“She awaits within,” replied a shell-bedecked priest.
Coryphene nodded to the servants at the inner doors. One struck a hanging assembly of pink shells, which rang sweetly in a cascade of bell tones. The priests and the honor guard turned their backs to the door as it opened.
“Remember!” Coryphene hissed. “Avert your eyes!”
Vixa lowered her gaze to her bare feet. Fine treatment for a member of the royal house of Qualinost, she silently fumed. The blood of Kith-Kanan and Silvanos ran in her veins. Why could she not look on this petty undersea queen?
The audience chamber was lit by a shifting greenish light. The Protector dropped to one knee, signaling for Vixa to do likewise by tugging on her hand.
“Divine Queen, your servant Coryphene has come as you commanded,” he said. Vixa resisted his pull. A princess of the Qualinesti kneels to none but the Speaker, after all. Coryphene gave a stronger yank, and she lost her balance, dropping unceremoniously to her knees.
A light voice, low in timbre, replied, “Is this the dryland maiden of whom I have heard?”
“Yes, Divinity.”
“There were others with her, were there not?”
“Yes, Divinity. There were five in all. One drowned, and the other three are lodged in Nissia Grotto, to work on the wall.”
A moment of silence. Vixa could hear the queen’s light breathing. At last, the queen said, “You are small. Are you a child?”
Coryphene nudged her. “Answer,” he whispered.
“I am not a child, Your Majesty,” Vixa said. She felt silly staring at the floor while she spoke. “In my land I am counted as unusually tall.”
“I see that we Dargonesti have surpassed the landed race in height and strength,” observed the mild voice. “Just as we have in wisdom and divine favor.”
That rankled. Vixa was about to offer her opinion of Dargonesti superiority when the queen commanded, “Approach.”
Coryphene stood up, hauling her to her feet. They went forward six steps and knelt again. This time there was a large segment of polished basalt in the floor in front of Vixa. It displayed the queen’s reflection faintly. Vixa squinted at it, trying to make out the woman’s features.
“Who reigns in your country, girl?”
“Speaker of the Sun Silveran, Majesty.”
“And who was his father?”
“The great Kith-Kanan. His mother was a Kagonesti named Anaya, who transformed into a tree while pregnant and delivered her son many, many years later.”
There was a brief pause, then the low voice asked, “What is a tree?”
Vixa was so startled by the question she nearly raised her head to stare at the queen of Urione. She checked herself, explaining as briefly as she could what trees were.
“I see. Rather like our coral gardens. Tell me what you know of Silvanesti.”
Again the abrupt change of subject disconcerted the Qualinesti princess. Coryphene nudged her, and she responded, “I’ve never been there, Majesty. The elves of Silvanost have little to do with those of Qualinost.”
“Why?”
Vixa explained about the Kinslayer War and the schism between Kith-Kanan and his twin brother, Speaker of the Stars Sithas. It was slow going, because she hadn’t studied history in some years, and it was by any reckoning a long and complicated narration. She stammered her way through the story, and her account seemed to satisfy the queen. Vixa gathered her nerve and asked a question of her own.
“Your Majesty, when may I and my companions return home?” she inquired.
Without warning, a stunning blow landed on the side of Vixa’s head, making her ears ring and sending her sprawling. Her belt broke when she landed, and the tiny coral beads went flying.
“It is not your place to ask questions!” Coryphene growled. His fury was plain, though his voice remained low.
This was too much for Vixa. She had followed their ridiculous rules, crawling about on the floor like a commoner, and had only asked one simple, polite question. Immediately, she sprang at Coryphene, knocked him down, and aimed a kick at his ribs. It landed solidly; then many hands seized her and dragged her away from the Protector. She struggled against the grip of at least three Dargonesti, but they forced her to her knees and shoved her facedown on the cold, hard floor.
“Enough,” said the queen, her voice still low and unruffled.
Coryphene tried to recover his wounded dignity, but this was a difficult proposition as he had to remain upon his knees, head bowed, before his monarch. The guards released Vixa at the queen’s order, and the Qualinesti princess slowly sat up. She kept her gaze averted, though she was now filled with a burning desire to stare directly into the eyes of the queen.
“Though you are of the ancient race, it is apparent that our kindred have fallen into barbarism,” observed the queen. “Your behavior demonstrates this. As the gods have told me, the time has come to unite our ancient peoples into one great nation.”
Surprised, Vixa blurted, “What?”
“Know this, girl, I am Uriona, chosen of the gods and queen of this my city,” the queen said. “Five hundred years ago the gods Abbaku and Kisla came to me in my dreams and bade me leave the deep lands of Watermere and found this city. Since then, I have dreamed many times of a shining tower, reaching far up into the dry air. The gods have given me this promise: when I am crowned in the Tower of the Stars, all those of elven blood will bow down and swear fealty to me.”
Vixa was taken aback. The Silvanesti would never permit Uriona to set foot in the sacred Tower of the Stars in Silvanost, much less be crowned ruler of all elves. Did she think they would allow her to defile the purity of their city with her presence?
The queen was still speaking, saying that once she and her armies had marched to Silvanost she would be installed as the ruler of all the elven nations. She spoke as if accomplishing this would be the merest trifle. Vixa shifted position slightly and felt the cold tip of a spear digging into the thin material of her robe.
The princess’s mind was racing. Not only did she desire freedom for herself and her friends, she had a duty to warn the Silvanesti about Uriona’s crazed scheme. But how to escape? And how to warn the Silvanesti? She had about as much chance of getting into Silvanost as this crazy sea elf.
The chamber’s odd, greenish lighting was constantly shifting. Momentarily it brightened, and Vixa caught her first clear glimpse of the image of Queen Uriona in the polished black surface of the floor tile before her.
The sea queen was seated on a bench whose wide, flat seat curved up slightly at each end. She was robed in some bright material-probably the same silver mesh her guards wore. The Dargonesti queen had a dark blue complexion and large eyes. Her hair, unlike that of her subjects, was shining white. It swept back slightly from her face but fell in a loose cascade over her shoulders and into her lap. Her age was impossible to determine from the fuzzy reflection, and her voice sounded neither old nor young.
A pinpoint of green gleamed in Uriona’s reflected eyes. Vixa thought this was a trick of the shifting light, but it happened a second and then a third time.
“Impudent girl,” murmured the queen.
A dazzling flash of green light erupted from the queen’s eyes. The flare seemed to rebound from the floor and strike Vixa full in the face. She had no time to shield her eyes, and agony filled her head. She cried out, toppled to the floor. The glare was replaced by darkness as she dropped into oblivion.
Once the break in the top of the wall was repaired, the guards marched the slaves back to Nissia Grotto. The work had taken several hours. Harmanutis and Vanthanoris staggered to the rear of the cave, collapsing on piles of tattered sailcloth. Armantaro, more than twice their age, seemed to have held up better, but then he had the advantage of a decent meal, courtesy of Coryphene.
Garnath walked up to the flour barrel housing his twin and kicked it smartly. A snort erupted, but no dwarf appeared. Grimacing, Garnath pounded the staves with his thick fist.
