Dargonesti lh-3

by Paul Thompson

  In the center, Coryphene called for his reserve corps. A thousand fresh sea elves sprang up from hollows in the sandy bottom. The chilkit line fragmented. Individual chilkit were easily mown down by the more numerous, faster-moving Dargonesti spear fighters. Wherever the chilkit managed to re-form to stand off the Dargonesti, firelancers were brought up. Hundreds of chilkit were consumed by fresh infernos.

  Vixa swooped in and out of the fight, hammering chilkit, saving Dargonesti who were menaced or who had fallen to the enemy. Over the din of battle, she heard her name being called. She stiffened to alertness.

  “Sea brothers, to me!” cried the voice. Vixa found herself turning to obey.

  A larger dolphin blocked her path. “Kios?” A raucous dolphin chuckle told her she was wrong. “Naxos!” she exclaimed.

  The chief of the shapeshifters bobbed his head in the affirmative. “How do you like battle, little dryfoot? Isn’t this better than sucking air from an old whelk shell?”

  “Naxos-don’t you hear the call?”

  “It’s only Coryphene. Ignore him.”

  “I can’t,” she complained. “I am compelled!” It was true. The call acted like a powerful magnet drawing her toward its source.

  Naxos circled her slowly. “It’s a sorcery he uses on the weak-minded. Resist it! You are freeborn.”

  “Sea brothers! To me! I command you!” The pressure became stronger, pulling her away from Naxos.

  “I must go!” she cried. Resistance seemed impossible. He followed, keeping pace with her.

  A thick cloud of dolphins had formed over the center of the battlefield. Amid columns of coiling, bubbling water, Vixa maneuvered to reach Coryphene. The Protector and his personal guard were mounting the dolphins as though they were horses. Coryphene climbed onto a sea brother that Vixa recognized as Kios.

  “They have broken!” Coryphene exulted in the water-tongue. “Now is the time to drive the chilkit back into the dark depths forever!”

  The triumph in his voice and the victorious cries of the other Dargonesti-dolphin and elven alike-filled Vixa’s brain and set her blood tingling. She joined some of the riderless dolphins who were swooping and swirling around their Protector.

  “I am with you!” Vixa chirped.

  Coryphene threw down his shield. A warrior handed him three spears. Coryphene raised them in a bundle over his head. “Death to the enemies of Urione! No quarter! No quarter!” he roared.

  Less than a thousand Dargonesti, mounted on dolphins, rose up from the battlefield and swept down on the retreating chilkit. Vixa and the other riderless dolphins surged ahead, harrying the fragmented enemy. The chilkit armor was thinner on top and vulnerable to spear thrusts. Coryphene killed six chilkit with his first spear before it broke. He grabbed a second weapon.

  “Go on! Go on!” he commanded. “Let none survive!”

  Vixa ploughed onward, turning this way and that, helping the sea brothers chase down any chilkit they saw moving. The ocean became so thick with chilkit blood, she no longer tasted the sea’s salt, only a sickening sweetness.

  The broken wall at the mouth of the Mortas Trench appeared. Vixa rose and shot through the gap. Below, red-shelled creatures were pouring back down the dark slope, seeking escape from the vengeful sea elves.

  Coryphene had no intention of letting them go. He rallied his scattered dolphin riders and ordered the last battalion of firelancers to follow them. Tired but exuberant Dargonesti cheered him and followed in his wake.

  Vixa swam mechanically now. Exhaustion was sapping her will. The dolphins, with and without riders, sped deeper and deeper into the black water. A running fight ensued as individual chilkit turned to make their stand in the murky shadows. Their bravery surprised Vixa, who had grown used to thinking of them as cruel and mindless monsters. They were not. They helped their own wounded comrades, defending them from fresh attacks. But they were too scattered to offer an effective defense. Whenever four or five chilkit banded together, firelancers were called to put them to the torch. Soon the trench floor was lit by a dozen burning gnomefires.

  Vixa left only once, taking in fresh air. Angling back down to the seafloor, she rounded a bend in the trench and saw a red glow that wasn’t gnomefire. Ripples of unpleasantly hot water washed by her. The floor of the trench had split open, and lava was oozing out of the seabed. The red snake of molten rock filled the rift for miles.

