“But—”

“Will you interfere with my work, work which may save the chevard’s life?”

Sulein thundered. “If I must open this door, toads will you become.” From the other side came the sound of running feet, then silence. Dain stood there, still frozen in place, and swallowed hard.

The sorcerel put his hand on Dain’s shoulder, and Dain flinched inside as though he’d been branded. “You are much in demand, little eld,” Sulein said gently, his voice coiling around Dain like a serpent. “The chevard wants you. The prince wants you. And I want you.” He laughed, a low silky sound. “But it is I who have you. And all the powers that you command. Come to my fire, and tell me your mysteries.”

The spell binding Dain’s feet was released. He wrenched himself away from Sulein’s hand, but there was no escape. Sulein stepped between him and the door, and Dain found he still could not move his arms.

Awkwardly he stumbled back from the sorcerel, who herded him across the room. It was filled with a crowded jumble of furniture and objects. Dain was forced toward the end, where a fire burned on the hearth.

“Dain you are called. That is no name of the eldin. I can see that your blood is mixed, but there is little enough of the human in you,” Sulein said as Dain halted next to the fire.

Sulein glided closer into the light, revealing himself to be hook-nosed and swarthy of skin, with a frizzy black beard and eyes as bright and beady as a keeback’s. He wore a tall conical hat edged in monkey fur, and his long brown robe was stained and discolored in places, as though he often spilled his experiments. No gray showed in his dark hair or beard. No wrinkles carved his face, yet his eyes held all of antiquity in their liquid depths.  Dain glanced at him, then away, afraid to meet those eyes for too long.  “You were Jorb’s apprentice,” Sulein said. “He was a sword-maker, a dwarf, I am told. How peculiar. Tell me, did he buy you? How did you come to be in his keeping? Or were you living in the Dark Forest for a different purpose?” Dain said nothing. His face felt hot, as though fevered. His lungs could not draw in enough air. Sulein’s questions seemed harmless, and yet he feared to answer them.

“How much did Jorb train you? Did he ever let you work with magicked metal?” Dain felt a growing compulsion inside him to answer. Setting his jaw, he withstood it and said nothing.

After a few moments, the pressure eased and faded. Sulein raised his bushy brows. “Ah,” he said as though making a discovery. “Your powers are strong.  Good. I will learn all the more from you.”

“There is nothing to learn,” Dain said defiantly. He spoke in the harsh dwarf tongue, and laced his tone with contempt.

Sulein cast him a sharp look. “But I shall pick you apart,” he said, also speaking dwarf. “I am a collector of knowledge, and you, little eld, are a very great prize indeed.”

Dain said nothing else. He could not outtrick a sorcerel; he was not going to try. Instead, he concentrated on forcing his frozen arms to move. Sheer strength was not enough. He stopped straining and considered the problem from another direction, ignoring whatever Sulein said to him. After a moment, he began to sing inside his mind. It was hard at first—he was too frightened and angry to concentrate—but after a few moments the song flowed more readily inside his mind. He sang of motion, of the wind, of the swaying branches of a willow by a stream, of the flit and wiggle of fish as they swam, of the strong wings of birds on the air. The spell holding him tight began to loosen.  Feeling hopeful, Dain kept the song going in his mind. Sulein spoke again to him, but he paid no heed.

Sulein gripped him by his shoulder. “What are you doing?” Dain’s arms came free. He spun in Sulein’s grip, thrusting the man away. As Sulein struggled to regain his balance, Dain dodged around him, slinging a table between them as he went, so that crockery and bottles crashed to the floor. Dain ran for the door.

He reached it, ignoring Sulein’s shout behind him, and drew back the bolt. For a moment his body felt heavy and slow, but the remnants of the song still ran through Dain’s mind. He concentrated on that, and the heaviness lifted.  Pushing open the door with a mighty shove, Dain jumped over the threshold and bolted for his freedom, smack into a sturdy barrel chest and a strong pair of hands that seized him by his tunic and shook him so hard his teeth rattled.  “Got you!” said Sir Roye.

Dain kicked him in the shins and ran.

Down the steps he flew, ignoring the heated argument between the two men behind him. His feet skimmed the steps. He kept his fingertips lightly on the wall for balance as he went faster and faster.

At the bottom of the tower, the door leading outside stood ajar. Dain hit it with his shoulder and careened outside into the sunshine, which made him blink and squint.

The music swirled in the courtyard. People were still dancing and clapping their hands.

Mierre and Kaltienne waited a short distance from the tower door, like two cats crouched at a mouse’s lair. Kaltienne saw him first and dug his elbow into Mierre’s ribs. “There he is!”

They came at a run, and Dain darted off in the opposite direction. Hurrying past a parked cart resting on its traces, he ducked through the first door he came to, fortunately unlocked, but instead of entering the Hall as he expected, he found himself inside a small walled garden. Badly neglected, it was in serious need of tending. Many of the plants had begun to yellow from nightly frosts.  Others, overgrown and sprawled across the paths, needed cutting back. Walkways atangle with weeds led to a central axis where a silent fountain stood encircled by a bench of moss-covered stone. Birds rustled and stirred within the branches of a gnarled old fruit tree in the corner. Flowers with dead blooms rattled in the chilly breeze.

On the opposite side of the gate ran a loggia littered with dead leaves. Dain trotted along this, ducking into the shadows at one end just as the boys opened the gate and peered into the garden.

“Halt!” Mierre said in alarm, thrusting his muscular arm across the opening. “We cannot go in there.”

Kaltienne pushed at his arm, without budging it. “But I saw him enter.”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re forbidden to go into the lady’s garden.” What lady? Dain wondered, pressing himself deeper into the shadows. He hardly dared breathe.

“He’s in there,” Kaltienne said with frustration. He tried to duck beneath Mierre’s arm, but the larger boy shoved him back.

Kaltienne’s mouth fell open. “Have you gone mad? You know what his highness threatened if we failed.”

“We’ve got him,” Mierre said firmly. “But we don’t go in. Not us. The prince can, if he’s brave enough.”