“You can’t run loose in Urione, drylander. Come with me.”
“I–I’m fr-fr-freezing!” The sea elf gestured for her to get up, but she remained obstinately where she was.
The sea elf shook his head in disgust. He unclasped his cloak and dropped it unceremoniously over her head. Vixa wrapped it around herself, then got to her feet and followed him into the city.
She found herself in the fish market square, on the side opposite to where she and Armantaro had first entered. The square was carpeted with wounded Dargonesti. Sea elves in pale blue robes moved through the mass of injured, tending their hurts. She guessed them to be acolytes of Quen, the goddess of healing.
The warrior led her down a long line of wounded Dargonesti. There were not enough healers to tend them all. Dozens of warriors writhed in pain from claw wounds or lost limbs. She followed the guard until they came to a pavilion set up in the center of the square. Under this awning sat Coryphene, surrounded by warriors and priests. The crowd parted for her. When Vixa reached him, she saw that his cuirass was scarred by blows from chilkit claws. The Protector was being treated for a wound in his left forearm.
“The redshell cut right through my best shield,” he said, seeing the direction of her gaze. The wound went deep into both sides of his forearm. Another inch or so, Vixa overheard the attending priest say, and Coryphene’s arm would have been severed.
“Yes, yes,” was the Protector’s irritable response. To Vixa, he said, “I am surprised you are alive, lady.”
“So am I, Excellence. Is there news of my companions?”
Coryphene’s lips thinned in pain. The healer was dabbing at his wound with a bit of sponge. Steeling himself, he replied, “Few of them survived.”
Vixa’s face whitened. Fear twisted in her stomach. “Who lives?” she whispered.
“The two younger warriors are dead. The dark-haired one drowned. The other died fighting the enemy.”
Harmanutis and Vanthanoris, both gone. “What else?”
Coryphene winced as the healer applied a roll of damp brown seaweed to his arm. “Careful, wretch!” he hissed. The priest drew back in alarm. Coryphene mastered his anger, told the healer to proceed.
“The younger, white-haired warrior, what was his name?”
“Van-” She cleared her throat. “Vanthanoris.”
“He warned my left flank column that the chilkit were in the grotto. He was given an airshell, but would not return to the city. He took a spear from the battlefield and died fighting a chilkit. His warning allowed my army to withdraw to a safer position and prevented a rout. Your Vanthanoris died well. Is he typical of the warriors found in Qualinesti?”
Sunk in misery, she nodded.
“I see.” There was a pause; then Coryphene beckoned to one of his many aides. The Protector said a quick word in the elf’s ear, and the young Dargonesti departed on some errand.
The nervous healer now tried to tie the free ends of the seaweed bandage around Coryphene’s arm. Coryphene made a fist and stared at the healer’s hands while the knot was made fast.
“Enough. Begone!” The priest bowed and fled.
“Excellence,” Vixa said, her heart heavy. “Have you any word of my other companion, Armantaro?”
“He survived. He is in the House of Arms with the other drylanders.” A ray of happiness eased Vixa’s sorrow. Coryphene held out a goblet. One of the soldiers stepped up to fill it with a greenish fluid. Coryphene drank deeply. His face was flushed when he lowered the cup.
“What about you?” he asked suddenly. “How did you survive the chilkit and the sea for so long?”
“Someone helped me,” she said stiffly. “A Dargonesti gave me air. I had to hide in the open ocean until the battle ended.”
Coryphene picked at the ends of his bandage while she talked. When she paused, he asked, still staring at his arm, “Was it Naxos?”
She stiffened in surprise, but feigned ignorance, saying, “Naxos? Your herald? No, Excellence. It was not a dolphin.”
He nodded slowly, apparently satisfied. At that instant the young elf Coryphene had sent away returned. He bore in his arms several items of clothing. Coryphene made a quick gesture, and the elf handed the clothes to Vixa.
“What happened in the grotto?” the Protector asked. “That fire came from no volcano. Was it a chilkit weapon?”
Vixa couldn’t think of any reason to lie, and she was too weary to make an effort. “It was gnomefire, Excellence. A dwarven smith among the prisoners made it from minerals he found in the caverns. We slaves were using it to try to keep warm. Gnomefire burns when it meets water. We were able to kill several chilkit with it.”
“Can he make more, this dwarf?”
“I suppose so-if he’s still alive,” she finished sadly.
“Go to the House of Arms then. Find this dwarf for me. If he can make more of this fire, perhaps we can defeat our ancient enemy. Bear in mind, lady, if we defeat the chilkit, then we’ll have no more need for troublesome dryland labor.”
His words pierced her gloom. “No more need-you mean you’ll set us free?”
“Let us see what your dwarf friend can contrive, shall we?” He turned away and called to one of his soldiers. “Egriun.”
A sea elf with blue-streaked emerald hair stepped out of the pack of warriors. “Take her to the House of Arms,” Coryphene said. “Find the dwarf smith, and see that he gets what he needs to make this … this …”
“Gnomefire,” Vixa supplied.
Egriun gestured for Vixa to precede him. She walked out of the pavilion, and the two of them crossed the square to the central spiral ramp.
“What do you think, soldier?” she asked. “Can you defeat the chilkit?”
“One Dargonesti is worth ten redshells,” Egriun replied. He looked around at the wounded elves covering the square. “But there are fewer Dargonesti left to bear arms.”
“You should arm the citizenry.”
“That rabble? They have no stomach for battle!”
“If they were trained-”
“Might as well train a halibut before putting it on the table. The chilkit would devour them where they stood.”
Chapter 12
Vixa made use of an empty alley to change into the green vest and short kilt Coryphene had given her. Eight levels up from the fish market, Egriun led her off the ramp. They wound up at a squat, square building whose towers merged into the roof of this level. A gate of polished stone, cut in the shape of a disk ten feet wide, rolled closed behind Vixa and her escort. She knew a fortress when she saw one-a fortress, and a prison.
Egriun took her down a long straight passage, darker even than Nissia Grotto. The walls and floor were made of dark blue slate that absorbed whatever light fell on it. Somewhere not far away Vixa heard the ring of hammer on metal. It was very warm in this place. She started to sweat.
The passage ended at a circular room with other tunnels radiating out from it. The stone floor was covered with an inlay of rainbow-hued scales, the hide of some enormous sea beast. Leather banners studded with gems and shells hung from the walls. Suits of armor wrought from tortoiseshell, sharkskin, and bronze plates stood on frames around the room’s perimeter. Seated on the floor in this warriors’ chamber were the survivors from Nissia Grotto. There weren’t more than thirty.
