Torrin entered behind Rowan. He took a deep breath to ease the tight fury that was mounting in his chest. If he didn’t take hold of himself, he feared he might kill these men before finding out who sent them.

 

    They had tried to take her.

 

    The urge to protect her, warred with his trust in Rowan’s ability to handle them on her own, yet the implications of an abduction attempted inside Pellaris keep had a cold knot of apprehension growing to counter the heat of his rage.

​

    Rienns placed a torch into a bracket by the door, and the guttering light revealed the two men who had attacked Rowan, tied to chairs, hoods covering their faces. Torrin gritted his teeth and took another breath––He needed answers not retribution. The latter would come when they found out who had given them the key.

​

    Torrin strode forward and pulled the hood from one of the captives. It was the man Torrin had slammed into. Blinking in the sudden light, the prisoner looked around warily, his gaze lingering on Rowan.

​

    Captain Rienns pulled the hood from the other man. Both prisoners had bruised faces, split lips; dried blood smeared their skin. Rienns had not been gentle with his interrogation.

​

    Torrin leaned over the first prisoner. He let his wrath suffuse his expression and held the bailey key out before the man’s face. “Where did you get this?”

​

    Fear crawled across the prisoner’s features, and he opened his mouth to speak, but then shut it again, teeth clicking together.

​

    “Someone gave this to you so you could get into the keep,” Torrin put menace into his voice. “I want to know who.”

​

    The man looked at the key but said nothing. Torrin glanced at Rienns.

​

    The Captain shrugged. “We could get nothing out of them. They have refused to even give their names.”

​

    Torrin straightened and turned back to the door, raised his voice. “Hathunor!”

​

    The iron door squealed as it swung inward, and the huge Raken’s form filled it. He had to duck to get through and when he stood up inside the room, his spiked crest brushed the stone ceiling. Hathunor growled a low rumble and bared his sharp fangs, his red eyes burning into the captives.

​

    Torrin looked back down at the man in the chair and watched his eyes grow as round as marbles, watched the blood drain from his face. “Do you know who this is?” He asked quietly.

​

    The man’s eyes rolled back to Torrin. His labored breathing coming in short gasps.

​

    “This is a very good friend of the woman you tried to abduct last night. The last man who tried to harm her had his arms ripped from their sockets. Very unpleasant sight.” Torrin smiled slowly, certain it could happen.

​

    The prisoner glanced at Rowan again. She stood with arms folded across her chest, a frown on her face, and Hathunor looming behind her like a mountain.

​

    Torrin tossed the key up and caught it. “Rowan can control him, keep him from tearing your spine out through your belly, if you tell us who gave this to you.”

​

    Gaze flicking toward the giant Raken, the man shook his head, more a convulsion. “There is nothing you can do that will be w-worse than him,” he said hoarsely.

​

    Torrin leaned forward, his leathers creaking. “Who?”

​

    The prisoner licked split lips. “H–he will kill me,” he whispered.

​

    Torrin frowned and pointed up at Hathunor. “He will kill you now if you do not answer my question. Now or later, it’s up to you. Choose.”

​

    Suddenly the prisoner convulsed against the ropes, air rattling through his throat as he retched. Torrin drew back. Something was wrong with the man––a seizure perhaps?

​

    Dalemar was suddenly pushing past Torrin, crowding the already tight space. He bent down, examining the man closely, a hand placed on his chest. With a hiss, he snatched his hand back. “There is a compulsion spell on this man, a very powerful one!” He took a deep breath, and replaced his hand on the prisoner. It began to glow blue softly, and the man jerked violently, his head thrashing back and forth. Spittle flew from his mouth.

​

    Captain Rienns moved to hold him still, but Dalemar shook his head. “Do not touch him.”

​

    The Rith frowned, removing his hand after a moment. “It is too complex. I have very little experience with this kind of spell and I cannot see all of it.”

​

    Slowly, the man’s thrashing subsided until he was limp in the chair, head hanging.

​

    “Even if he wanted to tell us, he could not. It would kill him for trying.” Dalemar crossed his arms over his chest and studied the captive, one finger tapping his chin. He turned to look up at Hathunor. “Would you care to try something, my friend? It shouldn’t take a lot of strength, but a considerably lighter, and more sophisticated touch than I possess as yet.”

​

    Hathunor nodded his massive head and stepped around Rowan.

​

    “It looks much like an intricate net covering him. I could not see all of it, but it should just be a matter of loosening a few strands here and there to allow him to speak.”

​

    Hathunor and Dalemar moved to flank the prisoner and the Rith touched the Saa Raken on the arm. Hathunor stood for a moment in concentration, then brought a massive clawed hand gently down on the man’s drooping head. The captive gasped in a ragged breath and wrenched his head back. With Hathunor’s enormous hand covering his face, all Torrin could see was the man’s open mouth. After a moment the Raken lifted his hand and the man blinked at them in a daze.

​

    Torrin waited for the prisoner’s eyes to focus once more and then stepped forward again. “Who sent you here? Who has bound you to his will?”

​

    The man swallowed and looked up at Hathunor again. “H–he comes into my d–dreams. He gives me orders.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “He does terrible things, and I wake up feeling like I’m dying.”

​

    “Who,” asked Torrin insistently. “Who does these things?”

​

    The man opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He worked his jaw and his lips moved, peeling back over yellow-stained teeth. Veins popped out along his forehead and his face slowly turned purple and then blue.

​

    Hathunor abruptly clamped a massive hand around Torrin’s arm and pulled him away from the thrashing man. The other prisoner began to wail horribly, a high-pitched keen filled with animal fear and pain. Torrin wanted to clap his hands over his ears.

​

    Hathunor placed himself in front of the man, blocking Torrin’s view. Rowan, just behind the Raken, was cringing at the inhuman sound with her eyes squeezed shut.

​

    A blinding light flashed outward, silhouetting the huge Saa Raken against the brilliance.

​

    Rowan was thrown against Torrin by the force of the blast, and he scarcely had time to wrap his arms around her before they were hurled against the wall. The back of his head struck stone, and his vision burst into a multitude of white pinpoints. Rowan’s weight forced the air from his lungs, and he barely registered Dalemar and Rienns as they too were flung back into the walls.

​

    Hathunor was the only one unmoved.

​

    Torrin slid slowly down the wall, landing heavily. Rowan, still clutched in his arms, was unconscious, her head on his shoulder.

​

   With the last of his strength, Torrin rolled them both over and placed Rowan between himself and the wall. Then all faded into blackness.