Dargonesti

Chapter 6

Harmanutis and Vanthanoris were taken by Dargonesti soldiers outside the city, given two whelk shells filled with air, and fitted with belts of sharkskin to which flat stone disks were attached. The weight of these belts helped them move better underwater, anchoring their feet more firmly.

The eight guards walked ahead, apparently unconcerned whether their charges kept up. It wasn’t difficult to figure out why. The air in the shells was not infinite, and once it was gone the two Qualinesti would drown. They were imprisoned as surely as if bound with manacles and chains.

Underwater, the sea elves conversed in clicks and whistles, much like the noises the dolphins made. Gills bloomed from behind their ears as they moved through the dark water. Vanthanoris and Harmanutis trudged after them, watching everything, trying to figure out some way to escape this underwater city.

Once outside the city shell, they found themselves in an area of coral formations. The coral grew in branching, treelike shapes in a variety of sizes-some only knee-high and others towering twenty or thirty feet. There was the more common red coral, but also white and a faintly luminous yellow. The two Qualinesti could see several Dargonesti swimming in and around the coral, tending it as if it were a garden.

Twenty paces from the city, the coral gardens ended. A paved road, as wide as four soldiers marching abreast, led away into the shadowy depths. In several places, sand had drifted over the paving stones. Brightly striped fish followed the Qualinesti, darting through the streams of bubbles emitted by the whelk shells. Vanthanoris swatted at them, and the curious little fish swam away.

In the distance, a dark shape loomed. It took a while before Harmanutis realized that this was a gigantic underwater mountain, hundreds-if not thousands-of feet high. The road ran straight as an arrow to it.

Pillars appeared on each side of the road. These bore inscriptions in an angular script. As the Qualinesti drew nearer the mountain, they discovered that some of the pillars evinced a sinister purpose. Corpses in every state of deterioration were chained to them. Some of the bodies plainly showed signs of the predations of sharks; others were little more than skeletons. Harmanutis recognized most as human remains-the heavy bones and wide skulls made this plain. Now and then a smaller body could be seen, perhaps a dwarf or kender. In all, they counted forty-seven corpses lashed to pillars along the road. None elven.

Just then, Vanthanoris’s air began to give out. He tried harder to inhale, but still there was nothing. He threw a startled look to Harmanutis and saw that the corporal was having the same difficulty. The guards walked on, oblivious to their captives’ plight. The Qualinesti quickened their pace, catching up with the guards and making their distress plain. The guards merely prodded them to continue.

The road led to a cave entrance dressed with a pediment and columns. Vanthanoris hurried inside. Above him, ripples betokened a surface. There were stone steps ahead, and he fairly flew up them. On the ninth step, his head broke into open air. He tore the empty shell from his blue lips and gulped down huge draughts of chill, damp air.

Harmanutis surfaced beside him, likewise gasping. The Dargonesti soldiers rose with supreme indifference and herded the pair onto a rough stone landing. Vanthanoris staggered and fell. Harmanutis didn’t bother trying to rise, merely crawled where he was bidden. While he lay inhaling and exhaling gratefully, he studied his surroundings.

Beyond the landing was a long, wide tunnel that ran straight back into the mountain. A few lighting globes were stuck high on the walls, but they were dim compared to those they’d seen in the city. Along both walls were piles of seaweed, scraps of leather, blankets, hanks of rope, and chests salvaged from sunken ships. An aisle passed down the center of the tunnel. Harmanutis realized he was looking at a prison for dryland captives.

One of the sea elves collected the exhausted whelk shells, and without a word, the eight Dargonesti submerged and departed.

Harmanutis helped Vanthanoris stand. “Is this our new home?” the latter asked hoarsely.

“Not for long, my friend. Trust our good lady and the colonel to find a way out for all of us,” Harmanutis replied.

“We must be a mile or more from the city. Too far to swim without air. No wonder they don’t need bars or locks to make this the perfect dungeon. Try to escape, and you would surely drown!”

“We’ll escape, Van. I don’t plan on dying a prisoner of these blue-skinned barbarians!”

Name boards of ships long sunk and forgotten were attached to the walls: Sinar’s Pride, Sea Dragon, Balifor Star. Craft from all over Ansalon had ended their days here.

“I wonder if Evenstar survived,” Harm said quietly.

“Poor Paladithel,” murmured Van. “How he hated fish.”

The cave stretched on and on. If every squalid pile of bedding denoted one prisoner, then there were hundreds of captives in Dargonesti hands. Why? Why did the sea elves hold so many land-dwellers?

