Dorhen chanced a peek at them. They leaned over the table, one man carving lines into the wood with Dorhen’s knife while the other stuffed pinches of soft bread into his mouth and talked around each puffy wad.
Dorhen reached up and yanked the blue hood over his head. His hands disappeared. He rolled silently to his feet.
“Where’d he go?”
Dorhen bolted toward the set of stone steps they’d dragged him down hours ago. His vomit remained pooled on one of them, and he slipped on it.
“Ah ha ha, I see!” The men gave chase.
Dorhen jerked and jiggled the door handle, but it was locked. As the men ascended the steps, he leaped off and collapsed to his knees on the floor below. His hood fell off upon landing.
“There he is!”
His muscles weren’t quite ready for vigorous activity yet, though his vision had sharpened again. Pulling his hood back on, he sprinted to the back of the room, where fishy-smelling crates were stacked to the ceiling in the cold atmosphere. The table offered no weapons; the one man retained and brandished his knife. No other doors were available, and the two men widened their stances and extended their arms, guarding the one at the top of the stairs.
“I got him,” the older of the men said, and retrieved a small sack of flour from the heaping pile in the corner.
Dorhen summoned his best sneaking skill and tiptoed his way around them as they listened and watched with the flour sack poised.
The younger of the two turned. “Behind you!”
The older man turned and flung the sack. It exploded, releasing a white, choking cloud into the air. Dorhen’s coughing didn’t matter; he now wore a good coating of flour to announce his position.
The men tackled and overpowered him, struggling until he found himself tied up, standing stretched with his hands held high above his head by a rope secured to a timber ceiling beam. They’d already taken his belt, but now the men took it upon themselves to probe deeper.
“How did you do that, boy-o?” The older man forced the brown mantle over his head with a series of firm tugs and jostles. After giving it a thorough look-over, he dropped the mantle and tugged off the blue hood next.
Dorhen stuttered in panic, “N-no!”
The man paused to smile. “Oh! Heh heh, I see.” His eyes brightened. “He’s got some secret tricks. Let’s see what’s so special about this pretty scarf.”
Dorhen groaned as the man unwound the blue swath from around his neck. As soon as it left his person, the whole thing turned dull and crumbled through the man’s fingers as heavy brown chunks.
Now scowling, the older man smelled his hand. “This is horse shit!” He slapped the soiled hand across Dorhen’s face. “What the hell kind of trick are you playing on me, boy-o?” He smacked him twice more.
Clumps of manure littered the floor. Dorhen gawked at his once-magic hood. Even he hadn’t known that would happen. Arius Medallus had made it for his use alone. Hopefully, his moonstone wouldn’t turn to horse dung if and when Kalea picked it up.
Kalea.
He never should have dropped the moonstone for her. Better if she forgot about him and stayed safe. Maybe she’d go home to her parents when she realized he was gone. Settling on that thought soothed his troubled mind.
But he hadn’t actually seen her escape. For all he knew, she might’ve gotten caught. No. She got away and returned to her home to live happily with her mother. She was safe by now. And as soon as he got out of here, he’d find her house and join her there. Her family home was in Taulmoil, she’d said. He was strong with lots of stamina; he could bargain with her parents for his physical labor to let him stay.
The two men eyed each other. “This ain’t simply some journeyman saehgahn lost in the human lands,” the old one said to the young.
He turned to Dorhen and wiped his filthy hand on Dorhen’s white undershirt. “Listen here.” He grinned close to his face. Dorhen wanted nothing more than to look away. He hadn’t been exposed to such close human contact besides Kalea before. “I bet I know your name. Is it Dorhen?”
Dorhen tried to keep his face straight, to mask his secrets, but it proved impossible. He huffed and darted his eyes away, only to have them drawn back to the man’s smug stare.
“I thought so. We’ve got ‘im, Jerick. We’re getting a pretty big reward when the kingsorcerer gets here.”
He snapped out a laugh and slapped two open palms on Dorhen’s chest with enough force to make him swing. He grabbed Dorhen’s face again and squeezed his cheeks. “Where you been, you little bastard? Bah, you know what? I don’t care. You know how much you’re worth to our kingsorcerer?” A grin spread across his greasy, pock-scarred face, and the sour air seeping through the smile stank up Dorhen’s personal space.
