On that throne sat a wizened and imposing dwarf with a star-white, blue-streaked beard. His deep brown eyes were half lost under his bushy eyebrows. A golden, gem-encrusted diadem crowned his white mane with its blue braids. His clothes were no different than the those of the dwarfs who had brought her or those who gathered in the periphery of her vision—lamellar-studded leather tunic, scuffed but sturdy-looking boots.
Dwarfs and fairies weren’t the only ones gathered there. Between the towering columns clustered sharp-eyed brownies, bobbing bald imps, long-nosed warty goblins, even a hulking, yellow-eyed troll.
The dwarf on the throne, Lord Froenz, she supposed, wrapped his thick fingers around the arms of his chair and leaned forward.
“Guilty!” His voice boomed like a man ten times his size. “To the death!”
She tried to speak, but the oily rag, now damp with her spit, only seemed to work itself deeper into her mouth from the effort.
“Wait, my lord,” another voice said.
From the crowd, a limping man in loose linen clothes emerged.
She tensed, going for her knives, but the ropes lashed her hands palm to palm, preventing her from reaching into her shadow’s vault. The only daggers she could throw at Python were from her eyes.
Kaelan remained slumped on the ground beside her, insensate.
“Oracle, step forward.” Lord Froenz waved him towards the throne.
Python offered Magda a snake smile as he approached the dwarf lord, giving Froenz a low bow.
Froenz pinned Python with an obdurate look. “You wish to speak in defense of the convicted?”
Python’s hands flew up. “No, my lord. They are guilty of being Elves.”
A strangled protest came out of her throat, but was ignored.
Froenz continued to watch Python fixedly, waiting.
“But I thought it might behoove you to know that I believe these two may be of some import and may be worth saving... for a time.”
The dwarf lord leaned back, running his hand over his beard.
“Before I was driven out of my home by that bastard Elf King all those years ago, may he and all his heart-places rot in the bellies of the Forgotten Caves...”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the hall.
When it quieted, Python resumed his speech, holding his audience rapt.
“I foretold the coming of a Prince, who would bring about the war against theDökkálfarthat we have long waited for. The one who would see the Throne bow.”
A raucous cheer greeted this. Even Froenz’s eyes took on a happy twinkle. At that moment, something warm and soft brushed up against her hand and along her back.
Hero.
Everyone was too busy pumping their fists, cheering the mention of war. No one seemed to notice the rat burrowing between her back and hands.
Delirious at his appearance, she imparted an image of the pile of bread to him.
“Oh sure,” he said, as he began chewing into the ropes binding her hands. “Still waiting for the first one.”
She wanted to smile and cry at the same time. Even if she managed to free herself, she didn’t know what good it would do her in a hall filled with hundreds of Elf-haters.
Though she probably could’ve spoken telepathically to Hero, she found it easier to impart another image.
Finally, the crowd settled down enough that Python could be heard again.
“As you know,” Python went on, “I made the mistake of telling the King of my vision. I thought soon I would die. I did not realize that the great and strong Lord Batri, 614th ruler of the Petra Islands, would come to my aid.”
