by Dragon Lance
“No doubt he was, once you broke your lyre over his head. What had he done to anger you so?”
“He told me I had no rhythm in my fingers!” was the indignant response.
Armantaro laughed softly.
A troop of Dargonesti, their armor restored and refurbished, marched out of the House of Arms. New warriors straggled in, looking shocked and pale. From snatches of conversation that drifted their way, Vixa and Armantaro discerned that a sizable contingent of sea elves had been lured into a trap and slaughtered by the chilkit.
“This can’t go on,” Armantaro stated. “Coryphene will have to risk all in a final throw against them. If he sits tight, they’ll strangle this city and cut his troops apart, like gardeners pruning grapevines.”
Vixa agreed. Gundabyr had better hurry with the gnomefire.
*
A tense silence fell over the city of Urione. Within its graceful shell, a hundred thousand Dargonesti waited for the outcome of a strange race. Who would win, the dwarf or the chilkit?
No one was more uncertain than Vixa. She and Armantaro had remained in the House of Arms for a full day, not knowing what might be happening. Then a soldier had come, and they were taken to the Square of Artisans, where the dwarf toiled. Ostensibly they were there to help in the work, but the old colonel was of the opinion that their presence was more intended to keep the irascible dwarf calm and on the job.
In the Square of Artisans, where all the city’s workshops were concentrated, Gundabyr had the finest crafters beneath the sea at his disposal. They worked feverishly mixing the minerals the dwarf needed. Fortunately, the Dargonesti had supplies of each ingredient stockpiled in the city. They used the components for different purposes – for example, raw bitumen as the cement in their mosaic floors – so everything was on hand.
Making gnomefire itself was the simplest of Gundabyr’s tasks. How to deliver it, though? This question occupied the dwarf’s every waking moment. How could the Dargonesti spread the fire paste on the chilkit without spilling it on themselves?
“On land, I’d just tell’em to toss the jars,” Gundabyr grumbled.
“Underwater the jars wouldn’t hit hard enough to shatter,” Armantaro pointed out.
“Yes, I know,” said the dwarf sourly.
Vixa made a suggestion. “How about some type of catapult?”
Gundabyr scratched a few calculations on the white tabletop. A cadre of Dargonesti crafters craned their necks to follow Gundabyr’s odd markings. They shook their long blue faces, exchanged worried looks. The drylander was mad, utterly mad.
“Thunderation!” Gundabyr bellowed, smearing the numbers with the heel of his hand. “A catapult won’t work underwater either! No skein could keep tension when wet, and anyway, we’ve got no wood for the frame! Blast and thunderation!”
Vixa folded her arms. “The main difficulty is that water is much thicker than air, yes?”
“Yes, yes,” Gundabyr replied testily.
“Yet fish move freely in it.” She thought of her own recent experience. “And the dolphins practically fly through it. Why? Because they have fins and flukes, and muscles to power them.”
“Hmm. Perhaps we could strap firepots to the dolphins,” the dwarf mused.
Numerous blue faces registered shock as the Dargonesti protested this idea loudly. Vixa held up her hands for peace. “No,” she agreed. “That’s a terrible idea.”
Gundabyr scowled.
Armantaro had been sipping from a shell of fresh water. “We’re making this too complex,” he said. “Simple answers are usually the best. How would we fight the chilkit on land? We’d charge them with cavalry armed with lances!”
The old colonel grabbed the shard of coal from Gundabyr and began to sketch on the table. “If we were to use long shafts, thicker and stronger than the Dargonesti spears, attaching a pot of gnomefire to the ends —”
“We could ram the chilkit from a safe distance!” Gundabyr finished. He jotted down some figures. “The lance will be heavy, so we’ll put two soldiers on each one. Congratulations, Colonel, you’ve invented the firelance!”
The Dargonesti artisans quickly grasped the idea, and a basic model was made. Normally, the sea elves used a species of seaweed for their spearshafts. Dried and treated with certain minerals, the strands of seaweed became rigid and stayed that way, even in water. However, the strands weren’t thick enough for Armantaro’s firelance. This problem was easily solved by braiding a great many strands together before the hardening process.
