This is where she went when the Governor put his hands on her. This is where she went when Beck crawled on top of her. Running with the Dahara. Safe. Free.
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The wave of nausea passed quickly this time. Prianhe only needed a few deep breaths to make the feeling pass. In those breaths though, he knew at once that his quarry was close.
He looked around. Baneur had brought him to a street corner in a part of the city known as the Barrio. They had told him it was one of the poorest sections, and judging by the dilapidated buildings and the thick scent of human excrement, Prianhe understood.
Baneur stood beside him, silently awaiting his next command. The filthy little half-man had been quiet since they’d arrived in Nal’Dahara. Prianhe would have liked to goad and toy with the Turk’s massive inferiority complex, but for now he needed his ability. To catch Farrushaw, he would need every possible resource, even a disgusting, petulant Turk.
Soldiers swarmed the area, lining the sides of the streets, but making a wide swath around one particular spot. Prianhe perceived a group of officers, marked by yellow bars on the left sleeve of their black uniform jackets, huddled together next to the open area. He went to speak with them.
“Who’s in charge here?” he asked, examining the dead bodies lying on the street. Each looked to have been killed in a sword duel. One man had died still clutching the bloody stump where his hand had been removed.
At the sight of the king’s monomach, each officer visibly stiffened, but one, an aging man with gray hair and hard eyes, spoke up.
“My Lord Prianhe,” he said, with a deep bow of his head. Prianhe knew the man. His name was Corsia. He was regarded to be an excellent Commander.
“Commander Corsia, what can you tell me?” Prianhe asked.
“We haven’t been able to find any witnesses, well, any witnesses willing to talk, but we believe the fugitives are responsible,” Corsia spoke with confidence. It was refreshing, since most who recognized Prianhe and understood his reputation, quivered in his presence.
“How long ago did this happen?”
“We believe it happened a few hours ago.”
“Have you increased security along the southern walls?”
“We have, my Lord.”
“Why haven’t you found anyone willing to talk? Someone must have seen which way they went.” Prianhe could make out Farrushaw’s scent, but it was weakened by the forceful odor of excrement and garbage.
“It is common in such destitute regions," Corsia informed him. “Many of the locals are probably criminals themselves, leery of authority. Violence is common place. Most just look the other way when they see a crime.”
“Unacceptable, Commander,” Prianhe growled at the man. To his credit, while the other officers shivered, Corsia remained composed, expressionless. “Start pulling people out of the buildings and forcing information out of them. I don’t care what it takes. The capture of these fugitives is the top priority of your King. He will not accept failure.”
Corsia grimaced, but nodded. “It will be as you say.” He turned to his underlings and barked. “You heard the First Defender! Find me some witnesses! Bring them to me at once!”
The other officers snapped to attention and darted off to delegate the command. Prianhe watched them go, suppressing his impatience. He looked around again at the surrounding scenery wondering what Farrushaw was up to. His first guess, upon their escape from the Governor’s palace, was that they would either try the docks or find the fastest route to the outer wall and blow a hole through it. Why were they wasting so much time making their way to the southern parts of the city? He tried to guess at their intentions, but could hedge no conclusions.
“You know this city better than I, Commander. Why are they down here? Does it make any sense to you?”
Commander Corsia shook his head in ignorance. “I’m afraid I’m as puzzled as you are, my Lord. Starting from the palace, I would have anticipated a move on the docks or the eastern wall. I’m told they have an unregistered trival with them. It would seem an attack on our defenses at the eastern wall would have been their best chance of escape.”
“I agree, Commander. Our fugitives are cunning. One among them is an experienced soldier. If they are moving south, there is a reason, something we are overlooking.”
“Perhaps they are simply trying to divert our attention. Do you think it’s possible they engaged this duel simply to draw our eyes to the south, only to move again in a different direction?” Corsia asked.
Prianhe considered the possibility, but the faint scent of Farrushaw still lingering in the air, told him otherwise. “It’s a possibility, of course, but I doubt it. They are doing something that we haven’t thought of yet.”
