“-your cleansing of the chilkit vermin,” she was saying. “We could not afford to let a single beast live. They would certainly have returned to harass us someday.”
“It is possible that some still live on some far-off abyssal plain,” Coryphene reminded her.
She waved a slender hand. “They will not bother us again. As I look into the future, I see no chilkit to impede us.” Uriona lifted to her lips an exquisitely fashioned goblet of shell and silver inlay. “Put more on the fire, Coryphene,” she commanded.
The Protector dropped another bit of white meat on the gnomefire. “It smells terrible, Divine Queen,” he said, his face stony with disgust.
“If I am to rule on land, I must become accustomed to eating food burned by fire. Bring me more of the chilkit.”
With Armantaro’s own dagger, Coryphene speared a chunk of some slain chilkit-and transferred it to a scallop-shell plate. The meat was seared on the ends, but the middle was still pink. Though it smelled remarkably like crab, Armantaro felt his stomach twisting with nausea. A warrior did not eat his enemies-even if his enemy was a chilkit. It was nothing short of cannibalism.
Coryphene presented the dish to Uriona like a priest making an offering. She picked apart the meat with her long nails. Wordlessly, she ate a tiny tidbit.
“Divinity?”
“Yes?”
“Is it-is it necessary that the drylander girl be slain?”
The words speared Armantaro through the heart. He held his breath as Coryphene continued. “She has become one of the sea brothers. Now that Naxos is dead, Kios has given me his fealty. In time I believe Vixa Ambrodel will become your loyal servant, like the others.”
Uriona smiled. She really was remarkably beautiful. Yet the light that shone behind her startling eyes was not the light of wisdom, courage, or love. Armantaro saw only madness there.
“You admire her, don’t you?” she murmured. Coryphene’s blue coloring deepened. “Do you want her for your own?”
“Your Majesty knows I love only you! There is no other for me!” he said loudly. He returned to the sputtering fire. After a moment, he said more calmly, “Naxos was an insolent, traitorous wretch. I felt no pity at his death. The old dryland elf can die as well, but I feel it is unjust to slay the Qualinesti princess and the dwarf. It is because of them that we have our victory.”
Uriona’s customarily serene expression dissolved into a flash of anger. She stood abruptly and swept the table clean of implements. “Fool!” she cried. “Your victory is due to me, the divine queen of the sea! How dare you share my honor with mortal drylanders!”
Instantly, Coryphene went down on one knee, begging forgiveness, but Uriona turned away and stalked to the far end of the room, keeping her back to Coryphene. Armantaro ached to have his dagger in hand.
The Protector rose and went around the table. He stopped only a few feet from the angry queen.
“No one has served you better than I,” he said, his voice tight and low. “From the day I saw you in your father’s court in Watermere, I have loved you. Because of this love I have performed many difficult tasks for you-some shameful, some a stain on my warrior’s honor. You owe me a boon, Uriona.” He closed in, taking her by the shoulders. “Give me these two lives!”
“Release me!” she hissed, shocked at this liberty. Yet, he did not obey. She lifted one hand, palm facing the warlord. A surge of power shot out. Even from his hiding place, Armantaro felt it. It was like standing too near the open door of a dwarven blast furnace. Naked heat seared his body. He trembled. The Qualinesti colonel was amazed that Coryphene could withstand the queen’s magic at such close range.
“Strike me dead, if you choose,” the Protector said flatly, “but I will not be dissuaded.”
The need to cough finally became too much for Armantaro. Coughing exploded from his mouth. He reeled away, blundering against the wall. He’d gone only a few paces back toward the kitchen when strong hands seized him from behind.
“So! You dare spy on Her Divine Majesty?”
Coryphene dragged the weakened Armantaro into the room and hurled him to the floor. The Qualinesti couldn’t control his coughing, and blood from his spittle stained the white marble. Once the spasm had ended, Armantaro pushed himself up on his hands and knees.
“You see, Coryphene!” Uriona said triumphantly. “The drylanders invade my sacred precinct! And these are the people you would spare. We will never be safe from such as he.”
