"Teynel, come see! It's fantastic!"
They all wanted to go, but Teynel ordered the remaining rebels to stay put. He spit on his hands and began his climb down. The ribbing was coated with some kind of resilient skin, yielding to his grip. It looked oily, but in fact was dry to the touch, and Teynel was able to descend with confidence. Ten feet or so below the tunnel, the glare all but shut out the dark shaft above. Air in the shaft was broiling, yet the walls remained surprisingly cool. Teynel could not see any bottom to the shaft, but he kept going. Garnan was a sound fellow, and wouldn't call him if there wasn't something worth seeing.
He lowered his right foot, but instead of another rib found only air. Teynel held on, waving his foot around, trying to find a place for his toe. Something grabbed his heel.
"Over here. It's me."
With Garnan's aid, Teynel climbed out. There was a platform made of polished tubing at the bottom of the shaft. Teynel's feet began sliding as soon as they touched the slippery ledge.
"Careful," Garnan said. "This stuff's like glass!"
Teynel gripped the rail circling the platform. They were suspended hundreds of feet in the air at the very lowest point of the whole Citadel. The entire structure was above them, and below, clearly visible through the slatted tubing, was the crater floor and lava well.
"By all the gods," Teynel gasped.
A column of molten rock thirty yards wide rose from the funnel-shaped aperture below the Citadel. It was drawn up to a large cluster of nozzles in the center of the Citadel's belly. The stream of red-hot liquid rock thundered into the tubes with a sound like a hundred waterfalls. The heat was intense, and Teynel had to cover his face with his arm just to glance at the flow.
"Look there!" Garnan said, tugging at his arm. Teynel tore his eyes from the awesome spectacle and followed Garnan's pointing hand. Perhaps forty yards away was a massive pylon, jutting down from the main body of the Citadel. A wide platform served by cranes was built on the end of the pylon.
"The airship dock!" Teynel shouted over the roar.
"Yes, and it's not there!"
"Either Sivi's found it, or Predator has left the crater," Teynel said, pushing his comrade to the shaft opening. "Let's go back! We must keep our rendezvous with the others!"
Garnan leaped and caught hold of the ribbed inner lining of the shaft. He pulled himself by his arms alone until he could get his feet on the bottom lip. Teynel watched him climb, then poised himself to repeat Garnan's leap.
The platform quivered beneath him. As the polished surface was almost frictionless, Teynel skidded in a small circle. He grabbed at the rail and realized to his horror that the platform was circling toward the thundering lava stream.
"Garnan! Garnan, hurry!"
The round opening his comrade had entered had become crescent-shaped. This was no mere observation platform-it was part of the huge flowstone works! The shaft was used to convey molten lava to the factory far above!
Teynel leaped. He caught the ribbing with one hand. It wasn't enough. One by one his fingers tore free, and he fell heavily on the bright floor of tubing.
"Teynel!'
Garnan, hanging by his feet and one hand, waved for his kinsman to try again. The inexorable progress of the rotating platform would soon immerse Teynel in molten rock. The Dal rebel threw himself at Garnan's outstretched hand. Their fingers met, but their sweaty palms slipped over each other. Garnan shoved his shoulder down and wrapped his fingers around Teynel's sleeve. For an agonizing second Teynel dangled at the end of his friend's arm. The shaft opening was still waning. Teynel took hold of Gaman's arm with both hands. Face purpling, the young Dal hauled his friend up. Teynel just got his feet through and the opening closed to just a few inches.
"Cousin or no, as of today, you are my brother," Teynel vowed.
"Does this mean I can't marry your sister?" quipped Garnan.
Teynel and Garnan struggled for breath in the relatively cool shaft. When they were able, they climbed to the intersecting tunnel. Kireno, Vellian, and Shamus were not at the end of the tunnel where they'd left them.
They retraced their steps through the tunnel. After calling quietly to their comrades and receiving no answer, Teynel paused to listen.
"Hear that?"
A soft tearing sound was coming from down the corridor.
Garnan nodded. "I hear."
They crept on, senses straining to detect any danger. The tunnel curved to the left and rose. Rounding the curve, Teynel spotted something lying on the floor some yards ahead.
