There was nothing Kali and the others could do for them. Yet.
The three of them, Slowhand and Freel walking either side of Kali moved on up the aisle, coming at last to stand before Bastian Redigor and Katherine Makennon. Despite herself, Kali faltered slightly. The portrait she had seen of the Pale Lord in Fayence did not, in reality, do him anywhere near justice. He soared above both Freel and Slowhand, a tall, gaunt, angular figure with flowing black hair who should have seemed cadaverous but who radiated an aura that Kali had to admit made her go weak at the knees. The man — the elf, she corrected herself — was sheer presence, more magnetic even than the hub, and she could see how he had become lord of his people. Bastian Redigor stared down at her, smiling coldly, and for a few seconds she found she could not draw her eyes away.
She kept telling herself how much of a bastard he was and, with this mantra, dragged her gaze to Makennon, and the sight of what he had done to the Anointed Lord quashed the elf's glamour.
Redigor had wasted no time in preparing Makennon for her role, stripping her armour and clothing and dressing her in a diaphanous shift that fell loosely from her shoulders to her ankles and did little to conceal her nakedness beneath. A high, stiff collar had been placed around Makennon's neck, thrusting her jaw upwards; a zatra, a collar of obedience whose prime purpose was to denote the status of a woman as a pet. Kali's eyes travelled down her body, noting the recent bruises, and then back up until her gaze met Makennon's. Though Kali had little time for the woman, her eyes teared at what she saw — fury and frustration at what had been done to her, yes, and shame and utter humiliation that she should be paraded in this way, knowing that all knew the indignities she must have suffered. Kali tried to offer her some look of reassurance but wondered whether anything could offer solace for what had happened, and after a second she was forced to turn her gaze away. She looked at Slowhand, but even the normally libidinous archer was staring at the floor, unable to look up.
"Proud of yourself, Baz?" Kali queried, snapping her gaze back to the Pale Lord. "Is this what we're to expect when the Ur'Raney return?"
"This, and more," Redigor replied, his smile widening. He turned to look at Makennon and then back at Kali, his eyes widening in anticipation. "Perhaps when I tire of her I shall take you as mu'sah'rin in her place. I sense in you a stamina that I think will be able to satisfy even my demands."
"You keep your slimy elven hands off her," Slowhand threatened, making a move forward, but Kali placed her hand on his arm, stopping him. Redigor might be dripping sleaze but she could feel his raw, unadulterated power. The reason there had been no traps on the way in was that Redigor didn't need any. Slowhand would have no chance against him.
"In your filthy, farking dreams, pal," Kali said to Redigor. She motioned to Makennon and the others. "At least give her the dignity of oblivion. Why must Makennon know what's happening to her? Why must any of them?"
Redigor smiled. "It is necessary that I retain some of their knowledge of the leaders of your civilisation, such as it is. Their familiarity to their people, superficial as it might be when the ritual is done, will be of some advantage. It will make our transition to power… less bloody. It also makes things so much more fun."
"Since when did the Ur'Raney care about spilling a little blood?"
"We don't. In fact, we intend to spill a lot of blood. But that," he added with a sigh, "will come later."
"I hate to point out the obvious," Slowhand said, "but this High Council of yours, you're one missing."
"The magistrate of Kroog-Martra," Redigor said. "Convenient, then, that you saw fit to include a replacement in your party."
"What the hells are you talking about?"
The Pale Lord waved a hand and the whip at Jakub Freel's waist suddenly took on a life of its own, uncoiling from his side and wrapping itself around his neck. As it lifted him from the floor, Freel had the presence of mind to react quickly, to jam his fingers between chain and flesh to prevent himself being hanged. Even so he gagged and choked as, with another wave of his hand, Redigor manoeuvred his floating body into position before what had been the magistrate's allocated tomb. Freel dangled there, his legs kicking, his eyes bulging as he stared down at Kali and Slowhand.
"Hey," Slowhand said. "It was me speaking. Let him down, take me instead."
"You?" Redigor boomed. "Why should I wish a bedraggled commoner when I have Prince Tremayne of the Allantian First Family?"
Both Slowhand and Kali turned to look at their helpless comrade.
"You didn't know?" Redigor said.
"Prince Tremayne?" Slowhand said. "My sister married royalty?"
"Indeed. So you see why I have absolutely no need of riff-raff such as yourself."
"Yeah?" Slowhand challenged. "Well, let me show you what riff-raff can do."
The archer released a clutch of arrows at the Pale Lord in blinding succession. Redigor managed to deflect four of them but two breached his defences, embedding themselves solidly in his right thigh. Redigor gasped and stared down at the protruding shafts in incredulous fury and waved his hand again. Slowhand was propelled violently backwards along the length of the Chapel, impacting with the wall above the entrance with a bone-cracking, sickening thud. The archer slumped there, held by an unseen force, one arm dangling at an unnatural angle through Suresight's string.
Kali stared at her helpless lover and swallowed, then turned back to Redigor.
"Nice party tricks. But when do we get to the main event?"
Redigor raised an eyebrow. "You seem strangely eager."
Kali shook her head. "Nope. But if we've a few minutes, I wouldn't mind the answers to a few questions."
Redigor steepled the fingers of both hands, intrigued. He nodded for Kali to continue.
Kali again looked at Slowhand and Freel. The questions she had in mind, she would not normally have raised in anyone else's presence for fear of burdening them with what she had learned at the Crucible, but both men had lapsed into semiconsciousness. Still, she wanted to take no chances, and spoke to Redigor in elvish.
"Now that we're alone," she said. "What's this all about, Baz?"
"What? You are trying to buy time, child. You know this already."
"Of course I know you're bringing your people back. What I'm asking is, why now?"
"Now?"
"I saw the charts in your tower in Fayence, and I know the intellect you possess. You know as much as I do that a darkness is coming — the same darkness that obliterated the Old Races — so why would you want to resurrect your people when the world's about to come to an end?"
Redigor stared at her and burst into laughter, as if she were a child who had said something profoundly foolish. Kali frowned and pouted.
"Forgive me," Redigor said at last, though his tone still quaked slightly. "Forgive me, but I believe I have overestimated you. All you know is that the darkness is coming, isn't it? But you don't know what the darkness is, or why it comes. You don't know anything about it."
Kali felt her heart skip a beat.
"I'm willing to learn."
"An exercise in redundancy, believe me. There is nothing you can do."