"For the joy that we live and are together," Elyana told him, then paced out the room that neither could see.
Twenty paces wide, twenty paces long, and nothing within the room but some shards of stone and the rotted bones of the chamber's last occupant. She told this to Stelan.
"I learned as much. I was hoping you would detect something I had not. I'm under the spot where we dropped from, but I can't reach the ceiling. Can you climb up and see if it's sealed?"
"Where are Vallyn and Arcil?" Elyana scaled up his broad back and set her legs on wide shoulders. No catch plate was obvious to her fingers. The entry point was of the same rough stone as the ceiling, wall, and floor. There seemed no way clear.
"I saw Vallyn dive to the side," Stelan answered, weary not from holding her, but from the battles that had been their fare as they advanced through the temple ruins. "I don't know what happened to Arcil."
She directed Stelan to move around a little as she kept hands overhead, feeling the stone. They walked nearly the whole of the room, and she sensed that, strong as he was, her weight really was wearying him. She slipped off his shoulders. "I can't find anything."
"What about those bones? Are they ...likely to stay there?"
She laughed. "How should I know? But if they haven't animated by now, I'm betting they won't. My guess is that only one poor soul ever wandered into this trap before, and either he came in with an empty wine sack, or he drained it before he died."
"What are we to do, then?" Stelan asked.
"Let us search more carefully. You feel around the floor, I'll examine the walls."
This they did, for a very long while. Elyana had no way to track time in that dark place, but it seemed to her that at least an hour sped on. They had yet to find any stone out of place upon any of the walls.
"Perhaps we should search the ceiling again."
"I've a better idea," Elyana told him, and surprised him with another kiss. He responded slowly, then with great interest, for she did not relent. Finally he pulled back.
"Elyana, what are you about?"
"I'm snatching a moment while we have one. We've not been alone together for more than two weeks."
"That's true. But it occurs to me ..."
His voice trailed off. She ran a finger down his crooked nose. Even in the darkness she pictured the shape of his strong, kindly face.
"You distract me, Elyana," he said, trying to sound composed. "It occurs to me that we have not shown thanks. Here in this dark hour, I don't suppose I might ask you to pray with me?"
"Now?" The man had no sense of timing.
"Yes."
"I don't expect him to aid us, here," she said.
"That's the problem with most folk," Stelan said, sounding disappointed. "They think a prayer is a contract. The gods must tire of that. ‘I'm praying to you, so you should give me a new saddle.' You don't honestly think—"
Elyana laughed. "No, I'm in agreement with you. Why do you pray, then?"
"To become one with something greater. To ease my spirit. To show gratitude. We were lucky to have survived that fall."
"Go ahead, then."
"And you cannot be made to join me?"
"Stelan, you are charming beyond measure, but if you wish a woman to join you in Abadar, you shall have to look elsewhere."
"I'm certainly not going to find another one here," he muttered. She heard him shuffle around, and the rustle of his clothing, and she pictured him sinking to one knee. Faintly amused, she returned to pace the walls, trying to tune out the low sound of the knight's prayer.
It was on her second circuit that she heard a faint chink, as of a rhythmic tapping of metal hammering on stone. She could not quite determine the source above the sound of Stelan's long-winded prayer.
"Stelan—quiet!"
The knight grumbled but fell silent. She heard the sound again, from farther off. Might someone be trying to signal them?
Quickly she lifted the knife from her belt and clanged the hilt against the wall three times. It echoed in that small chamber.
The noise outside stopped.
"What is it?" Stelan asked. He drew near, and she felt one of his outstretched hands brush her shoulder.
"I think—" Elyana fell silent as the triple knock sounded again, close once more. Elyana grinned and clanged on the stone beside her.
There came an answering ring from nearer yet.
"I suppose we can assume that's one of ours," Stelan muttered.
"We can hope." Elyana tapped again upon the stone, and whoever was beating it on the other side returned the call. Then she heard her name, shouted by Arcil's voice.