Part of the object was moving. As they slowly closed, Teynel made out a pair of booted feet lying motionless on the floor. The remnant of a dirty Rathi army mantle was draped over the rest.
It was a corpse-one of their men. He couldn't tell which one. Standing on the corpse's back was one of those spotty two-legged creatures. It didn't have a head, but it had a mouth full of crooked, needlelike teeth. It pivoted its jaws down and took another bite of the body.
Garnan saw it too and drew in breath with a sharp hiss. Teynel ran forward and kicked the hideous scavenger with all his might. It squealed and went flying. Ominously, there were answering squeals from the darkness. Lots of them.
"Filthy little monsters," Teynel said. "I wonder how many more of them are out there?"
"I don't care to find out," Garnan replied.
The mysterious death of their comrade and the disappearance of the other two men put haste in their stride. When Garnan and Teynel emerged in a normal-sized, well-lit corridor in the lower palace, they paused again to catch their breath.
"Do you reckon they were captured or eaten?" asked Garnan.
"Neither, I pray. I hope Kireno got impatient and went to meet Liin Sivi at the rendezvous."
The pair moved on.
They were within sight of the convocation chamber steps when the alarm erupted. Teynel knew instantly it meant some part of their team had been found out. He resisted an urge to run. He and Garnan stood to one side as palace guards massed in the hall. Crovax appeared, sword in hand, and demanded a report.
"There's been a disturbance," said one of the guards.
"What a revelation! Speak plainly!" Crovax snapped.
"Some soldiers attacked the workers on Predator-"
Teynel gripped his partner's arm. Sivi! Damn her! He told her not to act on her own!
"Soldiers? What soldiers?" Crovax was pacing and swinging his sword. "Sounds like rebel infiltrators to me, probably trying to liberate their leader."
He swiftly ordered army troops into the Citadel. When the captain of the guard protested the use of regular troops in the palace environs, Crovax raised a flowstone tentacle and strangled the man where he stood.
"Any other objections?" he asked. "Good. You men follow me."
Fifty guards formed ranks and marched away to the stairs and lifts. Teynel and Garnan were about to slip away.
"You there! Where do you think you're going?" Crovax was looking right at them.
Teynel saluted. "Returning to our company, my lord."
"Never mind that. I need you now."
Teynel spread his hands. "I've no sword, my lord, nor has my friend."
Crovax raised an eyebrow slightly. Two spires of flowstone rose from the floor. The formed into identical short swords, complete with cross hilt and moon pommel. Teynel and Garnan stared in amazement.
"Take them, you idiots," Crovax said. When the rebels did, the supporting rod of flowstone detached and retracted into the floor. The swords took on the color and weight of standard steel weapons.
"Come." Crovax swept away, mantle billowing. Teynel and Garnan sheathed their new swords and ran to catch up. One way or another, they would find their comrades, even if it meant joining the troops sent to catch them.
CHAPTER 17
FORSAKEN
He was no stranger to pain. He knew it in many forms, from the bite of a Skyshroud snake to the ragged kiss of a merfolk blade. His had been an active life, and he had endured many injurie
s. There were worse forms of suffering than the physical kind: The vision of a wife in the burned and shattered remains of the home they'd built together. An empty bed where a gentle daughter had slept and died.
He learned to kill his enemies as revenge for these hurts. It didn't help, but he was never troubled by their blood on his hands. What did weigh on his conscience were all the dead friends and allies, people he led to war who died for his cause. Each of their lost lives was one more scar to bear, a burden he knew would grow larger before life was done with him.
Since he was alone, Eladamri let the tears flow down his lined face. He'd always been awake, even through the worst of Greven's torment. At times his mind departed on its own, leaving him unsure of what he was seeing or feeling. He remembered-thought he remembered-Greven il-Vec sitting across the table from him, watching him with something like puzzlement on his evil face. He'd been joined by another, someone
Eladamri hadn't known. His erratic eyes showed him the face of Furah, the Kor tribal chief, but Furah was dead. His daughter was dead too, yet someone was walking around with her face. Was this unholy fortress full of ghosts?
