Katya flinched as a shadow fell over her, afraid, for a moment, that it was one of the guards come to berate her for some presumed slight. But when she looked up, it was Dunsany, carrying another tray of rocks for her to sort through.
“Have you had any further thoughts on making our escape?” she said.
“Beyond how impossible it would be, you mean?”
“Well, we can’t stay here for much longer. Have you seen Shalim? If he’s sent down again, he won’t come back up.”
“You talk as though this is a temporary situation, Katya. As if there’s any hope at all.”
For a moment Katya didn’t know what to say. Here was a man who had been full of a lust for adventure, who had never hesitated to throw himself into the most perilous of situations; and now he had been reduced by slavery to little more than a shell.
“I don’t know about escape, Katya, but I’d do anything to have Kelos back.”
When Dunsany’s shoulders began to hitch, she took the tray of rocks from him before he could drop it on his feet. She held him and was shocked by how frail he felt, as though he had aged decades in just a matter of days.
“I’m sure that wherever Kelos is, he’s thinking the same thing,” Katya said. “Trust me, we’ll get out of this. You’ve got to have faith.”
“Like Ignacio and his friends, you mean?”
Katya looked over to where their former crewmate was breaking rocks. The crew he sweated with all wore a scrap of rag tied to their upper right arm, upon which was painted the crossed circle: the symbol of the Final Faith. It hadn’t taken Ignacio long to start preaching to his fellow slaves and, with Bestion’s help, he had soon amassed a regular congregation. The elves didn’t seem at all alarmed by this burgeoning faith. Katya supposed that with their minds on Kerberos and the rewards He would give to them in the hereafter, the members of this new cult were less likely to foment rebellion. Indeed, gauging from the way the elves allowed them to gather in prayer every time they broke for lunch, they were actively encouraging the belief.
“I think that what we’re witness to here,” Dunsany said, “is the beginnings of the Final Faith itself; the earliest church.”
“Who’d have thought that Ignacio would become a vital part of church history? If only his brother could see him now.”
“You two!” One of the elves had noticed their conversation and was heading their way. Katya saw the diamond-studded tips of the flail at his belt, and her back flinched at the memory of their touch. She fell to her task after warning Dunsany, with a glare, to go back to his.
“We’ve already had enough trouble from you.” Katya didn’t look up. “What were you discussing with your friend?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing…?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“You may be more evolved than your fellow humans, but you all bleed the same.”
“No, please.”
The elf uncoiled the flail, the barbs catching the light. From the corner of her eye, Katya could see Dunsany running towards them, a rock in his raised fist.
Before he or the elf could strike, the ground trembled and a smoke stack exploded, showering the workers with hot brick shrapnel and sending a plume of black smoke high into the air. The wheels at the head of the pit began to spin wildly as the cage that had been about to descend suddenly dropped. Katya saw an elf pulling on the emergency brake, but it broke off in his hands; above him, the iron wheels screeched in protest, sparks showering from them as they spun out of control. Even when there was no more rope to play out they continuing spinning, and from somewhere far beneath their feet came a deep hollow thump as the cage hit bottom. Katya closed her eyes, but the image of broken bodies pulverised among sharp rocks and iron wreckage would not fade.
The elves looked about them, seemingly searching for someone to blame. To the man with the flail, it appeared to be all too clear who was the perpetrator of this chaos.
Before she knew what she had done, Katya had taken a rock from the tray in front of her and thrown it with all her strength. The elf dropped, his eyes rolling back in his head. A thin trickle of blood snaked from his nose and his heels kicked against the dirt.
Katya had never intended to be the instigator of a rebellion — had never even thought herself capable of taking another person’s life — but her one act of violence ignited the spark of hatred that had simmered for so long within the slaves, and soon rocks were being hefted and pick-axes raised.
Before the battle for human liberty could be joined, however, the granite cliff that loomed over the mine exploded, and the dwarven horde poured forth from the rift.
C HAPTER T WENTY
“Fascinating, ” Keldren said, as Silus swam through the waters of the flooded room. “And it is Chadassa blood that runs through his veins, giving him these abilities?”
Even through the murk of the dirty sea water, and the barrier of thick glass, Kelos could see the pained expression on his friend’s face, and it made him want to defy Keldren. But if he refused to help the wizard in his studies, he’d be more than likely shipped off to one of the human slave camps, there to die an anonymous death amongst the suffering masses. Here, he could at least try to alleviate his friend’s suffering.
“Kelos? I asked you a question.”
“What? Yes… sorry. Silus does indeed have a link with the Chadassa, but he’s no monster.”
“Ah, yes. Well, that bring us to the next part of our experiment, doesn’t it?”
“Please, Keldren. Is this really necessary?”
“How do you think all those great works of mine got written, Kelos? How do you think I managed to be so precise in my observations? Theorising is all very well, but no substitute for experimentation and observation. Now, let us see what happens when I do this…”
Keldren moved his hands and, even before the sorcerer began to intone the words, Kelos recognised the elemental spell he was weaving. The hairs at the back of his neck prickled; he could taste the sharp tang of ozone.
Keldren flung out his hands and a bright shockwave burst through the water of the flooded room.
Blinking away the purple blotches that crowded his vision, Kelos saw Silus floating, perfectly still, bobbing face-down in the centre of the water tank, blood misting from his mouth.
“Gods, you’ve killed him! Keldren, what have you done?”
“Don’t worry. I’m certain he’s not been harmed.”
“Really?”
When Silus opened his eyes, Kelos let out the breath he had been holding; the pupils were pure obsidian, and he shuddered as he realised what was about to happen.
Silus’s transformation was as rapid as it had been when the dragon’s blood had drenched him; the water darkened as the Chadassa form came to the fore, everything that was human sloughing away.
“Oh, but that’s just… beautiful,” Keldren breathed.
He pushed his face up against the glass, entranced by what Silus had become.
“Just imagine an army of these: aquatic warriors. The dwarf navy wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Keldren, I really wouldn’t stand that close.”
“What? Nonsense, we’re perfectly safe.”
The glass shook as Silus drove himself against it, his claws making a horrendous screeching sound as they scrabbled against the other side.
“Not to worry,” said Keldren, giggling nervously. “That glass is inches thick.”
With a bang, a hairline crack jumped across the glass, beads of water slowly forming along its path.
“Vent the tank, Keldren.” For a moment the wizard was transfixed by the gaze of the Chadassa hybrid, the wall of the tank creaking ominously as water pooled at his feet. “ Now! ”