57. Chapter 57
CHAPTER 57
Rawn
B efore Rawn opened his eyes, he knew where he was. He felt it. The arid, warm air felt suffocating against his skin. It dried out his lungs and coated his mouth with sand. He tried to swallow but his throat clamped, making him cough. Then he winced at the pain that throbbed in his jaw.
He didn’t want to look. Because he knew when he opened his eyes, he would no longer see the waters of Naiads Mere, but the barren sands of the end.
Rawn had to blink several times to clear his vision. Elon sat across from him, his hands and ankles bound in chains, and with a blackened eye. His amber gaze had fixed on something past the bars with a look of dread on his face.
“We are here…” Elon said under his breath.
Those three words sent a chill through Rawn. He gathered his nerve and looked up at the Erdas Mountains, which marked the border of Red Highland. The sharp peeks rose like red fangs against the sunset, lipped by a massive wall of stone the color of clay.
“The West Wall…” Rawn rasped, his eyes growing wide.
That meant they were in the Covenant Pass between Red Highland and Greenwood. A barren stretch with naught a thing but rock and sand. The only place elves were protected beneath the immunity law of the covenant between their kingdoms.
“Don’t look,” Elon warned next, but Rawn couldn’t stop himself.
He whipped his head around to the east, catching a hazy glimpse of another wall on the horizon. Constructed of gray stone, coated in a hint of green. He might have cried if not for a lack of water.
He tried to sit up, but the chains wrapped around his arms and legs made it difficult. Still he moved 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 had not been this close to them in twenty years.
“Rawn,” Elon hissed under his breath.
The carriage cell jerked to a stop 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, then you must find the hollow in the east tunnels. It is hidden behind a stack of barrels. Once you go through, it will drop you into the tunnels. From there, it’s twenty miles 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 acceptance on his face. “Don’t 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 then?—
“Ah yes, there it is. The same look every prisoner has in this gorge. Hope .” Anon jeered outside for the cell as he rode alongside them. Rawn hadn’t noticed him there and the prince laughed. “Twenty miles between here and Greenwood, so very close . If only you could step foot on the Pass and then you would be on no man’s land, and we could not touch you. Well, gaze upon East Wall, Lord Norrlen. It will be your last glimpse of home.”
Before he could react, Prince Anon waved a glowing hand and his vision went black.
When Rawn woke again, he found himself hanging from a pulley chain suspending him up by his manacles.
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 thorned weed. The chance of escape had been stolen away from him twice already.
Was he going to die here?
No, Rawn wouldn’t allow himself to dwell on it. He had survived near death for the past twenty years, and he was not 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.
This was the first time they left him alone. No better time to break away than now.
He looked up at the iron chains fastened to his manacles. The other end was fastened to the ceiling, leaving him dangling above the ground. 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!”
It was useless. 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.
“No magic can be used here.”
Rawn stiffened. He was never 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 small, cool smile faintly touched the King of Red Highland’s face. His short dark hair was pinned back by his crown, resting just above his pointed ears. He resembled Anon, though his eyes were amber like tree sap. Fine, dark red robes embroidered in gold shrouded his lean frame.
Companying him was another elf. This one older or perhaps he appeared older due to his hunched back, unsightly skin and the few sparse strands clinging to his deformed head.
King Altham watched Rawn intently. “So this is 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, to his people 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.”
The king chuckled. “Oh, I know. Leif must be disappointed that after twenty years of searching, his Red Shade has accomplished nothing but shame.”
Rawn clenched his jaw.
“Nonetheless, you do know where the dragon blades are. As it happens, so do I.”
He wasn’t lying.
It was clear in the steady beat of Altham’s heart. Nor could he contain the triumph from surfacing on his face. “We have long known they were hidden on Mount Ida. What I need is access to them.”
Rawn frowned in confusion. “I … don’t understand.”
Altham sighed boredly. “Already falling on lies?”
“I do not lie.”
“Oh, but you do.” King Altham strode for the brazier and lifted the iron poker. The end glowed molten red, glinting against his eyes. “So we may as well end this quickly by simply telling me what I want to know.” Returning, he held the poker close enough to Rawn’s cheek to feel its scorching heat he flinched back. “Where did you hide it?”
“I do not know what you speak of!”
All amusement faded from Altham’s face. He handed the poker to Grod. “You lie so cleanly I almost believe you,” he said, his tone cooling. “Yet I know you were in Xián Jīng for years, studying the history of the blades and how they were locked away, for my son nearly caught you there when you dropped this .” From his pocket, he drew out an elaborate knot of metal made of brass, bluntly cut off at the end. “Where is the rest of the key?”
“Key?” Rawn stared at it. The metal piece did look like the top of a key, but it was missing the bit of teeth on the end. “I have never seen that before.”
“Cease to play me for the fool. I know you found the bit ten years ago. Where is it now?”
Rawn shook his head. “As I said, I never found a key.”
The only thing his studies in Xián Jīng had produced was discovering where the blades were hidden.
Sighing, the red king tucked the broken key away and crossed his arms behind his back. “I see you will be difficult after all.”
Grod jammed the iron poker into Rawn’s stomach, and it hissed against his skin. He jerked back with a cry. The pain sent a flash of white behind his eyes and he had to breathe sharply through his nose.
“Tell me where,” the red king said again in a flat tone.
“I do not—” Rawn cut off when the iron poker seared against his thigh. He clenched his jaw. Whatever torture he endured, he refused to make a sound.
Bracing, he prayed the God of Urn to give him strength before his feet were burned next. He violently shook, his teeth grinding so tight his face went numb. The scent of cooking flesh wafted in the cell. It made his stomach roll.
Regardless of if whether he knew anything about a key, nothing would have changed. He would never betray his country. To betray Leif was to betray Aerina.
Closing his wet eyes, Rawn pictured the rolling green knolls of Sellav and the sweet scent of the crimson blooms on the fields. He pictured the path of his estate and wife waiting at the gate. In her arms she held their son. She lifted a hand and waved; her smile as bright as any sun.
But the fire came again.
And again.
It blistered his flesh, striking him to the bone.
His resolve broke and screams tore from Rawn’s throat. They echoed through the dungeon until he couldn’t scream anymore.