Blinking furiously to clear his eyes, Elias struggled to sit up. His vision returned slowly. Once it had, however, he found himself scarcely able to believe the sight which greeted him.
A pair of arms, brawny, red, and scaly, protruded through the cell bars and held Cotora by the neck. The elf clawed at them desperately but from the ineffectiveness of her struggles, she was plainly outmatched. And, as Elias watched, more and more arms slipped through the gaps to grab ahold of the thrashing elf. They seized her wrists, her ankles, and every spare bit of skin or clothing to be found. And though none were as sizeable as the pair that held her neck, most were the same scaly blood-red hue.
Cotora’s face was purpling. Truthfully, it was probably more red than purple, but the continual glow of the whitish-blue white lent her skin an exaggeratedly plum-like color.
“Kuie,” Gilla snarled.
Elias tore his gaze from Cotora and was astonished to find Gilla on her feet. The trow was half-dressed, bruised, and bleeding from a dozen small wounds, but she held herself proudly. And, furthermore, she had recovered Cotora’s knife.
“Gilla, wait!” Elias cried.
It was a lost cause and he knew it. Even the thought of standing exhausted him. And yet, he had to try.
Gilla glanced at him, her expression hard. She said nothing. And then, like an arrow leaping from a bowspring, she turned and drove the knife deep into Cotora’s chest.
For half the span of a heartbeat, Cotora’s sorcerous light went as rigid and motionless as the elf herself. Then, with a noise that was half groan and half deathly sigh, the elf’s body slackened. Gilla stared into her eyes as, one by one, the blood-red hands holding her loosened and retreated back into the cell. The ones holding Cotora’s neck were the last to let go and the corpse fell with the stomach-churning sound of tearing flesh when they finally did.
“Gilla!” Lucasta cried, rushing to her daughter’s side.
Elias jumped in surprise at the suddenness of the matriarch’s appearance. Turning weakly, he nearly jumped again at the sight of nearly a dozen figures crowding into the narrow prison chamber. If his thoughts had been less muddled, it wouldn’t have surprised him. Of course the others would arrive as soon as the elves in the next room were defeated. He’d simply been so fixated on Gilla and Cotora that he’d failed to notice the sounds of battle fading.
“Elias!” Kyra said, hurrying forward to kneel at his side. Rhona followed her, stooping and looking equally alarmed. “Are you hurt? Can you stand?”
“Course he can,” Avans answered for him. Sidling past the pair, he offered a hand which Elias gratefully accepted. The man grunted as he hauled him to his feet.
“I’m okay,” he assured them, cautiously optimistic that he was telling the truth. Every inch of him ached and there was a peculiar weakness to his movements, but the pain caused by Cotora’s sorcery had now faded to something of an afterthought. His thoughts, if nothing else, seemed to be coming at their usual speed. “I need a light.”
He didn’t have to look far. One of the trow carried a lantern from the other room and at Elias’ groping gesture, handed it over. None of the others tried to stop him, though Gilla and Lucasta both looked over in alarm as he stepped forward and raised the lantern high over Cotora’s motionless corpse.
The sea of red was so complete that he might have believed the wall to be painted if not for their eyes. Dozens of them, all the same shade of yellow-gold, stared back at him and the light he held. The cages here were several times wider than the ones containing the elves in the next room but had been crammed just as dense. Each of the triple-wide cells held at least a half-dozen of—what? Something. Elias had never seen their like before.
He got his first clear look as one of the figures stepped forward. Dark, curving horns framed an otherwise slender and surprisingly delicate face. A quick glance confirmed the nude individual was female, though she made no attempt to shield herself from his gaze. If anything, she almost seemed amused by it. Or at least, that was the impression Elias received. The female’s mouth was gagged with metal and a leather bit, so he was forced to rely on her eyes for clues.
“A knife. Please,” Elias said, blindly extending a hand. He couldn’t say why, but something in the female’s gaze made it hard to look away.
It took a few seconds before someone—Avans, he thought—supplied one. Glancing down at the blade, he turned it hilt first and offered it through the bars.