“How much time do we have?” asked the colonel.
“It’s been two and a half days since the last chilkit attack,” Vixa said. “They’re still massing outside the city. There’s no time to lose.”
Virtually every artisan in Urione was drafted. Painters and house builders joined the shapers and toolmakers in turning out strong, thick shafts by the score.
Everyone worked that day, through the night, and all the next day as well. Armantaro caught snatches of sleep in the potters’ den. Here pots were fired over a volcanic vent. It was the warmest, driest place in the city. Gundabyr spent most of his time supervising the making of more gnomefire than had ever been concocted at one time. Vixa helped inspect the final products before they were assembled and the gnomefire added to the pots.
The pots themselves were cylindrical, with a socket on one end, a lid on the other. The shaft of the lance went into the socket, and a pair of bronze pins was inserted to hold everything together. The gnomefire paste was poured in, and the lid anchored with a sticky, waterproof jelly made from mashed kelp. The resulting firelance was twenty feet long, weighing almost one hundred pounds.
On the second night of work, Vixa was alone in the warehouse, counting pots and shafts. Coryphene arrived with only a single warrior as escort. The Protector of Urione watched the Qualinesti princess from the doorway until she turned and saw him. Vixa dipped her head in a brief salute.
“Excellence.”
“How many are there?” he asked.
“Four hundred twenty-seven. By daybreak, there will be five hundred.”
“That will have to do. The sea brothers report that the chilkit are plundering and murdering in our outlying domain. We have no more time. I must save my people!”
This last was said with such fierce conviction that Vixa gave him a quick, startled glance. During these last few days as the Dargonesti and the drylanders worked together, it had been all too easy to forget that she and her friends were prisoners, captives of Coryphene and his divine queen. Vixa thought she understood him a bit better now, understood his single-minded quest for power. Above all, Coryphene was a patriot.
“Are you certain the firelances will work?” he demanded. She nodded. With hard eyes, he looked over the array of cylindrical pots and lance shafts.
“I pray so, lady,” Coryphene said at last. “If we defeat the chilkit by this weapon of yours, you and all the drylanders shall be freed. I swear it.”
He walked away without looking back.
Chapter 13
EXTERMINATION
By morning, Coryphene had convened a council of war. His warrior chiefs and the priests of the great temples gathered to listen as the Protector and Queen Uriona laid out their plans.
The warriors filled the plaza in the center of the palace level. Their faces were hard and grim. There were gaps in their ranks. The priests and priestesses, on the other hand, prayed where they stood, calling on divine aid to save them from the chilkit. This annoyed the soldiers. Honor the gods, said the warriors, but listen to Coryphene Wallbuilder, Protector of Urione.
A dais ringed by curtains was set up for Queen Uriona. Her handmaids entered the plaza and flanked the dais. In unison they bowed their heads. The elves in the plaza did likewise as Uriona entered the enclosure. Coryphene, clad in his finest armor, appeared next.
The warrior chiefs raised both hands in salute and roared, “Coryphene! Quoowahb kadai!” which meant “The Dargonesti are with you!”
“Let there be silence,” Coryphene intoned. “We are in the presence of our divine ruler, the goddess among us, Uriona Firstborn!”
A pall of silence fell instantly over the hundreds assembled in the plaza. Uriona’s voice reached out from the veiled dais. Her words carried perfectly to every ear.
“My people,” she proclaimed, “we stand on the threshold of our destiny. Today, the hated enemy will fall to us. I have asked the gods to bring us a weapon by which the foe can be destroyed. As always, my brother gods have seen fit to do as I asked.”
Coryphene tipped a pot of gnomefire into a basin of seawater set up on the floor before the dais. It sputtered and burst into hissing flame. The priests recoiled, and many of the soldiers shifted uneasily away from a sight sea creatures had never beheld – naked flames.
“With this weapon, we cannot be defeated,” Uriona went on. “I have seen our victory, and it will be glorious.”
“Uriona!” Coryphene shouted. “Quoowahb kadai!”
