#
All morning Dax went from one activity to another, fascinated and totally wrapped up in trying to absorb all that was going on around him. About midday, he was puzzled when Treyhorn stopped at table where three ladies were selling quilts.
“Are you going to buy a quilt?” he asked.
She looked at him and held up one of the quilts. “Don’t look right now, but when I turn back, tell me if you’ve seen the man standing behind us at the ironmongers shop.”
Dax blinked in surprise, but stood still looking at the quilt in Treyhorn’s hands. When she laid the quilt back on the table, Dax glanced behind her. A short man in a dusty brown waistcoat was running his hands over a piece of iron scrollwork.
“No, I don’t recognize him. Should I?”
“Probably not. Maybe being around so many people makes me uncomfortable, but I’d swear I’ve seen him several times today.” She paused to pick up another quilt and pretended to examine it. “I don’t like coincidences like that.”
She put the quilt down, and they moved off. Dax had not thought about anything but Festival activities all morning. The reality of his situation returned to him. No longer carefree, he had only half an eye for all the sounds, sights, and smells around him. Wary now, he stayed alert and watchful for threats.
#
The rest of the day was quiet, and Dax saw no sign of the man in the dusty waistcoat. By late afternoon, it was time for the feast. All over the main part of the city, groups had set up tables and benches. Each location specialized in a different type of food, and the crowd sorted itself out accordingly. One setting listed sixteen different mutton dishes. Another served pork. Apples. Goat. Pears. Barley tots. Red-berry cobblers. Pumm fruit. Meat pies. There were more types, kinds, and flavors of food than Dax had ever imagined in one place.
Treyhorn led him to a large square near the river where fish was listed as the main attraction. She gestured to the tables with a knowing nod. “Whitefish shipped down fresh from the Circular Sea. The Sisters of the Goddess in her Watery Aspect cook the best fish you’ve ever tasted.”
An older woman in a long blue gown took Treyhorn’s coins, and they received two plates in return. Both sides of the long table were filled with all kinds of food, but down the center there were large platters of golden-brown fish fillets. They filed down one side, and Dax watched Treyhorn, and he took samples of the things she chose. However, when he came to the fish, he took one more piece than she did.
He was glad for the extra piece. Had he known how good the fish would be, he would have cheerfully filled his plate with it. The meat was firm, white, and full of flavor. Treyhorn invited him to go back for more, but there was still a long line of people working their way down both sides of the table. Besides, the longer he sat, the more he realized his belly was full—more than full even. However, the fish was so good he thought for a long time before he decided not to go back for more.
They sat quietly for a while after they had finished eating. Now that he was off his feet, Dax realized how tired he was. His thoughts wandered back to earlier. “So. Did you see anything more of your friend from the ironmonger’s shop?”
“No. Not a thing. It was probably just my imagination, but from time to time today, I have felt eyes on me.”
“There are lots of eyes in town today.”
She nodded. “There are, but it never hurts to be aware.”
Treyhorn stood up and held out her hand for Dax’s plate. “Now, I think we’d better get ourselves over to the river if we want to get a good spot to see Firefall.”
The sun had set, and the sky was getting dark. They were near the river, and soon they heard the rushing water where the cataract started its long spill down the fall to the river below. Many street corners had torches to light the way, but the pools of shadow between were dim. They had just passed a dark alleyway when someone seized Dax from behind. Beside him he heard Treyhorn grunt and caught a glimpse of a form gripping her from behind.
He kicked and struggled, but a heavy blow to his head smashed him to the ground. He saw stars. He heard another struggle nearby. His dragon anger flared hotly, and he flailed wildly at the hands that gripped him. His efforts were fruitless. His attackers wrapped a heavy cloth around his arms and legs even as he kicked and squirmed. Another blow banged his head, and he saw stars again. After a third impact, he saw nothing.
