Dargonesti

Chapter 5

No one spoke for several long seconds. The Qualinesti remained standing on the ramp, shivering in calf-deep water. None of the richly dressed strangers smiled or spoke. Clad as she was in only her sodden smallclothes, Vixa found their expressionless stares most unnerving.

“We had n-no idea you or your city existed,” the princess finally stammered through chattering teeth. “It’s lucky for us you found us.”

At that, Coryphene smiled. “Has the landed race so soon forgotten their brothers, the Dargonesti?”

Dargonesti. Here was a race thought extinct for more than a thousand years. As Vixa, Armantaro, and the two warriors exchanged silent glances of wonder, one of the sea elf soldiers held out Vixa’s confiscated sword to Coryphene. He examined it closely, testing the heft and workmanship. Turning to Armantaro, Coryphene asked, “Who are you?”

The colonel, evidently taken for the leader because of his age, introduced everyone. He carefully omitted Vixa’s title. No sense stirring up ideas of ransom.

“Your wife?” Coryphene inquired.

“My … niece.” Armantaro smoothed the wet hair from his face and forced his shivering body to stand more erect. “There was another elf with us, named Esquelamar. Do you know if he was saved as well?”

Coryphene made a dismissive gesture. “My heralds told me of only your arrival.” One of the Dargonesti leaned closer and spoke softly to Coryphene. He nodded once, then said, “It is possible your companion was brought in through another portal.”

As he said this, a powerful gray dolphin burst from the water onto the quay. The Qualinesti flinched from this sudden intrusion. The creature landed in front of Coryphene. Its wide flukes flailed, splashing everyone on the dock.

“Is this how you present yourself, Naxos?” Coryphene’s tone was as chilly as the water.

The dolphin uttered a shrill whistle. Its back arched, and a violent shudder ran through its muscular body. The Qualinesti stared in stunned amazement as two sinewy arms appeared from the animal’s sides, arms as gray as the dolphin’s flesh. With a sharp sucking sound, the tail split down its length, becoming a pair of long gray legs. The snout shrank to a rather prominent nose. In less than twenty heartbeats, the dolphin had transformed into a lean, hard-muscled elf with short, greenish blue hair. His gray coloring faded, first from his extremities, and the usual blue skin tone of the Dargonesti washed over him.

The transformed elf knelt before Coryphene, his body glistening with seawater. “Forgive me, Excellence,” he murmured, though his expression was more amused than contrite.

“Is everything in order?”

“Ma’el is put to bed, Excellence.” The elf called Naxos glanced at the Qualinesti shivering on the quay.

“Was another drylander found, Naxos?” Coryphene asked.

“A fifth was discovered, Excellence. He had drowned.”

Vixa and Armantaro exchanged an unhappy look. Coryphene gestured at the two of them, saying, “You shall remain. Naxos, have the other two taken to the grotto.”

More dolphins appeared in the pool, blowing and whistling. Armantaro had to shout to be heard. “Your Excellency! These are my retainers. I wish to keep them with me.”

“You have no need of retainers here. Come.”

The newly arrived dolphins began transforming just as Naxos had. Vixa watched in rapt wonder as, one by one, they became tall, yellow-eyed Dargonesti elves.

Armantaro, thinking it unwise to annoy their host, tugged at her elbow. He spoke briefly to Harmanutis and Vanthanoris, and the warriors reluctantly allowed themselves to be separated from their commander.

Vixa and Armantaro followed Coryphene. The entourage stood aside to let the Qualinesti pass. Up close, Vixa saw that these sea elves were more than mere officials or courtiers. Under their mauve cloaks they wore breastplates of green tortoise-shell. Short scabbards hung from their belts. Vixa thought longingly of her own treasured sword and took hold of Armantaro’s arm.

“Why do I feel less rescued than captured?” she whispered.

He gave her an encouraging smile, but couldn’t hide the worry in his own eyes.

