Dumaka of Phondra pointed out to the elves that while the idea of being frozen and coming back to life several thousand cycles later might indeed sound romantic, the freezing process itself had definite and painful drawbacks. And how could any of us be certain we would actually return to life?
“After all, we have only the word of a fish on that,” my father stated, and his pronouncement brought general agreement.
The dolphins had brought news that a new seamoon, a much larger moon than any of ours, had just recently thawed out. The dolphins were only now beginning to inspect it, but they thought it would be a perfect place for us to live. It was Dumaka’s proposal that we would build a fleet of sun-chasers, set off in pursuit of the seasun, find this new seamoon as did the ancients.
Eliason was somewhat taken aback by the terms build and pursue, which implied a considerable amount of activity, but he wasn’t opposed to the idea. Elves are rarely opposed to anything; opposition takes too much energy. In the same way, they are rarely in favor of anything, either. The Elmas are content to take life as it comes and adapt to it. Humans are the ones who are forever wanting to change and alter and tinker and fix and make better. As for us dwarves, as long as we get paid, nothing else matters.
The Phondrans and the Elmas agreed to finance the sun-chasers. We Gargan were to build them. The humans would supply the lumber. The elves would supply the magic that would be needed to operate the sun-chasers; the Elmas being clever with mechanical magics. (Anything to save themselves physical labor!)
And, with typical dwarven efficiency, the sun-chasers had been built and built well.
“But now,” I heard my father say with a sigh, “it has all been for naught. The sun-chasers are destroyed.”
This was the second emergency meeting of the royal families, called by my father. This time, we were meeting, as I said, on Elmas.
We girls had been left in Sabia’s room to “visit” with each other. Instead, immediately on our parents’ departure, we hastened to find a vantage point from which we could, as usual, listen in on their discussions.
Our parents were seated on a terrace facing out over the Goodsea. We discovered a small room (a new one) that had opened up above the terrace. Alake used her magic to enlarge an opening through which we could both see and hear clearly. We crowded as near this new window as possible, being careful to keep in the shadows to avoid being seen.
My father went on to describe the serpents’ attack on the submersibles.
“The sun-chasers were all destroyed?” whispered Sabia, as wide-eyed as an elf, with their almond-shaped eyes, can get.
Poor Sabia. Her father never told her anything. Elven daughters lead such sheltered lives. My father always discussed all his plans with both me and my mother.
“Hush!” Alake scolded, trying to hear.
“I’ll tell you later,” I promised, squeezing Sabia’s hand to keep her quiet.
“There’s no possible way to fix them, Yngvar?” Dumaka was asking.
“Not unless those wizards of yours can turn splinters into solid boards again,” my father growled.
He spoke sarcastically; dwarves have little tolerance for magic of any sort, considering most of it trickery, though they are hard-pressed to explain how it works. But I could tell that he was secretly hopeful the humans would come up with the solution.
The Phondran chief said nothing in response, however. A bad sign. Usually the humans are quick to claim their magic can solve any problem. Peeping from over the top of the window ledge, I saw that Dumaka’s face was troubled.
My father heaved another sigh, and shifted his bulk uncomfortably in his chair. I sympathized with him. Elven chairs are made for slender elven buttocks.
“I’m sorry, my friend.” My father stroked his beard, a sure sign that he was upset. “I didn’t mean to bark at you. Those blasted beasts have got us by the side whiskers, though, and what we do now is beyond this dwarf to figure out.”