Dargonesti

“How did you get here, Gundabyr?” Harmanutis asked. “How long have you been a prisoner?”

“Nobody’s a prisoner here. We’re slaves.” The dwarf shrugged in reply to their stunned expressions. “I was forgemaster for the Ironmongers Guild in Thorbardin. We hired a ship, Sea Queen, in Tarsis to carry a load of copper and iron ingots to Balifor. Me and my brother Garnath got stuck with the chore of tagging along with the ship to sell the ingots. Garnath said the ship’s name would bring us luck, and it did-all bad. Sea Queen ran into fog off the Silvanesti coast, and when it cleared, we were a hundred leagues off course.”

Vanthanoris smiled sardonically. “I know that fog,” he said, then went on to describe Evenstar’s encounter with the mysterious wall of cloud.

“Sounds familiar,” Gundabyr agreed. “Well, next thing we knew, Sea Queen was aground on the biggest sandbar Reorx ever created. Me and Garnath took a work party ashore to try to dig a trench under the ship to refloat it, but the whole filthy sandbar sank under us.” A mighty frown creased his face. “Me and Garnath went down like anvils.”

“The kraken.” Harmanutis felt the heat of anger wash over him, despite the coolness of the cave. “It’s no coincidence then. These Quoowahb use the monster to sink ships!”

“Yep, they do.” Gundabyr finished his strip of cod. “Dolphins carried me and Garnath and a handful of other survivors down here. We’ve been in this hole for-” He looked up at the stone wall, on whose surface were drawn a number of white chalk lines. “-Um, forty-eight days.”

Harmanutis related the story of their own arrival in Urione, including the fact that Princess Vixa and Colonel Armantaro were getting “special treatment” in the city, at least as far as they knew. Gundabyr rubbed his hairy cheek when he heard that.

“Hmm. Wonder what they want with your lady and the colonel?”

“Ransom?” Vanthanoris suggested.

Harmanutis shook his head. “Not unless Her Highness reveals her true status. I’ll wager this Coryphene is questioning them about Qualinost, since we seem to be the first land elves they’ve captured.”

Vanthanoris paced between the piles of wreckage. He turned suddenly to the seated dwarf. “Slaves? We’re to be slaves, you say?” Gundabyr belched and nodded. “What sort of work are we supposed to do?”

“They’re building a wall,” explained the dwarf. “A very high wall across the Mortas Trench, from this mountain to the next.”

“Why?” asked Harmanutis, curious.

“To keep the chilkit out.”

Vanthanoris planted his fists on his hips. “And what, by Astra, are chilkit?”

“More like ‘who’ than ‘what.’ The chilkit are the mortal enemies of the Quoowahb. Now and then they come down the valley and attack the blueskins.”

Harmanutis’s blue eyes gleamed. “So the sea elves have enemies, do they? This may be our opening. Could we treat with these chilkit, Gundabyr? Would they help us get away from the blueskins?”

“Nope. The chilkit aren’t people at all. They’re monsters. Big, ugly crab-things. They eat any Quoowahb that they capture. We might be a different flavor, but they’d surely eat us too.”

“Nonetheless,” said the corporal, hanging on to hope, “our best chance may be to make our escape when the blueskins are distracted by their enemies. If we-”

The cave filled with the sound of churning water. “Work parties returning,” Gundabyr said quickly. “I hafta hide from the guards!” In a flash he was back in the barrel.

“Wait! Gundabyr?”

“Go away! Don’t let on I’m in here!”

Puzzled, the two Qualinesti left the dwarf and walked toward the pool. A troop of wet, semi-naked prisoners was rising from the water. Armed sea elves made a double line through which the captives passed. The last pair of Dargonesti held woven bags. As the prisoners went by, they deposited their used airshells in the bags.

The first slaves, emaciated humans with long beards, passed the Qualinesti without a second glance. There was more recognition from some dwarven captives-eye contact and slight nods. Then, to the elves’ astonishment, Gundabyr came marching out of the cavern pool at the rear of the line.

“Eh?” Vanthanoris said, looking back toward the flour barrel. “What’s this?”

Harmanutis jabbed him with an elbow. “His brother, remember? Must be his twin brother.”

In a flash the Qualinesti warriors understood the dwarves’ trick. Because they were twins, one of the brothers could hide from the Dargonesti guards, while the other went out to work. By alternating days off, the dwarves spared themselves half the work, along with half the jeopardy.

They followed Gundabyr’s twin, Garnath, as he trudged to the rear of the cave and flopped heavily onto the hard stone floor. Water trickled off him, pooling in the low places in the rock. He became aware that someone was standing over him and opened his eyes.

“Whaddya want?” Garnath rumbled.

After performing introductions, Harmanutis dropped hints of their meeting with Gundabyr.

“I’m Gundabyr,” said the sodden dwarf. “My brother, Garnath, succumbed to an ague weeks ago.”

“Of course. My condolences,” Harmanutis murmured.

“He was a fine dwarf,” said Garnath mournfully.

“And a good forgemaster,” put in a voice from inside the flour barrel.

“Salt of the earth,” Garnath added.

“You can come out now,” Harmanutis told the flour barrel.

Gundabyr worked his head and shoulders out of the barrel. Garnath sat up, and the dwarf twins shook hands.

“Your turn tomorrow, Brother,” Garnath said with an exhausted sigh.

“Yup.” Gundabyr brought out more strips of dried cod for his brother, and the two dwarves sat side by side, chewing noisily. Harmanutis asked again about the chilkit.

“Don’t expect help from them,” Garnath said, echoing his brother’s earlier advice. “They have some intelligence, but not even the blueskins can talk to them. They come down the valley now and then and attack anything in their path. They’re bigger than Quoowahb are, and pretty damn tough.”

Next Harmanutis asked about the airshells.

“Nope, can’t use them,” Gundabyr stated, dashing yet another hope.

“Why not?” Vanthanoris demanded.

“The Quoowahb count every one they bring in and every one they take out. And even if you could get your hands on one, there’s no knowing how much air’s in it.”

“And the sea brothers would get you anyway,” put in Garnath.

Vanthanoris dropped his head into his hands, his brain reeling with all this unhappy news. “And who are the sea brothers?” he asked despondently.

“Shapeshifters. You must’ve seen them-the dolphins who rescued you.”

Harmanutis remembered them well. “Can all the Quoowahb become dolphins?”

“Nope, just the sea brothers. They live outside the city. A fella called Naxos is their chief, but he takes his orders from Coryphene,” Garnath explained.

“So Coryphene is Speaker of these elves?”

“Him?” Gundabyr spat. “He’s a veritable butcher, but he’s not the leader.”

Vanthanoris swore, which caused the dwarves to smile. Harmanutis motioned for him to be still and asked, “Then who does rule in Urione?”

“Her Divine Majesty, Queen Uriona,” said the dwarf twins in unison. Gundabyr added wryly, “Uriona the Mad, that is. They say she’s been touched by the gods. ‘Touched’ is right.”

A distinct clack-clack rang down the tunnel. Gundabyr vanished into the barrel again. Garnath jumped to his feet, crying, “The blueskins are coming back! Whatever the reason, it can’t be good!”

The clacking noise had been made by one of the other dwarves. He’d seen a disturbance in the water and