Paul Thompson - Dargonesti

Vixa nodded thoughtfully and murmured, “You may be right, Colonel. But I wonder if the chilkit will stand by long enough for Uriona to put her mad dreams of conquest to the test.”

Beneath the crystal roof of the city, Queen Uriona was surrounded by mirrors, light globes piled around her. The queen sat in the midst of a bright glare, her eyes covered by a sharkskin mask.

Outside the circle of mirrors, Coryphene waited. The queen’s handmaids and her court of priestly advisors stood to one side, shielding their faces from the light seeping between the mirrored panels.

“You know I never question your actions, Divine One,” Coryphene said carefully. “But how can I prepare for an invasion of the land when we are not yet free of the chilkit?”

“The creatures from the depths will be overcome. I have seen it. The elves of the sun will help bring this about.” As she spoke, Uriona turned her masked face until she directly faced the gap in the mirrors behind which Coryphene stood. Her perception was unnerving.

“How will they do this, Divine Queen?”

“The method is unimportant. It will happen.”

“Will it be soon? Should I muster the army?”

“You will do the right thing when the time comes, Lord Protector. The gods and I shall guide you.”

Her conviction eased his doubts, save one nagging problem. “What if the Qualinesti woman won’t talk? I must know the strength of the enemy.”

“Patience, Lord Protector. She will provide what we need to know. In the meantime, send Naxos and the heralds to the coast of Silvanesti. They may learn something of importance by observation.”

“Yes, Divine Queen. We will miss their reconnaissance against the chilkit, though.”

“When the chilkit attack again, you shall destroy them utterly. This will be the first step toward our impending victory over the land-dwelling elves. Send Naxos away. Today.”

He couldn’t miss the agitation in her voice. Coryphene wondered if there was some hidden agenda associated with Naxos and his sea brothers. He’d long suspected the leader of the shapeshifters of disloyalty. Coryphene sometimes wished his queen-goddess would make her warnings a bit more plain.

“Open the mirrors. I am done for now.”

Coryphene gave a command. The servants dashed forward to remove the encircling wall of mirrors. They did so with eyes tightly shut and faces averted-from the bright light and forbidden face of their queen. The standing panels were taken away, leaving only the queen and the piles of glowing globes in the center of the audience hall.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” Coryphene asked gently. He alone was permitted to gaze upon her countenance and, as always after one of these sessions, she was bathed in sweat and nearly fainting. “Why torment yourself with this light?”

“If I am someday to sit upon my throne in the Tower of the Stars, I must be able to bear the light of the sun.” She removed her mask, her hand trembling.

He stepped closer. “I cannot bear to see you suffer.”

“It is nothing.”

Coryphene took the mask from her, allowing his hand to rest on her fingers. Her eyes fluttered at the unexpected contact, but she didn’t draw her hand away. “Will Naxos betray us, Divine One?” he murmured. Uriona’s languid gaze faltered. Her body went limp on the throne. Coryphene stepped in, kept her from collapsing onto the floor. The maidservants and priests closed around, looking anxiously at the Protector.

“Get back,” he said scornfully. “Our divine lady endures much for our sakes. Go and prepare her bedchamber; I will bring her there.”

The servants hurried to do his bidding. Coryphene lifted the unconscious queen in his long arms. The priests protested, scandalized by his familiarity, but the warrior lord carried his queen tenderly to the door of the audience hall.

“Chamberlain? Chamberlain!” he called.

“Yes, my lord?” Uriona’s chamberlain, fresh from a dousing in seawater, appeared smoothly at Coryphene’s elbow.

“Have Naxos of the sea brothers brought to me at once. This is the command of Her Divine Majesty.” The chamberlain bowed, dripping seawater onto the mosaic floor.

“It shall be done, great Protector.”

The line of prisoners trudged toward their day’s work. The weighted belts they wore kept their feet on the path. The sea had lightened to a clear emerald green, and by Dargonesti standards it was a bright day. As the captives left the mouth of the grotto behind, Vixa could see a chain of peaks stretching away from the city. The mountain containing Nissia Grotto was the last in this long line. Some of the mountains were low and flat-topped. Others had sharp, jagged tips, thrusting toward the surface. Vixa wondered just how near the surface they reached.

They entered a wide ravine, whose mouth had been quarried for stone and cleared of coral, leaving it a flat, hard plain. All around, prisoners had taken up mauls and stone wedges and were pounding blocks of stone into rectangular shapes. When the blocks were finished, they were laid in nets spread out on the ground. At the four corners of each net were fish bladders sewn together and filled with air. These bladders floated the blocks up to the top of the wall, where other slaves wrestled them into place. No mortar was used, so the blocks had to fit together precisely.

Harmanutis and Vanthanoris were put to work dragging rough stones to the carvers for dressing. Armantaro was added to the gang that hauled blocks to the nets and attached the inflated fish bladders. Vixa was sent to the top of the wall to work with the stonelayers.

She started to remove her belt, so she could swim to the parapet. A guard stopped her, pointing to an opening in the base of the wall. She headed toward this opening. Before she went inside, a prisoner smeared her arms with a sticky paste that glowed greenish white. Vixa was surprised, but once she went inside she was glad of the glowing substance. The interior of the wall here was hollow and black as pitch.

Like ghosts, the phosphorescent shapes of other workers moved ahead of her. It was impossible to ask questions with the airshell in her mouth, so she just followed those in front of her. She stumbled against a stair step and started up. It was eerie, moving in the inky stairwell with only a faint glow of light. The steps reversed direction several times, and continued higher and higher. The wall had to be close to sixty feet tall.

She emerged in open water at the top. The area was thick with busy workers shoving stones into place. Someone grabbed her arm and tugged her to the edge. From there she could see the city of Urione shimmering in the distance.

A rush of water hit her, sweeping her off her feet. Vixa fell backward, slipping over the side of the wall. Automatically, she grabbed the parapet edge to stop her fall. No one came to her aid. As she hauled herself back up, she saw what had caused her fall: a block of stone had arrived, buoyed by its net and air-filled bladders, rocking the water with concussive force.

Workers pulled in the swaying net and levered the six-by-four-foot mass of rock onto the wall. Vixa tried to help, but her bare feet gave her little purchase on the smooth parapet. None down here were shod, but the other captives were more experienced underwater, and the Dargonesti’s feet were obviously adapted for just this environment. Like their fingers, their toes were long and webbed.

The block thudded into place. The buoyant net rose a few feet over the workers’ heads and hung there, tethered to the ocean floor by a long strand of woven seaweed.

The image of the net tugging at the line intrigued Vixa. She gazed up at the swaying net and thought again about the distance to the surface.