"Praise Abadar," Stelan said. "He has smiled twice upon us."
Chapter Nine
Galtan Entertainments
Elyana came to in a daze, wondering where Stelan had gone. Arcil had been calling to her, in that trap in the shadow temple. How had she gotten here, and why did her head ache?
"Praise Abadar," the deeper voice said, and everything came back to Elyana. Another head blow, another dark place, another voice thanking Abadar rather than blind luck. Abadar, she was certain, had no interest in her.
"Were you calling my name?" Elyana asked Drelm. She put a hand to her forehead as she sat. Her skull throbbed. That would need tending, and soon.
"I was praying for you to wake up," Drelm said. "I wasn't sure you would."
"Don't worry." She held her head in her right hand, then noticed that while her wrist still ached, it moved at her command. "The Galtans are expert at keeping prisoners alive," she told Drelm as she flexed her fingers. "It's not nearly as much fun lopping the head off a corpse."
Elyana centered herself as the half-orc said something about her having been out for a while, though he could not gauge the hours. She discovered that someone had performed simple healing magic on her—there was no other accounting for a wound that was already sealed, albeit inexpertly. Clearly they had not especially cared if she fully recovered, only that she did not die before her scheduled date with guillotine and crowd. Galtans. She pooled her magic, finished the healing properly, then stood and considered Drelm and her surroundings.
The half-orc seemed little the worse for wear. His eyes reflected the moonlight streaming in through a high, barred window in their cell, barely large enough for a fist to pass through.
Drelm waited, silent, while she inspected their surroundings.
The cell was fashioned of old worn stone. She sat on a single slab built into the wall. A hole in the corner smelled of waste, and a sturdy wooden door with a tiny barred window closed them in. That was the extent of their world.
"Are you well?" Elyana asked. She glanced down at her finger to see that her ring had been removed. Of course—the Gray Gardener sorcerer would have checked her for magic even if the other humans hadn't simply pawned the ring. A band of flesh paler than the rest was the sole reminder of her ownership.
"I'm fine," Drelm answered curtly. "What happened to me? All I know is that I passed out. And the next thing I knew you were waking me up while the Galtans attacked."
Elyana brought him up to speed and checked her pockets to see if there was anything the Galtans had missed. They had left her only her clothes, and these were disheveled, for they had turned out her vest and pockets and even searched her boots, though these were handed to her by Drelm.
"They tossed them into the cell with you," he said.
She slipped her footgear on, thinking. The bastard Galtans had even taken her hair tie, leaving her locks to hang loose and wild.
"Have they said anything about the others?" Elyana asked.
"No."
"A taunt? A question? Anything?"
"Nothing."
Elyana smiled grimly. "It might be that they got away
. We can hope for them."
"What will we do?"
She finished pulling on her boots and rested an arm on one knee. "Keep them interested without saying much. The longer we do that, the longer we live, and the more chances present themselves. The moment we lose their interest ..." she let her sentence trail off.
"I am not afraid of death," Drelm said. "But I do not mean to fail the baron."
"Death shall reach us all," Elyana agreed, "but you do not want death under a Galtan guillotine, Drelm. They say that the souls of those they kill are trapped in the blade that beheads them. I've heard the Galtans brag often enough that it may be true."
"Men lie to sound fierce."
"I don't think they're lying about this."
Drelm's sigh was something more like the rumble of a lion. He leaned against the stone wall. Elyana sat still, considering her options, which were not plentiful. Much would depend upon the others. "Did they leave us any food?" She was terribly hungry. The blood loss and magic use had drained her.
"No," Drelm said simply.
The half-orc seemed in no hurry to thank her for risking, and possibly losing, her life to save his. He was in no hurry to say anything at all. Arcil or Vallyn would have thanked her instantly, in which case the debt would have been dismissed out of hand by her as something comrades did for one another. Drelm's lack of gratitude rubbed at her like a saddle sore. Her irritation grew until she was almost happy when there were footsteps in the corridor.
