by Sue Tingey
“No!” I shouted. One of the Sicarii holding me laughed, letting go of my right arm. I glanced sideways and to the demon on my left, reached back, pulled his sword from its sheath and threw myself away from him, wrenching my other arm from his grasp. I ran—no—bounded forward, screaming my lungs out: a war cry, a death cry—a demon cry—and I felt myself change. Long mahogany and aubergine-colored hair flew around my face and the hand holding the sword glowed a shimmering pink.
Henri, on hearing and seeing the daemonic me, recoiled back in surprise and must have skidded in Pyrites’ blood as he slipped and fell backward, his left hand reaching behind him to break his fall, his sword arm reaching up to defend his exposed head.
I am not a swordswoman, I have no idea how to handle something so large, heavy and ungainly, but I was incandescent with rage, sorrow, horror. I was not going to let him slaughter my faithful drakon. I went in at him slashing wildly, there was no finesse about it at all. I hit flesh and the sword slipped through it as though cutting tender steak, didn’t even waiver at the bone and went right through to the other side. Henri shrieked, clutching his severed stump, as his right hand, still clutching the sword, flew across the yard spraying green across the paving slabs in a spattered arc.
I wasn’t finished. I leaped over Pyrites, sword raised, and would have kept on slashing, but the Sicarii, having gathered their senses, clutched at me, pulling me off him with warnings of terrible consequences if I didn’t stop fighting them. Fat chance, I knew they were going to do terrible things to me whatever, so I fought them: biting, scratching, kneeing, kicking and gouging.
Henri’s screaming went from ear-piercing to ear-bleeding, and even if I could have put him out of his misery I wouldn’t have; I’d rather put up with his screams. They were worth it.
Then I looked at Pyrites and wanted to kill Henri over and over again and I would have if I could have fought free of the demons clinging onto me, but they were too strong. It didn’t stop me from elbowing one in the guts and stamping on another’s instep before they finally restrained me.
“Well, well, well,” the first Sicarii hissed from behind me, “aren’t you full of surprises.”
“What do you want us to do with this one?” one of the minions asked, his sword pointed at Vaybian’s chest.
“It would be a waste to kill him here,” one of the three said, his voice a sibilant hiss.
“I agree,” another said, his voice several tones higher but just as eerie.
“Tie him up and bring him,” the third said.
“What about him?” the minion asked gesturing with his head at Henri, who had stopped screaming and was trying to pry the fingers of his severed hand from the hilt of his sword. Having only his left hand to work with, he had the top end of the blade wedged between his knees as he struggled to free his right.
The third Sicarii gave a sigh that sounded like he had lungs full of phlegm. “Bring him and his hand along. The healer may be able to do something with it.”
Two of the minions wrestled Vaybian to his feet, but when they tried to tie his hands he fought against them, which earned him a vicious blow to the head with a club that knocked him back down onto one knee. Then another hit him and another as I screamed for them to stop, but they kept on until he was sprawled out on the floor unconscious.
The three Sicarii turned as one toward the gate and I was frog-marched behind them, held in the vicelike grips of two of the minions. I tried to struggle, but it was useless—they weren’t going to let me get loose again.
As they hauled me away I strained to look back at my fallen drakon. He puffed out a small cloud of steam, like a vapor trail of raindrops or maybe tears, and his tail gave a limp flap against the flagstones. His flank shuddered and then—he was still.
My chest felt like it was being crushed. “No,” I murmured, “no.” I had lost Pyrites, my faithful Jeweled Drakon—and with him a huge piece of my heart.
Nine
Once outside of the yard I was whisked along the side street at almost running speed. I had tried to pull back, but they just lifted me up so my toes weren’t even trailing the road beneath them.