“Foolish drylander,” snarled Coryphene. The warlord hauled the old colonel to his feet, gripping him by the neck of the sharkskin cape. His words were as icy as the deep ocean. “Had you stayed in your place, I might have saved your princess. By your treachery you have condemned her to death as well.”
“Your designs cannot succeed,” Armantaro said hoarsely.
Coryphene drew the dagger from his waist. “No mortal hand can stop us. My queen rules all destiny. You brought the instrument of your own death with you. I give it back to you now.”
There was steel yet in the old colonel’s limbs. He’d hung limp in Coryphene’s grasp. Now he grabbed the dagger hilt in both hands, surprising the warlord and wrestling the weapon from him. The Protector’s reaction was that of a seasoned fighter: he threw himself back, out of Armantaro’s reach.
Without pause, the colonel thrust the knife at the unprotected queen. Uriona put out her hand-not to ward off his blow, but to deliver one of her own.
A blast of heat hit Armantaro in the chest. He was lifted off his feet and flung backward. The dagger hilt was still in his hand, but the blade was gone. Spatters of molten iron on the floor testified to the force of Uriona’s power.
“Finish him,” she said disdainfully. Coryphene took Armantaro by the throat and lifted him. His powerful webbed fingers closed around the Qualinesti’s neck. Blood thundered in Armantaro’s head, and a red haze closed in around him.
A servant ran in and prostrated himself on the floor, careful not to look upon the divine face of his queen. “Gracious goddess!” he cried. “Lord Kios of the sea brothers begs for an immediate audience with Lord Protector Coryphene!”
His fury distracted, Coryphene released his death grip on Armantaro. The colonel dropped to the floor, racked with gasping coughs. Coryphene took two deep breaths. His gills flared out and relaxed again behind his ears.
“It is not fitting for you to see death, Divine One,” he said to Uriona. “I will take the drylander out and dispose of him.”
He gestured to the servant, who dragged the helpless Armantaro into the audience hall. Coryphene strode out after them.
“I have not given you leave to go,” Uriona said sharply.
He turned. “I did not ask it. I will hear Kios and dispose of the drylander. Then I shall return, Majesty.”
He walked out, proud and fierce. Alone in the chamber, Uriona smiled. It had taken a long time, but she had finally provoked Coryphene into asserting himself. If he was to be her consort, as she fervently wished, he’d better learn to speak up and stop playing the toady.
Vixa swam slowly along the bottom, probing the gloom around her. The Mortas Trench was hardly an inviting place at the best of times. In the aftermath of the climactic battle, it was hellish. Moray eels, sharks, and other carnivores prowled the dark recesses, feeding on dead chilkit drifting in the current. Strange how they lost their vivid crimson color after death. The chilkit bodies had turned pure white.
For two days Vixa had searched for Naxos in the unfamiliar environs around Urione. She had been encouraged by not finding his body, but her hope was giving way to despair. There were no clues at all. The gardens of kelp and coral were empty. No trace of the sea brothers’ former chief could be found near the shrimp pens, the quarry, or the shell heaps where the Dargonesti discarded all the shellfish debris from the city. That left only one other place to search: Mortas.
Vixa had learned that as a dolphin her hearing was her greatest strength. Swimming slowly along the floor of the t
rench, she heard a constant background of noises, but nothing that sounded like the wounded Naxos.
She called to him. There was no response. She called more loudly. The only answer was the susurration of water lapping against the excavations made by the chilkit.
She cruised over to a large opening in the mountainside. This must be the tunnel the chilkit had made to enter Nissia Grotto. Cautiously, she swam inside the black pit. Small creatures scurried away as she approached. The sea was already claiming the tunnel for its own.
Ripples above her indicated a surface to the water. Her beak broke into air. She found herself in a small air pocket, perhaps ten paces wide. It was very cold in here. Mist jetted from Vixa’s open mouth. She swam quietly in a circle, surveying the walls of the cave. By the marks on the stone she could tell that this area had been carved out by the chilkit.
Suddenly, Vixa saw something protruding between the rocks. She moved closer. It was a foot. She reared up and nudged the foot with her beak. To her shock, it moved.
