Scimitar's Heir (22 page)

The creature’s cries changed from howls to shrieks, and it stumbled back through the oval door into the room beyond. In the light of the flames, Edan could see that there were three more creatures, one large, two smaller, crouched within a nest of dried seaweed. Edan followed the burning creature, now gibbering and batting at its flaming fur, into the room. With the power of the fire surging through him, his fear waned. The chaotic light illuminated the room, a perfect half sphere of onyx set with a glittering mosaic of colored stones in a flawless semblance of the night sky. The starscape was marred only by the ovals of three additional exits, and the mounded nest on the far side of the room.

Edan flung another bottle, arcing it high. He called the winds, and at the apex of the missile’s path, he detonated it in a fiery cyclone. The creatures howled in fright, throwing up their wooly arms as the burning liquid rained down on them. Edan grabbed yet another bottle, this one distilled naphtha, and smashed it on the floor in front of the nest. It went up with a whoosh, and the winds carried it forward to ignite the dried seaweed.

The creatures fled, screeching in terror as the flames rose. Edan gloried in the multi-hued display, the inferno and the thousand-fold reflections from the starscape overhead. The fires raged, and Edan breathed deep of the sweet smoke. Over the roar in his ears and Flicker’s screeching delight, the howls and the sound of men’s voices, Edan’s laughter rose like flames on the wind.

≈

Something skittered in the darkness, tiny sharp claws on stone. Camilla stirred from her torpid state, stamping her foot and swishing her skirts to scare the rat away. The rats were a problem; she’d received several bites during her bouts of fitful sleep. At first, she had been heartened by their presence as a sign of life. Rats needed water to survive, and Camilla was determined to find the source. But after days of searching the dungeon—she thought it had been days, though she couldn’t tell in the eternal darkness—all she had found were empty cells and racks and torture devices that Bloodwind had used to coerce information from his captives before giving them to Hydra.

“Hydra…” she muttered through parched lips. Camilla gritted her teeth and pushed herself to her feet, felt her way back up the stairs. There was a door that opened onto a landing here, and another door, one she had not yet opened…one she dreaded opening. She had been through that door and down the stairs into the cavern many times, pulled along behind Bloodwind on a leash into Hydra’s lair. She shuddered, and tried to push back the memories of the horrors she had witnessed there: the blood, the screams… Only Bloodwind had kept Camilla from Hydra’s grasp, for Hydra had wanted her—wanted her badly.

Camilla felt chilled despite the warm air. If she was to survive, she would have to explore thoroughly. There was no water in the dungeon, so she would have to keep looking, and that meant through the door and down to Hydra’s lair.

She felt the door and found the latch, the iron cool in her hand. She wondered if rust and time had frozen it in place—secretly hoped it was so—but when she pressed the thumb catch it opened easily. Too easily. The air from beyond the door wafted up like the breath of some deep-dwelling dragon, fetid and wet, cloying. She shuffled slowly forward to find the edge of the stair, then put her hand on the wall to guide her way down, and felt a dampness.

Moisture
, she thought, pausing to cautiously lick her fingers. A mineral tang tickled her tongue, but there was no salt. She felt the stone again with a flicker of hope, but it was only damp, not dripping; there was not enough to drink.
Maybe deeper
… She knew there was abundant fresh water on the island; the keep had two wells that drew sweet water from underground, and rainfall fed the stream that splashed down the cliff face near the keep. So it made sense that there might be water down here in the cavern. Surely Hydra drank
something
besides blood.

Camilla eased her way down the shallow, rough-hewn steps, one hand on the wall. The sole of her shoe slipped on a stair, and she gasped, envisioning a tumble down the rough stone in the dark, broken bones, dying in agony… She steadied her stance and felt with her fingers a thin layer of slime on the stairs; the result of the humid environment and more than two years with no foot traffic. It was slick as ice, slick as blood…and in the dark, she had no way to tell.
What if it
is
blood.
More memories of this place rose in her mind, unbidden and unwelcome. Her steps faltered and she stopped, knees quaking. She steadied herself against the wall, eyes closed, marshaling her nerve.

