“What is it?” asked a bleary-eyed Bryn. Then seeing the guard and the open cell door, he asked, “Has Lael come for us?”
“I don’t know,” replied Marcus. “How is your leg?”
Holding onto Marcus’s arm, Bryn stood up. “A little sore,” he said, “but better.”
“Can you walk?”
“I think so, why?”
Marcus pointed to the angry guard waiting by the door and the sharp lance in his hand. “I think he wants us to come with him.”
They followed the guard out of the cell and down a passageway. Once outside, they were met by two more guards, who bound their hands in front of them with cords. It was late at night, and a line of torches lit a path leading away from town. Marcus glanced around, hoping to see Lael or even Rylan nearby, but there were only the three guards. When one of them shoved Marcus roughly forward, he knew he was in trouble.
“Where are they taking us?” asked Bryn, stumbling along behind Marcus.
“I have no idea.”
“What will they do to us?”
“I don’t know, Bryn.”
They followed the torches across uneven, barren rock until they reached a large structure made of roughly hewn stone. Marcus scanned the darkness for signs of Xerxes, hoping whatever injury he had sustained was not serious, but the crow was nowhere to be found. The guards led Marcus and Bryn through a narrow gap in the structure’s side, and they soon found themselves in a circular arena surrounded by a high, sloping wall. More torches lined the edge of the arena, and a hundred or more Pey Weys all sat along the slope. When Marcus and Bryn appeared, the audience cheered.
“Great,” said Marcus, “looks like we’re tonight’s entertainment.”
The guards led them to two wooden poles that stood upright from the arena floor. On each one were several metal hooks placed at various heights. The guards grabbed Bryn’s hands, still bound, and slipped them over a hook placed high enough above his head that he could not pull himself free. They did the same to Marcus on the second pole. Then the guards exited the way they came, leaving Bryn and Marcus alone to face the jeering crowd.
“Bryn,” said Marcus after a few failed attempts to pull his hands free, “now might be a good time to show these people what you really are.”
To Marcus’s surprise, Bryn cast him a spiteful look. “And what am I really?”
“Please, Bryn. This isn’t time to hold a grudge. You know I didn’t mean anything by what I said the other day. It’s just that Lael keeps treating you like—”
“Like a little boy?”
“Exactly! But we both know you could change right now and get us out of here. That would really give these lizards a show, wouldn’t it?”
“I’d rather die a human than kill as a groc,” Bryn answered, shouting above the roar of the crowd, which had gotten louder. “What about you? Why don’t you use your magic to free us?”
Marcus felt his face grow red. “You know why.”
“You made a wall of solid rock disappear! Why don’t you break these cords or use an earthquake to scare the guards?”
“Because I’m afraid.”
“What?” asked Bryn.
“Because I’m afraid!” Marcus shouted. “I’m afraid of what magic does to me! It takes something from me. The pain is unbearable! I can’t—I won’t—go through that again!”
Bryn looked at Marcus, and Marcus thought he saw something different in his eyes, something like understanding.
“Then I guess we’ll just have to escape the way any ordinary human would,” said Bryn, “with patience, cunning, and luck.”
“There’s one thing you’re forgetting,” said Marcus.
“What’s that?”
“For ordinary humans, sometimes luck runs out.”
Sixty-eight
In the center of the arena was a large pit. At first, the cheering of the crowd drowned out the sound that came from it, the slow thump! thump! thump! of something climbing its way up from the depths. As the thumping grew louder, the Pey Weys went silent. The silence was suddenly broken by several earsplitting screeches. The Pey Weys on the slopes held on to each other in what looked to Marcus like fear and anticipation.
The screeching resonated against the stone walls of the arena. Suddenly, the crowd of Pey Weys broke into raucous applause and began to chant, “Rok! Rok! Rok! Rok!”
