Raomar watched the nobleman as the lamplight approached. He saw the lordling’s hand twitch toward his empty scabbard, then clench into a fist when he found no hilt. Tension ran through his body as he recognized the nobleman walking in the newcomers’ midst.

  Raomar studied the group, counting six men in chain mail, swords and daggers at their hips. The nobleman walking among them was of medium height, with dark hair and familiar features.

  Hartender! So, the rumors were true.

  Raomar frowned, watching as the Tillerman moved in close to the young lord and draped an arm over his shoulders. The lordling clenched his fists, but didn’t try to move away and the Tillerman bent close to the man’s ear, his words carried up by a trick of the air.

  “Here comes your buyer. When I am paid, you’re no longer mine.” He straightened, patting the lordling’s shoulder as he lifted his arm and stepped one pace away.

  Raomar stared at them. The Tillerman had virtually told the boy, he owed him nothing once the money was paid…reminding him he’d only yielded to the Tillerman and no-one else. Did he want the nobleman to try something stupid?

  The lordling waited, not taking his eyes from Hartender’s face…and not trying to conceal his dislike for the man. Raomar wondered what had passed between the two houses for there to be so much bad feeling.

  Hartender, for his part, surveyed the lordling with great satisfaction, smirking at his discomfort as he looked him up and down. The lordling tensed, sliding a foot back in a fighting stance and half-raising his fist. The two closest guards shifted stance, preparing to subdue him, their feet making the slightest scrapes on the stonework, and the young nobleman sighed.

  His gaze shifted from the guards to the Tillerman…and then to the approaching nobleman and his escort. His face tightened, but he lowered his fist, and Raomar relaxed.

  The men accompanying Hartender weren’t just guards. They’d seen their share of fights…and done their share of killing. Raomar could see it in their expressions, in the way they held themselves, loose and seemingly relaxed, but ready for anything. Their gazes traveled the tunnel around them as they scanned the dark beyond the lantern.

  Hartender’s group reached the light, with two of his guards breaking away to approach the young nobleman. Hartender came to a halt before the Tillerman.

  “You brought him,” he stated, and the Tillerman met his gaze.

  “I did. Did you bring the payment?”

  “Of course,” Hartender replied matter-of-factly, and stepped to one side so the two men carrying a large chest could bring it forward.

  Without being asked, he lifted the lid.

  “I don’t expect you to count it here,” the duke added in oily tones, “but it’s all there.”

  He paused and gave a brief smile.

  “After all, you know where to find me.”

  The Tillerman fixed him with a look that had the duke’s escort reaching for their weapons.

  “I do,” he told the man, “and I know your business in the court.”

  Raomar’s eyes widened. That was a threat.

  Apparently, Hartender thought so, too, because he narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips.

  “Indeed,” he replied tartly, and looked over at the younger nobleman. “Is there any reason why my goods are not correctly packaged?”

  The Tillerman gave him a cold smile, letting his gaze travel over the duke’s escort.

  “You asked only they be delivered, not that they be delivered with a bow.”

  Anger darkened the duke’s features, but the Tillerman continued, with a shrug.

  “And I knew you would bring sufficient to keep them secure.”

  “Indeed…” the duke repeated disapprovingly. He indicated the chest and its contents, then gestured toward the young noble. “May I?”

  “By all means,” the Tillerman replied, stepping back, and signaling his men to take the chest and leave the lordling to the duke. “I have your payment.”

  He gave a short whistle and moved back toward the wall. Raomar heard the grind of stone and felt the tremor of a heavy door shifting aside. The duke’s head snapped around in surprise, but he said nothing.

  Bootsteps followed and then the ledge shook and the grinding sound came again. A heavy clunk followed, and then silence, and Raomar knew the Tillerman was gone.

  Below him, the Duke of Hartender stared at the wall a moment longer, then turned back to the young man, who was now flanked by his guards.

  “Broderick.” The satisfaction in that address made Raomar wonder what the Duke of Hartender stood to gain by his rival’s capture.

  Something in the way he said it was too much for the young lordling, and he pivoted taking two strides into the dark beyond the lanterns. Hartender’s men were faster. One moved swiftly to block his path, and the second slammed a fist into the young man’s ribs when he changed direction.

  The blow hit low and hard and the lordling folded, wrapping an arm over his ribs and hitting the ground on his knees. He tried to stumble directly to his feet, but was driven to his stomach as the guards slammed into his back and forced him down.

