“You know I never question your actions, Divine One,” Coryphene said carefully. “But how can I prepare for an invasion of the land when we are not yet free of the chilkit?”
“The creatures from the depths will be overcome. I have seen it. The elves of the sun will help bring this about.” As she spoke, Uriona turned her masked face until she directly faced the gap in the mirrors behind which Coryphene stood. Her perception was unnerving.
“How will they do this, Divine Queen?”
“The method is unimportant. It will happen.”
“Will it be soon? Should I muster the army?”
“You will do the right thing when the time comes, Lord Protector. The gods and I shall guide you.”
Her conviction eased his doubts, save one nagging problem. “What if the Qualinesti woman won’t talk? I must know the strength of the enemy.”
“Patience, Lord Protector. She will provide what we need to know. In the meantime, send Naxos and the heralds to the coast of Silvanesti. They may learn something of importance by observation.”
“Yes, Divine Queen. We will miss their reconnaissance against the chilkit, though.”
“When the chilkit attack again, you shall destroy them utterly. This will be the first step toward our impending victory over the land-dwelling elves. Send Naxos away. Today.”
He couldn’t miss the agitation in her voice. Coryphene wondered if there was some hidden agenda associated with Naxos and his sea brothers. He’d long suspected the leader of the shapeshifters of disloyalty. Coryphene sometimes wished his queen-goddess would make her warnings a bit more plain.
“Open the mirrors. I am done for now.”
Coryphene gave a command. The servants dashed forward to remove the encircling wall of mirrors. They did so with eyes tightly shut and faces averted-from the bright light and forbidden face of their queen. The standing panels were taken away, leaving only the queen and the piles of glowing globes in the center of the audience hall.
“Why do you do this to yourself?” Coryphene asked gently. He alone was permitted to gaze upon her countenance and, as always after one of these sessions, she was bathed in sweat and nearly fainting. “Why torment yourself with this light?”
“If I am someday to sit upon my throne in the Tower of the Stars, I must be able to bear the light of the sun.” She removed her mask, her hand trembling.
He stepped closer. “I cannot bear to see you suffer.”
“It is nothing.”
Coryphene took the mask from her, allowing his hand to rest on her fingers. Her eyes fluttered at the unexpected contact, but she didn’t draw her hand away. “Will Naxos betray us, Divine One?” he murmured. Uriona’s languid gaze faltered. Her body went limp on the throne. Coryphene stepped in, kept her from collapsing onto the floor. The maidservants and priests closed around, looking anxiously at the Protector.
“Get back,” he said scornfully. “Our divine lady endures much for our sakes. Go and prepare her bedchamber; I will bring her there.”
The servants hurried to do his bidding. Coryphene lifted the unconscious queen in his long arms. The priests protested, scandalized by his familiarity, but the warrior lord carried his queen tenderly to the door of the audience hall.
“Chamberlain? Chamberlain!” he called.
“Yes, my lord?” Uriona’s chamberlain, fresh from a dousing in seawater, appeared smoothly at Coryphene’s elbow.
“Have Naxos of the sea brothers brought to me at once. This is the command of Her Divine Majesty.” The chamberlain bowed, dripping seawater onto the mosaic floor.
“It shall be done, great Protector.”
The line of prisoners trudged toward their day’s work. The weighted belts they wore kept their feet on the path. The sea had lightened to a clear emerald green, and by Dargonesti standards it was a bright day. As the captives left the mouth of the grotto behind, Vixa could see a chain of peaks stretching away from the city. The mountain containing Nissia Grotto was the last in this long line. Some of the mountains were low and flat-topped. Others had sharp, jagged tips, thrusting toward the surface. Vixa wondered just how near the surface they reached.
They entered a wide ravine, whose mouth had been quarried for stone and cleared of coral, leaving it a flat, hard plain. All around, prisoners had taken up mauls and stone wedges and were pounding blocks of stone into rectangular shapes. When the blocks were finished, they were laid in nets spread out on the ground. At the four corners of each net were fish bladders sewn together and filled with air. These bladders floated the blocks up to the top of the wall, where other slaves wrestled them into place. No mortar was used, so the blocks had to fit together precisely.
