A strange assortment of people surrounded him, and all eyes were on the party as they entered. Toothless, tattooed men spilled drinks while women with matted hair and painted eyes swayed back and forth to unheard rhythms. One lounged naked upon a silk cushion, with a massive snake coiled about her body as she whispered to it. Beside her an old hairless man with yellow nails as long as his fingers painted curious designs on the floor, and everywhere the hall was choked with the smoke of burning tulan leaves, which smoldered in a central brazier.
In the darkest shadows were others. Hadrian could barely make them out through the fog of smoke and the flickering firelight. They clustered in the dark, making faint staccato chattering sounds like the whine of cicadas. Hadrian knew that sound well. He could not see them, merely the suggestion of movement cast in shadows upon stone. They shifted nervously, anxiously, like a pack of hungry dogs, their motions jittery and too fast to be human.
Dilladrum shooed Wesley forward. Wesley took a breath and said, “I am Midshipman Wesley Belstrad, acting captain of what remains of the crew of Her Imperial Eminence’s ship the Emerald Storm, out of Aquesta. I have a message for you, Your Lordship.” He bowed deeply. Hadrian found it comical that a lad of such noble bearing bowed before the likes of Erandabon Gile, who was just shy of a madman.
“Long Erandabon has waited for word.” The man upon the throne spoke in Apelanese. “Long Erandabon has counted the moons and the stars. The waves crash, the ships approach and gather, the darkness grows, and still Erandabon waits. Sits and waits. Waits and sits. The great shadow is growing in the north. The gods come once more, bringing death and horror to all. The undying will crush the world beneath their step, and Erandabon is made to wait. Where is this message? Speak! Speak!”
Wesley took a step forward as he pulled the letter from his coat, but paused after noticing the broken seal. As he hesitated, an overly thin man dressed in feathers and paint snatched the letter away. He growled at Wesley like a dog showing his teeth. “Not approach the great Erandabon with unclean hands!”
The feathered man handed the message to the warlord, who studied it for a moment, his eyes racing madly back and forth. A terrible grin grew across his face, and he tore the note into pieces and began eating them. It did not take long, and while he ate, no one said a word. With his final swallow, the warlord raised his hand and said, “Lock them away.”
Wesley looked stunned as Tenkin guards approached and grabbed him. “What’s happening?” he protested. “We are officials of the Empire of Avryn! You cannot—”
Erandabon laughed as the guard dragged them down the hall.
“Wait!” another voice bellowed. “It was arranged!” Thranic deftly dodged the guards, advancing angrily on the warlord. “My team and I are to be given safe passage. I’m here to pick up a Ghazel guide to take us safely through Grandanz Og!”
Erandabon rose to his feet and raised his axe, halting Thranic mid-step. “Weapons did you bring? Food for the Many did you deliver to Erandabon?” the warlord shouted at him.
“It sank!” Thranic yelled back. “And the deal wasn’t based on the weapons or the elves.”
The chattering sounds from the darkness grew louder. The noise appeared to disturb even the Tenkin. The hairless man stopped drawing his designs and shuddered. The woman with the snake gasped.
Erandabon remained oblivious to the rise in their tenor as he gibbered in glee. “No! Based on the open gates of Delgos! What proof of this? What proof does Erandabon have? You wait here. You stay sealed and if Drumindor does not fall, you will be food for the Many! Erandabon decrees it! Who are you to defy Erandabon?”
“Who are you to defy Erandabon?” chanted the crowd. The warlord waved his hand in the air and the chattering grew loud again. The guards moved in with spears.
“Now we know what the empire has been doing with the elves they’ve been rounding up,” Royce muttered as he ran his fingers lightly along the length of the doorjamb.
The Tenkin had locked them in cells buried in the foundation of the fortress. There were no windows. The only light came from the small barred opening of the door, beyond which torches mounted in iron sconces flickered intermittently. Hadrian and Royce were fortunate enough to share a cell with Wyatt and Wesley, while the others were in similar cells within the same block. The sounds of their independent conversations echoed as indiscernible whispers.
“It’s ghastly,” Wesley said, collapsing on the stone floor and dropping his head in his hands. “Admittedly, I’ve never held any love for those of elven blood”—he gave Royce an apologetic glance—“but this—this is loathsome beyond human imagining. That the empire could sanction such a vile and dishonorable act is … is …”
“And now we also know what that fleet of ships in the bay is for,” Hadrian said. “They’re planning to invade Delgos, and it would appear we delivered the orders for them to attack.”
“But Drumindor is impregnable from the sea,” Wesley said. “Do you think this Erandabon fellow knows that? All those ships will be burned to cinders the moment they enter the bay.”