Until they came in sight of the horror that was their destination, a fortress that was black and massive and terrifying, and the boy knew instinctively that this was a place from which no one ever returned. Up the winding road they went to the summit of the bluff, and then huge iron gates and craggy walls swallowed them up. They were hauled from their cages while their captors and their animals howled and huffed and snorted and growled and breathed on them from so close at hand, they could feel their heat and smell their odors.
Dragged into the bowels of the formidable keep, away from the last real light and air he or the Ard Rhys would probably ever see again, they were brought into a windowless room and chained to a wall, side by side, their arms and legs spread, their torsos pinned in place, fastened so that they could barely move and still could not speak. Redden remembered the hard cold feel of the stone pressing up against his back as he sagged against it, exhausted and deeply ashamed of what had become of him. He remembered his fear as he waited to discover his fate, far away from his home and his brother, deep in a savage land he barely understood. He remembered the companions and friends who had stumbled unwittingly into the Forbidding with him, all either dead or lost now. Gone.
He remembered exchanging a single look with the Ard Rhys, a look that said more than any words could hope to express.
The Straken Lord had entered the room then, his minions bowing or dropping to their knees instantly, acknowledging his power and position without hesitation or restraint. Tael Riverine was big and powerfully built, standing close to seven feet, his body studded with spikes and rippling with muscle. He wore leather garments that barely covered him, all of them draped with colorful feathers and ribbons, and there were blades strapped everywhere. His nearly featureless face was expressionless and his blue eyes hard and bright with purpose.
He gave Redden a brief glance and then turned to gaze for a longer time on Khyber. “You are not her,” he said finally.
She stared at him, not comprehending.
“You are not the Straken Queen!” he roared with such fury that everyone cringed away from him. “Tarwick!”
A lean feral creature that looked as if a strong wind might blow it away bounded from the crowd of onlookers and dropped to the floor in front of his lord. “Master?”
“Fit them with the collars.”
The creature scrambled up, produced a pair of metal collars, and locked them in place about the prisoners’ necks. Then it released Redden and Khyber from the wall, unshackling them from their chains, freeing their arms and legs, and letting them drop to their knees.
“You wear conjure collars,” the Straken Lord told them. “While you wear them, you must obey me. They will teach you to do so. Disobedience or disrespect will result in punishment.” Khyber Elessedil started to rise. “No, stay where you are. On your knees. Bow to me.”
What followed was the lesson he had intended to teach them all along—a lesson that was to establish his dominance and their servitude. When Khyber continued to rise, the Lord of the Jarka Ruus gestured casually and she jerked upright with a scream, consumed by a terrible pain. As she collapsed and Redden tried to catch her, he was treated to a similar demonstration. The pain was excruciating, radiating out from the collar all through his body, and he dropped to the floor and lay writhing in shock for long seconds.
“This is how it will be if you fail to do as I wish,” Tael Riverine advised. “If you fail to call me Master. If you speak out of turn and without being asked. If you attempt to remove the collar for any reason. If you try to use your magic.”
He saw the stunned looks on their faces. “Yes, I know of the magic you wield. You have been watched and your powers noted. You are no mystery to me. You are only slaves. You are mine to do with as I choose. Do you understand? Answer me.”