Despite his best efforts not to, Flyys shivered at the prospect. He knew he wouldn't be the first triton to be treated in that fashion. However, it was preferable to being ripped apart by the morkoth.

"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.