“They probably know of some unregistered traveler,” Corsia said, with a light tone.
“What did you say?” Prianhe asked, intrigued.
“I didn’t mean to say that it was possible, my Lord. It’s not as though unregistered trivals advertise themselves,” Corsia said, dismissively. Then he paused and rubbed his chin. “Although they say that Beck is a traveler. Some think its how he’s avoided capture for so long.”
“Who is Beck?” Prianhe wondered, suddenly feeling as though the trail was getting hot.
“A criminal, my Lord. A murderer, rapist and thief. He has managed to avoid capture for so long that some have begun to question his very existence. He’s become a myth, nearly.”
“All myths are grounded in some level of truth.” Prianhe rubbed his hands together. Farrushaw was already traveling around with at least two unregistered trivals. Why not add another? “What leads do you have on this man? There must be something.”
“Not much, I’m afraid. As I said, he is very elusive,” Corsia said, turning up his hands.
One of Corsia’s underlings approached, followed by two soldiers dragging a teenage boy by the ankles. The boy screamed in protest as they pulled him along the rough dirt road. Held back by several men, his mother screeched direly from the doorway of a building across the way.
“Has he said anything?” Prianhe demanded as the soldiers deposited the frightened young man at his feet.
“He knows something, my Lord. I am certain of it,” Corsia’s underling said, inflecting with confidence even as he shivered under Prianhe’s glare.
Prianhe looked down at the boy with contempt. He was filthy and dripped with the same foul smell that hung in the air.
“What happened here?” Prianhe asked him.
The boy looked up into Priahne’s yellow eyes and shrieked. Liquid pooled on the ground beneath him as he involuntarily relieved himself. Instead of answering the question, he just shook his head repeatedly and shut his eyes tight.
Prianhe pulled out a dagger and aimed the point at the quivering boy’s eye.
“Hold him,” Prianhe commanded when the boy tried to wriggle free from his grasp. The two soldiers dutifully grabbed the boy, holding his head firmly so he had no choice but to face his questioner.
“Do you know who I am?” Prianhe asked, calmly. The stark terror that flashed in his eyes was all Prianhe was looking for. “If you don’t tell me what happened here, I’m going to cut out one of your eyes. Do you understand me?” Tears began to spill from the corners of his eyes, leaving clean lines of skin in the grime that covered his face.
“Who did this!” Prianhe screamed at him, bringing the dagger’s point within a hair’s width of his eye.
“It was a woman with a sword!” the teen cried out desperately. “And there were men. Two with swords. They killed them all and ran off.”
“Good. Very good,” Prianhe breathed with satisfaction. “Which way did they go? Show me!”
“That way!” the boy whimpered, pointing down the street to the south.
Prianhe smiled and patted the boy on the head with his free hand.
“Thank you. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
The
boy smiled weakly as his body shook from the trauma of his situation.
“Unfortunately, you should have come forward with that information as soon as you saw a guard.” Prianhe made a sad face and shook his head with disappointment. He clicked his teeth. Inaudible utterances for mercy made the boy’s mouth flap like a puppeteer’s marionette. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be punished.” Prianhe used his blade like a spoon and dug the boy's right eye out of the socket. As his screams penetrated the city, Prianhe went to work on the boy’s left eye, removing it and dropping it on the street beside the right one.
“Next time you tell someone you didn’t see anything, I think they’ll believe you,” Prianhe said with a dark laugh. He stood and looked to the south, sniffing the air to see if the scent of Farrushaw hung more thickly in that direction. He couldn’t tell. “Is there anything down that way? Anything other than filth and decay?” he asked Corsia.
“Only more filth, my Lord,” Corsia replied. If he was put off by Priahne’s gruesome justice, he didn’t show it. “They call that district the Barrio. It is considered the poorest area in Nal’Dahara. Most of the people who live down there are barely a step away from relocating to the Cortella.”
