***
They were brought to a row of cells separated by thick ivory bars. The water was cold and still, and stank of steel and coppery blood. They were in separate cells that shared a barred wall. Terredor’s cell also shared a wall with a cell in which Gelvid floated glumly. He explained that Untegrin ordered him imprisoned immediately when he demanded an audience.
Waimbrill shared what happened to them, and Gelvid nodded his head. “Aye,” he said, “The guards told me I would be the second-to-last Mortiss, and they will have fed Petromyza enough Modrobenian souls to awaken her.”
“One more would be me…” Waimbrill said, and all three fell silent as they pondered their fate.
A few minutes later, Sir Esterhund, badly beaten, limbs broken, joined them in a fourth cell which shared a wall with Waimbrill and Gelvid. He explained that an Argonite wizard had gotten through their protection and killed the heretic breeder and rebel mage.
“They were knights like me,” he said, “And they discovered Untegrin’s plot some time ago. I thought for sure we only needed time to awaken Argon, to tell him what was happening in his name. But they must have bewitched him with powerful magic.”
“And now all our efforts are for naught,” Waimbrill said, his voice tremulous, “Not only have we not succeeded, but we will be the last two souls needed for the end to come, for both the Deepdark and the Surface.”
Terredor felt useless as Waimbrill sat quietly and prayed. Esterhund suffered, bemoaning the pain of his shattered legs and the terror of his terrible fate. Gelvid whimpered, floating quietly, alone, in the most distant corner of his cell.
Waimbrill came to the bars between his cage and Terredor’s, and sat with him. “I am glad to be with you, if only for now.”
All four floated or sat quietly for a few hours, tense, but gradually the mood lifted. Terredor found Waimbrill’s presence comforting, and after an hour or so of waiting, they began talking and laughing of past memories. Esterhund and Gelvid joined in, asking questions about the Surface, and they spent the evening in lively conversation, avoiding any talk of their certain doom and undeath.
“You use your mouth instead of gills? Very unsanitary,” Sir Esterhund said.
“What do Surface-dwellers use the gills for then?” Gelvid asked.
“We don’t have gills. The rings give us these,” Terredor said, “That’s how we can survive down here.”
“How doth it work?” Sir Esterhund asked, “If there be no water, in what medium do ye move around?”
Waimbrill and Terredor were chuckling with each other, trying to describe air to their non-comprehending companions.
“Ye can’t swim up?” Gelvid asked, shocked, “So ye have to stay on the ground?”
“I don’t think I would like living in air,” Sir Esterhund said, “It seems very limiting.”
“But there’s no end to the air. It’s all around you, and it’s so ubiquitous it’s the very height of mundanity, but it’s also buffeting winds that smack and tear, and breezes that caress and soothe. It’s this endless, limitless horizon of libertine sky, an eternity of light and clouds and stars,” Waimbrill said.
“Things you two shall never see, and we’ll never see again.” Terredor regretted the gloomy words as an uncomfortable silence filled the room.
“I can’t stand this waiting. They should get it over with,” Sir Esterhund said.
“We must be patient. We should use this time to prepare for our fate. Let us pray,” Gelvid said, and he recited a mantra. Esterhund joined him.
“How are you so brave?” Terredor asked Waimbrill as the duo floated next to each other, separated only by thick bars.
“Did I ever tell you about the avalanche when I came to Crikland?”
“Of course, and the snow rainid warrior, Sharradrir. You don’t have many stories,” Terredor said, “I’ve heard them all a thousand times.”
“He was so brave and honorable. Whenever I get scared, I bring to mind his Paradigm. It comes upon me, and I think like him, and I know that I carry words that bear truth,” Waimbrill said.
“What does that mean anyway? ‘Words that bear truth’?”
“The most important truths can not be expressed in mere words. They must come, not in content, but in the minds of those who listen. Words can bear more truth than the information they impart,” Waimbrill said, “And words can bear lies despite imparting truth.”
“When you said I could come with you to Lommia, were those words bearing truth or lies?” Terredor asked, “I know your father is noble. He will not like-”
“Those words bore truth, and my father will not order me around like that, no more than Lord Porthos did. But my father does not know what a Delver is, and would not prejudge you in any event,” Waimbrill said.
“He sounds nice. I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore,” Terredor said, “I just wanted to know.”
“I know it seemed to you that I was treating you as a punishment, as though my lord had assigned me to Crikland, and you, to absolve me of a grievous sin. It is a Paradigm many Soulclaine, and many men of any kind, take on, to see in every unfortunate event an ordeal or punishment. I had in my head the idea that all would be solved, and my cleaved would calm and the turmoil in my heart would cease, if only I could return home. I was not thinking of you, for I was filled with bitterness towards my lord for not satisfying my desires. But I now see why he did so, for it is not my needs that need fulfilling. If words shall bear truth, his capricious cruelty is a cold calculation to benefit his entire flock, not those who tend it, for even shepherds must suffer.”