There was no mistaking his meaning.
Then one day Redden was taken from his cell and marched up into one of the towers of Kraal Reach, a climb of hundreds of steps around a winding staircase that bypassed floor after floor of closed doors and ended at the tower’s pinnacle. Once there, he was brought into a tiny room off the entryway and left alone to wait.
Long minutes later the door opened, and in walked Khyber Elessedil, flanked by another pair of jailers.
He started to get to his feet, but she made a small hand movement that told him to stay where he was. They remained facing each other until the door closed behind them, then she came over to him and hugged him warmly.
“We don’t want them to know more than necessary about us,” she whispered. “Are you all right?”
Looking at her, he wondered if he was. If he looked anything like she did, she was right to be concerned. Her face was haggard and drawn, her graying hair hanging loose, and her body thin enough that the clothes she wore hung on her as if she were a scarecrow. She was washed and freshly clothed, and he assumed she had been given the same treatment he had. But there was a dullness to her eyes that reminded him at once of his own sense of hopelessness.
“I’m all right,” he whispered back.
“This hasn’t been pleasant. I’m so sorry I brought you into it.”
“Don’t worry about me. Have they hurt you any more?”
She shook her head. “And you?”
“The same.”
“I saw this keep in Aphenglow’s memories of the Elfstones’ vision. It’s called Kraal Reach. Grianne Ohmsford was imprisoned here …” She trailed off, exhaling sharply. “We’re going to get out of this, Redden.”
“I don’t see how.”
“There is always a way.”
“There wasn’t for some of us. All the others are all dead, aren’t they? All the ones who came in with us? And maybe even the ones who didn’t. Maybe even Railing?”
She reached up and gripped his shoulders hard. “Listen to me. I’ve been in a lot of hopeless situations through the years. In the time of the Druid rebellion against Grianne Ohmsford, things were so bleak that there were times when I wanted to give up and just let go. But I didn’t, and I survived. I will do so here, too. And so will you. Will you believe me?”
She was so fierce that he found himself nodding his agreement. “I will.”
“Have you tried using your magic?”
“It didn’t work. It just triggered the collar, and the pain dropped me like a stone. We have to find another way.”
She turned abruptly and moved away as the lock snicked and the door began to open. Patience, she mouthed silently as she placed herself against the wall several feet away from him.
Tarwick stepped inside the room, looked them over, his gimlet eyes bright, and beckoned them to follow. Without a word or a look to each other, they did so.
A handful of Goblins surrounded them once they were outside, providing an escort. Right away, Redden started to worry. For a week now, guards had seemed a formality. Now, all at once, there was a reason for them. An urge to bolt swept over him, irrational and impossible, and he had to fight not to break away and run.
They followed a corridor that circled left around the tower until they reached a pair of huge iron doors that stood open.
Inside, the Straken Lord sat slouched on a bench atop a dais, robed in black and drinking from a metal cup that steamed and spit as if its contents were boiling. Tarwick led them forward until they were less than six feet away and then dropped to his knees and bowed until his forehead was touching the floor. Unbidden, Redden and Khyber Elessedil did the same.
“Address me properly,” said the Straken Lord.
“Yes, Master,” Khyber said at once.
“Master,” Redden echoed quickly.
“Rise,” he said, and they did. His impassive face turned away from them, and his gaze shifted to an open window. He was quiet for a long time. “What should I do about you?” he asked finally.
That he spoke their language was a puzzle Redden had not been able to solve, but he assumed it had something to do with the collars, even though he could provide no good reason for thinking this and it was at best an educated guess. In any case, hearing this creature speak words he could understand was not as jarring to him now as it had been during their first encounter, when everything had revolved around domination and pain.
The Lord of the Jarka Ruus looked back at them, straightening on the bench and leaning forward slowly. “Where is the Straken Queen? Where is Grianne Ohmsford? Wait!” He held up his hand abruptly. “This will be the second time we have had this discussion. There will be no third time. Think carefully before you answer. Be truthful. I will know if you are lying. Tell me where she is.”
He pointed at Khyber. “You.”
Khyber nodded, looking weary and defeated. “She is in the Four Lands, outside the Forbidding, Master. But she is no longer Ard Rhys. She left years ago and lives alone now in the mountains.”
Tael Riverine studied her. “You have succeeded her as Ard Rhys?”
“I have, Master.”
“I wish her back. I wish her to be my Queen. How can I make this happen?”
Redden felt his heart stop. Grianne Ohmsford had been gone for over a century, and even if she were still alive she would be very old. But this was not what the Straken Lord wanted to hear. It was not what they could tell him.
“She will not come back to you, Master,” Khyber answered. “She ran from you. She was afraid of you.”
“She is meant to be my Queen and bear my offspring, and I will have it so.” He talked as if he hadn’t heard her, as if nothing she said mattered. “Will she return if it means your lives?”
Khyber shook her head. “No, Master. She will not come back for us. She will let us die first.”
Tael Riverine seemed to think this over for a moment, his strange flat features revealing nothing. Then casually he gestured, and Khyber Elessedil jerked as excruciating pain exploded through her body, causing her to scream and drop to the floor of the tower, twisting and writhing in shock. He left her that way for long seconds, watching her suffer with studied indifference. Then he motioned toward her again, and she collapsed sobbing.
“I told you not to lie to me,” he said softly.
Khyber hauled herself to knees, gasping and choking. “I didn’t lie. I told you the truth!”
“I did not sense that. You lied.”
“No, she didn’t!,” Redden cut in abruptly. He cringed as the Straken Lord wheeled on him. “Master,” he added quickly. “She speaks the truth!”
He waited for the inevitable gesture, but Tael Riverine only stared at him for what seemed an endless amount of time before leaning back again on the bench and looking away.
“You lie as well. But I expect nothing less.” He looked back at his prisoners. “The walls of our prison are collapsing. Soon we will return to our old world, the one from which we were driven. I will lead the Jarka Ruus back through the shattered walls and reclaim what is ours. There is nothing anyone can do to stop this.”
He paused. “Anyone except Grianne Ohmsford. She can prevent this from happening. If she returns to me and if she mates with me and bears my children, the Jarka Ruus will remain within their own lands and forsake yours. You have my word on this.”
He would abandon his plans for invasion of the Four Lands if Grianne became his? Redden almost laughed out loud. Now who was lying? Granted, Tael Riverine was clearly obsessed with the former Ard Rhys and would apparently do anything to get her back, but giving up the chance to seize control of the Four Lands and its people when there was no reason to do so felt patently false.