At the corner a cart was waiting. They threw back the rough, woven cover and jumped on the back to manhandle Vaybian in and lay him down amongst assorted sacks and barrels. Then it was my turn. I struggled as they tried to bind my wrists, earning myself a hard slap. A minion raised his stout club, but one of the gray-robed Sicarii stopped him and leaned close to whisper in the acolyte’s ear. I saw a flash of white teeth from within the shadows of the brown cowl and suddenly I was plunged into darkness as a coarse sack, smelling of rotten vegetables, was thrown over my head and hauled down to my waist. Ropes were then wrapped around me and I knew I had little chance of escaping; even breathing was going to be difficult.
I felt myself being lifted and then I was dropped down with a thud that rattled my teeth and sent a lightning bolt of pain through my spine. I knew I had just reverted to my human self. I didn’t feel so strong; I didn’t feel so powerful.
“I advise you to keep very quiet,” a voice hissed. “Your guard’s surplus to requirements and if you don’t behave he may not make the journey in one piece.”
Then it got a whole lot darker and the sound from outside the cart became even more muffled and I assumed the cover had been replaced, hiding us from view.
The cart rumbled along the cobbled streets, bouncing my already bruised body up and down on the unforgiving floor of the cart. I think I may have cried a bit. Not for myself, but for Pyrites, for Jamie and Jinx, for Shenanigans and Kerfuffle. They were usually by my side at the first whiff of danger, so if they hadn’t turned up I knew one of two things: they were incapacitated—or they were dead. But crying would help no one, and if I wanted revenge I was going to have to make sure I stayed alive long enough to get it. And by God I wanted to see Henri go down.
I rolled to one side and my forehead hit solid wood—a barrel or crate. I rolled the other way and again there was a solid mass. I raised my knees as best I could and pushed against it. Something gave. I moved closer. It was hard to tell wrapped up inside a sack, but it felt like I was pressed up against Vaybian’s muscular back.
I pushed forward with my foot and ran it up and down against what I guessed was a calf, the soft leather of my boots allowing me to feel through them. My hands were tight against my hips, but with a bit of wriggling I managed to inch them to in front of my crotch and slowly pull the fabric of the sack up between my fingers until they were free, and yes, I could feel smooth skin beneath my fingertips.
“Vaybian,” I said in a quiet voice, and again a moment later: “Vaybian.” Nothing. He was out cold.
I poked him hoping to wake him, but he was unresponsive as a sack of spuds. I tried again, but I didn’t think bagpipes and a military brass band were going to wake Kayla’s captain. I wasn’t surprised; he’d taken a beating that would have killed a mere mortal.
I rolled onto my back and wriggled some more, trying to loosen the ropes wrapped around my shoulders, arms and waist. I sucked in breath and hunched my shoulders forward as much as they would go; the ropes didn’t feel so tight. I shrugged my shoulders up and down, up and down. The rope slipped up until it was high on my right shoulder. I wriggled and jiggled and squashed myself up as small as I could be and the rope slipped up a bit further until it was balanced on the last bit of my arm before it rounded into shoulder. I pushed out hard, straining against the ropes and then sucked in as far as I could and gave my shoulders an almighty shrug and—there the first loop was gone. The rope had slipped over my shoulder, loosening the rest of the coils wrapped around my chest by a good few inches.
I wasn’t out of the woods yet. I started to inch the sack up my body, taking the ropes with it, all the while bouncing around as the cart bucked and jumped over every stone, rut or clod of earth. My backside felt as though it had been pummeled with a tenderizing hammer and every jolt had my vertebrae begging for mercy.
I lost all sense of time. All that mattered was each millimeter of sack that had rolled upward and each extra bit of space between me and the rope. My body was drenched with sweat, making the sack stick and chafe against my skin, and my hair was stuck to my face, getting in my eyes and mouth.
Every now and then I kicked Vaybian in the back of the legs hoping for some sign that he was still alive. He’d probably be black and blue, or whatever color bruised green people go when knocked about, but I didn’t care; if I got free and he was awake I could take him with me. If he wasn’t, I’d have no alternative—I’d have to go it alone.
I was getting tired. There was no way I was going to give up out of choice, but I was sweating buckets and dehydration would get me if exhaustion didn’t. Every muscle in my body was aching, my throat felt like I’d gargled with glass and I was finding it hard to swallow. I’d have killed for a glass of water.
