Dragon Stones (49 page)

The dungeon, of course.

Ponn turned the lamp flame low and descended slowly, keeping his back to the wall, making his footsteps light on the old stone.  It seemed too much to hope that the dungeon itself would be unguarded.  He hadn't quite worked out what he was going to do when faced with actual soldiers; he could not fight them like Diasa, nor pick them up and throw them like T'Sian, nor charm them like Tolaria.  He hoped that when the moment arrived and enemies confronted him, he would manifest some undiscovered skill at persuasion or self-defense.

The stairs terminated in a small guard-post.  Two rough cots stood against one wall, partially hidden behind a screen.  A wooden table stood near them, flanked by benches.  A pair of large, battered tankards stood on the table, surrounded by the scattered pieces of a board game, like conquering titans standing over the bodies of a vanquished army.  Two barred doors stood in the opposite wall; he imagined these must lead to the actual cells.

Ponn stayed where he was, listening.  The room was silent, evidently unoccupied.  He crept into it, not making a sound.  No one challenged him.  Setting the lantern down on the table, he went and peered behind the screen.  The cots, unmade, stood unoccupied.  He returned to the table, sniffed the contents of a cup.  It smelled like the sort of rotgut demanded by a certain kind of rough customer; he didn't stock such poison, but a tavern near his inn did, and he could send for it when necessary.  He noticed a fire-pit in a corner, with a crude smoke-hole above it.  The ashes still smoldered, the fire very recently doused by someone who'd found better things to do than drink and game.  Engaging Diasa and T'Sian, perhaps.

Well, whatever trouble those two had gotten into, he could not help them; even if he were able to locate them, they would likely find him an encumbrance.  Instead, he tried the doors.  The one on the left was open, but the one on the right was locked; that must mean there were prisoners were behind it.  He searched the room, starting with the table, and quickly found an iron ring sporting several heavy keys hidden beneath an overturned bowl.  He snatched it up, returned to the door, and tried keys until he found one that turned in the lock.  He threw off the bar and pulled the door open on protesting hinges, revealing a dark, narrow corridor beyond.

Abandoning caution, Ponn called:  "Adaran?"

He heard a cough from somewhere in the darkness, and then a hoarse voice said:  "No one here but us rats."

For all he knew this was some thug or murderer.  "Adaran, is that you?  This is Pyodor Ponn.  Do you know who I am?"

After a moment the same voice came back, tiny, like a lost child found wandering in the woods.  "Prehn's father?"

That must be the man he sought.  Ponn retrieved the lantern, then crept into the corridor.  The dim light showed walls carved through stone, glistening with moisture; the rank air smelled of mildew and rancid straw.  "Where are you?"

"In a cell."

Accurate, but useless.  "Which one?"

"I don't know."

"Keep talking, then," Ponn said.  "I'll find you."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes."

"The guards—"

"The guards are gone."  Ponn stopped in front of the last cell on the left.  It was held shut by a complicated system of bars and latches, which looked much newer than the door to which it was attached; it took Ponn several seconds just to find the keyhole.  It was easy, though, to find the correct key; it looked nothing like the others, being a long cylinder with several leaf-like blades near the end.  Finally he got the latches open and pulled back the bars; the door swung out into the hallway, revealing a tiny cell that stank of excrement and blood and the sour whiff of infection.  The majority of the stink emanated from the apparition chained to the wall to his left.

Ponn said:  "Adaran?"

The prisoner smiled, blood oozing from his split lower lip.

"Forgive me if I don't shake your hand," Adaran said.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Adaran watched as Pyodor Ponn put his lantern down and set to work on the manacles that held him to the wall.  He had no idea how the little Enshennean had managed to penetrate the dungeon, and for a while entertained the notion that he was in fact imagining this entire episode.  As part of this lovely delusion, Ponn had somehow gotten hold of a set of keys, and fumbled through them until he found one that worked on the shackles around Adaran's feet.  He wasn't quite tall enough to reach the ones around Adaran's wrists, which were fairly high up on the wall.  Fortunately, the twins had not bothered to retrieve their thrones; Ponn didn't ask why the chairs were there, he just dragged one over, stood on it, and unlocked the manacles that held Adaran's hands, allowing him to drop to the floor.  The landing sent spears of pain up his legs and he started to collapse, but Ponn was there to catch him and lower him to the ground.

Adaran looked at his rescuer and murmured, "You don't feel like a dream."

"I'm not a dream."

"You don't smell like a dream either."

"I came in through the cesspool.  Can you stand?"

"I'm not sure."

Ponn got on his knees, examining Adaran's injuries, his face mostly impassive; but Adaran could see small muscles working around his jaws and eyes as he surveyed the damage that the torturer had inflicted.  "Most of these wounds are superficial, but you'll need a healer for your feet and hands."

"Did you bring one?"

"No, but I'm told that Tolaria has some skill in that area.  She may be able to help you, if I can bring you to her."

"I can stand.  Just give me a moment more."

"We have no moments to spare.  After you stand, you may need to climb.  Can you climb?"

"Climb what?"

"Stairs."

"Yes," Adaran said.  "I think I can climb stairs."

"Good.  And after that, a cliff."

"Not the cliff that goes down to the river?"

"Yes, that one."

"No," Adaran said.  "Definitely not."

"Perhaps I can lower you on a rope."

"Sorry," Adaran said.  "Fresh out of rope."

"We'll think of something," Ponn said.  "But you must get on your feet now."  Ponn pulled him upright, forcing him to stand.  His feet felt as if invisible dwarves were pounding invisible spikes through them, attaching them to the floor.  Ponn caught his left arm and slid underneath it to help support his weight, gripping him around the wrist.  This put pressure on Adaran's mutilated hand; he gave a small cry that, to his own ears, sounded distressingly like the bleat of an injured lamb.  Ponn shifted his grip farther up Adaran's arm.  "Better?"

