"Aye-and thanks," grunted the northman. Brandon had come to respect the sea elf mightily. Also, he fully understood the value of his guidance on this embarkation, for it had saved them from the pitched battle that would have inevitably ensued if they had sailed straight east.
"It-it has been my pleasure," replied Palentor, with apparent sincerity. He and Trillhalla took a few moments to say good-bye to the others in the crew, and then the sea elves disappeared over the side into the mottled waters.
For a few moments, they watched the pair until they vanished. Then, favored by a strong westerly wind, with the sea before them calm and inviting, the Princess of Moonshae started on the final leg of her quest.
Darkness shrouded the longship, though a dim phosphorescence gleamed in the white water pushed aside by her racing bow. The sail stretched taut, pressed by a steady wind, and Brandon himself had the rudder as they charged through the night. It was a few hours after sunset on the first day of their return to the open sea. Belintholme had vanished astern sometime during the afternoon.