“Aye, sir.”
Holding aloft the torch, Aurelan led the way into the dark gap.
The place smelled of stale earth, mustiness, and disturbed dust.
He led them into a tunnel barely wide enough to accommodate two men shoulder to shoulder. The uneven ceiling was stained with the smoke from old torches, and frequently brushed his hair.
Soon, the tunnel widened, and the roof sloped higher, no longer oppressive.
Abruptly, all three walked into a semicircle of hewn rock and gasped at the sight they beheld.
***
Third Durin of Fornious
With a single soldier by his side, Aurelan Crossis reported to the king and queen. “Sire, I have found a secret chamber whose very existence poses a threat to our security.”
“Well, man, block it up!” the king ordered.
“There is treasure concealed in the tunnel, sire. I thought you might want to look first.”
Queen Jikkos leaned close to the king. “It could be one of the old kings who sequestered jewels and gold… they all did it, didn’t they?” She gripped his arm. “Let us go, dearest. It sounds exciting!”
“No, your highness!” said Aurelan. “Forgive me, but it might not be safe for you.”
“If it is not safe for me, then why is it safe for the king?”
Aurelan lowered his gaze to the floor. “I regret my choice of words, your highness. I meant that there are also corpses in the tunnel. It is not a pretty sight.”
“Do not fret, my queen,” said Saurosen. “I will go with Aurelan. Hidden treasure might be just what we need to finance a counter-attack on the rebels. Lead on, Captain Aurelan.” The king carried the sheathed Black Sword, hand on hilt.
At last, he was going to get the king alone! Aurelan was exultant.
“Take care, Sauri,” the queen pleaded, ringing a dainty bell by her side.
They left the throne room and descended a flight of marble stairs.
Aurelan pointed to an opening in the wall halfway along a corridor on their left.
“I have never seen this,” said the king.
“The recent earth tremor disclosed it, your highness. I stumbled upon it while checking our defences.”
“Well done, Captain!”
The soldier and Aurelan carried lit shagunblend torches as they stepped into the doorway. It led into a cramped tunnel.
“Anyone taller would need to crouch,” the king said. “Is it far?”
“No, sire. Not long now.” Not long now!
Unexpectedly, the tunnel widened, and the roof sloped higher.
They walked into a semicircle of rock.
“By the gods!” exclaimed the king.
Ahead of them were the skeletons of four men, their armour intact though rusting in several parts.
Their torchlight glinted on gold and bronze beyond the corpses; some of the items were bundled with gold braid.
“Our troubles will soon be over!” the king said with a chuckle.
“Sooner than you think, you bastard!” snarled Aurelan, drawing his sword and stabbing the soldier. The unfortunate man’s corpse would later join the other two he’d slain last night and hidden behind a gold chest. For now, he needed to concentrate on Saurosen.
With surprising speed, Saurosen drew his sword, parried Aurelan’s stabbing blow. “What is the meaning of this?” the king demanded.
Repeatedly swinging his sword down upon Saurosen, Aurelan forced the king back, away from the entrance. “I mean to avenge my sister’s death, tyrant!”
Saurosen blocked Aurelan’s blade with slick swordsmanship. He’d learned well from the late Cla-Damen Estan.
“What sister? Tanellor said you had family in Goldalese? I’ve never met your family, man!”
“You raped her. Her name was Sno!”
Saurosen’s brow furrowed, as if he was attempting to recall her name or face. As if he cared. “You are mistaken, Captain. And your mistake is treason!” He warded off another hammer blow delivered by Aurelan.
“Lin-kan Sno!” Aurelan snarled. “Does that shake your memory?”
Saurosen faultered and Aurelan’s sword slipped through his lowered defence, the point stabbing the king’s voluminous silk shirt, under his arm, but not drawing any blood.
“I recall… She had huge doe eyes, eyes you could swim in…”
“You swine, you closed those eyes forever!”
“But … she tried to murder me, a prince!”