A huge pile of debris blocked the end of the cave, leaving only a narrow space between it and one wall. It divided the inhabited section from the empty darkness beyond. In this moldering heap of debris were yards of rope, mounds of sailcloth, lengths of rusted and broken chain, clay pots, amphorae, and smashed wooden boxes-the detritus of centuries of shipwrecks, yet nothing that would help them get out of here.

Harmanutis kicked the nearest object, an empty flour barrel lying on its side.

“Oof!” said the barrel.

Harmanutis froze, his foot still in the air. “Did you hear that?” he hissed.

In reply, Vanthanoris kicked the barrel himself, saying sternly, “Come out. We know you’re in there.”

A pale, craggy face, framed by matted hair and a black beard, popped out of the barrel.

“A dwarf!” Vanthanoris exclaimed.

“You’re not blueskins!” said the dwarf, crawling out of the barrel. Drawing himself up to his full height-just over four feet-he added, “You’re Qualinesti, aren’t you? Well, that’s new. My name’s Gundabyr.”

Harmanutis introduced himself and Vanthanoris. “Are there any other elves down here?” he asked.

“Nope. No elves at all except the blue-skinned variety. I guess the Quoowahb don’t care that you fellas are cousins, eh?”

“Quoowahb?

“The blueskins. That’s what they call themselves.” Gundabyr pulled up a battered sea chest and hauled himself up onto it. His feet dangled above the floor. A stick of some whitish stuff protruded from his vest pocket. He pulled it out and gnawed on it.

“Dried cod,” he explained. “That’s about all we get to eat around here.” He looked them up and down, noted their abbreviated attire, and sighed. “It’s a pity you fellas aren’t carrying some ale on you.”

“How did you get here, Gundabyr?” Harmanutis asked. “How long have you been a prisoner?”

“Nobody’s a prisoner here. We’re slaves.” The dwarf shrugged in reply to their stunned expressions. “I was forgemaster for the Ironmongers Guild in Thorbardin. We hired a ship, Sea Queen, in Tarsis to carry a load of copper and iron ingots to Balifor. Me and my brother Garnath got stuck with the chore of tagging along with the ship to sell the ingots. Garnath said the ship’s name would bring us luck, and it did-all bad. Sea Queen ran into fog off the Silvanesti coast, and when it cleared, we were a hundred leagues off course.”

Vanthanoris smiled sardonically. “I know that fog,” he said, then went on to describe Evenstar’s encounter with the mysterious wall of cloud.

“Sounds familiar,” Gundabyr agreed. “Well, next thing we knew, Sea Queen was aground on the biggest sandbar Reorx ever created. Me and Garnath took a work party ashore to try to dig a trench under the ship to refloat it, but the whole filthy sandbar sank under us.” A mighty frown creased his face. “Me and Garnath went down like anvils.”

“The kraken.” Harmanutis felt the heat of anger wash over him, despite the coolness of the cave. “It’s no coincidence then. These Quoowahb use the monster to sink ships!”

“Yep, they do.” Gundabyr finished his strip of cod. “Dolphins carried me and Garnath and a handful of other survivors down here. We’ve been in this hole for-” He looked up at the stone wall, on whose surface were drawn a number of white chalk lines. “-Um, forty-eight days.”

Harmanutis related the story of their own arrival in Urione, including the fact that Princess Vixa and Colonel Armantaro were getting “special treatment” in the city, at least as far as they knew. Gundabyr rubbed his hairy cheek when he heard that.

“Hmm. Wonder what they want with your lady and the colonel?”

“Ransom?” Vanthanoris suggested.

Harmanutis shook his head. “Not unless Her Highness reveals her true status. I’ll wager this Coryphene is questioning them about Qualinost, since we seem to be the first land elves they’ve captured.”

Vanthanoris paced between the piles of wreckage. He turned suddenly to the seated dwarf. “Slaves? We’re to be slaves, you say?” Gundabyr belched and nodded. “What sort of work are we supposed to do?”

“They’re building a wall,” explained the dwarf. “A very high wall across the Mortas Trench, from this mountain to the next.”

“Why?” asked Harmanutis, curious.

“To keep the chilkit out.”

Vanthanoris planted his fists on his hips. “And what, by Astra, are chilkit?”

“More like ‘who’ than ‘what.’ The chilkit are the mortal enemies of the Quoowahb. Now and then they come down the valley and attack the blueskins.”

Harmanutis’s blue eyes gleamed. “So the sea elves have enemies, do they? This may be our opening. Could we treat with these chilkit, Gundabyr? Would they help us get away from the blueskins?”

