David Farland - Sons of the Oak

Outside the cell, down a hallway, an echoing groan came loudly.

Fallion said, as if he were a lord at a dinner party, “The music does leave something to be desired.”

Blythe peered at him, his eyes glowing with delight. Fallion wondered what message Blythe had come to bear, and realized at last that he had brought none. He’d come only to gloat.

“Mr. Blythe,” Fallion begged. “Can you get…food and water? At least for my brother?”

“What?” Deever Blythe asked. “You tired of chewin’ on your tongue already?”

His teeth were flashing broadly in a smile, half hidden by his scraggly beard. There would be no food or water.

Blythe held his torch loosely.

Fire. So close, so easy to tame. Fallion could feel it calling to him, could feel the rage rising in his chest, the flames ready to leap out.

“Oh, look at that,” Blythe said. “There’s a nice ’ungry rat down in the corner, come to visit ya. Better watch out!”

Fallion hung his head. It wasn’t hard to do. He barely had the energy to lift it anymore.

He saw the rat trundling toward him as it edged along the wall. There were rat bites on his ankle and feet, little red patches already swollen. The wall was slimy and dark between his legs, wet with urine.

The rat nosed around Fallion’s feet, peering up at him, black eyes reflecting the torchlight.

“Go ahead, little feller,” Blythe said, “ ’ave another bite.”

Fallion kicked at the rat, and it backed away an inch. It knew that Fallion couldn’t reach him.

Blythe laughed and lurched down the hall.

Rhianna rode through the green hills by daylight, passing cottages and fields all left fallow, drifting in and out of consciousness. She did not know whether the men who had found her running on the beach were her saviors or captors. She felt tired beyond caring.

She discovered the truth when they reached the palace, and the men took her in and dumped her at the feet of Shadoath.

“Your Highness,” one of the Bright Ones said. “We found her on beach patrol, just north of Port Syndyllian.”

Shadoath studied the young woman, a pretty thing. Not many like her could be found on the island anymore.

Rhianna peered up. Shadoath was easily the most beautiful woman that she’d ever seen. The palace was astonishing, its high windows all draped in white silks, with heart-oak panels upon the walls, and beams all gilt with silver. The room was resplendent, and Shadoath was its crown jewel.

Only one thing marred this picture of perfect beauty. On each side of Shadoath’s tall throne, a strengi-saat was chained like a lion. The beasts slept at the moment, or at least rested lazily, but Rhianna felt certain that they were aware of her.

Rhianna gaped, unsure what to say. Finally she asked, “Where’s Fallion and Jaz? What did you do with them?”

Shadoath walked around to Rhianna, studied her as she circled. “You should be worried about yourself.”

“Please, let me see them,” Rhianna asked. “I’ll do anything.”

“You’re in no position to barter,” Shadoath said. “Do you know what we do with little ones like you?”

Rhianna was afraid to ask.

Shadoath frowned down at her. “We give you to the strengi-saats.”

Rhianna swayed on her feet, nearly fainting, the terror written plainly on her face.

“Are the boys all right?” she begged.

Shadoath made no answer.

Tears filled Rhianna’s eyes. She was trembling. She dropped to one knee, bowed her head, and said, “Please, spare them. I’ll do anything for you. Anything. People don’t think that I can do much, because I’m still just a girl. But I killed a man once, and I could do it again.”

Such a bold declaration was not to be taken lightly.

Shadoath had few servants that she could trust. If this girl feared her enough, she might become a proper tool.

“Give me your hands,” Shadoath asked.

Fearfully, Rhianna held out her hands. Shadoath grasped her wrists and studied Rhianna’s palms.

Yes, I can feel the bloodstains there, Shadoath realized.

“You love these boys?” Shadoath asked.

Rhianna bit her lip and nodded.

“Do you love them enough to die in their place?”

Rhianna nodded again, but more slowly. Too slowly.

From the back of the throne room came the sound of a throat clearing, and Shadoath’s son Abravael said loudly, “Mother, may I have her?”

Shadoath hesitated, turned to her son. He had crept into the room quietly. Sneaking-that was his way.

He was sixteen, still in that awkward period when he was still half a boy but had the lusts of three grown men. Shadoath had no doubts as to what services his son might desire from a pretty young girl.

Rhianna peered up to see Abravael, not nearly as handsome as his mother, come striding into the room. He stared at her, bemused.

In her heart, Rhianna dared to hope that Shadoath would give her to him, let her become his slave. She’d give anything rather than die.

Shadoath got a sly grin on her face, and still holding Rhianna’s hands, said, “I think that you would make a fine servant. I’m not sure that I can trust you completely yet, but there is a fierceness in you that I admire.”

Rhianna tried to force a smile, but failed.

“And so I will give you this one chance: I will teach you the true meaning of devotion. Do you understand?”

Rhianna nodded, for she understood that Shadoath wanted her complete devotion.

“No, you don’t,” Shadoath said. “Not really. Not yet. But soon you will. I want an endowment from you. Do you think you could give up an endowment?”

Rhianna nodded.

Shadoath smiled.

Taking Rhianna by the hand, Shadoath led her deeper into the palace and out the back. There, beside a pool, squatted a young sea ape, a female with long yellow fangs, and hair that was almost as white as snow. She stood perhaps only seven feet at the shoulder, and when she saw Abravael, she rushed to his side and squatted next to him, gently inspecting his skin as if seeking lice.

Total adoration shone in the sea ape’s dark eyes.

“Love without wisdom is useless,” Shadoath said. “I want you to give your endowment of wit to her. She will teach you devotion, and with your help she can learn many things.”

Rhianna nodded slowly. To give an endowment of wit was dangerous. It was supposed to allow the recipient to use a portion of your brain, to give him an expanded memory. The recipient would thus become a genius, while the Dedicate was left an idiot.

There was a danger, Rhianna knew, that the Dedicate would give too much, that she would grant so much of her intelligence that her heart would forget how to beat, her lungs forget how to breathe.

I won’t do that, Rhianna promised herself as a servant brought a facilitator, the wizard who would transfer the endowments.

The facilitator was surprisingly young, dressed in rich robes of deepest crimson. His face had a solemn, drugged look.

“You promise?” Rhianna begged Shadoath. “You’ll spare the boys?”

Rhianna was in no position to make demands. Shadoath could kill her before she blinked her eyes.

“You keep your end of the bargain,” Shadoath said, “and I’ll keep mine.”

Rhianna nodded, and dropped to her knees in submission, for she could do nothing more.

The facilitator had her sit beside the sea ape, peering into its enormous eyes, as he began to sing the incantations, his voice sometimes dropping low and liquid, like the solemn tones of a bell, then piping high and frenzied, like the distraught calls of a mother bird.