Emerald Sceptre (19 page)

Thank you for your trust, he thought. I will do my best.

Persevere.

I will try. Thank you.

For a long moment after his revelation, Vambran sat with his eyes closed, trying to absorb everything he had come to understand. Finally, with the burdens of his trials and tribulations lifted, he opened his eyes and took it all in—the sky, the ocean, the screaming gulls, the rocks…. Being in that place, in that time, was by deific design, certainly, but it was also a moment to be savored for its own sake, a celebration of service unto itself.

It’s not a burden, he decided. It’s a reward. Faith begets faith.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Arbeenok asked, standing beside the mercenary officer. “Savor it.”

Vambran laughed. Really laughed. “I was just thinking the exact same thing, my friend,” he said when he regained his composure. “We were brought to this place because we can savor it, and that is a gift not to be squandered.”

Arbeenok smiled and sat down. “Then let us eat and savor a meal, too,” he said.

The two of them ate in silence, appreciating the bountiful meal the sea had provided. When they were done, Vambran knew he was ready.

“We don’t know what we will find beneath the waves today,” he told the druid, “but I am willing to accept whatever is put in front of us. I have prepared for the journey with appropriate blessings. The only thing left to do is begin.”

Arbeenok nodded. “Then let us trust our instincts and what nature shows us,” he said.

They walked down to the beach together and looked for a passable route into the water, one that would not let the current dash them against the rocks. They found a small inlet, calm and still, and they began to wade out into the shallows. As they strode deeper into

the Reach, Vambran took his holy coin from inside his shirt and prayed, thanking Waukeen for the abilities he would be granted. Then, when the water covered his shoulders, he ducked his head down.

The first breath was always the hardest. He had to fight the urge to keep his mouth clamped shut, to hold in the air already in his lungs. But he knew the spell would work, and at last he relented and began to breathe. The water gurgled and swirled into his mouth, but only sweet air filled his lungs. Vambran sighed in satisfaction and turned to Arbeenok.

The druid was still standing with his head above water, but as Vambran watched, the alaghi began to change, to transform. He became a manta ray, his brown fur shrinking away and becoming firm, black skin. He settled into the water and swam in a lazy circle around Vambran, his winglike fins rippling gently to propel him along.

Vambran watched the druid in fascination, and when Arbeenok swam beside him, he shifted his flat body sideways, running that sharklike skin along Vambran’s arm. The mercenary understood. He took hold of the front of Arbeenok’s extended frame and began to glide through the water, letting the druid propel them both. It was a magnificent beginning to their journey.

The water was clear and blue, and the floor of the Reach was shallow, luxuriously covered in smooth sand. Coral groves formed arches and tunnels and made homes for exotic fish. Vambran had often watched such wondrous color pass beneath a ship in calm, clear waters, but he had never imagined the beauty of it from an undersea perspective. He watched a school of bright orange fish scatter as he and Arbeenok darted by.

Vambran found that he could indicate a direction to Arbeenok by gently pulling back with one hand or the other against the shoulders of the druid’s wings. By giving such guidance, the mercenary was able to show Arbeenok that he wanted to move among some of the coral and see the abundance of sea life before going deeper into the water.

The remains of a ship came into view, and for a brief moment, Vambran wondered if it was Lady’s Favor, but he dismissed the thought, for the wreck was older, smaller, and more intact. It had settled do its side upon a large expanse of red coral reef, and the abundant sea life had begun to cover its surfaces. Vambran wanted to sweep near the wreck for a closer look, but he sensed Arbeenok hesitate. When a large shark swam out of a hole in the side of the downed craft and began prowling close to them, Vambran was fully in favor of heading the other direction.

After getting over his initial sense of wonder, Vambran nudged Arbeenok further out from the shore, toward deeper waters. The floor of the Reach in that area remained shallow for several hundred paces, declining at a steady if gradual angle, but before long, the two searchers came to a notable boundary where the sea floor plunged rapidly downward to greater depths.

