Krago was absorbed in an ancient scroll when Shanz brought the prisoners in. “What is it?” the young cleric asked. “Why have you brought them to me?”

“Master,” Shanz said, “I regret to say-I have to tell you-”

“What? Out with it.”

“Commander Thouriss is-missing.” Krago stood so abruptly he toppled his chair. Shanz spoke with obvious trepidation, choosing his words carefully. “He lured the tall barbarian into a duel by threatening the hostages. The barbarian fought well, until the end, when he threw away his sword and struggled hand to hand. They fell into the plaza pool and never came up.”

Krago's head sagged. He stared at his toes for a long time in silence. “Khisanth will not be pleased,” he said finally.

“Master Krago-” Shanz began.

“Hold a moment, Captain. Let me think.” He picked up the small scroll he was reading and then put it down again. He moved around the room dazedly, his eyes small and glittering. Finally, he sat down in one of his high-backed chairs. “Leave the prisoners with me,” he said blankly.

Shanz didn't like that, but orders were orders. He said, “What about Commander Thouriss?”

“Get some hooks and rope, then drag the pool,” Krago said. “Find Thouriss's body. I may be able to restore it to life. If not-” The cleric shook his head. “I shall have to grow a new male in the vat.”

Shanz posted four goblin guards outside Krago's door. When he was gone, Catchflea thanked the young cleric.

“You needn't bother,” Krago said coldly. “I have tasks for both of you. If you cause me the slightest trouble, I'll have you hamstrung. Is that clear to you?”

It was.

The cleric sank in his chair and shook his head. “It's all too much,” he groaned. “My creation destroyed, drowned like a rat!”

“You made him a warrior,” Catchflea said, gathering the grieving Di An to his side. “Did you think he would live forever?”

“Thouriss was much too valuable to die in a duel,” Krago replied testily. “Had he fathered sons and daughters, then I wouldn't care what happened to him.”

“Is that all you can think about?” Di An asked. She rubbed her eyes to clear them. “The trouble Thouriss's death makes for your grand design?”

“Yes. Nothing else matters.” Krago smoothed out the scroll on the table. “Nothing.”

Thouriss finally went limp in Riverwind's grasp. and he released him. The weight of Thouriss's armor took the creature down to the nether reaches of the pool.

Riverwind needed air, but he cast about for an alternative to surfacing in the center of the plaza under the eyes and arms of the goblins and their draconian masters. He found a tunnel in the eastern side of the pool, where a strong inrush of water headed. He swam into the hole and let the water carry him until he could bear it no longer. Driven by a crying need for air, Riverwind went up and surfaced in a tiny grotto. About ten inches of air space was available, so Riverwind trod water and took in deep, heady breaths of air.

The ceiling of the grotto was not natural rock. Although it was too dark for Riverwind to see, the ceiling felt like fired clay. He thought that he must be in some sort of water pipe or cistern, a remnant of the great days of Xak Tsaroth. Riverwind paddled forward in the total darkness, feeling the cracks in the thick terra cotta. The water was flowing, so there had to be a way out. He only hoped it would be big enough for him to pass through.

The bottom of the tunnel rose sharply, and he was able to get his feet under him again. Riverwind sloshed forward in a crouch. The pipe narrowed further, so he got on his hands and knees. Water lapped at his chin. He came to a fork in the pipe. He chose to go left, where a faint light seemed to shine.

On all fours, Riverwind scrambled forward toward the light. His arm wound was bleeding again, his left eye was swollen shut, and his whole body ached from the pounding Thouriss had given him. The pain didn't matter as much as getting out of this sewer and finding Di An and Catchflea.

The light was a finger-thin shaft falling down a round opening that might have been a well in ages past. A fall of rubble had partially filled the water pipe, making a small island. Riverwind tried to stand, to reach up to the light and climb out. He couldn't. The strength ebbed from his limbs, and he sank down, utterly exhausted. The blackness of unconsciousness covered him, and around him the water lapped and swirled.

Di An tiptoed to the end of the vat where Krago's new creation still slept. She hated the hideous thing half-sunk in its bath of quicksilver. It was growing more aware all the time; when Di An was near, it would turn its head as if looking at her. This was all the more disturbing because the monster's eyes were still unopened. Other times, Krago would come in and talk to it, telling it what a beautiful, powerful creature it was. It made Di An ill.

A day had passed since the duel. The draconians had not recovered any bodies from the pool. When the hooks continued to come up empty, Di An and Catchflea didn't know if they should be glad or sad. Riverwind must be dead; and yet, if no body were found, perhaps he had survived somehow. But he couldn't have.

Catchflea had bandaged the slight wound in his side. He was feeling stronger after the meals supplied by Krago. Di An was walking better than she had the day before. Catch-flea remarked on this as she fetched jars of powder for Kra-go's alchemical potions.

“My ankles and legs don't hurt so much now,” she admitted. “But my hips do.”

Krago took the green glass jar from the elf girl without looking up from his work table. He measured a spoonful of yellowish powder, then gave the jar back to Di An.

“Are you getting taller?” he asked, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her.

She looked down at her feet as if they would tell her. “How can I be?” she asked.

“You did drink my blood purifying potion,” said Krago.

“And you gave me the antidote.”

“No,” he said, slowly. “I gave you a philtre to soothe the stomach cramps.”

Di An stared at the cleric, then turned to Catchflea. “Am I taller?” she asked.

The old soothsayer got up from his bench and drew himself up beside her. Di An's head had once crested near the bottom of his rib cage; now the crown of her head was even with his shoulders. He clasped her arms and said with a smile, “You are growing.”

She could not fathom it. Her aching joints had been difficult to bear, but compared to the joy of actually growing up-being a woman-the pain was a minor annoyance. Di An begged for a mirror, so she could see for herself.

“I don't keep mirrors in my study,” Krago informed her with disinterest. “Go to the vat room and try a tin tray or something.”

Di An hated to go back there with the thing lying in the vat, but she could almost feel herself growing. She must see what progress she'd made. She went. On a table in the far corner of the shelf-enclosed room was a tin tray, loaded with bottles of liquids, each labeled with arcane symbols. Di An cleared them off and held the tray to her face.

The diggers of Hest owned few mirrors, so Di An had seen her own reflection a handful of times. Now, she studied her face closely. Wasn't her chin a trifle less sharp? Was her hair a bit longer? It no longer stuck up in spiky bits but lay flatter, brushing the bottoms of her pointed ears. There was a pale blush in her skin. She touched her face lightly with three fingers. A coat of finest down had appeared on her cheek.

Behind the elf girl, Lyrexis stirred in the vat. The movement of air caused by Di An's passage and her body warmth had penetrated the creature's half-sleep. Lyrexis sat up.