by S J Hartland
Loss. He had loved and lost. Loved again, lost again. Until he could not bear the first because it came only with the other.
“My lord?” Ewen stood in the doorway. “The sentries said you returned.”
Vraymorg dragged fingers through his thick hair, reluctant to leave this room. The past lingered here. Any moment Kaell must walk in, fling his cloak and knife aside and eagerly tell him about that day’s swordplay.
But what if he didn’t? What if this room stayed like this? Empty. Gathering dust. Gathering silence.
“Where did you go?” Ewen dropped his pretence of formality. “To see her? You can’t go off like that. Not now the Quisnaf know your name and where you are.”
Vraymorg hid a fond smile. Ewen often treated him like a wayward nephew.
“From your first grey hair, you’ve scolded me. I’m centuries older than you, young man.”
“I scold because you’re reckless, Val. You don’t care what happens to you. Do you understand what the Quisnaf blood keepers want of you? Better to drive a sword into that cold heart of yours.”
“As it happens, Quisnaf warriors are in the forest.”
“No!”
“I eluded them.” But Rozenn was right: they would never stop hunting him. Maybe her other words were also true; his fate was to be sought, possessed.
What if he returned to the forest, begged the Quisnaf to take him? Could the surrender of his body, even his will, bring an end to struggle?
Except he could not offer up his fear. They could not ache for Kaell, worry for Kaell. If only caring was an act of will. Then he could put it aside.
“Your wrists.” Alarm etched Ewen’s face. “Rope burns. Who bound you? It was her, wasn’t it? I warned you. You can’t trust Cahireans.”
Vraymorg sighed. “The sweet Rozenn and her captain left me tied up for the Quisnaf. After said captain first stabbed, then hit me. I must thank him sometime.”
“And you escaped? Thank Khir.”
“I hid Kaell’s blade up the chimney. Useful for cutting ropes. Rozenn took mine, thinking it was Kaell’s. A long story. What brought you up here in a rush? What’s happened this time?”
“This time?” Ewen flung his arms up in exasperation. “We’re at war, Val. The king has expectations of you.”
“Kings, lords, Quisnaf warriors—you.” Vraymorg shrugged. “Don’t tell me Cathmor turned up.” He laughed. “No, stupid. He might soil his cloak travelling in this weather.”
“Cathmor. No.” Ewen sounded displeased at his lord’s levity. “But his messenger arrived this morning. I put him in the small hall. He’s comfortable beside the fire.”
Vraymorg rose. That world of kings, of sieges, battles, lords and their feuds beckoned.
“What’s he want? The messenger.”
“The king demands more rope, more arrows. At once. Cathmor’s also sent someone to make sure he gets them.”
“He’ll get them when he gets them.” He sounded like a petulant child. No wonder Ewen corrected him. “Who’s he sent?”
Ewen looked hard at him. “Caelmarsh.”
Kaell
His ragged breath hit air as sharp as ice. His bare feet bled. The sword slapped his back. It bruised and cut his skin but Kaell ran. He would not stop until his lord allowed it.
Then I’ll lie in the snow and sleep.
“Then you’ll die,” Vraymorg said.
“Then let me die,” Kaell whispered. He thought he heard a chuckle, glimpsed blond hair, breathed an exotic scent unlike the forest’s pine, churned earth and dew-wet grass.
“It’s been four days.” A voice drifted through his scrambled mind. “Time enough for his strength to return. No more sleeping draughts. Get rid of the dirt. Bring him to my chamber.”
Hands lifted him. His heels skidded on stone. Blackness folded like wings then slowly opened. So cold. Everything cold.
“Kaell, listen.” A woman. “I must be quick before they miss me.”
“Who are you?” he croaked. “Am I in the forest? Where is my lord?”
“What’s wrong with you? You’re a prisoner.” She sounded angry. Why? He ran, didn’t he? As his lord commanded. “Pretend to submit. Do not fight. Once they lower their guard, you must find me. Please help me, Kaell. Help me.”
Fight? Find her? He wanted only to sleep in the snow.
“If you sleep in the snow you die,” his lord said.