Coryphene had donned a tall headdress made with dangling shells and gemstones. His guard closed in behind them. A wide stone staircase led upward through the pale pink ceiling of this level, emerging in a busy street. Hundreds of Dargonesti bustled about in what appeared to be a marketplace. Fish of a dozen varieties lay piled in gigantic seashells or baskets of woven seaweed. Vendors trundled two-wheeled barrows back and forth. The air was heavy with damp and the smell of the sea.

Everyone made way for Coryphene. The common folk, who wore gray leather vests over knee-length green or yellow kilts, bowed deeply as he passed. Striding through the respectful crowd, Coryphene looked neither left nor right. His escort was similarly sober. Once the Dargonesti lord had passed by, the sea elves turned their gazes upon Vixa and Armantaro. The looks the two received were less friendly.

“No one seems happy to see us,” Vixa remarked softly.

“No, they don’t. We’d get a warmer greeting in Silvanost, I’ll wager.”

“Speaking of warm-” Vixa tugged at her skimpy clothing.

Armantaro frowned. He lengthened his stride.

“Your Excellence,” he said, catching up to the Dargonesti lord. “My niece is cold. Could we borrow a cloak for her?”

Coryphene glanced back at Vixa, shrugged, and gestured to a passerby. In moments, Vixa was wrapped in a blue cloak made of some surprisingly soft material. Warmer now, the Qualinesti princess looked about her with more interest.

Another vaulted ceiling topped this market, with many light globes strung about. In some places, on pillars or bare stretches of wall, stone spouts protruded. Formed to resemble sea horses or squid, these spouts poured forth streams of water into stone basins. They seemed too numerous to be drinking fountains. The mystery was solved when Vixa saw a Dargonesti set aside the basket of fish he carried and duck his head into one of the streams. It was then she realized that below each ear, on the sides of his neck, the sea elf had a semicircle of lacy gill. She commented on this to Armantaro.

“I see,” he said, nodding. “They seem to breathe both water and air. Perhaps they must keep their gills wet when not in the water.”

As they neared the far edge of the market, Coryphene stopped. An elaborate open sedan chair, borne by four helmeted elves, arrived. The bearers lowered the chair to the floor, and Coryphene stepped in.

Vixa looked around for another conveyance. None appeared. “Looks as if we walk,” she said with a sigh. Her feet, bare and damp, felt like twin ice blocks. None of the Dargonesti were shod, so she’d probably have trouble securing new boots here.

At a shout, the bearers hoisted Coryphene’s chair to their shoulders. The Dargonesti formed a line on each side. He clapped his hands, and the bearers were off at a trot. The Qualinesti were obliged to jog just to keep up.

The Dargonesti guards drew swords and held them up as they ran. The lead soldier, ahead of Coryphene’s chair, began to chant in a very deep voice. The guards echoed his words. To Vixa it sounded like nonsensical singsong.

“Look at their swords,” Armantaro puffed.

Coryphene’s escort was armed with an assortment of edged weapons-Ergothian sabers, dwarven short swords, sailors’ cutlasses. It was clear that these were salvaged pieces, probably from shipwrecks. Why would this elite guard be armed with such a random mix of blades?

A lustrous marble path wound tightly around an enormous pink granite pillar, most likely the central support of the city’s outer shell. The grade was rather steep, but the long-legged sea elves maintained their exhausting pace with no sign of discomfort.

As they trotted around the broad sweep of the ramp, Vixa looked up. The central shaft reached all the way to the city’s apex. She swallowed hard and looked away from the sheer, dizzying height of it.

Round and round they went, passing every level in Urione. Some levels were air-filled and contained houses and shops. Others, walled off from the spiral ramp by panes of quartz, were open to the ocean. Dolphins coursed through the passages-or perhaps they were Dargonesti in dolphin form, for these animals wore necklaces of shells and gems. On other flooded levels were gardens of waving sea plants, schools of trout and tuna that surged from wall to wall with the restless energy of the wild sea, and pens teeming with crabs.

