Linchmere sat forward. “Do not presume to lecture us, changeling!”
Nefrai-kesh’s smile flowed into a predatory display of teeth. “Oh, someone thinks he has a spine. It can be torn out, you know, bone by bone, so numb death slowly spreads through you. I would enjoy that, my prince. Will you indulge me?”
The Oriosan Prince squeaked and curled into a ball in his throne.
Augustus stepped forward. “Enough, Nefrai-kesh. Preserve the illusion that a bit of the man I respected resides in you still.”
“If you wish to believe in illusions, Augustus, feel free to delude yourself as long as you like.” The sullanciri stood, then raked the clawed fingers of his left hand through the air. Black slits appeared as if he had rent some canvas. “The man you respected is no more, but the man you know to fear is yet here. And shall be for a long, long time.”
As he spoke his gaze shifted from Augustus to Crow and then her. Their eyes locked for a second and a huge jolt ran through Alexia. It did not feel as if he’d read her mind, but she felt certain he knew it. That realization shook her, but before she could act or speak, he slipped through the rents and they vanished behind him.
Crow turned toward her. “Are you hurt?”
She shivered and shook her head. “No, not at all. You?”
He shifted his shoulders stiffly. “In no real sense.” He fell silent for a moment, then shook his head. “I couldn’t kill him.”
Alexia did lean forward and rest a hand on his shoulder. “He knew that when he asked you to do it. Just as I did when I asked you to promise to kill me if I ever looked to go over to Chytrine. You were right in what you told me, and you were right in denying him then.”
“But he’s right, I could have saved everyone.”
Alexia gave him a brave smile and squeezed his shoulder. “And yet you shall, Crow. And yet you shall.”
20
The sharp, raw, torn sensation in the back of his throat remained with Kerrigan Reese even after the echoes of the harsh cough that awakened him had faded. Curled up as tightly as his girth would allow him, he lay naked, in complete darkness, on his left side. The cold, hard stone beneath him had leached a lot of his body heat. In his mouth was the sour taste of old vomit, and his head ached.
As he tried to straighten out, two more things added to his discomfort. The first was the aching in his back. Whatever had hit him had done so very solidly. Battered muscles protested, and the fatty flesh covering them provided a chorus accompaniment. Even his kidneys ached, and Kerrigan dreaded the damage he’d find if he cast a diagnostic spell.
He would have been tempted to do that, but had a more immediate concern: he was fettered. Stout manacles surrounded his wrists and ankles. Reaching down, he could easily grasp the heavy chains to which his bonds had been joined, though when he took up the slack, the wrist chains did not pull at his ankles. The chain did tighten, though, and one wrist did pull against the other, so he imagined some ring in the floor of his prison to which he was fastened.
The magicker lay very still and thought for a moment. That he was a prisoner was obvious. Having been taken by the Vilwanese was a possibility, and that only indicated how seriously they wanted him back. They would have had to bring in someone or something that could neutralize him. While he was certain that could happen, wouldn’t the apprehension have taken place in a more controlled area? He was on his way to the consulate where they could have taken him at their leisure.
And he doubted that, in taking him, they would have seen a benefit in his being half drowned.
The other alternative that left open was Chytrine. He wracked his brain to see if there was anything he had done to attract her attention. He had created a duplicate of one fragment of the DragonCrown and had tampered with another fragment, but he sincerely doubted she could track him through that magick. And other than that covert work, he had done nothing to make her see him as a threat. Any attack would have been better executed on Princess Alexia or Will.
It was entirely possible, of course, that the duplicate he had made would let her track the fragment. But having the means to go after the fragment made it unlikely she would have had him attacked. Once she had the fragment, he was immaterial, so the attack made no sense. More important, if she had seen him as a threat, why she would leave him alive?
But if not Vilwan or Chytrine, then who?
Aside from the sound of his own breathing and the irregular pit-pat of water dropping on stone, the chamber had remained quiet. Because of the darkness Kerrigan could see nothing and couldn’t even begin to guess how big the room was. The mageyes spell would take care of that problem, so he gathered himself to cast it.
Before he could get the spell off, however, something clicked in the darkness. It came from behind him, but tiny and distant. As sounds went, it wasn’t much. Just a simple click.
Kerrigan held his breath. He waited, straining his ears. More water dripped, sometimes one drop on top of the other, but no more clicks. Kerrigan slowly let his breath out, then drew one in through his nose, forcing himself to be quiet even though his lungs wanted cool air to quench the fire in them.
Click.
It came louder this time, and in front of him, down toward where he imagined that ring was set in the floor. Could it have been a link hitting the ring? He let the sound run through his mind again, but caught no metal in it. No, it was more like stone on stone.
Or claw on stone.
For a heartbeat, then two, the terrible image of a temeryx lurking out there, circling him, shook Kerrigan and made the links rattle. Temeryces served Chytrine the way dogs served huntsmen. The feathered beasts had narrow heads with lots of sharp teeth, huge, sickle-shaped claws on their feet, and smaller grasping clawed hands that they clutched tightly to their breasts.
He’d seen the sort of bite they could leave on a man, and had no desire to see if he could heal himself with magick faster than it could devour him.
He fought back panic for two reasons. The first was that he couldn’t cast a spell if he couldn’t think, and he had to think to get out of his current situation. And the second was that he did have the magickal armor that would reward the temeryx with a mouthful of bony plates.
His invulnerability heartened him. He calmed himself again and forced himself to breathe more regularly. He remained quiet and listened, but focused more on choosing a spell to cast. He really had two choices: either a spell that would allow him to see in the dark, or a spell that would actually illuminate the place. The light spell he had managed to employ in a similarly dark place had blinded his assailants and facilitated his escape but, chained up as he was, he wasn’t going to be running off fast. He chose to save that spell for a reserve and instead prepared to cast the night vision spell.
Kerrigan set himself and limbered his fingers. He pulled his awareness away from the world for a moment, forgetting how cold he felt. Into the realm of magic he plunged, weaving together the various elements that would fashion him an ethereal veil that would enhance his vision. The spell-casting progressed quickly and easily; though he had not used the spell that much, he had always liked it and found it simple to work.
Thwock!
Something hit him and hit him hard, on the right shoulder, and bounced off to clatter in the darkness. That sound definitely was stone on stone; I was hit by a rock. The bony plate that had risen to protect him sank away again, taking with it all but the faintest hint of pain from the impact.