At least the army had survived it intact, and there had been no Staccian lives at stake. He ran a practiced eye over the milling ranks of Fjel and frowned, remembering how the army had scattered like wind-blown leaves throughout the Ways, how he had tried to gather them all.

Something was wrong.

Vorax’s frown deepened. “Where’s the Midlander?”

“WHERE ARE WE?” THERE HAD been a cavern, and an old man with a staff; a terrified crush of flesh. That was when the world had gone away, carried by the General’s shouting voice. He remembered the rushing force, the terrible sense of dislocation, and then the fearsome impact. Blinded by the throbbing Marasoumië, jostled and swept away, thrown down and unhorsed, Speros of Haimhault had landed … somewhere. He found his feet and staggered, flinging out both arms, hearing his own voice rise in sharp demand. “Where are we?”

“Underearth, boss,” a Fjel voice rumbled.

There was an arm thrust beneath his own, offering support. Speros grabbed at it, feeling it rocklike beneath bristling hide, as he swayed on his feet. “Where?”

“Don’t know.”

“Where’s the General?”

“Don’t know!”

“All right, be quiet.” Speros squinted, trying to clear his gaze. They were. in a vast space. He could tell that much by the echoes of their voices. Somewhere, water was dripping. Drop by drop, slow and steady, heavy as a falling stone. The mere scent of it made him ache to taste it. “How deep?”

There was a shuffling of horny feet. “Deep,” one of the Fjel offered.

It was a pool. Blinking hard, he could see it. A pool of water, deep below the earth. And above it—oh, so far above it!—was open sky. It must be, for there was blue reflected in its depths. Kneeling over it, he made out a dim reflection of his own face; pale, with dilated eyes. “Water,” he murmured, dipping a cupped hand into the pool.

The water didn’t even ripple. As if he had grasped an ingot of solid lead, his weighted hand sank, tipping him forward. He gasped, his lips breaking the surface of that unnatural water, and he understood death had found him all unlooked-for. How stupid, he thought, trying in vain to draw back from the pool.

One breath and his lungs would fill.

A wet death on dry land.

Then, pressure; a coarse, taloned hand tangled in his hair, yanking his head back and away from the deadly pool. He came up sputtering, his neck wrenched, mouth heavy with water.

“Careful, boss.”