The Five Elements (10 page)

Hell-wielder's demise did not go unnoticed. Aaron was surprised, though, when the other raiders did not try to stop Ensel Rhe. Instead, in a mad rush, they went for the flaming axe that fell from the dwarf’s grasp. Whatever sorcery had ruled the weapon had fled. The moment the dwarf released it the emanation of flame and smoke ceased. Yet it remained a prize worth fighting over as dwarf turned on dwarf in their bid to possess it. Ensel Rhe strode through the chaos unhindered, reaching Aaron in moments and slowing only enough to reach down and haul him to his feet.

"Let's go."

The eslar's words were accompanied by a shove that sent Aaron stumbling forward towards a closed door. Aaron shot a glance over one shoulder. The eslar's face with those stark white eyes and blue-black skin was an unreadable mask. Aaron nearly stumbled into the door. He tried the knob, but it was locked.

"Get out of the way."

He'd barely done so when Master Rhe smashed it in with a single kick. Aaron was half-shoved, half-dragged into a lantern lit hall where the eslar immediately set a pace Aaron could scarcely match. He simply had nothing left. Master Rhe supported him, carrying him up and down a blur of passages, staircases, and halls. Aaron's cognizance resurfaced only when they emerged outside and when, without hesitance, the eslar appeared ready to plunge them both into the floodwaters. Thought of reentering that bracken, freezing filth sickened Aaron. He balked, pulling away without thinking. But Ensel Rhe held him firm, making him see the small dwarven boat that waited at the end of a long ledge. Relief swept through him. Aaron didn't remember getting into the boat, and so he was surprised when he opened his eyes to find himself lying at the stern, the craft already cast off and Master Rhe manning a single, cloth-wrapped oar.

Shouting and screaming, distant, soon faded altogether. Darkened windows passed by one after the other. They saw no one else. At least, Aaron saw no one else, for no sooner had he regained cognizance when the boat's steady rhythm lulled him back into a fitful slumber. When he woke, he saw that nothing had changed. It was still night. They remained within the city. And Master Rhe still rowed. More than that, his home was still laid waste. His mentor and friends, slain. The quiet hemmed in such thoughts until they overwhelmed Aaron, and he broke into a fit of sobbing he was powerless to stop. He buried his head in his arms and drew his knees close.

The boat shifted, and Aaron felt a strong hand on his shoulder. A single gloved finger slipped beneath his chin, prompting him to raise his head. He did so, taking a moment to wipe the tears from his eyes with a sodden sleeve before his stare met Master Rhe's. There was no solace in the eslar's otherworldly eyes, no commiseration. Their depths were hard, unyielding. Alien.

"Compose yourself," the eslar said, his voice a whisper, "and remain silent. We are still in danger."

Aaron managed a single nod, then he looked away. He sank deeper into the boat, clenching his arms across his chest in a vain attempt to ward off the cold while Master Rhe returned to his singular task of propelling them forward and into the dark. Whether the taciturn mercenary led them to safety or more danger, Aaron didn't know. If there were any safe places left in the world, he doubted the killer seated across from him was going to be the one to lead him there.

S
HANNA WAS A FIGHTER. ALWAYS had been.

That was why, in the moment just before Aaron's grip slipped from hers, when she knew his strength was almost gone, her panic disappeared. But not suddenly and not without effort. Shanna took hold of it. Wrestled it to the ground. Beat at it every time it tried to rise until, finally, it stayed down. Even still, she kicked it for good measure. Satisfied, she took a deep breath and held it. She knew the waters were going to take her. It was as inevitable as Aaron's grip giving way. Then it did, and just like that, as the water seized her, the calm she'd so forcefully mustered snapped and terror took hold.

The water dragged her down, enveloping her in a liquid shell of frothing, salty darkness that at once burned her eyes and pierced her very core with its icy chill. Thoughts and action, twisted into meaninglessness, fell away as she plunged into the void. Mind and body were lost to her as the streaming jet twisted and turned her at will, all the while hurtling her deeper and deeper into the abyss. She wanted to scream. She almost did. But the instinctual part of her mind warned against expending any of the precious air she'd just managed to suck in. Still, every second that passed brought more panic, for she knew that every inch she fell diminished the chances she'd ever see the light of day again.