“Nope. The chilkit aren’t people at all. They’re monsters. Big, ugly crab-things. They eat any Quoowahb that they capture. We might be a different flavor, but they’d surely eat us too.”

“Nonetheless,” said the corporal, hanging on to hope, “our best chance may be to make our escape when the blueskins are distracted by their enemies. If we-”

The cave filled with the sound of churning water. “Work parties returning,” Gundabyr said quickly. “I hafta hide from the guards!” In a flash he was back in the barrel.

“Wait! Gundabyr?”

“Go away! Don’t let on I’m in here!”

Puzzled, the two Qualinesti left the dwarf and walked toward the pool. A troop of wet, semi-naked prisoners was rising from the water. Armed sea elves made a double line through which the captives passed. The last pair of Dargonesti held woven bags. As the prisoners went by, they deposited their used airshells in the bags.

The first slaves, emaciated humans with long beards, passed the Qualinesti without a second glance. There was more recognition from some dwarven captives-eye contact and slight nods. Then, to the elves’ astonishment, Gundabyr came marching out of the cavern pool at the rear of the line.

“Eh?” Vanthanoris said, looking back toward the flour barrel. “What’s this?”

Harmanutis jabbed him with an elbow. “His brother, remember? Must be his twin brother.”

In a flash the Qualinesti warriors understood the dwarves’ trick. Because they were twins, one of the brothers could hide from the Dargonesti guards, while the other went out to work. By alternating days off, the dwarves spared themselves half the work, along with half the jeopardy.

They followed Gundabyr’s twin, Garnath, as he trudged to the rear of the cave and flopped heavily onto the hard stone floor. Water trickled off him, pooling in the low places in the rock. He became aware that someone was standing over him and opened his eyes.

“Whaddya want?” Garnath rumbled.

After performing introductions, Harmanutis dropped hints of their meeting with Gundabyr.

“I’m Gundabyr,” said the sodden dwarf. “My brother, Garnath, succumbed to an ague weeks ago.”

“Of course. My condolences,” Harmanutis murmured.

“He was a fine dwarf,” said Garnath mournfully.

“And a good forgemaster,” put in a voice from inside the flour barrel.

“Salt of the earth,” Garnath added.

“You can come out now,” Harmanutis told the flour barrel.

Gundabyr worked his head and shoulders out of the barrel. Garnath sat up, and the dwarf twins shook hands.

“Your turn tomorrow, Brother,” Garnath said with an exhausted sigh.

“Yup.” Gundabyr brought out more strips of dried cod for his brother, and the two dwarves sat side by side, chewing noisily. Harmanutis asked again about the chilkit.

“Don’t expect help from them,” Garnath said, echoing his brother’s earlier advice. “They have some intelligence, but not even the blueskins can talk to them. They come down the valley now and then and attack anything in their path. They’re bigger than Quoowahb are, and pretty damn tough.”

Next Harmanutis asked about the airshells.

“Nope, can’t use them,” Gundabyr stated, dashing yet another hope.

“Why not?” Vanthanoris demanded.

“The Quoowahb count every one they bring in and every one they take out. And even if you could get your hands on one, there’s no knowing how much air’s in it.”

“And the sea brothers would get you anyway,” put in Garnath.

Vanthanoris dropped his head into his hands, his brain reeling with all this unhappy news. “And who are the sea brothers?” he asked despondently.

“Shapeshifters. You must’ve seen them-the dolphins who rescued you.”

Harmanutis remembered them well. “Can all the Quoowahb become dolphins?”

“Nope, just the sea brothers. They live outside the city. A fella called Naxos is their chief, but he takes his orders from Coryphene,” Garnath explained.

“So Coryphene is Speaker of these elves?”

“Him?” Gundabyr spat. “He’s a veritable butcher, but he’s not the leader.”

Vanthanoris swore, which caused the dwarves to smile. Harmanutis motioned for him to be still and asked, “Then who does rule in Urione?”

“Her Divine Majesty, Queen Uriona,” said the dwarf twins in unison. Gundabyr added wryly, “Uriona the Mad, that is. They say she’s been touched by the gods. ‘Touched’ is right.”

A distinct clack-clack rang down the tunnel. Gundabyr vanished into the barrel again. Garnath jumped to his feet, crying, “The blueskins are coming back! Whatever the reason, it can’t be good!”

The clacking noise had been made by one of the other dwarves. He’d seen a disturbance in the water and had signaled his fellow slaves by beating the floor with a rock. Seconds after his alarm sounded, a troop of Dargonesti warriors burst out of the pool, weapons in hand. One, with a golden sand dollar on the front of his helmet, boomed out, “All prisoners line up! Take a shell and proceed outside!”

