Annatrice of Cayborne

by Jonathan Davison

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Annatrice awoke to the sound of shuffling feet and the inexorable restraint of iron shackles. The burning agony resumed as the melted flesh was repeatedly stripped from her wrists by the solid metal cuffs. Annatrice was laid spread-eagle upon a cold metal table, her freezing ankles also held down by similar means to her wrists. The room was gloomy but Annatrice need not open her eyes to know who shared the space and what their intentions were. As Drayk leaned over her, she could feel the stench of his malevolence and she was embittered by the fact that he was enjoying this moment. She looked at herself through his eyes, pallid and frail upon the table, his eyes wandered up and down her body. He could not resist touching her as she lay there in her underclothes, vulnerable and subdued. As the rasp of his hard skinned hand made its way from her knee to her inner thigh she screamed out and cussed him. She heard laughter from all around, a number of other figures stood around and watched the molestation.

  Annatrice opened her eyes and turned her head to the audience, three or four figures lurked in the darkness. She felt their desires to take advantage of her vulnerability but understood their fears of being found out. Annatrice gritted her teeth as she delved into Drayk's savage mind and saw the brutality of his past, the slaughter of battle and the acceptance of its many spoils. She clearly understood his desire to use her for his own ends, he was fully aware that she would be an asset of great importance in the conquest of not only Araman but of the whole of the Protathaian Isles. His ambition was second only to his loyalty to his King and Annatrice thanked the small mercy that it offered. Drayk's seedy visions were vivid, he imagined taking her there and then, and he did not care if the others watched. It was with great relief however that he held back from his most animal urges; to spoil his opportunity to use her in the future would be idiotic. In his calloused hands, he held the greatest prize he had ever known. Now all he had to do was do what he did best...administer the most tortuous pain imaginable.

  “Now my little flower, we will see what we will see.” Drayk's face was so close to Annatrice's that she could smell his stale odorous breath.

  “Let us not get distracted from our quest, prise the King from his sleep and you will be hailed as a heroine across the land. Seek to manipulate me or one of my most talented colleagues and I will tear you limb from limb and feed you to the dogs.” Drayk was nervous about Annatrice's power to befuddle and she could feel it.

  “Do not fret; the King's life is first and foremost in my thoughts.” Annatrice growled.

  “But if I discover some traitorous secrets from your feeble mind in the process, I will be sure to share them with the King over a chalice of wine.”

  Drayk sneered.

  “Your purity astounds me; I cannot imagine what it must be to live such a chaste and wholesome existence. Fear me girl for I am one who will not succumb to your cursed powers but will thrive off them. You think that Tragian was a cruel and depraved tyrant, I promise you my lovely, his attentions are nothing to what I can offer you if you choose to cross me.”

  Annatrice writhed around on the table, the room was cold and she could feel the presence of the King in an adjacent chamber.

  “Get on with it!” She screamed as she was quite aware that there was no miracle which would aid her in escaping the forthcoming pain.

  Drayk shuffled off into the gloom and there was a period of silence. It was then that Annatrice realised that it was not only physical pain that aided her sensitivity but emotional distress also. As the moments passed and the expectation of agony grew, she tried to disconnect her own terrified feelings and concentrate on the King. The quicker she could resurrect him the less damage Drayk could do. If she could not reach the King then only the Gods could save her from the most horrific demise.

  Drayk approached, he was holding something, and there was a feeling of heat in the cold air of the chamber. Annatrice did not even have the pleasure of closing her eyes to block out the anxiety. She could not help but see herself from all angles as her vision extended to Drayk and his cohorts. She saw the red hot length of molten iron as it approached her, the residual heat growing in intensity. She shared the sickening enjoyment, the relish of being in control and then there was the pain.

  Annatrice was sent into a maelstrom of darkness, tumbling over and over, every fibre of her being was alight in a searing inescapable blaze. She reached out to grab something to halt the swirling, nauseating motion. She fell to the ground with a thud and she roared in defiance as there was suddenly light all around and the world became still once more.

