Then she scanned the cage again. The magic she had sensed was recognizable now. It encased Redden Ohmsford’s prison from floor to ceiling and wrapped the iron bars front-to-back. She couldn’t be completely certain what it might do if disturbed, but she could take a reasonable guess. Try to force your way past it, and a reaction of some sort would follow.
She backed away. Her choices were simple. She could ignore the magic, force her way inside the cage anyway, and take her chances. She could give up her disguise long enough to pull the boy out of his imprisonment, then attempt to reapply it so that it covered both of them and steal him away before the guards and the wolves overwhelmed her.
Or she could back off and wait for another, better chance, hoping that at some point in time she would find one. She could leave Redden Ohmsford to his fate and hope he would survive it.
She held herself perfectly still while she considered. Her strength was already depleted by the long struggle to get this far. She believed she could get out again, even carrying Redden, but not if she had to break him free and fight her way out.
Slowly, reluctantly, she backed away from the cage, realizing she must do the one thing she had told herself she would not do.
But how could she leave him?
Inside the cage, Redden was deep inside his mind, neither asleep nor awake, but in a state that took something from each. He was remembering a time when he was very little and had become separated from Railing while playing in the yard. He had gone off to look for him. Had he found him? Or had he become lost himself and subsequently found by his brother?
Still searching for the elusive fragments of his memory, he was awaked by a violent commotion just outside his cage. He snapped back into the present, the memory gone in a heartbeat. He lifted himself on one elbow and peered out to see a tremendous fight between two of the wolves and one of the Goblin guards. The guard was down and his body was already ripped open in several places; his blood was everywhere. No one was trying to do anything about it, but then who would be bold enough to get between the dying Goblin and the wolves?
He closed his eyes and lay down again. What did any of it matter?
Then he heard a voice speaking to him in a whisper so soft he almost missed it.
Redden. Don’t give up. I am close.
He took a quick, startled breath.
The voice belonged to Oriantha.
Nine
Edinja Orle had Arlingfant carried from the cellars to the upper levels of her home and deposited in her former room. The girl was nearly hysterical, shaking and sobbing uncontrollably, barely able to keep from falling apart completely. Shocked by what she had witnessed in the building’s cellars, horrified that men could be altered in the ways Edinja had mastered long ago, she was clearly terrified that the same thing might happen to her. That was the point, of course. Edinja wanted the girl frightened enough that she would prove compliant when it was necessary.
She locked the door to the bedroom as she left and beckoned to the serving woman who was standing just outside on watch.
“Give her fresh water in two or three hours. Make sure it comes from there.” She pointed to the ceramic pitcher on the table across the way. “Otherwise, keep her locked in.”
She walked the hall to the main staircase and started down. She had given as much time to this matter as she could spare. As Prime Minister, she had duties and obligations to fulfill. A general meeting of the Coalition Council was scheduled for midday, and she would be expected to give an address. What she would say was problematic, but she was beginning to get an idea of what might best serve to further her current undertaking. In any case, it would be hours before she could return here.
As she descended the staircase, she was thinking ahead—well beyond this day or even this week. Ahead to when she had Aphenglow Elessedil in her power and the Elfstones in her grasp. Ahead to when she had located and dispatched whoever had stolen the Ellcrys seed and claimed the seed for herself. Ahead to when she could begin to see all her planning and scheming and manipulating result in the goal she had set herself many years ago.
Domination over not only the Federation but the remainder of the Four Lands, as well.
It was an end toward which she had been working long before she became Prime Minister of the Federation, or even before she knew for certain how she would achieve what she was trying to accomplish. Like most members of the Orle family—or at least those who practiced magic—a certain mysticism governed her decisions and actions. It was in the nature of magic users to rely on the unseen and the unknown. It was a sort of trust in the belief that if you wanted magic to perform in a certain way badly enough and you were willing to put aside what was said to be impossible, you could always find a way.
She supposed, in that respect, she was not so different from Drust—save for the all-important fact that she had the means and the skills to achieve what she wanted and he didn’t.
On the next level of her descent, she turned down the hallway and went to her personal quarters. Her bedroom was lavishly decorated with fine furniture, carpets, silk throws, tapestries, and paintings. Racks of clothing filled a series of deep alcoves that lined one wall, and a bureau made of teak and black maple displayed bottles of exotic liquids. Cinla was sprawled on her sleeping pad at the foot of her bed, but she lifted her head as Edinja entered.
“Beautiful Cinla,” she cooed as she reached down to stroke the cat’s silky neck and ears. She spent some time giving her special attention, speaking soft nothings to the big moor cat, listening to the sounds of pleasure she made at her touch.
When she was finished caressing Cinla, she moved over to her clothing racks to choose a garment for her appearance before the Coalition Council. She was vain and prideful and not in the least reluctant to admit it. She knew how to sway men and women to her cause and how to keep troublemakers at bay. And how she looked was a part of the process.
She dressed slowly, thinking about all she had accomplished over the past ten years and reveling in the sense of satisfaction it gave her.
It started with her experiments at changing humans into creatures that could better serve her purposes. Such efforts had been a part of the Orle canon of magic through the centuries, but she had managed to advance the study to heights previously unattained. Not only did she discover a combination of chemicals and magic that would create obedient servants, but she also found a way to turn them into thinking creatures capable of making decisions within the framework of a set of commands she provided in advance.
It took years to achieve this. It took countless experiments—all of which ended in failure but nevertheless brought her ever closer to her goal. She was a skilled and powerful sorceress, and her ambitions were buttressed by her firm belief that the ends justified the means. Expendable lives were plentiful and cheap in Arishaig, especially among the poor, and she was never at a loss for human subjects on which to experiment. She was willful and determined, and the lives of others had never meant much to her. If you weren’t a member of the Orle family, you were a lesser life-form. Other people were there to be used in whatever ways she saw fit. Other people didn’t really matter.
The real breakthrough in her efforts had happened by accident. She had mixed magic and chemicals as usual, but at some point in the effort both got away from her and produced an entirely unexpected result. She ended up with a creature that could change shapes at will. It could be anything it wanted. Even better, it was incredibly smart. Unlike almost all of the others, it was capable of independent thought and action. It knew how to weigh choices and make decisions. It could reason and act on that reasoning.