long passageway much airier than the close tunnels we had left.
A tense and silent Terrac seemed impatient to be somewhere else, and I matched his brisk strides as we made our way down the corridor past doorways and open chambers. We were entering a part of the keep I recognized. The shields hanging on the walls and the tapestries depicting gory battle scenes were vaguely familiar to me, as was the pair of wide iron-banded doors that soon appeared in front of us. They were engraved with the Praetor’s symbol of a black bear rearing to confront its attacker. I knew what lay on the other side of those doors. Praetor Tarius’s audience chamber. I had been there before on the occasion when I had tried, and failed, to assassinate him. I hid my surprise at Terrac’s bringing me here now. It went against all my suspicions of him.
I was still trying to puzzle out what his intentions could be when he pushed open the doors and led me into the chamber. It was a long room, its high ceiling crisscrossed with thick beams and supported by timber braces.
And there he was, seated in a throne-like chair at the head of the chamber. The man who was at once my oldest enemy and the master I was sworn to serve. Praetor Tarius had killed my parents and hanged many of my outlaw friends. And yet he might also be the last living person who carried in his veins the same blood that I did. He was the brother of my father, though he had disowned him, and my uncle, though he did not know it.
Despite his middling years and the streaks of gray in his otherwise-coal-black hair, he was physically fit and possessed an undeniable appearance of strength and power. His wide-sleeved robe, flowing in velvet folds to the floor, made him look more like a king than a provincial governor, and I suspected that was why he wore it. Certainly I had seen him just as at ease when armed and prepared for battle.
He had not seen us yet and appeared busy with a group of men gathered around. By their fine clothes, I assumed them to be advisors or minor nobles. Terrac and I hung back along the wall and waited. We were not alone. There were numerous armed guards lurking in corners of the room and more stationed a protective distance from the Praetor.
I ignored the guards as I ignored everything but the man himself. I used to be able to sense his forceful presence when we were in the same room. But I was blind now, without either my natural magic or the dragon scale that would allow me to access it. It was yet another disadvantage for me, since Praetor Tarius possessed powers of his own. He didn’t come by it naturally, as I did, but had learned the twisted art of magery, a form of trained magic reliant on spells and incantations. Knowing this secret of his made me wary. To be near a mage while stripped of my powers was as bad as being surrounded by armed men while I went weaponless.
At length, the Praetor finished with the men he had been consulting, noted our presence, and beckoned us to come and stand before him.
I stiffened beneath his dark gaze but refused to flinch, meeting his stare with one of my own.
He greeted me with, “So, you have returned to us as promised, Ilan of Dimmingwood.”
His tone suggested he’d had no doubt that I would, and I wondered if it was my word he was so confident in or his power to control me.
I said coolly, “It was not so much a question of returning but of being dragged back. Had I been given the opportunity, I would have kept my promise under my own power. Instead, a pair of Fists lay in wait and set upon me in an alley, bludgeoning me unconscious and throwing me into your dungeon for the night.”
The Praetor raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Terrac. “Is this true, Captain?”
Terrac was too quick with his explanation. “There was some sort of misunderstanding, and two of my men mistakenly arrested her as she skulked about the city after dark. I’ve yet to discover the details, but I will investigate.”
“It was more
A tense and silent Terrac seemed impatient to be somewhere else, and I matched his brisk strides as we made our way down the corridor past doorways and open chambers. We were entering a part of the keep I recognized. The shields hanging on the walls and the tapestries depicting gory battle scenes were vaguely familiar to me, as was the pair of wide iron-banded doors that soon appeared in front of us. They were engraved with the Praetor’s symbol of a black bear rearing to confront its attacker. I knew what lay on the other side of those doors. Praetor Tarius’s audience chamber. I had been there before on the occasion when I had tried, and failed, to assassinate him. I hid my surprise at Terrac’s bringing me here now. It went against all my suspicions of him.
I was still trying to puzzle out what his intentions could be when he pushed open the doors and led me into the chamber. It was a long room, its high ceiling crisscrossed with thick beams and supported by timber braces.
And there he was, seated in a throne-like chair at the head of the chamber. The man who was at once my oldest enemy and the master I was sworn to serve. Praetor Tarius had killed my parents and hanged many of my outlaw friends. And yet he might also be the last living person who carried in his veins the same blood that I did. He was the brother of my father, though he had disowned him, and my uncle, though he did not know it.
Despite his middling years and the streaks of gray in his otherwise-coal-black hair, he was physically fit and possessed an undeniable appearance of strength and power. His wide-sleeved robe, flowing in velvet folds to the floor, made him look more like a king than a provincial governor, and I suspected that was why he wore it. Certainly I had seen him just as at ease when armed and prepared for battle.
He had not seen us yet and appeared busy with a group of men gathered around. By their fine clothes, I assumed them to be advisors or minor nobles. Terrac and I hung back along the wall and waited. We were not alone. There were numerous armed guards lurking in corners of the room and more stationed a protective distance from the Praetor.
I ignored the guards as I ignored everything but the man himself. I used to be able to sense his forceful presence when we were in the same room. But I was blind now, without either my natural magic or the dragon scale that would allow me to access it. It was yet another disadvantage for me, since Praetor Tarius possessed powers of his own. He didn’t come by it naturally, as I did, but had learned the twisted art of magery, a form of trained magic reliant on spells and incantations. Knowing this secret of his made me wary. To be near a mage while stripped of my powers was as bad as being surrounded by armed men while I went weaponless.
At length, the Praetor finished with the men he had been consulting, noted our presence, and beckoned us to come and stand before him.
I stiffened beneath his dark gaze but refused to flinch, meeting his stare with one of my own.
He greeted me with, “So, you have returned to us as promised, Ilan of Dimmingwood.”
His tone suggested he’d had no doubt that I would, and I wondered if it was my word he was so confident in or his power to control me.
I said coolly, “It was not so much a question of returning but of being dragged back. Had I been given the opportunity, I would have kept my promise under my own power. Instead, a pair of Fists lay in wait and set upon me in an alley, bludgeoning me unconscious and throwing me into your dungeon for the night.”
The Praetor raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Terrac. “Is this true, Captain?”
Terrac was too quick with his explanation. “There was some sort of misunderstanding, and two of my men mistakenly arrested her as she skulked about the city after dark. I’ve yet to discover the details, but I will investigate.”
“It was more
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