Harmanutis and Vanthanoris were put to work dragging rough stones to the carvers for dressing. Armantaro was added to the gang that hauled blocks to the nets and attached the inflated fish bladders. Vixa was sent to the top of the wall to work with the stonelayers.
She started to remove her belt, so she could swim to the parapet. A guard stopped her, pointing to an opening in the base of the wall. She headed toward this opening. Before she went inside, a prisoner smeared her arms with a sticky paste that glowed greenish white. Vixa was surprised, but once she went inside she was glad of the glowing substance. The interior of the wall here was hollow and black as pitch.
Like ghosts, the phosphorescent shapes of other workers moved ahead of her. It was impossible to ask questions with the airshell in her mouth, so she just followed those in front of her. She stumbled against a stair step and started up. It was eerie, moving in the inky stairwell with only a faint glow of light. The steps reversed direction several times, and continued higher and higher. The wall had to be close to sixty feet tall.
She emerged in open water at the top. The area was thick with busy workers shoving stones into place. Someone grabbed her arm and tugged her to the edge. From there she could see the city of Urione shimmering in the distance.
A rush of water hit her, sweeping her off her feet. Vixa fell backward, slipping over the side of the wall. Automatically, she grabbed the parapet edge to stop her fall. No one came to her aid. As she hauled herself back up, she saw what had caused her fall: a block of stone had arrived, buoyed by its net and air-filled bladders, rocking the water with concussive force.
Workers pulled in the swaying net and levered the six-by-four-foot mass of rock onto the wall. Vixa tried to help, but her bare feet gave her little purchase on the smooth parapet. None down here were shod, but the other captives were more experienced underwater, and the Dargonesti’s feet were obviously adapted for just this environment. Like their fingers, their toes were long and webbed.
The block thudded into place. The buoyant net rose a few feet over the workers’ heads and hung there, tethered to the ocean floor by a long strand of woven seaweed.
The image of the net tugging at the line intrigued Vixa. She gazed up at the swaying net and thought again about the distance to the surface.
She wasn’t the only one having such thoughts. A skinny human elbowed his way through the horde of workers, untied his weighted belt, and leapt from the parapet. He hit the seaweed net and clung to it. He had a sharp shard of stone in his hand and began to saw away furiously at the rope below him.
All at once soldiers were among them, battering prisoners with shields and spear shafts. The human managed to hack through the seaweed rope, and the net began to rise swiftly upward. The human clung to it desperately. Vixa wanted to scream encouragement, but she dared not remove her airshell.
A Dargonesti cast a spear at the escaping man. It missed. Another raised a conch shell to his lips and blew. Bubbles and a bleating call sounded in the sea.
Shrill whistles filled Vixa’s ears. The ocean was immediately alive with dolphins, wheeling and diving. They raced after the escaping human. Fast as they were, they couldn’t catch the rising net. The human rose upward with remarkable speed.
Sunshine filtered down from the world above. Against this backdrop, the m
an and the rising net were black shapes, shrinking rapidly. Suddenly, there was a violent explosion, and the man and the net dissolved in a mass of silver bubbles. In all, four separate eruptions were heard as each bladder exploded.
Slowly, the human came sinking down, enmeshed in the net. The dolphin sentinels circled the body, whining in mournful tones. The net passed Vixa, and she recoiled in shock at what she saw.
The thing that descended five feet in front of her no longer looked human. Blood oozed from his mouth and ears. His entire body was contorted as though in pain, arms and legs twisted and bent, head thrown back, mouth gaping wide. Vixa couldn’t take her eyes from the dreadful sight until the Dargonesti guards cuffed the prisoners and shoved them back to work.
Vixa gripped a block, straining her muscles to help shift it. All the while her mind was working furiously. What had happened to the man? He was almost free. The dolphins were nowhere near him. Had someone used magic? She’d heard mutterings among the slaves about a death that could reach out and strike any air-breather who dared attempt to escape. Up to now, she hadn’t given their talk any credence.
