Oberon's Dreams (16 page)

So why had he fought so hard to guard their secret? Why had he lied to Ephitel to protect those who had betrayed him? He chewed his lip, considering, and it was not until he raised his eyes to Maurelle that he found his answer. She huddled in the corner, silent through all the argument between her brother and her captor, but her eyes burned on Corin with a feverish hope—a desperate need to make things right.

And there was his answer. In all this wretched city, they alone dared to defy Ephitel. She saw it in Corin, and he saw it in the druids. Corin had no hope that he might be the man who killed a god, but whatever he could do to serve the druids, if it hobbled Ephitel, he would gladly make the sacrifice.

But what was
he
to do? He’d hoped a plea might be enough to gain him a royal audience, even if it were a trial. With that avenue cut off, he’d have to manage an escape. The raucous clatter of hoofbeats outside the coach’s walls proved Ephitel had kept his word. The prisoner transport traveled with a healthy escort. Easier then to wait until they’d been forgotten in some stinking cell and escape from chains and bars.

It would not be the first time Corin had accomplished such a feat, though he’d never faced a palace dungeon before. He could have some aid from Avery, but—for all the damage they had done Kellen—the reviled soldier still seemed their last, best hope. Corin tried again. “Yeoman Kellen—”

He got no further. Faster than a blink, the soldier drew his sword and pressed its tip to Corin’s throat.

“Not another word,” the soldier said, his voice as hard as the blade’s edge, “or I’ll betray my pledge as your secure steward and likely win a commendation for it.”

“That you would,” Avery said softly, sounding a bit impressed. “You very likely would.”

Corin held his tongue. A moment later Kellen nodded, satisfied, and laid the blade across his knees. He didn’t sheathe it, and no one spoke for the rest of the rattling ride.

When they stopped at last, the open doors revealed not the grand front gates or a majestic palace entrance, but a barred and fortified carriage yard somewhere else within the palace grounds. Somewhere far more…military.

The escort was there as Ephitel had promised it would be—easily half a hundred men, crowding the courtyard and bristling with pikes and crossbows, all of them aimed at the three prisoners. Ephitel himself came forward to watch the prisoners leave the carriage. Corin watched him, wary. The strutting lord should have gone off to see the king. It was unsettling to see him here.

Kellen was the last out, and he stumbled when he saw the lord protector. “My…my lord! I understood that you intended to go directly to the king.”

Ephitel didn’t meet the soldier’s eyes, but still he answered. “I have had time upon the journey to reconsider. I would prefer to have some answers from the miscreants before I attempt to make a report to Oberon. Come.”

He turned, and the crowd of soldiers opened a path to a heavy door, barred in iron and secured by half a dozen locks. It opened with a groan and revealed a stairway walled with stone that plunged down into the darkness underneath the palace. The soldiers jostled Corin, Maurelle, and Avery until the prisoners fell into a single-file line, which was all the narrow stairway would allow. Yeoman Kellen went on ahead, Corin close behind him, and from the sound of footsteps Corin knew that only one more escort accompanied the brother and sister behind him. He never doubted who that might be.

Once or twice along the long descent, Corin passed a narrow landing before the path turned back and down. At each such landing, a pair of wardens stood attentive beyond a gate of iron bars, armed with heavy crossbows more than able to cut down any prisoner attempting an escape from below. Down and down they went, deep beneath the earth, until at last Corin stepped onto a landing that had no further descent. Here, too, a gate looked out onto the landing, and Kellen approached it with all the dignity and authority Ephitel had denied him before.

He saluted the two wardens standing watch, then called out in a strong, clear voice, “Three prisoners, upon the mercy of the king, arrested under order of Lord Ephitel for breach of peace.”

In the wider landing, Avery stepped up beside Corin. He spoke under his breath. “I could garrote him with his own elven cord. How funny would that be? I guarantee those guards would only watch and laugh.”

Maurelle stepped up beside Avery and clutched at his arm. Irritation and worry creased the lordling’s brow. It only grew worse when Ephitel stepped past them and into the wardens’ torchlight.

“Calm yourself, Kellen,” Ephitel said smoothly. To the wardens, he said, “These are troublemakers who must be well watched. And I count not three, but four.”

“My lord?” Kellen asked, a quaver in his voice.

“As I said, I had time upon the journey to consider. What I discovered looked too much like a plot. Five good men rode with you to bring back my druid and my elf. Five of them are convalescing now, sick with druid poison. But you alone suffered only superficial blows—”

“They were hardly superficial! I’ll vow I’ve suffered more than those sleeping from a nettle’s sting.”

“Yet you were not incapacitated, when all the others were. You stink of complicity.”

Kellen trembled with a futile rage. “I
detest
these criminals.”

“And we return the sentiment,” Avery offered.

Ephitel casually backhanded the gentleman, never moving his gaze from Kellen. “Yeoman, I cannot believe that one manling vagabond and the worthless daughter of a dishonored house might have overcome a squad of my best men. Not without some aid.”

“I would never—”

“Nonetheless,” Ephitel said, “this matter bears close scrutiny, and I will not risk your liberty before it is settled. Find a cell.”

