by S J Hartland
The moonless night and his captors’ menacing silence swallowed Kaell’s hope. All he had was vengeance, a knot of it stiffening his backbone and shoulders, a whisper in his head, do not give up, a spark lit by his need to avenge his friends.
Until even that whisper, that spark died. His body sagged beneath the burden of despair and loneliness, and the dreadful knowledge he failed his lord.
The frame bumped and scraped over stones. Eventually, against the slow clip-clop of the horses, worn out by anger and fear, Kaell slept.
He woke shivering, his toes numb. If only Khir had let him freeze. But he’d displeased his gods. Why else would they abandon him?
Would his lord, if he were here, abandon him also? Would he accuse with sharp words and quivering lips? Better to die than see his shame reflected in Vraymorg’s eyes.
At last they stopped. A spine of massed rock jagged against pink-rimmed blackness. Walls of stone folded like resting wings. A gorge? A steep-rutted gully?
“We will not reach the castle tonight.” Raggamirron.
“He will be angry.”
“Daylight overtakes us. The caves are nearby.”
The horses clopped forward, but soon Raggamirron called a halt. Ghouls dismounted, removed packs and unbridled horses.
One freed Kaell, threw him over his shoulder and bore him, struggling, wriggling, towards a cave in a soaring rock wall. Dumped on hard ground, Kaell tensed his muscles. If he could break free, approaching daylight might hide him.
A shadow fell upon him. Lastenarron shook his head sadly. “I’ll take my little flower. I believe he intends mischief.”
He dragged Kaell by the hair into the cave’s gaping darkness where shapes convulsed in flurried activity. Torches flared. Ghouls cast Kaell spiteful or curious glances as they huddled in corners to sleep.
Kaell squirmed. Lastenarron’s grip tightened. “You might be a bonded warrior but even you can’t escape hundreds of us. How far do you think you’ll get?”
Another ghoul approached and bowed to Lastenarron. “Raggamirron says the prisoner needs water. Like a horse.”
Lastenarron grinned. “Like a dog.” He threw Kaell down. “Well then, give him water.”
The ghoul trembled as he pressed a cup into Kaell’s bound hands. Odd how his fear comforted. His enemies still considered him dangerous even if his self-belief wavered.
“He’s just a boy.” The newcomer barked a surprised laugh. “Look, Lastenarron.”
“All bonded warriors are young.” Lastenarron covered a disinterested yawn with his palm. “The gods of men demand it. But even wounded this one is lethal.”
“Maverran says our lord will torture him for months. That’s why he demanded—upon pain of death—we bring him back alive?”
Kaell stiffened. Death he could face. That would end his gnawing, helpless rage, his sorrow. But painful, humiliating torture? He was no fool. The moment they captured him, that peril became real. But to hear it said raked up new horror.
Lastenarron laughed. “You’ve scared my little flower.”
Raggamirron appeared, needling his temples with ringed fingers.
“He’s stronger,” Lastenarron warned in a low voice. “Ropes might not hold him. Best to break an ankle. We can’t lose our lord’s prize now.”
“Our lord wants his prize in one piece. Bind him to me.”
No. Kaell choked on an outraged cry. He crawled away.
Lastenarron grasped his hair. “Well sweet boy, do as our lord’s favourite says.”
Kaell uselessly struggled.
With an impatient growl, Raggamirron grabbed his shoulders and sank with him to their knees. Lastenarron lashed them together, Kaell’s back to his captor’s chest, his head on the ghoul’s breast.
Raggamirron slept at once. Crushed against his enemy’s body, the ghoul’s breath warm in his hair, Kaell shrank away as far as the ropes allowed. He ached with misery, his mind in turmoil. Indignant anger roiled. This was insufferable. Why didn’t Khir let him die in battle?
The day crawled towards dusk. He squirmed, groaned, silently wept. Until at last, worn out by his wild, black imaginings, Kaell plunged into an exhausted sleep.
Water trickled on stone. A girl rose on tiptoes to kiss his lips.
“Where are you?” he whispered. “Don’t go. Please don’t leave me.”
But ghouls groped him in the dark cave. They pulled him away from the girl and her sweet kiss, cut him free of Raggamirron, wrenched him up.
