|
Voron stuck a finger in his ear and shook it as if the vibrations tickled.
“Nasty,” said Hattenel. “Have you encountered the like before?”
“Rumors only. None good.”
With a frown, she said, “I keep thinking I hear words underneath the drone. Can you?”
“It’s no language I know.”
“How clear are the words to you?”
“I hear only pitches.”
“Maybe the sounds will be clearer inside the cave. Do you have a rope?”
Voron unwound his sling from his waist and tied it to their belts. Hattenel watched as his fingers flickered from sausage-shaped to long and sinewy. Not giving her a chance to take the lead, he snapped his fingers to create a bluish werelight before striding deeper into the cavern. Hattenel followed and added her werelight to his.
Setting an unsafe pace, Voron dared her to drag her feet or order him to slow down. Hattenel expanded the werelight so he could see several feet around the shield of magical energy she raised without him asking. The werelight revealed little. As far as Hattenel could tell, the cavern walls were as smooth and black as obsidian.
His pace slowed when they entered a rounded chamber. Their werelights reflected off thousands of multi-colored crystals protruding from the walls and ceiling. The polished floor enhanced the light until the cave seemed as bright as day. Hattenel stopped at his shoulder, looking around until their eyes met. A rapport opened between them as wonder filled both.
They turned in unison, tethered close by the sling. Cool air, scented by the sea, brushed their faces from different directions, indicating other entrances. Prickling chills ran down Hattenel’s back.
“Beautiful. If this wasn’t a cave, I’d think someone placed the crystals in patterns,” she whispered. “What’s the catch?”
“Are you imagining this is a trap?” Voron cleared his throat, a superior expression in his half-closed eyes. “Nothing threatens us. The cave’s as empty as the island.”
The dark walls snapped closed. The floor tilted to hurl them through a tunnel of darkness. The two tumbled until the sling tethered them tight together. When they landed with a thud, hot and thick air pressed against them. Hattenel gasped, breathing hard. Huge invisible hands reached under her ribs and squeezed the air from her lungs.
Voron sprawled on his back, his glamour no longer hiding his lean, muscular frame. Blood beaded from a long scraoe on his arm. Her eyes narrowed as she lifted her head from his chest. She scanned the chamber, ignoring him as he gasped as hard as she for breath.
Hattenel rolled off of him and concentrated on sitting up. She pulled her feet back from the oily ring of pulsating darkness that hemmed them in. She scooted until her back rested against his. The smell flowing from the circle forced a cough from her tight lungs.
“Smells foul.” Hattenel tried to camouflage her fear, but her hands shook until she clenched them. “Where’s an ocean breeze when you need one?”
“Smells better than shit-covered bird cliffs.” Voron tried to sound steady, but she noticed when he gulped and licked his lips.
Flickering torches, set in sconces around the wall, lit a circular room. More sconces, set on each side, marked a wide arch with a stairway leading away from the pit or cellar. Without speaking, they extinguished their werelights and sat on the ground as far away from each other as possible. They faced the stairs to wait, their shoulders and knees still touching. The circle barely held two tall Half-Elven. The vaulted ceiling sparkled with gems set in the same pattern as in the cave. Hattenel fought for each breath, wishing again for the return of the light sea breezes.
Grim-faced, Voron stuck a tentative finger above the misty circle. Flames leapt and would have burned him if he had not jerked it back. When she didn’t criticize him, he struggled to his feet. Hattenel moved with him since the sling still tethered them.
Taking out his boot knife, he repeated the test higher above the ring. Flames flared higher, just missing his knife.
<We’re prisoners.> His mindspeak was a mere whisper. <Can you breathe? I feel like I’m shifting rocks with my lungs.>
When they heard footsteps thumping on the stairs, the two sat cross-legged, their thighs touching. They gasped for air as both shifted to face the stairway. Loud voices spoke an unknown, pitched language. A fouler odor heralded the unseen newcomers.
4/8 首页 上一页 2 3 4 5 6 7 下一页 尾页
|
