Creel was of the opinion they should move their camp to the living quarters and use some of the rooms on the upper floors, which were high and dry, but by the time they returned, everyone was fast asleep in their bedrolls, save Mira, who’d been keeping watch until they got back.
“Get some sleep, Mira,” Creel said. “We’ll remain here now. Just wanted to make sure nothing was lying in wait down that other tunnel.”
Mira nodded and climbed into her bedroll by Taren’s motionless shape. Kulnor sounded as if he were attacking a log with a rough-toothed saw, from the sounds of his snores.
Creel went to his pack and retrieved an item from it. “You asked back in Carran, and I’ve been meaning to give this back to you.” He held out a sword belt with a sheathed short sword on one hip, and on the other…
“Rabbit-sticker!” Ferret took the belt with a grin. She ignored the sword, which once belonged to an unnamed Nebaran soldier, and drew her small, keen dagger, her sole birthright from her dead mother. The blade was oiled and even sharper than she remembered—Creel must have honed its edge at some point.
“Figured now you’re more likely to find a use for it again,” he said.
Ferret was already buckling the belt around her waist. “True, but a lass can dream she won’t have the need to draw it again, eh?”
“You could.” Creel went over to the edge of the dome, where a massive metal ring, waist-high, anchored the glass, joining the entire dome to the stone floor. He hopped up on the ring, which made a nice seat and provided a clear view of the chamber.
Ferret joined him, thinking back on that first shocking and disheartening night after she had awoken to find herself transformed to an automaton. Creel’s kindness had held her back from a precipice she had been in danger of plummeting over, one where she might have not only lost all hope, but lost herself in the process.
“But you don’t think it likely,” she said to his earlier response.
He shrugged. “The gods haven’t seen fit to spare us hardships thus far. I imagine this will all lead to more blood eventually afore all is said and done.”
“Aye, reckon so.” She was about to say something else when a luminous blob caught her eye drifting past the glass. “What’s that?”
“Looks like a jellyfish of some sort.”
They sat there and watched as first one, then a handful, then dozens of the creatures drifted lazily past the dome on the currents. The creatures were dome-shaped themselves, roughly the size of a shield, with tentacles trailing below them. Their softly luminescent colors ranged from turquoise to pale green to lavender. Altogether, it was a stunning sight.
“I never thought in a thousand years I’d be under the sea watching a flock of glowing jellyfish swimming overhead,” she said.
Creel grunted, but he too gazed at them as they glided past, as graceful as clouds in the sky. “Bloom,” he said after a few moments.
“Huh?”
“Believe they’re called a bloom of jellyfish. So you get it right in your ballad.” He caught her eye and nodded.
“Ah.” She didn’t quite know what to say to that. Her dreams of becoming a bard had seemed like just that, a distant dream, during her months as an automaton. But now that she was human again, her dreams were suddenly within reach. The thought seemed suddenly disconcerting. “So you think I should, then? Become a bard.”
Creel’s eyebrows rose. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“Aye. It’s the only thing that ever really appealed to me. I’m done with adventuring after this.” The awful image of her friend Enna’s bloody remains flashed through her head, along with the memory of the unimaginable pain of having her entire body pulled apart bit by bit. “Nay, I’ll leave all that to those like you and Taren. I’d rather be the one telling of your glorious deeds.” She smiled at the thought.
The corner of Creel’s mouth turned up. “Then of course you should. Don’t let anyone tell you you can’t. You’re quick-witted and clever enough by far, and you’ve been learning your letters and numbers. You’ve a pleasant voice and did a fair enough job coaxing a melody from that beat-up lute you scavenged from that farmhouse.”
She heard the pride in his words, and her heart swelled. “Reckon I will, then.”
“I’d say that calls for a drink.” Creel took a sip from his flask then offered it to her.
