A Thief in the Night

chapter Ninety-eight

When Malden was halfway to Cythera and Slag, the entire hall felt like it had fallen away under his feet. He tottered and fell, slamming onto the flagstones, his hands over his head as if that would do any good, and prayed for the world to stop moving. Eventually the shaking stopped—but when he looked down and saw his own blood on the flags, the drops were rolling to the left as if the floor had been tilted a few degrees out of true.

The elves didn’t stop screaming. The soldiers were running about as if looking for something to attack. The nobles in their finery were shouting for their servants, while the servants in their patchwork clothes were huddled together, crouching on the floor and staring up at the ceiling with wild eyes.

For good reason. A fine drift of powdered stone was raining down from the vaults high overhead.

Malden got back up and kept running. As he passed the cart where Mörget and Croy had been bound, he heard high-pitched laughter and stopped to see Balint lying in the cart, staring up at him. Her whole body was trembling with mirth. “He did it,” she said. “He blew the f*cking thing up. It’s all over now! We’re all going to die!”

Malden ignored the crazed dwarf and ran to Cythera’s side. She and Slag were clutching each other. They looked confused and very frightened. He grabbed Cythera’s shoulders and tried to force her to look at him. “I think,” he said, when she finally met his gaze, “that we should get out of here.”

Cythera nodded and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Good plan,” she said. “But how will we—”

“We’ll figure it out. Come on,” Malden said, and grabbed at her arm.

“Help me get the elves moving,” Cythera said.

He could only stare at her. Even as parts of the hall above began falling down to the floor with thunderous crashes, he couldn’t think of the words he needed to respond.

“We can’t leave them here to die,” she said, as if it was obvious.

“Really? I believe we can,” Malden tried.

“Malden—please. You’re not that callous. I know you,” Cythera said.

It was Slag who made the best point, however. “Lad,” he said, “do you remember what you told me, once? That the elves were evil and deserved to be entombed? You still think that?”

“They’ve done nothing but imprison us and try to kill us since we got here,” Malden pointed out. “I’d call that evil.”

“All of them? You’d call ’em all evil, then? Even Aethil? After all she f*cking did for us?”

“Well . . . no,” Malden said. “She treated us well enough. But—”

A chain of explosions far off in the Vincularium made it impossible to speak for a moment. When it was over, Cythera grasped Malden by the arms. “Remember what Aethil said. There was a time when elves and men were brothers—we share the same language, Malden. Don’t you understand? Help me save them.”

Malden thought back to when he had grabbed Aethil, intending to hold her prisoner so they could escape. Was that really so different from what the elves had done to him? Cythera had a point. He needed time to think this through, to make a rational decision.

Unfortunately at that moment giant stones started falling from the ceiling, and all rational thought became superfluous.

He nodded and raced over to where Aethil stood, staring upward at her collapsing kingdom. Before he could reach her, she saw him and came storming toward him, her eyes sparkling with anger. “What have you done?” she demanded of him.

“I survived your little sport, that’s all,” the thief told her.

The elf queen raised one hand and made claws of her fingers. She started to speak in low, ugly syllables, and Malden realized she was about to cast a curse on him.

“Wait,” Cythera said, from behind him. “Your highness, please—listen to me.”

Aethil let the curse dissipate and stared at Cythera.

“Please, Aethil, I know you have no reason to love us anymore. But we must make common cause. If we don’t leave here now, we will all be killed.”

“Leave? Yes, I suppose we must withdraw to the tunnels our ancestors made. It seems the dwarven halls are no longer safe.”

Cythera shook her head. “No, your majesty. I mean we must leave the Vincularium altogether.”

Aethil’s brow furrowed. She didn’t seem to understand. “But we can’t do that. This is where we live.”

“It will be your tomb,” Malden told the queen, “if you like.”

“I must consult with the Hieromagus,” Aethil said. “Surely this cataclysm was enough to bring him back to the present.” She stood up on her tiptoes and looked around the hall. “Where is he?”

Malden searched the crowd of milling elves for the priest-wizard but could find him nowhere. “Aethil,” he said, “he’s gone.”

“Impossible. He wouldn’t desert us at a time like this.”

Malden might have argued with her further, but just then the floor of the hall split open. Cracks ran crazily between the flagstones, and an elf fell into the gap between two stones. His screams filled the air for a moment, then ended abruptly.

Cythera exhaled in frustration and grabbed the elf queen’s forearm. She twisted it, hard. When Aethil turned to face her with a look of rage, Cythera said, “You can save your people. Right now. Or you can wait for his approval. Are you a queen, or not? Do you lead the elves?”

“I—” Aethil stopped in mid-thought. “There was a time when my forebears, the ancient queens of the elves, had that power, but—”

Slag stepped forward and took her hand gently. “My love,” he said, and swallowed thickly. “It’s time to restore your authority. Before we all get f*cking crushed to death.”

Aethil’s face slackened for a moment, and Malden was sure she would lose her composure and start screaming. Well enough, he thought. At least he could count on Cythera and Slag to act rationally. And he had done his best to convince the elf queen. If the elves perished now, it was their own fault.

Yet something strange happened then. Aethil straightened up and seemed to grow an inch or more in height. Her eyes snapped into sharp focus and she reached up to straighten her gown.

Then she walked out into the middle of the chaos and started shouting for everyone to listen to her.

And they did.

“Friends. Subjects. Fellow nobles—the Hieromagus is nowhere to be found. So we must proceed without his counsel. You must come with me.”

The elves all turned to watch their queen with a kind of reverence and respect Malden had never seen in human faces. The poor folk stood up straight and rushed toward Aethil. The nobles stopped shouting at one another and gathered their families together.

“We will be leaving this place that has always been our home. Any other place has been forbidden us, for a very long time. Now,” Aethil said, as the hall shook all around her, “we have been given a sign. The ancestors have given their blessing. Together we will return to the world above, and there we will rebuild our former glory.”

There was more to the speech, but Malden bent to confer with Cythera and Slag. “The best way out is probably the escape shaft on the other side,” he said.

“Forget it, lad,” Slag told him. “There’s no way we’ll make it over there before this place collapses.” He sighed deeply. “Such a waste.”

“Surely we can’t reach the main entrance on the top level either,” Cythera said. “No. We must exit by Aethil’s secret grotto.”

“But that’s blocked by the growths of crystal,” Malden pointed out.

“With enough hands, we might clear a way,” Cythera pointed out. “The crystal is delicate. We can smash through.”

“Doubtful,” Slag told them.

“Perhaps,” Cythera went on. “But I’d rather die in the attempt than die here because we wouldn’t try it.”

“That, lass,” Slag admitted, “is an excellent f*cking point.”

“Good, we’re agreed,” Cythera said. “Now let’s find Croy and go!”