“You raped her!”
Gradually, as the secret room echoed to the sound of metal on metal, Aurelan realised he was finally getting the better of his sworn enemy.
“Witnesses whispered to my father afterwards. You raped her, suffocated her when she resisted!”
“That is a lie. Those eyes haunted me for years…”
“No, you are the lie. And now you die!” Aurelan found another opening, thrust his sword directly at the king’s chest.
Then, of a sudden, his sword hit the talisman dangling on a gold chain from the king’s neck.
The blade shattered.
“Quotamantir’s amulet has cast its verdict again, Captain!” the king shouted, his words edged with laughter.
Holding only the haft of his sword, Aurelan stared at the gleaming golden amulet. Quotamantir! The Scribe had blamed that for Sno’s death, too, and he recalled the red weal on her lifeless chest!
Before he could gather his wits to seek a fresh weapon to despatch the king, he felt a vicious stab to the bicep of his left arm and almost simultaneously another to the calf of his right leg.
He crumpled in pain to one knee, an arm raised futilely to protect his face.
Two men stood in the entrance, grinning, bloody swords levelled at his throat and chest. “What is your wish, your highness?” said the portly one, his words whistling through a gap in his front teeth.
“Jumo Bem and Murar Hun!” the king exclaimed.
“Traitors!” Aurelan cried. After they left him in the New City, the swines must have managed to sneak into the Old City and gain employment with the king; unless they’d always been working for him. It was galling to be thwarted by the likes of these two.
“You’re the traitor, Aurelan Crossis!” the king snarled.
Jumo said, “We followed you, like you told us, sire.” He eyed the pile of gold and bronze.
“You will be well recompensed,” Saurosen promised, making for the entrance.
Between them, they lashed Aurelan’s hands behind his back and looped a length of gold braid round his neck.
Following the king, they led Aurelan through the tunnels, not caring about his wounds.
As they emerged from the opening in the wall, Queen Jikkos rushed at Aurelan and slapped his face twice, hard, her rings scoring a dark line on his left cheek. “Traitor! Take him to Che-man Car! ”
Murar Hun leered at the queen. “Can we watch the torturer, your highness?”
“They deserve almost any consideration,” said the king, “since they have done me a great service.”
“Yes,” Jikkos said, “you can both watch Che-man Car at work. I thank you for saving my husband.”
“Our bounden duty, my queen,” Jumo Bem said, his words whistling. He bowed obsequiously.
“Make sure he stays alive for my questioning,” the king warned.
Seething inside, Aurelan Crossis limped between his two captors. He had failed in his promise to Sno.
But he was not dead yet. He’d been a close companion of death more than once, but had survived; his hate and his obsession had motivated him at those dark times, and it would do so again even now.
He would prevail, no matter what the torturer did.
I will have my revenge! Saurosen will pay with his life.
Roughly hauled by his neck, he was taken away, to the palace dungeons.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
TORTURE
“Truth is a land without paths. You cannot approach
it by any track, by an
y religion, or by any sect.”
- The Creed of the Disbelievers
Saurosen stormed into the treasurer’s room. Three walls comprised ceiling to floor shelves, all crammed with scrolls of parchment. The wizened grey-haired Fel-adnat Pin sat bent over a desk, scribbling numbers on a sheet of columns. In the dark recesses, two scrawny clerks were counting coins into leather sacks.
“Treasurer,” Saurosen snapped, “stir yourself from those dry dusty figures!”
Raising his head hesitantly, Fel-adnat Pin murmured, “Yes, sire, what can I do for you?”
“I have news of interest to you.”
“Good news, sire?”
“Yes! I have discovered treasure!”
“Treasure? Why, that is very good news, sire.”
Saurosen explained where the riches could be found. “See to it that you collect it and bring it here. All of it.”
“I will, your highness, be assured, we will collect it immediately.” With surprising alacrity, the old man slipped off his stool and summoned his two clerks.
