Lynn Abbey - Realms of the Deep

The beast growled menacingly, a deep rumble that sounded like strange words to Merrick, and glared balefully at Lancer as the frigate churned past it. Merrick swallowed thickly, wondering if the cold gleam in the creature's eye was meant for him alone.

The other ballista on the starboard side fired immediately, and Merrick blinked as he watched the missile bounce harmlessly off the creature's shell.

I've got to hit the head, he thought, and brought the ballista to bear. He steadied his aim, holding his breath, and fired. The bow twanged sharply and

Merrick felt the weapon kick as the bolt knifed into the water five paces from where he had targeted. Merrick groaned. He hadn't anticipated the speed of the ship. The beast began to submerge, retreating temporarily from the sudden attack.

"Reload!" the youth yelled, desperate for another try before the beast was out of sight.

The men were instantly in motion, cocking and rearming the ballista amazingly fast and yet agonizingly slowly. It was no good. By the time he was armed for another shot, only the tip of the shell still glided on the surface, and the angle was already awkward. Lancer had run by too quickly.

"Second target ahead," called the artillerist for the other ballista. "Leave that one for the other ships."

Merrick turned and saw that there was, indeed, a second dragon turtle, this one busily swimming toward StarofTethyr.

Around him, Merrick was dimly aware that more sahuagin had boarded Lancer and that a furious fight was taking place for control of the ship. He could hear Captain Hoke screaming orders to the men and women, but he ignored it, concentrating solely on finding the right aim for the ballista. At one point, Thurin fired the crossbow at something behind Merrick, but he nervously ignored it too and waited, lining up the weapon.

This time, when he thought the angle was good enough, Merrick didn't hesitate, wanting to leave himself time for a second shot. He aimed a little behind the target, trying to compensate for Lancer's speed. He fired the ballista and was rewarded with a direct hit- a little back of the dragon turtle's head, on the tip of its shell. The bolt stuck there, jutting out like a crooked mast, but the dragon turtle didn't seem phased by the intrusion. The sister weapon fired, and its missile grazed the creature's neck, causing it to whip its head around and growl at them furiously.

"Reload!" Merrick yelled, but his crew was already in action.

As the bow was cocked again and the bolt laid into place, the dragon turtle swerved slightly closer to the side of the ship. It reared upward, staring coldly at the men manning the other ballista, and opened its huge mouth.

"Look out! It's going to blow!" one of the sailors shouted, but it was too late. A great gout of steam blasted from the beast's mouth, and Merrick stumbled back away from the scalding vapors as others were caught full in its heat, screaming and lurching away in agony. Merrick crouched as the super-heated cloud of water billowed across the deck of the ship, feeling his clothing suddenly drenched in warm, foul-smelling moisture.

When the cloud dissipated a bit, Merrick blanched. Men lay unmoving, their skin boiled and red, visages frozen in pain and horror. He turned away and saw his own crew unharmed, and his ballista armed and ready. He darted forward, praying that the hated dragon turtle was still in sight. He peered over the edge of the gunwale and saw it, still swimming alongside Lancer, but slipping back as the swifter ship passed it by.

Merrick quickly swung the ballista around and took aim, his hands shaking in fear and revulsion. He sighted down the length of the bolt, picking a spot a little behind the beast's head, and took a deep breath. He fired. His eyes stayed focused directly on the spot he had targeted, and the missile flew true. As it closed, the dragon turtle's head slid into the line of sight, and the barbed head of the bolt sank deeply into the creature's flesh, a little behind one eye. It roared in pain and fury and immediately dived, swimming at an awkward angle, thick, dark blood streaming behind it. Merrick's heart leaped into his throat.

I hit it! He crowed to himself. I did it! He glanced around and saw Thurin grinning at him, as well as the other members of the unit.

"Reload!" he called, a grin wide on his face.

The sailors around him obeyed. He'd issued an order, and seasoned seamen hopped to. He glanced back at a pitch bucket sitting idle on the deck, waiting for the swabby who'd left it to return to his drudgery. Merrick knew that when the battle was over he might have to go back to his own pitch bucket, but he would go back to it a sailor. He'd go back to it a man.

He was set to fire again in no time at all, but Lancer had already shot past the fight. As she came about, Merrick began scanning the water, waiting for the chance to fire another shot, but the chance never came.

Cheers rose up from everywhere, and Merrick turned to see why. As quickly as it had started, the battle was over. The sahuagin were abandoning the attack on Star ofTethyr and departing in droves, leaping over the side to escape the deadly cloud of missiles being fired from Centaur and Ram. Two of the dragon turtles had been killed and the other two wounded, and those two were in full retreat. The Star herself was a sorry sight, her once fine sails ruined and her rigging a tangled, shredded mess, but she was intact. The remainder of her crew, led by First Mate Gullah, cheered the three smaller vessels as they came about once more.

Merrick smiled and sagged down, relief draining the remaining strength from his knees.

We did it, he thought. We saved Star ofTethyr. The price had been high, he realized, as he saw the numerous bodies on the decks of both Lancer and Star, but they had saved the pride of the queen's navy.

Thurin slapped Merrick on the back, grinning from ear to ear. Hoke was roaring at his crew to come along side the Star and secure her for boarding, kicking a man in the rear who didn't move fast enough for his liking, but Merrick could see a twinkle in his eye. The captain was proud of his crew, a crew Merrick was finally really a part of.

"Long live the queen!" a seaman shouted from the rigging.

"Long live the queen!" the crew exclaimed, and they broke into song, a victory chantey. Merrick sang along, smiling to himself.

Long live the queen, he thought, long live Star of Tethyr.

10 Eleasias, the Year of the Gauntlet

Here before him was the life he hoped for-the exciting life outside the walls of the Tower of Numos amid all the excitement of war and magic. The battle lay spread out before him, the great triton priest Numos and his warrior comrade Balas facing off against First Arcane Xynakt of the Morkoth Arcanum. He saw it all-the deaths caused by the rampaging morkoths, the savagery of their kraken allies, and the resolution of the triton that all the death and pain would end here that day.

He saw everything save the many carved coral heads of tritons and hippocampi in the army. The smaller figures often became blurred when covered by the detritus and marine snow that drifted into the chambers from the upwaters. Keros buffed the mural clean with a rag of sharkskin, returning the Founders' Battle to cleanliness and clarity. All around him were murals of heroism and faith, and Keros had the distasteful job of polishing all the mosaics before evening prayers.

"If you don't start applying yourself to your studies, Keros, you'll never amount to anything. Fell," Keros muttered aloud, sarcastically mimicking his father's tone and shaking his finger emphatically against the current.

He quickly glanced around to see if anyone heard him. Finding himself alone, he dived in a quick spiral to shake off his unease. The young triton still smarted from the argument he'd had with his father a few hours previous. Keros had been reprimanded for abandoning his morning prayers to see the armies massing and heading upwater to investigate the mourning songs of the whales and the other sounds of conflict there. He'd been caught swimming back to his chambers. His father was sitting where Keros should have been, reading what he was to know for the next day's service. As punishment, First Priest Moras sent his youngest son to the antechambers of the Great Vault to polish the mosaics-a practically endless task as they spanned the nearly thirteen fathom-deep walls from floor to ceiling on both sides of the corridor leading to the vault.