"Where are we?" he asked.
And she answered, her voice carrying deep and hollow in the dense substance of the sea, "We are in the place of the Lost Ones."
Stark looked beyond her, as far as he could see, since he was unable to turn his head. And wonder came to him.
Black walls, black vault above him, a vast hall filled with the wash of the sea that slipped in streaks of whispering flame through the high embrasures. A hall that was twin to the vault of shadows where he had met the Lhari.
"There is a city," said Zareth dully. "You will see it soon. You will see nothing else until you die."
Stark said, very gently, "How do you come here, little one?"
"Because of my father. I will tell you all I know, which is little enough. Malthor has been slaver to the Lhari for a long time. There are a number of them among the captains of Shuruun, but that is a thing that is never spoken of—so I, his daughter, could only guess. I was sure of it when he sent me after you."
She laughed, a bitter sound. "Now I'm here, with the collar of the Lost Ones on my neck. But Malthor is here, too." She laughed again, ugly laughter to come from a young mouth. Then she looked at Stark, and her hand reached out timidly to touch his hair in what was almost a caress. Her eyes were wide, and soft, and full of tears.
"Why didn't you go into the swamps when I warned you?"
Stark answered stolidly, "Too late to worry about that now." Then, "You say Malthor is here, a slave?"