paces beyond the Qualinesti’s sleeping area, the tunnel was dark and dank, the floor irregular. Crystals glittered in the black lava walls. Thirty paces in, the passage opened into a high chamber where dew dripped from the ceiling in an unending shower. This was their main source of fresh water. To keep the other prisoners from meddling in their explorations, the dwarf twins had made it their practice to tend the many buckets and seashell basins kept here to collect the dew.
Garnath raised the lamp over his head. “Listen,” he hissed.
In the quiet, the elves heard a faint sound-
“The Dargonesti, do you think?” asked Vixa in a hushed voice.
“Why? They can come in through the pool anytime they want,” said Gundabyr.
“Yes, and if there was any kind of digging to be done, you can bet they’d have us doing it,” Vanthanoris commented.
Armantaro circled the large chamber. “It’s loudest here. What direction is that?” Harmanutis, Vanthanoris, and the dwarves had a brisk disagreement about this. Their voices rose.
“Quiet!” Vixa commanded. “That’s the direction of the Mortas Trench!”
The revelation hit them like a lightning bolt. No Dargonesti would dare stray into the trench. It was thoroughly infested by …
“The chilkit,” whispered Harmanutis.
“They’re digging through to flank Coryphene’s wall!” Vanthanoris exclaimed. In his shock, he backed away from the sound of digging and bumped into Gundabyr. The dwarf sat down hard in a deep puddle of water.
Vanthanoris apologized. Gundabyr started to complain loudly, but his remarks halted abruptly as he leaned down to sniff the puddle. Then he stuck a finger in the water.
“This isn’t dew,” he reported. “It’s seawater.”
The group ran back to the inhabited end of the grotto. Armantaro climbed up on an outcropping of rock and shouted for everyone’s attention.
“We’ve found signs that the chilkit are boring into this tunnel!” he reported. The prisoners erupted into terrified exclamations. Armantaro held up his hands for silence, but had to shout over the tumult. “Listen to me!” he cried. “We must throw up a barricade!”
“If they can dig through solid rock, how can we stop them with ships’ timbers and dunnage?” yelled a human.
“We need to buy time,” Vixa countered. “We’ll need airshells to get out of here. Someone will have to go out and tell the Dargonesti.”
“That’s suicide!”
“Better to drown than face the chilkit alone,” put in another slave.
“Who’s the best swimmer here?” Armantaro shouted. No one came forward. Finally, Vanthanoris stepped out of the crowd.
The old colonel regarded the youngest of the Qualinesti somberly. “You, Van?”
The elf shrugged. “Who else is there?”
“If the chilkit breach the mountain, this cave will probably flood,” Gundabyr warned.
Groans and lamentations filled the air.
Armantaro jumped down from his perch and led the prisoners in piling up all the wreckage they had-bolstered with rocks, gravel, even their meager bedrolls.
Gundabyr and Garnath ferried their newly made store of gnomefire behind the barrier. Vixa stood atop the growing barricade, staring into the depths of the cave.
“Keep some of those pots handy,” she said quietly to the dwarves. “We may need them to discourage the chilkit.”
While she spoke, a thin stream of water came rolling down the cave floor. Some of the captives saw this and let out screams of fright.
“Vanthanoris, stand ready,” Armantaro called. The young elf was poised by the edge of the pool.
There was a loud crash, and a cloud of dust spurted down the passage. A knee-deep surge of water followed, splashing against the foot of the hastily built barricade. Parts of the makeshift wall were swiftly washed away. Prisoners quickly armed themselves with stones or rude clubs made from ship timbers. Vixa stood atop a heap of flattened crates, heart pounding.
The mining noises ceased. The level of water slowly rose, seeping through the barrier. Then another, more sinister sound reached those on the barricade: the clicking of chilkit feet on stone. Vague shadowy forms appeared in the dark recesses of the cave.
“Astra, be with us,” Armantaro whispered. Then he yelled, “Go, Van!”
Vanthanoris dove into the pool.
The prisoners stood behind the debris barricade, straining every nerve to see the enemy. The clicking grew louder.
“Ah! There!”
All eyes went to where Vixa pointed. Clinging to the roof of the grotto was a chilkit. The sight sent panic through the slaves. Armantaro shouted for them to stand fast. The old colonel’s voice, long used to command, froze most of the fearful in their tracks.
Tentatively, the chilkit entered the illumination cast by the weak Dargonesti light globes. Its long antennae swept the air. It seemed confused and hesitant.
A second chilkit appeared, near the left wall. A third came slowly out of the darkness at floor level.
“Have at them!” Armantaro cried.
A barrage of stones hit the monster clinging to the ceiling, forcing it to back away. It waved one claw to ward off missiles, batted some aside. The chilkit on the wall rushed forward with startling speed and crashed into the pile of wreckage. Timber balks and broken yardarms fell apart, trapping several men underneath. The crates Vixa stood on slid sideways, throwing her off. She splashed down into six inches of water and rolled to a stop against something hard.
A chilkit’s legs. She’d landed on the wrong side of the barricade, at the feet of the monster who’d advanced across the floor. For an endless second the creature regarded her with inky eyes. An antenna flicked lightly across her face. Vixa had a fleeting notion that the creature might not be hostile-until it raised a claw over her. The sharp inner edges were hard and white, in contrast to the bright red of the rest of the claw.
She wriggled between the monster’s legs until she was directly under it. The claw raked the stone floor just behind her feet. Vixa kept crawling, using her elbows and knees. The dripping wet belly of the chilkit was inches above her. Oh, for Armantaro’s dagger right now!
The chilkit did a fast turn, stepping over and uncovering Vixa. One of its spiny-fingered hands closed around her ankle. She yelled and kicked at it.
A red-bearded man darted in and hammered the chilkit with a club. After the third blow, his waterlogged weapon snapped. The monster thrust forward a closed claw, spearing the human in the chest. The chilkit easily lifted its victim off his feet and threw him back across the barricade.
By this time the grotto was a perfect riot of noise: shouts, screams, the smash and splinter of wood, the clatter of stone on flesh and stone. Vixa was still flailing in the shallow water, trying to free herself from the chilkit’s grip when the burly Garnath approached. With a rock weighing as much as Vixa herself, the dwarf smashed the monster’s arm, right on the joint. The crimson shell splintered and pink flesh tore. Vixa pulled away, the chilkit’s four-fingered hand still locked around her leg.
Brave Garnath did not long survive that mighty blow. Stuttering in pain, the chilkit swung a massive claw sideways at the dwarf. It connected with a solid thud. Amazingly, Garnath kept his feet, though blood flowed from his lips. Vixa grabbed the first thing she could find: the stump of an oar. She whacked at the chilkit, but to no effect. The monster opened its claw around Garnath’s neck. The dwarf threw up his arms to hold the deadly pincers apart, but the scissor claw closed with a hideous crunch. The gallant dwarf’s head was severed from his body.
Vixa shouted a torrent of obscenity, yanking the chilkit hand from her leg. She climbed over the barricade, snatching up one of Gundabyr’s pots of gnomefire paste. Her aim was true. The pot hit the chilkit that had slain Garnath, splattering sticky liquid over its armored chest.