“What do you want with me?” Dorhen asked.
His answer came as another slap to the face. “A major rule in this community is no questions. Got it? Because the fact is, you can ask questions all day long, but we’ll do with you what we want to do. That’s how it is. Now, I suggest you obey. Don’t try to escape again, or we’ll clobber you real good.”
“Spare his face, Harn. The kingsorcerer will want to see him.”
Harn squeezed Dorhen’s cheeks again as if he were a child. “Right, we wouldn’t want to ruin this pretty thing up. So we’ll have to mess up other parts of you.”
Harn punched Dorhen in the stomach and he groaned, unable to lean over and hug himself. He tried to gasp for air but couldn’t. His lungs ached when they finally filled, and his stomach gurgled with nausea. Nothing remained in his stomach to vomit, so bile oozed up his throat instead.
“The girls,” he managed to croak out despite the man’s warning. The image of Kalea’s terrified face in his last memory rattled a sob through him. He had to find out if she’d escaped or not. “What did you do with the convent girls?” He strained to lift his lolling head.
“More questions. Wrong!” Jerick handed Harn a horse crop, and he proceeded to whip it across Dorhen’s stomach. “I’m a patient man, boy-o. I’ve got all night to help you learn your etiquette. The kingsorcerer comes tomorrow, and he’ll expect you on your best behavior.
“We’re going to untie you now. Once again, don’t try to escape. Embarrassment is all you’ll accomplish. This place is well-warded and hidden far away from where we took you.”
They cut the rope, and Dorhen crumpled into a heap of shaking limbs on the floor, bending over to cradle the raw streak across his stomach. Jerick tugged his shirt off so Harn could deliver a set of loud, burning lashes to his back.
Eventually, they left him alone to compose himself. He put his shirt back on gingerly over the new raw streaks across his clammy skin. To his surprise, they fed him a steaming hot plate of cabbage and mutton. And when he satisfied them with his good behavior, they tied his hands, grabbed his arms, and guided him upstairs into the manor where several roaring fireplaces soothed his chilled bones. Plenty of other men wearing red tabards and tunics traversed the halls muttering eerie chants or sat beside the fireplaces, turning to gawk as Dorhen passed.
Everywhere they went, Dorhen stretched his neck in search of Kalea, or at least any of Kalea’s friends. Last night, maybe two nights ago, the sorcerers had dragged him through the sparking portal, then continued going out and in again, collecting the fighting girls. They were screaming. Dorhen fell, and two or three girls fell on top of him as the sorcerers threw them through the magic doorway. He got lost in the confusion of thrashing limbs and sharp fingernails for a time, lost in the screaming.
He made his way out of the pile and was caught when a sorcerer noticed him. The hole in the air closed abruptly, stealing his slim chance to run back through. He fought. The sorcerers yelled for something called a hookah.
An object hit him in the face, purposefully or not. He fell. He might’ve fallen on a girl. Two sorcerers tackled him while he was down. One pinned him as the other strapped a leather mask to his face.
The leather was w
arm and smoky. A long hose attached the mask to another object. The smoke smelled like flowers and made him lightheaded, but he couldn’t take the mask off because they had also tied his hands during his daze. He breathed a lot of the smoke, and afterward things didn’t make much sense anymore.
Now, as he walked with Harn and Jerick, he searched that chaotic memory for any indication that Kalea had also been thrown through the portal onto the pile of squirming bodies. He shook his head. She would’ve called his name if she was. He also would’ve picked out her protesting voice among the others—unless they had knocked her out. The thought of the sorcerers doing that to Kalea made him grind his teeth and work his wrists, straining the bindings around them.
Crack! Jerick whipped his back, and the leather strap stung his arms too. “Don’t try to escape,” he snarled.
Dorhen wouldn’t try now. First, he’d make sure Kalea wasn’t here.
