The wheel hit a large rock and jostled Dal around the interior of the wagon. So far, things had gone pretty much as he expected. He’d been dragged from the inn under heavy guard then tucked away like baggage in the back of the cart he’d been brought there in. Two guards were placed inside with him, despite his efforts to still act mostly incapacitated, though most of the symptoms of the blow La’tiera had given him were gone.
They’d traveled for hours, his slim hopes for a possible opportunity to manage an escape attempt never materializing. By the time they reached the city it was late into the day. Out the back, he could see curious passersby wondering at the rickety wagon and the guards surrounding it. All were forcefully discouraged away if they came too close, the wagon never slowing as it rattled through the city streets.
When they finally stopped and then moved again, Dal realized they’d reached the viscount’s keep as he saw the heavy doors close behind them. Guards worked with a set of pulleys to insert the huge bar that would keep all but a determined army out. It would definitely be keeping him in. The viscount was taking no chances.
As soon as the wagon came to yet another teeth-jarring halt, the guards inside with him grabbed him and hauled him out, then hustled him through the manor’s double doors. The hallways were strangely deserted.
A large, burly guard signaled to the two holding him and led them all down several passages then through a carved door that led into a sparse office filled with portraits of grim-faced men.
Someone stood up from a high-backed leather chair, and Dal recognized him as the sergeant who’d captured him. He felt his mouth go dry as another came forward—the stooped form of the viscount.
“So, Sergeant Kern, is this the young man?” Tih’ouren asked.
“Yes, sir.” He sent Dal an acknowledging glance. “The lady was quite concerned for his safety, saying he had been the one to help her escape.”
Tih’ouren said nothing to this, instead turning his attention to the burly guard. “Yor, if you will take charge of our guest?”
The man nodded and, taking Dal’s arm in a grip of iron, dragged him to a nearby chair.
The viscount then turned to the sergeant and his men. “I thank you again for your service and discretion. You may pass my thanks to the rest of your men as well.”
Kern bowed. “It is my honor to serve, sir. If you or the lady ever have need of me…”
“That is quite generous of you. I will keep it in mind.”
Kern gave Dal a parting glance then he and his men took their leave. Tih’ouren watched them go, saying nothing. Dal got the distinct impression a little play had just been put on for the sergeant’s benefit. Now they were only waiting to make sure the dupes were gone before moving on to other, less pleasant matters. He tested his bonds for the umpteenth time, not finding them any looser than before.
“Yor, bring our guest along.”
The vise on Dal’s shoulder released only to grab his arm again and hoist him to his feet.
He was just thinking he might finally be about to get his chance to run when Yor’s coiled fist connected with his unprepared stomach, sending all the wind out of him. Doubled over in pain and trying to regain his breath, Dal suddenly found the guard’s arm wrapped around his neck. He struggled to remain on his feet, wheezing for air, as Yor unceremoniously dragged him forward.
Tih’ouren revealed a partially concealed door at the back of the office and opened it for them to go through. The strong grip around his neck kept Dal laboring to breathe as they entered a narrow hallway and worked their way down several corridors to a flight of stairs leading down. The air cooled as they descended, a musty smell rising all around them. Their pace was slow, to accommodate the viscount, but steady.
They went through several doors, finally stopping at one he heard being opened with a rattle of keys. Tih’ouren picked up a lit torch and led the way. The new corridor was full of old acrid odors that made their way into Dal’s still-struggling lungs. He recognized one of the smells right away—it was the stink of old fear.
Without warning, Yor’s hold on his neck disappeared, and he was shoved through a dark doorway. Honed reflexes kicked in, and Dal tucked and rolled on the hard floor, coming back to his feet. Dry hay crunched beneath him, and a feeling of close walls surrounded him.
He went into a half-crouch, his heart thumping, taking in great lungfuls of air, knowing this would be where the unpleasantness would begin.
Yor came in, a nasty grin on his face. Tih’ouren followed, closing the cell door.
“You might as well kill me now because I won’t tell you anything.” Dal hoped his voice wasn’t shaking but couldn’t tell. La’tiera wasn’t the only one who could be stubborn about her duty.
Tih’ouren’s thin white brow rose, amusement tugging at the edge of his lined mouth. “While information would be appreciated, I doubt you have anything truly useful you could tell me I couldn’t find by other means.”
Dal flinched, knowing he was right. More than likely all he needed to do was ask La’tiera.
“But do not worry, you won’t be dying. At least not presently.” The viscount leaned forward on his cane. “I can’t run the risk she might somehow sense your demise, you see. La’tiera is like a daughter to me, and it would pain me for her to suffer unnecessarily.”
Dal couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “If that’s true, then why are you doing this to her?”
Tih’ouren frowned. “To her? For her would be more accurate. I’ve given her the best life I know how. Raised her from her common blood to treat her as a true noble, my own flesh and blood. Now I will give her the gift of leaving this world in the prime of her life. She will never know the debilitation of age or disease. She will depart never having the sour taste of knowing what time took from her.”
Dal shook his head, appalled. “So, you’re going to destroy the world just so she can die young?”
Tih’ouren sighed, as if Dal were a dull student. “No, poor fool. That is but a side benefit of what I do. For when she leaves us in her prime, I plan to regain mine again forever.”
“If that’s what they’ve promised you, it’s a total lie.” He couldn’t quite keep the disgust from his voice. “They’ll kill you like they will destroy the rest of us—without a second thought.”
“Why must the young always think they know everything?” Tih’ouren sent an askew glance at Yor before his scathing glare returned to Dal. “I’m not a total fool, peasant. First, you forget their kind have kept their word for thousands of years. Their covenant with the Four—”
“They haven’t had a choice! The Four Gods have kept them in check!”
Tih’ouren’s face darkened with displeasure at being interrupted. “Second, there are ways to bind their kind, to hold them to a spot despite the open gateway. They could come into our world but not go out and see it, not until they gave me what was agreed on.” He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Once I have what I want, I will force them back through the gate. If I can’t, I will use my new powers to save whom I can. There will be survivors. Humanity will just have to learn to live hand-in-hand with them.”
“You’re mad!” Dal thought of throwing himself forward, of somehow killing this lunatic, but Yor shifted between them, anticipating just such a move.
The viscount’s face grew hard. “I should have known better than to expect one such as you to understand.” He turned to the guard. “Perhaps a lesson in manners regarding his betters is in order.”
Yor took a step forward, showing yellowed teeth. The sound of cracking knuckles echoed in the small space.
Dal backed up to give himself room, but there wasn’t any.
“Don’t break anything. We’ve gone too far to take any risks at this point. But do make sure he understands the importance of respecting his betters.”