  He gave a short, sharp cry of pain as his arms were dragged behind his back and bound elbow to wrist. He bit back a second cry as they hauled him to his feet and turned him to face the duke. Hartender stretched a hand toward his face, and the young man tried to twist away.

  “Steady now, Broderick. This is for your own good.”

  Raomar watched, catching sight of a thin blue glow outlining the man’s fingers.

  The lordling saw it to, and gasped as he turned away. One of the guards seized him by the scruff of the neck and held his head still enough for the duke of Hartender’s hand to come down over the boy’s eyes. Broderick froze.

  The duke smiled and laid the palm of his other hand against the boy’s cheek.

  Broderick gasped and froze, and the duke spoke a short phrase.

  Raomar’s eyes widened. The Duke of Hartender was a wizard?

  The blue flared to white and the duke shifted his hand so it stroked up the nobleman’s cheek, across the crown of his head, and down the other side of his face. Broderick’s breathing quickened in panic and he gasped a second time as the duke slid the hand from his eyes and down to his chin, before withdrawing it.

  White light followed, and the young nobleman scrambled back…or he tried. The two guards held him fast. His breathing sped and the white light turned to ink and then sank beneath his skin.

  “Wait!” the boy cried. “What have you done?”

  He sagged in the guards’ grips.

  “I can’t see.” Panic gripped his voice. “I can’t see.”

  He tried to turn.

  “Joseph? What…Why am I blind?”

  “So you’ll walk where you’re asked,” the duke replied shortly. “My men will guide you.”

  “But…”

  The duke gave the nearest guard a short, sharp nod, and the man drove his fist into the lordling’s side.

  “Quietly,” the duke ordered, and the lordling closed his mouth on the protest he’d been about to make.

  Raomar watched, trying to understand the significance of what he’d seen…and who the lordling really was. ‘Broderick’ was not a name he knew…not that he knew all the names of the lords and their progeny, but many…yes.

  It was another question for Dart, and he set it aside for another time, watching as Hartender and four of his guards led the young nobleman into the dark.

  Four?

  Raomar looked around in alarm. Movement flickered at the edge of his vision, followed by the sharp punch of a dart. Numbness spread immediately after, but not fast enough to stop him registering a second impact and more numbness.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  His vision blurred and he slammed a palm into the stone before him, trying to stop himself from pitching over the edge. He succeeded in pushing himself back, felt the wall behind him as he toppled to one side, his eyes closing of their own accord.

  Raomar fought the poison coursing through his system. He would have fought the man who rolled him off the ledge to drop into the arms of the men waiting below. The duke doubled back, leaving the younger nobleman sagging between his two guards.

  “What have we here?” he asked, as Raomar was hauled upright and held still for inspection.

  Raomar blinked, managing to get his eyes open long enough to register who he faced.

  “Well, hello, ‘old friend,’” the duke greeted, placing a hand under his chin and turning his face from side to side.

  Raomar’s eyes fluttered closed, and he tried to open them, tried to get his legs to obey enough to bring his feet under him so he could hold his own weight…failed miserably.

  The hiss of steel from a nearby scabbard had the duke snap, “Wait! He’s an old fr…”

  The hand on Raomar’s jaw tightened.

  “You conniving sonuvabitch!”

  Raomar tried to keep his eyes open, but failed. He must have missed another signal from the duke, because a vial was forced between his lips and his head was tilted so its contents flowed into his mouth and down his throat.

  He swallowed convulsively, trying not to choke as his head started to clear. This time, his eyes didn’t close when he opened them, although the view hadn’t improved.

  The Duke of Hartender’s face was inches from his own.

  “You’re coming back with me,” he snarled, as rough hands bound Raomar’s wrists behind his back, “and we’re going to have a long chat about where we’ve met before and why I’m under the illusion we’ve known each longer than our meeting in my carriage.”

  “We should put him out,” said the guard who’d captured him, but the duke shook his head.

  “No, Kale. Blindfold him so he can’t mark the way…and gag him so he can’t cast anything.”

  Raomar fought against both, earning himself a swift blow to the side of the head that drove him to his knees and rattled him enough for both orders to be carried out. When he tried to twist his head to make the blindfolding less effective a second blow left his mind spinning and he didn’t resist further.

  Once he’d been secured, he was hauled to his feet. Judging from the soft, panicked breathing ahead of him, he’d been set behind the lordling, a fact that was confirmed moments later when Broderick spoke.

  “Joseph,” the young man asked, plaintively. “How long?”