“Hydra is dead,” she reassured herself as she closed her eyes against the darkness and coaxed her fear into submission. “I watched her die. The witch is dead.”

In her mind’s eye she saw Hydra again, sometimes a beautiful young woman, other times an old crone, and at the last, as the tentacled demon fought its way out of its mask of human flesh. The visions nearly broke her fragile nerve, and she was about to flee back up the stair before remembering that she had nowhere to run. Parek could still be waiting for her up there,
would
be waiting for her until something drove him away, either Cynthia’s return or the arrival of another warship. Camilla had no idea how long Cynthia would be gone, but she knew there would eventually be a response to Emil’s messages from the emperor. She occupied her mind by estimating the days since the departure of the
Flothrindel
, the number of days it would take to ready an expedition, then the return trip from Tsing, warships slower than the shipwright’s nimble craft by at least a day.

“Six more days, at least,” she said through clenched teeth. She had no way to tell the passage of time, of course, other than her own hunger and thirst. Six more days…she wouldn’t survive that long without water. She was already parched, her lips cracked, her tongue swollen in her mouth. “Water…” She focused her mind on survival—as she had in the past with Bloodwind, and more recently with Parek—all the things she had done in the name of survival.

She opened her eyes and blinked; eyes open versus closed had been the same for so long, she had forgotten what it was to see. Perhaps her mind was playing tricks on her, but now she thought she detected a faint glow from the cavern below. Not enough to reveal details of her surroundings, but enough to lead her onward.

Light… But, from where?

She moved forward, taking one careful step after another, trailing her fingers along the wall as she descended. Camilla navigated the familiar turn in the passage; the walls receded, and the cavern opened wide before her. Camilla blinked again, startled that she could actually see. The walls and floor were as rough and uneven as when nature had formed them long, long ago. Stalagmites and stalactites jutted from the floor and ceiling like huge teeth, all illuminated by a blood-red glow.

Camilla’s blood froze in her veins, her pulse hammering in her ears. Ahead of her, in the center of the cavern, stood a stalagmite carved into a pool-topped pedestal. It was Hydra’s pool, and it glowed with a crimson light that pulsed like a beating heart.

≈

“What happened?” Cynthia asked, aghast to see Ghelfan’s disheveled party limp out of the main entrance of the city. They were the last to return from the day’s exploration, and she could see why they had been delayed: of the ten men, two were injured. Billy was limping badly, supported by Ghelfan on one side and Rhaf on the other, and Jamis had several nasty gashes on his arm, his sleeve torn and bloody. Edan was flushed, but seemed steady on his feet and unharmed. Feldrin and several sailors rushed forward to help with the wounded.

Ghelfan relinquished his burden and sighed in relief. “We met with some…opposition,” he explained, smiling weakly. “Elves call them hukkol—water trolls, in the tongue of men. Big, dumb brutes, very tough and evidently territorial. Fortunately,” he clapped Edan on the shoulder, “they are not fond of fire.”

“You were attacked?” Cynthia asked, and furrowed her brow. This was the first sign of animal life they had found besides bird nests and some fish bones. She had thought the mer their only danger; apparently she had been wrong yet again.

“I don’t know if it attacked us, or if we stumbled into its nest,” Ghelfan said, grinning down at the red-haired pyromage. “But without Edan’s talents, things would have been much worse.”

“Aye, I’ll say!” Jamis said, raising his lacerated arm. “Bloody beastie near took my arm off! Would have if Master Edan hadn’t put the fire on it.”

“Take ‘em to the
Pride
,” Feldrin ordered. “Janley’s good with wounds, and we’ve got medicines to keep those cuts from goin’ septic.” He turned to Edan with an appraising look. “Well, lad, it looks like that fire of yours is good fer somethin’. One roasted beastie, ay?”

“There were four, and though I don’t think the fire killed them, it certainly ran them off!” Edan smiled through the soot as Flicker made a rude gesture at Feldrin from her perch upon the young man’s shoulder. The gesture looked suspiciously like something she might have learned from Mouse, and the seasprite’s cackle of laughter all but confirmed it. “Master Ghelfan’s right; it didn’t like fire at all. Everyone should carry torches, just in case there are more.”

