Bloodfire Quest (The Dark Legacy of Shannara, #2)(82)
“They’ve given you enough weapons for it.”
She glanced down at her assortment of blades and smiled. “After giving me the elixir, they took me to an armory and let me choose what I wanted. I took this armor and the blades and throwing weapons. They will provide me with a lance or spear of some sort once we arrive at the arena.”
She paused. “They said they will remove the conjure collar, as well.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “They will?”
“So they say. A mistake, I think, if they do so. But this is part of the spectacle. If I can be rendered immobile with a gesture, there is no point in the fight. If I can be subdued at any point, there is no suspense or even purpose to the battle. What this is meant to be is a demonstration of the Straken Lord’s power. He keeps his creatures in thrall by never allowing them to think for even a moment that he isn’t the equal of them all. Fear binds them to him. But fear must be instilled anew on a regular basis. I am to be the next best example of what could happen should they transgress.”
“But you believe your magic will give you the edge you need?”
“I think it might.”
She looked so confident and ready in that moment that Redden’s spirits were lifted. “Then we might escape this, after all.”
“We might. He may have overreached himself by giving me this opportunity. He thinks women are weak—all but Grianne Ohmsford, whom he worships. I learned this from the creature Tarwick. Tael Riverine has never forgotten her, his Straken Witch—the only female sufficiently strong enough to bear his children and extend his line. He is fixated on having this happen. He plans to dispose of me and then send you back to tell everyone what happened and what to expect. He assembles his army to march into the Four Lands and will do so as soon as the last of the Forbidding falls.”
A whip cracked and the rolling cage jolted forward, departing the courtyard. The crowd trailed after it, throngs of creatures and animals pressing close, pushing and shoving to gain a better position. Goblins, kobolds, Gormies, Harpies, and others Redden could not put names to. The demon-wolves roamed among them, growling and snapping at one another and anyone who got close. Every so often they would converge on an unfortunate creature that had caught their attention and drag it down, thrashing and screaming. None of the other creatures paid any heed to this. Those who were close just moved out of the way, avoiding the carnage and doing their best not to draw attention to themselves. The rest didn’t bother doing that much.
Dust rose from the rutted road onto which the procession had turned after passing through the fortress. The air grew thick with it—heavy clouds that rose dozens of feet into the grayness and blanketed everything. Buried in the haze were the grunts and snorts of the beasts hauling the rolling cage, and the shouts and cries of the creatures keeping pace, all of it a surreal, frenzied mix.
“Listen to me, Redden,” Khyber instructed, her voice suddenly urgent. She bent so close to him that their heads were almost touching. “I will try to find a way to defeat the Straken Lord, one that will give us a chance to escape. When that happens, I will come for you. Be ready. If we can persuade Tael Riverine to remove the conjure collar earlier or if you can manage to do so by yourself, that would help. But whatever happens, I will come for you.”
He nodded. “I’ll come to you first, if I can.”
“Then we have our plan.” She paused, and her expression changed. “But if our plan fails and I am killed, do not despair. Remember what I told you. He will release you anyway. He will send you back into the Four Lands as his messenger. That is his intent. I will try to disappoint him, but you will be freed if I fail.”
“You won’t fail,” he said quickly. “You will be stronger than he is and you will succeed.”
She sat back, nodding slowly. But she did not speak again.
They continued traveling through the scrub-covered landscape, through terrain blistered and raw and empty of visible life. Their journey took longer than Redden had expected—a long slow downward angling into a cluster of valleys—and it was only much later that the boy finally looked back to find Kraal Reach receding into a screen of dust and gloom, looking oddly tiny and insignificant.
The cage rolled on, its retinue of beasts and creatures trudging and slouching along in its wake, their collective gaze fastened on the prisoners. But at last the wagon crested a rise and started down toward a broad circular embankment thick with Jarka Ruus that must have arrived earlier. Tall gates opened into the embankment’s interior, and the cage was pulled through. Within, the arena stretched away a hundred yards, its uneven, cracked surface littered with broken rock and bones that gleamed bare and white against the dark earth. Howls and screams of expectation rose from those gathered—a primal roar infused with rage and bloodlust.
Cringing inwardly, diminished by the fury of the sound, Redden kept his eyes averted from the source.
“Steady,” he heard the Ard Rhys say.
The cage was brought to a halt before a set of risers constructed of iron bars and wooden planks. Creatures that were robed and hooded sat surrounded by Goblin bodyguards. At their center was the Straken Lord, draped in black, with Tarwick at his side. As the wagon pulled to a stop and those attending it and trailing after dropped to their knees and bowed, he leaned over and whispered to his Catcher. Tarwick came to his feet and threaded his way through those occupying the risers until he stood before the cage door. Signaling to the guards, he had the door opened and Khyber Elessedil removed. But he motioned for Redden to stay where he was. When the boy tried to climb down anyway, the Catcher held up one hand, palm out, in an unmistakable gesture. Frustrated, Redden motioned toward his collar, signaling he wished it removed. Tarwick shook his head firmly.