Through the window in the door she saw more capped guardsman, one of them bearing a lantern that shone in the hallway like a pale yellow eye. Another carried a crossbow. Gone was the Gray Gardener, but there was no mistaking the sash about the short fellow in the lead. Some kind of officer.
They wanted only her, and she permitted them to march her out, feigning that she was hurt still by walking a little stiffly and pressing her hand to her head from time to time. The blood crusted in her hair and along one side of her face was real enough.
One floor down she was led into a small stone room with peeling yellow paint and pushed into a chair before a high desk. The officer retreated behind it, and the two guards left to stand sentinel on either side of the door. She realized her thoughts were too apparent on her face when the officer addressed her for the first time.
"There is no escape, Elyana," he said in a heavy voice, then raised a hand to his mouth as he coughed. Elyana guessed him to be in his early fifties. His forehead was high and square, and he had combed receding hair toward it in an awkward attempt to conceal oncoming baldness. The lanterns hanging behind him threw his shadow across the desk. He lifted an old sheet of parchment paper and shook it at her, then tilted it into the light for her benefit. On it she recognized a fair depiction of her face, and ten lines of text that described her height, features, and crimes against the state.
"It seems you have me at a disadvantage, sir," she said politely. "You know my name, but I do not know yours."
His eyebrows rose in surprise. "You admit, then, that you are the wanted fugitive and traitoress, the elf Elyana?"
"To whom," Elyana asked slowly, "am I speaking?"
"I am Inspector Ledarr." The fellow set down the paper, leaned forward, and steepled his fingers on the desk.
"I have never heard of you," she told him in truth.
"I have brought exactly sixty-seven men and women to the guillotine, traitors all. You will be sixty-eight. Do you deny that you are Elyana, the elven witch?"
"I deny that I am a witch. I am Elyana."
The inspector's eyes lit in triumph. "You were a fool to admit that," he told her smugly.
Galtans. She held back a sigh. The chance that she'd be questioned by someone reasonable had been infinitesimally small, but this man was insufferable. "You would have killed me for slaying the men you sent to arrest me, no matter my name," she said. "Or perhaps you would have had me arrested if I looked at someone oddly, or walked on the wrong side of the street."
Ledarr's expression soured. He wasn't used to a prisoner questioning his goals, she realized. Good. She'd keep him unsettled. "It's hard to track Galtan laws. They change as often as the government."
"The state changes to purify itself," Ledarr said, as if repeating a maxim for the benefit of his listeners. Perhaps he was. Knowing Galt, either of the soldiers could be an informer. "We of Galt climb ever closer to perfection in our pursuit of liberty, and we do not stomach the flaws other nations are forced to endure! When our government is corrupt, the people change it, and start afresh! We are slaves to nothing but liberty!"
He raised his hand in a flourish as if he expected applause.
"And you've done wonders with the place," Elyana said quickly. "It's no wonder everyone's clamoring to visit."
Ledarr clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, then lowered his hand. "Do not mock me. I can make your last hours very unpleasant, elf witch." He smiled comfortably, thinking her cowed, then lifted the paper with her picture and began to read. "You are hereby charged with the treasonous aid of seventeen criminals of the state."
"It was really more like thirty," Elyana said evenly.
He glared, then read on, squinting slightly. "You are likewise charged with the murder of loyal members of the militia, obstruction of duty, insult to the state, theft, and perjury, and are suspected in the death of two honorable Gray Gardeners."
"Five, actually," Elyana said. Her voice took on a cool, hard edge. "And there will be more."
"Do you think this is a joke, madam? Do you find yourself funny? Because I assure you that none of us are laughing." His open palm stabbed toward the silent guards, who were markedly grim. "And if you think that you have a shadow of a chance of leaving our custody alive, you are sadly mistaken. We inspectors are dedicated to the pursuit of justice, and we mean to enforce it upon you."