“I agree,” Ghelfan said, patting Edan’s shoulder again. “At least when delving into the deeper sections of the city. The creatures are purportedly nocturnal, so we should keep a close watch at night in case they come out of the city to feed.”

“Aye, we’re doin’ that already,” Feldrin said. “We’ll know if they come prowlin’. Cyn, we’ll have to rethink our strategy for searchin’ the city.”

“We’ll take all the precautions we can, but we can’t let this slow us down.” Cynthia started toward the
Dream’s
gangplank, and Feldrin and Ghelfan fell in step beside her, Edan behind. “We need to discuss this, Ghelfan. Akrotia is far more complicated than we thought, and we need to find this chamber soon.”

Edan turned toward the main hold hatch. “Excuse me, but if you don’t need me, I’m going to get cleaned up.”

“Wash with
seawater
, this time, ay lad,” Feldrin warned.

Edan stopped and turned back, his face flushing deeper red. A sailor had found him washing with fresh water the day before and had reported him to Feldrin, who had advised the young man in no uncertain terms that they were under strict water rations.

“But that cistern we found should be enough for—”

“That cistern may be all that keeps us from havin’ to drink our own piss before we get home, lad.” Feldrin scowled, folding his tree-trunk arms over his chest. “Seawater only for washin’, or you’ll find yerself swimmin’ in it.”

“Yes, sir,” Edan said tightly as he stalked away, his narrow shoulders stiff.

“That boy’s got a lot to learn about—”

“We’ve all got a lot to learn, Feldrin,” Cynthia said sharply. She ran a hand through her hair in frustration. “And right now, we need to learn all we can about this damned city. If we don’t find that chamber soon, Eelback will, and our son will die!”

“Pardon, Mistress,” Ghelfan said, stopping short of the cuddy hatch, “but I am afraid that the mer may have already found the Chamber of Life.”

“What?” Cynthia stopped short. Her breath quickened and her heart pounded, the panic rising in her like a tide she could not control.
Please, Odea, no,
she prayed.
He
must
still be alive!

“Now wait! There’s no proof that they’ve found it.” Feldrin braced his shoulders. “You said you’d know if the city came back to life, right?”

Ghelfan raised a calming hand. “Yes. I daresay we would
all
know immediately if Akrotia came back to life. And therein lies the dilemma; it has
not
yet come back to life, though there is evidence that the mer have stopped their search for the chamber.” He gestured toward the stone pier beside the ship. “We know they were here many days before us, and the elevated waterline was evidence that they flooded many chambers. However, I took the liberty of marking the water level upon our arrival. It has not risen appreciably since then, so we can assume that no additional chambers have been flooded.”

“So, Eelback’s already found the chamber?” Cynthia forced down the panic, tried to think straight. Since their arrival she had gotten some rest, since she no longer had to spend hours manipulating wind and water to move the ships, but she was still exhausted. She clutched Feldrin’s arm, drawing strength from his comforting solidity. “So why hasn’t he…” She could not make herself say it, could not even allow herself to think it.

“I do not want to raise false hopes, Mistress,” Ghelfan said carefully, “but it may be that we have misread our situation. We have been working under the assumption that the mer will use your child to bring Akrotia back to life, because that is what your mer allies told you. And we assumed they were correct because we know that your son has the blood of a seamage in his veins, and the mer have scrolls about Akrotia, which presumably told them that your son would suffice.” He looked at her expectantly.

“Of course!” she said. “Their scrolls are ancient, probably written while Akrotia was still alive.”

“But,” Ghelfan held up a warning finger, “had the mer who told you so actually read the scrolls themselves?”

“I don’t know…” Cynthia wracked her brain, trying to figure out where the shipwright was going with this, but between her weariness and panic, her thoughts were muddled. “The mer don’t make copies of such things, and Eelback has the original. Please, Ghelfan, tell me what you mean.”

He complied. “The tales of the elves talk always of a seamage—a trained, adult seamage—as the life of the city. A seamage’s gifts were required to control the city, keep it functioning. How can an infant—even one with the
potential
to be a seamage—suffice?”