A certain wing housed a series of apartments. “No getting away now, boy-o,” Harn said as they walked through the long hall of doors. “If you can shut your mouth and walk, I’ll take your bonds off you. Like I said, no point in running. This place is locked up tight and crawling with brutes worse than me.”
Dorhen offered his hands, and the man proceeded to free them. Dorhen followed them to the end of the hall of doors, where another staircase took them up. They stopped at a certain door with a large, dark splotch of damage across it.
“The kingsorcerer sent word ahead of him,” Harn said. “He liked hearing about your spirited fight the other night and about your fornications with the vestals. He wants you to be comfortable. So this room is yours, tidied and prepped for your arrival…brother.”
“Brother?” Dorhen said, and quickly winced. He didn’t get another slap.
Inside waited a wooden frame with ropes, a mattress rolled over to the side, a basin, and a small fireplace. Some other sort of basin with a lid over it stood on the floor in the corner. No windows.
“Nice, huh?” Harn said. “The rest of us have to work for years to gain a room like this, you lucky bastard. You really make me sick, you know that?”
Dorhen stepped inside. The walls were wood paneled. Dead trees, but trees nonetheless. As soon as he turned back around, Harn shoved a finger in his face.
“Once again, behave.” Harn shook his head and combed his fingers through his grey hair. “C’mon, Jerick. Let’s go eat.”
“I need a screw,” Jerick murmured as he exited the room first. Harn slammed the door behind him, and a lock clicked.
Despite the lack of windows in the dark, musty room, it must’ve been the next morning when the door opened. A man’s laughter startled Dorhen awake, and he jumped to sit up. He’d curled up on the mattress spread out on the floor, and slept on and off for an unknown amount of time. At the sight of Harn, he relaxed and rubbed his eyes.
“What’ll I do with you? How feral are you? Don’t you know the mattress goes across the bed ropes?” Harn wiped the corner of his eye with a knuckle and shook his head. “Mercy.”
Jerick appeared beside him and also laughed. “What an idiot. Putting the mattress on the bedframe keeps the draft and the cockroaches away, you fool.”
Harn turned to his companion. “Well,” he said, “who tells the kingsorcerer?”
Jerick raised his hands by his face. “Knob that in the head. His audition is still going on.”
Harn’s mouth dropped open. “All night?”
Dorhen went to the basin to rinse his face, and turned back around to listen to their exchange.
“Indeed. He has more than a load of convent girls. A gaggle from Wexwick arrived too, some of them talented prostitutes.”
Convent girls?
Harn snorted. “Wish I were an elf. Mine can hardly stand for one round anymore.” He turned to Dorhen. “You people are a filthy bunch, aren’t ya?” They both laughed. “Anyway, the kingsorcerer ‘specially said to tell him when the boy wakes up. Do we take it to heart?”
“Of course we do. But he’ll be angry if we interrupt him at the wrong minute. If we can’t get the words out fast enough, a mighty pain will befall us.”
The two of them paused to look at Dorhen.
“You hear our dilemma, boy-o?”
Dorhen shrugged.
“Let’s send him,” Jerick said, pointing.
“Eh?”
“Let him walk in and announce himself.”
Harn smiled, holding his eyes on Dorhen. “Boy-o, follow us. The lord will be happier to see you than us right now… Well, he’s happiest seeing something else, but the fact is, you’ve gotta tell him you’re here now, because his audition could last all day.”
Dorhen looked from one man to the other. “What are you talking about?”
“Follow us and you’ll see.” Harn grabbed Dorhen’s arm, digging his meaty fingers into the muscle, and guided him out of the chamber.
They didn’t go far before pausing at the mouth of a longer, wider corridor. Harn pointed. “See that line of girls before the large double doors?”
Dorhen nodded.
“Go in there and tell the saehgahn inside who you are. He’s the kingsorcerer.”
Dorhen took slow steps forward as the two men lingered behind, whispering. His awkwardness intensified to some sort of numb, out-of-body sensation as he approached the line of women waiting outside the double doors. He had never walked around in a crowded place without his magic hood, or at least a regular hood, before. Everything about his identity was out in the open now. No one seemed to care about his elven identity, though, besides Harn’s odd comment about wishing to be one.
