He took his time, walking toward the man, reveling in each terrified glance the man cast up at him, the shadow in the darkness moving closer, a blade slick with his friend’s blood at its side, the only sound the crunching of the leaves and the dripping of the blood on the forest floor. Drip. Crunch. Drip.
The man just managed to raise the crossbow when Aaron was on him, and he smiled wider at the sight of it, such a small, pitiful thing, really. Almost as weak, as frail as the hands that held it. But not quite. It was the reason the blade found the wrists, lopped them off, a bloody gruesome pair falling to the forest floor in fresh spurts of blood.
The man screamed, and Aaron screamed too, sharing in the man’s pain, his soul feasting on it, glutting on it. “My hands,” the man said, his voice a wet gurgle as he stumbled backward, “Gods be good, my hands.”
“Yes,” the thing inside Aaron hissed, “Your hands. Beautiful, aren’t they?”
The man cried and whimpered and started to fall to his knees, but Aaron caught him. “Oh,” he said, grabbing the man by the back of the neck and bringing his face only inches away from his own, “Oh, you and I are going to make such beautiful art together.”
The man screamed, but Aaron and the thing inside Aaron didn’t mind. The screams were a part of it, and so they let him scream. And then they began their work.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Adina struggled against the ropes that bound her, feeling the skin of her wrists chafe and crack but not stopping, praying to the gods that the wooden stake to which her wrists had been bound would hide the motion from her captors. Her legs, too, had been bound, the knots tied tightly, but she thought she could untangle the binding quickly once her hands were free. She hoped.
The men had driven the two stakes in the ground when they’d brought her and Leomin in, though she’d been in and out of consciousness. One of them had struck her on the head, and she found that she couldn’t remember much, the images of what had happened after Aaron left vague and distorted in her mind, coming to her in brief flashes, too quick and confusing to understand. Still, what the men intended was clear enough.
Leomin was tied to a stake of his own across the tent from her, though the Parnen had not stirred. A mask of blood covered one side of his face, and his head hung down on his chest, his arms bound to the stake behind him. She had tried to wake him without alerting the men who sat a few feet away, drinking ale and playing cards at a small table, but the Parnen had not moved or responded. Adina feared for him. It was obvious one of the men had struck him a blow to the head, as they had her, but she was afraid that they’d hit him too hard. She’d heard of such wounds before, bad head wounds from which men never truly recovered. Sometimes, such men didn’t wake and then, often, when they did, they were no longer themselves, sometimes incapable of speech or rational thought. She’d seen such men before when she’d visited the healers’ tents in her own kingdom.
The men, too, were no great mystery. Though she had never met slavers, she’d heard of them. Men who found their work in kidnapping others and selling them at underground slave markets, making of people possessions. Nothing more than items to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.
Adina had tried to speak to them when she’d first come to, but the men hadn’t responded. Not, at least, until she’d kept on. Then, finally, one of them had risen, a thick, barrel-chested man with a dirty black beard down to his chest and breath that smelled of rot. The man had walked over to her silently and slapped her in the face hard, a full handed slap from which her lip was even now bleeding. Then he’d pawed at her breasts, ripping her tunic in the process, and even that hadn’t been the most frightening thing.
The scariest thing had been the way he’d had done it. He’d pawed at her in a clinical, detached way, like a man checking on the health of a steer or mare before he takes it to the market to sell. She’d struggled against her bonds, spitting in his face, but he’d only smiled and tightened his grip on one of her breasts until she’d gasped in pain and stopped struggling. Then he’d continued pawing at her until one of the other two yelled at him to get back and take his turn.
The man had, but he’d winked at her first, a wink that carried in it a world of meaning, then he’d slowly risen and walked back to sit at the table. Adina felt real fear, then, not just for her, but for Leomin and Aaron too. Aaron was not here in the tent, so that could only mean one of two things. Either they hadn’t captured him, or they’d killed him. That last thought sent a shiver of fear running up her spine. No, she told herself, no. He can’t be dead. He can’t be.
