After that…
Nothing happens. The opening gets no bigger, nobody comes through it, and no hint is given as to who’s giving us access or what we’ll find on the other side.
“I go first,” Merc says as he urges his steed forward.
I don’t argue with him this time, mostly because I don’t want either of us to be distracted. Lavante is ready to go, as always, trotting in place as we proceed at a cautious walk. When I finally get a look at what awaits us—
My delight knows no bounds. The undulating field ahead is just a profusion of blooms, the beautiful specimens possessing every color of the rainbow. And beyond them? A marble city, gleaming and white in the declining sun. It’s four times the size of the one that lies in ruins in the ocean valley, the very picture of what that ancient metropolis must have been like in its heyday.
And now I am on the other side of the gate, standing in a chute created by a forest rim having been cut back and kept clear, no doubt for occasions such as this.
Immediately, the screaming metal-on-metal sounds repeat, and then comes the thunder followed by the earthquake, once again. But now there is something else. A squeaking.
Glancing over my shoulder, I see that a huge bar is being pushed into place, extending across the center vertical pillar. Surely it must be getting moved by men, but there is a cascade of ivy draping down the sides of the mountain, and whoever is working is underneath its extravagant fall.
There’s a finality as the bolt fits into its socket, the stasis returned. But in spite of the beautiful field that unfurls before me, and the fragrance in my nose, I don’t feel protected. I feel imprisoned—
The guards come from out of the trees. They’re on horseback and on foot, the former with spears, the latter with swords. Their uniforms are dark blue and tailored, with gold details, and a crest over the left pectoral, and their caps are set on tightly shorn haircuts of various shades of brown and black.
We’re surrounded before we can even attempt a getaway, and then no one moves. Not them, not us.
What clearly is an authority emerges down the wall of green ivy, as if he’s descending from some kind of hidden facility there, and when he hits the ground, he strides over at a lazy pace, arrogance preceding him with the thrust of his narrowed jaw and the slash of his lips.
I gather he’s in charge, for the guards part to accommodate his approach, and then close ranks in his wake when he nods at them with an arching glare.
His eyes pass over Merc… and lock on me. I hate the way he looks me up and down, the banked speculation on his face the last thing I ever want to see.
“You have trespassed upon the land of the Queen of Sudaland,” he says in a deeply accented voice. “I am placing you under arrest and you shall be tried accordingly—”
Merc’s voice cuts through the posturing. “You have no right to detain us—”
The officer takes out a pistol and shoots Merc in the chest.
As I start to scream, I hear the soldier say, “The woman is mine. You know where to take her.”
Seventy-FourOf Dungeons and Cells.
As I’m dragged along with my hands tied behind my back, there’s a bag over my head that smells ofwoodleroot, and the weave of it is tight enough to hamper my vision, but loose enough to let enough air in so I can hyperventilate without losing consciousness. I don’t know how far I’ve gone or what’s going to be done to me, but I know that Merc is dead and—
The shove pitches me forward, and I land face-first in a rancid puddle. There’s a clanking that suggests bars are being locked into place, and then a rattling of keys and fierce conversation between two men. Footsteps recede, after which all I hear is the dripping of water somewhere close by and the squeak of a rat.
Lifting my aching head, I shake myself to get the wet patch of the bag away from my nose and mouth. With my hands immobilized, there’s no way of taking it off. My feet are untethered, though, so I’m able to maneuver myself into a sitting position. I don’t trust myself to stand up for so many reasons.
“Merc…” I whisper between heaving breaths.
I can still see him slump over in the saddle, his broadsword falling from his hand. I kept screaming until Lavante was caught with a lasso and I was dragged off him and struck on the back of the head. I came to in some sort of carriage or cart, and then I was yanked off and made to walk. I knew we were going underground by the tilt and the musty smell, but other than that?
Now I am here, wherever this dungeon is, and the way I turn my head to look around is nothing but habit, a waste of effort—
“There’s no way out, I’m afraid.”
I shuffle around on my bottom toward the taunting male voice. It’s the ranking soldier, and he’s very close by, so I guess he’s locked us both in together. When I hear a creak of wood, I guess he’s sitting down in a chair.
Sure enough, his words come to me from a slightly lower position, his accent making brisk work of the syllables. “What is your name?”
“Take off this hood,” I say. “Release my hands.”
“You’re not in a position to make demands.” There’s another creak and I picture him leaning forward. “You could ask politely, however. Or perhaps even better… beg.”
