Richard Baker - Prince of Ravens

Jack bit back his angry reply. These dark elves were so thrice-cursed unreasonable! He could not imagine the combination of pride, cruelty, and avarice one needed to steal back slaves whose chief offense was successfully escaping. “Your property may think otherwise,” he replied.

Seila was not quite so circumspect in her response. She glared at the drow noblewoman. “I am no one’s property,” she snarled. “You have no right to take me captive, and if you do, you must expect that I will bend every effort to regaining my freedom. What wrong did I ever do to you? You have hundreds of slaves already. What possible reason could you have for kidnapping me again? Or Jack, for that matter? Is this all for spite ?”

“You would do well to remember whom you address, slave,” Sinafae hissed in reply. She stepped forward and struck Seila a back-handed slap that knocked the young noblewoman to the ground. Without even thinking about what he was doing, Jack surged to his feet in anger-only to find two bared blades at his neck an instant later.

Dresimil regarded Seila in silence for a moment, with a small cold smile fixed on her perfect features and a gleam of wicked delight in her eye. She rose gracefully and descended from her seat on the dais, motioning for the guards to raise Seila to her feet. “You do not understand us very well, my dear child,” she purred. “Spite is all the reason we need. Although what you term spite I might call a redress of injury-Jack left behind a good deal of damage and brought about a number of deaths when he made his escape, and as I noted before, my house paid good gold to purchase you from Fetterfist. There is a sound purpose in making certain that no one ever deals us a blow without earning retribution threefold at our hands. Your recapture serves as a highly useful lesson to all my slaves that escape is pointless; we will go to any lengths to take back what is ours.”

Seila slumped in despair. Jack swallowed carefully, conscious of the blades at his neck-a rather ironic predicament, considering how he had treated Cailek Balathorp earlier in the evening. “What do you intend to do with us?” he asked Dresimil.

The drow noblewoman studied Jack and Seila for a long time, her smile growing wide and cruel. “As it turns out, I have little further need of Seila Norwood,” she said. “She was useful for ensuring that her father made no attempt to drive me from my castle. But now my brothers inform me that the repairs to our old mythal stone are complete; our defensive enchantments will soon ring us in walls of magic that Norwood and all the rest of the foolish lords of Raven’s Bluff will be completely unable to assail. In any event, it seems that dear Fetterfist is smitten with Seila’s charms in his own way, and he has asked for her. I am inclined to indulge him.” Seila drew a deep breath and looked down at the floor, her shoulders quivering as she stifled a sob.

Dresimil laughed softly at the girl’s distress, and turned her attention to Jack. “As for you, my Lord Wildhame … I believe that we can take some steps to better fit you for your duties in the rothe fields. Although I shall miss our interesting conversations, I believe we will begin by removing your tongue. We will leave you enough of your fingers to grasp a shovel. And I think we will secure you to a chain and stake, so that you do not wander from your assigned place. You have much toil to repay before we consider your release, however that might come to pass. You are an inventive fellow; perhaps you will think of something … entertaining.”

Despite his effort to remain uncowed, Jack’s mouth went dry as dust and his knees almost failed him. He tried to speak and found himself unable to say anything at all-not a plea for mercy, a barbed insult, or a witty rejoinder came to mind. Seila looked up at him in horror as Dresimil finished her sentence.

“Lord Wildhame seems overcome,” Jaeren remarked. “A pity. I’d hoped for some small jest or perhaps a trenchant observation at this point. Ah, well.”

He motioned to the guards accompanying Jack, who moved to secure his arms and drag him off … but at that moment a drow soldier hurried into the throne room and approached Dresimil. The fellow bowed to the noblewoman and spoke swiftly in the liquid tongue of the drow. Dresimil’s eyes narrowed, and she straightened in her seat, responding with a sharp question or comment, which the messenger replied to at length. She then dismissed him with a wave of her hand and spoke softly with her brothers. Jack could only make out a few snippets of the conversation-“humans,” “warriors,” and perhaps “tunnels” or “caverns”-but the guards who had been about to drag him away halted and waited on their mistress.

Somehow Jack found the courage to speak. “Unexpected news, my lady?” he asked.

Dresimil glanced back to him, and her smile this time was without any humor at all. “It seems that our little foray against Blackwood Manor has provoked a reprisal. We anticipated this possibility, of course, and prepared a suitable reception. The mythal is my web, and Lord Norwood is ready to play the fly to my spider. We all know how that turns out, do we not?” She motioned to the guards holding Jack and Seila. “Take them back to their cells until we are ready to continue, and watch them carefully. If Wildhame offers you any trouble, torment the girl and make sure that he can hear her every cry.”

“Yes, my lady,” the guards answered. They seized Jack by the arms and spun him around, then marched him back down to the dungeon again, with Seila just a few steps behind.

Jack passed the next hour pacing restlessly in his cell. This time he was held several doors down from Seila, unable to see her or speak with her. From time to time he tugged at the ring of negation, hoping to find it no longer fixed on his finger, but the thing refused to budge. That was unfortunate, to say the least; he had not counted on being unable to work magic at all. In fact, he might have thought twice about walking nonchalantly into the arms of the dark elves if he’d known his magic could so easily be neutralized. “Somehow I must find a reason to convince the dark elves to remove the ring,” he decided. “My prospects would be much more promising without it.”

His reflections were interrupted by the rattle and clatter of the dungeon door opening and the footfalls of his jailors. Jack moved closer to the bars to peer down the corridor, wondering if the dark elves were bringing a brazier of coals and a sharp knife to begin the work Dresimil had promised for him … but instead the slaver Cailek Balathorp strode into the dungeon. The tall, straw-haired lord had changed into the black leathers he favored in his guise as Fetterfist, and wore proudly the half-hood Jack had taken from him. He paused by Jack’s cell and regarded Jack with a very unpleasant smile on his face. “Now this is gratifying,” the slaver remarked. “I have quite a score to settle with you, Ravenwild. I doubt the dark elves will leave me much to work with, but never fear-if you are worried that I will be shortchanged, well, I have some very special arrangements in mind for Seila Norwood.”

Jack glared at the renegade lord. He started to compose the darkest and most dreadful threat he could think of, but stopped himself; there was little point in making any promises of vengeance in his current situation. Instead he decided to appeal to the man’s greed. “Ransom Seila back to her father,” he said. “She’s worth far more to you whole and unhurt. Norwood will pay a fortune for her return.”

“I expect that he will, and I may do as you suggest … after I have a little sport first.” The slaver grinned and started to turn away.