Kaell’s teeth chattered. Hunger cramped his belly. He tested his weight on his injured leg. A nip of pain but bearable.
Raggamirron commanded bustling activity. He stopped a scurrying ghoul. “Chall. Take the captive outside so he can piss. Then find him water.”
“Why bother?” the ghoul said. “Let him go thirsty.”
“Do as I say.”
“Is there anything to eat?” Kaell asked.
“There’s you.” Chall bared his teeth.
Raggamirron growled. “Don’t be a fool.”
“Aw, it’s a joke. So serious, Raggamirron. I know what our lord said. He’s his. But Lastenarron boasts if you take only a drop, nothing tastes as sweet as a warrior of Khir’s.”
Not true. Kaell worked at loosening his bonds. Nothing tasted as sweet as Cahirean wine after hunting ghouls. He savoured the thought. It reminded him of who he was.
Raggamirron stilled, his face hard with anger. “Try it. He’s bound. Taste him.”
Chall blinked. Then he looked to the ground, stammering, “I also heard a bonded warrior’s blood kills.”
“You heard right, fool. Lastenarron talks big about the two bonded warriors he’s killed but most of what he says is nonsense.”
Chall grabbed Kaell’s arm, spun him and shoved him outside. “Quick now.”
Kaell limped into a violet, blossom-scented twilight. A whisper ran through soughing trees, black cut-outs against the sky. A few steps to that forest and freedom.
“Well, do what you have to,” Chall said disinterestedly.
Kaell fumbled with his pants. “I’m sorry. I can’t stand.”
A sneer. “Do you want me to hold it or something?” He stepped in.
Kaell drove his palm up into the ghoul’s chin. Chall plunged back. Kaell leapt on top of him, pounding his face again and again until the flesh pulped.
Breathing hard, Kaell scrambled up and groped into darkness swirling between trunks, seeking something sharp to free his hands. Wet grass plastered his ankles. Paws scuttled from his path.
A ghoul grasped his shoulder. Yelping, Kaell twisted free. They snatched at him. He flailed. Broke clear. Blindly stumbled away. Ghouls closed in to trap him with their bodies, pinned his arms to his sides. “No, no,” he yelled in helpless rage.
His captors brutally lugged him back to the cave. Hurled down so hard his cheek ripped on a stone, Kaell curled to protect his gut from their kicks. Everywhere ghouls flitted like yawing shades, their voices a swill of angry murmurs.
Raggamirron stood over him. “Young fool, I like your spirit. But save your strength.”
“Why don’t you kill me?” Kaell hissed. “I’m your enemy.”
Raggamirron sighed. “I understand you better than you know. I, too, would seek death if I were you. But you lost your chance to die the moment we took you alive.”
He pointed at towering rock. “Do you know where we are, child? We’re in the foothills of the Waste Mountains. Once in those mountains, no one will ever come after you. No one will ever find you. You are alone. Put aside foolish hopes of rescue or escape.”
No. Please no. Kaell dragged himself away on his elbows. Raggamirron let him crawl.
Footsteps crunched. Lastenarron pushed forward, his fists bunched.
“He killed Chall.” The ghoul’s eyes bulged with hatred. Before Raggamirron could stop him, he kicked Kaell hard in the ribs. Groaning, Kaell drew his knees to his chest and tried to roll. A boot struck his head. Merciful blackness rushed him.
Kaell lay on hard, cold floor. Grotesque shapes blurred with formless shadows. Jigging light hurt his eyes and voices chirred like an angry buzzing.
“Are you nearly done? We must finish before Raggamirron returns.”
“Phhaa,” a second voice spat. “That one wants too much. It will be done when it is done.”
“Be quick. He’s stirring. Should we hit him or something? What if he escapes?”
“Call out to the guards if you’re afraid, you big baby. Besides, where would he go?”
A grunt then metal scraped stone. “There,” the second voice pronounced, satisfied. “Help me lift him.”
Kaell groaned as they hoisted him. He blinked. Two ghouls studied him.
“He’s awake.”
“More pity for him. Here, you hold him.”
Thick arms enfolded his body. Kaell’s legs seemed useless. Trembling with sickness, he squinted. An ocean of rounded pillars surrounded him, their stone spearing a cavernous hall from marbled floor to vaulted ceiling. Candles smoked from sconces on hewn walls and ebony statues of nightmarish, winged creatures watched with shining, dead eyes.
