Legs carefully walked to his mother, hands out front.

The monster stood Argoth a few paces from River, manacled his ankles, then his wrists. It passed a chain through both to a stout ring in the wall. Then it bent two links of the iron with its bare hands to secure Argoth to the ring in the rock. It yanked on the chain to test its strength.

Then the creature gaped open its mouth and coughed. It coughed again and plucked something dark and wet off its tongue. The object writhed like a worm between the monster’s two rough fingers. It was as thick as a man’s thumb and maybe a foot long.

Argoth backed up against the rock wall.

The monster reached out, steadied Argoth’s head with its free hand, then held the wet worm close to Argoth’s throat.

Argoth felt a cold touch at the hollow of his throat. Then the creature slithered up and around and circled his neck.

The monster stepped back.

Argoth braced himself, but nothing happened.

The monster ran a finger along the creature, then turned and walked over to Legs. He plucked him up from his mother and exited out of an opening in the far side of the chamber by the pallid beast.

“Mother,” he heard Legs call from the corridor.

Argoth stood frozen, still expecting the creature about his neck to bite or burn. He reached up carefully and touched it. It was cold and smooth as silk.

“It’s a king’s collar of sorts,” said the Creek Widow. “At least, none of us can work any power that it doesn’t immediately consume.”

Argoth looked at each of them in turn-all wore a similar creature.

The Creek Widow shook her head in the pale light. “You were our last hope. We are not going to be able to resist her for long.”

Her?

Argoth tested the chains. They were heavy and strong. The weight of them made his injuries throb.

Another tremor built in him. “Who is this enemy?” he asked.

The shaking increased. He braced himself, but it faded as quickly as it had come.

Argoth rubbed his arms despite the fact that this room was warm. “Is this Mokad? Or some rogue soul-eater?”

“Neither,” said Hogan. “She is nothing like you have ever seen.” Hogan sounded weak. He was covered with bruises and lacerations. The Fir-Noy had obviously tortured him.

“She is looking,” the Creek Widow cut in, “for a young male.”

“What? Who is this woman?”

“They see a woman,” said River. “I see a man.”

“She’s right,” said the Creek Widow. “It’s no woman. No human. We are dealing with something else entirely.”

And it was searching for a male. They were talking about Talen. They had to be. Except the creature had cast Talen aside and taken Legs. “But how could she know about him?”

“Brother,” Hogan said. “We were stewards of a great gift. But we were fools.” Hogan coughed wetly. “Rose warned us he was special. We should have known that dark powers would seek to destroy him before he came into his powers and could threaten them.”

“We did know that,” said the Creek Widow. “But who could have suspected this?”

“At least he’s not here,” said River.

“No, but who will train him?” Hogan asked. “Who will hide him? Harnock refused to come. And so he is alone.” Hogan pulled at the creature about his neck. “It will only be a matter of time before she cracks his identity out of us.”

And then Argoth realized what Hogan had just said-it wasn’t just a king’s collar they wore. Argoth looked at the others. They were all wearing some kind of thrall.

“No!” he said. He reached up and tore at the creature, but it only constricted tighter. He could not bear wearing another thrall. He pulled again, but it was as strong as iron. “No,” he said, defeated. He shuddered and his heart sank even lower. “We cannot end this way.”

River pointed toward the side of the chamber where the pallid beast lay. “It is not just us that will be broken.”

Something lay on the floor beyond the pallid beast. He’d missed it in the surprise of seeing the Grove. It was a body, crude-featured and dark. It looked to be made of earth.

He saw another figure beyond it, and then another, and another.

“Lords,” he said and counted them. There were nine. Nine more horrors like the one that had brought him and Legs to this chamber. They had slightly different shapes-one’s head twisted into a point like an onion, another had no discernible head at all, yet another seemed to be made more of withies than stone and grass, a fourth had exceedingly long arms. But they were all of the same make.

He’d seen what the monster could withstand. He’d seen what it could do to the mightiest of men. A chill ran through him. All this time they’d worried about Bone Faces and Divines while this was happening under their noses. He felt sick.

He looked at the earthen figures. What rough magic would quicken them? Despair welled up in him like a heaving dark sea. “The Grove,” he said, “is undone.”

46

The torch in Talen’s hand spit and hissed. He and Sugar proceeded farther down the passage.

Sugar held the tooth in front of her in her white-gloved hand as if she were holding a blade.

The passageway bent and curved. The walls were not as well preserved here. Stalactites had grown. And here and there parts of the wall had crumbled to the floor. Only a few paces farther and they came to a gaping rent in the wall. It was big enough to belly through. Big enough for the monster.

He looked at Sugar. He did not want to go into that dark space.

She pointed ahead at a scuffle in the dust of the floor that indicated the monster had followed the main passageway. However, even as they moved past the rent, he kept his eye upon it. He was convinced something was there, waiting for the right moment to strike.

“Hide the torch,” Sugar said.

Talen turned to her. “What?”

“I think I see a light,” she said. “But the torch is ruining my vision. Muffle the light.”

The hairs on the back of Talen’s neck stood up. He peered down the passageway, but saw nothing. The rent was still close. Nevertheless, he found an outcropping of rock and held the torch behind it. The angle was such that it lit the passage behind them, but cast a shadow ahead.

They stood until their vision began to adjust. What he saw surprised him. “There’s a faint bluish sheen reflecting from the rocks,” he said.

Bluish lights had been seen in the caves of the stone-wights before. Of course, very few who went to investigate the lights ever returned. And the reports of those who did seemed to conflict. Some said the lights dashed about like will-o’-the-wisps. Night maws, small lizardlike creatures, made a light if they were cut the right way. But those who had seen the blue light said the light always retreated farther into the cave as if it were leading the explorers to a trap.

But the lights had always been there. Did that mean this monster had been there all along and had only recently come out to forage for its food?

Talen wondered if the monster was like a lion that killed its prey immediately or if it were like a spider that stunned its meals to let them ripen. Or was it like a leech, draining the life out in small portions? What if this monster had a brood to feed? He imagined a number of rough children wrapping their limbs about Argoth and Legs, the Creek Widow, draining them until they were nothing more than husks.

The very thought of being eaten sent fear down his legs to the soles of his bare feet. But it didn’t matter. They needed to move more quickly. Every minute they hesitated gave whatever was up there more time to devour those it had taken.

They both stood there a moment longer. He could hear the drip of water. They could turn back and still perhaps avoid the creature. They might deliver the teeth to one of the authorities. But it would be far too late for any rescue.