At first, Arbeenok chose to glide parallel to the edge of that steep slope rather than taking the plunge into its depths, for the light was dimmer there and large forests of long, twisted plants grew upward from the sandy floor, suitable hiding places for who-knew-what. Vambran was content to let the druid choose their route, for though he had taken great delight in drifting through the multicolored,

brightly lit world of the shallows, he was more than a little apprehensive about descending into the gloom. The memory of the kraken was still too fresh in his mind.

Banishing their reluctance, the pair turned and began to drift downward, following the ocean floor as its rock-strewn incline dropped beneath them. Vambran was torn between having Arbeenok glide close to the top of the plant-forest so that they could dart in if a threat appeared, or nudging the druid to steer clear of the lush growth and evade whatever might be hiding inside. He chose to guide Arbeenok on a route near enough to make a sudden dive but not so near that they wouldn’t have a chance to react to surprises rising from below.

Vambran considered again the notion that he had no idea what they were looking for—merely underwater ruins—and he wondered if any parts of ancient Jhaamdath still protruded above the sediment of so many centuries. The histories told him a great tidal wave had washed the Twelve Cities of Swords off the land and out into the sea, a magical scouring brought by the elves in retribution for unchecked logging of the Chondalwood. He couldn’t imagine what might have survived such a catastrophe, for the wave was said to be a mile high.

Such force would surely have dragged hills and mountains down with it, he thought. Jhaamdath is probably buried down there, out of reach.

Just when the lieutenant was beginning to feel despair and wondering if they shouldn’t return to shore to rethink their efforts, a figure darted toward him, whose movement he caught out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly, more figures were all around them, darting toward them as though to surround

them, and he felt Arbeenok shudder with concern and begin banking to retreat. He crouched low against the druid’s body, trying to reduce water resistance so they could swim faster.

But the creatures were too quick. Vambran fumbled for his sword, wondering how well he could swing it through water, when he realized he had seen the creatures’ likes before. Blue-skinned and naked, the figures swimming toward him were remarkably similar to elves in appearance, though their hands and feet were webbed. As the sea elves swam around, large, friendly eyes regarded both Vambran and Arbeenok, smiling and reaching out gently to touch the two of them.

A female with short bluish hair, bedecked in shell bracelets and necklaces, swam right up to Vambran. Though he couldn’t be certain, he thought it might have been the same member of the species he had encountered before, when Lady’s Favorhad sunk and he had nearly drowned while dueling the kraken. She smiled at him, those beautiful turquoise eyes with their gold flecks were unmistakable. She swam up next to the lieutenant and wrapped her arms about his head, embracing him and offering him a soft kiss. He didn’t fight it. When she pulled away, he thought she might have giggled, though the sound was odd and distorted in the water.

The sea elf maiden rolled over once and regarded him as she paddled backward, and Vambran wondered if he was blushing at the sight of her unclothed, but then she motioned for them to follow her and spun around and darted away. Vambran shrugged and nudged Arbeenok to follow.

Around Vambran and Arbeenok, other sea elves swam in a sort of escort formation, maintaining a

distance on every side as well as above and below the pair. As a group, they all followed the female downward, toward a jagged chasm that gashed the side of the sloping ocean floor at an angle. When the sea elf guide darted into the chasm and began descending even faster, Vambran fought a brief sense of panic. It was growing ever darker, and he was beginning to feel the effects of the water pressure on his body. But then the sea elf vanished from view, darting into what must have been a cave. Arbeenok followed, not needing Vambran’s guidance to understand where they were expected to go.

The mouth of the cave was large and dark, but the mercenary noted a faint glow from its depths, as the druid obviously did, for he rippled his wings and followed the light source. Vambran hoped he was not misplacing his trust in their guide, but something told him their actions were right.

The cave continued for quite a distance. The light turned out to be glowing coral positioned at intervals on the walls of the tunnel. After several twists and turns in the passage, the cave angled upward, and Vambran could see brighter light ahead.

The water there had a surface, and the mercenary’s head broke through as Arbeenok glided up to it. They were in a large chamber with a cavernous roof high overhead. The whole of the place was lit with more of the glowing coral, but brighter lights were also placed along one side of the cavern. Vambran noticed a sort of rocky beach, and the sea elf was sitting there, out of the water, watching him with a bemused smile on her face.