“Vaybian,” I managed to croak one last time and I heard him groan. Thank you God, I thought, at least he was alive. “Vaybian, can you hear me?” There was no answer. He was alive, though not alive enough to be receptive.
I rested for a couple of seconds, building myself up to one more massive effort to break free, then I was off again, tearing at the ropes with ragged nails and bleeding fingertips. Then the coils of rope slipped over my boobs, went slack and with a couple more shrugs slipped up to my neck and I dragged them up over my head.
I pulled the sack off and gulped in air. It was fetid but by no means as bad as what I’d been breathing for the past few … was it hours?
Now in the gloom I could see Vaybian lying beside me. I pulled on his shoulder and rolled him over onto his back, laying my fingers against the artery just below his chin, hoping demons were the same as us. Apparently they were; a steady throb against my fingertips confirmed he was alive and healthy enough.
Even though I felt mean doing it, I slapped his cheeks a couple of times trying to wake him, but to no avail. There was no way I could carry him—I was going to have to leave him, we’d just have to find him and Kayla before the worst happened. I didn’t allow myself to think that I may not find my other guards, or that they might not be alive when I did.
I rolled Vaybian back on his side and wedged a sack of something behind him. After surviving so far I didn’t want him choking on his own vomit. Then I crawled to the back of the cart. I didn’t dare lift the edge of the cover, but instead tried peering between the planks of wood making up the backboard of the cart. It was a good decision; two demons were following on behind. Crap—what was I going to do now?
I pressed my cheek up against the back of the cart trying to make the most of my limited field of vision. It didn’t help that the light was going.
There were definitely two riders, but that was as much as I could see. It didn’t make much difference—two riders or twenty—I still didn’t stand a chance of getting past them.
I scrambled about a bit trying to get comfortable then pressed my eye back to the crack. All I could do was watch and wait and hope that an opportunity would arise for me to make a run for it—with or without Vaybian if he ever woke up.
With nothing better to do I did a bit of mental arithmetic in my head. There had been three gray-clad Sicarii and three archers, plus five or six others. The waiting cart had probably already had a driver aboard, so that meant there would be at least eight or nine Sicarii on horseback including the two who were giving me a problem. Then of course there was Henri, but I wouldn’t have thought he was in a fit state to ride. Maybe he was sitting at the front of the cart?
None of this really mattered if I couldn’t get past the two back riders and by the looks of them they weren’t going anywhere. I peered out at them willing them to disappear off somewhere. Then, as if in answer to my prayers, they fell back a bit and moved slightly closer together. I pressed my face so hard against the wooden boards I’d probably have imprints of the grain etched into my cheek. They were slowing. Then they swung their beasts around to trot to the side of the road.
I risked pulling the cover back a bit and sticking my head out into the blessed fresh air. The feel of a cool breeze against my face was almost worth the chance of getting caught. I peered back down the road. The two demons were dismounting. Then I got it; they had stopped to take a piss.
I got up on my knees and pulled the cover back a little to take a look around. We were on a gloomy road surrounded by tall trees, and I could just see two robed heads at the front of the cart. I got up into a crouch. Up ahead at the edge of the forest, I could see a black, glossy coach flanked by two riders outlined in gray light. Henri was probably in there … and that was what gave me the push I needed to risk the jump off the moving cart: the thought of getting away, and later, getting revenge.
I peeped back under the cover one more time, hoping beyond hope that Vaybian was waking up, but it wasn’t to be. I knew I had to leave him, if I didn’t there was no way I could get help, but this didn’t make me feel any better; I could be sentencing him to death. I took a quick look back down the road. The two demons were still watering the shrubbery, mainly hidden by their two steeds. I had only a matter of moments and couldn’t wait any longer otherwise I might not get another chance.
“Sorry Vaybian,” I whispered. “I will find you, I’ll find you and Kayla.”