  Suddenly, Naxos appeared at her side. “Coryphene means to slaughter them all!” he exclaimed.

  “Why? The battle is won.”

  “He is drunk with destruction. The chilkit are completely broken, yet still he wages war. Sea brothers are put in danger for no reason!”

  “I’ll talk to him,” she said as she shot away from Naxos. She had no idea what she might say, but she had to try.

  In the hot, weird waters of the trench, Vixa swam slowly along a line of Dargonesti foot soldiers. At their head she found the dolphin riders, led by Coryphene.

  “The day is ours, Princess!” he exulted.

  “You have defeated them utterly, Excellence. The battle is over.”

  He shook his head. “None must survive. They will only threaten our children someday.”

  “Talk to them then. Make peace with them. There’s no need for more Dargonesti lives to be lost.”

  “Talk to monsters? You’ve seen them in battle-do they know anything of mercy?” She had no answer.

  Vixa swam away. The last chilkit had their backs to the lava flow. Faced with gnomefire on the one hand and lava on the other, they charged the Dargonesti. Many sea elves died in that last charge, perishing in a battle they’d already won. Coryphene pressed the enemy with firelances. The remaining chilkit withdrew to a low mound. Lava flowed around the base and climbed its sides. Coryphene called his warriors back at last.

  The chilkit stood fast, holding steady in the midst of the lava stream. Gradually, the lava reached them, and covered them. When the last chilkit was engulfed, Coryphene ordered a quick retreat, for the ocean was near to boiling.

  The plain between the Mortas Trench and Urione presented a grisly scene. Thousands of Dargonesti were pouring out of the city now that the chilkit were defeated. They covered the plain, dispatching wounded chilkit with clubs, gaffs, even rocks. Chilkit claws were hacked off as edible trophies, and the bodies thrown on the still-burning gnomefires. Patrolling dolphins kept the sharks at bay while the carnage went on.

  Coryphene was spotted as he returned from the trench. Ten thousand arms raised in salute. Ten thousand Dargonesti voices keened in triumph. The Protector accepted the adulation with a wave of his last spear.

  The moment of victory was spoiled, however, as a single dolphin hurtled into view. Naxos brushed Coryphene with his powerful flukes, knocking the Protector from Kios’s back.

  “Traitor!” Coryphene hissed. “Blasphemer!”

  “Whom have I betrayed? You?”

  “You have betrayed your lawful sovereign by consorting with the drylanders. You have blasphemed our divine queen, and shared our sacred mysteries with a land-dweller. There she is!”

  He pointed to Vixa with his spear. Frightened and embarrassed, she glared at them both.

  Coryphene’s loyal troops drew close around him. Naxos taunted, “Leave your guards, Excellence. Face the sea brothers on your own!”

  Hundreds of Dargonesti warriors shouted insults and threats at the lone shapeshifter. To her consternation, Vixa realized that none of the sea brothers were coming to their chief’s defense. Not even Kios, his second-in-command, had a word to say for Naxos.

  “Face the sea brothers, you say?” Coryphene jeered. “I see only a single traitor who has no brothers.”

  Naxos had been swimming with studied nonchalance several fathoms above Coryphene. In a flash of gray, he dove at the Protector. Coryphene stood ready, spear lying in the crook of his right arm. A dolphin Naxos’s size could shatter the armor of a chilkit. If he rammed Coryphene, there was no way the Protector could survive.
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  Vixa had been so riveted by this interplay, she’d sacrificed vigilance. Several warriors seized her. She struggled, but was too exhausted and too outnumbered to escape.

  Coryphene dropped his spear butt to the top of his right foot and, with one powerful kick, launched the weapon at Naxos. The shapeshifter twisted to avoid the flashing spear, but it caught him on the back, just behind his dorsal fin. Coryphene looked on impassively as Naxos thrashed and rolled, trying to dislodge the spear. Vixa heard the shaft snap. The head remained embedded. In a welter of sand and blood, Naxos sped away, inches off the ocean floor.

  “Let him go,” Coryphene told his guard. “The sharks shall be his healers.”