Adaran nodded.

"Then let's be out of here before the guards return."

Leaning heavily on his savior, Adaran limped out of the cell and into the hallway.

"So tell me, man," T'Sian said, looming over the cringing alchemist, "where are my crystals?"

Qalor squinted up at her.  "
Your
crystals?"

"The stones you took from my lair," she said.  "The stones you took from the volcano.  I want them."

"
Your lair?"  Qalor's eyes grew wide.  "You are the dragon from the northern mountains?"

"Yes.  You thought you could be the dragon, but you were wrong.  
I
am the dragon, and I have come to reclaim what you stole.  Give my crystals back to me, before I lose my patience and tear you to pieces."

"They are in the vats near the wall," Qalor said, gesturing with a quivering hand.  "Behind the divider.  There, there!"

"I'll watch Qalor while you fetch your stones," Diasa said.  "Be quick about it.  I don't know how long that bar will keep the guards out."

"Those men do not concern me."

"Well, they concern
me
."

"If they attack us, I will annihilate them."  To illustrate her contempt for the soldiers and their puny weapons, she moved unhurriedly in the direction Qalor had indicated.  Her gaze wandered over the bizarre equipment, the tables piled high with glass spheres and copper tubes and silver coils.  Small flames burned beneath many containers, heating strange-smelling concoctions that bubbled or steamed or swirled or sparkled.  The room swirled with fumes and stenches, none of them wholesome; perhaps they were responsible for the alchemist's strange appearance and physical deformities.

She stopped at the screen, which consisted of thick metal plates held together with wooden posts and leather straps.  She studied it for a moment, then tore it down and cast it aside.  Two large vats stood behind it, made of foggy glass festooned with gleaming pipes and tubes. Now she felt the energy coming from the crystals, like barbed-footed insects walking on her skin.  The one on the left had a copper bottom; it was full of bubbling fluid and contained a jagged formation of reddish-orange crystals. They appeared to be growing along the bottom and up the sides of the container.  Beneath it, a jet of fire hissed from a burner in the floor, blackening the copper.  She put her hand on the vat and felt the heat beneath her palm; any human who touched it would no doubt be badly burned.

The second vat stood five or six feet from the first, separated from it by a wall of metal sandwiched between layers of brick.  It was of a similar design to the other, but frosted coils wrapped around the bottom, ultimately running into a whirring, wheezing apparatus that stood nearby.  A large pipe came out of the floor and entered the noisy machine on the left; another exited from the right side, curving down and returning to the floor.

A metal scaffold surrounded the vats, supporting them, the catwalk along the top accessible by climbing an iron ladder.  She noted several leathery sacks lined up along the platform's edge, along with some sort of tool with tines and a toothed metal blade.  The sacks resembled the organ where her kind held the stones within their bodies.  The dragon shot a black look at Qalor.  "What
is
all this?" she said.

"The blue crystals must be kept cool, to control their growth," Qalor said.  "I spent years perfecting that machine you see there.  It runs on steam, and chills river water almost to freezing."

"That's nonsense," Diasa said.  "Steam is hot.  You can't use it to make something colder."

"With the right combination of chemicals, it is possible to draw out the heat from the water, and—"

"I stored crystals for years without requiring such devices," T'Sian said.  "Tell me how to get them out before I smash your vats like eggs."

"No, you mustn't do that!" Qalor cried.  "There are hatches on top of the vats.  Turn the valves to open them and you will have access to the crystals.  Use the tool to remove what you need."

T'Sian eyed the ladder.  "I cannot climb this," she said.  "It will break."

"It's quite sturdy," Qalor said, sounding offended.

"Is it?  You think it will hold me?  Let us find out, then."  She climbed the ladder to the platform.  It wobbled and groaned, but did not fall; not immediately, anyway.  She saw the hatches Qalor had mentioned, hinged domes with horizontal wheels sticking out of them; these must be the valves.

Diasa said:  "T'Sian, hurry!"

T'Sian went first to the cold vat.  She put her hands on the valve and gave it a twist.  At first it refused to turn; she applied more force and it snapped off in her hands.  She held up the wheel and examined it, thinking it unlikely that this was the proper mode of operation.

"What was that sound?" Qalor said.

"The wheel came off."

"You broke it?"

"Evidently," she said.  "How do I get the crystals out now?"

"I will have to repair the valve."

"We don't have time for that," Diasa said.

"Then you will not get your crystals."

T'Sian glared down at him.

Then she put her hands on the vat, and pushed.

When T'Sian started to tip over the enormous tank, Diasa grabbed Qalor by the shoulders and hauled him away.  Despite his size, he weighed almost nothing, as if he, too, were just another empty device, animated by steam and deviltry.  As the apparatus pulled free of the pipes connecting it to the wall, frigid water sprayed into the laboratory, knocking over glassware, dousing the fire beneath the heated canister.  Torn loose from its moorings, the container toppled over, hit the stone floor, and shattered, spreading slush and broken glass and chunks of luminous crystal across the floor.  The spewing water washed away the slush, but the blue crystals remained where they had fallen, glowing softly, like pieces of the moon.

Diasa hauled Qalor to his feet.  "Shut off the water," she told him.

"But the crystals—"

"Shut it off!"

Muttering, Qalor headed for a valve set into the wall near the now-sputtering apparatus, making a wide circle to avoid the spraying water and the crystals.  T'Sian still crouched on the platform, watching Qalor move toward the machine.  "Are you coming down?" Diasa called.