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.
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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?"