  The Protector glanced around. Kios and the other sea brothers had scattered. They were gone in the blink of an eye, their chance to support their chief likewise vanished. Coryphene Wallbuilder stood amid the scene of his greatest victory, uncontested master of Urione.

  Chapter 14

  Treachery

  Four Dargonesti warriors towed Vixa back into the city. They heaved her out of the water and onto a quay. No sooner had her flukes left the water than she felt great heat wash over her. Concentrate, she told herself wearily. Visualize yourself as elven.

  Without the water to cool her, the heat of her dolphin form continued to build. She shuddered and closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind of everything except the desire to be elven once more. She felt the strange stretching of her limbs as first arms, then legs returned. Instantly, cold flooded her elven body. Goosebumps rose on flesh that was still fading from dolphin-black to Qualinesti-pale. The quay upon which she lay felt like an ice floe.

  Coryphene emerged from the pool. For the first time Vixa saw the many injuries he’d sustained in battle. Slashes, scratches, and violet bruises covered his bare torso and limbs. He beckoned to a waiting elf who held a long cloak of woven seaweed for the Protector. She was surprised when Coryphene had the cloak draped around her instead of himself. Then he helped her to stand.

  Vixa’s teeth chattered uncontrollably. Her knees buckled, but Coryphene supported her with one arm.

  “I’m ill,” she muttered through blue lips.

  “Your body is not meant to take the shape of a sea brother,” Coryphene said.

  She shrugged free of his arm. “What punishment do you have planned for me?”

  Wiping his wet hair back from his face with one hand, he exhaled gustily. “I am tired, lady. I must bear tidings of our victory to Her Divine Majesty now.” Coryphene stepped away from her. Giving her a brief, unreadable look, he turned away. “I will consider your disposition later.”

  “Will you keep your word, Protector of Urione?” she called to his back. “Will you free the dryland captives?”

  He gave no sign that he heard, but went to where his guard had formed up, in the archway leading into the city. The narrow street beyond was jammed with hysterical Dargonesti, intoxicated by the defeat of their enemy. Coryphene visibly steeled himself, squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath, before plunging into the crowd.

  He marched away with his warriors. Thousands cheered him as he passed.

  The Qualinesti princess pulled the cloak more tightly around her shivering body and made her weary way toward the House of Arms.

  The victory over the chilkit transformed the status of Gundabyr and the Qualinesti. No longer were they despised, for the population of Urione knew how the drylanders had contributed to the defeat of the enemy. Hostility turned to generosity. Armantaro and the dwarf could not show themselves in the street without being inundated with gifts and praise.

  “If I eat any more, I’ll burst!” Gundabyr said. His vest buttons were straining to contain his protruding belly. Edible gifts filled the House of Arms-dried, seasoned fish, exotic sauces and jellies made from seaweed, live shrimp in tanks of water, Dargonesti nectar-on and on the list went. Armantaro divided the spoils among the remaining dryland captives. It was the best eating any of them had done in a long, long time.

  Armantaro was staring into space, preoccupied with his own thoughts, so Gundabyr repeated his complaint.

  “Then stop eating so much,” the colonel snapped. He’d eaten very little himself. The fiery sensation in his chest had killed his appetite. He spent his time worrying about his absent princess.

  “What in the name of the Abyss has happened to her?” Armantaro demanded. It had been two days since they’d last seen Vixa. She had returned to the House of Arms after the final battle, wan, worn, and barely able to stand. After sleeping all that night and half the next day, Vixa had departed, refusing to tell even Armantaro where she was bound.

  Any news the colonel and the dwarf had of the great battle, they’d gleaned from passing soldiers. Vixa had told them nothing. They knew she’d fought as a dolphin. They also knew that Naxos, the chief of the sea brothers, had crossed Coryphene and had been killed for his disloyalty.

  “Maybe she’s with Coryphene,” suggested Gundabyr.

  Armantaro stood up suddenly. “If he harms her …” the colonel rasped darkly.

  “Why should he? She helped win the war, too.”

  “If he trifles with her, he’ll wish the chilkit had taken him!” The vehemence of this statement surprised Gundabyr. He hadn’t realized the depth of fatherly feeling the old Qualinesti colonel had for his young commander.

  “If she can fight off red-shelled monsters, she can probably handle one blueskin,” Gundabyr said dryly “She did pretty well as a dolphin.”

