“Wake up, Brother!” he bellowed. “Wake up!”
Gundabyr rolled out, dazed. “What? What is it?”
“I want the barrel,” said Garnath. “You owe me two days’ work now.”
Gundabyr yawned. “By Reorx! Couldn’t you have waited till morning to tell me that?”
“It
Gundabyr sighed and surveyed the long, dim tunnel. The unhappy slaves slept where they dropped. The grotto resembled a battlefield, with bodies strewn all about.
The only other person still awake in the entire cave was Armantaro. He tried to assemble a decent pallet from the assortment of junk littering the cave floor. Gundabyr yawned once more, stretched, and ambled over to the elf.
“Hail, friend. My name’s Gundabyr.”
Armantaro nodded and said, “Yes, so I heard. Your brother has an excellent set of lungs.”
“Yup, he got that way shouting over the forge hammers in Thorbardin. I can’t convince him not to shout here.”
The old colonel reclined stiffly, pillowing his head on one arm. He told the dwarf his name and rank, and how he’d ended up in this wretched place after his visit to the city.
“I figured as much,” said Gundabyr. He aimed a thumb at the inert forms of Harmanutis and Vanthanoris. “They told me you were down here. Ain’t there a lady with you?”
“Yes, indeed, and I fear for her. Coryphene has kept her.”
Gundabyr tugged at his black beard. “He’s never done that before. The blueskins don’t give a fig for any of us drylanders, you know.”
“I’m certain he has designs on her. He may suspect she is something other than my niece. A princess of the house of Kith-Kanan would be quite a prize for an ambitious warlord.” In spite of his worried tone, Armantaro’s eyelids were drooping. His breathing slowed. As his eyelids finally closed, he added, “He’ll get more than he bargained for with Lady Vixa, though. One unguarded moment, and she’ll split him … wide open.”
Armantaro was asleep. Shrugging, the dwarf got up and went back to a pile of wreckage behind the flour barrel. This seemingly worthless collection of rubbish was his tool kit. During his free days, and in the wee hours while Garnath slept, the restless Gundabyr spent his time exploring the recesses of Nissia Grotto. He’d fashioned some crude tools from bits of wood, bent nails, and loose rocks. Far back in the remote areas of the cave, he kept his collection of mineral samples. The grotto had not been formed by the slow process of erosion. Instead, it had been created by an ancient volcano. As a result, the interior was rich in minerals such as sulfur, niter, and bitumen, which oozed out of crevices in the lowest regions of the cave system.
Gundabyr slipped his tools into his ragged pockets and walked off into the darkness. His greatest wish, aside from freedom, was for a light he could take along on his explorations. The Dargonesti globes were fastened to the walls, and any attempt to remove them always ended badly. The dwarf carried out his research by touch and smell, often bringing back samples to the inhabited portion of the cave for final identification.
He’d gone only a few hundred paces into the deep cavern when he noticed a strange noise. Holding very still, Gundabyr heard it again. A sort of scratching, or maybe a scraping sound, coming from far away. The prisoners were all fast asleep, and there was no one else in the grotto. Gundabyr took his homemade pick, fashioned from a long ship’s nail driven through a length of decking, and scraped the cave wall in front of him. He listened hard, but the noise had stopped. He did not hear it again.
Chapter 8
Vixa was dreaming.
She was trapped in a clear crystal globe surrounded by water. The water was filled with sea elves, all staring at her and pointing long, blue, webbed fingers. They never spoke, but only stared and pointed. It became extremely annoying.
“Stop it!” she shouted at them. “I am Princess Vixa Ambrodel, daughter of the house of Kith-Kanan! Begone, I say!”
They showed no sign of hearing her, but continued to stare with blank faces. Their eyes glowed. Furious, Vixa struck the walls of her crystal prison with her fists. The blow stung her knuckles. It also caused cracks to appear in the glass. The fractures radiated outward from the point of impact, and water began to seep into the globe. Anger turned to horror as Vixa realized what she’d done. If the water got in, she would drown!
The cracks raced around the glass, spreading faster and faster. The water rose up to her ankles. A blink of her eyes, and the water had touched her knees. In seconds, she was neck-deep and had to tread water to keep her face above the icy flow. What was she to do?
Vixa flung out a hand and felt the roof over her head. Silver fissures met and crossed above her. Water closed over her head. She pounded at the domed ceiling.
With a gasp, Vixa sat up. She was on a flat couch in a dimly lit room. From the green color of the walls and floor, she surmised that she was somewhere in the palace.
Her legs were tangled in her Dargonesti robe. She freed them and swung her feet to the floor. The room tilted slightly; she put a hand to her head. In a few seconds the dizziness passed. A small sound behind her brought her to her feet, whirling to face whatever threat might come. The room was divided by translucent curtains, and behind these she could see a seated figure.
“Who’s there?” she demanded. “Show yourself!”
The figure rose and stepped forward, parting the curtains. It was Naxos, the shapeshifter, Coryphene’s dolphin-herald.
“Forgive me,” he said, though his tone was far from contrite. “I came to see if you were all right. Don’t give me away, will you?”
“Give you away?”
“To Coryphene. I’m not supposed to be here.”
He was dressed in a simple shark-leather kilt. His aquamarine hair was held away from his face by a headband carved from blood coral. His powerful physique, insolent manner, and daunting height made him an unsettling presence. Vixa, accustomed to looming over most people, found herself taking a step back, so as not to have to tilt her head to see him.
“What happened to me?” she asked.
“You’ve been unconscious a full day. I wanted to see if you survived your audience with Uriona.”
“I guess I did-barely.”
Naxos grinned. His smile was infectious, and Vixa found herself smiling back.
“You don’t speak of your queen the way Coryphene does. Don’t you consider her divine?”
“I’ve known Uriona since she was this high.” He held a hand level with Vixa’s forehead and grinned again, adding, “She’s hardly ever divine.”
“She seems … distracted,” Vixa said carefully.
“She’s mad,” was his blunt rejoinder. Naxos sat on the couch, leaning back on one hand. “Since no one else will tell you the tale, I suppose I’ll have to.
“Uriona is the fourth daughter of Kedurach Takalurion, Speaker of the Moon and ruler of Watermere. As such, she had few prospects in life other than marriage to some noble whose support the Speaker desired. She was not content with this fate and turned to the study of sorcery and high thaumaturgy. Whatever else it did for her, her magic frightened off half-hearted suitors. By the end of her first century, Uriona was one of the most powerful magic-users in Watermere.”
Vixa, remembering the effect of the queen’s glance, had no trouble believing him.
