Tarax sneered, and his coursers dropped the boy roughly to the ground. "Child. Do you know where you are?" He gestured with pale hands and sweeping robe to the rough black spire rising steeply behind him. "Forget where...do you know -why- you're here?"
The small boy sprawled on the ground looked around at his captors with a look of disdain. "The Irall. I'm not -that- stupid."
There was a chuckle from the coursers, but a glare from the tall pale Sidhe and they soon fell silent. He watched the boy with interest. "Are you not scared, child?"
"Should I be?" He looked calm, but in truth he was scared. He'd been at the house with when they came, unexpectedly. His mother hadn't even had time to scream. His mother. Hie missed her already, as much as he hated to admit it. He hardly ever felt any affection for anyone, unless it was to benefit himself.
The tall one laughed. "Prehaps. And perhaps not."
The boy examined his toes. He'd heard the stories, of course. Mages were taken by the Sidhe, to the Irall, and were never heard of again. They said terrible things were done to them in there, but obviously nobody returned to tell their story…
The tall one cut across his thoughts. "I suppose you want to know why we have brought you here."
"Well, that’s always a start."
More laughter.
"So you know about the Irall. But do you know what we do in there? More specifically, what we do to the Breeds in there?"
"No." He gazed at the Sidhe, hoping that his fear didn’t show.
"We use them. To serve the Will of Adonna. Like you will, child."
No. "And what if I do not?"
Laughter again. "My child, whether you come willingly or not, you will serve the Will."
The boy shivered. "But what do you want me for?"
The pale Sidhe gestured to the tall black tower that jutted out behind them. "Look at that child, and tell me what you see."
He did. Really, it was quite impressive. "It's a very fine piece of work. But…"
"But?"
"It is weak. The spells that make it real are old. Very old. If it isn't renewed soon, then it will soon fall."
And it would be a good thing if it did, the boy thought – although he didn't dare say this aloud.
The tall one smiled. Not a pleasant smile - his face didn’t seem quite capable of that. It was a cruel smile, as if he had just been given the answer he needed. "You see? We have many mages in our service. Cledar, Urge, even a Serpent. All are useful in their little way. Helping us defeat the humans. Most of them unwillingly, of course." More laughter. His looked serious as he examined the boy. "But we do not have what the Irall desperately needs."
"Spryggla," the boy said, clutching his hands. "Builders."
"Exactly. Which, my boy, is where you come in. We desperately need builders to maintain the tower. Serve us well, and you will live, and possibly be well rewarded. Disobey, and..." he left the sentence hanging, but the boy knew what he meant.
"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" the boy said finally.
"Of course you do, my boy. Serve us...or serve us." The coursers laughed.
The pale Sidhe got down on his knees in the dirt, and placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders. "I know you boy. I can see your mind, and I like what I see. You aren't that different from us, really, in the way you think. What say you, boy?"
The boy looked him straight in the eyes. Those cold, calculating eyes. He had to admit, the offer -was- tempting. He had few friends, and here was the offer of something great dangled right in front of him. A chance to be important. But there was something buried deep inside him, that was still loyal, that reviled at the thought of serving the Maln. And stories always had a grain of truth in them....
"Never. And I hope your tower falls to the ground."
The tall one straightened up. Was that dissapointment in his eyes? "Fine, boy. Have it your way." He turned, and for a moment the boy thought he was free. He gestured to one of the coursers. "Take this boy, and release him."
The courser gaped. "Release him, my lord?"
He laughed harshly. "Aye, release him...into the dungeons!"
The boy felt his heart sink, as he was dragged towards the Irall, amidst the laughter of the coursers.
The tall pale man - Tarax - watched him. "What a pity. He could have made a very fine builder. Why is it they never come willingly?"
</center>
