“I think I was the only one they were really after.”
“Why’s that?” Narissa demanded, scowling in his direction. “What makes you so specially deserving of the Tower’s attention? And what’s that thing around your neck?
Ferrin rubbed at the collar. “You haven’t seen one these before?” Was he the only one?
“A couple of the others had them on when they arrived,” Rascal said from the front, “but they’re in the other wagons.”
Ferrin shook his head. “I don’t know why I was singled out. From what Goat Face over there said, they were apparently looking for me in particular.”
Sasha giggled at Ferrin’s name for Captain Hatch.
“How’d they find you?” Rascal asked. He put his arm around the young girl, and she leaned her head against his shoulder.
“I was betrayed by someone I thought I could trust.”
“Aha! You see, I told you!” Narissa wore a broad smile of vindication. “You can’t trust anyone. When I get home and get my hands on him . . .” Her words faded as she contemplated the rest of what she had planned for her husband.
Sora released Brennon’s arm to get a better look at Ferrin’s collar. “What special gift landed you on their list?”
Brennon reached out to touch it. “Mind if I . . .”
Ferrin shook his head and Brennon felt along the edge. “Hmm, it doesn’t seem to have an opening. How did they get it around your neck? It looks to have been crafted with you in it.”
Ferrin ran his fingers around the outer rim. It was the first time he’d been given a chance to examine it. Like Brennon said, he couldn’t find a joint. His one glimpse of the collar before they had placed it around his neck had shown it to have a hinged opening, but it wasn’t there anymore. He wondered if it could even come off. He couldn’t imagine being forced to live with its weight around his neck for the rest of his life.
“I think it has magical properties,” he said, trying not to panic at the thought of it never coming off.
The others scooted closer as well, eager to see and touch it. Ferin was starting to feel a bit claustrophobic as they gathered around. He edged back toward the corner, and they seemed to get the idea and retook their seats along the outer edge of the wagon.
He gave the metal a couple of desperate tugs, then gave up. “They called it a durma collar, said that it was made back during the time of the Fae. It’s supposed to keep wielders from using their magic.”
“What’s it feel like?” Telsa asked from seat next to Sora. She was one of the only ones who had gotten up to take a closer look.
“It’s strange. I can feel my magic, but I can’t use it. In fact, I’ve never felt its presence as strongly as I do right now.” He touched the metal with his magic once more, trying to find some way to release the collar, but with no affect. “It’s just out of reach.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what is your gift?” Rascal asked, repeating Sora’s earlier inquiry.
“Sorry, I’m a metallurgist.”
“Ah.” Rascal nodded. “I was wondering why Hatch had ordered his men to leave their swords behind before entering the city. Now I understand the use of the . . . durma, as you call it. I imagine it would be rather difficult to transport a prisoner who could turn his prison into a weapon.”
Yes, the captain had proven quite resourceful when it had come to that decision. In fact, everything Ferrin had attempted so far had been thwarted. Maybe these Black Watch weren’t as incapable as he had at first believed. An overwhelming sense of fear washed over him. Getting away might prove more difficult than he had thought.
Chapter 7
THE DAYS SOON melted into weeks as the caravan of wagons slowly made its way south. They followed Tara Springs, skirting the western side of Praxil Lake before heading west around the Razor Spine Mountains into Elondria.
The days were long, but the nights were even longer. Most evenings, the prisoners huddled together to stave off the cold, the awkwardness quickly overcome by the need to survive. The canvas covering their cages only did so much.
Ferrin kept to himself the first night. The others had invited him to share their communal bed, but the thought of crawling in beside a total stranger wasn’t something he cared to try. Besides, his tolerance for the cold was higher than most. But after spending half the night fighting to keep his teeth from chattering and the other half his muscles from cramping, Ferrin was ready to cuddle up next to Narissa.
Hatch kept the convoy to the main roads as much as possible, and those travelers they passed gave them a wide berth. Most kept their eyes down, not wanting to appear too curious. Some made a point to turn around and head back the way they had come.
As the sun dropped low on the horizon behind them, the captain steered the procession off the main road and into a densely sylvan area on the foothills of the Razor Spine. From the conversations Ferrin had gleaned from his captors, they were just north of the city of Syrel.
The path led to an opening in the grove, one that had clearly been used before, by the darkened pit at the center and the pieces of lumber stacked beside it.
The wagons, as usual, were lined in a row near the back and the horses unhitched. Another rope corral was set up on the left of the pit, while the animals were watered and fed, more so than the prisoners.
Ferrin’s stomach was growling at the sight of the horses’ feed bag. If he were to carry one of the guards on his back all day, would they let him eat half as well?
“Supper time,” Prickly said as he tossed a hard crust of bread into the wagon at Ferrin. It bounced off his arm and landed with a thud on the wood planks. Prickly was a short man with a sour disposition, thereby earning him his nickname. He always sat by himself during meals, and anytime any of the other guards spoke to him, they usually received a sharp jibe for their troubles.
Ferrin chewed on the crust of bread as he found a not-so-uncomfortable spot in the corner to watch the guards at work. He studied their movements, their patterns. Which guards had what tasks. Goat Face kept his men well organized.
First, they set up the wagons, then fed and corralled the horses, started the fire, cooked the food, then after they ate, four or five of the men would stand watch while the others were allowed to take some time for themselves in town, which usually consisted of an overly rowdy diversion of hard ale and a good brawl.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Sora said as she leaned against her husband, temporarily diverting Ferrin’s attention away from the men in white. Sora had meant the statement for Brennon, but it had been spoken loud enough to be heard by everyone in the wagon.
“Well, that’s the understatement of the age,” Narissa grumbled.
Ferrin almost chuckled. That sounded like something he would have said.
Brennon came to his wife’s defense. “We need to do something. Each day brings us that much closer to the White Tower. We’re running out of opportunities. I give us, what . . . maybe a week before we reach Iraseth, then another to the Pass of Arnon. Once we reach the pass, escape will be nothing more than a wishful fancy.”
“It’s no use,” Telsa mumbled beside Sora. She was the pessimist of the lot. Her knees were bent, with her arms wrapped tight around them. “There’s no hope. We’re never going to escape. They’re going to kill us all.”
“That’s not helpful,” Beese said irritably, placing an arm around his son. “Keep your opinions to yourself if they’re going to sound like that.” He patted Cory on the shoulder. “You’re frightening some of the others.”