#
His head hurt. He was on his back, and the surface was hard. For a minute he explored the edges of his pain without understanding. His memory came back with a rush. They had been attacked. He and Treyhorn had been on the way to the river when they were assaulted. His dragon anger flared with a surge stronger than adrenaline. It roused him to full consciousness . . . but he could not move! Fury blinded him. He tried to flex his body, but to no avail. He was bound tightly. He twisted and turned while his dragon rage slowly ebbed. Eventually he could think again. Panting, he lay quiet. His head throbbed with pain. He opened his eyes, but no light came through the binding around his eyes.
“Well, now. What have we here?” Dax knew that voice, and a cold shiver worked its way down his spine. “If it isn’t the little runaway king himself,” the voice went on. “Come to visit his subjects in Timberlake, did he now?”
Dax could not see the speaker, but he did not have to. It was Farkas Zodas. All the events of that terrifying night on the Wings of Wind came back to him. A fiery lance of fury speared through his mind, but he controlled himself this time. Control. Desperately, he pushed the anger back and thought. Zodas must have been in Timberlake and recognized Dax. How far had he tracked them? Was Zodas that good, or had Dax been terribly unlucky?
He had another thought . . . Treyhorn? He could not see, so he concentrated on listening, hoping to learn something. On the ship, Zodas had wanted to gloat a bit, and Dax expected him to do the same now. Instead, the man kicked him in the ribs. The blow pounded the air from his lungs. Dax tried to curl up and catch his breath, but his bonds held him immobile.
“Oh, yes,” Zodas sneered. “A pretty little payback for you, my lad. And I owe you so much more.” Zodas kicked him again. Harder this time and on Dax’s left side. He felt a crunch deep in his chest. A stab of pain rekindled his anger, but this wave of fury beat itself as fruitlessly against his bonds as the first.
Dax had to get control. He could not move. He could not fight. All he could do was gather information. He calmed himself in spite of the pain and his helpless position. He listened to Zodas’s soft steps as he moved. He heard a scrape of motion from another direction. Someone else was in the room. One of Zodas’s men? Treyhorn? He had no way to tell.
“What to do with you?” Zodas wondered aloud. “Now that is the question, isn’t it?” He kicked Dax again. This one landed on Dax’s left leg. It hurt just as much, but his leg bones were heavier than his ribs. They resisted the blow—for now. His leg throbbed against the tight bindings where the kick had struck. He gasped reflexively when the blow landed, and pain lanced through his ribs. He coughed, unable to draw as much air as he needed. Coughing sent an additional pulse of pain through his battered torso.
“Seems your price has gone down a bit, laddie,” Zodas growled. “Now that her man is gone, old lady Mathilde no longer has her fingers in the royal treasury. She’s put the word out through Holder’s organization that she will still pay a good price to see you finished and done, but she’d pay better for the opportunity to do it herself.”
This time Zodas’s kick landed on his right leg with even more force. Dax groaned. The man was working himself into a frenzy. “With what you did to me . . .” Zodas drew a deep, raspy breath. “I might just let her keep the money and pull you to pieces myself,” he snarled.
Zodas had no more words. He kicked Dax at irregular intervals, but he did not speak. He made little humming noises interrupted by a grunt of effort every time he swung his leg. From the sound, Dax anticipated his blows, but he could not stop them. He tried to roll onto his side and use
his left arm to shield his ribs, but it did not help. Each new kick brought a bright burst of agony. He could not think. He blazed with dragon anger he could no longer control. Every kick to his left side brought fresh eruptions of torment. Unable to move, he burned with an impossible frenzy to lash out. He clenched his teeth. He would not cry out!
#
Dazed, Dax gradually realized that Zodas had stopped kicking him. He lay still, waiting. He hurt, but the dragon rage had subsided. His thoughts were rational again. He pushed his dragon anger farther down and listened. He heard heavy breathing.
Zodas was still in the room. Eventually he spoke. “Now most folks seem to think Mathilde is the one behind your disappearance—dropped you in the West Sea or something.” He paused every couple of words to catch his breath. “Me? I know better. I be askin’ around. Quiet like.” He delivered another half-dozen brutal kicks to Dax’s body before he paused to catch his breath again. “I heard there’s a new player in the game.” Zodas gave Dax one more kick. “Seems the Tharans would like to get their hands on you as well. Yes, now that would be something.”