A sword draped an elaborately carved chair upon a dais. His sword?
“It’s done. Bring him.”
The ghoul dragged Kaell to a pillar. He slumped against his captor, too weak to protest as the ghoul snapped iron about his wrists. Tightened chains clinked, bit into his flesh.
The ghoul stepped back. “Better.”
Chains strung Kaell between pillars, arms extended, his back and chest aflame. Despondent with defeat, sick with pain, he moaned.
“Aw, it hurts? Too bad.” A ghoul checked the manacles. Hesitant fingers edged to Kaell’s arm. “I wonder if his kind tastes as good as they say?”
Kaell shuddered, disgusted at the ghoul’s caress.
His companion hissed, “Are you weak in the head? His blood kills. Leave him be.”
The ghoul laughed, grasped Kaell’s chin and spat in his face. At the door, he called over his shoulder: “Time to make peace with your gods, boy. Worthless though they are.”
Darkness settled. Kaell drifted in and out of consciousness, his hungry, broken body shackled too tightly to slump. Pain plunged him into blackness, only to wrench him back to the pillared room, to his chains. His failure.
Sometime in the long hours, a door creaked. Timid footsteps approached. A light struck his eyes, achingly bright, and he wrenched his head sideways.
“Sorry.” The light dipped.
Kaell squinted. A girl stood before him. Dark hair swept sun-bronzed arms. She wore a simple, dark-blue, linen gown, gathered at her slender waist and billowing to her calves.
“Who are you?” he croaked.
“I’m Caitlyn.”
Kaell coughed a laugh. Caitlyn, the name of a Cahirean river goddess. Stupidly, he said: “Are you here to wash me away, Ceet-lan?”
The girl scoffed as though she thought him unhinged. Perhaps he was. Did it matter? He would be dead soon. Dead, dead. The word throbbed through his skull.
“It’s Caitlyn, not Ceet-lan.” She fumbled inside a bag for a wineskin. “What a stupid way of talking. You sing your words.”
“That’s because I’m a poet. That’s what Arn says.” Arn. Sorrow rushed up in him.
“Poet are you? I heard you were a warrior. Here. Raggamirron bid me bring you water with a little poppy juice in it.”
She held the skin to his lips, standing so close he caught her scent, golden like honey, earthy like a drenched forest. Kaell sipped, able to take only a little at a time. She waited patiently until he finished then returned the skin to her bag.
“Why are you in this dreadful place?”
Caitlyn did not look up. “I serve the old ones.”
“I don’t understand. Aren’t you afraid they’ll kill you?”
The girl flashed scorn. “Don’t be stupid.”
“They’re killers. They need blood to live.”
“You know nothing of these mountains. Can a boy raised at Vraymorg really be that ignorant? Ghouls need blood, but do not take all blood. Do you see? The pact between the ancient ones and my people is centuries old. It is honourable to serve them.”
Kaell rocked his head dizzily. Their conversation felt unreal as though he fell into a dream. He blinked, wondering if Caitlyn would still be there.
She was.
“So I didn’t dream you.”
Again contempt. “How can you dream of someone you’ve never met before?” Her face softened. “But maybe you’ll see me now in a sweet poppy sleep.”
“Maybe I won’t wake.” Kaell smiled.
“You’ll wake. When he wants you to wake, you’ll wake.”
“Who’s he?”
“Why him, of course.” She edged closer. “You’d best not fight. Listen. Do not fight him.”
Kaell offered her a weary grin. “I think I have to.” Fight, then die.
“Then don’t look at him.”
Kaell stared. Something in her manner had changed.
“Why not?”
“You’re so ignorant. And they say, Raggamirron and the others, you’re a bonded one and all.” Caitlyn heaved an exaggerated sigh as though explaining to a difficult child. “To behold him is dangerous. His face. Remember that, hunter.”
She slung her bag across her shoulder. “Anyhow, they’ll blindfold you. You’re precious to our lord. A prize. He’ll keep you to himself, savour that moment when he sees your sweet face, just you and him.”
She strode away. Light patched at the door, then disappeared. Stillness settled about Kaell once more.
