Chapter 31
Eastmarket District, Oldtown
Elisabeth Van Horn, late of the Seattle Van Horns, awoke face down on the floor in a cave-like room that smelled of urine and blood. She sat up and winced at the pounding in her head. Buttons and Nevermore were missing. She felt a flash of anxiety. What had happened to them?
Katerine and Niamh sat up with similar groggy expressions.
She felt something encircling her neck. "What..."
"Listen, we've been torc-ed," Niamh said. "Don't try ..."
Both Elizabeth and Katherine screamed and started thrashing around the floor.
"... to use magic or the torc will deliver pain."
"Fuuuuck," Katherine panted in agony. "Thank you, Guinevere Google. You could have warned us. Elisabeth, are you okay?"
"No, I am not. I have a splitting headache. Some sort of magical device has just electrocuted me. This adventure sucks."
"Someone drugged us," Niamh said. "Lan was right. Oldtown is not a walk in the park. We have been babes in the woods here—far too trusting. It's fortunate that we're still alive."
"One or both of the dragon women drugged us," Katherine spat. "Lan will come for us, but let's get out of here before he does. I can see the smug grin on his stupid face now."
"What if he can't find us?" Elisabeth asked.
Niamh made a face. "He will come for us. Lan is as stubborn as a mule like that. He will knock down every door in this city to find us if he has to."
"Are you talking about Lachlan Quinn?" came a voice from a dark corner of the room. Her accent made her sound like an upper-crust Londoner.
Surprised, the three women drew together and peered into the dark. They hadn't realized that they weren't alone.
Elisabeth saw a woman crouched in the corner. She, too, wore a torc. Her face seemed to flicker. She grimaced in pain. Then her appearance settled into an exotic ebony haired, lavender-eyed Asrai halfling.
"Jesus," Katherine mumbled, "Doesn't Lan know any plain women? This is ridiculous."
"Who are you?" Niamh demanded.
"My name is none of your business, shifter," she snapped back. "Mind your tone."
Elisabeth went into peacemaker mode. "Sorry, we are a bit upset. Being enslaved and all. How do you know Lachlan Quinn?"
"We've known each other for a long time, most all our lives. Our relationship is complicated. That scar on his face? I gave it to him."
Elisabeth watched as Niamh prowled the room, looking every bit like the angry panther she was. She sniffed the stone wall.
"Crap, we're down in the Desolate. The walls are salt."
"Actually, we're in the sub-cellar of a building in the Eastmarket," said the strange female.
"Wait," Katherine said. "What do you mean, you gave him the scar on his face?"
The door slammed open, interrupting the conversation. A massive orc shoved her way in. She pointed to Elisabeth and motioned for her to come.
Still feeling the effects of the potion that the tea had been dosed with, Elisabeth meekly followed the orc up two flights of stairs. She was still trying to come to terms with all the shocks she had experienced with ever since the dragon women had knocked on her door in Seattle. Romance books never told of all the gritty details of actual adventures. That you were tired and gritty feeling and you really needed someone to let you say time out for a minute so I can get myself organized a bit. In real life, the shocks just kept on coming, no one cared if you were feeling sick and tired and had to pee. Plus, there was a curious feeling she could only describe as a sense of anticipation in the back of her brain. It was distracting, limiting her ability to concentrate.
They walked down a dimly lit tunnel and up three flights of stairs to emerge into a brightly lit room. An enormous sheet of black glass, maybe ten feet by ten feet dominated one side of the room, opposite that a plain wooden dining table covered in papers and a vast pile of books. An office chair sat behind it. The walls were painted purest white. She decided the room was best described as antiseptic. Her harmonizer senses immediately rebelled at the absence of any kind of warmth. She could also smell the coppery smell of blood.
It's like a laboratory or a morgue.
A tall figure stood staring at the sheet of black glass. Flickering whorls and flashes of energy racing across reminded her of a giant screen saver. The fractal patterns were revolting to her harmonizer senses. At first, Elisabeth thought it was a big monitor or television screen until she realized it was transparent. She could see the wall behind it.
"Elisabeth Van Horn, I presume?" The tall being's English was upper class posh, straight out of London. He turned his back to the screen and looked at her.
A Daoine Royal. A creature straight out of mythology. She stared helplessly at six and a half feet of god-like perfection. Long platinum blond hair. This is what Adonis must have looked like, she thought. One side of his face was unearthly handsome, the other side, marred by some truly awful burn scars, twisted his face to make his visage look like a creature from hell. His eyes immediately drew her attention. Two oversized green eyes that burned with power and madness. For the first time, she could appreciate what it meant to be in the presence of a god.
He made a casual wave and all her protective wards fell away like so much fluff. Another wave and she found herself on her knees and suffused with a feeling of utter adoration for him. Another wave and she felt a tickle that became pain that moved to agony. Another wave and she was free.
He smiled. "I have found that it saves time to remind you humans of your place. I have a task for you." He gestured for her to get up and go over to the table.
It was all she could do to keep herself from vomiting. She had never in her sheltered life felt such a sense of utter violation from the elf's casual control of her mind and body. She had never felt utter terror before, either.
The sight of the scroll let her compartmentalize her emotions. It lay in the center of the table, looking like a pile of dirty white, tattered rags. Something inside her jumped eagerly, like a kid at Christmas.
"Tell me, human. Can you translate the script?"
"Yes." Choking pressure from the torc around her throat forced the response. She didn't really notice. Her attention was laser focused on the scroll. Upon closer examination, the pile of rags turned out to be tattered lambskin. Symbols jumped out at her. Ancient Goídelc written in Ogham script. She bent down to take a closer look. Carefully, with trembling fingers, gently opened the first bit of the scroll.
"Tell me about this spell?"
Elisabeth looked up sharply, then carefully schooled her features. "I recognize the Ogham script. The spell appears to deal with the defeat of various sea creatures." She looked again at "a spell for the curing and preserving the cod-fishes and other sea creatures".
"Very good. Sit you down and translate the next spell's wyrds."
The compulsion to obey was too strong for her to resist.
A timeless while later, she had worked through most of the spells in the scroll when a guttural voice broke into her concentration. She looked up and saw a shifter woman with a little girl. They stood spell-bound in front of the Daoine.
