by Dragon Lance
Vanthanoris and Harmanutis gave a shout and started after the fleeing foe. Armantaro called them back. The old colonel and Esquelamar were kneeling by the dead sailor.
“Sir! The enemy escapes!” Vanthanoris exclaimed. The bandage on his forehead had slipped, and blood trickled down his face.
“Stand your ground, soldier!” snapped Armantaro. “Will you charge blindly into a dark cave, like some wild kender? Retrieve your weapon and stand guard at the mouths of those caves, both of you.”
Vixa went over to the spot where one of the strange creatures had been wounded by Vanthanoris. Drops of greenish liquid were soaking into the sand. She touched the colored spots and raised her fingers to her nose. It was blood – of a completely alien shade, but blood nonetheless. She showed the others the odd bloodstains, saying, “I know of no race on Krynn with green blood in their veins.”
“Do we go after them?” the colonel asked her.
“Yes,” was her grim reply. “I want them alive, to question.”
She led them to the mouth of one of the caves, guarded by Vanthanoris, who was cleaning green stains from his sword with his kerchief. The opening had an arch to it and looked to be made of some smooth stone. Esquelamar scratched the rock. “Limestone,” he reported.
“Two of our marauders went in here,” Vixa said. “We’ll go after them. Captain, you and your lads should stay and guard the entrance.”
“Nay, lady,” Esquelamar contradicted. “It’s my comrade who lies dead. I want a hand in catching his killers.” The captain ordered his two sailors to remain on guard, then the elves entered the cave. The sudden change from bright sunlight to damp darkness left them all temporarily blind. They paused inside, allowing their eyes to become accustomed to the gloom. The sound of their footfalls echoed in the tunnel.
The floor tilted downward. Harmanutis and Vanthanoris lost their footing, slid down the slippery slope, and fetched up in a heap at its bottom. They called warnings to their companions, but too late. Vixa, Armantaro, and Esquelamar joined the pile.
“Your pardon, lady,” Armantaro said, untangling himself from Vixa’s long legs.
“Think nothing of it.” Vixa stifled a chuckle at his unfailing politeness, then grunted as something dug into her ribs. “Mind that elbow, Captain.”
“Beg – oof – your pardon, lady,” Esquelamar puffed. They managed to separate and get to their feet, all except Vanthanoris. He remained crouched on the floor, feeling with his long, sensitive fingers.
“What is it, Van?” asked the princess, straightening her clothing.
“The floor is ridged,” he replied, curiosity in his voice. “The gap between the ridges is filled with something soft.” Vanthanoris drew his dagger. “I’ll nip out a piece, and we can examine it.”
As soon as his dagger penetrated the soft layer in the floor, the island convulsed. The floor rose up under their feet, then dropped away, knocking them all down.
“Earthquake!” yelled Harmanutis.
It was no ordinary earthquake. A great inrush of air howled through the cave, tearing at their clothes and ripping the burnoose from Vixa’s head. Sand, sucked in from outside, stung their skin. Then the rush of air reversed direction, bellowing out as hard as it had previously roared in. Thick steam came with the outward flow, soaking them to the skin.
“We must get out!” Esquelamar cried.
Vanthanoris and Harmanutis cupped their hands, and Esquelamar placed his feet in them. The soldiers boosted him to the top of the slope.
“Gods preserve us!” Esquelamar shouted over the screeching wind. “The cave is closing!”
He offered his hands to Harmanutis. After the two of them pulled the rest of the party up, they all ran in a body for the shrinking exit.
Indeed, the walls of the cave mouth were closing together. The faint light that penetrated the cave was fading fast. Creases appeared in the floor, and the whole tunnel seemed to be folding in on itself like a concertina. Air shrieked inward once more, blowing Vixa and Vanthanoris off their feet and back into the others. When they regained their footing, they saw that the opening was sealed tight. They were trapped.
Before they could take in what had happened, the floor dropped out from under them once more. A mighty rushing sound filled their ears, as though the entire ocean roared around them. Vixa shouted for her comrades. If they replied, she couldn’t be sure, but a hand reached out from the darkness and clasped her own. She would know those knobby fingers anywhere. Armantaro.