  “Long enough,” the duke replied shortly, and his tone should have been enough to prevent any further argument.

  Raomar heard the scrape of boot leather against stone and the duke moved forward.

  “Take the lead,” he ordered and other footsteps obeyed.

  Ahead of him, Raomar heard the young nobleman stumble and his escort curse.

  “Watch your step,” one snarled, and Broderick muffled a groan.

  Raomar drew a long, quiet breath focusing his senses on the tunnel around them. He listened for other sounds beyond the ones the group made. At first, all he could hear were Broderick’s unsteady steps, and his guards’ firmer tread.

  The duke was easier to pick out, now that the man was no longer trying to move silently, but the man…or men…he’d sent ahead were almost inaudible. Raomar listened to the steps of the men nearest him.

  There was one on either side, both moving confidently through the dark. Behind him moved two more, too close for him to try and break away…not that he’d want to when he was bound and blindfolded. The further they walked, the easier it became to identify each member of his small group by their tread.

  He also noted the sound of moisture flowing or dripping down the walls, the unhealthy ripple of the waste water running in a narrow channel down the center of the passage, and the trickle of more coming from inlet pipes set at regular intervals in the walls and floors. Several feet away came the frantic skitter of rats in flight, and beyond that, the soft step of someone following.

  The further they went, the more he wondered who else might be interested in the duke and his business. He could think of no other reason someone would parallel them for so long…unless Grunwol…

  Raomar didn’t think so. While he hoped Grunwol followed them, he’d rather the Northman had returned to the guild to work out a way to get him out of the duke’s control. At the idea of his people doing something to set him free, Raomar relaxed into thought, letting his escort guide him through the dark.

  The duke’s magical ability had surprised him, but when he thought about it, he realized the magic hadn’t been difficult to cast. Had he merely triggered an item?

  Raomar replayed the casting in his mind and decided he hadn’t. No, he thought, Joseph Hartender was a mage. The question was, how advanced were his studies?

  Trying to work out the answer kept him busy until his escort pulled him to a stop.

  From beyond the blindfold, Raomar heard the duke mutter impatiently, followed by a click and then grinding. Fresh air gusted into the tunnel, rippling his clothes and clearing some of the sewer stench from his nostrils.

  Raomar pulled in a grateful breath, trying to clear the smell of sewerage from his lungs. What he got was wood smoke and the scent of baking bread. The smell of furniture polish told him they’d reached a residence.

  The duke’s? he wondered, before kicking himself for asking such a stupid question. Who else’s home would it be?

  It wasn’t like the duke would trust knowledge of this kind of activity to anyone else, or a strange household. Broderick’s breath quickened, and then a deep breath followed, as if the boy was determined not to panic.

  Raomar listened as the young lordling was led across the threshold, then allowed himself to be guided after. Behind them, the door grated shut, closing with a definite thunk as they entered a narrow corridor.

  It was a short one, ending in a jangle of keys and the cooler air of a cellar. Ahead of him, Broderick stumbled, again, grunting as his escort made their disapproval felt.

  “Steps.” That single word was accompanied by a tightening of the grip on his arm, and Raomar slowed.

  “Watch yourself,” was the only warning he got before his foot hit empty air.

  Another jerk prevented him from falling and he cautiously began to descend. Behind them, the kitchen noises faded, along with the smell of baking bread. The air grew cool, and then a little musty, as though it had been shut inside for a while.

  A sharp turn to the right awaited them at the bottom, followed by another short corridor. This time when he was brought to a halt, he heard Broderick breathing beside him. The metallic grate of a bolt being drawn was followed by the clank of a metal-bound door, and Raomar was pushed forward.

  “Put them in together,” the duke ordered. “Untie them, and remove the elf’s blindfold and gag.”

  Broderick grunted and stumbled as he crossed the threshold behind Raomar, and the elf kept moving until he was clear. Heavy footsteps were accompanied by a strong grip on his arm, and he was again jerked to a halt.

  “Stand there.”

  ‘There’ ended up being where Raomar had stopped, and the guildmaster waited.

  Rough hands removed his blindfold and gag, before removing his bindings. Even when he was free, Raomar forced himself to stand still. It would be sheer idiocy to give the guard an excuse to gut him just when he’d been freed.

  The guard turned him. “Bed’s there.”

  He turned Raomar again. “Bucket’s there. Don’t get them confused.”