Still, as much as she told herself that Aaron wouldn’t have let these men capture him, that he would have heard them coming, would have known, the image of him lying bloody on the ground in the forest would not leave her. She felt tears gathering in her eyes. Damnit woman, she thought, get a hold of yourself. You can’t do anything for him unless you get yourself free first.
So she continued her work, thinking she was getting a little bit of slack in the tight ropes that bound her wrist, though she couldn’t be sure. The image of Aaron lying bloody and broken on the ground fresh in her mind, she kept at it, struggling to keep a grimace of pain from her face even as her wrists grew slick with blood.
She was still working at her bonds, the men laughing at some joke they’d shared, when a scream sounded from somewhere out in the woods. It was a terrible, heart-wrenching scream that made gooseflesh pop out all over Adina’s skin. It was the sound of a man in unbearable pain, a sound that didn’t belong in the world at all, save only, perhaps, for the Fields of the Dead.
“What the fuck was that?” One of the men asked, stumbling out of his chair, the cards he’d been holding falling to the ground.
“Don’t know,” the bearded man said, rising himself, the three of them casting their eyes at the front of the tent as if they might see whatever apparition had voiced such a scream of suffering.
“Was that Malin?” The third and youngest of the three asked, his voice scared and uncertain. “Gods, that sounded like Malin.”
“Doesn’t make a difference whether it were or weren’t,” the first man said, “Whatever makes or causes a scream like that, you can bet your ass it ain’t friendly. Get your weapons ready, boys.”
The men did as ordered and, in another moment, they were all armed. One of them, the large bearded man, held a thick, wooden club, the others short, rusty swords that had been poorly maintained. “Alright,” the apparent leader of the group said, “here’s what we’re gonna do. Rhett,” he said, glancing at the bearded man, you—” he cut off as another scream came, this one even worse than the last. It went on for longer than Adina would have thought possible, not a man at all but some banshee of the damned voicing its pain and rage.
“Fields take it,” the youngest asked, his fear stealing away several of his years, making him no longer a nineteen or twenty year old youth, but a child, scared in the darkness, “Drost, what is that?”
“Whatever it is,” the man named Drost said, “it’ll bleed like anythin’ else. Die the same too. Now come on. Me and you are goin’ to go deal with this here and now. I can’t stomach much more of that fuckin’ screamin’.”
Just then, the scream came again, this time with another scream, and where the first was full of pain and pleas, the second seemed somehow hungry, and in it, Adina thought she could hear pleasure. She felt a shiver of fear run up her spine.
The boy shook his head, “Drost, I ain’t goin’ out there. What, you lost your damned mind? A man steps out there’s going to catch his death sure as anythin’.”
Drost grabbed hold of the youth’s dirty shirt and jerked him forward so that he slammed into the table then he put his rusty blade against the boy’s throat. “You’ll catch it in here, too, you don’t mind what I’m tellin’ you. You understand?”
The boy swallowed hard, nodding, “I … I understand, Drost. Sure, I do. I was just scared, is all. I’ll go out there, sure, that’s w
hat you want. Long as you come with me, course.”
“I said I am, and I am, damnit,” Drost said. “Now come on. Rhett,” he said, turning to the bearded man, “You watch over the three we got here. Any of ‘em gives you any trouble, slit their fuckin’ throat and be done with it. We’ll get our gold or we’ll get our blood, one.”
“Fine,” the bearded man said, “that’ll work.”
For all his talk, Adina saw the leader, Drost, hesitate, staring at the tent flap. Then he finally screwed up his courage, “Alright, boy,” he said, “let’s go on and get it done.” In another moment, they were gone, the tent flap falling closed behind them.
The screams finally cut off, and Adina swallowed hard. She didn’t know what the men thought was out there, but she was afraid of it herself. Hadn’t she felt as if something was coming? Aaron and Leomin too, whatever secret it was the Parnen had kept so close to his chest, it had been clear they’d both been troubled by something. Perhaps, it had been no more than the feeling of approaching danger she’d had herself that had driven the Parnen to want to gallop the horses in the night, a thing even the poorest horseman knew as foolishness.
