Paul Thompson - Dargonesti

“Enough,” said the queen, her voice still low and unruffled.

Coryphene tried to recover his wounded dignity, but this was a difficult proposition as he had to remain upon his knees, head bowed, before his monarch. The guards released Vixa at the queen’s order, and the Qualinesti princess slowly sat up. She kept her gaze averted, though she was now filled with a burning desire to stare directly into the eyes of the queen.

“Though you are of the ancient race, it is apparent that our kindred have fallen into barbarism,” observed the queen. “Your behavior demonstrates this. As the gods have told me, the time has come to unite our ancient peoples into one great nation.”

Surprised, Vixa blurted, “What?”

“Know this, girl, I am Uriona, chosen of the gods and queen of this my city,” the queen said. “Five hundred years ago the gods Abbaku and Kisla came to me in my dreams and bade me leave the deep lands of Watermere and found this city. Since then, I have dreamed many times of a shining tower, reaching far up into the dry air. The gods have given me this promise: when I am crowned in the Tower of the Stars, all those of elven blood will bow down and swear fealty to me.”

Vixa was taken aback. The Silvanesti would never permit Uriona to set foot in the sacred Tower of the Stars in Silvanost, much less be crowned ruler of all elves. Did she think they would allow her to defile the purity of their city with her presence?

The queen was still speaking, saying that once she and her armies had marched to Silvanost she would be installed as the ruler of all the elven nations. She spoke as if accomplishing this would be the merest trifle. Vixa shifted position slightly and felt the cold tip of a spear digging into the thin material of her robe.

The princess’s mind was racing. Not only did she desire freedom for herself and her friends, she had a duty to warn the Silvanesti about Uriona’s crazed scheme. But how to escape? And how to warn the Silvanesti? She had about as much chance of getting into Silvanost as this crazy sea elf.

The chamber’s odd, greenish lighting was constantly shifting. Momentarily it brightened, and Vixa caught her first clear glimpse of the image of Queen Uriona in the polished black surface of the floor tile before her.

The sea queen was seated on a bench whose wide, flat seat curved up slightly at each end. She was robed in some bright material-probably the same silver mesh her guards wore. The Dargonesti queen had a dark blue complexion and large eyes. Her hair, unlike that of her subjects, was shining white. It swept back slightly from her face but fell in a loose cascade over her shoulders and into her lap. Her age was impossible to determine from the fuzzy reflection, and her voice sounded neither old nor young.

A pinpoint of green gleamed in Uriona’s reflected eyes. Vixa thought this was a trick of the shifting light, but it happened a second and then a third time.

“Impudent girl,” murmured the queen.

A dazzling flash of green light erupted from the queen’s eyes. The flare seemed to rebound from the floor and strike Vixa full in the face. She had no time to shield her eyes, and agony filled her head. She cried out, toppled to the floor. The glare was replaced by darkness as she dropped into oblivion.

Once the break in the top of the wall was repaired, the guards marched the slaves back to Nissia Grotto. The work had taken several hours. Harmanutis and Vanthanoris staggered to the rear of the cave, collapsing on piles of tattered sailcloth. Armantaro, more than twice their age, seemed to have held up better, but then he had the advantage of a decent meal, courtesy of Coryphene.

Garnath walked up to the flour barrel housing his twin and kicked it smartly. A snort erupted, but no dwarf appeared. Grimacing, Garnath pounded the staves with his thick fist.

“Wake up, Brother!” he bellowed. “Wake up!”

Gundabyr rolled out, dazed. “What? What is it?”

“I want the barrel,” said Garnath. “You owe me two days’ work now.”

Gundabyr yawned. “By Reorx! Couldn’t you have waited till morning to tell me that?”

“It is morning.” Garnath shouldered his twin aside. “Good night!”

Gundabyr sighed and surveyed the long, dim tunnel. The unhappy slaves slept where they dropped. The grotto resembled a battlefield, with bodies strewn all about.

The only other person still awake in the entire cave was Armantaro. He tried to assemble a decent pallet from the assortment of junk littering the cave floor. Gundabyr yawned once more, stretched, and ambled over to the elf.

“Hail, friend. My name’s Gundabyr.”

Armantaro nodded and said, “Yes, so I heard. Your brother has an excellent set of lungs.”

“Yup, he got that way shouting over the forge hammers in Thorbardin. I can’t convince him not to shout here.”

The old colonel reclined stiffly, pillowing his head on one arm. He told the dwarf his name and rank, and how he’d ended up in this wretched place after his visit to the city.

“I figured as much,” said Gundabyr. He aimed a thumb at the inert forms of Harmanutis and Vanthanoris. “They told me you were down here. Ain’t there a lady with you?”

“Yes, indeed, and I fear for her. Coryphene has kept her.”

Gundabyr tugged at his black beard. “He’s never done that before. The blueskins don’t give a fig for any of us drylanders, you know.”

“I’m certain he has designs on her. He may suspect she is something other than my niece. A princess of the house of Kith-Kanan would be quite a prize for an ambitious warlord.” In spite of his worried tone, Armantaro’s eyelids were drooping. His breathing slowed. As his eyelids finally closed, he added, “He’ll get more than he bargained for with Lady Vixa, though. One unguarded moment, and she’ll split him … wide open.”

Armantaro was asleep. Shrugging, the dwarf got up and went back to a pile of wreckage behind the flour barrel. This seemingly worthless collection of rubbish was his tool kit. During his free days, and in the wee hours while Garnath slept, the restless Gundabyr spent his time exploring the recesses of Nissia Grotto. He’d fashioned some crude tools from bits of wood, bent nails, and loose rocks. Far back in the remote areas of the cave, he kept his collection of mineral samples. The grotto had not been formed by the slow process of erosion. Instead, it had been created by an ancient volcano. As a result, the interior was rich in minerals such as sulfur, niter, and bitumen, which oozed out of crevices in the lowest regions of the cave system.

Gundabyr slipped his tools into his ragged pockets and walked off into the darkness. His greatest wish, aside from freedom, was for a light he could take along on his explorations. The Dargonesti globes were fastened to the walls, and any attempt to remove them always ended badly. The dwarf carried out his research by touch and smell, often bringing back samples to the inhabited portion of the cave for final identification.

He’d gone only a few hundred paces into the deep cavern when he noticed a strange noise. Holding very still, Gundabyr heard it again. A sort of scratching, or maybe a scraping sound, coming from far away. The prisoners were all fast asleep, and there was no one else in the grotto. Gundabyr took his homemade pick, fashioned from a long ship’s nail driven through a length of decking, and scraped the cave wall in front of him. He listened hard, but the noise had stopped. He did not hear it again.

Vixa was dreaming.

She was trapped in a clear crystal globe surrounded by water. The water was filled with sea elves, all staring at her and pointing long, blue, webbed fingers. They never spoke, but only stared and pointed. It became extremely annoying.