Paul Thompson - Dargonesti

The dwarf’s blue eyes gleamed. “That’s the special secret. All it takes-”

Vanthanoris jumped to his feet. “We have company,” he warned.

Scores of prisoners had awakened to the smell of cooking. Bearded, haggard faces stared with longing at the flickering bowl of light. The sight of the steaming fish caused mouths to drop open and tongues to move over cracked lips. So intent were they upon the fire and food, the prisoners overcame their habitual lethargy and crowded round the elves.

“Is there enough for all?” Armantaro asked Gundabyr.

“There’s enough for the whole Daewar clan.”

“Wait. Won’t a lot of fires exhaust our air?” Harmanutis cautioned.

The dwarf shook his head. “Nope, I don’t think so. There’s over three hundred people in this cave, but unless I’m wrong, the blueskins are supplying us with fresh air somehow.”

Even so, it was decided to limit the number of fires to five, just to be safe. Eager men clawed rocks from the floor and walls and built hasty firepits. Gundabyr went from one to the next, mixing powders into pots in just the right proportions, then stirring in thick bitumen to bind the ingredients together. Finally, he asked for water from the pool. As soon as the water was dribbled onto the black-and-yellow paste, a plume of smoke hissed upward. The mixture burst into flame with a soft whuff!

On first seeing this, one of the humans exclaimed, “You’re a wizard!”

“I’m a forgemaster of Thorbardin, which is better,” Gundabyr shot back.

Soon Nissia Grotto was warmer and lighter than it had ever been. Men crowded around the fires, warming stiff limbs and cooking their fish rations. They praised Gundabyr’s brilliance. For the first time, Armantaro heard laughter.

Vanthanoris voiced a worry. “What will the Dargonesti say?” he wondered.

“I doubt they’ll object too much,” Armantaro replied. “After all, warmth and cooked food can only keep their slaves alive longer, right?”

The elves sat back to watch their fellow prisoners enjoy Gundabyr’s gnomefire. They conversed softly about the battle of the day before.

“The chilkit bungled their attack yesterday,” stated Harmanutis. “Had they scaled the wall in more than one place, the Dargonesti could not have stopped them.”

“Let us be grateful you weren’t leading them,” Vanthanoris said dryly.

“Coryphene is no tactician, that’s certain,” put in Armantaro. “He simply met force with force. He didn’t maneuver his warriors at all. His greatest advantage lies in his store of captured metal weapons.” The old colonel frowned, etching deep lines in his thin face. “One of which is my own dagger.”

“Have the blueskins no metal of their own?” asked Harmanutis.

“None but some gold and silver trinkets. Oh, and some copper buttons.”

Gundabyr returned from his fire-starting and dropped heavily to the floor. “Phew! That’s work! Any of that baked cod left, Van?”

“I saved you the best cut.”

“Ah, many thanks, friend elf.” The dwarf tore into the fish with gusto.

“Should we rouse your brother?”

“No indeed. Let him sleep. He groused so much about working a double shift, I don’t want to hear him grumble about being disturbed again, even if it is for hot food.”

While Gundabyr ate, Armantaro asked him why the Dargonesti set such store by the iron and steel blades they found.

“Because they’ve got no forges, that’s why. You can’t smelt iron underwater.”

“But they do have gold and copper.”

“Huh! You can work them with no more than a candle flame.” More thoughtfully, he added, “Those volcanic vents would smelt soft metals, I bet. Maybe the blueskins use them.”

Armantaro ran a hand over the hard black surface of the wall behind him. “Didn’t you say this tunnel was part of an old volcano?” Gundabyr nodded, his mouth full of cod. “Well, that might be our way out!”

“How so, my lord?” Harmanutis inquired.

“Volcanoes by their nature tend to rise to the surface of the sea. If we can find a vent that goes all the way up-”

“Sorry, Colonel, but it ain’t likely,” interrupted the dwarf. “The blueskins wouldn’t make it that easy. You can be sure they’ve checked this cave. It has only one opening, and that ’s it.” He jabbed a thick thumb toward the pool.

The Qualinesti lapsed into discouraged silence. Gundabyr was about to finish his meal when the ringing of rock on rock signaled that the lookout had spotted activity in the pool. The men and elves hastily smothered their gnomefires with dirt, as Gundabyr had taught them.

Just as the cave was dim and quiet again, sea elf warriors emerged from the pool. Behind them came Princess Vixa. Armantaro jumped to his feet and ran to greet her. Harmanutis and Vanthanoris quickly followed.

“My dear niece!” Armantaro exclaimed. “Are you all right?”

A guard took Vixa’s airshell. “There’s no longer any need for that deception, Colonel,” said Vixa. “They know who and what I am.”

“Did they hurt you?”

“No. I did meet their queen, though. She used magic to see the truth in my mind.”

Armantaro glanced at her guards, who were standing impassively to one side. “If they know you’re a princess of Qualinost, why did they bring you here?”

“Queen Uriona imagines she can become ruler of all the elven nations. Coryphene tried to make me tell them about the armies of Qualinost and of the Silvanesti, but I refused. For that I was sent here.” Her nose wrinkled as she sniffed the air. “You know, I could swear I smell baked fish.”

“Ah, come this way, Your Highness,” Vanthanoris said quickly. “We’ll make a place for you.”

Vixa lifted the hem of her Dargonesti robe to climb out of the pool. Only minutes after leaving the water the silver cloth would be dry. The sea elf in charge of her blocked Vixa’s path.

“Prisoners will form for work parties immediately,” he ordered.

“Now?” exclaimed Vixa. “I just got here.”

The lanky Dargonesti ignored her. “On your feet! Prisoners will report for the day’s work!”

The slaves were slower than usual in leaving their pallets. While his comrades rounded up the captives, the leader did something odd with Vixa’s airshell. Around his neck, the Dargonesti wore a pendant made from a large aquamarine crystal. This by itself was not unusual. The sea elves loved to festoon themselves with all manner of shells and gems. However, he touched the pendant to the mouthpiece of the airshell he’d taken from Vixa. Wide-eyed, the princess saw the bright blue-green gem fade, becoming pale and lackluster. After several seconds, the Dargonesti let the pendant fall to his chest.

As Vixa stood pondering the significance of this new information, other Dargonesti appeared in the pool. They brought hampers of airshells. The weary captives each took a shell and trudged into the water. Vixa held back and drew Armantaro to her side.

“Did you see, Colonel?” she whispered, gesturing to the Dargonesti wearing the pendant.

“Yes, lady. If we could get a necklace like that-”

Gundabyr, impersonating his twin, finally joined the line. Harmanutis introduced him to the princess. As they made their way closer to the basket of shells, Vixa said, “If Coryphene thinks he can break me by putting me to work, he’s grossly mistaken. I don’t know what Dargonesti princesses do with their days, but I’m no stranger to hardship.”

One of the guards commanded her to be silent. She and Armantaro took their airshells. The line of slaves entered the pool. As they waited to submerge, the colonel touched his princess’s arm and whispered, “It might be a good idea not to trumpet your resolve too loudly. After all, we’re more likely to be kept alive and well if Coryphene thinks we’ll be useful to him.”