Doomraga's Revenge (15 page)

Staggering toward the portal’s flames, Krystallus forced himself to concentrate on his next destination—Waterroot, the home of Serella’s people. If he could just get her back to her realm, where elven healers could tend to her, she might yet survive.
Waterroot
, he thought, conjuring memories of its iridescent waves, cool currents, and salty air.

Yet even as he crossed into the ring of green light, he couldn’t entirely push from his thoughts the strange place he was leaving. Or, hefting the body in his arms, the strange prize he was taking with him.

21:
S
TRANGE
T
HOUGHTS

After all these years, the only thing I know for certain is that I don’t know anything for certain.

Staggering out of the portal, Krystallus didn’t even notice the crisp breeze that struck his face, let alone the sharp, briny smell of seawater. Exhausted from his journey, he kneeled on the wet, barnacle-covered rocks that surrounded the portal and carefully set down Serella’s body. Waves from the sea sloshed against the shore only a few paces away, spraying her boots and leggings.

Completely lifeless, she seemed, her face a sickly gray color and her eyes still open but unseeing. Some sort of black, shadowy lines creased the skin of her neck and brow. Gazing down at her, Krystallus noticed for the first time the deep forest green color of her eyes.

Placing a hand on her torn blue tunic, just below her neck, he felt for any breathing. Not a trace. He leaned over her face, trying to feel even a slight rush of air from her nose or mouth. Again—nothing. When he placed a hand on the side of her neck, checking for a pulse, he did no better.

Serella showed no sign of life. She lay motionless on the rocks, her silvery blond hair arrayed around her head like rays of light.

To his own surprise, Krystallus felt a sharp pang of disappointment.
Probably because I worked so hard to get her here,
he surmised.
Should have left her where I found her.

He had, indeed, worked hard to keep her essence tied to his own throughout the journey. It felt sometimes that the portal’s fires wanted to rip her away, to carry her off to some other destination. Or to swallow her life energy and merge it forever with that of the Great Tree. At such moments, Krystallus had fought hard to keep her with him—harder than he could now explain, given that she was not someone he cared for. She was, after all, his bitter enemy, someone who had never missed a chance to humiliate him.

Yet now, as he looked down on her face, serene even with the marks of death, he couldn’t quite feel his old resentment toward her. She had clearly suffered in dying from whatever had attacked her in Shadowroot. And she had, in fact, been a worthy competitor. A foe, yes, but not really wicked. She was just . . .

A seagull glided above them, screeching, as he searched for the right word.

Better.
He gulped, realizing the truth.
She was always better at exploring than me.
Serella had been the first to find Brynchilla, first to make contact with the flamelons—and now the first to face the perils of Shadowroot.
She always had the heart of an explorer
.

So she wasn’t his enemy, after all. Or even merely a competitor. She was really something more, something he couldn’t quite name.

Sadly, he reached for her neck again. Maybe he’d feel a trace of a pulse this time? Just as his hand touched the soft skin of her throat—

“Get him!”

Hearing the gruff voice, Krystallus turned around—just in time to see three elves running up the rocky beach, about to pounce on him. Even as he started to stand, they drew their long knives and spears. And their angry, wild-eyed faces made their intentions perfectly clear.

“Stop him!” cried one elf. “Before he escapes into that portal.”

“Tried to strangle her, he did.”

“You killed our queen!”

Krystallus barely gained his footing when another elf dashed out from behind the portal and leaped onto his back. Collapsing, Krystallus and his foe rolled down the slippery rocks into the shallow water. Dodging a punch, Krystallus kicked the elfin the chest, hard enough to send him sprawling backward into the waves. He spun around to face the other attackers.

Wham!
The butt of a spear struck him hard on the temple.

Krystallus teetered, dazed. Then another sharp blow to the head knocked him over. He splashed into the shallows and lay there, facedown in the water.

22:
T
HE
C
HOICE

How I love to gamble! To roll dice, to take a risk, to trust in luck. Especially when what’s at stake belongs to someone else.

When Krystallus awoke, the feeling wasn’t pleasant. His head throbbed, as if boulders were constantly slamming his skull. His stomach churned with swallowed seawater, and his mouth was rank with the stench of his own vomit. And his new surroundings didn’t bode well.

