The Black Irix

* * *

“I’m getting the Elfstones back,” Shea declared, pacing the narrow confines of their prison cell. “I don’t know how, but I’m going to.”

Flick sat glumly on the thin pallet rolled out on his wooden slat bed, his head in his hands. “We should never have come here in the first place.”

Shea stopped and looked at him. “What? And miss out on these fine accommodations?”

Flick returned his gaze. He was not smiling. “I told you this would happen. I warned you. This was Panamon’s plan all along. He was always after the Elfstones.”

Their cell was roughly ten feet by ten feet, the walls windowless and the floor bare. The iron door through which they had entered provided the only exit. Except for a pair of rudimentary beds and a single wooden table with a candle on it, the room was empty of everything but themselves.

Shea stood close by the door, fruitlessly wishing it would open again. Then he moved over to sit by Flick. “Don’t worry. Things will work out. Panamon’s got something else in mind.”

“Why were we so stupid? Why did we let ourselves be tricked like this?” Flick lifted his head, his brow furrowed, his face stricken. “What were we thinking?”

Yet Flick had been the one to argue against going. And Shea had to admit that, as much as he needed to believe his friend had not betrayed him, their current situation looked pretty bad. He could not blame Flick for feeling as he did, but still he marveled at how his brother took an equal share of the blame on himself when all along it had been Shea forcing the issue.

A surge of love for his brother filled him. If he had led him into danger …

But no. He knew Panamon Creel. He would not leave them like this.

“Panamon has always been straightforward and honest with me,” Shea replied firmly. “There’s something else at work here. I know there is!”

“Based on what evidence? He was never reliable. You just thought he was. You think the best of everyone–even those who are looking to stick a knife in your back!”

Shea shrugged. “Because I prefer it that way. I’d rather think well of people than ill. Besides, giving up the Elfstones for a mere bag of gold doesn’t make sense. Panamon knows that’s nothing compared with what the Stones are really worth.”

“Not if you can’t make use of them. Not if you can’t sell them without losing your head. Don’t you think that when Eventine hears of this, he will bring the entire Elven nation down on Kestra Chule and his stronghold? It’s safer for Panamon to take the gold and disappear.” Flick paused. “It’s also safer if he lets Chule get rid of us so we can’t tell anyone what’s happened.”

Shea rose, moved over to the second bed, and lay down, hands behind his head. “It doesn’t matter what you say. I can’t make myself believe Panamon lied to us about the Irix, tricked us into coming, and then robbed us. It doesn’t feel right.”

Flick grunted. “Well, the fact that it’s happened ought to go a long ways toward convincing you.”

“I don’t know …”

His brother lay back as well. “Go to sleep. Maybe you can dream up a way out of this. Maybe you’ll be able to concoct a plan to get the Elfstones back from Chule.”

Shea looked over and smiled at him. “I’m glad you came with me, Flick,” he said. “I’m sorry things turned out like they have, but I’m very glad you’re here to help me get through them. I wouldn’t want to be here alone.”

Flick grunted and rolled over, facing away from the candlelight. “You know well enough I wouldn’t let that happen.”

Shea closed his eyes, and after a while he could hear Flick’s breathing deepen. He remained awake afterward for a short time, trying to work out what Panamon was up to. But in the end his weariness dulled his thinking, and he fell asleep.