Ferret took a much smaller sip than earlier and found the dwarven spirits more tolerable—quite good, even—although a lot stronger than anything she had ever drunk before. As Kulnor had warned, the swallow she’d taken earlier had gone straight to her head, and she felt pleasantly lightheaded already.
I’ve every right to celebrate being me again.
And as she had done once before on that long-ago night in camp, she leaned her head on Creel’s shoulder as they sat there, marveling at the simple sensation of the cool leather of his armor against her cheek.
Time slipped by as they watched the bloom of jellyfish together, Ferret committing the vivid scene to memory. In this dismal overturned glass jar at the bottom of the sea, the otherworldly spectacle was both beautiful and dreamlike, and for a brief time, all seemed right with the world.
Chapter 45
Kulnor yawned as he stared out of the glass dome. Ferret had woken him and Aninyel a short time before to take the second watch. He hadn’t realized how tired he had been, dropping immediately into a deep sleep.
’Tis from first nearly getting splattered on the ground after falling from the sky, then only a few hours later, I nearly drowned in this godsforsaken place. Takes a lot out of a fella.
“Anything out there?” Aninyel asked. She was pacing like a caged mountain lion, apparently every bit as unnerved by the decrepit facility as Kulnor was, if not more so.
“Naught but millions upon millions of gallons of seawater ready to burst through and drown us at any moment,” he replied.
Aninyel smiled and stopped beside him to look through the glass, hands on her hips. “You sure like to focus on the sunny side, don’t you?”
Kulnor grunted. He didn’t know quite how to deal with the elf, always feeling caught off-balance around her. The only experience he’d had with the elven race before the conclave had been those haughty bastards who had stopped him and his boyos at Lothloren to collect their toll. He had always thought—no, known deep in his bones—elves to be cold and arrogant and unfriendly, just as that lot had been.
But then there was Aninyel. She was none of those things, instead the opposite—also fearless, cheerful, and flirtatious. She put him ill at ease, although he suspected he might actually grow to like her once he could get past the fact she was an elf.
“Did you see that?” She pointed to Kulnor’s right.
“What the…” He trailed off upon seeing the dark bulk of something moving out there, revealed in the gloomy depths only with his darkvision: a fish-shaped blot of darkness against its surroundings. Whatever was out there was truly massive in size.
“A leviathan,” Aninyel said softly. “I’ve heard tell of the great whales… Once, I knew a pirate though he called himself a corsair, for he thought it sounded nobler.” She smiled sadly. “He claimed to have seen whales on occasions while sailing the Shimmering Sea, many traveling in great pods, like a fleet of ships breaking the surface of the waves.”
The gargantuan shape rolled over to one side, and Kulnor saw the flash of its pale underbelly before it disappeared into the darkness. “Bet ye never thought to see such a thing from under the sea on some forgotten plane.”
“Never.”
Kulnor opened his mouth, but whatever words were on his tongue were lost forever when the distant clatter of metal gave him such a start that his heart lurched into his throat. Aninyel whirled, hand on the hilt of her saber, peering into the darkness.
All remained still around them, just their friends sleeping in their bedrolls.
“Was that coming from the laboratory?” he asked in a whisper. The haft of his hand axe was
digging into his palm.
“From down there, I think. The barracks.”
“Thought Creel and Ferret checked it out.”
“They did. Might have missed something, though.”
“Reckon we better go take a look.” Somehow, he dredged the words up along with his courage. He wondered if his brother Kalder had felt the same gut-clenching fear while descending into the depths of Torval’s Hold to battle Dammerfang.
They moved across the chamber as quietly as they could, which was silent for the elf and a slight jingle of mail and soft thuds of boots for Kulnor. He eyed the dark tunnel ahead warily. When they reached its mouth, Aninyel waved for him to stop, cocking her head to one side, listening.
After a moment, Kulnor heard it too over the dripping of water—voices echoing faintly down the tunnel from the barracks.