They passed a level with especially high ceilings. Roads, inlaid with alternating bands of black basalt and mother-of-pearl, radiated from the central ramp to a complex of wedge-shaped temples constructed in the finest style. Elaborate, brightly colored bas-reliefs on the buildings displayed a variety of sea life-octopi, starfish, sea horses, and fish of every shape and hue. An odd odor, similar to the sweet incense used in Qualinesti temples, yet strangely different, permeated this level of the city, leaving a sickening aftertaste. Then, as Coryphene’s sedan chair swung around the ramp ahead of them, Vixa and Armantaro beheld a sight that froze the blood in their veins.

In a plaza between two brilliant temples stood an enormous statue, easily thirty feet wide and about half as high. It portrayed a creature shaped like an upside down bowl, with myriad tentacles hanging from its underside. A vast mouth opened on the side of the thing, and two onyx eyes were buried in the dull white flesh above the mouth. This was horrible enough, but scattered across the broad back of the monster were tiny carved models of ships. They listed this way and that, their sails slack and useless. Stranded ships, just like Evenstar.

“Ma’el is put to bed,” the shapeshifter Naxos had said to Coryphene. And what had Captain Esquelamar told them when they were first trapped inside the sea monster? He’d spoken of the kraken, a creature so huge it could drag down a ship entwined in its tentacles.

Their pace faltered. Lines of Dargonesti warriors surged past.

In front of the grotesque statue was an altar of white coral. Several Dargonesti, clad in red and mauve robes that swept the floor, stood before the altar. In their hands they held seashell bowls. As each passed the statue, he poured liquid from his bowl onto the altar. The Qualinesti saw oil, sand, and a dark substance they feared was blood dribbled onto the flawless white coral.

Someone shoved them from behind. Vixa whirled, fists at the ready. Armantaro squared off as well.

“Move on!” barked one of the Dargonesti guards who had dropped back from the rest to ensure the Qualinesti kept up. “The Lord Protector awaits!”

Vixa frowned. “I am weary of being dragged around by these people,” she stated. “I say we go at our own pace.”

“An excellent suggestion, Niece.”

The Dargonesti advanced, both aiming for Armantaro. They obviously regarded Vixa as no threat. Vixa lashed out with her foot at the soldier nearest her. Hooking her adversary’s knee, she brought him down hard on his back. This distracted the other guard. Armantaro grasped his right fist with his left hand and drove his elbow into the Dargonesti’s side. The blow propelled the sea elf into his fallen comrade, and both ended in a tangle on the floor. With a grim chuckle, Vixa shoved the flailing warriors. They rolled, like a pair of blue logs, down the steep ramp. The soldiers disappeared around the bend, and the sound of a loud crash reached Vixa’s ears.

Dusting her hands, the Qualinesti princess asked, “Shall we continue?”

“After you, noble niece.” The colonel was smiling.

They went up the ramp at a more leisurely pace. Around the curve, they came upon the rest of Coryphene’s guards, waiting with swords drawn. Coryphene had left his sedan chair and stood tapping one foot impatiently.

“You must not leave my protection,” he told them. “The people of Urione are not accustomed to strangers. You endanger your own lives.”

“I don’t feel all that safe with you,” Vixa muttered.

Coryphene stood aside, gesturing for the Qualinesti to precede him. The bearers walked two paces behind.

The roof of the city was nearer now, the ramp narrowing to meet it. With no word of warning, the Dargonesti warriors suddenly halted in close ranks. When Vixa and Armantaro stopped as well, Coryphene ordered them to continue. It was then that the Qualinesti found themselves engulfed in a blazing white light.

Vixa threw up an arm to protect her eyes. Heat washed over her. In seconds she was dry and warm for the first time in what seemed like days. The sensation lasted perhaps five seconds; then the light disappeared. Vixa stood blinking in the dimness. When she could see once more, she realized that Coryphene was gone. She and Armantaro were alone.

“Colonel?” she said softly. “What happened?”

