Seila slumped in despair. Jack swallowed carefully, conscious of the blades at his neck-a rather ironic predicament, considering how he had treated Cailek Balathorp earlier in the evening. “What do you intend to do with us?” he asked Dresimil.
The drow noblewoman studied Jack and Seila for a long time, her smile growing wide and cruel. “As it turns out, I have little further need of Seila Norwood,” she said. “She was useful for ensuring that her father made no attempt to drive me from my castle. But now my brothers inform me that the repairs to our old mythal stone are complete; our defensive enchantments will soon ring us in walls of magic that Norwood and all the rest of the foolish lords of Raven’s Bluff will be completely unable to assail. In any event, it seems that dear Fetterfist is smitten with Seila’s charms in his own way, and he has asked for her. I am inclined to indulge him.” Seila drew a deep breath and looked down at the floor, her shoulders quivering as she stifled a sob.
Dresimil laughed softly at the girl’s distress, and turned her attention to Jack. “As for you, my Lord Wildhame … I believe that we can take some steps to better fit you for your duties in the rothe fields. Although I shall miss our interesting conversations, I believe we will begin by removing your tongue. We will leave you enough of your fingers to grasp a shovel. And I think we will secure you to a chain and stake, so that you do not wander from your assigned place. You have much toil to repay before we consider your release, however that might come to pass. You are an inventive fellow; perhaps you will think of something … entertaining.”
Despite his effort to remain uncowed, Jack’s mouth went dry as dust and his knees almost failed him. He tried to speak and found himself unable to say anything at all-not a plea for mercy, a barbed insult, or a witty rejoinder came to mind. Seila looked up at him in horror as Dresimil finished her sentence.
“Lord Wildhame seems overcome,” Jaeren remarked. “A pity. I’d hoped for some small jest or perhaps a trenchant observation at this point. Ah, well.”
He motioned to the guards accompanying Jack, who moved to secure his arms and drag him off … but at that moment a drow soldier hurried into the throne room and approached Dresimil. The fellow bowed to the noblewoman and spoke swiftly in the liquid tongue of the drow. Dresimil’s eyes narrowed, and she straightened in her seat, responding with a sharp question or comment, which the messenger replied to at length. She then dismissed him with a wave of her hand and spoke softly with her brothers. Jack could only make out a few snippets of the conversation-“humans,” “warriors,” and perhaps “tunnels” or “caverns”-but the guards who had been about to drag him away halted and waited on their mistress.
Somehow Jack found the courage to speak. “Unexpected news, my lady?” he asked.
Dresimil glanced back to him, and her smile this time was without any humor at all. “It seems that our little foray against Blackwood Manor has provoked a reprisal. We anticipated this possibility, of course, and prepared a suitable reception. The mythal is my web, and Lord Norwood is ready to play the fly to my spider. We all know how that turns out, do we not?” She motioned to the guards holding Jack and Seila. “Take them back to their cells until we are ready to continue, and watch them carefully. If Wildhame offers you any trouble, torment the girl and make sure that he can hear her every cry.”
“Yes, my lady,” the guards answered. They seized Jack by the arms and spun him around, then marched him back down to the dungeon again, with Seila just a few steps behind.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jack passed the next hour pacing restlessly in his cell. This time he was held several doors down from Seila, unable to see her or speak with her. From time to time he tugged at the ring of negation, hoping to find it no longer fixed on his finger, but the thing refused to budge. That was unfortunate, to say the least; he had not counted on being unable to work magic at all. In fact, he might have thought twice about walking nonchalantly into the arms of the dark elves if he’d known his magic could so easily be neutralized. “Somehow I must find a reason to convince the dark elves to remove the ring,” he decided. “My prospects would be much more promising without it.”
His reflections were interrupted by the rattle and clatter of the dungeon door opening and the footfalls of his jailors. Jack moved closer to the bars to peer down the corridor, wondering if the dark elves were bringing a brazier of coals and a sharp knife to begin the work Dresimil had promised for him … but instead the slaver Cailek Balathorp strode into the dungeon. The tall, straw-haired lord had changed into the black leathers he favored in his guise as Fetterfist, and wore proudly the half-hood Jack had taken from him. He paused by Jack’s cell and regarded Jack with a very unpleasant smile on his face. “Now this is gratifying,” the slaver remarked. “I have quite a score to settle with you, Ravenwild. I doubt the dark elves will leave me much to work with, but never fear-if you are worried that I will be shortchanged, well, I have some very special arrangements in mind for Seila Norwood.”
Jack glared at the renegade lord. He started to compose the darkest and most dreadful threat he could think of, but stopped himself; there was little point in making any promises of vengeance in his current situation. Instead he decided to appeal to the man’s greed. “Ransom Seila back to her father,” he said. “She’s worth far more to you whole and unhurt. Norwood will pay a fortune for her return.”
“I expect that he will, and I may do as you suggest … after I have a little sport first.” The slaver grinned and started to turn away.
“Wait!” A sudden notion struck Jack, and he stretched his arm through the bars of his cell. “Listen, Balathorp, I know that I am finished. You’ll have your revenge upon me, and more; the drow will see to that. But if you agree to see Seila Norwood to freedom, I will give you all that remains to me-this enchanted silver ring.” He held up the ring of negation.
The slaver snorted. “I will do as I please with Seila anyway, Ravenwild. That little bauble makes no difference to me.”
Jack reached through the bars, extending the ring. “Take it from my hand,” he begged. “I throw myself on your mercy.”
Balathorp hesitated, and for a moment Jack’s hopes soared … but at that moment a contingent of drow guards appeared. The slaver stepped back, inclining his head to the dark elves; the drow warriors marched past Jack’s cell to where Seila was held. “I am sure the Lady Dresimil will think of a fitting end for you,” he said to Jack. “Console yourself with the thought that I will take good care of Seila Norwood. Farewell, Ravenwild.”
Jack searched for some clever riposte, some appeal that might reach the man, but nothing came to mind. Balathorp turned and followed the dark elves down the corridor to Seila’s cell. Jack heard the rattle of keys in the iron lock, the jingle of chains, Seila’s voice raised in protest … and then Balathorp and the drow jailors returned back along the corridor, ushering Seila along with her arms bound behind her back. She struggled, to no avail, and had time to cry out, “Jack!” as she was swept past him. Jack reached out after her, his fingertips brushing her dress, and then she was gone.
He caught one more brief glimpse of her in the guardroom at the entrance to the row of cells; Balathorp handed her to a pair of hobgoblin slavers. “Take her to the caravan and lock her up with the rest of the merchandise,” he told the fierce creatures. They responded in Goblin, asking some question or another; the slaver shook his head and said, “No, the east tunnel, it looks like we won’t be able to slip out to the north.” Then the dark elves shut the dungeon door, and Jack could hear or see nothing more except the empty cells around his own.