Elaine Cunningham - The Best of the Realms, Book I

Filled with frustration and not a fair bit of rage atthe unfairness of it all, Morgan shouted fiercely at the blanket of fog,"Damn it all! I will not fail. I can not!"

Savagely, he beat his fist against the oarlock and continuedto hurl invectives at the fog, at the gods, at the wizard in his thrice-damnedcastle, but most of all at himself, for agreeing to this fool's errand in thefirst place.

The answering cry of a gull surprised him so much thathe stopped his railing in midsentence. Again, its wail cut through the fog,echoing in the gray murk, followed by a white streak and a light thump as thecreature landed on the bow of his craft. Startled by the gull's appearance,white-crested and intent, Morgan didn't even wonder why such a creature shouldfly out so far from shore.

"Heya, silly bird," the young man saidpitifully. "Fly away before you become stuck like a poor fisherman's sonin a fog bank."

The large gull simply cocked its head slightly andregarded the young man with a serious gaze.

"Go!" he shouted finally at the stupidcreature, letting frustration and anger creep into his voice.

The bird ignored his command and continued to stare athim. Finally, with a soft chirrup, the gull flapped its wings and hoveredgently a few feet from his craft. It was then that Morgan noticed a smallcrystal clutched in the bird's grasp. The jewel began to pulse slightly as hestared at it, softly illuminating the gloom around him.

The bird landed again on the boat, casting a knowingglance at Morgan, before it lifted off once more, now flying a few feet infront of the craft. Surprisingly, the light from the crystal pushed some of thefog away, allowing him the opportunity to see a few paces on all sides.

Confused, but unwilling to pass up this odd gift,Morgan dipped oars to water and followed the gull and its gleaming treasure.Hours passed-or minutes-it was difficult to measure the passing of time in thegray waste that surrounded him, and still the young man rowed after thewitchlight. Without warning, he burst through the spidery maze of fog into thefading evening sunlight. In front of Morgan loomed the great white stretch ofDhavrim's tower, set only fifty feet or so from the shore. A few more quickstrokes brought him scraping onto the rock-strewn beach.

Offering a quick prayer to any god within earshot, hegratefully stumbled out of the boat, stretched knotted muscles, and pulled hiscraft safely onto the shore. Now that he had arrived on the wizard's island,fulfilled part of Avadriel's wish, he felt hopeful. Perhaps the sea elf had chosencorrectly, he thought, as he basked in the pleasurable warmth of sun-bakedsand. The simple fisherman, braving wind, wave, and fog to deliver a desperatemessage. He liked the sound of that, and despite the all-too-real urgency ofthe situation, he could not help but think himself a hero.

The crash of surf on shore reminded him of the reasonfor this journey. Anxiously, he studied the stone structure, searching for someentryway. In the fading light of day, the wizard's tower looked more weatheredthan forbidding. Thick lichen and moss covered parts of the cracked stonestructure in mottled patches, and even from this distance he could make out thelong, thin stalks of hearty scrub vines twining up the tower's base. Gone werethe mystical guardians and arcane wards that had populated his adolescentimaginings, replaced by the mundane reality of sand, rock, and sea-blown wind.Smiling ruefully at his fancies, Morgan the fisherman headed up the path towardthe black tower.

And found himself face-to-face with death.

He had little warning, just a slight scrape of sandand the span of a heartbeat in which to react, before he was struck by apowerful blow. He hit the ground hard, felt the air explode out of his lungs.Gasping and dazed, he struggled to his knees, only to find himself staringinto the heart of a nightmare. It stood nearly six feet, covered in thick greenscales that glistened wetly in the dying light. Deep scars pitted its humanoidface, nearly closing one large eye completely. The other eye fixed Morgan witha baleful stare, its cold black orb seemed to pull what little light remainedinto its depths.

The creature took a step forward, opened its slightlyprotruding jaw. Still kneeling on the ground, Morgan could make out row uponrow of needle-sharp teeth, no doubt eager to rend the flesh from his bones. Hewanted to scream, but the wind was still knocked from him. Instead, he forcedhimself to his feet and stumbled desperately toward the wizard's tower. If hecould just make it from the sandy footing of the beach to the tower's path, hewould have a chance to outrun the creature.

Morgan felt the beast's claws rip through his shirt,scoring the flesh underneath, just as the path came into sight. He twisted tothe side, avoiding the creature's next strike-and tripped. The last thing hesaw before his head exploded into light was the outline of claws against thesky.

By the time the world resolved itself back into color,the sun had set. A pale half moon bathed the island in gentle illumination. Byits light, Morgan could see a figure standing over the smoking corpse of thenightmare creature. The figure, obviously a man by the suggestion of a beardvisible from this distance, prodded the ruined body with the end of a longstaff. The smell of burnt flesh wafted off the corpse, fouling the sea air.

"Ho, I see our visitor has come back to us,"the strange man called out, ending his grisly examination.

Morgan's voice caught in his throat as he tried toreply. Dhavrim Starson-for who else, he reasoned, would he find standing on theshore of the wizard's island- resembled nothing of the legendary mage. Shortand fat, with a deep-jowled, ruddy face and scratchy salt-and-pepper beard, helooked like nothing so much as a drunken wastrel whose appetites had long sinceconsumed him.

The wizard wheezed heavily as he lumbered toward thefallen fisherman. Morgan watched in morbid fascination as the man's prodigiousgirth stretched the fabric of his generous blue robe with each step. OnlyDhavrim's white staff, inlaid with spidery runes that flowed like molten silverdown its length, betrayed the wizard's true power.

That, and his eyes.

Cold and gray, charged with the promise of a hundredstorms, they held the young man frozen beneath their ancient gaze. Morgan felthimself pulled within their depths, felt the weight of the wizard's gaze as itmeasured him, searched him, then cast him aside.

"Can you stand?"

A voice. Calm. Reassuring.

Release.

He felt his body once again, reached for the pudgyhand extended before his face.

"Y-yes, th-thank you," Morgan stammered. Helooked once more at the corpse lying in the sand. "What… what manner ofbeast was that?" he asked unsteadily, not really sure if he wanted to knowthe answer.

Dhavrim followed the young man's gaze. "Those whowish to appear learned call it a sahuagin. Those who truly understand it,simply call it death." The wizard paused for a moment and turned to lookat Morgan once again, one silvered eyebrow arched expressively. "The realquestion, however, is why it followed you here."

Morgan hesitated before answering. Wizards, he knewfrom the old stories, were unpredictable and quick to anger-this one most ofall. For a moment, he was once more that headstrong youth who sailed a smallboat around the mage's isle, fearfully waiting for the wizard's wrath to fall.

I don't belong here!

The moment passed, and Morgan mustered his courageenough to speak-he owed that much to Avadriel.

"I bear a message from the sea elfAvadriel," he said in what he hoped was a firm tone.

Dhavrim's expression grew grave.

"Go on," he replied simply.

The wizard stood in silence as Morgan finishedrecounting his message.

The young man wondered what the wizard could bethinking, but was loath to interrupt the mage's rumination. The silence grew,charging the air with its intensity like the moments before a lightning storm.Morgan's skin prickled as he watched Dhavrim grip his staff tighter.