Marcus’s breath froze in his lungs as he waited for whatever was in the pit to emerge. Slowly, a set of three huge claws slipped over the rim of the pit, followed by a matching set on the opposite side. The creature used them to pull its massive body up into the arena. As large as Zyll’s cottage in Quendel, its broad, muscular body was covered with thick, golden fur. It whipped its heavy tail back and forth and flapped two gigantic birds’ wings, causing a steady, surging flow of hot wind. On its feathered head was a sharp, curved beak large enough to bite a full-grown man in two.
Marcus gazed in fear and awe at the creature. He had never seen a real gryphon before. So few people had that many believed they weren’t real at all. Yet here was proof they did indeed exist. Despite the immediate danger he was in, Marcus couldn’t help but think the creature magnificent to behold.
Beside him, Bryn burst into tears as he jerked desperately at his bonds. “Marcus!” he cried. “Please free us!”
The gryphon’s fathomless, black eyes focused on the squirming boy.
“Bryn, hold still!” said Marcus. “You’re drawing its attention.”
But Bryn only cried louder and twisted violently, attempting to pull himself free.
As the creature lunged forward, its beak and fore claws extended for the kill, Marcus realized that Bryn would stay true to his word: he would die as a human.
“Stop!” shouted Marcus, a mass of fear and fury exploding inside of him. At that moment, an odd sensation rippled up his arms and burst out of his hands. The Rok reared back on its hind legs, its head twisting awkwardly and its wings flapping as if some invisible force had struck it. Whatever went through Marcus had felt solid enough, yet the magic could not be seen with his eyes.
The audience of Pey Weys went silent. The creature dropped its forelegs back to the ground and shook its head, dazed.
Bryn looked at Marcus with an awed expression. “What did you do?” he asked. But Marcus couldn’t answer him. He had no idea what had happened.
The Pey Weys began to shout again, trying to incite the Rok to attack. It bolted forward a second time but then came to an abrupt stop as if colliding with some invisible barrier. The creature eyed Marcus hesitantly.
“What is it doing?” asked Bryn. “Do you think you scared it?”
“I don’t know,” answered Marcus.
The Rok took several cautious steps forward until Marcus found himself eye to eye with it. The creature’s breath felt hot and moist on his skin. Being so close, Marcus could make out every detail of its body—the elegant curve of each feather, the downy tufts of fur, the pointed tips of its claws.
“Look,” said Marcus, examining the creature more closely, “its leg is chained. It’s a prisoner, just like us.”
The Rok did not strain against its bonds, nor did it attempt another attack. Instead it blinked at Marcus while turning its head from side to side as if it were curious about him. Then Marcus realized its gaze was focused entirely on his chest. It was the amulet that held its attention, the amulet he had purchased from the woman his first day in Dokur.
“It’s a gryphon,” said Marcus excitedly.
“What?” shouted Bryn above the increasingly loud displeasure of the crowd.
“Gryphons are guardians of the Seer! Maybe it recognizes me somehow—or at least it recognizes the amulet.”
The crowd was heckling the poor creature now, and several Pey Weys threw garbage and stones at it. The gryphon screeched angrily. Turning its back to Marcus, it spread its massive wings, creating a barrier between the crowd and Marcus.
It’s trying to protect me, Marcus realized. It’s
been a prisoner here for who knows how long, yet it’s defending me.
As the crowd became more unruly, Marcus could not bear the thought of the abuse this noble creature had, and would likely continue, to endure. The strange force Marcus felt a few minutes before returned. He closed his eyes and aimed his hands at the chains around the gryphon’s legs. He felt the sudden surge of power leave his hands. The crowd gasped.
Marcus opened his eyes in time to see the gryphon rise from the ground, lifted by the swoop of its mighty wings. The chains lay broken in pieces on the ground. The Pey Weys, now stunned and frightened, began running up and over the tops of the walls, scurrying like insects to escape, but the gryphon showed no interest in pursuing them. Instead it turned and lowered its face, a grateful expression in its eyes.
“You don’t have to stay,” Marcus said to it. “We’ll be fine.”
The gryphon turned its head as if to express doubt, but Marcus smiled reassuringly. “It’s all right,” he said, “you can go. You’re free.”
