The expansive underground cellar was lit surprisingly well by short windows placed high along the upper perimeter of the wall. Giant barrels, large enough for a man to comfortably climb inside, littered the floor. Erich could smell the yeasty aroma of fermenting ale, though all barrels appeared to be empty. Other items were strewn across the floor and the broken shelves lining the room. Everything was damp.
The sound of a loud rumbling came through the barred, open-air windows.
Panic filled Erich and he flinched, unable to stop himself. The thunderous noise sounded exactly like the first crashing of the giant wave from the attack. “What’s that?”
“Watch out!” the general yelled at the same time, moving quickly to the western wall—the wall farthest away from the ocean.
Erich followed the general’s movements, although his stomach turned and he thought he might be sick right here in front of these two men. He did have enough presence of mind to grab the older councilor and pull him toward the far wall, shielding him from the unknown sound with his own body.
Seawater flooded through the upper windows, crashing onto the floor and splashing off the large barrels.
It swirled around the floor, but then the deluge stopped.
Although it was over in a matter of seconds, Erich’s heart felt as though it were pounding in his throat. Backed up against the far wall, they had avoided getting drenched, but Erich shook himself nonetheless. Even the light spray of droplets that had hit him caused his neck and spine to tingle uncomfortably.
“What was that?” he asked, his voice awkwardly high.
“The sea has been even more fragile since the previous attack,” General Gautho responded, wading back toward the center of the room. “We get some flooders every few days now. Nothing as intense as the one you witnessed, just some small reminders that they are out there and watching.” The general’s lack of sleep made more sense now.
“It’s a good thing the monks got out of here in time,” Erich commented, forcing confidence into the squeaking sound of his voice. It was a pity the Council had asked the monks to leave several months prior, Erich could see why living here permanently was no longer safe.
“It’s only too bad that all the ale they left behind was raided immediately. Would have been nice to find some full barrels here when we arrived.” Gautho’s voice was completely serious.
“If I was a thief, I’d have gone for the good stuff, too.” Erich forced a tinny laugh.
The councilor smiled politely but did not seem amused by either of their comments. “The prisoner, General?”
Gautho nodded and continued moving down the long cellar.
Erich’s feet seemed glued to the floor. He did not feel comfortable moving any closer to the sea-facing windows. So much for his nightmares ceasing. Tonight’s would probably be the worst one yet.
He was unable to lift his eyes from the swirling water that lapped at his ankles and splashed across the stone floor before splattering away through a large iron grate fixed to the floor in the center of the room.
“I take it that the drainage system was built for their ale-making process, not for transporting unwanted floodwaters,” Erich commented, buying time for his cowardly feet.
“Aye,” the general replied. “And the open-air windows as well. The best ale makers claim that continuous fresh air improves the fermentation process and creates a better flavor, although I’ve no idea why.”
Erich shrugged, still hesitant to leave the safety of the far wall. “I’ve had their ale and it is easily the best I’ve ever tasted.”
“The prisoner, Your Highness?” The councilor was halfway across the room and had turned back to face Erich.
Erich nodded curtly, inwardly cursing the man’s intolerance for humor. Waiting until the councilor’s back was once again turned, he suppressed his fear. Lifting each leaden foot, he slowly forced his way further into the underground room.
“This was the most secure place to keep her,” the general said, pulling out a key to unlock a large wooden door.
He stepped aside so Erich could enter first.
The door opened to reveal a small pantry of ingredients for the monks’ ale-making process. Wooden shelves lined every wall, though many of them were splintered, broken, and empty. This room also had a short, barred window at the highest point of the wall—which was still dripping from the recent flooder. A few sprigs of what had once been dried herbs were hanging from the window bars. They were very wet herbs now, dripping noisily upon the sandstone floor below them.
Erich’s mind noticed all these things with the periphery of his vision, but his eyes had remained trained on the true threat sitting in the small old pantry.
The Majis sorceress stood in the center of the room, drenched in water. She, too, was still dripping from the recent wave.
Her arms hugged her sides, and her long, tangled hair was clumped around her face and shoulders. It was an indistinct brown that seemed to blend into the shapeless and torn brown tunic that clung to her tiny frame.
But it was her face that surprised him the most. This sorceress was barely more than a girl! She was probably Meena’s age, if not younger. Her eyes remained unfocused, staring at the floor in front of her as if she hadn’t even noticed the three men crowding into the small room.
She twitched her nose, scrunching it up in a way that distorted her whole face as her shoulders twitched as well.
