Paul Thompson - Dargonesti

Vixa frowned. “I am weary of being dragged around by these people,” she stated. “I say we go at our own pace.”

“An excellent suggestion, Niece.”

The Dargonesti advanced, both aiming for Armantaro. They obviously regarded Vixa as no threat. Vixa lashed out with her foot at the soldier nearest her. Hooking her adversary’s knee, she brought him down hard on his back. This distracted the other guard. Armantaro grasped his right fist with his left hand and drove his elbow into the Dargonesti’s side. The blow propelled the sea elf into his fallen comrade, and both ended in a tangle on the floor. With a grim chuckle, Vixa shoved the flailing warriors. They rolled, like a pair of blue logs, down the steep ramp. The soldiers disappeared around the bend, and the sound of a loud crash reached Vixa’s ears.

Dusting her hands, the Qualinesti princess asked, “Shall we continue?”

“After you, noble niece.” The colonel was smiling.

They went up the ramp at a more leisurely pace. Around the curve, they came upon the rest of Coryphene’s guards, waiting with swords drawn. Coryphene had left his sedan chair and stood tapping one foot impatiently.

“You must not leave my protection,” he told them. “The people of Urione are not accustomed to strangers. You endanger your own lives.”

“I don’t feel all that safe with you,” Vixa muttered.

Coryphene stood aside, gesturing for the Qualinesti to precede him. The bearers walked two paces behind.

The roof of the city was nearer now, the ramp narrowing to meet it. With no word of warning, the Dargonesti warriors suddenly halted in close ranks. When Vixa and Armantaro stopped as well, Coryphene ordered them to continue. It was then that the Qualinesti found themselves engulfed in a blazing white light.

Vixa threw up an arm to protect her eyes. Heat washed over her. In seconds she was dry and warm for the first time in what seemed like days. The sensation lasted perhaps five seconds; then the light disappeared. Vixa stood blinking in the dimness. When she could see once more, she realized that Coryphene was gone. She and Armantaro were alone.

“Colonel?” she said softly. “What happened?”

“I have no idea. At least I’m not so cold now.” Armantaro rubbed his eyes and looked around, adding, “But where are we?”

Above their heads, the thick stone arches that made up the framework of the city beneath the sea had ended, revealing a transparent dome composed of millions of quartz crystals, fitted together with supreme skill. Beyond this clear barrier could be seen the deep blue of the ocean depths. Schools of fish swam overhead, the reflected light from the city flashing off their silver bodies.

Vixa and Armantaro stood in the center of a large disk of white marble situated in the center of a great round plaza. At the plaza’s perimeter rose a colonnade, supporting a palatial building made of green stone. Though the building’s facade was pierced by hundreds of unglazed windows, none of these openings showed any light. The only illumination was a subdued, shifting, greenish glow.

“Magnificent,” Vixa sighed, turning round and round. “Really quite beautiful.”

Armantaro was frowning. “Where is everyone? And where in the name of the Abyss is the entrance?” Try as he might, he could find no trace of the spiral ramp, only the smooth disk of white in the middle of the green-paved plaza. The old colonel slipped a hand under his battered shirt. Vixa saw the hard gleam of a dagger hilt.

“Put that away,” she hissed. He made no reply but tucked the slim knife back inside his clothing.

The faint sound of footsteps reached their ears. Out of the shadows of the colonnade to their right came a tall figure carrying a glowing yellow globe. It was Coryphene. The light beneath his chin cast weird shadows across his sharp features.

“I know that landed folk require a great deal more light than we Dargonesti,” said Coryphene, his voice echoing in the stillness. He stopped several paces away. Armantaro’s fingers touched the dagger hilt through his shirt. There were no guards in sight. If he could take Coryphene hostage, they might be able to force the Dargonesti to release them.

Coryphene threw the glowing globe into the air. It rose to twice his height and vanished in a silent yellow burst. Instantly the plaza was filled with the tawny golden illumination of a summer evening in Qualinost.

“You’re a sorcerer,” Vixa stated.

“I have some skill in the art of magic. Another example.” He pointed a webbed blue finger at Armantaro. To the colonel’s surprise, he felt the blade of his hidden dagger growing warm. He tried to ignore it, keeping his face impassive, but the blade grew hotter and hotter, until it burned like a branding iron. With a yelp, Armantaro snatched the dagger out and flung it away. He put his scorched fingers into his mouth.

Coryphene picked up the dagger. He tested its edge with his thumb and slapped the flat of the blade against his palm. With a nod, he slipped the knife into his own belt.

Vixa spoke up quickly. “Are you the ruler of this place? Are you Speaker of the sea elves?” she inquired.

Coryphene’s violet eyes narrowed. “I am Protector of my people and First Servant of our divine queen.” He clapped his hands twice, and a troop of servants appeared from the shadows of the colonnade. For Coryphene, they brought a chair carved from a single concretion of blood coral. Two large, flat-topped sponges were set in place to serve as stools for the Qualinesti. Two lackeys carried a hamper of woven seaweed. It was evidently quite heavy.

“Sit,” Coryphene said, the word more a command than an invitation. “Refresh yourselves.”

Supporting his chin with folded hands, he rested his elbows on the arms of his scarlet chair. Armantaro and Vixa sank gratefully to the stools, glad to rest their tired feet. Eagerly, the princess opened the hamper.

“Our food may seem strange to you, but I am certain you will find it superior to any you have ever eaten.”

Vixa hesitated. Was it possible this odd elf wished to poison them? She glanced at Armantaro, who was likewise uncertain, then she looked at Coryphene.

A frown was gathering on the Protector’s face. He was clearly ready to take offense if they refused his hospitality. Shrugging fatalistically, the Qualinesti helped themselves.

The food was indeed strange. There were planks of dried, spiced fish; greenish cakes made of seaweed; a smoky, strongly flavored meat paste; and cups of sweet relish that might have been animal or vegetable. Servants handed them goblets made of bell mussel shells and filled with a light, fermented beverage rather like the nectar of Qualinost.

Coryphene waited until the edge was off their hunger before asking, “What ship were you sailing on?”

“ Evenstar , out of Qualinesti,” Vixa answered, seeing no reason to lie.

“I have heard of that place. What was your destination?”

“The Gulf of Ergoth, specifically the Greenthorn River,” replied Armantaro. “If it please you, my lord, may I ask how it is you know of our country, when we know nothing of yours?”

“Do none of the ancient race remember the Dargonesti?”

Vixa swallowed a mouthful of nectar. “I’ve heard legends that tell of sea-dwelling elves, but I always thought they were stories for children-tall tales passed around the fireside. I never honestly believed such a race existed.”

For some reason, this answer pleased Coryphene. He smiled and ordered the servants to bring him a cup of nectar.

“For thirteen hundred years my kind has dwelt in the depths,” he told them. “The Graystone transformed us, and we were able to escape the unfair rule of Silvanos by taking to the sea. Untouched by landed folk and their bloody wars, we perfected all the arts and sciences. The Quoowahb, or Dargonesti, are the most perfect of all the races created by the gods.”