  That last brought harsh laughter, and he was shoved roughly toward the wall as the guard reversed quickly away from him

  Raomar heard Broderick gasp and then the sound of the young lord hitting the cell floor as the two guards retreated. While his eyes were still adjusting, he saw them reach the cell door and pull it closed after them. The sound of the bolt being rammed home left him in no doubt he was stuck for a while.

  He caught sight of the darker patch that was the young lord, just as lamplight flared in the corridor outside. Some of it glimmered through the small, barred window set high in the door, and Raomar shaded his eyes.

  Straw rustled and the lordling pushed unsteadily to his feet.

  “Wait!” he cried, turning toward the door. “Joseph!”

  Raomar sighed.

  “Joseph!” Broderick called, louder this time.

  Raomar heard him draw breath for another cry.

  “What is it?” Duke Hartender snapped from the door.

  ‘I need…” Broderick hesitated, swallowed hard, and wrapped his hands around the window. “When will I be able to see again?”

  The duke snorted.

  “When it pleases me,” he replied.

  “But…”

  “Enough!” Hartender snapped. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

  Broderick paused.

  “Well,” Hartender demanded impatiently, “aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but…” Broderick began, and Raomar caught sight of the fury that crossed the duke’s face beyond the bars.

  He was about to haul the young man away from the bars, when he heard the rattle of keys, and the door was jerked roughly open.

  Hartender came through in a rush of force, picking Broderick up and slamming him into a nearby wall, while two of his guards came through to stand between the pair and Raomar. The guildmaster raised his hands and backed up to lean against the other wall.

  The crossbows were cocked and didn’t waver, and Raomar kept his hands raised and his back against the wall. He didn’t take his eyes from what was happening with the two noblemen, but neither of the guards looked back.

  Hartender wrapped a hand around the younger nobleman’s throat, then laid the palm of his other hand over Broderick’s heart.

  “N..” Raomar began, seeing blue light swirl along the duke’s arm.

  He almost started off the wall, but a soft whistle drew his attention to the guards and one of them shook his head, waving a finger in forbiddance. The other one’s aim didn’t waver and his finger tightened on the trigger until Raomar resumed his position.

  Behind them, the duke’s voice rose and fell in a brief chant that Raomar did recognize. Nausea rolled through his stomach and cold fear chilled his skin. He wanted to protest that this spell wasn’t necessary, that…

  The blue faded to purple, and darkness sent black specks dancing through the light. Sickened, Raomar watched the light coil down Hartender’s arm to glove the hand spread over Broderick’s chest.

  Hartender cocked his head, speaking the final word to the spell, and sending the light into the young lord’s torso. Streaks of black-streaked purple crackled over the young lord’s chest and shoulders and he screamed, his body jerking under the duke’s grip.

  With another snapped out syllable, the duke released him, stepping back to let the lordling drop to his knees. Broderick wrapped his arms around his chest and crashed from his knees to his side, his breath coming in ragged sobs.

  The crossbow shook in its wielder’s hands, and the man gave the other soldier an anxious look. The other guard didn’t flinch, although his face became shuttered. Behind them, Duke Hartender turned slightly to look at Raomar.

  “When I come for you in the morning,” he said, “you will tell me who you are and the truth of how we met.”

  The ice-cold surety in his voice sent a chill through Raomar, but he forced a slight smile to his lips and inclined his head.

  “If that is your wish,” he replied, forcing his voice to calm, even as anger rolled through him.

  The duke could bring whatever pressure he liked, but it would do him little good. Raomar didn’t believe he’d still be there in the morning. In the meantime…

  He fought to keep the outrage from his face. Firstly, he was being threatened…and, secondly, he had a hole in his intelligence network, one that badly needed to be filled. The threat could be avenged, the hole…

  He’d find a way. He stayed propped against the wall as he watched the duke and his men leave, then crossed to where the young nobleman lay curled on the floor. To his relief Broderick was unconscious.

  Perhaps it’s better that way, he thought, carefully lifting the young man and carrying him over and depositing him on the cot standing in one corner.

  If he was honest, he was relieved to find the man alive…and maybe even more relieved that he wouldn’t have to deal with any more adverse reactions to his race. When he was sure the lordling was resting as comfortably as he was able, Raomar retired to the other side of the cell, curling into the straw to get some sleep.

  If his people didn’t come for him, he was going to need every ounce of strength he could gather, because in the morning, he’d be facing the duke. It was not a prospect he looked forward to…and he hoped Grunwol came for him sooner.

  But how…