The gryphon blinked its eyes and nodded its beak to show that it understood. Then it flapped its wings, took to the sky, and was quickly gone.
Sixty-nine
Marcus waited for the pain and exhaustion to hit. Despite his determination not to, he had used magic to free the gryphon. What good would he be to Bryn now, crippled with pain? And what had stopped the gryphon from attacking? Some unseen force had hit it. Was that Marcus’s magic, too?
Marcus didn’t have much time to think about it before the Pey Wey guards were ushering him and Bryn back to the jail at lance point. When they arrived, the guards roughly shoved them both into the cell.
The night’s events had taken their toll on Bryn. He was asleep again in minutes. On the other hand, Marcus was wide-awake, rolling the details of the past hour over and over again in his mind. He had fully expected to feel the effects of the magic he had used to free the gryphon. Breaking the chain had required very little effort, but he should have at least felt tired. At worst, he would be doubled over in agonizing pain. Yet he felt nothing. In fact, he had never felt stronger.
“Not tasty?” said a raspy voice from the darkest corner of the cell.
The sudden realization that he and Bryn were not alone startled Marcus. Apparently the guards had brought in a new prisoner while Marcus and Bryn were away.
“Excuse me?” replied Marcus nervously.
“Humans not tasty for Rok? It spit you out, eh?”
The comment was followed by a shrill little laugh.
Marcus bristled. “The Rok has been freed.”
The Pey Wey prisoner scooted out of the shadows, its crippled legs dragging along the stone floor behind him. He extended a clawed finger that trembled slightly, perhaps from age, but the creature’s gaze was steady. “Rok free, you say? How be it so?”
Marcus hesitated. Telling this stranger the truth was out of the question. The Pey Wey, however, persisted. “Tell Krak how Rok go free,” he said.
“Is that your name?” asked Marcus.
“Yes. Krak my name. And you?”
“My name is Marcus Frye.”
“Tell me, Marcus Frye, how the Rok be free, and I tell you secret worth much gold.” Krak laughed his shrill laugh again.
The strange sound made Marcus shiver. “Fine,” he said.
Krak rubbed his hands together like a spoiled child waiting for a delicious treat.
Marcus scratched at the back of his neck, wondering what unseen creatures might be lurking in the filthy cell. “I used magic to free the gryphon, all right?”
“Magic?” Krak gave a skeptical huff.
“Yes, magic,” said Marcus, offended. “I’m a master enchanter, so it wasn’t anything at all to free it.”
Krak stared at Marcus for several seconds and then burst into laughter.
“You don’t believe me?” said Marcus.
“Yes, yes, Krak believe you use magic, but you are not enchanter. If enchanter, Marcus would be free with Rok.”
Marcus didn’t like how this conversation was going. He hated to admit it, but Krak was right. If he weren’t so fearful of using his magic, he and Bryn would be free. But for now, all he wanted to do was get some sleep. He lay down on the floor with his back to the Pey Wey.
“No, Marcus not confident in self,” continued Krak. “Not true enchanter. Krak know only one master enchanter on Imaness. Only one, and he not young boy like you.”
Marcus sat up and stared at Krak. The Pey Wey was not laughing now. He wore a very solemn expression and gazed at Marcus with intense focus.
“Why you come here?” asked Krak. “Zyll send you?”
“You knew my grandfather?”
“Knew? Zyll gone?”
“He was killed several days ago in Dokur. And he did send me.”
“Why?”
“I’m supposed to find the maker of this key.”
Marcus reached for the key and held it out in his palm to Krak. When he saw it, Krak gave a knowing nod of his head.
“You have Zyll’s chest?”
“Not with me,” Marcus replied, surprised. How had Krak known about the chest that held so many of Zyll’s trinkets? “But I do have it back home.”
Krak leaned back on his tail and rocked gently from side to side for a few moments. Beyond the prison door, muffled voices were speaking.
