Tim Pratt - Venom in Her Veins

“Not down there,” the derro gasped as the snake slithered off his chest. “No … throw water.”

Zaltys frowned. “Why on earth would I throw you into the …”

Her eyes fell on something glowing faintly blue in the shadows. She hadn’t noticed it before. At first she thought it was more of that damnable glowing fungus, but it wasn’t. It was a stub of chalk-the chalk Julen had used to mark his passage. Zaltys looked at the rushing waterfall. “Did you throw my cousin down there?” Her voice was level and steady, and so was her hand when she drew the repeating crossbow and pointed it at the derro’s face. “Did you?”

“No, no me. Other me. Water faster. But not safer.”

“You mean another derro took Julen? You travel this way?”

“Fast way. Fast way down.” The derro gabbled something in his own tongue, which didn’t prove illuminating, but Zaltys understood enough. She considered putting a bolt through one of the creature’s wide white eyes-the terrible cold fury and howling emptiness she’d felt when she thought the derro had drowned Julen for sport still lingered. But she lowered the crossbow. She would kill derro in the tunnels, she was sure, but she didn’t have to start with him.

Zaltys took a moment to strap her packs together more firmly, verify that her bow case was well sealed, and make sure everything that shouldn’t get wet was wrapped tightly in oilcloth. Back in Delzimmer, there was a grassy hill behind the main villa, with a steep slope covered in long grasses, and some of the Serrat children would take mats of woven reeds out and use them to sled down the hill, laughing as they reached tremendous speeds. Zaltys had always found that fun. Maybe the river would be fun too. Except wetter, and colder, and descending into unknown depths, and then there was the matter of the bug-eating derro saying that way was “not safer.”

Safety was fairly low on her list of concerns, though.

With a last check that her equipment was secure, Zaltys climbed down onto a stone outcroppping and lowered herself beside the water, just where it came rushing out of a crack in the rock. She reached down, putting her hand in the water-cold! — and feeling the stone beneath, which was at least worn refreshingly smooth. Tearing herself open on a sharp outcropping would be no fun at all. Holding her packs in front of her, with the straps tied around her chest, and the sunrod clutched in one hand, she slipped into the water. That part of the slope was almost flat, which meant she’d have to launch herself forward deliberately.

She took a breath, hoped there’d be a soft landing at the end, and scooted forward, consigning herself to gravity. At least she’d finally be rid of that unusually clingy snake.

Just before she was well out of earshot, the derro shouted something. She wasn’t entirely sure the word was in her language, and it didn’t seem to mean anything in particular, but it rang in her head as she rode the river down deeper into the dark.

The word had sounded like “fishmeat.”

The trio of came crawling out of the pool, hauling their repulsive, shimmering bodies onto the stone floor of the cavern. Yes, Julen thought, I’ve eaten my last seafood dinner. Nothing but meat and greens and fruit for me from now on, and the livelihood of the hardworking fishermen of Delzimmer be damned. The Kuo-toa seemed more curious about him than openly aggressive, though who could say for sure? They had the heads of fish . Their expressions were the very definition of inscrutable. Still, the best-case scenario was they’d ignore him and leave him to starve to death. It seemed far more likely they’d murder him outright, or try to enslave him, though how would they drag him through their underwater tunnels without him dying in the process? Presumably they had some magic to address the problem.

Pondering such things helped him keep the paralying fear at bay, more or less, though what did it matter if he were paralyzed? He was chained , which was almost worse.

Someone came hurtling over the waterfall and landed in the pool with a titanic splash. Could it be Bug-eater, having changed his mind about taking the scenic route, come to rescue Julen from slavery in order to press him into another flavor of slavery? From his angle on the cavern floor, next to the bloodstain that was the only thing left of his dream-interpreting captor, he couldn’t see much at all to prove his hypothesis. The kuo-toa all turned, though, not so much whirling on the balls of their finned feet as dragging their bodies around in a half-circle to face the pool. They were obviously amphibious, but their bodies were clearly made more for moving underwater. They’d probably be graceful swimming around under the surface of some horrid lightless sea, but on land they moved like fish with legs, and it wasn’t a pretty sight.

Someone came gasping to the surface of the water and started splashing toward the edge of the pool, and Julen couldn’t help but feel envy. He could have made a decent showing when he fell in the water too, if he’d been unbound. The kuo-toa grunted and squealed and raised their weapons, and the person dragging themselves up out of the water looked up, and saw them, and looked past them, and saw Julen .

It was Zaltys. She was dirty, even after her dunk in the river, and so loaded with supplies that she looked like a human pack mule, and her hair was wet and plastered to her face, and her eyes were wide and, if they weren’t terrified, it was only because they hadn’t yet finished looking surprised.

She’d never looked more beautiful to him, not even in his dreams. The kuo-toa hurled harpoons at her, and she promptly vanished. A nice trick, doubtless courtesy of her fancy new armor. The harpoons splashed harmlessly in the water, and as the kuo-toa reeled them back, peering into the depths to see where their prey had gone, they started to sprout arrows from the backs of their heads. Julen looked up, and Zaltys was standing over him, having emerged from the shadows of the cavern, dropped both her packs at her feet, and drawn her weapon. Her bow seemed no more substantial to his eye than a twist of black smoke against a twilight sky, but the arrows looked precisely like what they were-spinning shafts of death.

The kuo-toa thrashed, exactly like fish caught and tossed to the floor of a boat, gradually going still. They didn’t stink like dead fish, yet, but Julen assumed it was only a matter of time. “Nice to see you, Cousin,” he said, the casual tone he tried for rather spoiled by the croaking sound of his voice. He wasn’t thirsty, precisely, given the gallons of river water he’d swallowed, but the strain of expelling all that water from his body had torn up his throat.

“Good to be seen.” Zaltys kneeled, tugging futilely at his shackles. “Magical chains,” she said. “I have no idea how they work, there’s not even a keyhole.”

“I noticed. A shame I lost my pack. There was a knife inside.”

Zaltys held up a pack by its sodden shoulder straps. “This pack?” She opened it, and drew out the sheath. “This knife?” Drawing the blade, which flashed green in the dim light. “Where did you get this, anyway? Borrow it from your father’s desk drawer?”

Julen shook his head, rattling his chains. “See if it’s magical enough to cut through these, would you?” As Zaltys slipped the blade into the link of a chain, he explained that they had a secret benefactor who’d left the blade and a source of fresh water in his pack, among more mundane supplies. “Any guess who it might be?”

“No idea. No one knew about my plans.” She jammed the blade in and began twisting the hilt.

“Then how did you find the pack?”