Not far from the tunnel lay a haphazard stack of immense bones, picked entirely clean. Spines as long as ships rested alongside jawbones that could have contained a dozen men.

Whale bones, Riven observed.

Azriim nodded. The scrags must have been voracious eaters. The bones of at least a dozen dead whales littered the sea floor.

I wonder what a whale's brain tastes like, Dolgan said, eyeing a skull curiously.

Azriim ignored his broodmate and looked upward, through the swirling dirt. High above them he saw Cale, glowing green beside the halfling, swimming downward. A dozen or more scrags trailed them. The trolls were gaining with every stroke.

Follow me, Azriim said, and he swam for the large tunnel. He would have teleported directly to the mantle's origin but saw no need to risk a blind transport in such close quarters. They could swim to it. It would not be far.

* * * * *

Cale and Jak swam through the cloud of mud and dirt that floated up from the bottom. Whatever had caused the tremor had destabilized the mountain of ruins. Jak and Cale swam clear of it as they descended, to avoid falling stones or shifting rock.

What in the Hells caused that? Jak asked.

Cale shook his head and kept swimming. He spared another glance back and saw through the hazy water that the trolls had closed the distance. Their long arms threw water behind them with alarming efficiency.

Cale looked ahead and down, toward the red glow emitted from the bottom of the ruins. He thought he caught a glimpse of three figures entering a tunnel at the base of the ruins but could not be certain. He was certain that he and Jak would not make it. The trolls would catch them first.

As always, Jak knew what he was thinking.

Go, said the little man. He pulled up and started to turn around. Stop the slaadi. I'll hold the trolls here.

Cale did not slow. He grabbed Jak by the shirt and pulled him along.

Not a chance, Cale said. We pick a spot and make our stand together.

We have to stop the slaadi, Jak answered.

Cale nodded. We will.

But-

Save it, Jak, Cale snapped. Neither of us is dying today.

Like Jak, Cale wanted to stop the slaadi. He had said himself that something large was at stake. But he would not sacrifice a friend to do it.

There, Cale said, and pointed down to a pocket formed in the ruins. A pile of pillars and statues created a shallow tunnel. If they could reach it, the trolls would be able to attack them from only one direction.

Jak nodded and they angled toward it.

Behind them, the trolls roared. And continued to close.

* * * * *

The slaadi and Riven swam abreast through the broad passage. Slabs of broken stone lined the tunnel walls and braced the ceiling. Statues, their features long ago worn away, jutted from the ruins like specters rising from the grave. The movement of the threesome through the tunnel disturbed the fine sediment of the sea floor. They left a fog of dirt in their wake.

Between the sea water, the slash from Cale's blade, and the ubiquitous dirt, Azriim despaired for his clothes. Then he realized he was becoming giddy and took control of his emotions.

The red light grew brighter and drew them in. The tunnel angled slightly downward. Azriim wondered why the trolls-if the trolls were responsible-had cleared the passage. Perhaps they worshiped at the mantle's source. They were simpletons, after all.

Ahead, an opening beckoned, as wide as the mouth of a dragon. Light poured from it. Azriim picked up his pace, swam through the portal, and found himself at the end of a large hemispherical pocket, at the very root of the ruins. Dolgan and Riven followed.

Across the chamber was the provenance of the mantle-a red shard of glowing crystal as large around as the trunk of a mature oak. One end of it jutted out of a strange mound that made up the far wall of the chamber, and the other end disappeared into the rock of the sea floor. Only part of the shard's middle section was visible. Its length must have been three or four times Azriim's height.

Invisible magical energy soaked the chamber. Azriim's body tingled in the concentrated power. Swirls and eddies of crimson and orange flowed deep within the crystal's exposed facets. Azriim found the movement hypnotic.

The wall from which the crystal extended must have been transmogrified in some way by long exposure to the magic of the source crystal. Azriim thought it some kind of unusual coral mound, for it had literally grown around the crystal. Where crystal and coral met, the coral's edge was thin and ragged, and tendrils grew out of the mound and onto the surface of the crystal. From afar, the surface of the coral looked almost like leather. Azriim had never seen anything like it.

Riven, as though reading the slaad's mind, said, That's not stone, is it?

Azriim did not bother to answer. He shook the clawed hand upon which he wore his fingerless magical glove. The movement and Azriim's mental command summoned the silver, black-veined seed of the Weave Tap. He closed his fist over it. It vibrated slightly in his hand, perhaps in response to the mantle's energy.

Beside him, Dolgan stabbed the claws of one hand into the palm of the other. Blood leaked into the water.

Do it, his broodmate projected, his excitement palpable.

Azriim nodded and swam forward. Before he had gotten halfway across the chamber, a faint shudder shook the mound out of which the shard jutted, a pulse that sent a ripple along the rock. The shard flared crimson at the movement.

That shudder looked like something an animal might do.

Understanding dawned, and Azriim stopped cold in the center of the chamber. He looked hard at the tendrils and saw them for what they really were-veins. The implications settled on him.

The wall mound was not coral; it was flesh, the flesh of an enormous animal that had melded with the crystal. Perhaps the mantle was not sentient at all. Perhaps the creature used the magic of the mantle to project its consciousness surfaceward.

But then why had it taken no notice of Azriim and his companions?

What was that? Riven projected.

Azriim shook his head. He was not certain what it was.

He stared at the wall of flesh, astounded despite himself at the size of the creature that must be buried beneath the ruins. It was so large that its size had become a disguise. It was like looking at a speck of soil and trying to infer a farm.

Azriim understood now the source of the tremors. He also realized what had eaten the whales. Probably the scrags brought the creature food, perhaps as an offering. Azriim was pleased that the source crystal did not share whatever chamber afforded access to the creature's mouth.

What are you waiting for? Dolgan asked.

Azriim swam forward. The aura of magical energy emitted by the source crystal grew more intense as he neared it. So too did the pressure in his brain. He blocked it out as best he could. Azriim felt as if he were swimming against a current. His eyes ached; his vision grew cloudy. One stroke, another.

A second ripple ran through the flesh of the beast and somewhere, deep within a hidden part of the ruins, the rest of the creature's body began to stir. The entire pile of rock shook. Debris and chunks of stone rained from the ceiling. Azriim feared the entire mountain would collapse atop him. He, Riven, and Dolgan darted out of the way of several blocks of falling stone and covered their heads.

The tremor passed. The chamber remained intact.

Do what you came to do, Riven said.

Have your teleportation rods in hand, Azriim answered. The moment I plant the seed, we return to. . . .

He remembered that the Sojourner had told him not to return to the pocket plane. The slaadi's father was to provide them with a new location for their return. Unfortunately, Azriim had been unable to contact his father.