What, then? Were her brother’s men out there, in the darkness, working their way even now toward the tent? She wished she could reach the table, put out the candle the men had left—it might as well have been a beacon to whoever or whatever was out there, leading them directly to her and Leomin. And what would she do, when it came? She was bound and helpless. Whatever or whoever was out there, it need only kill the bearded man, Rhett, then it would be able to do with Leomin and her as it would, and she did not expect that it would show mercy or kindness. Kindness did not cause such screams as that, not ever in her knowing.
She redoubled her efforts at the ropes, rubbing her wrists together faster and faster, the friction causing the braided ropes to heat, and she was unable to repress a whimper as the coarse material scraped across her bloody wrists, hot lines of pain that only grew even as her efforts rose.
Something the men had said struck her then, and she paused, gasping and whimpering and glanced at the front of the tent near the opening where a tarp covered something. She’d taken it, at first, as a piece of furniture, a man-height chest, perhaps, though it had seemed strange to her that the slavers would make such an effort to carry along something that wasn’t necessary. Now, she suspected it wasn’t a chest at all, but a cage. And inside it, another person who’d fallen victim to her captors, no doubt some other innocent that had been going about his or her life only to be snatched away from their family and all they cared about in the night, destined to be sold into slavery or worse.
“Gods, help me please,” she whispered, pleading not just for herself but for Leomin and the unidentified stranger too, as she started rubbing at the ropes once more. She’d been at it for no more than a few minutes when another scream came.
She turned to stare at the bearded man, still holding his club, still staring at the tent flap, and she felt a hate she’d rarely felt before. Whatever was out there, if it got her and Leomin, if it had already got Aaron, it would be this man’s fault, his and those with him. They were the ones that had taken Adina and Leomin, they were the ones who had tied her and the Parnen to the ground, left them as helpless prey to whatever may come.
“What do you think, Rhett,” she said once the screams had died down, “it is Rhett, isn’t it? I don’t know about you, but that sounded an awful lot like your young friend to me.”
“Shut the fuck up,” the big man growled, his eyes never leaving the tent flap.
“Why?” Adina asked, “What are you going to do, Rhett? Kill me? It seems to me that whatever is out there is doing plenty enough killing for all of us, don’t you think?”
“I said shut your damned mouth,” the bearded man growled, snatching a quick look back at her before turning back to the front of the tent.
There was another scream then, hoarse and loud, a man’s scream. “And that one?” Adina asked, “Drost, wasn’t it? I think, maybe, Drost’s slaving days are over. If you ask me, I’m thinking you’re all alone. Your best bet, the way I see it, is to let us all go. Whatever it is, it wouldn’t be able to catch all of us, not if we were all running in opposite directions.”
The bearded man didn’t answer, but Adina saw his body tense.
“Or not,” Adina said as the man, Drost’s, screams died away. “How many men did you leave out there, Rhett? It’s all a little foggy to me, what with the blow to the head, but there were three, weren’t there? It seems like I remember three. All gone now, along with Drost and the boy, but I’m sure that’s okay. Whatever is coming, I’m sure you can handle it where the five of them failed. I’m sure it’ll be as scared of that club you’re carrying as you are of it.”
Rhett turned around then, his eyes wild, his teeth bared. “I told you to shut your fucking mouth, bitch. Whatever it is, you ain’t goin to have to worry about it—you’ll be dead ‘fore it gets here.” With that, he started toward her. He slapped her across the mouth again, and Adina cried out, her ears ringing, her eyes watering in pain.
Then he raised the club, and Adina lashed out with the one hand she’d managed to free in her struggles, striking him between the legs as hard as she could. It wasn’t as hard as she would have liked, her position allowing her little leverage, but it was enough to hear a satisfying howl of pain from the bearded man as he stumbled back, his free hand going to his fruits. “You fucking bitch,” he said.
Adina looked at him squirming and smiled past her bloody lip, “Yeah, you said that already.”
