Lord Dessaer was a tall half-elf with golden hair and pale skin with a faint bronze hue to it. He was well-muscled for a male, nearly as big as Ryld, and he wore a breastplate of gleaming gold with noble accoutrements.
“Remove her gag, too,” the elf lord said. “She’ll have little to say otherwise.”
“Careful, my lord,” spoke the captor beside her, whom Halisstra saw was the black-bearded human she’d fought in the forest. “She knows something of the bard’s arts, and may be able to speak a spell with her hands bound.”
“I will exercise all due caution, Curnil.” The lord of the hall moved closer, gazing thoughtfully into Halisstra’s blood-red eyes, and said, “So, what shall we call you?”
Halisstra stood mute.
“Are you Auzkovyn or Jaelre?” Dessaer asked.
“I am not of House Jaelre,” she said. “I do not know of the other House you name.”
Lord Dessaer exchanged a worried glance with his advisors.
“You belong to a third faction, then?”
“I was traveling with a small company, on a trade mission,” she replied. “We sought no trouble with surface dwellers.”
“A drow’s word is regarded with some skepticism in these lands,” Dessaer replied. “If you’re not Auzkovyn or Jaelre, then what was your business in Cormanthor?”
“As I said, it was a trade mission,” Halisstra lied.
“Indeed,” drawled Dessaer. “Cormanthor was not entirely abandoned during the Retreat, and my people object strongly to the drow effort to seize our old homeland. Now, I would like to know who exactly you and your companions are, and what you were doing in our forest.”
“Our business is our own,” Halisstra answered. “We intend no harm for any surface folk, and mean to be gone from this place as soon as our business is done.”
“So I should simply allow you to go free, is that it?”
“You would do yourself no harm if you did so.”
“My warriors engage in deadly battles every day against your kind,” Dessaer said. “Even if you say you have nothing to do with the Jaelre or the Auzkovyn, that doesn’t mean you’re not our enemy. We do not ask quarter of the drow, nor do we extend it to them. Unless you succeed in explaining to my satisfaction why you should be spared, you will be executed.”
The lord of the surface folk folded his arms before his breastplate, and fixed her with a fierce stare.
“Our business is with House Jaelre,” Halisstra said. She drew herself up as best she could with her arms bound behind her. “It does not concern surface elves. As I said before, my company is not here to cause any trouble to you or your people.”
Lord Dessaer sighed, then nodded to Halisstra’s guards.
“Escort the lady to her cell,” he said, “and let us see if she becomes more helpful with some time to fully consider her situation.”
Halisstra’s guards replaced her hood, covering her eyes again. She stood passively and allowed them to do so without protest. If her captors came to expect compliance from her, there was always the chance they might make a mistake and give her a chance to get out of her bonds.
Her guards led her out of the hall and back outdoors again. She could feel the deep chill of the air, and sensed the growing brightness in the sky even through her hood. Dawn was near, and the night was vanishing at the sun’s approach. She wondered if her captors meant to lock her in some open cage, a place where the curious and malcontent could come by to jeer and torment her, but instead they led her into another building and down a short flight of stone steps.
Keys jangled, a heavy door creaked open, and she was led through. Her hands were unbound, only to be secured again in heavy iron manacles as rough hands maneuvered her into place.
“Listen well, drow,” a voice said. “You will be unhooded and ungagged, at Lord Dessaer’s command. However, the first time you attempt to work a spell, you will be fitted with a steel muzzle and hooded so closely you will labor for every breath. We don’t go out of our way to mistreat prisoners, but we’ll repay every trouble you cause us threefold. If we have to break your limbs and shatter your jaw to keep you docile, we will.”
Her hood was removed. Halisstra blinked in the bright cell, illuminated by a hot beam of sunlight pouring in from a grate up in one corner. Several armed guards watched her carefully for any sign of trouble. She simply ignored them and allowed herself to slump against the wall. Her hands were chained together tightly, and the manacles were bound to a secure anchor in the ceiling, cleverly designed to take in any slack.
The guards left her half a loaf of some kind of crusty, gold-brown bread and a soft leather jack of cool water, and they exited the cell. The door was riveted iron plate, evidently locked and barred from outside.
So what now? she wondered, staring at the opposite wall.
From what little she’d seen of the surface town, Halisstra suspected that her comrades could break her out easily enough with a determined effort.
“Hardly likely,” Halisstra muttered to herself.
She was a Houseless outcast whose usefulness did not overcome the simple fact that, as the eldest daughter of a high House, she stood as Quenthel’s most dangerous rival in the band. The Mistress of the Academy would be only too happy to abandon Halisstra to whatever fate awaited her.
Who would argue against Quenthel on her behalf?
Danifae? Halisstra thought.
She allowed her head to drop to her chest and she laughed softly and bitterly. I must be desperate indeed, to hope for Danifae’s compassion, she thought. Once dragged off as a battle captive herself, Danifae would find the situation deliciously, perfectly ironic. The binding spell wouldn’t let Danifae raise a hand against her, but without specific instructions, the battle captive would not be compelled to seek her out.
With nothing else to do but stare at the wall, Halisstra decided to close her eyes and rest. She still ached in calf, torso, and jaw from the injuries she’d sustained in her desperate last stand. As much as she longed to use the bae’qeshel songs to heal herself, she dared not. The pain would have to be endured.
With a simple mental exercise she distanced her mind from her body’s pain and fatigue, and slipped deep into Reverie.
In Dessaer’s audience hall, the half-elf lord watched his soldiers lead the dark elf away while he stroked his beard thoughtfully.
“So, Seyll,” he said, “What do you make of this?”
From behind a hidden screen a slender form in a skirt and jacket of embroidered green glided forward. She was a full-blooded elf, thin and graceful—and she was also a drow, her skin black as ink, the irises of her eyes a startling red. She moved close to Dessaer and gazed after the departing soldiers with their hooded captive.
“I think she’s telling the truth,” she said. “At least, she’s not a Jaelre or an Auzkovyn.”
“What shall I do with her?” the lord asked. “She killed Harvaldor, and she damned near killed Fandar as well.”
“With Eilistraee’s grace, I will restore Harvaldor to life and heal Fandar,” the drow woman said. “Besides, is it not the case that Curnil’s patrol attacked her and her companions on sight? She was simply defending herself.”
Dessaer raised an eyebrow in surprise and glanced at Seyll.
“You intend to give her your goddess’s message?”
“It is my sacred duty,” Seyll replied. “After all, until it was given to me, I was very much like her.”
She inclined her head to indicate the absent prisoner.
“She’s a proud one from a high House,” Dessaer said. “I doubt she’ll care to hear Eilistraee’s words.” He rested a hand on the drow priestess’s shoulder. “Be careful, Seyll. She’ll say or do anything to get you to lower your guard, and if you do, she’ll kill you if you stand between her and freedom.”