  Annatrice was standing in a sun kissed meadow, the long grass tickled her legs and a nearby cricket chirped loudly. There was a giant tree to her left which stretched so far into the azure blue sky that its leaves were swathed in white fluffy cloud. Beneath the tree, a figure laid, hands behind his head chewing on a length of grass oozing contentment. Annatrice walked over to the man whose fresh face was familiar but markedly different.

  “You look so different without the beard.” Annatrice said quizzically.

  “I was not always old and fat you know.” The King replied taking the thin firm piece of grass from his mouth.

  “I had never imagined...” Annatrice's words were cut short.

  “Me to be so handsome? No, I suppose not. Why if I you were around when I was tearing about the castle grounds in my younger days, I would have snapped you up as my queen.” The King smiled as he sat up straight.

  “What are you doing here?” He asked as if suddenly recalling who she was and looking beyond her most beautiful and intact form.

  “I have come to take you back.” Annatrice said extending her hand.

  “Back where? Back to my old age? Creaking knees and weak bladder? I cannot even lace my boots by myself anymore; no this is much better. I think you should stay here for a while and make merry. I should like to take you to my bed, there that is settled.”

  Annatrice laughed out loud at the King's presumptuousness and his most matter of fact mannerisms.

  “No, I am afraid that cannot be. You see, this is a mere illusion of your mind, there is no satisfaction in this place only grief and hardship for those who love you on the outside. I have been sent here as a last bastion of hope, for if you do not return with me then you will surely die and all of this will end.”

  The King pulled himself upright.

  “Gods, that sounds rather serious!” His comical tone never failed to amuse Annatrice. She nodded and smiled.

  “With such a captivating beauty, I am bound to follow you wherever you go. Lead the way!” Annatrice laughed with incredulity. It seemed that the only lure required to save the King from his blissful paradox was the attentions of a charming woman.

  Annatrice's scream held no meaning as the sound could no longer be heard. Her throat hoarse, even her most desperate cries appeared only as the merest of whimpers. There was a disturbance and an excitable cry from afar.

  “The King, the King stirs!”

  Drayk withdrew the sickening, searing hot poker and once again drew his face close to Annatrice's.

  “There, that was not all bad was it?” With that he pressed his stubbled cheek against her soft skin and grinned. Annatrice could not even muster a vocal retort or even find the moisture to spit in his face. Her body had been violated in the most disgusting manner and now her duty had been done, she no longer felt the requirement to appease anyone any longer. She promptly drifted into unconsciousness and at last found some comfort and peace.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  News of the King's return to consciousness brought joyful celebration to the walls of Stormwater and the revelry that could be heard in the courtyard outside was a stark contrast to the misery within Annatrice's chambers. Constance could barely keep herself from weeping as she bathed the most horrific wounds whilst her mistress slept an unnatural sleep. After an hour or so Sophima entered to thank Annatrice for her most altruistic of efforts, clearly delighted that her father had once m
ore woken. The Princess was greeted with far more scorn that she had perhaps expected.

  “Where are the physicians?” Constance's raised voice was not worthy of the princess but in this case, Sophima brushed it off.

  “Is Annatrice sickly? I came to offer my gratitude.”

  “Gratitude? Whilst the castle celebrates with gluttony and revelry my Lady lies grievously wounded and not one cares so long as the King is well again!”

  Constance's heart almost burst with the emotion that had been welling inside of her. Sophima looked down upon the prostrate and forlorn figure, the welts across her body clear to see. The princess held her hand to her mouth.

  “What have they done?” She whispered in utter dismay.

  “That is not the whole of it.” Constance said in a sinister tone.

  “Oh the Gods, do not even speak of it! I cannot bear to even think about it!” Sophima looked about her as if hoping to pluck the answer to Annatrice's torment from the ether.