The crowd took up and echoed his call over and over, until Coryphene raised a hand, signaling for silence. “The army will assemble on the plain of the kelp gardens,” ordered the Protector. “All the firelances will be distributed to the left and right wings. When the battle commences, the wing commanders will attack, forcing the chilkit back. The wings will advance until the enemy breaks, then they will join to enclose the center. None shall escape us. None shall be spared!”
Once more Coryphene had to silence their cheers before he could speak. “Keep clear of the lance heads,” he told them. “The yellow mixture inside burns when touched by water. If a pot bursts prematurely, the only way to put out the fire is to smother it with sand. Is that understood?” A clatter of weapons against shields signified the warriors’ approval. Coryphene raised his voice, the words ringing through the square. “You know your places, soldiers! To victory! To victory!”
“To victory!” they shouted in return. “Coryphene! Quoowahb kadai! Uriona! Quoowahb kadai!”
The chiefs marched out to join their units. The priests and priestesses waited until the fighters were gone, then bowed and filed out silently. Uriona called to her warlord.
“Coryphene.”
He went swiftly to the curtained enclosure. She seldom spoke his name. Hearing it now, feeling himself poised on the brink of his greatest victory, an intoxicating thrill went through his body. He knelt just outside the thin curtain.
“Yes, Divine Majesty?”
“Guard yourself, Coryphene. You are my instrument of destiny. Be valiant, but be careful as well.”
“With Your Divinity to watch over me, nothing can touch me.”
“Victory is assured. I have foreseen it. But —” The soft silhouette of the queen shifted on her ornate chair. “But our individual lives cannot be vouchsafed. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Divine Majesty, with all my heart.”
He rose. Before he could take his leave, Uriona spoke again. “After the battle, there is a task to do. Only you can be trusted to accomplish it, Coryphene.”
“You have only to name it, my queen.”
“The drylanders must die. All of them. If any survive, it will endanger our expedition to Silvanost.”
Coryphene, despite his absolute devotion to her, was shaken. “All of them? Even the princess of the Qualinesti?”
“Especially her. And the old colonel and the dwarf. They are a great danger to me, Coryphene. There is one other who must die. One of our own people.”
He had no trouble guessing. “Naxos,” he stated.
“Yes. He has already betrayed us to the drylanders. He plots with them to destroy us. To destroy me.”
“He will not survive the battle! I vow it, Majesty!”
“Be wary of him. My brother gods may try to protect him.”
“I fear no power but that of my divine queen,” Coryphene said fervently. To his amazement, Uriona extended her hand through the curtain and held it for him to kiss. He took the hand in his, gazing at it as though he would memorize every line. The skin was fine as musselbeard silk, the webbing between the long, elegant fingers a translucent turquoise. Slowly, with all possible deference, Coryphene touched his lips to the soft hand.
“I am Your Majesty’s slave,” he whispered.
The hand was withdrawn, and Uriona spoke no more. Coryphene rose and strode from the empty plaza. Purpose blazed in his heart. Today would be the day of reckoning. Today the Dargonesti would defeat their dread enemy.
*
Rank upon rank of Dargonesti soldiers marched through the market square on their way to battle. The common folk of Urione lined the way, waving and singing. Some tossed scented water on the passing troops, a sign of special favor. The warriors filed into the quays and marched into the pools.
Of all the dryland prisoners, only three were in the square watching the soldiers go to meet the chilkit invaders. Vixa, Armantaro, and Gundabyr stood together. The old colonel stood straight as a pikestaff while the Dargonesti marched by, as if he were reviewing the troops. Vixa leaned on one arm against a low wall and counted the ranks. In a quarter hour she noted five thousand Dargonesti warriors had passed her.
“And still they come,” she marveled. “Where does Coryphene get them?”
“Perhaps they’re marching out, reentering the city, and marching past again, in a loop,” Gundabyr wryly suggested. His bearded, craggy face was deeply shadowed from lack of sleep. “You know, to fool the hometown folks.”
