I climbed out from beneath the temple floor. The riches of the pirate Abraxas of Lore lay at my feet, and my companions pored over it, dreams of finery and rich foods and expeditions to distant shores passing between them in whispers. My thoughts were only with the dragon harpoon, and how if I had such a weapon in my possession on the far northern sea, perhaps I would have slain the lind-worm as I had hoped to do.
Even the gods could not change the past. I had it now, and it sang to me, a song of dragon flight and the hands of heroes. I was the last of many to carry this weapon. When the dragon who had given it shape had hatched from its stone egg, the world had been young, covered in water and fire. It was with reverence that I replaced the oil cloth covering the harpoon and fashioned a sling out of rope to carry it on my back.
“I don’t need a share of the treasure,” I told Hamilcar. “I only want this weapon.”
He looked up at me and gave an expansive shrug. “If that’s your choice, then, you can have it. Gods know I wouldn’t be able to find a buyer for months.”
“My friend,” said Halvor, “you need to learn the value of money.”
That may have been true, and it was also true that this wasn’t the first time that I had abandoned a share of a chest full of coins. I had abandoned the winner’s purse of the Cerean Tournament when I had left Phyreios. While it would have done me no good at the temple, my journey south across the lands of Xao might have been easier if I’d had some gold to pave my way.
Still, I was confident in my choice. As long as I worked, Bran and I would eat, and I would address the problem of my lack of wealth when I at last reached my port.
Hamilcar had us fill in the cavity and replace the flagstones, but not before he inked a message to Abraxas and folded it into the waxed cloth that had protected the treasure and placed it beneath the floor for the other pirate to find in the future. I could not read the words, but I could guess what it said: a boast proclaiming Hamilcar the better pirate. By all evidence, it was true, as Abraxas’ treasure now belonged to the captain of the Lady of Osona.
He sent me to ride back to the ship and fetch more sailors to help carry the treasure out. We had not felt another earthquake since we’d left the beach, but I stayed close to the wall and avoided the bottomless pit in the center of the ruined temple. I emerged, squinting against the high sun, into the forest of Salmacha.
Five men in armor stood upon the temple’s steps, their boots crushing the moss and the sun glinting off their mail shirts. The one farthest to my left held Bran’s halter, and his arms strained as the horse pulled away from him. The other four held spears of dark wood, tipped with sharp iron. They were the first people other than the crew that I had seen on the island.
“I don’t mean any harm,” I said. “Give me back my horse.”
The man at the center leveled his spear in my direction. “By the order of King Sondassan, you are to be taken to the city,” he said. “Come quietly, and you and your horse will not be harmed.”
“Are there more with you in the ruin?” another man asked.
I could hear the sailors moving about behind me, but the temple’s darkness concealed them. “No,” I said, loud enough that they could hear. “I am alone.”
Once again, the birds had fallen silent. The forest loomed over me, painting the cliff in dark shadow, speaking to itself in a fearful whisper of leaves. Who were these men? Why were they here, when all others on the island had departed for other shores? And what did they want with me?
They were as broad as I, though shorter by half a head, and dressed in mail and hardened leather, while I wore only a borrowed set of sailors’ clothes and carried only the dragon’s harpoon. My odds were poor, but I thought I might prevail should I attempt to fight—and if my companions in the ruin came to my aid, we could overpower these men. I moved a hand to the weapon on my back.
The man holding Bran shifted his grip on his spear and held the head to Bran’s neck. Bran pulled away, hooves tearing at the moss, but his bridle held him in place. His rolling eyes found me and stared.
I would not lose Bran; of that I was certain. I held up my hands to the men. Inch by inch, I slipped the strap over my head and lowered the harpoon to the ground. The soldier at the center picked it up, and three of his companions circled around me, closing off any routes by which I might have escaped.
They marched me through the forest, the man with my harpoon ahead, the man holding Bran behind, and the others in a rotating formation at my sides. I had a passing thought of shoving one of them aside and escaping into the trees, but I refused to abandon Bran to whatever fate they might have in mind for him. Silently, I swore to return both of us, and the enchanted weapon, to the ship.
The forest opened into a well-worn footpath that climbed straight up from the harbor to the city. Afternoon sun beat down on my head and baked the earth beneath my feet. I kept my face forward, resisting the urge to look back toward the ship. Surely, the soldiers had seen it by now, but I would not draw their attention to my companions. I hoped that, should I be unable to free myself, they might come to my rescue. Even if they did not, I would not have them captured on my account.
