Her hand—which had been shoving at his face—felt nothing but water now. The arm was no longer around her waist. She was free, and beginning to float upward. She kicked her legs in case the Beedle had any thoughts of making another grab for her, and felt nothing. Looking down she saw nothing where the Beedle had been save an amorphous bubble of faint light—like the gleaming of a formless soul newly spawned.

A crevice between stones gave her a handhold she used in a panicky ascent. That and a few kicks and arm strokes took her to the surface. She erupted from it head and shoulders, and threw one arm up over the edge of the quay—where it was immediately pinned down by Elshield’s knee. It felt like he was putting his full weight on her wrist. She’d have cried out in pain were she not simultaneously coughing up water and whooping in air. She got her other hand out of the water; he caught it in his, then stood up and hauled her full-length into the air and flopped her down on the pavement like a landed fish. “Got her!” he called. “Call off the search!”

“No!” she gurgled. “Brindle! The rope!”

“You weren’t listening to what Sooth had to say!” said Elshield, sounding like a disappointed uncle. “We maintain the balance of the Land by seeing to it that the Sprung never get too organized, too powerful, out there on those Bits. Brindle was the best king among them. Having him free was unacceptable. Holding him prisoner would have been better—though not without risk. Having him dead—by his own hand, no less—now, that is the best outcome I could imagine. I think we’ll leave him just where he put himself.”

Hearing this, Prim became so wrathful that she rolled to her stomach, got up on hands and knees, and staggered up to her feet. She turned to face Elshield and took a step toward him, wishing she could get her hands around his throat. But then his mind was inside hers again, and he forced her to stand where she was. Controlling her like one of his mounts.

“You,” Elshield said, “we’ll keep around. You’ll make a lovely little tame princess to reign over Calla from a high tower.”

She knew he could do it, too. He would not even need to put her in chains. The Autochthons, once they had got into your mind, had no need of such crude restraints. The only way to be free of Elshield’s power was for him to cease existing.

She wished he were dead.

His black cloak, empty, collapsed into a heap on the pavement. The steel hilt of his sword clattered on stone as it slid half out of its scabbard. Elshield was gone. Gone from the quay and gone from her mind.