Tears softened the crust of dried blood that glued his right eye shut. He opened both eyes and stretched them wide. Coals glowed feebly in the iron brazier by his feet. Thumbscrews, branding irons, and other horrible instruments lay scattered about. He could smell water in the pot on the table. Licking his parched lips, Eladamri yearned for a sip.
Thinking him unconscious, Greven had tied Eladamri to the chair by the wrists and ankles-a mistake. Eladamri relaxed his hands, folding his fingers inward to make his wrists as small as possible. He worked his left hand backward against the cords. The black rope was made of the same mimetic cable used on Predator and was thus a form of nano-machine like flowstone. When he pulled against it, it shrank tighter around his wrist. He stopped, and the cord ceased shrinking. Eladamri realized Greven's mistake was not so grievous. If he continued to fight the mimetic cord, it would eventually cut his hands off.
He leaned forward and managed to lift the rear legs of the chair off the floor. The chair weighed a good forty-five pounds, but once he got it rocking, it was easy enough to tip it over. It crashed to the floor hard on his left side. The brazier overturned, scattering embers.
How did magic rope like heat? Eladamri scraped a glowing coal closer with his ruined fingers. What did a blister or two matter when your fingers were already broken?
He pressed the cord against the coal. A stab of heat passed through the binding to his wrist. Nothing else happened. So much for burning off the cords. He heaved the heavy chair forward to a pile of now-cold branding irons. He couldn't quite wrestle the heavy irons into his grasp with just his fingertips. Now what?
He could see the pottery pitcher on the table above him. What he wanted most, perhaps even more than his freedom, was a cool drink of water. Since he couldn't get to the pitcher so long as he was tied to the chair, it was a moot point. Eladamri butted his head against the table leg. He did this again and again until his vision dissolved in a haze of red. This couldn't go on.
With the lightest touch, he let his battered head rest against the table leg and sighed. The jug, shaken to the edge of the table, promptly toppled to the floor. It smashed to pieces in a spray of water. None splashed his face.
Not my best day, he decided.
The pitcher was boneware, a hard, glassy pottery suitable for his purpose. He picked a nicely jagged shard and sawed against the cords. For a moment the mimetic strands tightened, then began to fray. His heart leaped when the cord sprang free of his wrists and wriggled on the floor like a headless lizard. A few cuts more, and his right hand was loose, then his feet.
Eladamri tried to stand, but found his abused knees wouldn't let him. He sat on the floor, free but too hurt to walk.
He tied pieces of cord together and used it to bind an iron to his left leg as a splint. Using the table for support, he managed to stand. He grabbed the cup on the table and prepared to down the contents, but when it neared his lips his nose detected an acrid odor. Poison. Meant for him, no doubt, and here he almost did Greven's job for him!
His meager possessions lay strewn on the table. The only thing he took back was the small wooden fetish he'd carved his last night in the forest. He examined it carefully. It was intact, so he hung it around his neck.
Eladamri found another branding iron with a blunt hook on the end to serve as a weapon. He went to the cell door and found it unlocked. That worried him. Why wasn't he locked in? Was this some kind of elaborate trap so Greven could claim Eladamri was killed "trying to escape?"
A muffled mechanical clangor filtered through the stout walls. Some sort of alarm. That's why Greven had gone. He swiftly made the connection to his young warriors and their mission to destroy the airship. Eladamri did not pray, but he fervently wished his comrades success. The odds were long against them.
He hobbled into the corridor. No one in sight. The conical tower's shape meant the passage ran outboard of the cells, which were arranged around the axis of the tower like slices of pie. As he looked both ways down the vacant corridor, his guerrilla instinct gave him an idea. Never overlook a chance to cause maximum trouble for the enemy!
He went to the next door. It was locked, and the mechanism was protected by a nasty looking flowbot whose jagged jaws encircled the lock. Use the wrong key, or try to fiddle with the device, and your hand could be bitten off.
Eladamri rapped softly on the door. He pressed his ear to the panel and heard shuffling of feet inside. There was a low wicket through which the prisoner was given meals.