Something brushed against her. Without thinking, Shanna grabbed hold of it, wrapping it tight with both arms. It's presence helped right her and, feeling the softness there, she buried her face in it, for already her lungs were starting to ache. If there were an end to it now, if she suddenly somehow was released from the flow and given even a pocket of air to drink from then everything would be alright. But no such thing happened. Though she was no longer tumbling, the force of the water still dragged her down so that, with every passing moment, her lungs cried out all the more. Shanna answered the only way she knew how. She clenched her fists, pushing the desire to draw breath deep down, burying it behind her will. She would not die. Not here. Not alone in the dark without ever having done any of the things she'd dreamt of doing. Her lungs, oblivious and wanting only breath, elevated their pleading to angry demands. Shanna railed at them. She would not draw breath… would not… . Willpower was not enough. Her lungs issued one final demand—this one undeniable—and Shanna inhaled.

She gagged on froth—not water—the briny foam sucked into her mouth and throat. A moment's disbelief came and went and then she was falling—really falling this time—amidst a watery spray that all but blinded her. Her stomach lurched into her throat as she and the life-preserver she still clung to plummeted downward. Then the water sucked her in once more. She had no air, no warning. She sank, but it was only from the momentum of the fall this time. After a moment, she found herself slowing and then almost stopping altogether. Shanna let go of her life-preserver and, with frantic kicks and strokes, swam for the surface she hoped was not far. Darkness concealed her progress, but she made herself believe she was close. One more stroke, one more kick. It was enough. With a gasp, she broke the surface.

She heaved air into her lungs with great, heaving breaths, choking and coughing, but drawing in every bit of life-giving air she could. She did nothing else right away, reveling in the simple task of breathing as she tried not to think about how close she'd come to dying. She was alive, she told herself. Still alive, still here in the world of the living and still fighting, though she'd no idea where she was. It was too dark to see anything. She knew only that she'd fallen a great way. Deeper than she or anyone she knew had ever been. Before this, she'd never gone further than the Underkeep's third sub-level. That one time had been prompted by a dare. Ordinarily, no one went past sub-level two. Past that it was too dark and too deep and everyone knew only dwarves and wicked things were meant to dwell that far beneath the earth. Truthfully, she'd really no idea what exactly dwelt this far down, though her imagination, unbidden, conjured images of goblins, gorgons, and all sorts of other things she really shouldn't be thinking about right now. Things that could see in the dark just fine. Things that climbed walls and crept hunched over and slipped through the water as easily as an eel and—

Stop it!

There’s nothing down here, she told herself, repeating it over and over in her mind to keep from thinking of slimy, pock-marked sub-dwellers or bark-skinned trolls or gangly-eyed daubers—

Damn!

She had to get out of here.

Gulping down another breath, she put her back to the continuing sound of falling water and swam. The water was cleaner here, though still salty. It was cold, too. The coldest yet. She stopped every few minutes, probing with one foot for a bottom. On the fifth such try, she found it. She swam some more, testing every few feet until both feet touched. Then she half-swam, half-walked until, finally, she was out of the water entirely. Instantly, the air's chill seized her. Shirt, pants, and cloak all dripped. Her vest that she'd only hastily thrown on when she'd first noticed water seeping beneath her bedroom door was in no better shape. Looking down at her feet—but not seeing them because of the dark—she realized for the first time that her shoes were gone, likely pulled off her feet sometime during her descent. She felt her socks clinging only by the slimmest margin. She bent to fix them. Then, straightening, she ran her hands through her hair, wringing water droplets from the length of it. She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

The darkness remained.

Shivering, she crossed her arms at her chest, holding a single hand out to probe the way ahead. There was nothing at first, but then her fingers felt something hard and cold—stone—but smooth, as if shaped by wind or water or a craftsman's hands. She reached out with her other hand and, figuring it for a wall, used it to guide her. Direction made no difference. She only felt that if she kept moving it would keep her mind from—

"Gods damn it!" she said as her knee struck something. "If I could only see—"

Light exploded before her.

Its brilliance caused her to raise an arm, but only for a moment as the brightness faded, leaving a more moderate ambiance behind. Blinking away spots, Shanna saw two bronze braziers, the closer of which she'd run her knee up against. Tongues of flame shot out from each of them, lighting between them an iron-banded door so massive, giants must have once strode through it. The walls to either side were clean, smooth, and seamless. Shanna backed away from it all, stopping only when her feet splashed the water. She turned, hoping the light revealed something of the way she'd come. Instead, she saw death.