“Krak have little time,” said the Pey Wey prisoner. “Marcus listen well. Not forget. This is Krak’s secret. Key opens two identical chests made from wood of same tree. One for Zyll. One for her. She said she come back, but never came. You have key, Marcus Frye. Chest now yours.”
The prison door opened, and the Pey Wey guard came in. Behind him was the administrator, obviously displeased. “You talk to key maker like you wanted?” he asked.
So Krak was the maker of the key, the one Ivanore had sent Marcus to find. Marcus looked at Krak, who met his glance with a shrug and a sly grin. “Yes,” Marcus said, nodding a quiet thanks to the crippled Pey Wey. “I talked to him.”
“Good. You and the boy can go,” the administrator said, unlocking the gate. The guard cut Marcus’s bonds with a stone knife and did the same for Bryn’s. Marcus stood and scooped the still-sleeping Bryn into his arms. Then he nodded toward Krak.
“What about him?”
“You talk to him,” said the administrator, “what happen to Krak now not your concern.” Then he strode briskly out of the jail.
Marcus started to follow the administrator but turned back. “The chest,” he said, making certain the administrator was far enough ahead that he could not overhear. “Where do I find it?”
Krak had already dragged his broken body back into the shadows, but his voice was clear. “My shop near trading post. But be discreet. Crime to take condemned man’s property. Everything evidence.”
“Condemned? For what?”
Krak did not answer.
“And if I get caught?” continued Marcus.
That shrill laugh sounded again through the darkness.
“Then tomorrow Marcus hang with Krak!”
Seventy
Krak’s parting words and strange, nervous laughter remained with Marcus as he stepped out into the early morning light. The brightness hurt his eyes and he squinted, wishing he could shield his face. Bryn blinked awake and, on seeing Lael standing nearby, gasped in surprise. He wriggled free from Marcus’s arms and ran to her.
“Whoa, little guy,” she said, giggling. “I guess that means you’re glad to see me?”
Marcus stepped away from the guard. He approached Rylan, who spoke with the administrator in hushed tones, glancing every so often at the now-free prisoners. As he neared, Rylan extended his hand to him. Marcus shoved it away. “You let these things take me and Bryn prisoner!” “I didn’t let them take you,” Rylan replied. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Lael tried to help us, but you held her back.”
“I had to! If she had fought them, she would have gotten hurt. As it was,
it took a lot of effort to convince them she wasn’t for sale.”
“For sale?”
“Like I said before, my father trades in contracts. Human contracts. He often delivers indentured servants—dents—to Voltana to excavate ore. When you asked for the key maker—well, they made arrangements for you to see him.”
“Is that what they told you?”
“You spoke with him, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” replied Marcus, “but only after they tried to feed me and Bryn to the Rok.”
Rylan turned a sharp eye on the administrator, whose face was pinched with irritation. “You took them to the Rok?”
“No, I—” the administrator stammered.
“My father’s contracts expressly state that his goods are to be used solely in the extraction and production of ore. My father will hear about this.”
“Now, Master Rylan, Voltana honors all contracts with Brommel,” answered the administrator, his voice oozing with charm. “But we have no contract on these two.”
“That’s no reason to sacrifice them!”
“Is common to execute criminals.”
“You know full well they’re not criminals.”
“So sorry for mistake. But even so, no telling what can happen to humans here. You leave Voltana, no more problems.”
The administrator motioned for the guard to come with him, but as he left, he gave Marcus a warning glance, as if Marcus ought to watch his back.
Marcus watched Lael lift Bryn by his arms and swing him in a circle. Bryn laughed happily, begging her to do it again. Marcus couldn’t help but smile at the happy pair. It was hard to imagine them now the way he once had. Perhaps Lael had been right about Bryn, after all. Maybe what he had been did not matter as much as what he was now.
But with Lael it was different. Marcus had known her for too many years to so easily forget all the pranks she’d pulled on him. She had been nothing but a nuisance, like a speck of dust in his eye. It irritated him even now just thinking about it.
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