Then, in a single smooth motion, he rolled to his feet, crouching momentarily as he watched the dark shape of the skrail guard, and began creeping across the clearing, away from the ashes of the dead fire. He went quickly and silently, hardly daring to breathe, looking all around him as he went for any sign of other skrails, for any indication of danger. His wounds from the skrail talons ached, and his wrists were cut and bloodied from the cords, but he barely paid attention to them, his concentration centered on his escape.

He pictured the look in the eyes of the old man when he arrived and discovered Kirisin was gone. He imagined his rage. The image gave him immense satisfaction. He was sorry he wouldn’t be there to witness it.

When he was clear of the camp, screened now by the skeletal trees that grew along its borders, he straightened and began walking toward the hills beyond. He was smiling with satisfaction and relief, the tension draining away, as he walked from the trees and into the shelter of a deep ravine. He had gone a dozen steps down its narrow passageway when a winged shadow fell across his path.

“Leaving us so soon, boy?” a familiar voice asked quietly.

Kirisin froze, his heart in his throat. He could not make himself look up at the speaker, knowing what he would find.

“Did you think escape would be so easy?” the minder teased.

A second winged shadow appeared beside the first, and from the opposite side a third skrail dropped down into the ravine in front of him, effectively blocking any chance of flight. Kirisin looked up into the wizened countenance of the minder, unable to help himself.

“You wouldn’t want to miss your meeting with Findo Gask, would you?” The other’s voice was edged with expectation. “You won’t believe how much pain he can cause you. It will be interesting to discover how much of it you can withstand.”

Kirisin felt himself sag in defeat. There hadn’t ever been any real chance of escape. “My sister will save me,” he said softly. “Simralin will come for me.”

“No one will come for you; no one will save you.” The minder brushed the suggestion aside. “You are all alone in this, boy.”

The skrails beat their wings softly, and the familiar squawking ensued, a sound Kirisin knew with terrible certainty could only be laughter.

TWENTY