“Who’s there?” asked a weak voice, speaking Elvish.
She squeaked in response. A pale face appeared among the dark rocks. Naxos!
“Vixa Ambrodel, how nice to see you,” he said as casually as though they were meeting on the street.
She called up her human form. Though she’d transformed several times now, the sensation still astonished her. Her limbs stretched and the world changed. The dense muscularity of the dolphin was replaced by the tall litheness of the elf maiden. Soon she was treading water, her teeth chattering with the chill. She levered herself onto the narrow shelf of rock.
“Forgive me if I don’t rise,” Naxos whispered, gesturing to his injury. Coryphene’s spear had taken him in the hip. The wound was clean, but large.
“Praise Astra! You’re alive!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been looking for you for days!”
“Looking for me?” His face twisted. “For Coryphene, I suppose.”
Her eyes flashed. “You say such a thing! Coryphene thinks you’re dead, you stupid blueskin!”
He smiled wanly. “I beg your pardon, Princess. Pain and hunger have taken away all my charm, I fear.”
He lay in a depression in the rock, with nothing to soothe his wound or make his berth comfortable. Vixa couldn’t believe he still lived after lying in this damp, cold place for three days. She knelt beside him.
“So Coryphene thinks me dead? Let us hope that mistake will prove fatal for him,” Naxos said softly. He winced as he shifted position.
“Kios has pledged his loyalty and that of the sea brothers to Coryphene and Uriona.”
“Ah, brotherhood,” Naxos sighed, but his heart wasn’t in the sarcasm.
Vixa said, more cheerfully, “Now that I’ve found you, we can all escape. You and I can carry Armantaro and Gundabyr to land.”
He gestured to his hip. “I’m not going anywhere like this. The muscle’s damaged, and if I start bleeding in the water, the sharks will finish what our Protector started.”
They looked at each other silently, pondering their predicament. Water dripped from overhead. “I’ll bring you food and find some medicine,” Vixa said firmly. “We’ll heal your wound, then we’ll escape.”
“No.”
“What?”
“Coryphene will notice your comings and goings. If he suspects I still live, he and that witch-queen of his will smell me out with their magic.”
Naxos sat up, aggravating his injury and causing him to give vent to a howl of pain and anger. His breath hissed between his teeth, and he went on more calmly, “Listen, Princess. Do you know the precinct of the temples, in the city?” She nodded. “In the temple of Zura you will find a cistern fed by fresh water pouring from the mouth of the god’s image. You must go there, fill an amphora with the water, and bring it back here to me.”
“Why? Will it heal you?”
“Yes.… Yes, it will.” There was a slight hesitancy to his words.
“And what else?” she asked suspiciously.
“Nothing that matters. Bring me the water, but be certain to seal the amphora before you swim out here. Don’t let the water of Zura mix with seawater.”
Vixa slid back into the pool and resumed dolphin form. She caught some small fish and brought them back for Naxos. The ravenous Dargonesti ate them with gusto. At his instruction, she brought him several long strands of kelp. These he made into a thick pad, pressing it to his wound.
“Bring back the water of Zura, Princess, and we will escape the same day!” he adjured her.
She bobbed her dolphin head vigorously in reply and sank beneath the water.
Chapter 15
Water of Zura
As the days went by, the thirty or so slaves who’d survived the flooding of Nissia Grotto began to drift out of the House of Arms. Singly and in pairs, as boredom overcame their fear of the Dargonesti, they wandered out of the citadel and into the city.
What Gundabyr found strange was that he never saw any of them on his jaunts through the streets, and none of the former slaves ever returned to the House of Arms. Six days after the battle, only a handful of men remained in the headquarters of the Urionan army. These were drylanders too sick or too injured to be up and about.
Three days earlier Armantaro had stormed off to locate Vixa, and he’d not returned either. A messenger had come from the palace bringing word to Gundabyr that the colonel was remaining there, to be with his princess and because his cough needed treatment. Still, the dwarf felt a bit like the kender cavalry commander in the famous story. “Charge the foe!” cried the kender commander, and five hundred kender on ponies charged-back the way they’d come. The commander, oblivious to this fact, rode on to meet the enemy alone.
