The chains shackling his wrist and ankles made it difficult to sit. Rawn scooted closer to the bars, anguish swarming in his chest. His family was right there on the other side of that wall. Nearly a leap away.
He hadn’t been this close to them in years.
“Norrlen,” Elon hissed under his breath.
The carriage cell jerked to a halt, and the driver cursed. A snap of the whip punished the neighing horses, and the carriage jostled onward over the uneven earth.
“Rawn, listen to me.” Elon kicked his leg, but he didn’t want to look away from the only connection to his family. “When they take us to the Blood Keep, I will likely be the first to die.” It was the resolve in his voice that finally caught Rawn’s attention. “I betrayed the crown. There is no chance for me. But if you can escape, find the hollow at the end of the northern tunnels. It is hidden behind a stack of barrels. Once you go through, it will drop you into the cavern below. From there, it’s a day's walk to the nearest waterway.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I need to know you will find Sylar when you make it out.”
Rawn read the resolve on his face. “We cannot give up yet, Elon.”
Because freedom was right there, within reach. He could make it. All he had to do was wait until the guards opened the door again, and?—
“Ah, there it is.” Anon jeered outside the cell as he rode alongside them. Rawn hadn’t noticed him there, and the prince laughed. “You have the same look every prisoner has when crossing this gorge—hope. Thirty miles between here and Greenwood.So very close. If only you could step foot on the Covenant Pass, and then you would be on no man’s land, and we could not touch you. Well, gaze upon the East Wall, Norrlen. It will be your last glimpse of home.”
Then Prince Anon waved a glowing orange hand over Rawn’s face, and his vision went black.
When Rawn woke again,he found himself hanging from a pulley chain suspending him off the ground by his shackles. He was no longer in the cell. At least not one on wheels.
There was nothing significant about the room they put him in except it was round and carved out of red stone. The air was cold here. Sunless. No light, save for two torches on the walls on opposite ends and a lit brazier in the corner. They had stripped him to his torn trousers, leaving his chest and feet bare.
And he was alone.
Rawn’s heart rate sped, and devastation hammered against his chest. He was beneath the Blood Keep. Fear seeded itself inside of him like a thorny weed. The chance of escape had been stolen away from him twice already.
His breath caught when his peripherals caught the sight of the wall on his left. Hundreds of pieces of desiccated flesh bearing tattoos of Greenwood’s sigil were pinned there. Flesh of all those who fell before him.
Was he going to die here?
Rawn banished those thoughts. He had survived near death for the past twenty years, and he wasn’t about to relinquish his life now. There was only one thing the Red Highland King wanted from him, and Rawn knew what they would do to him to get it. Elon was likely dead now. Whatever they did to him, he would suffer the same if he couldn’t escape.
This was the first time they left him alone. No better time to break away than now.
He studied his shackles. It wouldn’t be difficult to remove these at all.
“Are’bil,”Rawn murmured. But the usual teal glow of his Essence didn’t spark in response to the liberation spell.“Are’bil,”he said again, more insistent.“Latem es’repmor are’bil!”
No … the air held no natural life-force for him to draw on. But even the dry earth should have had... Rawn’s heart sank when he noticed the old warding spells carved into the walls.
“Magic will not work here.”
Rawn stiffened. He hadn’t been alone.
The scuff of boots over sand neared as another came out from behind him. It was an elf Rawn had never met before, but he recognized him all the same.
“King Altham...”
A gold circlet pinned back his dark hair, resting above his pointed ears. He resembled Anon, though his eyes were amber like tree sap. Fine, dark garnet robes embroidered in gold shrouded his lean frame.
Accompanying the red king was another elf. This one old, or perhaps he appeared older because of his hunched back, unsightly skin, and the few sparse strands clinging to his deformed head.
Altham watched Rawn intently with cool curiosity. “So you are the elusive Rawn Norrlen. I have heard much about you.” He flicked a finger toward the hunched elf. “This is Grod, the warden of my Blood Keep. He will oversee your stay here. Which can be pleasant, or it can be very disagreeable.” He shrugged, his tone light and friendly. “That will be up to you, Norrlen. Give me what I desire, and I vow not to harm you. As you know, an elf’s word is his bond.”
Rawn narrowed his eyes. Yes, tohispeople oaths were sacred. Making a promise was akin to making a covenant before the God of Urn. Breaking one was forbidden. But he doubted such things were as sacred in Red Highland. “I do not have the Dragon’s Eye nor the Dragon’s Fang. The blades are lost and have been for hundreds of years. Nothing you do to me will change that.”
