outside Urione’s temple complex. The new acolyte surreptitiously studied the inscriptions at the entrance to the various sanctuaries.
“Can you read them?” said a low, strained voice from the vicinity of the acolyte’s waist.
“Shh, legs can’t talk. I’ll let you know.”
Sitting astride Gundabyr’s shoulders, Vixa tapped him with her left heel to steer him down a narrow lane. The usual Dargonesti script eluded Vixa’s understanding, but here in the temple precinct the priests still used Old Elvish, just as was written in Silvanost more than a millennium ago. It was awkward and archaic, but Vixa, always an avid reader, had at least a general comprehension. She puzzled her way past structures sacred to gods named El-ai, the Fisher, and Ke-en. She decided these were the Dargonesti equivalents of E’li, the Blue Phoenix, and Quen. Then they entered a smaller, circular courtyard, faced by three lesser temples. The names on these were Matheri, Estarin, and Zura.
“What’s the matter?” hissed Gundabyr in response to her soft exclamation.
“These Dargonesti are strange elves,” she replied. “I just figured out that these three temples are sacred to Mantis of the Rose, Astra, and Zeboim.” This last name amazed the dwarf. In Thorbardin this goddess was called Bhezomiax, but there were no shrines dedicated to her. What use had a mountain race for a sea goddess? Daughter of Takhisis, the queen of evil, Zeboim was known to be impetuous, temperamental, and very, very dangerous.
“You mean they worship evil gods alongside the good?” Gundabyr asked.
“So it seems. Now I understand Naxos’s nervousness about using the water of Zura.”
Gundabyr smothered a groan. “Lady, you’re no lightweight, you know. Do we go on?”
Vixa nodded curtly. “We have to. I don’t know what else to do.”
They walked up to the entrance of the temple of Zura. The building was a truncated pyramid made of alternating bands of jade and blood coral. Striking but gaudy, was Vixa’s opinion. Monstrous carvings decorated the outer walls, depicting all the destructive forces of the sea: waterspouts, tidal waves, and the like.
A pair of priests came into view. Each wore on a thong around his neck a jade medallion decorated with Zeboim’s-or rather Zura’s-sign, a sea turtle. Vixa flinched when they drew near enough for her to see their faces. Unlike the usual blue tone of the Dargonesti elves, the priests of Zura had deathly gray complexions. Their eyes were strangely dull and colorless-much like the flat, gray shade of the ocean on a cloudy day. They walked with small, shuffling steps, their arms hanging straight and unmoving by their sides. No notice was taken of the tall, unknown acolyte who fell in behind them.
The temple’s interior was damp and fetid. Smears of phosphorescent slime on the walls provided what little light there was. Ahead, the two priests ducked their heads periodically. At first Vixa thought they were observing some sort of ritual, then she felt a cold, fleeting contact on her forehead. Looking up, she noticed faint tendrils of smoke floating in the air, writhing like the tentacles of some phantom octopus. Vixa felt no pain at the contact, but a horrid smell of decay permeated her nostrils.
The priests disappeared down a side passage. Vixa and Gundabyr forged ahead. She watched for other tendrils and dodged them when they appeared. At last they reached the center of the pyramid. The main chamber mimicked the form of the outer structure, being a flat-topped pyramid itself. In the center, instead of an altar, there was a fountain. Water dribbled from the mouth of a statue of Zura, which was carved from a massive block of white onyx. Depicted in Quoowahb form, Zura wore an expression of pure malevolence. Her eyes were set with blue- green jade.
“I need a jar,” Vixa said. “Turn around, Gundabyr.” The dwarf swung her in a full circle. “Whoa! Not so fast! Again, more slowly.”
Deep niches were cut into the walls. Piled in the hollows were white clay amphorae. Vixa pulled one out. It was empty. Smaller than a Qualinesti wine jug, it would hold perhaps a quart of liquid. She hoped that was sufficient for Naxos’s purpose. A fitted stone stopper was set in the mouth with the same kind of sticky kelp paste they’d used to seal the gnomefire pots. It had a long, braided seaweed loop for a handle.
Gundabyr took her back to the fountain. Since no one was around, he hiked up the hem of the long robe and took a breath of air, as well as a look around. When he saw the statue, his mouth dropped in amazement. “I hope we don’t meet her while we’re here,” he said, aghast at the dreadful image.
“Shh! Bend over so I can fill the jug.”
He leaned forward, resting his hands on the rim of the pool. As Vixa held the amphora in the water, Gundabyr was able to see what was lying in the bottom of the pool. Skulls. A great many of them.
“Uh, Princess, I’m not sure this is a good idea. Look down here.”
Vixa glanced down, almost dropping the jug. “By Astra! Where did those come from?”
“Sacrifices, maybe? Or all that’s left of people who drank the water?”
She shuddered. “We’ve got to trust Naxos,” she said, finishing her task. “He said to bring him the water, and that’s what we’re going to do.”
She plugged the amphora, smeared the brown jelly around the stopper, then handed the jug to Gundabyr. He put its braided loop over his neck, and they rearranged the robe over him and his burden.
They garnered a few sidelong glances as they crossed the square and left the temple precinct, but no one challenged them. By the ramp, they discarded the robe, and Vixa recovered her hidden spear. Gundabyr and Vixa descended a few levels, then got off at a residential floor evidently reserved for Urione’s more affluent citizens. The houses were larger and fewer, and the level had the advantage of being nearly empty just now.
“There are side stairs and ramps all over,” Vixa said, rushing ahead. “As long as we keep going down, we’ll find our way to the sea.”
Puffing a little, the slender amphora cradled in his arms, the dwarf commented, “Not to be argumentative, but the sea’s everywhere outside, ain’t it?”
Vixa pulled up short, her face reddening. “You’re right. I would’ve dragged us through the whole city, just so we could leave the same way we came in!”
“We have another problem, lady.”
“What?”
“I know you shapeshifted dolphins can hold your breath from here to midnight. Me, I’m running out of wind on these stairways.”
She clapped a hand to her head. “We need an airshell!”
“Yup.”
Dejected, the pair crouched in an alley between two fine houses. Through open windows occupants of the buildings could be seen moving about. Faint music came from inside.
“Let’s consider this logically,” Vixa whispered. “All an airshell is, is a container for air. We never knew how much air any one of them would have. Right?”
“Right. So?”
“A container for air,” she repeated, her eyes distant with thought. “Gundabyr,” she said abruptly, “how many breaths do you take in a minute?”
“Hammer me if I know.”
She urged him to find out. Breathing normally, the dwarf counted his exhalations while Vixa counted off the seconds in a minute.
“Stop,” Vixa ordered.
Gundabyr reported he’d taken thirty-one breaths. “How does that help?” he asked.
“It will take me fourteen-no, better say fifteen-fifteen minutes to get from the city to Naxos’s cave, swimming flat out. All we need is enough air to last you-” With one finger, she scribbled on the dusty floor. “Four hundred sixty-five breaths!”
Vixa stood and tiptoed to the back of the dead-end alley. She explained that what she was looking for was a barrel or sack that could hold enough air to last him until they reached the cave where Naxos was hidden. Gundabyr could take sips of air from the barrel or sack, just as they had taken air from the airshells. The dwarf rolled his eyes.
The rear of the alley was piled with Dargonesti household rubbish. Some sacks were woven seaweed, useless as it was not airtight. Others turned out to be made of catfish skin. Not bad. Vixa pawed through several such sacks until she found one of the size she wanted. She emptied it of rubbish.
“It’ll do,” she pronounced. Gundabyr looked more than a little doubtful.
They stole back into the street. A few residents were out at the other end of the lane but didn’t notice the