"Galtan justice is a bit sharp for my tastes."
"Do you ever tire of your tongue, madam? It will be hard pressed to wag once your head is sliced from your body."
"You've a poor method of information gathering, Inspector. How can you get any if you do nothing but promise punishment?"
He blinked at her and produced another clicking noise.
Good—she had his attention, at least. "I assume you want to know for whom I was spying, and what my aims were?"
"If you think to bargain for your release, or think that I, a servant of the state, can be empowered to offer mercy, then you are sadly mistaken."
"See, that's exactly what I mean. How do you expect to find out anything with that sort of approach?"
He set down the paper again. "I see that in addition to thinking yourself humorous, you are mistaken in believing yourself clever. Do you plan to fool me, Elyana?"
She leaned forward and lowered her voice. Her speech slowed and lost its sarcastic edge. "I think that you are a man who seizes an opportunity, Inspector. Especially an opportunity to advance the state." She glanced back toward the guards, then met his eyes. She was now a model of restraint. "Both you and I know that there is no hope for me in regards to clemency, but there is no harm, is there, in changing the manner I am housed, so long as I remain a prisoner doomed to execution?"
He studied her a moment, then spoke slowly. "Go on."
"I suggest a more comfortable room for myself and my companion—who, I might add, is guilty of nothing other than being wounded by a Galtan wyvern."
"Anyone found in your company has guilt enough."
"I assumed you would see things that way. A room, then, with clean linens and beds. A final day to reflect in prayer, and water for baths, and well-cooked meals. Not prison slop; meals a man such as yourself might eat."
"That is asking a great deal, madam," Ledarr said. "What would the state receive in return for an outlay extended to a spy and traitoress such as yourself?"<
br />
"What do you want to know?"
"I desire to know ...everything. And I will make no bargains." Ledarr raised something from below the desk and set it before her with a thunk. When he unwrapped his fingers he revealed a small statue of a woman holding a sword aloft. Elyana knew the moment she set her eyes upon the thing that it was a charm.
"Now," Ledarr said affably, "I will hand you documents and you will sign, confessing your guilt. And then you will tell me anything I wish to ask."
Ledarr twisted the papers stacked neatly on the left-hand side of his desk so that they faced Elyana, then pulled free a quill pen from its inkwell and brandished it, offering it feather end first.
Elyana felt the pull of the statue and knew its exhortation. Someone had placed a crude compulsion upon the thing. Blunt, powerful, it demanded obedience and invoked love of the state and its agents.
"Are you ready to sign?" Ledarr asked, practically purring. He then added: "Do you now regret bringing harm to the state? If you wish to profess your love to lady liberty and myself, her agent, you have my permission to kneel."
"The state," Elyana said, "is a pox-ridden, mummified harlot and you are a worm writhing within her."
Ledarr's face reddened in rage. He shot to his feet. "Look at the statuette!"
"I am looking."
She heard the guards rustle behind her and managed to sound reasonable even as they seized her shoulders. "Doesn't your poster tell you that I'm immune to charms?"
In point of fact, she wasn't, not so far as Elyana knew. She was certain that prolonged exposure to the figurine would see her confessing to whatever Ledarr desired. So she bluffed.
Her delivery was so calm and assured that Ledarr appeared to believe her. His eyes all but bugged from his head and his lips struggled to frame words. The guards held Elyana and watched him, awaiting orders.
"Take her back to her cell," the inspector decided finally. He scowled. "We'll see how funny you think this is when the Gray Gardener returns to question you!"
Elyana smiled at him as she was led away. Two more guards waited outside, for a total of four, including the one with the crossbow. Together they marched her back. She was tempted to move against them; tired as she was, she still might be able to take them, so long as she could trip one into the path of the crossbowman. But if Vallyn had escaped, she knew that he'd already have a plan in progress. She decided to give him a little time.
Plague of Shadows Page 11