The female accepted it with a grateful nod and began sawing at her gag. It took a moment to slice through the leather. And, as she pulled the saliva-slick bit from her fanged mouth, Elias was surprised by the thickness and elaborateness of the restraint.
“Kekalararan,” the female said, dropping the gag at her feet. She handed the knife to the nearest of her kin, cocked her head expectantly, and lashed her tail slowly from side to side.
Elias hesitated, caught off guard by both the unfamiliar tongue and the sight of the creature’s extra appendage. He glanced around, first at Kyra and Rhona then to Lucasta.
“Does anybody know that tongue?” he asked. “Or, ah, what they are?”
“They’re ambrosians,” Lucasta said. She’d draped a blanket over her kneeling daughter’s back and patted her shoulder before rising to join him. “She said that she is their Speaker.”
“Thank you,” Elias said. “Do you mind translating?”
Lucasta looked at him and Elias was suddenly aware of a strange somberness to the matriarch’s expression. He was about to ask her about it when Lucasta shook her head.
“One moment,” she said, taking his hand. Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes and slipped a hand through the bars and into the ambrosians’ cell. The Speaker eyed Lucasta’s hand for a moment, then reached out with clawed fingers and delicately grasped it. “Speak.”
Elias hesitated, glancing between Lucasta and the ambrosian for some further explanation. But, with her eyes closed, Lucasta did not look intent on providing one. And the ambrosian, judging by the cant of her head, was just as confused.
“Uh, hello?” he said. “I’m Elias.”
The ambrosian stiffened, eyes widening and her tail lashing violently for a second. Then, slowly, her alarm gave way to a wary smile.
“Greetings, Elias,” she said. “I am Speaker Omeri.”
There was a bizarre, half-second delay between the ambrosian’s words and Elias’ comprehension of them, but the accompanying sensation told him everything he needed to know. He glanced at Lucasta, smiling gratefully, but the matriarch’s eyes were still closed.
“Thank you for your help,” he said, nodding to the spot where Cotora lay, nearly at his feet. “You saved our lives, I think.”
“Perhaps,” Omeri said, grinning. “But you pushed the elf close. My family has been here months, saving their words. They have waited patiently for such a chance.”
“They may have the chance for plenty more. We came here to rescue Gilla and—” Elias trailed off as he suddenly recalled Barneis. He glanced at Gilla. The trow continued to kneel on the stone floor, unmoving despite several trow around her. Lucasta’s somber expression was beginning to make a dreadful kind of sense. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to continue. “—and we plan on escaping the city. The elves will probably try and stop us. You and your family are welcome to escape with us.”
Omeri eyed him thoughtfully. Or, at least, so it seemed to him. Having never encountered an ambrosian before, Elias could only guess at the meaning behind her reactions.
“You… will free us?” she asked.
“Of course,” Elias said, nodding slowly. “You wouldn’t be in a cell if you weren’t the elves’ enemies. We have that much in common.”
Omeri grinned wildly. For just an instant, Elias caught a glimpse of manic ferocity in the way her pupils dilated in the lantern light.
“Yes,” she agreed. “We have much in common. But my family will not flee. We wish to kill elves. You wish to escape? G
ood! My family will kill many and while we fight, you and your family may flee, unnoticed.”
“But… they’ll kill you! All of you, probably.”
Omeri shrugged. “My family accepted this long ago. If the elves had not surprised us while we slept….”
“I can’t just let you throw your lives away.”
Omeri stared at him, incredulous, then barked a laugh. “You are a stranger. You are not family. Why should you grieve our deaths?”
“I’d grieve any death, however necessary,” Elias admitted. Pausing, he glanced down at Cotora. “Or deserved.”
Omeri laughed again, gentler this time, and offered a knowing smile. “Many of my family would call that weakness,” she said. “But I do not. So, I will offer a trade—a debt for a debt.”
“Huh?”