***
Third Sapin of Fornious
Rubala
Yordine Edural, the general of the sixth toumen still smarted that his brother Bilorn was enjoying himself in Endawn during the marital festivities, while he must stay at this forlorn outpost, intent on capturing raiders that threatened the caravans destined for Lornwater.
Still, the raiders presented little risk to life and limb.
When he received a saptor from King Saurosen, calling for aid to quell a rebellion in the three cities, he was tempted to go, especially as his toumen vowed allegiance to the Black Sword.
However, the prospect of fighting townspeople, perhaps even people he knew, did not enliven him.
Yet, he realised, he could not refuse outright. He decided to compromise.
He sent a reply: Sire, I will not abandon my toumen’s duties here, but I will despatch an advance guard with my trusted captain. I will wait here. If you need me personally, I will come.
***
The royal palace, Old City, Lornwater
The lingering stench of burnt flesh and the outpourings of victims’ fear greeted them first.
“I’ve never been down here,” whispered Murar Hun to his friend as he descended the stone staircase.
Staring about him as he tugged on Aurelan’s neck-rope, Jumo Bem let out a nervous laugh. “Best to come as a visitor, rather than a guest, eh?”
“Aye, it is that, Bem!”
This dungeon was familiar to Aurelan Crossis. He had visited it a number of times in the course of his duty as Captain of the Palace Guard. Soldiers charged with dereliction of their duty were brought here where the torturer, Che-man Car would instil discipline into them. Nothing too detrimental, as soldiers did not grow on trees but had to be trained over many months. Those accused of petty offences usually lost a small finger or two, or perhaps several teeth; that was all.
Most dungeons were the same; he’d had his fill of them long since. Walls of hewn stone, many gouged with the hard edges of manacles; pathetic efforts by the prisoners to mark their existence. Metal shackles and chains dangled from the cavernous ceiling, which was blackened by years of smoke from the braziers. Several of these fires flared now, casting a red glow on everything. Sparks danced in the air, caught by an errant breeze funelled down the steps.
He had expected to be brought here eventually – but only after killing the king.
Wailing intruded on his thoughts, coming from some dark recess. Plaintive and wasteful of energy.
I must conserve as much energy as possible. Must survive. Whatever the ordeal.
At the base of the steps, Jumo Bem thrust out a foot and tripped up Aurelan. “Oops, sorry, Captain of the Guard,” he whistled. “My mistake!”
Murar Hun gave a coarse cackle of laughter and slapped his thigh. “Oh, we’re going to have sport here, Bem!”
Struggling to his feet, his wounded leg making the effort difficult and painful, Aurelan refrained from commenting.
“Ah, here is your host!” Murar Hun said, chuckling.
Aurelan had seen the torturer before. Che-man Car was tall and wide. Dark curly hair covered his skin, though only on the left side; he was shaved completely on the right, a tradition perpetuated by Master Torturers. No muscles showed, just fat; sheer bulk. His hands were huge, a single palm capable of covering a man’s face entirely. He wore a breechclout and calf-length black leather boots. His pebble-like eyes glittered under bushy brows. His black hair was plaited and hung in two braids on either side of his head, while his black beard was woven into a point beneath his chin.
“I know you!” said the torturer, scratching stubble on the shaved side of his face. “You’re the Captain of– ”
“Enough with the introductions,” snapped Murar Hun. “The queen has commanded that the Captain here should be softened up for questioning later.”
Che-man Car’s features crumpled, his mouth downturned in disappointment. “Only softened up?”
Jumo Bem shrugged. “I know, it’s annoying, but it is the queen’s command.”
“So be it. Bring him into the light.” He studied Aurelan again, noting the bloody leg and arm. “He is wounded.”
“Yes, we did that,” Murar Hun said, puffing out his chest with pride.
The torturer hissed through his teeth. “Damaged goods.”
“What of it?”