“I have no idea. At least I’m not so cold now.” Armantaro rubbed his eyes and looked around, adding, “But where are we?”

Above their heads, the thick stone arches that made up the framework of the city beneath the sea had ended, revealing a transparent dome composed of millions of quartz crystals, fitted together with supreme skill. Beyond this clear barrier could be seen the deep blue of the ocean depths. Schools of fish swam overhead, the reflected light from the city flashing off their silver bodies.

Vixa and Armantaro stood in the center of a large disk of white marble situated in the center of a great round plaza. At the plaza’s perimeter rose a colonnade, supporting a palatial building made of green stone. Though the building’s facade was pierced by hundreds of unglazed windows, none of these openings showed any light. The only illumination was a subdued, shifting, greenish glow.

“Magnificent,” Vixa sighed, turning round and round. “Really quite beautiful.”

Armantaro was frowning. “Where is everyone? And where in the name of the Abyss is the entrance?” Try as he might, he could find no trace of the spiral ramp, only the smooth disk of white in the middle of the green-paved plaza. The old colonel slipped a hand under his battered shirt. Vixa saw the hard gleam of a dagger hilt.

“Put that away,” she hissed. He made no reply but tucked the slim knife back inside his clothing.

The faint sound of footsteps reached their ears. Out of the shadows of the colonnade to their right came a tall figure carrying a glowing yellow globe. It was Coryphene. The light beneath his chin cast weird shadows across his sharp features.

“I know that landed folk require a great deal more light than we Dargonesti,” said Coryphene, his voice echoing in the stillness. He stopped several paces away. Armantaro’s fingers touched the dagger hilt through his shirt. There were no guards in sight. If he could take Coryphene hostage, they might be able to force the Dargonesti to release them.

Coryphene threw the glowing globe into the air. It rose to twice his height and vanished in a silent yellow burst. Instantly the plaza was filled with the tawny golden illumination of a summer evening in Qualinost.

“You’re a sorcerer,” Vixa stated.

“I have some skill in the art of magic. Another example.” He pointed a webbed blue finger at Armantaro. To the colonel’s surprise, he felt the blade of his hidden dagger growing warm. He tried to ignore it, keeping his face impassive, but the blade grew hotter and hotter, until it burned like a branding iron. With a yelp, Armantaro snatched the dagger out and flung it away. He put his scorched fingers into his mouth.

Coryphene picked up the dagger. He tested its edge with his thumb and slapped the flat of the blade against his palm. With a nod, he slipped the knife into his own belt.

Vixa spoke up quickly. “Are you the ruler of this place? Are you Speaker of the sea elves?” she inquired.

Coryphene’s violet eyes narrowed. “I am Protector of my people and First Servant of our divine queen.” He clapped his hands twice, and a troop of servants appeared from the shadows of the colonnade. For Coryphene, they brought a chair carved from a single concretion of blood coral. Two large, flat-topped sponges were set in place to serve as stools for the Qualinesti. Two lackeys carried a hamper of woven seaweed. It was evidently quite heavy.

“Sit,” Coryphene said, the word more a command than an invitation. “Refresh yourselves.”

Supporting his chin with folded hands, he rested his elbows on the arms of his scarlet chair. Armantaro and Vixa sank gratefully to the stools, glad to rest their tired feet. Eagerly, the princess opened the hamper.

“Our food may seem strange to you, but I am certain you will find it superior to any you have ever eaten.”

Vixa hesitated. Was it possible this odd elf wished to poison them? She glanced at Armantaro, who was likewise uncertain, then she looked at Coryphene.

A frown was gathering on the Protector’s face. He was clearly ready to take offense if they refused his hospitality. Shrugging fatalistically, the Qualinesti helped themselves.

The food was indeed strange. There were planks of dried, spiced fish; greenish cakes made of seaweed; a smoky, strongly flavored meat paste; and cups of sweet relish that might have been animal or vegetable. Servants handed them goblets made of bell mussel shells and filled with a light, fermented beverage rather like the nectar of Qualinost.

