“Start a fire,” Tam ordered again. “One of us is half frozen and it’s about to be two.” He looked over at Farideh. “What happened to ‘no powers until you’re well’?”
“Better than being eaten,” she replied. “And I’m fine.”
Out on the lake, she heard Mira break the surface, draw another breath and dive again. Farideh drew the cloak nearer, shivering in sympathy. Dahl finished off the spell that made a cheery little campfire burst smokelessly into being. She settled beside it, wishing it were bigger, just as a hydra head rolled past her and into the growing flames.
“Don’t you dare!” Dahl cried, jumping forward and kicking the head out of the fire. It rolled a short distance and sat steaming on one scaly cheek. “The air’s bad enough down here without adding burning hydra to the mix.”
“Do you have a better plan?” Havilar had planted a foot on another one of the hydra’s necks and started hacking at it with the sword. The hydra’s head came loose, and she kicked it away from the body, toward a hollow in the floor, before doing the same to the next one.
“What are you doing?” Maspero demanded. Farideh startled. The mercenary had said hardly a dozen words since they’d left Everlund, and his soft, light voice still surprised her.
Havilar kicked the second head so that it settled against the first. “Taking heads.”
“Why?”
“Every head grows another hydra,” Havilar said as if he were slow, “unless you burn them. So we’ll have to burn them. Fari, will you?”
Even with Dahl’s little fire, Farideh still shivered, and in a moment Mira would too. A quick gesture, a whispered word, and a bolt of flames sizzled from her open palm to engulf the hydra heads, hot enough to send up a cloud of steam and set the skulls to popping wetly. She caught her breath-Dahl was right, it smelled fouler than foul. But the chill in her bones started to recede.
Mira pulled herself from the water, her grin answer enough and her skin taking on a bluish cast. “Thank your gods, da,” she said through a chattering jaw. “We’ve found it-ah, piss and hrast, what is that stench?”
“Prevention,” Havilar said solemnly.
“You’re cold, even if you’re excited,” Farideh said, pulling Mira toward the fire.
Brin cursed and clutched his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s as best I can do.” Tam’s hand was still swollen and raw looking. “I can try again in a bit,” he offered, “but if I push it-”
“Neither of us will be well,” Tam finished.
“Bad luck,” Pernika put in. “Are you sure this is the right way?”
Havilar kicked a fourth head into the fire. “That’s all of them. No more hydras.”
Tam’s attention went to her. “Hydras have seven heads.”
“This one only had four. The other three necks are just stumps.” Havilar looked down at the carcass and wrinkled her nose. “Nasty-looking stumps.”
Tam sat up straighter. “Old wounds?”
“Old enough to putrefy,” she said. “I said nasty. I meant nasty.”
Tam cursed. “Then someone else has been this way recently. We don’t have time to dally.”
CHAPTER TEN
THE CAVERNS OF XAMMUX
15 FLAMERULE, THE YEAR OF THE DARK CIRCLE (1478 DR)
Dahl laid the last of his components out, trying hard to ignore his audience and the stink of burnt hydra. Two rituals atop each other-a spell to keep the cold out and a spell to make travel through water possible. If he slipped, either one could be weakened and someone could well die.
You wanted responsibility, he reminded himself as he poured sea salt in a circle large enough to hold all eight of them, around several neat piles of powdered metals. “Step inside,” he said, pulling the leaves from a dried stalk of herbs.
“You’re too far from the water,” Tam said. “We’ll suffocate.” Dahl shook his head. “Not necessary. This is a refined version.” He set a vial of fresh water beside the pouches laid out at his feet, and then a very small vial that held a drop of white dragon’s blood. “The older rituals mimicked the original spells-the ones with the gills and such-but this one’s one of Procampur’s experiments. Shouldn’t affect anyone’s ability to breathe normally. Well, I mean,” he added, “apart from being able to breathe water.”
When the leaves had been sprinkled in a cross through the circle and he had everyone facing outward, Dahl took his place in the center. He shut his eyes and held the vial with the dragon’s blood out. Oghma let this work, he thought. He dropped the vial. An icy gale blew up from their feet with a terrible roar that reverberated off the cavern walls. As the wind threw the leaves into the air, the magic that streamed upward found its way into Dahl’s nose and mouth-into each of their noses and mouths, he hoped-and flooded his lungs with a cool, green taste. The wind turned warm, then hot, then faded away and left all eight standing there, looking tumbled and confused.
All of them were staring at Dahl.
He dusted the salt off his jerkin, hefted his haversack onto one shoulder, and trying not to look nervous, stepped into the water.
It was warm as a midsummer mill pond, and he sighed in relief. “Come along,” he said. “It will wear off eventually.”
Dahl had breathed water before, but that didn’t make the experience any less unnerving. It might have felt like breathing strangely cool, strangely humid air, but the pressure of the lake around him was still there, the currents of the water still pulling at him like the wind never could.
It did not surprise him to see Farideh holding her breath-the instinct was hard to fight-but it annoyed him. He’d mentioned that, hadn’t he? He pulled her aside and took several exaggerated breaths. She gave him such a plaintive look as she continued to hold her mouth shut. Dahl rolled his eyes-no, it didn’t feel pleasant, but it wasn’t going to hurt anyone.
Breathe, he mouthed.
She fought it until her air ran out, and she tried to swim for the surface. Dahl caught her arm and held her until she had to take several great, frantic gulps. He mimed again-keep breathing-and headed after the others, his thoughts unkind but wholly deserved.
The ancient door had been pried open, the remainders of the seal knocked away. Mira swept the lake bed, picking out the broken pieces and adding them to a sack. The current flowed into the doorway, pulling Dahl’s feet toward it. Mira considered her collection and pulled the drawstring shut. She pulled a length of thin rope from her sack and tied one end to her belt, then passed the coil to Tam before heading into the tunnel. It left little time for each of them to tie in before following Mira into the dark, and no room at all for discussion.
She was, Dahl thought, as he took the coil from Maspero and knotted the rope to his sword belt, a much more palatable leader than Tam. He passed the end of the rope to Farideh and headed in after her.
And Mira’s enthusiasm made the trek seem less like some ridiculous make-work quest handed down by the Fisher. This mattered, to Mira at least, and if they did not find this wizard’s secret hoard of magic items and scrolls, it would not be for lack of effort from Dahl.
The current picked up. Suddenly it felt like trying not to tumble down a steep hill. The water sucked at his legs and arms and swirled around his head, tossing his hair into his eyes. He tried to move with the current, only to find himself caught. He glanced back to see Farideh edging along with one hand on either side of the tunnel, her brow furrowed in concentration. The current sped up as they passed over a rise, and Dahl stumbled, catching himself on the bare rock, and he jerked against the rope at his back. From the corner of his eye, he could see her speaking, asking if he was all right, but he turned back to the path instead. He was fine, of course.