Tiptoed steps faded. In the stillness, Kaell drifted in a carefree ether. Dreams winked in and out until a throb in his skull pierced deep, dragging him back to wakefulness.
His cheek crushed against cold tiles, his body thick as sludge. He moved an arm. No clink of chains. How long had he sprawled here—wherever here was? His last clear memory was the hall, Archanin’s breath on his face, his teeth nipping his throat. Then nothing.
Kaell lifted his head. His sight fractured as though he twisted on a rope. Groaning, he sank down and shut his eyes. Languor swept over him as sweetly as a tendril of fragrance.
Cloth brushed his arm. A woman, her perfume creamy, smoothed matted hair from his forehead. Bare feet padded away over stone.
Kaell forced open his heavy eyelids. He was in a circular room, its stone walls unbroken by windows, with one wooden door. Steam shrouded flickering, scented candlelight.
A bathhouse? Like the one he and Arn had visited in Dal-Kanu. He liked Dal-Kanu. The king said it stank of mud but Kaell thought its narrow streets smelt of spices.
He rose on one elbow. A blanket fell away. Beneath, he was naked, his skin slick, his bedraggled hair plastering his face.
“About time you fled one nightmare and woke to another.”
Kaell traced the female voice through curling steam to a figure leaning against a huge, wooden tub. From her pale hair, her luminous skin, a ghoul. Words from dreams niggled. “Don’t fight. You’re a prisoner.”
Kaell clawed his neck for the wound. Archanin’s prisoner. He tried to rise only to fall down. In vain, he groped for his sword. No sword. No clothes, even. No escape.
The ghoul moved through damp mist like a wraith. She grabbed his arm. “Be still. The guards outside will gladly hurt you if you cause trouble.”
She peered at his face. “You look wan. I suppose it has only been a matter of days since our lord drained most of your blood. Take a breath. You’ll feel better after a bath.”
Better? A jester, this one. His dizziness and weakness shocked him.
The door crashed into a wall. A girl carried buckets of steaming water inside.
Caitlyn. Another dam of memory burst. The hall. Jeering laughter. A voice. He fingered the neck wound again.
“Caitlyn. Be quick, then on with your work.”
The girl emptied water into the tub, shamelessly swept Kaell a leer, grinned and left.
The ghoul glared. “You, bathe.”
“Who are you?”
“You may call me Terissada. Now obey. Bathe or the guards throw you in.”
Kaell folded his arms over his breast.
“Stubborn fool.” Her gown swished mosaic tiles as she padded to the door, returning with two armed ghouls. They seized his shoulders. Kaell bucked. A blow snapped his head back.
“Careful.” Terissada protested with raised hands. “Don’t harm him more than necessary.”
Dazed, Kaell hardly struggled as they hurled him into the tub.
“We should bind him.”
Terissada shook her head. “He’ll settle.”
The guards stepped back. Kaell considered them angrily as dizziness faded. No point resisting until he had the strength to fight.
He sank into heat-misted water, sighing with reluctant pleasure. Dirt and blood floated off. Pleasing scents of freesia and lavender soap swirled. His knotted muscles loosened.
“This water is black already.” Wearing only a shift, Terissada splashed into the tub. “Why, you’re as filthy as a pig rolling in mud. Here, let me scrub your back, little pig.”
Kaell flinched. �
�I don’t want my back scrubbed.”
She grabbed his arm. “Turn your back. My lord bid me prepare you.”
“For what?” His voice cracked.
“Shut up. Do as I ask.” Terissada lathered soap.
“Or what?”
“Or the guards restrain you. They won’t be as gentle as me. Your choice.”
His choice was do not submit. But restraints? No.
With a frustrated sigh, Kaell crossed his arms on the rim as she scrubbed. At each stroke, his tension surprisingly seeped away.
“Turn again.”
Kaell rolled. She soaped his chest and belly. When she groped lower, he growled and caught her wrist.
Terissada slapped his hand away. A guard started forward. She waved him back. “You can go, both of you. He won’t cause trouble.”
Kaell forced down anger, a need to throw his fists about to prove her wrong. Do not react. Let her—them—think him broken. One careless moment and he’d escape.