Slowly the tired slaves rose. When they didn’t move fast enough to suit their captors, a squad of sea elves came down the aisle, prodding the laggards with spear points. Harmanutis and Vanthanoris glared at the seven-foot-tall Dargonesti. Garnath straightened his soggy shirt and muttered, “Twice in one day! You owe me, Brother!” A muffled grunt from the barrel was the only reply.

The Qualinesti stood shoulder to shoulder, their proud bearing in marked contrast to the ragtag look of the rest of the slaves. When he reached the water’s edge, Harmanutis addressed the Dargonesti who wore the decorated helmet, who he assumed was an officer.

“What’s happening?” he asked. “Where are we going?”

“No talking!” snapped the Dargonesti.

With no other option, the two Qualinesti fit their airshell mouthpieces into place. They were still wearing their weighted belts as they walked down the steps and into the cold water. As soon as their ears were submerged, they heard a riot of strange noises. It almost sounded like … a battle?

The Dargonesti soldiers drove the mass of prisoners forward. They quickly left the road to the city and turned toward the great mountain. Dark gray shapes hurtled overhead. The chorus of clicks and bubbling beeps revealed that these were dolphins, all heading in the same direction.

Suddenly, the Qualinesti saw a wall looming over them. Made of great blocks of stone, the wall rose sixty feet from the seafloor. There was a gate in the center, and four unfinished stumps of towers at the top. Unused blocks of stone were piled here and there. Crowded among the waiting blocks were hundreds of armed sea elves, facing the wall.

Floating aimlessly in the water above the Dargonesti were the injured and the dead. Some were missing arms or legs. Some were missing heads. Dolphins circled around, tugging Dargonesti wounded away from the battle and fending off prowling sharks. Blood drifted like smoke, coloring the water ahead.

Atop the wall, between the centermost towers, Dargonesti were fighting. The inside gate on the wall was open, and the Quoowahb were herding the slave workers into the breach.

As the Qualinesti, who were at the rear of the line of prisoners, reached the blocks lying on the seafloor at the base of the wall, something dropped among them from above. The prisoners scattered. Mud swirled around the Qualinesti warriors, and Harmanutis was knocked backward and trampled on. Once he got clear of the stampede, he saw what had caused even the sea elves to flee so frantically.

A chilkit had landed in their midst.

The creature reared eight feet tall, fiery red armor on top of pale gray flesh. Four jointed legs stood out from its thick, barrel-shaped body. A torso encased in a crimson carapace was attached forward of the legs, and the torso had two pairs of arms. The lower pair ended in articulated fingers sporting sharp talons. The upper pair was even more fearsome. A massive set of scissorlike claws tipped each of these arms. The chilkit’s head was hard to discern-its torso simply came to a blunt point. Whip antennae sprouted from this point, and four wide-set black eyes protruded on flexible stalks below the antennae. Lastly, a vertical mouth, surrounded by horny palps, opened and shut as the chilkit forced seawater through its gills.

Harmanutis backed away. He feared no normal enemy, but this was a monster indeed, and he had no weapon. The chilkit scuttled forward, attacking the nearest man. The human scrambled madly, grasping the sandy bottom with both hands. The monster strode over him, its hideous claws upraised. Harmanutis watched in horror as the chilkit seized the man in both claws. The terrible pincers closed, cutting the slave in half.

Vanthanoris, also scrambling away, found himself atop a massive block of cut stone. Other prisoners followed, until they were spilling off the sides. The chilkit advanced toward the block and swept a dozen slaves from the side with a backward swipe of its claw.

Vanthanoris heard the staccato call of the dolphins, and a school thirty strong rushed in. Like a fleet of battering rams, the dolphins bore into the chilkit. Van lifted his head in time to see that the animals were wearing special helmets studded with shards of rock crystal. The chilkit backed away, slashing and grasping at the dolphins. The racing creatures eluded it and drove their spiked helmets into the monster’s armored hide. Now it was chilkit blood that darkened the water.

From behind, Harmanutis heard an especially loud, trilling whistle. He saw a powerful dolphin ram full-tilt into the chilkit’s chest. Armored claws closed around the muscular gray flanks; then all was lost in a welter of churning sand and blood.

Something nudged Harmanutis. He turned and saw a dolphin hovering behind him. Why did they always look like they were smiling? It nudged him again with its snout, then sank to the sand by his feet. The Qualinesti warrior got the message. He widened his stance, and the dolphin glided between his knees. The animal gave a warning shake, so Harmanutis held on to its dorsal fin. The sleek creature shot away with a few strokes of its powerful flukes.

