Jack wheeled on her with such vehemence that the woman quailed in fright. “You are half-human, are you not? And you appear healthy. I wonder if you might do?”
“Ah-ah-I am sure we can find some slave who is fully human, wise master,” Grelda gabbled. “It would be best to meet Lord Jaeren’s requirements exactly. Here, here, look at this one!” The kitchen overseer seized a thin, dull-eyed woman standing nearby and thrust her toward Jack; the poor scullery maid moaned in fear.
“Hmm, I think you can do better,” said Jack. He surveyed the room, seeing no sign of Seila. It was one thing to march into the kitchens he knew and pretend to be a dark elf, but he certainly didn’t want to have to search the castle for her. He made a show of examining several more unfortunate captives as he considered how to refine his ruse to send the half-orc specifically for Seila, but he feared that might begin to sound just a little suspicious. The longer he stood here in the kitchen, the more likely it was that something could go wrong. He was just about to reject the entire roomful of women and ask to see more, when a door opened and several laundresses appeared, carrying baskets full of dirty linens. They froze at once when they saw the rest of the kitchen hands waiting on Jack’s selection; Jack quickly hid a grin of relief when he saw that Seila Norwood was the second in the group.
“There, that one,” he said at once, pointing. “She meets all of Lord Jaeren’s requirements perfectly. You, there. Drop that basket and come with me.”
Seila stood stricken in terror. The kitchen overseer rounded on her and shouted, “You heard the master, you stupid slut. Go!”
Somehow, Seila overcame her fear enough to take one step, then another. She composed herself as best she could and came to stand before Jack. He looked her over, and turned back to Grelda. “And one more thing. Lady Dresimil instructed me to inform you that she grows weary of the customary menu. She doubts whether you season her dishes at all. If you value your life, you will prepare tonight’s meal with the most fiery spices you have at your disposal. She demands something that would, how did she put it, ‘char a dragon’s throat.’ Send up your most fearsome effort, and pray that it is enough to pique her interest.”
“Master-” the kitchen overseer began, but Jack turned his back on her and strode away with one curt motion to Seila to follow.
He led her out of the kitchens and down the path a good ways before turning to face her. Raising a finger to his lips to encourage silence, he allowed his magical disguise to fade away. She stared at him in surprise. “Jack?” she asked in a timid voice.
“Indeed,” he answered. “I apologize for frightening you in the kitchens, but it was the best way I could think of to get you away from there.”
“You have recovered your magic!”
“Enough to provide us with the means to escape from this place, I hope. Are you ready?”
“By all I hold holy, yes,” Seila answered. “Better to die trying to win to freedom than to live another day as a slave to the drow.”
“With luck we won’t have to put that to the test,” Jack replied. “Come, we’d better get away from the path and move quickly. If the dark elves piece things together, they will certainly organize pursuit-and after what I’ve done, I do not want to be caught.”
Taking Seila’s hand, he led her into the dark.
CHAPTER FOUR
The distant tumult of fighting and confusion from the pastures faded away quickly as Jack and Seila made their way into the fungal forest ringing the dark elves’ tower. The shadows beneath the gigantic toadstools seemed to pool around the fugitives as they pressed on deeper into the gloom. Once or twice they heard small slithering movements or tiny clattering sounds, as unseen creatures moved about in the darkness around them. Jack tried hard not to dwell on what manner of creatures might be responsible for the sounds; he doubted that he would like the answer.
Seila’s grip on Jack’s hand tightened, and she pressed herself up close beside him. “Jack, I don’t like this place,” she whispered.
“I know. We won’t linger a moment longer than we must,” he replied softly. He glanced to her pale face and decided that it might be a good idea to distract her from the looming shadows and unsettling sounds around them. “Tell me, do the Norwoods still reside at Sarpentar House?”
She smiled nervously in the gloom. “Yes, it’s my home, but no one’s called it that since my grandmother’s day. Everyone knows the estate as Norwood Manor now. Have you been there?”
“Once,” Jack answered. “Who is the head of the family now?”
“My father, Marden.” Seila’s brow knitted. “He’s been the Lord Norwood for thirty years or more. How long ago did you visit, Jack?”
He paused and motioned her to silence, standing still beneath the great fungal boles, looking and listening for any signs of pursuit. After a moment he nodded. “It seems quiet enough,” he said softly, and drew her onward.
Seila followed close behind him. “You said before you hailed from the Vilhon Reach,” she said. “Is that really true? I thought no one lived there anymore. It’s a terrible plagueland, isn’t it?”
Jack snorted to himself. Seila had a very good memory for detail, it seemed; he would have to be careful about what he said around her. “It seems that I am a man out of my time, so to speak,” he replied. Seeing the girl’s puzzled expression, he continued. “I’m afraid I do not belong to this age. I was magically imprisoned by some unknown enemy during the Year of the Bent Blade-thirteen hundred and seventy-six, by Dalereckoning. Apparently I passed the last hundred years in magical stasis, until Lady Dresimil and her followers stumbled across my prison and released me. I must say, I am so far very disappointed by the future.”
“You are playing games with me.”
“I wish that were so. If I could think of some simple proof of my claims, I would offer it.”
Seila walked beside him in silence for a time, evidently weighing the outrageousness of his story. Jack winced to himself. It might have been better to keep his origins to himself. The tale was simply too much to believe, even if it was the truth. After all, the first ingredient of a sound lie was plausibility-something his story was sorely lacking. He was just about to tell Seila to ignore it all as an odd little jest when she drew a sudden breath and looked at him again.
“There was a rumor in the kitchens a few days ago,” she said. “The drow discovered a swordswoman frozen in stone in the ruins of the ancient city. She’d been that way for decades, maybe even centuries. The diggers and porters say she came to life and fought her way free of the Chumavh holdings. As I heard it, she cut down a dozen drow warriors before escaping into the tunnels.”
“The swordswoman was-is-the Warlord Myrkyssa Jelan.”
“Myrkyssa Jelan? You are joking.”
“I see that her notoriety has endured until the present day.” He snorted softly. “I couldn’t imagine a more pleasant surprise for our pointy-eared friends than setting Myrkyssa Jelan free by mistake.”
“You mean that you were entombed like she was?”
Jack nodded. “Exactly, except that I was unpetrified immediately upon my release from the stone where we’d been imprisoned.”
“Of course,” Seila continued, now speaking more to herself than Jack. “In fact, there were stories in the kitchens that the drow had found another entombed in the ruins-a fool or madman, they said. That must have been you.”
“Fool or madman, indeed. Clearly the tale of my release became confused in the retelling. I dispute both characterizations.”
“You really lived in the time before the Spellplague?” Seila asked. “That is incredible! Unless, of course, it isn’t true, in which case you are the most inventive liar or most lucid madman I’ve ever met. What was it like, then?”
“I’ll be happy to share every recollection I have of what things were like in my day, but it’s hard to know where to begin,” Jack answered. He noticed that the gloom beneath the gigantic mushrooms was lessening; the boles seemed fewer and farther apart. “I haven’t yet seen the world above since my release, so I really don’t know