The city rose above me in stark, flat gray, chasing away all thoughts of my dubious future. Watchmen paced the battlements, with only their leather caps visible from my vantage point below. Salmacha was not quite empty, after all—a wooden portcullis with sharpened points groaned open, and the din of commerce and daily life drifted through the gate.
In all my travels, I had not learned to love the sight of walls and edifices of stone. Phyreios’s high wall had not saved it from destruction, nor did it contain the great worm that emerged from under the mountain. A wall could turn away arrows, but it would not protect anyone from the dangers that lay within.
I suspected there were many dangers inside the walls of this city.
The soldiers took me down a paved street and into a central square full of people. They wore silk and fanned themselves with palm fronds, and they did not look at me. At the other side of the plaza stood a squat, rectangular palace, rough-hewn as if from a single, enormous block of stone. Its doors were gilded with a pattern of climbing vines, and five columns stood on either side of its great, arched door.
A deep, metallic ringing filled the square and its surrounding streets, and the gathered townsfolk fell silent. Before I could find where the sound came from, I was taken away, past the steps to the palace and down a shady alleyway. An iron gate set into a carved doorway opened at the approach of my escort and closed behind me.
“Where are you taking my horse?” I asked, but the soldiers did not answer.
My escort, now only four, led me down a long corridor hazy with smoke. Torches reached out from iron fastenings on the walls, and the hall was barely wide enough for three to walk abreast. The ceiling hung a mere hand’s-breadth from the top of my head. I bowed my shoulders and tucked my head to my chest. I meant to escape, and it would do me no good to injure myself before I had even learned my surroundings.
The corridor rang with the sound of metal tools on stone, but all I could see were the walls around me. Somewhere beyond, diggers worked in an extensive network, and echoes sounded near and far. The stone beneath my feet trembled with their efforts. It was as though the whole structure breathed, and it quivered with an inhuman pulse, but for the moment, no earthquake shook its foundation. I feared that the entire stone palace might come down on our heads were that to occur.
I could not help but think of Phyreios in ruins. Whatever was taking place in this city, no good would come of it, I was certain.
We arrived in a wide room lined with cells, each separated from the hall by an iron grate. They were all empty. The first soldier opened the door of the first cell on the right, and the other three shoved me inside without ceremony. The door closed with a sound that shook dust from the walls.
My escort left, and took with them my harpoon and the single torch that lit the dungeon. A slit in the wall above my head showed a thin stream of daylight. It was too narrow to fit more than a finger or two. I tried the door, but it was locked, and the bars fitted tightly into the stone. My cell contained only a bucket and a slab carved out of the wall that wasn’t quite large enough to lie upon. I was alone. Had the other prisoners been put to work, or was I the only one to have evoked the city’s ire?
This was not the first time I had found myself locked up, and it would not be the last. I was determined to find my way out as I had in Banwa town. All I had to do was find someone with whom I could bargain for my freedom.
For that, I would have to wait. The light from the window traced a slow path across the floor. I sang a rowing song, to drown out the sound of digging and in the hopes of disturbing a guard enough that he would appear, but no one came. Night fell, and the dungeon went black.
I lay on the slab with my feet against the adjoining wall and tried to rest. Hunger had begun to sap my strength, and I wanted to conserve it, but sleep did not come. I could not see the stars from my window.
It must have been midnight when a light appeared in the corridor, though it felt as though years had passed. Three men entered the dungeon: two soldiers, mailed and armed as the ones who had brought me here, and the third dressed in a robe the color of fresh blood. His skin was the color and texture of an oak tree, and a circlet of black volcanic glass sat atop his white hair. Around his neck hung a jeweled collar.
The soldiers stayed in the doorway, and the old man advanced, carrying a lantern. I shielded my eyes against the invasion of light as he examined me.
“Who are you?” I demanded. “Why am I being held here? I am Eske of the Clan of the Bear, hunter of the great lind-worm and champion of the Cerean Tournament. I have walked the length and breadth of the world and gazed upon the Dreaming Eye. I will not remain here against my will.”
The man’s face cracked into a broad grin, showing a row of white teeth worn short and flat. “A champion, you say? Yes, I think you’ll do nicely. King Sondassan will be pleased.”
Back to Chapter XIII: Empty Salmacha
Forward to Interlude Two: The Spirit Wilds
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