Are those the restless souls of those poor bastards who lived and died down here? Goosebumps rose on Kulnor’s arms. He unslung his hammer from his baldric and clutched its haft in both hands, almost surprised the wood didn’t crack from his white-knuckled grip.
Something boomed in the distance, like a door thrown wide, and echoes reverberated down the tunnel, followed by more voices.
“Wake the others,” Aninyel said. “I’m going to take a look.”
“Aye. Be careful.” She’s got some stones, for sure.
Aninyel nodded and then padded silently down the tunnel.
I’ll never think of elves as cowardly again.
He ran as quietly as he could back to his sleeping friends. “Oi, wake up,” he called. “Trouble. The elf went to investigate.”
Creel roused instantly, sword in hand even before he clambered out of his bedroll. Mira was up a second later, then the two youths were struggling free of their bedrolls.
Kulnor pointed his hammer toward the barracks tunnel. “Somethin’ started banging around down there, then we heard voices.”
“Could have been a hidden entrance down there we didn’t notice.” Creel looked more angry than concerned, likely annoyed at his oversight.
Kulnor went back to the tunnel mouth while the others got their boots on and gathered their weapons. He was surprised to realize he was worried about Aninyel, down there facing only-the-gods-knew-what without any backup. Before he knew what he was doing, he was jogging down the tunnel.
Orange gems lined the corridor, unlike any natural stones he had ever heard of—some creation of the artificers, he supposed. He couldn’t see Aninyel anywhere, but silhouetted against the lighter gloom in the dome, shadowy figures moved about. They were still too far to make out very clearly with his darkvision, but he thought he caught the glint of steel. He slowed his approach and tiptoed nearer.
He was a few paces from the entrance to the dome when someone grabbed him. A hand clamped over his mouth before he could give a startled shout, then he was being pulled into the shadows behind the heavy iron door.
“Shhh,” someone whispered in his ear.
He could smell Aninyel’s clean scent, like flowers in springtime, before he realized it was her and relaxed. When he did, she let him go.
“Shut up.” The harsh voice came from the barracks. “Did you hear something?”
“Nothing but Macron’s bellyaching,” a second voice said.
“Well, the demon said it sensed magic being worked, so be on your guard. We aren’t alone down here.”
A third voice chimed in with a worried tone. “Shhh… speak of it not, lest you summon the fiend.”
Kulnor looked at Aninyel, his eyes wide. He could see her debating whether to attack or fall back. Caution won out, and she motioned for them to retreat.
“Wait.” Kulnor eyed the thick iron door, swung wide open. “We could shut ’em in there.”
Aninyel gave a nod, then they both pushed on the heavy door. It groaned loudly and moved a few inches before its rusted hinges seized up.
“Oi! Someone’s there—I told you! Get ’em!” Footsteps splashed through ankle-deep water, quickly approaching.
Kulnor spared a quick glance around the door and cursed. A dozen or more men dressed in Nebaran colors were running toward them, automatons among their number. He shoved as hard as he could, but the door wouldn’t budge.
Aninyel drew her saber in one hand, a dagger in the other, and moved to prevent the soldiers from spilling into the tunnel.
“Come on, damn you.” Kulnor gave up on the door for the moment, instead gripping his holy symbol. “Reiktir, grant me the might to seal these arseholes up inside there.”
His holy symbol bloomed with silver light, and a surge of lightning ran through his muscles. He threw his shoulder against the door and heaved. Its hinges shrieked as centuries of rust broke loose, and Kulnor pumped his legs as the door began to move, slowly at first, then swinging more easily as it gained momentum.
He could hear the clash of steel on steel, and he bellowed for Aninyel to get out of the way. The elf leaped nimbly through the closing gap just in time before the door slammed shut with a resounding clang that shook the entire tunnel. He gripped the round wheel and heaved on it, the corroded iron shrieking in protest. It spun with difficulty at first but then more easily as he loosened the rust and grime on the mechanism. It banged to a stop when it reached the end of its rotation.
