"Time is of the essence," Khorrch stated.

Vurgrom crossed his huge arms over his barrel chest and said, "Aye, I know. Iakhovas is a harsh taskmaster."

"But his rewards are good," Khorrch pointed out.

Vurgrom smiled, a rictus of humor that belonged on a shark's mouth. "Get it done, then."

Expecting the morkoth to use its hypnotic powers or perhaps magically command him to speak, Flyys closed his eyes and prayed to Persana to deliver him from his fate quickly. One way or the other.

Khorrch spoke words of power that started small fires under Flyys's skin. The young triton's eyes snapped open, commanded by a force outside himself. He watched in swiftly growing horror as Khorrch took a small copper piece from the conch shell at his side.

The morkoth laid the copper piece on one of his human palms and continued his spellcasting. His voice rose, and he curled his fingers over the copper piece, holding tight. In the next instant the copper piece vanished in a brief burst of flame. Khorrch opened his palm, revealing unblemished skin.

Then Flyys felt as though someone had buried a spear in his head, bursting through bone and flesh. He screamed and shivered against the ropes.

"Tell me of the Eye," the morkoth ordered harshly. "Tell me of the Taker's Eye. Tell me where I may find it."

Gasping, fighting against the pain that filled his mind, thinking his skull must surely be peeling back like an onion against the creature's magical assault, Flyys tried to think of anything but the triton legends about the Taker's Eye. It proved impossible.

"The Taker's… Eye," Flyys heard his own voice saying, "is… kept… in Myth Nantar!" Once the words had been forced through his clenched teeth, the spell's force left him. He sagged weakly against the mast, hung there by the ropes.

"Myth Nantar," Vurgrom said. "I've never heard of it." "You shouldn't have," Khorrch said. "The city is magical, something that wasn't for the eyes of the surface dwellers. If they had known, it would have been raided long ago."

"Aye, but who's to say this place hasn't been raided by another race?" Vurgrom demanded. "One that makes its home beneath these waters?"

The morkoth shook its head in a very humanlike gesture. "No. That's not possible."

"Why?" the pirate captain persisted.

"Because," Flyys croaked, feeling some of his confidence return, "Myth Nantar was lost to everyone thousands of years ago. It lies hidden and barred. No one may enter it. Now or ever."

"You're wrong, longmane whelpling," Khorrch snarled. "There is one who may enter."

"Not the Taker," Flyys promised. "Our legends tell us the walls will hold against even his might."

"Not him," the morkoth mage agreed, "but there will be another who will bring its walls down. One whose destiny lies with the Taker's, their futures so intertwined that one may not live on without the other."

Flyys wanted to rail against the morkoth's words, but he didn't have the strength. He had lost his friends, betrayed some of the legacy that had been left to him. Only the dying remained. He was certain neither Vurgrom or Khorrch would suffer him to live.

As if some of the mental bond that had existed between them still remained, Khorrch gazed into the young triton's eyes and hissed, "Ah, longmane, there yet remains one service you may do for my people."

Flyys tried to summon up enough liquid to spit, but his throat was already too dry from exposure in the wind.

The morkoth mage crossed to the ship's railing where the net had brought them aboard. The creature gestured. A moment later the net was hoisted again, lifting yet another morkoth to the deck.

"Stay back from her," Khorcch warned the ship's crew.

Immediately the sailors stepped back from the new arrival, some of them making the signs of their gods and calling out their names.

Flyys stared at the morkoth. It was noticeably smaller than the mage, and possessed only tentacles instead of hands. It swayed drunkenly across the deck as it approached the young triton.

"No!" the young triton yelled. He wrenched against the ropes again, but it was in vain. Instead, he concentrated on Persana and prayed. He couldn't close his eyes even though he knew what was going to happen.

The female morkoth's abdomen belled out, looking as though the creature had just eaten a big meal. Flyys knew that wasn't true. It came closer, reaching out tentatively with all four tentacles. The rubbery flesh slid syrup-sticky across Flyys's face and chest as it investigated him.

The morkoth mage stood nearby, though obviously not in any proximity. It clutched a long-bladed knife defensively. "Don't be fooled by his age," Khorrch told the female. "He's young, but the magic is strong in him."

The female morkoth seemed to nod in agreement. Its tentacles continued to rove over Flyys.

The young triton had never seen what was about to happen, but there had been plenty of stories about it. The event was only one more reason to make war against the kraknyth.

Slowly, the female morkoth's abdomen flexed. Scaled flesh peeled back, opening like a mouth. A wicked appendage with a spike at the end slid free. It wavered for a moment out in the open as if uncertain. Female morkoth never had the opportunity to practice the maneuver. It was only done once, and it was guided by instinct.

Flyys tried to move but couldn't. In the next heartbeat, the appendage flared out and stabbed deeply into the young triton's abdomen. He screamed at the pain and felt warm blood seep down his midsection and thighs. The appendage writhed within him, seeking out the various internal organs, not damaging any of them.

The female morkoth held him as if in a lover's embrace. The appendage pulsed as it began laying her eggs, scattering them among his internal organs. Flyys tried to fight against it in vain. He gazed into the female morkoth's black eyes, almost hypnotized, and watched as they dimmed, watched as life left it.

When all of the eggs were laid, the female morkoth fell backward, dead before she hit the deck. The appendage wrenched free of Flyys.

Filled with horror, the young triton gazed down at his wound. As he watched, it closed up and sealed, healing instantly as the final part of the cycle pumped into him. After all, it wouldn't do to have a host body die or become infected before the eggs could hatch.

"Get rid of it," Vurgrom commanded.

Reluctantly, his men came forward. They grabbed the dead female morkoth and heaved it over the railing. The splash barely carried above the ship's creaks and the sails snapping overhead.

Khorrch peered into Flyys's eyes. "You've been given a great gift, longmane."

"You've killed me," the young triton whispered hoarsely.

"Mayhap," the morkoth mage admitted. "Even should you live after the young hatch inside you and eat their way free, you would only be reimplanted with eggs or killed outright."

Flyys knew it was true. The morkoth young would feed on his flesh and tear their way out of his body. Even if he could get free of the morkoth, he knew of no spells or mendicants that would kill the morkoth young and let him live. Still, if he could get free, he might survive their birthing.

"You may know where the Taker's Eye is," the young triton said, "but you'll never get it."

"The Taker will."

"Your precious Taker," Flyys said, the certainty of his own doom freeing him from the fear that had filled him, "will turn on you in the end. He is only after those things that matter to him. You and the other kraknyth are only a means to an end."

Murderous rage gleamed in the morkoth mage's eyes. "You lie."

"You yourself said that no one undersea race knows all about the Taker's past or his future," Flyys went on, "but we know this. You will pay for your greed and for your mistakes.