Ephitel nodded to the wardens. They turned a heavy key and swung wide the landing’s gate. Kellen stood for a moment, jaw working without words, then turned on his heel and slunk through the open gate. Beyond, a narrow passage separated half a dozen tiny cells, all empty. Kellen chose the second from the left, trudged inside, and slammed the heavy iron door behind him.

Ephitel turned back to the jailers. “Lock them up. But not this one. I would have a word with him yet.” He caught Corin by the collarbone and dragged him some short distance back toward the stairs. There was no room for privacy—this place was not designed for such things—but Ephitel cast an imperious gaze around the landing, and the wardens at least pretended not to be listening.

If Ephitel was even talking to him, Corin had a chance. But even absent Kellen’s sad display, Corin knew better than to play the meek prisoner. Strong men were always brash, and Ephitel’s sort had no respect for any other kind. Corin gave a weary sigh. “What do you want of me?”

“I want you to understand the cost of defying me. Do you see how vagabonds are treated in my city?”

“Your city? I understood it was Oberon’s.”

“The king has tasked me to keep the peace. In this regard, at least, it is my domain.”

“And you show so much attention to every vagabond?”

“Not at all. Most are beaten senseless and left outside the city walls.”

“Hospitable.”

“But most do not walk around with a thousand livres of dwarven powder in their pockets. And none would dare employ it against the innocent patrons of an honest tavern.”

Corin shook his head. “I know of no such powder. But if I did, I would have employed it against you, not the innocent patrons.”

“A dangerous statement,” Ephitel said. “You would not want me for an enemy.”

“And yet I seem to have you all the same.”

Ephitel stepped closer and lowered his voice. “But perhaps you may find another way to employ the dwarven powder.”

Corin frowned. “How is that?”

“For all the threat you pose, for all the damage you have done, I could yet be willing to turn you loose, if you prove useful to me.”

“I have heard offers like this before.”

“Not like this,” Ephitel said. “And never from such as me.”

“What do you require, then?”

“A large supply of dwarven powder.”

“But the city, as you say, is your domain. Can you not acquire that supply yourself?”

“There are…limitations,” Ephitel said. “These same limitations should make it impossible for a manling like you to acquire any such powder at all. And yet you carried a full bag.”

“Did I? I don’t recall.”

“Don’t toy with me. I know you had a hoard of powder. That tells me one of two things: you have a compromising friend among the dwarves, or you have the skills and knowledge to acquire the powder despite them. I would reward you well for either resource.”

“I’m afraid my resources would be of little use to you.”

“Likely,” Ephitel replied. “Likely that small bag was the limit of your abilities, where I need crates. But I have resources of my own. Show me where to start, and I will find reward enough for us all.”

“It’s no small thing you ask of me, to defy the orders of Oberon and betray the secrets of the dwarves.”

“Ah, but yours is no small crime that I am prepared to forgive.”

“I’m sorry, Ephitel. Forgiveness is not reward enough for me.”

The prince lowered his brows. “Then what would satisfy you? A pile of gold? A name? An estate within the city? I can give you all these things.”

“But will you?”

Ephitel showed his teeth in what was meant to be a smile. “I give my word.”

“And all you ask of me?”

“A name. A place. Whatever lead it takes to gain access to their storehouses.”

“You have a deal,” Corin said. “I’ll give you the name for a thousand pistoles.”

Ephitel grinned and clapped his hands together. “A princely sum!”

But Corin shook his head. “That’s not all. You must also free Maurelle and Avery.” He hesitated, then added, “And Yeoman Kellen.”

“The elves are no concern of yours.”

Corin crossed his arms over his chest. “I regret to say that I must insist.”

Ephitel sighed. “Maurelle I can give you. And Kellen, though I cannot imagine why you’d want him. But Avery’s name has already been committed to a warrant. It would be no small matter to arrange his release.”

“Nonetheless, it is a matter you must attend to. I will not leave here without Avery.”

Ephitel narrowed his eyes. “Be careful how you answer me. I am not known for my generosity.”

Corin shrugged. “And I am not known for leaving my crew in dangerous waters. You have my answer.”

“Then I will give you mine,” Ephitel shouted. “You may rot in here forgotten! If I come back for you at all, you will wish I hadn’t.”

While Ephitel swept up the stairs, the jailers came for Corin. He went quietly. There were not cells enough for the guards to fully follow Ephitel’s demands, but they had seen enough of his treatment of Kellen that they did not consider him a true collaborator. So Corin had the first cell on the left and Avery the third with Kellen separating them. Across the corridor, Maurelle had the center cell alone.

The jailers checked the lock on Corin’s door, and all the others’, too, but they seemed easily satisfied. They soon resumed their places by the gate, half-turned to watch the landing and the prisoners at once. Corin waved to them, then took a seat on his narrow cot and leaned his back against the wall, trying hard to look completely unambitious.

Kellen interrupted his pretense. “He means it, you know. You would not be the first to rot, forgotten, in these cells. You should have taken his offer.”

“I have no faith in the promises of Ephitel.”

“Do you hold hope the druids will come save you? They can’t. They have no access to these dungeons.”

Corin shook his head. “They wouldn’t even try.”