Coryphene waited until the edge was off their hunger before asking, “What ship were you sailing on?”

“Evenstar, out of Qualinesti,” Vixa answered, seeing no reason to lie.

“I have heard of that place. What was your destination?”

“The Gulf of Ergoth, specifically the Greenthorn River,” replied Armantaro. “If it please you, my lord, may I ask how it is you know of our country, when we know nothing of yours?”

“Do none of the ancient race remember the Dargonesti?”

Vixa swallowed a mouthful of nectar. “I’ve heard legends that tell of sea-dwelling elves, but I always thought they were stories for children-tall tales passed around the fireside. I never honestly believed such a race existed.”

For some reason, this answer pleased Coryphene. He smiled and ordered the servants to bring him a cup of nectar.

“For thirteen hundred years my kind has dwelt in the depths,” he told them. “The Graystone transformed us, and we were able to escape the unfair rule of Silvanos by taking to the sea. Untouched by landed folk and their bloody wars, we perfected all the arts and sciences. The Quoowahb, or Dargonesti, are the most perfect of all the races created by the gods.”

Vixa, trying to maintain an attitude of polite interest, nearly choked at this calm statement of superiority. Armantaro thumped her on the back. Unconcerned, the Protector of Urione went on.

“From time to time, the ships of the landed folk fall into our domain. I have seen many of the land races: humans, dwarves, kender. Thus have I learned of your cities and nations.” He handed his empty cup to a hovering servant. “What rank are you and your niece?”

The swift change of subject caught Armantaro by surprise. “I am freeborn, Excellence, a subject of the Speaker of the Sun in Qualinost. My niece is an orphan, so I have adopted her as my own child.”

“Qualinost is ruled by Silveran, son of the mighty Kith-Kanan, yes?”

“Why, yes. You know of Kith-Kanan?”

Coryphene stared off into space. “The birds of the air and the wind above the waves have spoken the name of Kith-Kanan,” he murmured. His gaze returned to them, and he next inquired, “Are the nobles of your country required to bear arms?”

“Ah, no. No one is compelled to serve,” Vixa replied warily.

“What is the size of Speaker Silveran’s army?”

Armantaro placed a hand upon Vixa’s wrist, but the warning wasn’t necessary. The princess had no intention of giving this arrogant fellow such important information. She opened her mouth to deliver an evasive answer, and suddenly the air was split by a loud chorus of bleating notes. Coryphene leapt to his feet, knocking aside his cup of nectar. Vixa and Armantaro exchanged a baffled look as the plaza erupted into furious activity.

Servants came running and cleared away the food and chairs, practically dumping the Qualinesti from their seats. Four Dargonesti sped from the colonnade bearing a suit of exotic armor and arms. As Coryphene stood with feet apart and arms held out, the servants girded their master as though for battle.

“What is it?” Vixa demanded. “What’s happening?”

“An attack,” Coryphene said tersely.

The bleating grew louder, and Vixa spotted the source of the terrible racket. A trio of white-robed Dargonesti had appeared as if by magic on the disk of marble in the center of the plaza. The three sea elves stood blowing on large conch shells, their sonorous notes reverberating through the area.

Coryphene was now fully armed and armored. He turned a grim look on his captives and said, “Come. You may understand things better if you see the peril we face.”

Vixa and Armantaro had little choice in the matter. A phalanx of at least one hundred soldiers formed around them and the lord of Urione. With the sound of conch shells bellowing all around them, they marched to the disk of white marble. A flash of light blazed. Vixa felt the heat once more through her borrowed cloak. When the light faded, they were heading down the great spiral ramp. Urionans lined the way ahead, shouting, waving, and blowing conch shells.

The din was bewildering to the Qualinesti. It appeared they were to be sent into battle-completely unarmed-to fight the-gods-knew-what type of enemy.

The sea elves were chanting. The cacophony of voices coalesced into a single word, repeated over and over.

“Chilkit!” cried the sea elves. “Chilkit! Chilkit!”