Gundabyr resolved to seek out Armantaro and Vixa. Anything had to be better than sitting on his rump in this citadel day after day with nothing to do and no one to do it with. He needed something to occupy his mind, other than sad thoughts of Garnath.
There was no disguising his squat dwarven frame in a city of seven-foot-tall people, so he didn’t try. The majority of the sea elves had finally moved on to other diversions, and the crowds that followed him now consisted mainly of children. Ten or twelve young sea elves, some of them as tall as adult Qualinesti, tried to tag along behind him as he mounted the central ramp. Their attentions were innocent, but Gundabyr had grown tired of being stared at. He whirled around and shouted, “Go home!” The startled children fled. Gundabyr stumped onward.
When he reached the top of the ramp, he was surprised to discover the magic barrier that usually concealed its entrance was no more. Beyond the ramp, he could see the green of the palace glimmering. There were no guards in sight. He entered the palace plaza and received another surprise.
The great courtyard was clogged with equipment: stands of spears by the thousands, sacks of provisions, armor, helmets, and most astonishing of all, enormous piles of cylindrical clay pots, just like the ones he’d designed to hold the gnomefire for the firelances. The Dargonesti were obviously stockpiling fresh supplies, but why? The chilkit menace was gone.
He could hear Dargonesti moving about in other parts of the plaza, but the heaps of goods screened his view. The dwarf made his way along an aisle that snaked through the military equipment. He soon came to a clearing in which stood a table. Kelp paper was strewn on the tabletop. He scanned the first document that came to hand. It was a map. Gundabyr couldn’t read the angular Dargonesti printing, but by the shape of the river delta and coastline, he guessed this was a chart of southern Silvanesti.
“You there! Drylander! Do not move!”
Gundabyr hadn’t been addressed in that tone for quite some time. A quartet of Dargonesti soldiers approached rapidly. Their leader snatched the map from the dwarf’s hand and shoved him backward.
“Remove this drylander from the royal residence,” said the officer in a nasty tone.
When the three Dargonesti soldiers advanced, Gundabyr clenched a fist the size of a nail keg and
punched the Dargonesti officer in the stomach. The lightly built sea elf went over backward, air whooshing out of his mouth. He collided with his squad. All four went down like ninepins.
The sprawling Dargonesti made a most diverting sight, but the sound of marching feet told Gundabyr that reinforcements were coming. This was no place for a lone forgemaster! He grabbed the map of the Silvanesti coast, shoved it under his vest, then ran. The fact that they hadn’t wanted him to see the map told him it must be important.
The masses of arms and supplies had turned the formerly open plaza into a maze. Gundabyr went down one winding aisle after another, but he kept running into Dargonesti. He decided to make his own path. Kicking over a stand of spears, he bulled through the rows of equipment. Shouts echoed through the plaza. Someone cast a spear at him. It missed, clattering harmlessly against the hard floor. Gundabyr put his head down and stormed through a wall of shields. His stumpy legs got caught, and he tripped. The shields toppled over, covering him.
He lay still. The Dargonesti were searching nearby. When he heard their footfalls recede, he crawled slowly out from under the shields. He got about five yards before the way was blocked by a large bundle lying on the floor. The dwarf shoved, but the bundle was heavy. As he pushed against it, his hands felt its contents. It felt almost like-
Casting quick glances left and right, Gundabyr worked at the lacing on the brown seaweed covering. Sure enough, a knobby human hand poked out of the hole he made. Why was a dead human lying in the palace plaza?
He realized there were a number of bundles here, pretty much identical. Cold anger seized his heart. No wonder the slaves had never returned to the House of Arms. Coryphene had had them murdered!
A heavy stone had been placed in each makeshift shroud. The dwarf raged silently against Coryphene. After the drylanders had been instrumental in the defeat of the chilkit, the Protector couldn’t simply execute the prisoners. That might disrupt the victory atmosphere. No, he had let the slaves think they were going to be freed, then secretly had them killed! Reorx take his eyes, he had given his word!
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