Zodas was still breathing heavily, and he hawked and spit. Dax knew the man had spat on him. His anger flared and threatened to overwhelm him. No! he thought fiercely. He could not go back into a full, but useless, dragon fury again. Dax took painfully deep breaths. He measured his pain and tried to control himself. He tried, but the pain in his body fed his rage. He teetered on the ragged edge.
Fortunately Zodas was tired after his efforts. Dax heard Zodas panting, but soon the man got his breath back enough to talk. “Your lady friend, she’s not as delectable a tidbit as little Anna would have been. Yes, I could have sold little blondie to the right buyer for a pretty penny.” He gave Dax another two kicks, venting his rage over losing that opportunity. “My boys had to beat your new friend more than I like. She’s a right bloody bitch, that one is, and in my business you have to keep the merchandise salable, you know.” He could have been talking about melons in the marketplace, but Zodas was talking about Treyhorn. Dax listened desperately. “They stayed away from her face, and if she recovers, I don’t think she’ll be marked up too bad. Maybe I should ship you both down to Thara and see what the market will bear, eh?”
Zodas was silent for a time. Finally Dax heard a door open. He heard two sets of footsteps, and the door closed. All was quiet. But the room was not completely silent. He listened intently. There were faint sounds from outside. A rushing sound. Were they near the river? He heard a faint cough and a moan from across the room. Someone else was there. Treyhorn? The moan came again, and this time he thought he recognized the sound. “Bindle? Are you there?” He finally got the words out only after a coughing fit sent agony through his injured ribs.
He waited, but there was nothing but silence. He tried again. “Bindle?”
“Not good . . . hurt.” Her voice was breathy and faint, but Dax was relieved to hear it.
Treyhorn was too weak to talk, but Dax told her what little he knew. As he recounted what had happened, his anger grew. Furious, his pain receded. However, he kept a careful grip on his senses. He had to think. His mind worked frantically, but it did no good. He had no options. His thoughts rushed around in the same circles of frustration, but he made no progress. Zodas had broken something in Dax’s chest—probably a rib or two. Dax’s arms and legs hurt, but his chest pulsed in agony with every breath. His bonds were just as tight as they had been when he had awoken. He could do nothing else but lie there. Eventually he went to sleep.
#
Zodas returned in the morning, but it was not soon enough. Tied up and unable to move, Dax had soiled himself during the night.
“Well, now. Did you have a pleasant night?” Zodas chuckled. “Yes, we have nothing but the finest facilities. Fit for a king, you know.” He paused. “Oh, dear me. What’s this?” Dax felt a nudge at his privates. “Did you neglect to use the privy last night? You’ve made a mess in my room.” Dax had heard feet shift and was prepared when the kick landed. It still hurt, but it was not a surprise.
He heard cruel laughter. “Boys, let’s get our guests ready for their little trip.” Rough hands bound ropes around his wrists and neck. Once he was secured, they wrestled the bindings from his legs. A hand pulled the blindfold from his eyes. Light spiked into his eyes, and he blinked away tears. A minute or two passed before he could see clearly.
Zodas stood over him, looking down. “Tsk. Tsk. Our little king is not potty trained.” He smiled contemptuously and tossed Dax a rag. “Get those trousers off and clean yourself up.” He growled scornfully. “You and your friend are going to take a little trip.”
Although he already burned with rage, Dax’s dragon anger flared to new heights. For a moment he lost control. He thrashed in his bonds until the fit passed. Breathless from the pain in his chest, he relaxed. The choking pressure on his neck eased. He took a slow, careful breath. He could think rationally again. There was nothing he could do but comply. Three of Zodas’s men held the ropes bound to his neck and wrists, and they stood back out of reach. A fourth stepped closer and freed Dax’s hands.
