“Great High Lord,” Fillip whispered.
“Mighty High Lord,” Sot whispered.
Neither sounded quite so certain he was either, inching forward like rats prepared to bolt at the slightest move. Nightshade swung her gaze on them like a hammer and they cringed from its blow.
“She can’t hurt you,” Ben assured them — working at the same time at assuring himself. He walked over to pick up the discarded pod and brought it back. He held it up for Nightshade to inspect. “Empty,” he said, pointing to a tiny hole he had carved in its bottom. “I took out all the dust and put it in my pocket to use on you. Just about what you had planned for me, wasn’t it? Answer me.”
She nodded. “It was.” The words were laced with venom.
“I want you to stand here and do only what I tell you. We’ll start with some questions. I’ll ask them and you’ll answer them. But tell me the truth, Nightshade — no lies. Understand?” She nodded wordlessly. Ben reached into his tunic front and extracted the second pod of Io Dust. He held it out to her. “Will the dust contained in this pod be enough to gain control of the dragon?”
She smiled. “I don’t know.”
He hadn’t expected that. A suspicion of doubt tugged at his mind. “Have I given you enough dust that you must do as I say?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
She smiled again. “I don’t know.”
He kept his expression neutral. There would be little margin for error, it appeared. “If you feel your need to obey me fading, you must tell me. Do you agree?”
The hatred in her eyes burned deeper. “I agree.”
He didn’t trust her, Io Dust or no Io Dust. He wanted to get this over with and get out of the Deep Fell. Fillip and Sot looked as if they were at least a dozen steps ahead of him already. They were crouched down in the shadow of one of the ruined tables, snouts buried in their chests like confused ostriches.
His eyes returned to Nightshade. “What have you done with Willow and the others who came with me?”
“I took them prisoner,” she said.
“Questor Thews, Abernathy the scribe, the two kobolds? All of them?”
“Yes. They came looking for you, and I took them.”
“What have you done with them?”
“I kept them for a time and then I sent them away.”
She looked almost pleased with the way this was going, and Ben hesitated in spite of himself. “What do you mean, you sent them away?” he pressed.
“I had no use for them, so I sent them away.”
Something was wrong. Nightshade had not planned to release him. She would never have released is friends. He stared at her, watching her eyes change suddenly from crimson to green. “Where did you send them?” he asked quickly.
Her eyes guttered. “To Abaddon. To the Mark.”
He went cold all over. The lies he had imagined had become truths. He had failed his friends after all. “Bring them back!” he ordered sharply. “Bring them back now!”
“I cannot.” She sneered openly. “They are beyond my reach!”
He seized the front of her dark robes, enraged. “You sent them there — you can bring them back again!”
She was smiling in delight. “I cannot, play-King! Once sent to Abaddon, they are beyond my power! They are trapped!”
He released her and stepped back, fighting to regain control of himself. He should have foreseen this! He should have done something to prevent it from happening! He stared about the shadowed clearing futilely, anger and disgust coursing through him as he considered and discarded possibility after possibility in rapid succession. He wheeled back on her. “You will go into Abaddon and bring them back!” he ordered triumphantly.
Her smile was a thing of near ecstasy. “I cannot do that either, play-King! I have no power in Abaddon! I would be as helpless as they!”
“Then I’ll go myself!” he said. “Where is the entrance, witch!”
She laughed, her face taut. “There is no entrance, fool! Abaddon is forbidden! Only a few…!” Her triumph was so complete that she failed to catch herself in time. Her mouth snapped shut, but she was already too late. Ben seized the front of her robes.