“You’re wrong,” Armantaro said. “I’ve not seen a face repeat.” His martial stance and hawk-faced profile had attracted the attention of some of the Dargonesti soldiers. They’d begun to turn toward the Qualinesti colonel as they passed, giving a perfect “eyes left.”
“A lot of these lads are new to arms. Look at the fit of their equipment. They’re untried soldiers,” the colonel remarked.
Vixa looked more closely and had to agree with his assessment. The spears were not ported at a sharp angle, the way veterans would carry them. Helmets seemed either too big or too small. Some of the Dargonesti even had empty scabbards flapping at their sides, as there were not enough weapons to go around.
A contingent of firelancers marched by, the new weapons on their shoulders. These were the best of Coryphene’s troops, hand-picked for size and strength. Many had come from the ranks of the Protector’s own guard. Considering the ferocity and size of the enemy they were to meet, their numbers seemed terribly small.
The sight of the ill-prepared youngsters and the too-few veterans galvanized Vixa into action. “I’m going out, too,” she declared.
“What? Lady, you mustn’t!” Armantaro objected.
“Can I stand idly by while others fight for my life? No!”
“I can,” Gundabyr said calmly. “They took me prisoner, made me a slave, caused me to lose my brother. I made their damned gnomefire. Now it’s their fight, Highness. Let’em fight it.”
“If you fight, then I shall be at your side,” said the colonel.
Vixa clasped his arms. “No, my friend. Even if you won’t admit it, I must – you’re ill. That cough of yours gets worse daily.”
Even as she said this, Armantaro’s body shook as he smothered a cough. “It’s nothing,” he insisted.
“Stay here, Colonel. They’d never give you an airshell anyway.”
“What about you?” asked Gundabyr. “What’ll you do for air?”
“I have my own resources.” Vixa moved to fall in with the passing ranks of soldiers. Armantaro would have followed, but she put a hand on his chest to stop him. “I order you to remain, Colonel,” she said firmly. “As your commander and your princess.”
“But, Your Highness —”
“No, Colonel. It is my official order – and my private wish – that you stay in the city. If anything should happen to me, tell my mother …” She frowned, her voice trailing off.
He saluted. “I’ll tell her you died bravely, in battle.”
“
You’ll do no such thing. Tell my family to visit the seaside every year on Midsummer’s Day. Tell them —” She smiled and departed without finishing the thought, merging into the column of tall sea elves. Armantaro quickly lost sight of her.
“What did she mean – visit the seashore?” asked Gundabyr.
“A joke, my friend.” But the colonel looked anything but amused. Suddenly, an attack of coughing seized him. He turned his back on the ranks of marching elves, leaning on the wall for support. Gundabyr saw blood flecking his lips as he gasped for air.
At the quayside, a Dargonesti officer was directing lines of warriors into the water. Vixa remained hidden among the slow-moving ranks until she drew near the officer.
“You! Drylander! What are you doing here?”
“Going out,” Vixa replied tersely.
“Are you mad? There’s going to be a battle!”
“I know.”
The lines of soldiery were walking down the ramp into the water. The rest of the pool was empty. Vixa spun, leapt, and hit the water in an arcing dive.
“Stupid drylander!” the officer yelled. “Where do you think you can go? You there – soldiers! Get her!”
Vixa swam hard for the passage leading into open water. She kicked furiously toward the archway. However, she felt hands seize her ankles. Three sea elves had caught her. She had no hope of shaking them off. The princess emptied her mind of everything but the memory of her dolphin body. The sleek black-and-white form filled her thoughts.
Heat flooded her body. The chill of the water was replaced by an expanding warmth. Vixa wanted to kick at the Dargonesti hands that held her ankles, but her legs had grown rigid. Of their own volition, her arms drew in tight against her sides. She knew an instant’s panic as she felt herself being hauled back by the Dargonesti. The world tilted crazily.
Her Dargonesti captors suddenly cried out and fell back in shock. The leg they had been holding had become a muscular dolphin’s tail. Though they were accustomed to the shapeshifters among their own people, this sudden transformation of a drylander took them completely by surprise.