The day’s work went on without pause. All the prisoners were racked by thirst, an ironic agony for people immersed in water. Their hands and feet swelled. Vixa found herself grateful for her Dargonesti robe. It didn’t split or bind after hours underwater. She also discovered that her swollen feet gave her a better grip on the parapet stones.
A sea elf beat a crystal chime to signal the end of the day’s work. Slack and drooping, the workers trooped down to the seabed to join their comrades. About the only thought Vixa’s tired brain could manage was a mild amazement that her shell still had air, though she’d been using it for hours.
The dim grotto was a welcome sight as the Qualinesti walked out of the pool into the air. Armantaro waited for Vixa and offered her his arm, but she refused his aid. He seemed worse off than she.
Food was their first concern. Not only was the labor difficult, but the drag of the water seemed to double the effort necessary for even the simplest tasks. Their appetites were tremendous. The guards collected every airshell, dumped freshly caught fish on the floor, and departed. The elves collapsed on their bedding. Gundabyr set about preparing their fireplace with loose stones.
Garnath crawled out of his hiding place looking rested. “How did it go today?” he asked cheerfully. Gundabyr gave him a murderous look.
“This is no life for a warrior.” Harmanutis sighed wearily. His hands were cracked and bleeding. “I don’t think I could grip a sword even if I possessed one.”
“This is no life for anyone,” Gundabyr growled.
“I hate fish,” Vanthanoris murmured. “Oh, for a roasted squab and a cup of steaming nectar, and maybe some thick, hot soup with plenty of …” His voice trailed off into soft snoring.
Armantaro just sat, silent and trembling. Vixa watched him and worried. He was too old for this mistreatment. His face was so pale, she feared he was ill.
Gundabyr was busy lighting fires around the grotto. His twin fell to cleaning the fish provided by their captors.
“Garnath,” Vixa said, “why would a float explode going up to the surface when no one was near enough to prick it?” She described the escape attempt she’d witnessed and its gruesome result.
“Hmph,” said the dwarf. “Sounds like the Law of Clouds to me.” Vixa gave him a blank look, and he explained. “The Law of Clouds states that air expands as it rises. I’d say that a buoy filled with air at the sea bottom would certainly burst long before it reached the surface. And a man, likewise filled with air at the seafloor, would also-er-explode, unless he exhaled as he rose.”
“But even if he exhaled properly, the bladders would still have burst,” put in Armantaro quietly.
“Nope, nope. Had he opened small holes in the floats, the air might have leaked out quickly enough to avoid bursting yet slowly enough to allow him to reach the surface.”
Vixa regarded him thoughtfully, rubbing her chin with one cracked hand. “But would he have enough breath to reach the surface?” she wondered. “Or would he exhale it all before getting there?”
Her musings were interrupted by an involuntary groan from Armantaro. Vixa dragged over a patch of sailcloth and used it to cover him, though he protested that he was perfectly fine. She pushed his shoulder gently until he lay down, his head resting on her leg.
“We must do something,” the princess stated flatly, smoothing wet hair from the colonel’s lined face. “Either by force or by guile, we’ve got to get out of this place.”
“There is no way out.” Gundabyr interrupted.
“No way at all,” his twin agreed.
“Of course there is,” she insisted. “We simply have to find it.”
Garnath shook his head. “It’s hopeless, lady. Me and Gundabyr’ve been working on the problem for weeks. I tell you, it’s hopeless.”
Angry, Vixa grabbed the nearest small object and threw it. It was a clay jar, which Gundabyr had filled with gnomefire paste. It smashed against the far wall, the sticky paste clinging to the black rock. Dew on the wall ignited the gnomefire.
“Hey!” Vanthanoris cried, scrambling to get out from under the dripping flames. A droplet of gnomefire fell on his pallet, which immediately caught fire. With much cursing and flinging of dirt, Vanthanoris and Harmanutis put out the small blaze.
“You must be careful, lady,” Gundabyr chided. “Once ignited, that stuff is very hard to control!”
