Jaelre or the Auzkovyn, that doesn't mean you're not our enemy. We do not ask quarter of the drow, nor do we extend it to them. Unless you succeed in explaining to my satisfaction why you should be spared, you will be executed."
The lord of the surface folk folded his arms before his breastplate, and fixed her with a fierce stare.
"Our business is with House Jaelre," Halisstra said. She drew herself up as best she could with her arms bound behind her. "It does not concern surface elves. As I said before, my company is not here to cause any trouble to you or your people."
Lord Dessaer sighed, then nodded to Halisstra's guards.
"Escort the lady to her cell," he said, "and let us see if she becomes more helpful with some time to fully consider her situation."
Halisstra's guards replaced her hood, covering her eyes again. She stood passively and allowed them to do so without protest. If her captors came to expect compliance from her, there was always the chance they might make a mistake and give her a chance to get out of her bonds.
Her guards led her out of the hall and back outdoors again. She could feel the deep chill of the air, and sensed the growing brightness in the sky even through her hood. Dawn was near, and the night was vanishing at the sun's approach. She wondered if her captors meant to lock her in some open cage, a place where the curious and malcontent could come by to jeer and torment her, but instead they led her into another building and down a short flight of stone steps.
Keys jangled, a heavy door creaked open, and she was led through. Her hands were unbound, only to be secured again in heavy iron mana-cles as rough hands maneuvered her into place.
"Listen well, drow," a voice said. "You will be unhooded and ungagged, at Lord Dessaer's command. However, the first time you at-tempt to work a spell, you will be fitted with a steel muzzleand hooded so closely you will labor for every breath. We don't go out of our way to mistreat prisoners, but we'll repay every trouble you cause us threefold. If wehave to break your limbs and shatter your jaw to keep you docile, we will."
Her hood was removed. Halisstra blinked in the bright cell, illumi-nated by a hot beam of sunlight pouring in from a grate up in one corner. Several armed guards watched her carefully for any sign of trouble. She simply ignored them and allowed herself to slump against the wall. Her hands were chained together tightly, and the manacles were bound to a secure anchor in the ceiling, cleverly designed to take in any slack.
The guards left her half a loaf of some kind of crusty, gold-brown bread and a soft leather jack of cool water, and they exited the cell. The door was riveted iron plate, evidently locked and barred from outside.
So what now? she wondered, staring at the opposite wall.
From what little she'd seen of the surface town, Halisstra suspected that her comrades could break her out easily enough with a determined effort.
"Hardly likely," Halisstra muttered to herself.
She was a Houseless outcast whose usefulness did not overcome the simple fact that, as the eldest daughter of a high House, she stood as Quen-thel's most dangerous rival in the band. The Mistress of the Academy would be only too happy to abandon Halisstra to whatever fate awaited her.
Who would argue against Quenthel on her behalf?
Danifae? Halisstra thought.
She allowed her head to drop to her chest and she laughed softly and bitterly.
I must be desperate indeed, to hope for Danifae's compassion, she thought.
Once dragged off as a battle captive herself, Danifae would find the situation deliciously, perfectly ironic. The binding spell wouldn't let Dan-ifae raise a hand against her, but without specific instructions, the battle captive would not be compelled to seek her out.
With nothing else to do but stare at the wall, Halisstra decided to close her eyes and rest. She still ached in calf, torso, and jaw from the in-juries she'd sustained in her desperate last stand. As much as she longed to use thebae'qeshel songs to heal herself, she dared not. The pain would have to be endured.
With a simple mental exercise she distanced her mind from her body's pain and fatigue, and slipped deep into Reverie.
In Dessaer's audience hall, the half-elf lord watched his soldiers lead the dark elf away while he stroked his beard thoughtfully.