“Beck is down there. I know it. That’s why they’re down here. They mean to escape by using a traveler.” Prianhe spoke loudly so that all of the men close by could hear him. “I want all of our efforts redirected to the Barrio. Get every available man. Search every building. Every last one. If a door is locked, break it down. Am I understood?” A chorus of acknowledgements sounded off. “I want people put to the question. Someone around here must know something about this man Beck. If you have to make them bleed to get answers, then they will bleed. The capture of these fugitives is a direct command from your king. It is the only thing that matters. They are cunning and dangerous, but they must be taken alive. Is that clear?”
Men in uniform dashed off in every direction leaving Prianhe alone in the road with Commander Corsia, and the newly blind boy.
“Get this wretched thing out of my sight,” he ordered Commander Corsia with disgust.
Prianhe watched two soldiers drag the screaming teen away, leaving him at the feet of his inconsolable mother. Then he turned around and suddenly realized that Baneur Dessau was standing off to the side, keeping silent, but eyeing him with the same contemptuous look of superiority that always adorned his miserable face.
“You’re awfully quiet, Baneur,” Prianhe spat.
“Just dutifully awaiting your next command, Navan.” the Turk answered, smugly.
“You know this city well, what can you tell us of this man Beck?”
“He exists. I believe I saw him once in the palace. He vanished as soon as he realized he was being watched. I’m fairly certain it was him, though.”
“Tell me what he looked like?” Prianhe commanded.
“He was fat. Young and fat,” Baneur told him flatly.
“That’s it?” Prianhe asked angrily. “Young and fat? That‘s all you noticed about him?”
“What else is there to say?” Baneur sneered, defiantly. “Humans all look the same to me.”
“Do I need to remind you what will happen if they escape?” Prianhe hissed. The Turk made a sour face. His left hand twitched furiously. “Get out there and look for them, you miserable filthy rat!” he roared. “And if you find Beck, come get me. I want to question him personally.”
The Turk let his furious scowl linger a moment longer than Prianhe was willing to tolerate. He took a step to strike the little man, but Deuseau vanished.
Prianhe stood in the spot where the Turk had been, his hands balled into fists of rage. No matter how this chase turned out, he meant to see that half-man bleed. Even if it meant a punishment at the hands of his master, he was going to kill Deuseau. Somehow he would find a way to circumvent the spell of compulsion his Master had laid upon him when he had first been raised to the position of First Defender. That spell ensured his complete obedience. He was bound to fulfill his Master’s will, to the detriment of his own life if necessary. He had been told to leave the Turk alone. There had to be a way to see that loathsome rodent perish. He would find it, somehow. But first he had to find Farrushaw. Farrushaw, those women and that trival. And he was close.
Chapter Twenty Two: The Dahara
“How could she do that?” Sim asked aloud, not to anyone particular, but more as an expression of his overwhelming disbelief.
In the moments since that sweaty, fat criminal had vanished with Nehrea, Sim had found himself unable to get up from his seat on Beck’s cushioned throne. He simply stared absently at the spot on the floor in front of him, where just a minute before Nehrea had made a bargain for their eventual escape.
He didn’t understand. How could she allow that monster to have his way with her? Surely they could have found another solution, some other means of escape. Did the virtue of her flesh mean nothing?
It didn’t help that Sim had found himself immediately drawn to her, both for her unsurpassable beauty and for the sensuous femininity that dripped off her skin like sweat. Her dark sleepy eyes held infinite secrets and possibilities. The gentle sway in her walk, an entrancing dance performed by her perfectly curved hips, had quickened his pulse and set his thoughts on fire. Enaya was easily as beautiful, more so even, but Nehrea’s charms reflected a wholly different measure of aesthetics. Where Enaya was refined, confident, and manicured, Nehrea was seductive, alluring, and wild. Enaya was a trophy, perfect for presentation, an obstinate expression of the feminine form. Nehrea was a dream, dark and unfettered, a sensual portrait of a man’s desire for repressed coital needs. Sim had never met anyone like her. He’d never seen anyone like her. And despite her quiet confidence, seen only in an underlying fierceness veiled behind her seductive exterior, Sim felt compelled to protect her.