“As Speaker, I am responsible for paying my family’s debts. To free us incurs a debt. Since I doubt we will live to repay, I give you my daughter.” Turning slightly, Omeri nodded toward the rear of the cell. “Suli is young. Old enough for war and bedding, but young still. Take her with you now. Later, she will kill many elves before she joins us in the valley of the one god and all ancient mothers.”
Elias nearly wrenched his hand free of Lucasta’s grasp. “T-that’s…” he stammered. “I can’t just—”
Omeri’s eyes narrowed slightly. She opened her mouth to speak, but before her words emerged, the sound of pounding footsteps reached them and they both spun toward the open door.
Elias reached for his sword, only to find the scabbard. Cursing, he scrambled away to retrieve it from where it had fallen. By the time he had, the returning trow panted in the doorway.
“Vevosh,” the trow gasped.
His urgency was enough for Elias to grasp his meaning. Even so, Lucasta opened her eyes and translated.
“Reinforcements are coming,” she warned.
Elias cursed and swallowed his sigh. Turning back to Omeri, he nodded once, purposefully and in a manner that transcended tongues.
“Find a key for the ambrosians’ cells,” he ordered. “They’re going to help us fight.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Elias could hear the elven reinforcements long before he saw them. They spoke in hushed voices which echoed down from the garrison’s long upper chamber. And, standing at the foot of the double-wide stairs, Elias imagined he could just make out the shifting and maneuvering of countless bodies in the way the torchlight waxed and waned. Mouthing a curse, he pulled back and allowed one of the trow to take his place.
“I doubt they’re going to wait all night,” he confided softly as he made his way to Lucasta’s side.
The trow matriarch nodded but did not speak.
“Barneis is dead, isn’t he?” he asked, even more quietly.
This time, Lucasta did reply, though only after glancing over her shoulder to ensure Gilla was safely out of earshot. “Yes,” she said. “Gilla will not say how it happened but I fear the effects. My daughter is… inexperienced with grief.”
Elias shifted slightly to watch Gilla from the corner of his eye. The trow sat on one of the room’s chairs, staring blankly ahead and caressing the edge of a recovered elven blade with her thumb. Despite her lack of expression, Elias knew only too well what she must have been thinking.
“I’ll try to keep an eye on her,” he murmured. “To make sure she doesn’t try anything reckless.”
“Thank you.”
“I don’t suppose you have any more of that gano?”
Lucasta snorted and shook her head. “All gone. Fitting, I suppose. It is almost—”
She fell abruptly silent at the sound of talons clicking against stone. Elias turned then froze in surprise at the sight that greeted him.
Omeri stood at the head of some twenty ambrosians. Most were as naked as she, though a few had retained or scrounged simple linen wraps which they wore about their waists. Oddly, the clothes seemed limited to the three or four individuals whose pebbled hide deviated from the coppery crimson hue of the majority. As distracting as their nudity was, however, their martial readiness was almost more so. Many of the ambrosians stretched limbs and claws like cats readying to pounce.
“Eh’lias,” Omeri called, waving him forward with a claw. It was odd to hear her true, guttural voice after the easy smoothness of Lucasta’s translation.
Elias looked questioningly at Lucasta, who took his hand in hers and guided him forward. Omeri accepted the trow’s other hand without hesitation.
“Is your family ready?” he asked, nodding hurriedly toward the stairs. “The elves are near.”
“They are,” Omeri confirmed matter-of-factly. Tail flitting eagerly, she twisted slightly and nudged a slender, scowling female forward with her elbow. “This is Suli, my daughter. I have explained our intentions—and our debt. She will accompany you.”
Elias studied the younger ambrosian. Even at a glance, the resemblance between the two was obvious. Suli shared her mother’s narrow features and blood-red skin. Where Omeri’s face was warm and solemn, however, Suli’s was hard and edged with indignation. Whether offended by the thought of being delivered into Elias’ hands or simply upset at the notion of being separated from her family, the young female was clearly unhappy. She glared at him for a moment before averting her gaze with a huff that transcended languages.
“She doesn’t look happy about it,” he pointed out.
