Paul Thompson - Dargonesti

She wasn’t the only one having such thoughts. A skinny human elbowed his way through the horde of workers, untied his weighted belt, and leapt from the parapet. He hit the seaweed net and clung to it. He had a sharp shard of stone in his hand and began to saw away furiously at the rope below him.

All at once soldiers were among them, battering prisoners with shields and spear shafts. The human managed to hack through the seaweed rope, and the net began to rise swiftly upward. The human clung to it desperately. Vixa wanted to scream encouragement, but she dared not remove her airshell.

A Dargonesti cast a spear at the escaping man. It missed. Another raised a conch shell to his lips and blew. Bubbles and a bleating call sounded in the sea.

Shrill whistles filled Vixa’s ears. The ocean was immediately alive with dolphins, wheeling and diving. They raced after the escaping human. Fast as they were, they couldn’t catch the rising net. The human rose upward with remarkable speed.

Sunshine filtered down from the world above. Against this backdrop, the man and the rising net were black shapes, shrinking rapidly. Suddenly, there was a violent explosion, and the man and the net dissolved in a mass of silver bubbles. In all, four separate eruptions were heard as each bladder exploded.

Slowly, the human came sinking down, enmeshed in the net. The dolphin sentinels circled the body, whining in mournful tones. The net passed Vixa, and she recoiled in shock at what she saw.

The thing that descended five feet in front of her no longer looked human. Blood oozed from his mouth and ears. His entire body was contorted as though in pain, arms and legs twisted and bent, head thrown back, mouth gaping wide. Vixa couldn’t take her eyes from the dreadful sight until the Dargonesti guards cuffed the prisoners and shoved them back to work.

Vixa gripped a block, straining her muscles to help shift it. All the while her mind was working furiously. What had happened to the man? He was almost free. The dolphins were nowhere near him. Had someone used magic? She’d heard mutterings among the slaves about a death that could reach out and strike any air-breather who dared attempt to escape. Up to now, she hadn’t given their talk any credence.

The day’s work went on without pause. All the prisoners were racked by thirst, an ironic agony for people immersed in water. Their hands and feet swelled. Vixa found herself grateful for her Dargonesti robe. It didn’t split or bind after hours underwater. She also discovered that her swollen feet gave her a better grip on the parapet stones.

A sea elf beat a crystal chime to signal the end of the day’s work. Slack and drooping, the workers trooped down to the seabed to join their comrades. About the only thought Vixa’s tired brain could manage was a mild amazement that her shell still had air, though she’d been using it for hours.

The dim grotto was a welcome sight as the Qualinesti walked out of the pool into the air. Armantaro waited for Vixa and offered her his arm, but she refused his aid. He seemed worse off than she.

Food was their first concern. Not only was the labor difficult, but the drag of the water seemed to double the effort necessary for even the simplest tasks. Their appetites were tremendous. The guards collected every airshell, dumped freshly caught fish on the floor, and departed. The elves collapsed on their bedding. Gundabyr set about preparing their fireplace with loose stones.

Garnath crawled out of his hiding place looking rested. “How did it go today?” he asked cheerfully. Gundabyr gave him a murderous look.

“This is no life for a warrior.” Harmanutis sighed wearily. His hands were cracked and bleeding. “I don’t think I could grip a sword even if I possessed one.”

“This is no life for anyone,” Gundabyr growled.

“I hate fish,” Vanthanoris murmured. “Oh, for a roasted squab and a cup of steaming nectar, and maybe some thick, hot soup with plenty of …” His voice trailed off into soft snoring.

Armantaro just sat, silent and trembling. Vixa watched him and worried. He was too old for this mistreatment. His face was so pale, she feared he was ill.

Gundabyr was busy lighting fires around the grotto. His twin fell to cleaning the fish provided by their captors.

“Garnath,” Vixa said, “why would a float explode going up to the surface when no one was near enough to prick it?” She described the escape attempt she’d witnessed and its gruesome result.

“Hmph,” said the dwarf. “Sounds like the Law of Clouds to me.” Vixa gave him a blank look, and he explained. “The Law of Clouds states that air expands as it rises. I’d say that a buoy filled with air at the sea bottom would certainly burst long before it reached the surface. And a man, likewise filled with air at the seafloor, would also-er-explode, unless he exhaled as he rose.”

“But even if he exhaled properly, the bladders would still have burst,” put in Armantaro quietly.

“Nope, nope. Had he opened small holes in the floats, the air might have leaked out quickly enough to avoid bursting yet slowly enough to allow him to reach the surface.”

Vixa regarded him thoughtfully, rubbing her chin with one cracked hand. “But would he have enough breath to reach the surface?” she wondered. “Or would he exhale it all before getting there?”

Her musings were interrupted by an involuntary groan from Armantaro. Vixa dragged over a patch of sailcloth and used it to cover him, though he protested that he was perfectly fine. She pushed his shoulder gently until he lay down, his head resting on her leg.

“We must do something,” the princess stated flatly, smoothing wet hair from the colonel’s lined face. “Either by force or by guile, we’ve got to get out of this place.”

“There is no way out.” Gundabyr interrupted.

“No way at all,” his twin agreed.

“Of course there is,” she insisted. “We simply have to find it.”

Garnath shook his head. “It’s hopeless, lady. Me and Gundabyr’ve been working on the problem for weeks. I tell you, it’s hopeless.”

Angry, Vixa grabbed the nearest small object and threw it. It was a clay jar, which Gundabyr had filled with gnomefire paste. It smashed against the far wall, the sticky paste clinging to the black rock. Dew on the wall ignited the gnomefire.

“Hey!” Vanthanoris cried, scrambling to get out from under the dripping flames. A droplet of gnomefire fell on his pallet, which immediately caught fire. With much cursing and flinging of dirt, Vanthanoris and Harmanutis put out the small blaze.

“You must be careful, lady,” Gundabyr chided. “Once ignited, that stuff is very hard to control!”

Vixa stared at the smoking pallet.

“Gundabyr, can you make more of this stuff?” she asked unexpectedly.

The dwarf blinked his heavy-lidded eyes. I’ve already made half a hundredweight. How much do you need?”

“We need all you can make, my friend. All you can make, and more!”

Coryphene was waiting at the quay for Naxos. It was half an hour beyond the appointed time, and there was still no sign of the shapeshifter. Furious at the insult to his dignity, Coryphene ordered his personal guard to search for the insolent wretch.

“Bind him, if you must, but bring him to the palace at once!” he shouted. His troopers dove headfirst into the water to carry out their master’s order.

Coryphene stalked back to the palace, leaving the bearers of his sedan chair to puff along behind. He was oblivious to the praise called out to him by the common folk. Snarling a dismissal at his bearers, the Protector went through the magical barrier and swept into the palace plaza alone. There, lounging against one of the many green columns, was Naxos.