He and Arbeenok drifted toward her until the water was too shallow for the druid to swim any closer. Vambran climbed off his friend and stood up, letting

the water cascade off him. Beside Vambran, Arbeenok stood up, transformed back into his natural shape.

“Hello, land-walker,” the sea elf said in a somewhat odd accent, but in a voice that was just as sweet as any land elf’s. “We’ve been expecting you.”

As Pilos felt himself lose his balance and fall backward, he clutched at Edilus, whose sudden lunge had toppled the two of them together. But the druid’s calm gaze did not waver, and as they began to plummet, Edilus shifted shape again, transforming into an eagle right before the priest’s eyes. As the druid’s hands became wings and his feet talons, he clutched at Pilos and began to beat his wings furiously. Their fall did not abate much at first, but Pilos could feel the power in Edilus’s effort, and though the druid was not strong enough to hold his companion aloft, he managed to slow their fall enough so that the impact at the bottom would be less deadly. At the last moment, Edilus pulled up and released Pilos, letting him tumble to the cobblestones. Then he flew off, soaring over the landscape, leaving the priest and the other mercenaries behind.

Someone grabbed Pilos by the back of his tunic and helped him to his feet, guiding him along, running, stumbling, away from the wall. He looked back once and saw Generon guards, their uniforms stark white in the early morning glow of day, pursuing them. He also spotted the crumpled bodies of Quill and Laithe at the base of the wall, lying still. He wondered if either of them had survived, but there was no time to,go back and check.

He realized that he did not see Grolo’s form still lying in the street, and he looked up in time to see Adyan struggling to carry the dwarf into an alley. As soon as Pilos was able to sprint on his own, Horial released him and ran faster to catch up with his companion, sharing the burden of the wounded sergeant.

In the alley, Horial and Adyan led the young priest through several twisting turns between buildings, stopping at a court filled with crates, refuse, and rickety stairs leading to second-floor wooden landings.

“In here,” Horial said over his shoulder, helping Adyan carry Grolo down into a cellar. Pilos followed the two men and turned to pull the door shut behind him. At the last moment, the eagle swooped in, and Pilos had to hold the portal open a moment longer. Once Edilus was inside, Pilos let the door swing shut, leaving him in near-darkness, and shifted a latch to lock it. Then he turned back to see where they had taken refuge.

Horial held a single lit candle and was looking over Adyan’s shoulder. “Is he still alive?” the man

asked as Adyan checked the dwarf’s vital signs. After a moment, the mercenary nodded, but his face was grim. “Not for long, though, if we don’t get him some help. Do you have any healing draughts left?” he asked.

Horial shook his head. “No, I used the last of mine back in the woods when we ran into those snakes. Edilus patched me up before, after the fight at the portal. How about it, druid, do you still have some healing magic?”

The man in eagle form cocked his head to one side and stared at the mercenary, then shook it in a clear indication of a negative answer.

Pilos moved over to the wounded and dying dwarf. “I can still conjure a minor spell or two,” he said, “but it probably won’t be effective enough to rouse him. Just enough to keep him from dying.”

“Do it,” Horial said, moving over to give the Abreeant space.

Pilos didn’t waste any time. Placing his hands around the bolt shaft, he felt the wound pulsing weakly. Closing his eyes, he pleaded with Waukeen to grant the dwarf who had aided them a little more time, and when he yanked the bolt free, he let healing magic flow forth into the gaping hole left behind.

Grolo twitched but did not move otherwise.

Pilos drew a deep breath and performed the magic one more time. It was his last spell, a minor orison that would do little more than stop the bleeding and help Grolo rest. When he was finished, he could hear that the dwarf was breathing a little better, a little stronger.

“That’s it,” he said, wiping his bloody hands on the dwarf’s tunic. “That’s all I have left. I hope it’s enough.”

Place me on his hand, Hetta said, startling the priest.

The Abreeant took the ring from his pocket and slipped it onto Grolo’s smallest finger. It barely fit over the end, but Pilos could wiggle it into place. A little more color returned to the dwarf’s face and his breathing sounded calmer, more restful.