  “The physician's milady!” Constance reminded the princess that the castle was unusually blessed with the finest medicine men from across the land.

  “Of course, I will see to this at once.” Sophima ran off, her soft shoes clip clopping like horses hooves.

  Constance took a place by Annatrice's side and lay on the bed next to her, resting her head on her mistress's chest.

  “Don't worry milady, they will cure your ills, I know it.”

  By the time Annatrice's mind had rested and her body had seen the worst of it, several days had passed. Unlike the King who had vigilant visitors buzzing around him with good intentions and well wishes, Annatrice saw only the most loyal servant in Constance and the guilt ridden princess who maintained a regular visit from the most eminent physicians. The King had been ordered to rest despite his lucidity and was bed bound much to his disgust. It was ironic that the moment that Annatrice chose to return to the waking world was in the presence of the very man she had saved when finally he was freed to move about under his own power again.

  Annatrice rolled around, gently moaning as the King towered over her. He was aware of her most unselfish actions if not equipped with the full account of those terrible hours.

  “Annatrice?” Deo Canthi called out softly. The young woman opened her eyes, they were red and bloodied, even her lips had been savagely bitten perhaps by her own teeth in the worst moments.

  “Sire...” She whispered, still showing great respect.

  “I have no words...” The King turned away, overcome with the gratitude and the thoughts of her desperate plight. Turning to Sophima who stood alongside his eyes welled with moisture. His daughter held his giant hand tightly.

  “How could we have let this happen?” he asked. Sophima was silent, she had resisted at first but the thoughts of her father passing were enough to offer support to her brother's request.

  “Get Petrus up here, he must see the result of his actions, no matter how benevolent his intentions be. Call Drayk into my conference chamber at once!” The Kings orders were directed at his aide who waited patiently at the bedroom door. Deo Canthi once more turned to Annatrice whose eyes were glazed and incoherent.

  “The Kingdom of Suleyman will hear of your name and it will be celebrated throughout, of that I promise to you.”

  Deo Canthi turned and strode forth to his meeting with his general in chief. He was not yet sure how he would deal with this situation but in his eyes, his esteem for Drayk had diminished immeasurably. It had been quite evident that the perverted torture of Annatrice had gone past the point of loyalty to the throne and more into the depraved depths of personal satisfaction.

  Constance and Sophima remained as Annatrice showed a little more responsiveness.

  “How do you feel Annatrice?” The princess asked her red hair and blue eyes a comforting sight to her sickly friend.

  “I do not.” She replied cryptically. Her carers both wondered what she meant by this but Annatrice's mind was damaged; it had endured more than it had a right to.

  “Go back to sleep baby.” Constance whispered as she stroked Annatrice's hair. It seemed that sleep was the only peace that she could ever know.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  With the King's convalescence and a seemingly incapacitated Annatrice, plans for unification of the two most southern lands lie dormant for a period of weeks. The emerging spring was a much more favourable time for any mass troop movement in any case but it did not stop the battle plans being drawn up and forces mustered.

  During this time, Drayk had wormed his way back into the favour of the King who relied upon his most clinical of opinions whenever it came to the theatre of war and Petrus, the understated eldest son remained at his father's side throughout, learning his father's wisdom and understanding the processes by which he operated.

  Annatrice had remained in intense pain in this time, her conscious uttering seemingly incoherent or devoid of her usual personality. It had seemed at first if Drayk had burned away her feisty resolve but then after the first week, she began her improvement under the most tender care of her loyal maid. By the time the sun had risen higher in the sky and the pearl white blossoms flourished, Annatrice was once again mobile and her own mind once more. If it were not for the unrelenting humour of the princess Sophima, perhaps she would have succumbed to her injuries. Sophima had much to do to relieve both Annatrice's ails and her own poorly concealed guilt.