The floor continued to rise and shake, throwing them about like pebbles tumbling in a gourd. In spite of the thundering sound of water, no torrent breached the cave.
The walls of the cave had begun to glow a dark red.
“Armantaro,” Vixa gasped, “what is happening?”
“The fires of the deep underground,” he replied, drawing her closer. “Don’t look, Your Highness. Turn away.”
She could not resist a glance. By the ruddy light, she saw the warriors and Esquelamar huddled on the floor. The walls and the ceiling of the cave seemed to be shifting. Was the cave collapsing?
With loud wheezes and gulps, they fought for breath. Sweat broke out on their faces. The temperature was rising.
They would be crushed, if the heat and pressure didn’t kill them first. Clumsily, her chest heaving, Vixa drew her sword. It had been presented to her on her last birthday by her mother. Ten ingots of dwarven iron forged by the finest smith in Qualinost into a single blade. The hilt was finely wrought with leaves and twining branches, forming a lattice handguard set with a large topaz.
Vixa was determined that if this was her time to die, then Astra and E’li, the highest gods of her people, would find her with sword in hand when they came to collect her soul. She would face death as befitted the granddaughter of Kith-Kanan, as befitted the daughter of her mother.
The air, compressed by the closing walls, battered the companions into oblivion. Esquelamar and Harmanutis lost consciousness first, and Armantaro felt himself joining them. Vixa tried to reach out to the colonel, but before she could do more than contemplate the action, her sword dropped from her nerveless hand. Van had likewise drawn steel. But finally, even the stalwart Vanthanoris, skilled hunter and warrior, could fight for breath no longer. His sword fell from fingers suddenly gone numb, and he knew no more.
Chapter 4
THE DEADLY DEPTHS
Vixa was very surprised to open her eyes and find herself alive.
Her head pounded as if all the smiths of Thorbardin were busy inside, and with a groan, she sat up. Captain Esquelamar and the warriors remained unconscious, scattered around the shrunken cavern. The walls still glowed a dull red. Vixa massaged her aching temples.
Armantaro stirred. He sat up slowly, clutching his head. A smear of blood stained his upper lip.
“Ahhh,” he moaned. “My head feels as if I drank a barrel of nectar.” He winced, and added, “Very bad nectar.”
“Your nose bleeds, Colonel.”
He dabbed at it, and they spoke in whispers because the throbbing in their heads wouldn’t allow anything louder. This strained quiet was suddenly shattered by a skull-piercing roar. Captain Esquelamar had fought his way to consciousness with a great bellow.
“For mercy’s sake, Captain!” Vixa hissed. “Be quiet!”
“Astra have mercy, I’m dying!” he roared, heedless of her entreaties. He thumped his head with the heel of one hand. The captain cried, “I’d give my right arm for a beaker of nectar!”
Armantaro muttered, “I’d give mine if you’d lower your voice.”
Esquelamar stood, reeled about, and blundered against the glowing wall. Vixa expected him to cry out, but he did not.
Armantaro asked softly, “Captain! Are you not burned?”
“Burned?” The captain lifted one eyelid and took in his surroundings. Frowning, he stepped back from the wall and said, “Nay, nay.’Tis no warmer than a maiden’s cheek.”
Vixa regained her feet slowly, wa
ited a moment while her knees trembled, then walked carefully to the wall. She placed one hand against it. Esquelamar was right. It was only mildly warm, but yielded to her touch, like living flesh.
Harmanutis and Vanthanoris awoke at nearly the same instant. The corporal croaked for water, but they had none to give him. The small store of food and water they’d brought with them had been swept away in the tumult of the earthquake.
To take her mind off her own thirst, Vixa studied their prison. She dropped to one knee and scraped away debris. Soon, she had exposed more of the odd ridges they’d seen deeper in the cave. Between the ridges was the softer material Vanthanoris had described. Like the walls, it was spongy and gave easily to her touch. Suddenly, the myriad thoughts chasing around her aching head coalesced into a single idea – an idea so startling, she gasped aloud.
