"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.