  On the occasion of the anniversary of her birth, Annatrice was finally enticed outside into the country air for the first time in a month. She spent her sixteenth anniversary under the shadow of a tree, feasting on pickles and salted eggs with her closest of companions. The tree reminded her of the one where she found the King's most humorous alter-ego and his bliss was shared by the pale skinned girl who now did not dare to wear anything which might reveal her savage scars. The expanses of lush green and the remoteness of their location was a luxury which Annatrice would come to covet. To be far away from civilisation was a blessing. Even though her pain lingered long after her torture, the drone of peoples most banal and irrelevant thoughts soon took over where the pain had left and it seemed that in the country where the people were few, the disturbing fracas that occupied her mind was curtailed. The neatly concealed Royal Guard who stood watching over the princess and the lands most valuable asset were a necessary distraction. Annatrice had almost accepted that her life was no longer her own and her freedom no longer hers to demand. She looked back to her most dark hours with a sense of terror but also duty. She had no wish to ever lay eyes upon Drayk again and there were some occasional thoughts of revenge.

  Tragian's realm, her home for so many years now seemed so far away, almost irrelevant now. In some small way, even Tragian's demise did now not seem so crucial to her existence any more. She had accepted long ago that his end would be somewhat inevitable having lived and breathed the Suleyman culture and seen the fortitude and resolve of their warriors. She only hoped that she would see him one last time so that he would know that it was her doing that brought his miserable existence to a close.

  Aware of Annatrice's health returning and her character returning, it was on that evening that she was disturbed from her poetry by the arrival of the King in her chambers. It was the first time he had seen her bright eyed once again and full of life.

  “Sire?” Annatrice said taking to her feet. The quill dropping to the paper splattering ink across her work.

  “Annatrice, are you writing?” He asked with interest.

  “Yes, I have grown fond of poetry. It orders my thoughts; it is a welcome distraction from...” Annatrice was going to say 'the pain' but she did not want him to feel any more heartache than he already did.

  “I should like to read it when you are finished.” The King approached and Constance who was sitting stitching a fabric upped and left in courteous manner.

  “Well, it is probably a trifle confusing for the casual reader.” Annatrice stood on front of the paper, shielding it from the Ki
ng's eyes.

  “If it is anything like the other things that you do in life, it will be a most virtuotic piece, but that is not why I am here of course.”

  “I know.” Annatrice said doing her best not to pre-empt the Kings words but failing.

  “It is time.” She added knowing that she must once again step into the breach and suffer for the sake of her allegiance.

  “I am profoundly aware of the sacrifices you have already made in order to support my quest for unification. I will see to it that you are supported for your remaining days in every way that I can muster. Now it is time to take the tyrant away from his throne and set the land of Araman on a course for a more prosperous future. I am sure that you share that same goal?” The King stood with his hands on his hips, even when in relaxation; his figure was regal and domineering.

  “I too share the will to topple Tragian but it is the people of Araman that I seek to protect. I pray to thee hold back the armies you are gathering and seek a peaceful solution.”

  The King wandered about in contemplation.

  “If that were possible, then of course we would seek to avoid bloodshed. Perhaps it is up to you to aid us in that quest?”

  Annatrice nodded and walked over to a large and plush upholstered chair and perched on the edge, the balls of her feet touching the ground, her knees bouncing up and down.

  “If we can travel to Fontayne unnoticed, a small force could enter and incapacitate the guard.” Annatrice had obviously given the topic some thought.

  “Annatrice, your ideas are bold but also naïve, you make it sound so easy!” The King scoffed as he pulled up another chair and sat opposing his seer.

  “If I can be close, perhaps I can enfeeble the guards or simply tell them to ignore us?”

  “You have that capability?” The King asked sceptically suddenly realising that he was stood, his weight on one leg, the other lifted up like a wading bird. Furthermore, his arms were bent, his fists on his hips as if they were great folded wings. He looked upon himself and suddenly stood up straight, embarrassed and also impressed, he laughed out loud for a moment and then had a sterner look of intrigue took hold of his features.