Some of the women in line wore gowns similar to the one Kalea had worn on the night of her convent’s raid. Dorhen’s heart hammered and nausea boiled in his core at the thought of what these girls had gone through. Such violence had come right into the place Kalea slept. Though their hair hung long and silky, recently combed, their complexions were ashy, and they wobbled and swayed in their stances.
He reached out to the one at the end of the line, about to ask her if she was all right, but another’s chestnut-colored hair caught his eye. His heart skipped and dropped to the floor.
“Kalea?” He rushed forward and grabbed her shoulder. “Kalea, did they hurt you?” He spun her around.
It wasn’t Kalea who returned his attention with a dead stare. The girl swayed, eyes dull and droopy. Whatever they’d done to Dorhen to make him weak and incoherent, they had done something similar to Kalea’s friends. Her eyelids closed and struggled to open again. It wasn’t Kalea. Sighing, he surveyed the other hair colors—no others matched Kalea’s. She had escaped. She had to have escaped.
As he stared, wondering what to do now that he’d found the other girls, a woman standing next to him whispered, “You’re an elf too.” This one didn’t sway or blink dizzily. Her pretty painted face made him stare for a few extra seconds. Thick rings of soot outlined her eyes to make them look bigger. Black hair tumbled over her shoulders and curled about her face. Between a short bodice and a low-hipped skirt, her exposed stomach shimmered with silver chains running across her navel. At a second glance, there wasn’t actually a bodice to cover her, only rows of frisky beads dangling over her breasts. This wasn’t a convent girl, perhaps one of those “prostitutes” from Wexwick.
“What’s going on here?” he asked.
“An audition,” she said. A few other women like her throughout the line were smoothing their hair, wiping their faces, or rubbing color on their lips. “We all got invitations to come here. Except those young ones back there… They look like they could each use a jug of rum.” She giggled behind her ringed hand.
“Audition?” Dorhen stumbled around the word.
The woman batted her eyes. “Yeah. We hear the king in there is ridiculously rich and he wants some mistresses. Wish me luck, won’t you?”
Dorhen nodded once despite not fathoming what was happening. He bypassed the rest of the women and braved a few more steps into the dar
k room beyond the open door. A soothing blue light accompanied by the ambient glow of candles lit the space. Soft noises alerted him of the people in the room.
His feet stopped and didn’t seem to want to move again. A carved wooden lattice dividing the room came into view, behind which most of the candles glowed. Two figures interacted back there. Smooth, feminine legs were kneeling on the floor before a standing figure who panted in deep, heavy pulls. Dorhen couldn’t make out much more.
When his foot scraped on the wooden floor, the standing figure’s head shifted and a pair of yellow eyes appeared, reflecting the light, glaring like a venomous snake. A feminine voice sighed before the standing figure moved, leaving her on the floor to wipe her mouth against the back of her hand. Dorhen squinted to make sure that wasn’t Kalea.
An elf came from around the divider, tightening the strings on his leggings. He wore a loose black robe with red trim. His blonde hair danced in wavy locks over his shoulders, vibrant in color, yet a bit oily. He studied Dorhen with those piercing yellow eyes.
“I was told to announce myself.” He paused to swallow. “I’m Dorhen.”
The other elf’s voice grated out, low and breathy. “Of course you are.” He strode closer in a wide arc, surveying Dorhen up and down. “Who else would you be?”
Dorhen worked his jaw, looking for an answer.
The blonde elf stopped several feet away and dragged his gaze over Dorhen once more. “You are mature. How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Saehgahn?”
Dorhen worked his mouth, unsure what to say.
“Have you been through the ceremony? Do you even know what…? Where have you been?”
Dorhen clamped his mouth shut. Afraid to withhold information from this one, he chose the most comfortable answer. “The human lands.”
“Obviously.”
“Why am I here?”
The elf squinted. “Try not to ask me questions. You’re here because I’ve been looking for you. This is a small outpost, but soon you’ll go home with me to the Ilbith tower.” At Dorhen’s silence he continued, “It’ll be a transition for you, but such is life.”
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