“Your Highness?” Vanthanoris had come to see what she scrutinized so carefully on the floor. He dropped to one knee beside her.
“This is not a cave!” Vixa exclaimed.
Vanthanoris and the others regarded her blankly. “What, lady?” whispered Armantaro.
“This is not a cave,” she repeated slowly and carefully. “I believe – I believe we are inside a living creature!”
All their faces registered puzzlement. The colonel frowned, trying to marshal his scattered wits. “What?” he demanded in a low voice.
Vixa looked at each of them in turn. “This island is no island,” she stated, forcing her voice to remain calm. “It is some sort of creature.”
“Your Highness has injured her head,” Harmanutis blurted.
“Mind your tongue, Corporal,” Armantaro said absently. “Lady Vixa, how do you know this?”
“Captain,” she replied, “the other night, when we saw the fish fleeing on the surface – had you ever seen such behavior before, in all your years at sea?”
“No, lady. Never.”
“And the soundings that changed, deep then shallow then deep again – ever experienced that before?”
“No.”
“The sea was stained with mud for miles, right in our path, yes? And Evenstar fetched up on a shoal no one had ever charted.” They still regarded her with skepticism. “Don’t you see? This creature rose from the bottom of the sea. It frightened the fish, and they fled before it. It swam under the ship, and that’s why the bosun got different soundings. When at last it arrived at the surface, we ran into it, thinking it was an island!”
During her recital, doubt had crept into the faces of the other elves. When she finished, worry appeared, as the logic of her words sank in.
“How can it be?” asked Vanthanoris, standing by Vixa. “The monster would be more than a mile wide. How can the gods permit such a creature to exist?”
Armantaro shook his head, dazed. “The gods do as they see fit.”
“This cave,” Vixa continued, “must be inside the creature. The walls are made of flesh. That’s why they’re so soft and warm.”
Vanthanoris’s head snapped around, and he stared at her in horror. “I roused it,” he whispered. “When I dug into the floor with my dagger, I roused it from its slumber!”
Silence reigned for long minutes as each of them digested the implications. They contemplated their surroundings, trying to recognize this place as the inside of a living beast and not a natural rock formation. A cave that was no cave.
“What shall we do?” Harmanutis asked at last. “Will we ever see dry land and sunshine again?”
Vixa straightened her shoulders staunchly. “There must be hope. We don’t seem to have been devoured. In fact, judging from the wind that tore through here just before the beast went under, I’d say we’re in the creature’s nose or spout-hole. The principle danger, as I see it, may occur when the beast next draws breath.”
“We could get out then,” Vanthanoris said, hope dawning in his hazel eyes.
“If it breathes only air, yes. But if it breathes water —” Vixa’s voice trailed off.
Captain Esquelamar ran his hands through his long, sand-colored hair. “I forced the guards to stay on duty,” he said softly. “I left them out there. When this monster submerged, they must have —” Armantaro put a hand on his arm. However, there was no comfort to give. When the sea creature had submerged, certainly the elves left outside on guard must have drowned.
“But the ship is probably all right, Captain,” offered Vixa, as much for her own comfort as for his. After all, she’d left her own soldiers aboard the vessel.
Esquelamar forced a smile, saying, “Aye, lady, she’s a good ship. The best I ever served on.” The smile vanished. He swallowed hard.
“There’s a legend I heard once,” he murmured, “a long time ago, when I was a lad not yet gone to sea. It told of a creature called a kraken, a beast so huge it could drag down a ship entwined in its tentacles. Now and then a ship would be lost in fair weather, or on an easy run to Hylo or Balifor, and the old salts would say, ‘They’re food for the kraken now.’”
This vignette did little to lift their spirits. Armantaro finally stood and declared, “We’ll never get out by sitting here. We should explore farther down the passage. Perhaps there is another way out.”
“Don’t forget, the ones who attacked the captain and killed Theleran must be in here with us,” Vanthanoris reminded them.
“If we meet them, we must offer a truce,” Vixa decided. “It would be folly to fight each other in a situation like this.”
