The bouncing stopped. “Inko!” his captor said. “Help me.”
Achan felt his body lowered onto an unstable surface. Pale, yellow light danced over a dark, craggy ceiling. A cave?
“Did you be giving him the soporific?” a low, raspy voice asked in a jilted accent.
“Aye,” his captor said.
Achan felt like he was falling. He gripped the wooden edge of something, which caused the bed he lay in to rock. A boat! He was in a boat in some underground canal. The motion made him queasy, and he focused again on his breathing until the pale light faded to black.
Over the next period of time — minutes? days? — he jerked in and out of consciousness, only to feel lost in a dream. Had he been taken into Darkness? Had they crossed over to the other side of the Evenwall?
Eventually they stopped. Someone lifted him out of the boat and tried to help him stand, but Achan’s legs were as faulty as his vision. Cool air gripped his pores. Water sloshed against a wall of some sort. A single torch burned to his left but did not shed enough light to help his cause. Footsteps clunked over hollow-sounding wood. A drawbridge? A dock?
Again he was tossed over someone’s shoulder and carried up several flights of stairs. A door creaked open. His captor brought him inside and lowered him onto a firm surface. Achan wanted to wake and see where he was, but sleep won out before he could focus.
Achan awoke on a straw bed. He swung his legs off the side and managed to sit.
He first noticed a small fire burning in a smoke-stained hearth. It brought the only light to a small room. He blinked. Bare walls, the ceiling dripping with cobwebs. A scuffed wooden floor. Achan turned to the other side of the room and jumped.
A man with grey skin stared at him. He sat in one of two mismatched chairs at a battered table on the other side of Achan’s bed. His white hair grew straight up off his head like a round hedge. Like his abductor, this man wore a black cape.
“Who are you?” Achan asked.
“You may be calling me Inko.” The man nodded, eyes fixed past Achan’s shoulder. “He is being named Sir Caleb.”
Sir? Achan swiveled his head back past the fireplace. His wild-eyed kidnapper sat on the wooden floor beside his bed, leaning against the bare wall. His chin-length, blond hair was frizzy. He looked to be middle-aged. The firelight darkened the weathered lines on his cheeks and forehead. “You’re a knight?”
“Aye. We both are.” Sir Caleb smirked. “Or were.”
Were? “What do you want with me?”
“Only to hold you until our master arrives.”
Dizziness washed over Achan. He propped a hand on the bed to steady himself. “Who is your master?” Achan blinked fast to regain focus. His voice sounded far away and hollow. “And what does he want with me?”
“All in good time.” Sir Caleb stood and pushed Achan back down to lie on the bed.
Sleep, lad. Sleep.
Achan’s eyes fluttered closed, then snapped open. He bashed a fist into Sir Caleb’s jaw, hopped off the bed, and managed to run to the door before crumpling to the floor in a haze.
Inko swept him up and tossed him back on the bed. Sir Caleb grimaced and massaged his jaw.
Achan glared. “Don’t play with my mind!” He tried to focus on the allown tree, but his head merely throbbed.
Sir Caleb’s wild eyes grew wider. “It’s true? You can bloodvoice, then?”
Achan feigned ignorance and scooted back on the bed until his back touched the wall. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Those who can sense it have the power to do it themselves.”
Achan remembered Sparrow’s warning that some would seek to abuse his power. Playing the fool was his best defense for now. “What power?”
“Bloodvoices.”
Achan forced a cynical laugh. “You speak of kingly fables. No such ability exists in the real world of flesh and blood. Besides, I’m not a king.”
Sir Caleb leaned over the bed, his shaggy hair framing his face like a sunflower. His bulging eyes glistened in the firelight. “The gift runs in royal blood. You do not have to be a king to have it, although you may be.”
Vrell banged on the door of Achan’s cell and called for help until she lost her voice. Finally, one of the guards regained consciousness enough to stagger to the door and let her out.
She ran to Master Hadar’s chamber to report. She found him sitting at his desk, writing. She sucked in a long breath. “Someone has taken the prisoner, Achan. He’s gone.”
Master Hadar bolted to his feet. “Who?”
“I know not,” Vrell said, her heart still beating wildly from her run up eight flights of stairs. “He locked me in. I—”
The door flew open and banged against the interior wall. Lord Nathak strode into the chamber. “You!” He pointed at Vrell. His eye was bloodshot and bulging. “You were left to watch him and warn your master of any complications. Where is the stray?”
Vrell shook at the volume of his voice. “I–I am sorry, my lord. I–I do not know.”
Lord Nathak seized Vrell’s shoulder and held a dagger up to her throat. “Where?”
Vrell choked back a sob. “Please, my lord! I–I do not know!”
Lord Nathak gripped the side of her face and stared into her eyes.
Master Hadar hurried over. “Lord Nathak, please allow me.”
Lord Nathak released Vrell with a slight push and she stumbled.
Master Hadar’s sunken eyes drilled into hers. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
Vrell explained how the man with the wild hair had attacked her and carried Achan away.
“Can you sense the squire?” Master Hadar asked.
Vrell shook her head.
Lord Nathak pointed the dagger at her throat again. “Try.”
“Seek him out, boy,” Master Hadar said. “You’ve spent enough time with him. It shouldn’t be difficult.”
Vrell did not want to. If someone had rescued Achan, he was better off not being found. But if she did not try, she could face Lord Nathak’s blade. Yet even if she reached out, Achan could block her. He had been blocking her all day. She was too good a teacher, it seemed.
Vrell closed her eyes. She cupped her hands over her face and breathed in the smell of the clove and calendula ointment that lingered on her hands. She thought about Achan’s scruffy face, dark hair, and grey eyes.
Images of a dark chamber grew in her mind.
“He is close.”
*
Achan Cham.
Achan lifted his head off the straw mattress. Sparrow?
Are you safe?
He wasn’t certain. He lay on his side on the straw mattress, hands bound behind his back, ankles bound too. But he sensed no hatred or hostility from his captors. Both men sat at the table mumbling to each other. He certainly didn’t want to go back to Lord Nathak. I don’t know. They’ve bound me.
Lord Nathak wants me to locate you.
“No!” Achan thought of the allown tree, and Sparrow faded away.
Sir Caleb was at his side in an instant. He sat on the bed beside Achan, a fresh bruise swelling on his jaw. “I’m sorry for the restraints. You left me little choice.”
Achan’s heart thundered in his chest. Who to trust? He sighed heavily. He’d take his chances with these men over any life with Lord Nathak. He decided to confide this truth. “Lord Nathak is looking for me.”
“How do you know?” Sir Caleb asked.
“He’s using Sparrow.”
“A bird?”
“A boy. The old man’s apprentice.”
Inko jumped to his feet and bounded to the bed. “Be blocking it, quickly!”