He lay on the stone floor of some kind of cell. When, after much effort, he brought his eyes into focus, he looked at his tattered tunic and leggings—and checked for his precious sketchbook, which was still in his pocket. Around him he saw only stone walls, floor, and ceiling, unbroken but for a bolted door and a barred skylight high above his head. On the floor beside him were two items of furniture: a rickety stool and a bucket, made from a large seashell, that held some water.

Dazed and nauseated, he forced his wobbly limbs to crawl over to the bucket. Plunging his head into the water, he tried to rinse away the smell of retch. But even that small amount of effort was enough to cause the boulders to strike his skull again.

Head throbbing, feeling more dizzy than ever, he collapsed onto the stone floor. Then, despite his effort to resist, he vomited again. Seawater and shreds of kelp gushed out of his mouth, making a rancid puddle on the floor. Dark shadows crept into his mind, obscuring any thoughts. As the shadows deepened, he lost consciousness.

When he awoke again, the cell seemed darker than before. At first, he thought he was on the edge of losing consciousness again. Or had he somehow returned to the endless night of Shadowroot? Gradually, he realized that, no, this darkness lay outside himself. And it wasn’t the constant, oppressive darkness of that dangerous realm. He was, judging from the sound of waves crashing somewhere beyond these walls, still in Waterroot.

Ignoring the continuous throbs in his head, he rolled over onto his back. That alone took all his strength. Through the skylight, he saw the dim glimmers of stars through the hazy air. He lay on the stones, panting from exertion.

Footsteps echoed in a corridor nearby. The heavy iron bolt in the door slid open. Krystallus closed his eyes, pretending to be still unconscious.

Booted feet entered the cell. Someone stepped over to him and roughly shoved his shoulder. It took all his self control for Krystallus to keep his eyes closed. Enraged, he wanted badly to leap to his feet and teach the intruder some manners. But he knew enough to resist. In his current condition, he probably couldn’t even stand up, let alone challenge anyone to fight. He remained motionless on the floor, heart pounding.

“Looks like yer prisoner’s still half dead,” said a voice that sounded like river rocks grinding against each other.

“When he wakes up, he’ll wish he was
totally
dead,” another voice replied with a loud guffaw.

“Right as a rudder you are, mate! I hear the queen wants to see him the second he comes around.”

The queen?
thought Krystallus.
So she’s alive?

“Took a while to wake up herself, she did. But the healer told me that she woke up real fast when she heard how they caught him trying to strangle her. Her first command was ‘bring him to me.’” Another guffaw. “And believe me, she ain’t planning to serve him high tea.”

“She looked madder ’n a hooked shark, she did! Saw her myself when I brung some healer goods to her royal chamber.”

Someone kicked Krystallus on the thigh. He kept his eyes closed, trying not to wince.

“Leave him, now. Yer going to have other chances to kick him, I’ll wager.”

“Right.” A loud guffaw. “After Serella has him shot, stabbed, drowned, and keelhauled.”

Laughing raucously, the two elves left the cell. The door slammed and the iron bolt slid shut.

Hearing their bootsteps as they walked away, Krystallus opened his eyes. Above the fray of questions in his mind, he tried to focus all his attention on just one: How could he possibly escape?

Stone walls on every side, as well as above and below. Nothing but a wooden stool and a big, bowl-shaped shell. What chance did he have to get out of this place before Serella had him killed?

None
, he told himself morbidly.
Not even a ghost could get out of here.
He caught his breath.
Unless . . .

Lifting his eyes to the skylight, he squinted up at the opening. Too high to jump. But maybe there was another way!

Rolling over on his side, he slowly pushed himself up to his knees, then his feet. Though his head swam dizzily, he managed to keep his balance long enough to totter over to the shell. He brought it to the center of the cell and turned it over, dumping out the remaining water. Grabbing the stool, he placed it on top of the upside-down shell. Without even testing this contraption for strength, he climbed onto the stool. Unsteady as he was, he managed to stand on top of the seat.

It held. Swaying precariously, head pounding, he stretched his arms upward, grasping for the skylight. There! One hand, then the other, wrapped around one of the iron bars.

Lifting his feet off the stool, he bounced vigorously, tugging with all his weight. The bar made a grinding noise, and a few chips of stone dropped onto his head. He shook them off, ignoring the hammering in his skull. Again he bounced, this time twisting the bar with all his strength.

Without warning, the bar broke loose. Krystallus crashed downward, along with the iron bar and a small avalanche of stone chips. Although he landed hard on the floor, his head barely missing the stool, he didn’t care. Gazing upward, he grunted with satisfaction. A few more stars shone through the hole in the ceiling.