While the man moaned, bent nearly double in his pain, Adina set about trying to free her other hand, pulling at the rope. It should have been an easy thing, accomplished in a matter of minutes, but she didn’t have minutes, and the awkward angle coupled with the slick blood coating her wrist and the rope made it more difficult, and she watched, anxiously, as the man recovered and straightened once more.
“You’re goin’ to pay for that.”
“Oh?” Adina asked, her mouth working before her mind caught up, wanting to say something, anything, to keep the man talking, “and here I thought we’d been getting along so well.”
“Funny,” the man said, stepping toward her once more and raising the club he carried, “wonder how funny you’ll be when you’re missing all your teeth.”
“Funnier looking, I suspect,” she said, working furiously at the rope, “still, you’ve nothing to worry about. I’ve a long way to go before I’m any competition for you. Tell me, is your nose really that big or is that some kind of disguise? And the smell,” she said, shaking her head, struggling to keep her face calm while her heart galloped in her chest. “Well, I don’t suppose the smell is funny, exactly. Scary though, I’ll give you that.”
The man growled and took a step closer.
“”Wait,” Adina said “hold on, Rhett. You can bash my teeth in in a minute, can’t you? No need to be in a hurry about it. Tell me, I’m curious, what were you all planning to do with us? Where were you taking us anyway?”
“You think I don’t know what you’re doin’?” He asked with a smirk, “Oh, it’s plain enough. You think to distract me, get me talkin’ till maybe someone comes along to save you or that thing outside does your work for you. You might as well forget about it—I’m not as stupid as all that.”
He started to raise the club again, “Don’t sell yourself short, Rhett,” she blurted, “If you ask me, you’re the stupidest man I ever met.” What? Keep him talking woman don’t make him angrier. The man’s expression drew down into a deep frown, “I mean to say,” Adina said, her mind racing, “that is, except your friends that is. You are much smarter than them.”
He cocked his head to the side, studying her, and she went on, “Well, I can’t be certain about the owner of those screams we heard earlier, but I think you and I both are fairly sure. Considering that anything making a sound like that has to be dying, I’d say it’s safe to assume that
the others have went to meet Salen, are most likely even now being led across the Fields of the Dead. You see? They’re dead, and you’re alive—speaks a lot to you being the best of the lot in the intelligence department. And even if you weren’t, well, at this point it’s safe to assume you get the title by default, if nothing else.”
“Enough talk,” The man said, raising his club for the third time.
“Rhett, wait, let’s—” but he wasn’t waiting, that was sure. Instead, he grabbed her hair with his left hand and slammed the back of her head into the wooden stake hard enough to make Adina’s teeth snap together.
Adina closed her eyes, praying for the gods to look after Aaron and Leomin, as well as the stranger in the covered cage. She winced, expecting a blow and then heard the man, Rhett, cry out in pain. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked up, a gasp of surprise escaping her at what she saw.
Aaron, or at least, she thought it was Aaron—in the shadows of the poorly illuminated tent and covered as he was in a hooded cloak it was hard to tell for sure—had lunged forward, his blade neatly piercing the bigger man’s bicep. For a moment frozen in time, they stood there, the bearded man staring in shock at the steel impaling his arm. Then the figure—and surely it had to be Aaron, yet there was something about the way it stood, it moved, that reminded her of some animal, a wolf maybe—pulled the blade free in and, in one quick motion, his leg flew up, planting a kick in the big man’s stomach that sent him stumbling backward until he tripped and fell to the ground.
The bearded man stared at the cloaked figure before him, its face in shadow. He took in the bloody sword it held. Then he screamed.
“Oh not yet,” the figure said, “don’t scream yet. We’re just getting started.” And although Adina could hear Aaron’s voice in those words, she heard something else, too. It wasn’t the familiar voice she knew—full of sarcasm and cleverness, confidence and fatalism. This voice, this one was different. It made her think of dark places and dark things, of blood pooling on slick cobbles, of people running and screaming, of children crying and looking for their parents. It was a voice devoid of mercy or kindness, the voice of a true killer, one who enjoyed his work.
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