I sat on the edge of the cart, flipped my legs over the side and dropped down onto the ground below, hitting it with a bone shaking thump and jarring my ankles and knees. Then I was up and running off the road and into the lines of close-packed trees. I tried to keep the road in sight to my right. Having escaped, I didn’t now want to become lost in a forest. It was bad enough I was all alone and had no idea how to get back to the palace.
After a few minutes I slowed to a jog rather than risk poleaxing myself by running into a tree. The gloomy light was fast fading and I suspected it was almost dusk. I shivered; I really didn’t want to be wandering around in a forest in the dark. Sadly, I didn’t have much choice—being on the road would mean the Sicarii would see me. I’d have to go through the trees and hope the Sicarii wouldn’t notice I was missing before I’d found open ground.
Of course, jogging through the forest in the half-light, scared and lost, gave me time to think. First I worried about Vaybian and what would happen to him when they found me gone. I forced myself to think of something else, and immediately Pyrites’ forlorn figure appeared in my mind and my spirits plummeted even further. Then I thought of Jamie and Jinx and I felt like curling up at the side of the road and dying.
“Don’t you dare,” I told myself swiping away tears. “Don’t you bloody well dare. You will find Jamie! You will find Jinx! And you will avenge P—” I swallowed a couple of times, took a deep breath and pulled myself together, calling Henri le Dent a few choice names under my breath, which actually did make me feel a smidgeon better.
In amongst the trees, night came quickly and with no moons to light my way it was hard to see a yard or so ahead of my nose. I was about to make my way back to the road, where I could at least move a little more swiftly, when I saw a light up ahead and to the right: a glow amongst the trees. A fire. I slowed down; stealth being the sensible course of action. I was lost in a strange world and had no idea how to tell a friend from foe.
When I grew level with the fire I stopped to peer through the trees. Should I investigate, or keep on going?
“And what have we here?” a voice said from behind me. I swung around to find myself facing three shadowy figures. There was a flicker of light and then the glow of a lamp as one of the demons lifted it up to get a good look at me.
The one holding the lamp was the most human in appearance. He was tall, with unkempt long dark hair and eyes that looked like beads of jet in the flickering lamplight. His nose was long and narrow; his lips thick, brown and moist. His skin was a weathered walnut in color and texture. He grinned at me showing long canines.
His two friends could have been twins. They were shorter than him, and prob
ably only an inch or two taller than me. Both had glowing red eyes, scaly gray skin and were bald except for a quiff of white hair on the top of each of their heads. They looked me up and down very slowly. I didn’t like the expressions in their eyes one little bit.
“Well then, popsy, what are you doing in our forest?” Dark Eyes asked.
“I’m traveling back home,” I said.
“And where might that be?”
“The Drakon’s Rest,” I said, thinking quickly. I doubted saying the palace would have been a particularly brilliant idea.
“The Drakon’s Rest? The inn in the fortress of Lord Baltheza?” Dark Eyes said, glancing at his mates.
“The same,” I said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
I turned to walk away and a hand shot out and grabbed my arm. I froze, and forcing myself to keep calm, turned back slowly. I stared down at the claw on my sleeve for a count of two then raised my eyes to meet those of the demon touching me.
It was one of the twins, who obviously saw something in my eyes that he didn’t like as his claw dropped away. Dark Eyes was made of sterner stuff.
“Pathetic,” he sneered, handing the other twin the lamp and grabbing hold of my arm. “You’re coming with us to sit by a nice warm fire, to have a nice strong drink and then to have a fine old time.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, trying to shrug his claw away.
“Well, I do,” he said, licking his lips with a very pointed black tongue, and began to march me off the road and toward the campfire.
Panic began to bubble up inside me. If there were only three I was in trouble, if there were others at their camp I was well and truly stuffed.
“I don’t know, Pablo,” the pathetic twin said, “she looks like trouble to me.”
His twin gave a snort. “Duffus, Pablo’s right, you are pathetic.”
Duffus’ lips curled down into a pout. “Something about her isn’t right. Look at her.”