Bodies like sodden logs drifted in time with ripples created by the crashing spill of a waterfall whose frothing edge she’d not been able to see until now. On some of the corpses, only the backs of heads were exposed. On others, entire bodies—and some faces—were visible. Seeing those faces made her legs go numb. She needn't wonder from whence those bodies had come, for she knew they'd entered this place the same way she had. Every one of them, even… even the one to which she'd held so tight.

Her legs would no longer support her. Shanna fell to all fours and, unable to stop herself, retched.

Some of them might have been alive, she thought, sucked into the water just as she had been. She coughed, spitting out vomit while she fought to keep from throwing up again. The one she'd clung to… there hadn't been any movement, but she'd been tossed about so willy-nilly she couldn’t be sure.

She crawled away from the water and fell to her side, squeezing her eyes shut against the darkness as she drew her knees close. Time's meaning faded and she must have dozed, for when cognizance returned her mind was laden with a fog that did not lift easily. The braziers, still burning as if they'd just been lit, shone through the haze, waking her. She wanted—needed—to rise, to find some way out of this place, but her arms and legs refused to move. It was the touch of the rising seawater lapping at her back and memories of the bodies still floating behind her that finally forced her to move. She crawled to the great door. Using a sodden sleeve, she wiped dry vomit from her chin, then rose on wobbly legs. Only after she'd taken a deep breath, steeling her nerves, did she take full stock of her situation. She was on a sort of beach, with the door on one side and the water on the other. Water from the falls fed the pool. She almost imagined she saw its level rising. Eventually, she'd lose her little oasis.

Knowing there was no going back, Shanna turned her attention to the great door. First, though, she was curious about the braziers. A cursory inspection failed to reveal a starting mechanism, nor did she detect the scent of burning oil. She saw hot rocks and the fire dancing over them and that was all. Dwarven magic, Shanna thought. She knew nothing of sorcery and, truth be told, little enough of dwarves except that they were short and ugly. Magic or not, the fire was warm and the heat, inviting. She held her hands to the flames, then removed and hung her cloak and vest from the leftmost brazier's iron prongs. After another moment soaking up the brazier's warmth, she took a closer look at the door. Dark, polished wood, it was banded with thick cuts of decorative iron and fixed with a great black handle covered in dust. Shanna ran a hand over it, feeling cool metal. Experimentally, she grasped the handle with one hand and tugged. The door did not budge. She tightened her grip and, using both hands this time, tried again. This time the door moved, but only slightly. Taking a deep breath, Shanna propped one foot against the wall and heaved with all of her strength. This time, the door slid open.

The opening—she'd managed to swing it only part of the way—was a blank wall of darkness. Light from the braziers' flames did not reach the dark, nor was there any light within. Shanna took a deep breath, then one step forward. Beyond the door's threshold, red-orange tongues sprang to life as another pair of braziers fired. What their light revealed caused Shanna to gasp, for inlaid into a white marble floor was a kaleidoscope of precious stones: rubies, sapphires, topazes, diamonds. Just one was more wealth than she'd ever laid eyes upon. All of them together… . They were a king's—no, a
high
king's—ransom. Shanna swallowed, disbelief keeping her perfectly still lest the slightest movement cause the display to somehow vanish.

Then it became too much.

Shanna dove the remainder of the way through the doorway and to the floor. Reaching for her knife, she swore, realizing it must have fallen victim to the raging floodwaters. She used her fingernails instead, lowering her head to spy out the crevices between gem and rock. Sputtering flames provided scant light for such work and Shanna found no way to gain purchase. She kept trying. Many had descended into the Underkeep's depths searching for hidden dwarven treasure. But no one had ever found anything. The dwarves had not been driven out. They'd left, taking everything of value with them. Most came to believe this, one way or another. Even visitors, who came to explore the depths and were charged a hefty fee by Norwynne's lord for the right to do so, were grudgingly convinced when their efforts proved fruitless. But she had found something! Where everyone else had failed, she had found a piece of the dwarven folk's lost treasure. Just one of the stones would make her a queen! She'd never have to sleep in the drafty Underkeep again. She'd have the finest clothes, the finest lodgings—the finest everything! Despite her best efforts, though, the floor refused to release their hold on even one of the precious stones. Shanna doubled her efforts, grunting with exertion as she imagined the indulgences that would be hers. Hot baths whenever she wanted. Her bed made up with fresh, silk sheets every evening. A host of servants to see to her every whim. She'd treat them fairly. Shanna knew what the life of a servant was like and would never make them do something she wouldn’t do herself. But someone had to sweep the floors and wash the dishes and stock the shelves and remove the trash and—