"You can take the stairs if you wish. Or you may simply go out that way," she said, pointing to the opening that looked out over the forest. "Many of my lovers simply prefer just to die. I really can't tell about you."
A fury built up inside him, a self-righteous anger similar to the one that had helped him steal while still living in his village. The fury mixed with his lust and he lunged for the bed. He would die, but against her, her thorns tearing him apart.
From the floor, from the walls, sprang half a dozen thorn men, spears in hand. They blocked his way, dragged him to the ground, their thorny arms ripping wildly across his body. J'role gave a shout of pain, and as he opened his mouth he felt the creature take control. He decided not to fight it.
But the queen sensed the danger even as the noise began. She brought her hands reflexively to her ears and commanded, "Silence him!"
Two of the thorn men grappled his face and squeezed his jaw shut. Their thorns raked across his lips and over his eyes, and he tried to scream again, but could not. His tongue, controlled by the creature, moved wildly in his sealed mouth, but no words escaped. His sense of smell was assaulted by the decayed forest life trapped in the bodies of the thorn men.
"Take him to the pit," the queen said. "I will deal with him later."
Blood now rushed over his eyes and he could see nothing. He only felt himself lifted and carried off by the flesh-shredding hands of the queen's guards.
Down the corridors and down the stairs they carried him. Then sunlight filtered through the blood that washed over his tightly shut eyes. He heard the laughter of elves and the chattering of the small, winged creatures, then felt himself tossed into the air. He fell, much longer than he expected, and braced himself for terrible pain. Darkness embraced him as he suddenly slammed into the ground. Though the ground was not hard, the impact still hurt horribly. Adding that to the pain of the queen's thorns and those of her guards, he was left with neither the energy to move nor the desire to do more than keep his eyes shut and fall asleep. And this he did.
J'role woke to the sound of small movements, with little awareness of where he was or how he had gotten there. A slow groan rolled from his throat, and he carefully stretched out his legs and arms. Then he stopped quickly, for even these small motions sent pain cutting through his flesh. He paused to rest, eyes still closed, feeling damp, cool dirt against his cheek.
"Hello?” someone said softly, and he realized it was his own voice, and all the events with the elves came back to him.
J'role opened his eyes, carefully raising his hand before his face for fear of being stunned by bright light. Blood, dried and still sticky, held his eyelids shut for a moment and a panic seized him: would he never see again? But the blood cracked and his eyes opened.
Darkness.
He pulled his hand away from his eyes and discovered that he could just discern his father kneeling over him. Beyond that, nothing. He heard a soft voice, his father's, mumbling over and over, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Your Highness. Please. I'm sorry."
From the acoustics J'role guessed they were in a small room; a cave, perhaps a tunnel.
He closed his eyes, and felt a deep, numbing darkness slide along his body. At the edge of his thoughts he remembered fully what had happened in the queen's bedchamber. His body ached and pain spread over him in odd waves, but he felt a warmth from the memory. He had finally gotten what he wanted. He had hated the queen for sending him away, but he was happy with the gifts she had given-the touch of her skin, cuts from her thorns. All his life he had waited for something like this.
"All your life?" the creature asked coyly.
"No," he said. "Ever since you arrived."
"Yes. And if you liked it, it's because I'm here. I'm glad you appreciated it. I had a delightful time."
But even as J'role drifted off to sleep, he knew the creature was wrong. It had begun when the creature entered his head, but there was something else. The drowsy darkness consumed him, and he fell into a deep sleep before he could remember what that thing was.
Sunlight streamed down a vertical shaft about twenty feet away, creating a circle of gold.
J'role propped himself up and saw that he was resting on the floor of a tunnel that extended out of sight behind him and beyond the circle of light ahead. The shaft was probably where he'd entered the tunnel. He didn't know how he had moved down the corridor away from the shaft. Then he noticed the shallow depression leading up to his own body, and realized someone must have dragged him.
His father sat against the wall of the tunnel, fast; asleep. For the first time since they'd left their village Bevarden seemed peaceful. The tunnels undoubtedly reminded him of the kaer, the place where he had always gone to retreat.
Carefully J'role stretched his limbs. They were still stiff and sore, but did not hurt as much as they had hours earlier. He got up, dizzy, and walked with weak legs to the base of the shaft.
Above him rose a pit about twelve feet across; about twenty feet up, the lip of the pit opened into sunlight and trees. The dirt wall of the pit was lined with tree roots that poked toward the center of the pit. There seemed to be no guards at the top of the pit. Or at least no one staring back down at J'role.
He looked at the tree trunks and realized that even without the thief magic that Garlthik had passed on to him, it would be easy enough to climb out of the pit using the roots as handholds. But with the magic, it would be no problem at all. He smiled inwardly; the elves were in for a surprise if they thought they could keep him in prison!
Hunger chewed at his stomach, but the thought of escaping excited him, and he wanted to get to it as quickly as possible. Finally, he need not depend on anyone but himself. He was the hero of his story.
He moved quickly back to where his father slept, fearful that thinking about the thief magic would make him want to leave Bevarden behind. J'role didn't know what else to do but try to escape and then struggle against the thief magic when he got out.
He decided to wait until nightfall before attempting me escape. Shadows, Garlthik had taught him, are a thief's friend, and J'role wanted as much comfort as possible while trying to climb the pit. Wondering how long the queen had planned to leave them down in the tunnels, it suddenly occurred to him that she might never have thought of letting them out. She had probably forgotten about them already.
When the sun set, the tunnels became solidly black. Not even starlight reached me tunnel, blocked by the large, dark leaves in the tree tops high above. His father sat in the darkness, giggling, sometimes coughing, and other times sobbing. "The elves!" he said, and gasped for air. "Where is the beauty now?" J'role listened to his father, his heart filling with pity and hatred. He knew Mordom had done something to his father, probably probed his father's mind for clues- and when he had discovered that Bevarden knew nothing, was, in fact, only at hopeless drunk-must have kept him around as a pet.
J'role wished his father were stronger. He'd wished that all his life. Why couldn't his father have done. .?
What? What hadn't his father done?
The idea slipped just out of range of J'role’s thoughts. It was something he couldn't remember, yet he knew it colored everything about his life.
"I wouldn't work so hard at remembering," said the creature in his thoughts. "You aren't ready yet."
"You know something …"
"About you? I know everything."
"Tell me."
"No. Not yet.”
J'role waited in the darkness, thinking the creature would taunt him, make him beg to hear what it had to say. But the thing said no more.
J'role stood at the foot of the pit, blocking his father from his thoughts, thinking back to the initiation that had taken place at the tavern. The darkness of the night drew around him like a cloak, and he felt his concerns becoming smaller and smaller, until his cares extended no further than himself.