The younger warriors drew swords and made for the slippery slope. The others trailed, picking footholds with care. The air grew moister and warmer as they descended the passage. Out front, Harmanutis murmured, “I don’t fancy this.” His and Vanthanoris’s faces seemed bloodied by the lambent red glow from the walls. “I feel like a worm in a bird’s gullet.”
Vixa followed close on their heels. She found herself growing curious about the kraken – for a kraken it must be – in spite of her fears. “How would you classify this creature, Captain?” she asked. “Among other sea beasts, I mean?”
“Hard to say, lady,” replied Esquelamar, ducking his head under a flap of leathery flesh hanging from the ceiling. “It vented like a whale.”
“That would be fortunate. Whales breathe air as we do. When next this one surfaces to breathe, we could escape.”
“Even if that’s so, we’ve no way of knowing how often it needs to breathe,” Esquelamar said. “It could be hours or – considering this beast’s size – even days.”
The gently sloped passage leveled off and ended at what looked like a pair of doors, each half-round.
They scrutinized the barrier. Vixa poked one of the doors with her fingers. The surface was soft and rubbery. At her touch, the doors parted slightly, and a foul, fishy smell assaulted them.
“Phew! That must lead to the monster’s gut!” Esquelamar gasped.
They certainly didn’t want to investigate that chamber. As there was no other way to go, they turned and retraced their steps, stopping just inside the closed nostril.
“The only way out is the way we came in,” Vixa stated, gesturing at the sealed entrance.
Vanthanoris ran a hand through his silvery hair. “I wonder what happened to those two spearmen? The ones who led us in here.”
“Maybe they fell into the kraken’s stomach,” Harmanutis said flatly. “Good riddance, I say.”
“It’s all very odd,” Armantaro mused. “They didn’t appear to be shipwrecked mariners. Yet, if they were not, then how did they get on the island – er, on the kraken?”
The princess had her mind on more practical matters. “We’ve no way of knowing when this creature will next draw breath,” she announced. “We cannot hope to survive for long without food or water, so we must devise a way to escape. Suggestions?”
The warriors were out of their element. With charging armies, they could cope. With a monstrous sea beast, they were at a loss. A long minute passed, and no one spoke.
“Captain?” Vixa said, turni
ng to that elf. “Any notions?”
The mariner folded his hard, tawny arms and replied, “I can’t tell if we’re moving or not. We might be lolling back on the surface, or lying on the bottom forty fathoms deep. As you said, lady, we have no option but to try to escape. As to the how —” Esquelamar smiled. “Kraken or no, if an animal gets something up its nose, it usually sneezes it out.”
Vixa’s own smile brightened her grimy face. “It does indeed. A splendid idea, Captain.”
They resolved to get as close as possible to the opening through which they’d entered, then jab the kraken with their swords. With luck and the gods’ intercession, the monster would expel them on the surface, or at a depth from which they could swim to the surface.
Armantaro, Harmanutis, and Vanthanoris shed their mail and heavy boots. Esquelamar pulled off his own footwear – beautiful, hand-tooled boots that reached to his knees. Vixa stripped to her smallclothes, which caused the old colonel some embarrassment.
“My lady, this is – this isn’t seemly,” he said haltingly.
“I won’t risk drowning for the sake of modesty, Colonel. My clothes will weigh me down if we must swim,” she pointed out.
The younger soldiers followed her example, stripping to their breechcloths. Armantaro stubbornly refused to remove his shirt and trousers, and the captain retained his emerald green corduroys as well.
“They’re new,” he said simply.
The elves drew their weapons. On Vixa’s signal, they began to jab the leathery walls of their prison. The kraken’s hide was tough. None of their thrusts drew blood or seemed to discommode the creature in the least.
Frustrated, Vixa raised her silver blade and stabbed it into the ceiling. This proved more tender than the walls. A twitching shudder rippled through the tunnel.
“Everyone! Concentrate on the ceiling!” Armantaro ordered.
All four elven blades were driven deeply into the ceiling, over and over. A violent quaking knocked them down. Two swords fell out of the ceiling. The other two – belonging to Vixa and Vanthanoris – hung quivering, embedded in the soft flesh.