Arms and legs free, Dax tried to sit up. The ribs on his left side flared with pain, and he gasped. The man holding the rope tied to his left hand gave it a tug, pulling away his supporting arm. Dax fell back to the floor. His side throbbed in agony, but he clenched his teeth, intent on remaining silent and in control. “Oops there. Did you slip?” the man holding the rope goaded him. “Old Zodas says you’re quite the terror, he does.” He giggled. “Don’t look too tough to me.”
Dragon fire would be too good for this one. Dax focused on that thought and clenched his teeth harder. No. Disembowelment. Yes, spill the man’s guts on the floor and tattoo them into the wood with the point of his knife. In a small, rational part of his mind, he realized this was the way to control his dragon anger. Concentrate. Concentrate and think about dismemberment and butchery. Revenge! Plan every savage detail. He kept himself in control by embracing his brutal thoughts, the more gruesome the better. Grimly, he got even more creative.
The process they subjected him to was horrible beyond words. Dax alternated between fury and humiliation. Forced to strip and clean himself in front of the jeering men, his civilized nature cowered in mortification. His dragon side plotted blood, wrath, ruin, and, most of all, vengeance. Thoughts of gory retribution helped get him through the debasing process. When he finished, they did not give him clean clothes. Instead they pulled a burlap sack over this legs, wrapped it several times with rope, then cinched the top of the bag at his waist. He tried not to flinch as it stretched the raw wounds on his skin and put pressure on his damaged ribs.
The only benefit of the whole mortifying process was that he got see Treyhorn. She lay on the other side of the room, bound hand and foot. She did not stir. When the men were done with Dax, they made sure his hands were securely tied before they started on her. Dax was worried because she did nothing for herself and only moaned a few times while they worked. In the end, she was left bound much as he was.
“Well and good, gentlemen,” Zodas finally announced. “It is getting near lunchtime, so Bux, if you’d go get the cart, we’ll have a bite before we go.” Zodas looked over at his prisoners. “I guess you’d better have Leela bring a little something for our guests as well.”
They had left his eyes uncovered, and now that he could see what was going on, Dax noticed Zodas looked different. Thinner? His eyes were sunken into his face and appeared pinkly bloodshot. His eyes looked like Trimble’s eyes had looked. Had Zodas developed a taste for his own product? Dax remembered how he had left the man giggling on the bunk of the Wings of Wind. His dragon emotions glowed with spiteful satisfaction.
#
Zodas fretted and chivied his men constantly, but they still had not started by early afternoon. They had given their prisoners food and water at lunch time. Treyhorn had not been able to feed herself, and Dax, once again restrained by the men with ropes, helped
her get a few swallows down. Afterward, still in restraints, they forced him to use a chamber pot before they bound him again.
Finally everything was ready, and Zodas called out, “All right. Let’s pack ’em up.”
Dax was puzzled, then stared in horror as the men brought two coffins into the room and set them on the floor. Dismayed, he saw their plan at once. He had hoped that as they traveled along the road to Bington, either he or Treyhorn would be able to escape or at least signal some passersby to get help.
The coffins had latches on the sides, and the men opened the first one. Treyhorn groaned as they picked her up. Limp, she might as well have been a dead body. They placed her in the coffin and closed the lid.
Zodas chuckled with amusement, and Dax stretched around to look at him. “I’ll bet you were a-thinking about how to get away from us, weren’t you? Not going to happen. We’ve transported your type of cargo before, and nothing works as easy as transporting the dead to their rightful resting place.” He smiled broadly. “You see, you are dead as far as West Landly knows. And old Mathilde did it. By the time we take you to Thara and I get my money, nobody will even remember the poor little lost king.”
The two men came to Dax, but in a sudden burst of red rage, he jerked away as the first took his arm. They backed away. Zodas spoke, “We can do this two ways, boy.” His voice was cruelly hard. “They can lay you in there gentle-like, or they can beat on you until you don’t fight back, and then they lay you in there anyway. You’ll hurt a lot less if you go quiet.” He wickedly smiled at Dax. “Then again, maybe a few hours unconscious in the box wouldn’t be so bad either.”
King's Exile: Chronicles of the Dragon-Bound: Book 1 Page 34