Paul Thompson - Dargonesti

Coryphene looked down at her disdainfully. “All must obey Her Divine Majesty. Refusal brings death. Remember that.”

Vixa was shown to a room where the only furniture was a table upon which was a pitcher of fresh water, a fishbone comb, and a small pile of clothing. The Qualinesti princess washed her hands and face, relieved to remove at least a few layers of the grime and accumulated salt. Her hair-kept short because of her warrior status-she rinsed as best she could, then combed back from her face.

A pile of clean garments awaited her. There were several articles that were obviously undergarments and a flowing, ankle-length robe. Everything was made of a strange fabric. It didn’t feel like cloth at all-more like tissue-thin leather, if there could be such a thing. Quickly, she peeled off her salt-stiffened smallclothes, doused herself with the remaining water, and donned the clean clothing. The robe was white and had a wide red stripe winding from hem to neck. It was astonishingly comfortable. Material such as this, soft as silk yet tough as leather, would fetch a handsome price in any market on Krynn. Around her waist she fastened an elaborate girdle of tiny white coral beads. She had to wrap its free ends twice about her, otherwise they would have dragged on the floor.

Coryphene entered unexpectedly. Vixa whirled, her hands still occupied with tying the belt. “Don’t you believe in knocking?” she snapped.

“Her Majesty awaits. Come,” was all he said.

He was resplendent in a long purple cape and jeweled torque. On his head was an elaborate headdress of shells and gemstones. Coral beads hung down in long streams across his bare chest. His fresh kilt was held up by a heavy, braided gold sash. Wide ankle bracelets completed his outfit.

They walked out of the barracks and down the narrow street to the ramp. An honor guard of twelve Dargonesti in silver robes met them. On the way, Coryphene advised Vixa on protocol.

“Do not speak unless you are spoken to,” he told her. “Answer fully all questions put to you. Her Divinity has the gift of sight, and can see far more than ordinary mortals. Lastly, do not look Her Divinity in the face.”

Vixa couldn’t resist. “Why not?”

“To do so means death.”

They ascended the spiral ramp and passed through the magical portal. After the flash of light and heat, Vixa was once more standing in the palace plaza. The honor guard had drawn off a short distance and donned silver hoods. Coryphene straightened his shoulders and walked firmly ahead.

He led Vixa to a pair of enormous doors, set just under the colonnade on the far side of the plaza. The doors were made of quartz crystals the size of logs, bolted together with rods of the same material. The shadows of servants could be seen on the other side, hauling the doors open. Once inside, Coryphene paused to remove his headdress. He tucked it under his arm before continuing.

The corridor was illuminated by greenish light from the domed ceiling. The odd color of the light came from the filtering effect of many fathoms of seawater. The sun’s rays barely penetrated to this depth. Incense, its sweet-sour smell like that in the temple complex, filled the long passage. Vixa spied censers located between the pearl-inlaid columns lining the hall. Dargonesti women in scarlet robes tended these braziers, feeding them small pellets of some waxy substance.

The passage wound around the curve of the upper level of the city and ended at an antechamber. Tall, gaunt sea elves in priestly garb stood to each side of the chamber, conversing quietly among themselves. They fell silent when Coryphene entered, and bowed to him.

“I come in answer to Her Divinity’s summons,” the Protector announced.

“She awaits within,” replied a shell-bedecked priest.

Coryphene nodded to the servants at the inner doors. One struck a hanging assembly of pink shells, which rang sweetly in a cascade of bell tones. The priests and the honor guard turned their backs to the door as it opened.

“Remember!” Coryphene hissed. “Avert your eyes!”

Vixa lowered her gaze to her bare feet. Fine treatment for a member of the royal house of Qualinost, she silently fumed. The blood of Kith-Kanan and Silvanos ran in her veins. Why could she not look on this petty undersea queen?

The audience chamber was lit by a shifting greenish light. The Protector dropped to one knee, signaling for Vixa to do likewise by tugging on her hand.

“Divine Queen, your servant Coryphene has come as you commanded,” he said. Vixa resisted his pull. A princess of the Qualinesti kneels to none but the Speaker, after all. Coryphene gave a stronger yank, and she lost her balance, dropping unceremoniously to her knees.

A light voice, low in timbre, replied, “Is this the dryland maiden of whom I have heard?”

“Yes, Divinity.”

“There were others with her, were there not?”

“Yes, Divinity. There were five in all. One drowned, and the other three are lodged in Nissia Grotto, to work on the wall.”

A moment of silence. Vixa could hear the queen’s light breathing. At last, the queen said, “You are small. Are you a child?”

Coryphene nudged her. “Answer,” he whispered.

“I am not a child, Your Majesty,” Vixa said. She felt silly staring at the floor while she spoke. “In my land I am counted as unusually tall.”

“I see that we Dargonesti have surpassed the landed race in height and strength,” observed the mild voice. “Just as we have in wisdom and divine favor.”

That rankled. Vixa was about to offer her opinion of Dargonesti superiority when the queen commanded, “Approach.”

Coryphene stood up, hauling her to her feet. They went forward six steps and knelt again. This time there was a large segment of polished basalt in the floor in front of Vixa. It displayed the queen’s reflection faintly. Vixa squinted at it, trying to make out the woman’s features.

“Who reigns in your country, girl?”

“Speaker of the Sun Silveran, Majesty.”

“And who was his father?”

“The great Kith-Kanan. His mother was a Kagonesti named Anaya, who transformed into a tree while pregnant and delivered her son many, many years later.”

There was a brief pause, then the low voice asked, “What is a tree?”

Vixa was so startled by the question she nearly raised her head to stare at the queen of Urione. She checked herself, explaining as briefly as she could what trees were.

“I see. Rather like our coral gardens. Tell me what you know of Silvanesti.”

Again the abrupt change of subject disconcerted the Qualinesti princess. Coryphene nudged her, and she responded, “I’ve never been there, Majesty. The elves of Silvanost have little to do with those of Qualinost.”

“Why?”

Vixa explained about the Kinslayer War and the schism between Kith-Kanan and his twin brother, Speaker of the Stars Sithas. It was slow going, because she hadn’t studied history in some years, and it was by any reckoning a long and complicated narration. She stammered her way through the story, and her account seemed to satisfy the queen. Vixa gathered her nerve and asked a question of her own.

“Your Majesty, when may I and my companions return home?” she inquired.

Without warning, a stunning blow landed on the side of Vixa’s head, making her ears ring and sending her sprawling. Her belt broke when she landed, and the tiny coral beads went flying.

“It is not your place to ask questions!” Coryphene growled. His fury was plain, though his voice remained low.

This was too much for Vixa. She had followed their ridiculous rules, crawling about on the floor like a commoner, and had only asked one simple, polite question. Immediately, she sprang at Coryphene, knocked him down, and aimed a kick at his ribs. It landed solidly; then many hands seized her and dragged her away from the Protector. She struggled against the grip of at least three Dargonesti, but they forced her to her knees and shoved her facedown on the cold, hard floor.