Omeri chuckled and reached out to stroke her daughter’s hairless brow, directly between the horns. Suli stiffened at the touch but did not pull away.
“She is not,” Omeri admitted. “But she will understand in time. Now, shall we kill the elves for you?”
The change in conversation topics was sudden enough to make Elias pause. Flashing an uncertain grin, he offered a clumsy bow.
“That would be greatly appreciated,” he said.
“Then farewell, Elias. Care for my daughter well.”
Pulling her clawed fingers from Lucasta’s grasp, Omeri turned to her family and hissed. The order was brief and wordless but the ambrosians reacted as quickly as sailors heeding a bosun’s command. They scrambled toward the stairs in a loose formation, claws and fangs at the ready. Their passing drew many eyes, all of which turned to Elias or Lucasta soon after.
“Let’s go,” Elias said, loudly as he dared.
“Atan!” Lucasta echoed.
Kyra, Avans, and Rhona each raced to Elias’ side as he strode toward the stairs in the ambrosians’ wake. All three were armed, though in the case of Kyra and Rhona, the knives they clutched were scarcely longer than the diminutive dagger Lucasta carried. Suli was the last to join them. Although the ambrosian flexed and tensed her bladed fingers, her full attention was on those ahead of her, rather than Elias or his companions.
The ambrosians began their ascent long before the last of the trow had joined them. Surprisingly, in contrast to the ceaseless clicking of their taloned feet against the stone, they climbed the stairs in utter silence. The only sound to mark their movements was the subtle echo of bare feet and the occasional friction of bare skin.
All that ended when the first of their number reached the top. Elias managed all of three stairs before the first of the elves cried out in alarm. And then, before he knew what was happening, an ambrosian voice cried out in a hissing roar and the ground lurched beneath his feet.
A second voice followed the first. And, again, the stairs trembled violently beneath Elias feet. He lost his balance, pitched forward, and managed to catch himself before he fell entirely. All around him, his companions and the trow alike stumbled. Only Suli managed to retain her balance and darted past the rest to mount the stairs three at a time.
“Suli, wait!” Elias called, but the ambrosian ignored him. Cursing, he regained his feet and bounded after her.
He reached the main hall a few seconds after Suli and, much to his relief, the ambrosian had not ventured far. But, even more astonishingly, there was
no need for her to do so.
The garrison’s long, narrow chamber was in shambles. The doors on either side had been knocked from their hinges, the chairs toppled and splintered, and the decorative tapestries ripped from their moorings. Dozens of motionless bodies, all of them elven, littered the floor. The limbs of the fallen were twisted and shattered in a manner not dissimilar from the furniture. And although none of them showed any signs of life, the host of trow strolled purposefully from corpse to corpse, tearing throats with bloodstained talons and claws.
“What in the seven hells?” Elias whispered, horrified and awestruck in equal measure. Suli glanced at him but gave no other sign of acknowledgment.
He got his answer anyway a split second later.
Across the hall, the broad double doors swung open to reveal a second crowd of elven soldiers. To their credit, the foremost figures hesitated for only a split-second. Then, with a vengeful roar, they lowered their spears and charged.
Most of the ambrosians did little more than watch. One, however, stepped forward to meet them. The male was small, perhaps a head shorter than most of the others, but moved with such self-assured poise that Elias could have mistaken him for an elder. Crouching slightly, he spread his claws wide and bellowed.
Elias braced himself but, even so, he was unprepared for the force of the blast. The wind alone left his ears ringing and nearly knocked him from his feet. The tremoring of the floor beneath him might have finished the job had Suli not reached out to steady him with her claw.
The elves were blown away. Those inside hurtled backward, carried through the air until they slammed against the far wall with the sickening crunch of shattered bones. Those outside, on the other hand, fared little better. Many flew over a dozen paces before landing hard on the cobblestones while three unfortunates were hewn nearly in half as one of the iron doors was blasted from its hinges and flung out of sight.
Ambassador (Conqueror of Isles Book 1) Page 18