“I pride myself on more subtle methods than causing pain on existing wounds.” The torturer ran a hand over his mouth. “I will have to think on this.”
“Eh?” Jumo Bem croaked.
“Shackle him to the wall by that fire for now. And treat his wounds – the bandages are over there.” He pointed to a bench covered with bloody rags and assorted scissors, saws and chisels.
***
Epal villa, New City, Lornwater
The torture seemed without end. Lorar’s stomach clenched and her arms and legs ached as Epal Danorr had repeatedly violated her. Now, sated, he untied the leather fetters that secured her to the bed.
Slowly, she raised herself on one elbow, and then sat up, shaking uncontrollably.
Donning his robe, he said, “Lorar, oh Lorar. You still do not please me well enough!”
She hugged her knees, unable to raise her head and face him. She knew better than to respond.
“Why can’t you pleasure me like a concubine?”
She half-shrugged and instantly regretted it as he lashed out with a length of leather, the tip cutting her shoulder. How could she do that, when she didn’t know what concubines did?
If she could please him, perhaps she could in time manipulate him. That’s what women of the court did, she had heard; manipulate their men. She raised her head, whispered hoarsely, “I – I want to please you, master, really, but – but I am not … not trained…”
He smirked. “Perhaps I should provide you with a trainer. Ska-ama of the House of Velvet could instruct you.” He sniggered. “I would like to watch that, yes!”
Docilely, she nodded. “As you wish, master.” She had surrendered her pride. And perhaps now he wanted her soul.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
DEMONS
“The dream of unreason begets monsters!”
- The Lay of Lorgen
Fourth Sabin of Fornious
Endawn
Launette’s pulse quickened. Wearing a bright red dress with holes cut out around her midsection, thighs and arms, Aniri entered the room, the bangles on her arms and at her ankles jangling.
“Your clothes announce you,” he commented, rising from the sofa.
“I like to make music with each step I take,” she said, her tone gentle, beguiling.
“My blood sings every time you enter a room.”
“Flatterer!” A small roll of paper was in her be-ringed hand. “A saptor has brought this message, dearest. It sports the king’s seal.”
“Don’t we have staff to deliver messages?” He eyed her admir
ingly, his tone playful.
She sat next to him and, as she crossed her legs, the dress fell away, revealing her sandals’ leather straps laced up to the calf. Her thin lips curved cruelly. “I waylaid and chastised him. He seemed tardy.” She handed over the scroll.
He broke the seal with a thumbnail, opened the reedpaper. He read the note and beamed. “At last.”
Her emerald eyes flashed and an eyebrow arched. “What does he want?”
“My help. I’m to take my toumen – any toumen! – to relieve the siege of the Second City.”
“Is it that bad already?”
He shook his head. “I’m sure it is only a localised problem that will soon be resolved.”
“Can you afford to refuse the king?”
“Oh, Aniri, I won’t refuse him.” He gestured to the desk against the opposite wall. “Can you write a reply for me?”
She rose and the material of her dress draped elegantly as she crossed the room. She returned with parchment and a charged quill, and sat next to him.
“My reply: Alas, my king, my toumens are scattered everywhere. I will see what can be arranged, though it will take time.”
“Should I send it now?” she asked.
He leaned across her, gently took the parchment and put it on the floor. “It can wait, my love.” He loosened the shoulder fastening of her dress and caressed her. “Let us make music together.”
***
Nemond palace, Old City, Lornwater
Nemond Adama watched her son from the doorway of his room. He tossed and turned on the bed. He was forty-six, but still the fruit of her loins and it pained her to watch him suffering yet again.
She looked away, and glanced briefly at her reflection in the gold-framed wall mirror to one side.
Moisture rimmed her dewdrop eyes, eyes that had once been deep gold but were now a faint glimmer, more like tarnished bronze.
Once, she’d been a beauty, her long hair both her pride and joy; now, though still long, it hung grey and straw-like, fastened with black ribbons in pigtails on either side.
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