Vixa stared at the smoking pallet.
“Gundabyr, can you make more of this stuff?” she asked unexpectedly.
The dwarf blinked his heavy-lidded eyes. I’ve already made half a hundredweight. How much do you need?”
“We need all you can make, my friend. All you can make, and more!”
Coryphene was waiting at the quay for Naxos. It was half an hour beyond the appointed time, and there was still no sign of the shapeshifter. Furious at the insult to his dignity, Coryphene ordered his personal guard to search for the insolent wretch.
“Bind him, if you must, but bring him to the palace at once!” he shouted. His troopers dove headfirst into the water to carry out their master’s order.
Coryphene stalked back to the palace, leaving the bearers of his sedan chair to puff along behind. He was oblivious to the praise called out to him by the common folk. Snarling a dismissal at his bearers, the Protector went through the magical barrier and swept into the palace plaza alone. There, lounging against one of the many green columns, was Naxos.
“You! You have earned my displeasure! How dare you keep me waiting!” stormed the warlord.
Naxos’s face showed nothing. “I, sir? Kept you waiting? I have been waiting here for you for some time.”
“What?”
“I was told to come to you, Excellence. Where else would I go but to the royal residence? I did not suppose you would come to the city quay to meet me.”
This reasonable explanation cooled Coryphene’s rage. He put a hand to his temple. His gills were dry, and his head had begun to ache. Seeing his leader’s discomfort, Naxos went to the nearest pump and filled a shell with water. By the time Coryphene had splashed the water over his head and shoulders, his fury had abated. He savored the touch of the life-giving fluid on his gills. After several moments, he was able to speak in a calmer tone.
“Her Divine Majesty has a task for you and the sea brothers,” he said.
“What’s that, Excellence?”
“You are to go to the coast of Silvanesti and survey the area for us.”
Naxos’s green-blue eyebrows rose. “May I ask why?”
“It is enough that Her Divinity wishes it done. Go at once.”
The shapeshifter bowed with a flourish that bordered on mockery. He whirled and took four long strides away, but stopped and turned back. “Does this perhaps concern the Qualinesti we captured, Excellence?” he inquired.
“You ask too many questions. Our Queen has ordered it. That
is all you need to know.”
“I obey her divine will,” Naxos said smoothly. “I was just wondering-forgive me, Excellence-why the coast of Silvanesti interested Her Majesty, and not the waters off Qualinesti.”
Coryphene smiled. “As we have visitors from Qualinesti, it is not surprising that we don’t need your help in learning more about that land.”
Naxos’s smile was mirthless. “Ah, thank you for enlightening me. I am grateful for any scraps of wisdom Your Excellence deigns to bestow. I go, with all speed.”
The shapeshifter departed. Coryphene found his hands clenched around his sword hilt and dagger pommel. He forced his fingers to relax. Damn Naxos anyway! His insolence was infuriating. Every time they met, there was a battle of words, and Coryphene always found himself somehow coming off the worse.
As he walked into the palace, the Protector consoled himself with the thought that it was only a matter of time before the arrogant shapeshifter’s wit got him in deep trouble. That was something Coryphene would enjoy. Wholeheartedly.
Chapter 10
Fire and Flood
A strange thing happened on Vixa’s fourth day in Nissia Grotto. Morning arrived, what morning there was two hundred fathoms down, and no Dargonesti came to lead the captives to work. Men awoke and wiped their bloodshot eyes, yet no taskmasters broke out of the pool with airshells and brusque commands.
Hours passed, and still no one came.
“I don’t like it,” Harmanutis said. “Something’s amiss.”
“Obviously,” replied Armantaro. “But what?”
Gundabyr and Garnath returned from the depths of the cave, covered in all sorts of colored dust. Garnath announced they had the makings for a full hundredweight of gnomefire, but not enough pots and jars to hold it. Vixa had insisted the paste be divided into dozens and dozens of smaller containers, rather than concentrated in only a few larger ones. The dwarves and elves had scrounged up almost thirty pots. These lined the cave walls now, filled to their brims with sticky yellow goo.
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