He opened the sliding gate and whispered, "Hello? Who's in there? I'm a friend!"
Instead of a voice or a face, a fleshy red tentacle appeared and wrapped itself around Eladamri's leg. A burning sensation started where the thing touched him, and its grip tightened and tightened. He was sorry for whatever beast or freak Volrath had imprisoned, but he wasn't about to lose his leg in a show of sympathy. A few well aimed blows of his iron discouraged the creature, and the tentacle was withdrawn.
The next three doors either were closed on empty cells, or else the occupants didn't feel like responding to Eladamri's summons. At the fifth door he distinctly heard a thin voice talking or singing.
Bending low to the wicket he hissed, "Are you human in there?"
"Are you human out there?" was the sarcastic response.
"I'm a Skyshroud elf, a prisoner as you are. I'll let you out."
No answer. He gingerly inserted the iron into the lock mechanism. Sure enough, the flowbot's jaws snapped shut, deeply indenting the hard iron bar. Eladamri leaned all his weight on the trapped tool, and with a crack, broke the lock without dislodging the flowbot protecting it.
The door opened into the corridor. The smell of filth from inside was overwhelming. Something gray stirred within, and for a second Eladamri thought he'd been tricked by another one of Volrath's monsters. The gray shape became a human form-a gaunt, red-haired young woman of modest height, clad in filthy rags.
She blinked at the light. "You are an elf," she said. "I thought my time had come, and Volrath was playing a little game with me."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Takara, daughter of Starke."
He knew the name from Darsett en-Dal. Takara had been part of the early Dal resistance movement. Why was she still alive?
Takara slumped against the door. "Has there been a revolution? Or are you the new chief warder?"
"Neither. I'm escaping, if I can. If you would be free, come along."
Though limping himself, he gave his arm to the stranger. Takara didn't look like she'd been Greven's guest in the interrogation cell. Her skin was unmarked, but she was terribly thin and weak, probably starved for weeks.
She looked down at his makeshift splint and battered hands. "You're not in any shape for this, are you?"
"I'm not alone," he advised. "Some of my people are in the Citadel, but we have to
find them."
Takara lowered her head to his shoulder. "Oh well, this has broken the tedium…"
The alarm bell ceased. It had been part of the background so long, its sudden cessation seemed louder than the noise had been. In its place they heard footfalls echoing along the curving corridor.
Takara lifted her head. "The world's shortest escape," she said, sighing.
Eladamri held a finger to his lips. He pulled the iron splint from his tortured leg. Without the brace, he almost collapsed. Takara held him up, though her frail arms trembled from the effort.
He nodded thanks.
They huddled in the shallow recess of a shut cell door, waiting for the runners to appear. Eladamri caught a glimpse of Rathi boot and breastplate and swung his iron. It whistled by Kireno's nose, missing him by a hair.
"Brother!" the Vec rebel cried. "It's us!"
The momentum of the swing carried Eladamri to the floor. Takara couldn't disentangle herself and fell on top of him. The two were gently separated by Kireno and one of Teynel's many cousins, Shamus.
They propped the elf against the wall.
"Be easy, brother," Kireno said. He took the water bottle from his hip and gave it to Eladamri. He drank greedily until he saw Takara watching him with parted lips. He wiped the mouth of the bottle and offered it to her.
Takara seized the bottle with both hands and raised it high. Water spurted from the corners of her mouth and ran down her chin, cutting white tracks in the gray grime on her face.
Eladamri smiled. "What news of Teynel, Liin Sivi, and the rest?"
"We fear Teynel and cousin Garnan are dead," Shamus put in. "We were trying to find the lower airship dock we'd heard about and got lost in some tunnels deep in the fortress. Teynel and Garnan went ahead to scout, but we were attacked!"
"Greven? Crovax?"
"Creatures, monsters!" Kireno said. "Poor Vellian put his hand in a nest of them. These two-legged ratballs devoured him… we had to run, we had no weapons to fight them with. We were supposed to meet Liin Sivi and her men at the hall where we saw Greven and Crovax, but the bell started ringing and there were guards all over the place-"
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