Hoping nobody had heard the crash, he hastily reassembled his makeshift ladder. With the first bar removed, it was much easier to take out three more. Then, hanging from the last remaining bar, Krystallus called on every drop of strength in his arms and hoisted himself up. With several kicks of his legs, all the while hoping the bar would hold, he pulled himself out of the hole.

Panting with exhaustion, he rested on his knees, inhaling the cold night air. After a moment, he began to survey his surroundings. He was on a low, flat rooftop, paved with slabs of sea-blue slate. The roof connected to a much larger building, made from enormous chunks of stone that looked greenish blue in the starlight. Directly above the junction of his rooftop and the building, a wide balcony adorned a row of vaulting archways that bordered a huge, brightly lit room—the great hall of the queen, he guessed.

Lifting his gaze higher, he traced the outline of the building. Even in the dark of night, he couldn’t miss the lone turret that rose high above everything else. The turret was just large enough to hold one room, which would possess a commanding view of the ocean and sky.

Serella’s room. I’m sure of it.
He studied the turret, trying to see into the tall, narrow windows behind its wooden balcony. But all he could discern was the flickering light of a fire—her hearth, perhaps—somewhere within.

Turning away from the building, he scanned the open ocean. Starlight glistened on rolling waves as far as he could see, making the water seem like a rippling, undulating reflection of the night sky. Below the outer edge of the rooftop, waves sloshed against the shore. And a few hundred paces down that shore, he could make out the flickering green flames of a portal.

Where I arrived
, he noted.
Now, that was an impressive bit of navigation! To come out right here at Serella’s home.
Patting his swollen temple, he added wryly,
And into the arms of her guards.

He glanced back up at the austere, commanding turret, and shook his head.
All right, I should have guessed
. Serella surely ran this place as ruthlessly as she ran all her expeditions. She would tolerate no errors—and no forgiveness. That rule would apply to her people, as well as any visitors.

Just the sort of person you should be really sure you want to save before you try.
Smirking, he shook his head. Then, unbidden, he recalled his surprising feelings when he’d thought she was dead . . . feelings that still lingered, brushing the edges of his mind like a distant ocean breeze. She was a person, maybe even a special person, worth saving.

He looked down the shoreline to the portal’s green flames. That place guaranteed his escape, provided he moved quickly and stealthily. He should start right now, before the elves discovered his absence. And then hunted him down and brought him back to be skewered by their queen.

For several seconds he gazed at the portal. Then he slowly turned back to the high turret and its luminous hearth. Drawing a deep breath, he rose to his feet and started to climb—not downward, toward safety, but upward, toward the turret.

There was someone up there he wanted to see.

23:
U
NEXPECTED
G
IFT

What I fear the most is what I know the least.

Minutes later, Krystallus pulled himself quietly over the railing of Queen Serella’s balcony. He paused for a moment, listening to the constant slap of rolling waves far below, then crept stealthily closer to her room. Crouched by an open window, he could peer inside without being discovered.

What he saw confirmed his hopes. Polished driftwood lined every wall, holding dozens of shelves that sagged with countless treasures from Serella’s travels. There were three precious firestones, glowing like molten lava, from Rahnawyn’s volcanoes; a slab of singing wood from the groves of El Urien; and an airy looking flower, glowing pink, that might have come from the Cloud Gardens of Y Swylarna. In addition, there were intricate carvings, painted masks, strings of shining pearls, at least three jewel-studded swords, a magical kite that floated above its shelf without any wind, a jade harp fitted with strings of unicorn manes, seven massive volumes with golden runes on their bindings, an enormous bow and a quiver of arrows fletched with the orange feathers of trueflight hawks, a vial that bubbled with the potent juices of hynallawn berries, several jars of iridescent mud from the high plains of Malóch, an ogre’s eyeball (floating in a clear glass bubble), a spiraling tusk of ivory from some creature he couldn’t recognize, a more complex compass than he’d ever seen before, a shaggy but luxurious green scarf that must have been woven by the spider faeries of Crystillia, a rare piece of maroon amber that could—he’d heard—alter its color with every change of fortune, a large pile of beautifully wrought silver coins, the largest conch shell he’d ever seen, a crystal goblet with the lavender-scented water of the Elven River, a pile of tattered maps, and much more besides.