“She is making a great sacrifice for us and for herself,” Enaya answered his question as though she had been asked directly. “If you knew her better, Sim, you would understand.”
Sim eyed Enaya crossly. He was raised in moderate circumstances around genuine, hard-working folk. Enaya was a noblewoman raised in wealth, shielded from the true consequences of earning to live. He had often noticed a subtlety in the way she spoke when the subject referred to common folk. It was the same tendency she showed in speaking to him. That infuriating haughtiness.
“It’s true that I only just met her, but why don’t you explain it to me? Since you know her so well, tell me what I don’t understand.” He was purposefully prickly.
“Well, I don’t know that it’s my place to…” she began to answer defensively.
“Oh don’t give me that, Enaya,” Sim cut her off, sharply. “Ever since I met you, you’ve thought that everything was your place. I’ve never known you not to put in your thoughts on any matter, whether your opinion was asked for or not.”
“Now see here, Siminus Kelmor,” Enaya raised her voice. She jabbed a pointed finger in his direction to emphasize every word. “Just because you’re upset, does not mean you can take your anger out on me.”
“Why not?” Sim asked, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He looked at Farrus and Givara for support. “It’s never stopped you. We have to put up with your mood swings all the time.”
“I do not have mood swings,” Enaya huffed. “I am a very even-tempered woman.” The sudden outright laughter of Farrus and Givara caught her off guard. She glared at them hotly. “That’s enough from you two. Maybe I let my anger get away from me on occasion, but it’s almost always well-deserved.”
“Oh please, Enaya,” Sim prodded, “you get upset over the littlest things.”
“Like what?” she shouted defensively.
“Well…” Sim thought out loud, “well I can’t think of anything specific right now, but you get angry plenty.”
“That’s enough,” Farrus rebuked them both sharply. “We’ve got every soldier in the city hunting for us as well as the bloody First Defender, who can track
us by scent I might add. We don’t need to be arguing with each other.”
Sim and Enaya opened their mouths to protest but decided otherwise when they saw the hard look on the old guardsman’s face.
“Sim, welcome to the real world, alright,” Farrus told him. “Nehrea was a courtesan for Governor Cantor. Do you know what that means?” Sim stared at him blankly, drawing a disbelieving laugh from Givara. “That means that she was one of his whores. I know that sounds harsh, but that’s what she was.”
“You see, Sim,” Enaya added, in a softer tone. “For Nehrea, the choice was easy. She wants to escape that life. Her virtue was taken from her a long time ago. Don’t judge her unfairly because sleeping with a man she doesn’t love is easy for her. She did not make her choice capriciously. Going to bed with a man has become a means for survival to Nehrea. Making this bargain with Beck only continues her survival.”
Sim thought hard about what they had said. “Well she doesn’t have to make that choice anymore. Not as long as she walks with us. No woman should be forced to bed a man against her will.”
“You’re right, Sim,” Enaya agreed with approval.
“Do you think he’s going to uphold his bargain?” Farrus asked Quinn.
The disfigured old man, seated in the corner of the room with his back against the wall, shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows? The man is a wanted criminal. How much integrity can you expect from a man like that?”
“So, Nehrea’s sacrifice could all be for naught then?” Sim fumed.
“It could,” Quinn agreed, sadly.
“Tell me about your relationship with this man,” Enaya said.
“Well it was about two years back, I suppose,” Quinn began. He rubbed the scarred flesh that had once been his ear. “I'd been out on an errand, and when I returned to my shop, I discovered Beck attempting to steal one of my time pieces. I trapped him before he could vanish. He hadn’t expected that I was a trival. Since I obviously couldn’t turn the man in, my only choice was to kill him, but he begged for his life. At the time I didn’t know how dangerous he was, so we made an arrangement. We sealed our agreement with the trivarial power. Beck would perform certain favors for me when called upon, in exchange for his life. Looking back, I wish I had killed him. It was only a short time later that I came to understand the mistake I’d made in letting him go.”
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