Terissada washed blood from his stiff hair, sponged his shoulders, her fingertips lingering on bulked muscle. Her breast pressed his arm. He didn’t bother shrinking away.
When she left him to soak, Kaell floated, eyes closed, the heated water lulling his fears. Thoughts tried to ambush him, but he held them off. Thoughts hurt. Better an empty mind.
“Out.” Terissada splashed water in his face. She wore a different gown, damp where it clung to her lithe body.
Unsteadily, embarrassed by a faint stirring in his groin, Kaell climbed from the tub and squeezed water from dripping hair.
Terissada held a cloth. She did not give it him, only swept an admiring look up and down.
Kaell tolerated it. Little shame in nudity even in the prudish Mountains. Though, unlike the decadent Isles, it was common only in bathhouses.
“I traced your scars.” Her voice husked. “It should sicken me to touch you, given what you are. And yet—” She sighed. “I didn’t expect to find you so pleasing. Like a desert warrior from the past.”
Glaring, Kaell snatched the cloth from her. He wrapped it about his waist.
“So modest.” Terissada laughed. “A blushing Telorian will find our ways wanton. Now for that stubble. He prefers it gone. Come here.”
He? Archanin? Kaell trembled. No, he must not think.
She bid him sit on a low bench, fetched a knife, wet the edge and put it to his throat. Their eyes locked. Above lapping water, a faint murmur of voices outside, Kaell’s breaths hammered, too loud, too fast. Steam swirled with floral scents.
He seized her wrist and pressed the knife into his skin. Blood lined a thin cut.
“Do it,” he said. “Cut your enemy’s throat.”
Terissada carefully removed his hand. “If you fear what’s ahead, you’re not so stupid.”
Shame heated his skin. It was one thing to want to die, another to let his enemy think he sought death because of fear.
Stunned by his weakness, he sat docilely as she shaved him, then rolled onto his belly at her command. Terissada spilled scented lotions onto her palms.
Despite her previous lewd look, her hands moved over his body with impersonal precision, needling and soothing tight muscles. Kaell drifted towards sleep.
A pounding roused him. An armed ghoul pushed inside. “Our lord grows impatient.”
“He will be prepared in a few moments. Wait there.”
Prepared. Dread unwound like a spring within him. “Prepared for what? Am I food at a feast?” Humiliating to die like that.
But the prospect of another, shocking fate festered in the darkest recesses of his mind. Ghouls were licentious and immoral. What if they used him shamefully? What if preparing him meant readying him to service their lord in his bedchamber?
Kaell gripped the bench hard, fighting panic. As a child he once overheard his lord tell Ewen beauty carried its own curse. Now he thought he understood what that meant.
“The main course.” A teasing smile touched her lips. “Ah, the look on your face.” She laughed. “Calm yourself. You’re precious to our lord.”
“Your lord—Archanin? If he does not want to kill me—”
“He does not.”
“But he must kill me,” Kaell whispered, his heart breaking into an uneven thud. “He must.” His gods promised a hard, righteous fight then death. That kick of danger cut his breath. Torture wasn’t the worst that could happen to a captive.
Terissada flashed a disbelieving look. “Do you have ears, boy? You heard our lord’s words in the hall as surely as I. He doesn’t intend to kill you. Not with your blood.”
Kaell bunched his fists. “I’m still human. I feel it. He failed. He can’t turn me. He must kill me.”
Terissada shook her head. “Silly child. Believe what you want.”
She threw open a chest and tossed him pants and a tunic, its colour the deep blue-green of the lake at Dal-Kanu. Why think of that? Because he’d never see Dal-Kanu again. Or Vraymorg. Or anywhere, except here.
Wherever here was.
“Where am I?” Kaell pulled the tunic over his head, relieved to wear clothes again.
Terissada did not answer. She pressed fingers to his jaw to turn his head.
“Yes, you’ll please him. He likes beautiful things. That’s the way with gods. Though he is fickle in his affection and desires.”
Desires? Kaell jolted at the now too-real prospect Archanin had a carnal use for him. He shielded his body with his arms, holding in a shiver as his imagination took over.
Terissada flung back the door and called to the guards.
“Why is my hair like yours?” Kaell snatched at something ordinary to thrash down his rising alarm.