  Armantaro frowned. That aspect of the situation did not please him either. The colonel felt Naxos had manipulated her into becoming a shapeshifter. The more he thought about it, the angrier it made him. He stalked away from the dwarf.

  “Where are you going?” Gundabyr called.

  “To find Princess Vixa.”

  Gundabyr, opening a fresh pot of caviar, sighed. “You know how the blueskins are these days. You’ll be mobbed by adoring Quoowahb before you get five paces out the door.”

  This was only too true. Armantaro rummaged through the gifts of clothing piled in the center of the great room. Among these was a fine sharkskin cape covered in silver scales. He whipped this around his neck and pulled the hood up.

  “I’ll pass for one of them,” he said confidently. “They’ll leave me alone.”

  “Oh, yes, a short albino Quoowahb-that’s you all right. You’re a stubborn cuss, you know that? Here the Dargonesti are finally beginning to make up for their treatment of us, and you want to go and antagonize their leader, a fellow with a temper the size of the whole southern sea. Don’t you remember Nissia, Colonel? Do you want to end up a prisoner again?”

  “As far as I can tell, I still am a prisoner. Better fed and warmer, maybe, but a prisoner nonetheless.”

  Armantaro swept from the room. No Dargonesti stood guard, so no one challenged him.

  The victory celebrations had finally died down, and the streets were nearly deserted. Armantaro kept the hood close around his face. The House of Arms was some twenty levels below the palace. Climbing the wide ramp upward took most of Armantaro’s strength. More than once he had to sit down and gasp for breath. On the floor just below the palace, he left the central way. No sense barging right in-Coryphene’s magical barrier would warn him if anyone entered the palace by that means.

  This level housed the armory, the barracks of the Protector’s guards, storehouses of food and drink for the royal residence, and the Dargonesti treasury. Armantaro avoided the well-guarded barracks and treasury, skulking instead beside the silent warehouses. There ought to be a back stair around here somewhere.

  Sure enough, down an alley between a row of stone storage huts, Armantaro found steps leading up. From the wear on them, he guessed servants had been using them for many, many years. Cautiously, he climbed into the darkness.

  He could smell cooking-most unusual, since the Dargonesti ate their food raw or dried.

  The steps led up through a large slot cut in the thick granite flo
or. Armantaro had entered the palace larder. The only light came from an open doorway. A rattle of pottery and a few distant words came through the opening as well. He crept forward, peering through the doorway.

  Two Dargonesti were dipping dirty plates in a kettle of water to clean them. Both were grimacing ferociously.

  “What a stink!” said one of the sea elves. “What is the Protector doing out there?”

  The other glared at the dishes, saying tartly, “Does His Excellence tell me his business? What an awful smell!”

  Armantaro got to his hands and knees and crawled behind a long table laden with kitchen implements. The servants had their backs to him and never heard him pass. In the pantry beyond the kitchen, the colonel got shakily to his feet. Curtains wavered in the doorway. He peeked through, saw an empty corridor, and started down it.

  When he drew near the far end, he saw to his right the audience hall used by Queen Uriona. Vixa had described in detail her meeting with the queen there, and he had no trouble recognizing the place. To his left was a smaller chamber, set up as a dining room. Coryphene stood by a waist-high brazier, atop which blazed a stone crucible filled with hissing gnomefire. Thin smoke rose from the fire. Coryphene laid a bit of white meat atop the crucible. A few paces from the brazier was a single small table, and seated at it was the queen herself.

  Armantaro halted, momentarily taken aback. This was his first sight of Queen Uriona, and he had to admit the princess’s quick description of her had not done her justice. Her complexion was dark blue, her eyes large and lustrous violet, like twin amethysts. She had silver hair of a metallic sheen he’d never seen before. It was pulled back from her face in gentle waves, leaving her upswept ears free. Seated as she was, the thick braid of her hair-twined through with strands of shells and pearls-brushed the floor. Her cheekbones were high and prominent, her nose narrow and tilted slightly upward at the end. She appeared to be somewhere in her second century and certainly looked the part of a goddess. Her words, which came to Armantaro’s acute ears, were frighteningly at variance with her elegant beauty.