“Here.” Aninyel handed him a length of broken pipe, which Kulnor jammed through the wheel to prevent it from turning.
Thuds sounded from the other side of the door, powerful blows from the enemy constructs that made the iron reverberate. But the door was thick enough to hold the sea at bay in the event of a flood, and Kulnor sincerely doubted even the automatons could break through.
“Nice work,” Aninyel said. “Let’s find the others. There could be more of the rats lurking around in here.”
The others were armed and ready when they emerged from the tunnel, Creel standing at the mouth with bared steel. The group all had their packs on, ready to move.
“Nebarans,” Aninyel said. “They said something about a demon sensing magic being worked, so it must have sent them out to investigate.”
“Where did they come from?” Ferret asked.
“There must’ve been a hidden door in there we missed,” Creel said.
“I’m a fool,” Taren said. “That portal we came through only leads between here and Kaejax. So there has to be another portal chamber that leads to the Hall of the Artificers.”
Creel spat on the ground. “The rest of this complex must not be completely flooded after all. They somehow found a way to get over to our section.”
Before anyone else could speak, the air rippled and distorted oddly behind Taren. Kulnor blinked, thinking he was seeing things, but in the next instant, what had been empty space a moment earlier was filled with soldiers the next. And that wasn’t the worst of it. Looming up behind the Nebarans and automatons was a monstrous beast with a crablike body, a chitin-armored carapace, and a head like a bat’s, too small for its body. Its arms were massive pincers that looked able to snap a dwarf in twain.
Taren sensed the foes and whirled, backpedaling to get some distance, while Mira placed herself protectively in front of the mage.
“What in the Abyss is that?” Kulnor asked. He could feel malevolence pouring off the beast like heat from a forge and knew it was indeed a denizen of the Abyss.
The demon’s yellow eyes regarded them with equal measures of malice and madness. Its maw dripped saliva from needle-shaped teeth.
“Bliezahr,” Taren said, putting a name to the nightmare.
“I remember this ugly whoreson,” Creel growled. “Our business was never finished back in Ammon Nor.”
“Seize the boy,” Bliezahr rumbled in a voice like boulders scraping together. “Kill the others.”
Soldiers and automatons, a dozen or so, surged forward at once. Kulnor stepped forward to meet an automaton. His hammer connected with its breastplate, crumpling the metal and sending the construct flying off its feet. In the shock of seeing
the fiend, Kulnor had nearly forgotten about his strength-enhancing spell. His next strike sent a human warrior flying, his chest crushed in.
Aninyel glided gracefully past Kulnor, saber whirling and lines of blood opening across one man’s throat and on the inside of another’s thigh. Blood jetted from the second man’s slashed femoral artery.
Mira dipped low to meet a construct’s charge, then rose up and threw it aside, the machine clanging loudly as it landed hard on the ground. She launched a side kick that sent a swordsman staggering into his comrade and fouling his aim, enough for Creel to run the both of them through in quick sequence.
Bliezahr roared, and a huge pincer clacked shut where Aninyel had been standing a heartbeat earlier. The elf slipped under its attack and carved a gash across its lower torso. Her dagger thrust skittered off its chitinous plate, but she scored another slash on its flank before she dodged away.
Kulnor looked around and saw their human foes were all dead or dying, the constructs damaged or scattered for the moment—save for one, reaching for Taren. But the mage pointed at the machine, and it lurched to a halt, frozen in place, its eyes dimming as the magic animating it bled away. In the same moment, he sent a bolt of lightning crackling into the fiend, but it seemed to do little harm.
Creel and Aninyel were harrying the demon, each scoring shallow wounds against its armored hide that seemed to do little other than anger it.
We might actually have a chance to defeat that ugly bastard. Kulnor hefted his hammer and circled the fiend, looking for an opening while the other two kept it busy.
His hopes were drowned when Bliezahr brought the ocean down atop them.
Trial of the Thaumaturge (Scions of Nexus Book 3) Page 40