The poppy juice blissfully carried him from his aching body. Dreams winked in and out, murky fragments of dulled voices and shifting images. He wanted to stay in this safe, comforting half world, but light and noise forced him back to the hall.
Kaell jerked awake. Hands held his head. A musty cloth tightened over his eyes. He panicked, forgot to breathe. Blindfolded, his tormented mind reasoned. That’s all.
He gulped in air, hearing feet shuffle, drawn-out benches scraping stone and rumbling voices. The ghoul words reminded him of sullen captives forced to teach him their tongue. Kaell was a quick student. An official sent from Dal-Kanu to assess him once remarked to Vraymorg: “The child has a good ear.”
The praise warmed until his lord’s sharp retort: “Every bonded warrior has.”
Voices fell away into an expectant hush.
Measured footsteps approached. Stopped. In the stillness, he heard breath, soft as silk. Someone stood close, wordless, just watching.
Kaell knew fear well enough. But what hit him then scorched like fire, cut like ice, held like steel. A scream rose in tortured lungs, died in his throat.
He gagged. A voice snapped a command. Hands pulled back his head.
“Breathe, just breathe.” Raggamirron; his tone surprisingly gentle. The ghoul held a cup to his lips. Kaell drank.
The footsteps moved away. A chair scraped. But that menacing, powerful gaze still locked on him. Hairs spiked along his arms. If not for the chains, he would reel back or fall to his knees in terror.
“This is him? The one I seek?” The male voice was soft and melodious, but grim with mystery. A tingling crept beneath Kaell’s skin. Not with fear this time, but with a reluctant, terrible longing.
A muttering rose in a nervous crescendo then drifted off.
“Do you think to deceive me? I see nothing but grimy flesh plastered on bones. Is it even human?”
Nervous laughter cut short.
“Speak. Lastenarron. I see Khir’s marks but surely this wretched piece of filth is not the bonded one I sought?”
“This is the warrior I fought.”
A weary sigh. “Another child, another offering from my brother Khir. How generous.”
“This child killed hundreds of our kind.” Another ghoul dripped venom. “At the battle of Dal-Benden he spared no one. Remember the slaughter at the Hall of Rollo? Him. The signs o
f Khir scar his skin, witness to his vicious nature.”
A low, angry murmur coiled about the hall.
“Who else will speak?” The voice was calm but carried.
“I will,” a ghoul cried. Then another. “I was at the Hall of Rollo.”
Shouts. Hisses. Noise. Kaell drifted. Whatever he had drunk swept him far from the voices, from the accusations. A sharp slap forced him back.
“Be gentle, Lastenarron.” The speaker stood close, his words like warm fingers on naked skin. That strange tingling ripped up Kaell’s back again.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
“I am he who gathered with my brothers and sisters at the dawn of this age. My people call me Lord of Blood, their god. I am Archanin. You will know me, obey me, and kneel to me, as your lord.”
Kaell’s heart skidded in his chest. No. Archanin was a myth.
“What answer do you make?”
He trembled. “Every accusation is true, no doubt. I am your enemy. Kill me.”
An amused laugh echoed. “Your lord taught you a bonded warrior’s destiny is to fight and die. That he serves his king, his lord. And then his gods grant him death. Peace.”
“I am your enemy. You must kill me.”
The hush prickled with expectation. Into that chasm, Archanin laughed. A gloating laugh that lifted hairs on Kaell’s arms. “Kill you? Lastenarron, you served me in the desert before my brothers and sisters banished us. What do you say?”
“I want to hear his screams. Then I want him dead.”
A furious tumult broke out. “Yes, kill him. Punish him, then kill him.”
Kaell tried to slip away from their hatred, but pain trapped him in this nightmare. He hoped death neared. Surely it must be gentle, like the girl’s kiss in his dreams.
“Silence.” Archanin’s voice cut through the uproar. “You forget my words when I learned of that cursed book. You forget that he is the key to my freedom, to our victory.”
A sullen quiet settled on the hall. Alive, surely. Waiting. Watchful.
“How short-sighted you all are. You think only of your rage, of vengeance. I could so easily satisfy your thirst. I could butcher him right now with his sword. I have it here, the instrument of his lethal destiny. Or I could drain every drop of his wretched life.”