She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Who do you think we are, Kaell?”
He shrugged.
“Where do you think we came from?”
“I don’t know.”
Terissada shoved him at a guard. “And if I said you and I share a common bloodline?”
“You were human? I don’t understand.”
She sniffed. “Poor child. This lord of yours treats you like a beast. Expects you to fight and die and tells you nothing. You don’t even know who you are?”
Kaell’s mouth tasted like sand. His lord rebuffed every question about his parents or where he was from. “Who am I?”
But Terissada turned away.
Ghoul guards fell in around him, gripped his shoulders, forced him forward. They carried swords, their watchful gazes surly with mistrust.
Kaell let training and instinct kick in, assessing options to break free. Unarmed, alone, could he overpower them? Run? To where?
He hung his head. His capture dented his belief in his skill. What he wouldn’t do for his lord’s comforting presence. His strength.
The guards shadowed him along a passage, its stone worn beneath his bare feet.
But for their boots and his reluctant steps, a silence palled. In sconces on hewed walls, torches flickered golden light. A cool wind snaked through high, slanted shadows.
They pushed him up a crumbling staircase to a columned balcony. Kaell drew up hard. He expelled an astonished breath.
Clouds in a midnight sky webbed above broken, blackened roof beams. A ruined hall sprawled below, a dusting of shadows and moonbeams, of gleaming marble and pillars tangled with thorns and ivy.
A guard barked in the ghoul tongue. He shoved. Kaell stumbled, steadied, looked up.
And saw the door from his nightmares.
His breath clipped, then choked. Terror sped through him like wildfire. No! The scream unwound silently in his tight ribcage. No. Not in there.
He backed up into bodies, tried to turn. The ghouls blocked him, grabbed him, dragged him forward. Kaell flailed with his arms and jammed heels into stone, that soundless scream drowned in his lungs. Step by step, they pulled him to the door.
He knew every carving, knew how the dark wood might feel beneath his fingers. His mind unravelled into disbelief. Sick dread ripped like a l
ance across his gut.
A guard rapped. Kaell’s horrified stare held on the door. It swung open. With a bestial cry, he reeled back. The ghouls tightened their hold.
“Why the delay?” Another female peered out. “Bring him in at once.”
Desperately, Kaell jerked his elbow into a guard’s face. The ghoul stumbled, grunting in pain. Kaell swung an arm. A second fell back. He broke free of clutching hands and ran.
Footsteps pounded behind. Close. Voices erupted to shouts. Closer.
Weak, dizzy with fear, Kaell had no clue where he was or how to elude them.
The floor floated. Shattered light blurred his vision. A wall that wasn’t there a heartbeat before reared up. He bounced off it, moaned, scrambled upright. Staggered a step. Yawed. Lurched. Ran.
Breath burned his ribs. He hit a long corridor. A man stepped through a far door. Turned.
“Arn!” Kaell froze. “You’re alive.” No time to unravel how. “Arn, we have to get out of here.”
Even as the words fell out, he knew no one was there. Loneliness and guilt tore this illusion from his tormented mind. Yet the ghost, or whatever it was, stared over his shoulder.
Kaell wheeled, arms flung up as a fist flew. The blow crunched into his jaw. Dazed, he fell. Ghouls caught him, snatched up his feet, his arms.
He shook off his haze and thrashed, screaming, “Arn! Help me!” He squirmed, kicked until they dropped his legs, scrabbled at a jagged edge of stone and hung on.
His captors peeled his fingers away. They struck him again. The blow stunned him. He didn’t realise at once they carried him back to the door.
Through the door.
Fear stopped his breath. Blind with panic, Kaell jerked his legs, tore a hand loose and clawed uselessly at air.
A guard laughed. “Our lord likes them feisty.” They dropped him on his feet, bound him to a rounded pillar with thick cord. All but the female ghoul withdrew. The door clanged shut.
A sob died in Kaell’s throat. Not here. Not this room. No, he could not weep, must not.
“Be silent and still.” She thrust hands to her waist. “Enough of your childish nonsense.”
“Arn. I saw my friend, Arn. He’s alive. What have you done to him?”