From above, the struggle with the chilkit was easier to see. The monster that had dropped among the prisoners lay on its back, dead. Sharks tugged at its lifeless limbs. Harmanutis’s mount swam higher, and he saw a wedge-shaped formation of Dargonesti warriors pushing chilkit back to the wall. The blue-skinned sea elves made a startling contrast to the bold red chilkit. One by one the attackers were isolated and battered to death by Dargonesti wielding stone-headed maces.

One group of chilkit held fast, and they got behind a building block and used it to ram a phalanx of sea elves aside. Harmanutis’s dolphin mount saw this and nosed sharply down. The corporal almost lost his seat, but held on to the dorsal fin with both hands. The dolphin twisted and bore in for a ramming attack on the back of the chilkit nearest them. That was enough for Harmanutis. He let go, and the weighted belt he wore caused him to drop slowly to the seafloor.

He was on his feet promptly as he touched bottom, for to his astonishment he had seen whom the chilkit was attacking. A small knot of sea elves stood between the monster and two smaller figures. These two had airshells in their mouths.

Princess Vixa and Colonel Armantaro!

Harmanutis tried to shout a war cry, but the only result was a gurgle of bubbles past the mouthpiece of his airshell. He lost his footing and pitched down on his face.

The chilkit grabbed the shaft of a sea elf’s spear and hoisted up the unlucky fellow. The warrior held his grip for an instant too long and toppled forward, into the monster’s claws. The chilkit tossed the lacerated foe aside to face the next soldier, who used his shield to fend off the monster’s talons. Undaunted, the chilkit bored in, bowling the elf over by sheer bulk. Now, only one fighter stood between the towering chilkit and the two Qualinesti elves.

This sea elf carried no buckler, but wielded his short-handled spear in one hand, like a dueling sword. He jabbed at the chilkit’s eyes, and the creature backed off warily. The Dargonesti advanced quickly, thrusting with both hands. His opponent tried to snag the spear with its claws, but the warrior shifted his aim only slightly, deftly avoiding the claws. The needle-sharp tip of his spear pierced the chilkit through a chink in its body armor. A strangely emotionless cry broke from the monster. It gave ground. The Dargonesti shoved his weapon farther in. Talons reached for him, but found only water. The sea elf twisted hard on his spear shaft until there was a distinct crack as the spear tore into the creature’s vitals. Its arms dropped and it toppled over. The victorious fighter recovered his spear.

Harmanutis had at last fought his way through the mud and blood and reached his princess’s side. Vixa clapped him on the shoulder. Her eyes and Armantaro’s spoke eloquently. The corporal pointed to the milling mass of slaves and soldiers still fighting at the base of the wall, the last place he’d seen Vanthanoris.

The three Qualinesti started toward that spot, but before they’d taken more than two steps, Vixa’s wrist was seized. She was yanked around, and found herself face-to-face with the Dargonesti who’d single-handedly defeated the chilkit. Harmanutis charged to her defense, but the Dargonesti leveled his spear point at the corporal’s chest, bringing him up short. They could see the fierce face inside the helmet. It was none other than Coryphene.

Coryphene’s throat worked, and a loud series of clicks rang through the ocean. Soldiers and dolphins not otherwise engaged gathered around him. He gave Vixa over to four warriors, then bade the rest accompany Harmanutis and Armantaro. The Qualinesti were tempted to resist this separation, but Coryphene placed a proprietary hand on Vixa’s airshell. The two veteran warriors subsided immediately and were herded back to the other prisoners.

The battle was over. No living chilkit remained in the area. The three started back to the cave, but armed Dargonesti stopped them, sending them back toward the wall. It seemed they were to join in repairing the breach.

Though they were bursting with questions for each other, and anxious over their princess’s fate, the Qualinesti had to content themselves with working in silence. The airshells in their mouths, and the vigilance of their guards, made any type of conversation impossible.

Armantaro joined the gang that was busy fitting a heavy net around a dislodged stone block. Bladders inflated with air were used to lift the massive block to the parapet of the wall. As the colonel watched, Dargonesti in civilian dress filled the bladders from airshells heaped in a litter borne by other sea elves and closely guarded by soldiers. He counted four large bladders filled from one whelk shell.

The problem, he mused to himself, is to get several of those shells secretly. Perhaps with enough air, the Qualinesti could walk to land.

The colonel paused in his work and stared with a worried frown toward the city, where his princess had been taken. Of course, even if they had airshells, they still faced the dangers of ocean predators and the Dargonesti themselves, not to mention …

Which way was land?