As Flies to Wanton Boys (Immortal Treachery Book 2)

by Allan Batchelder

  “I think we’ll peel the skin off your left arm, to begin with, startin’ at your little finger and progressin’ outwards and upwards as we go. I like to apply various acids and such to the newly exposed nerves in order to identify what causes the most pain in any given subject. Some people scream in agony at mere salt water, whilst others barely flinch at Dimonian acid. I’ll be interested to see which of those extremes is closest to your own nature.”

  “I’m sure I’ll start bawlin’ as soon as you make the first cut.”

  “You don’t want to do that,” Janks warned, “You’ll wear yourself out before we even get to the good stuff.”

  Long strove to keep his tone level, without the least hint of panic. “That’s as may be, friend, but if you start cuttin’, I start screaming.”

  “And I heard you were a war hero,” Janks countered plaintively.

  “As were you,” said Long, “before I put my sword through your chest.” At this, Janks balked, enough that Long picked up on it immediately. “Yep, I reckon you’ve got a nasty scar on your chest and one on your back, to match.”

  Faster than Long could track, Janks whipped his hand forward and gently touched the point of his knife against the prisoner’s naked eyeball. Blinking was the last thing Long wanted to do.

  “Who’ve you been talkin’ to?” Janks demanded. “There’s no way you’d know that unless someone’s been spying on me.”

  “Or,” Long offered carefully, “you and I have met before…”

  Janks was breathing heavily through his mouth now, clearly agitated. “Know what’s worse than losing an eye? Bein’ forced to eat it afterwards.”

  The sound of the room’s door opening was amongst the sweetest Long had ever heard.

  “Hold!” came a voice.

  The knife point receded and Janks stepped backwards from Long with surprising haste.

  “Your Lordship,” Long heard his tormentor say.

  Long closed his eyes, gathered himself, waited.

  “Is this the fellow?” a new voice asked.

  “It is,” said the Steward.

  “Open your eyes, Captain Fendesst,” the new voice ordered.

  Long was relieved to see Janks had retreated a good ten to fifteen feet, replaced by the Steward and a man who could only have been Lord of the House. His Lordship was impeccably dressed in light, summertime colors. His auburn hair and beard were flawlessly trimmed and styled, and the man himself seemed both healthy and fit. His hazel eyes fixed on Long with a combination of concentration and curiosity.

  “Had you begun your work?” His Lordship asked Janks.

  “No, milord,” Janks answered softly.

  “That’s lucky.” His Lordship responded. “Lucky for you, lucky for all of us.”

  Long was inwardly pleased to see Janks’ look of confusion at this last comment.

  “And you’re positive this is the man, the one-and-only Captain Peter Fendesst?” His Lordship asked both Janks and the Steward.

  “That’s what he confessed under the treatment,” the Steward replied, “And that’s never failed us before.”

  Janks nodded silently, but vigorously.

  His Lordship broke into a broad smile. “Well, it’s the damnedest thing that ever I heard, but I think we’ve stumbled into a most advantageous situation…if we can figure out how to work it.”

  Janks stepped forward. “Pardon the intrusion, your Lordship, but what situation is that?”

  “You’ve not heard?” His Lordship asked. “It’s all over the city: the captain here’s been named sole heir to the D’Escurzy estates, mansion and fortune. What we’ve got here is nothing less than the current Lord of House D’Escurzy.”

  Thunderstruck doesn’t even begin to describe Long’s feelings at that moment.

  *****

  Rem, House Hawsey

  Henton Hawsey had no penis. Neither did he possess its female counterpart, but because a boy is what his parents had been desperately hoping for, a boy is what they made of him, and he’d been named Henton. This was the startling, scandalous revelation His Lordship wished to keep private. In his youth, Gelter Radcliffe had apparently attended at banquet at court. When he excused himself to use the jakes, he inadvertently walked into one already in use by the future Lord Hawsey. Gelter had then seen what he’d seen – or not seen, to be more precise – and bided his time with the knowledge, waiting to see how young Henton would respond. Years went by. At an auction, one day, Gelter was approached by a large, frightening brute who simply whispered, “You speak ill of Lord Hawsey, your death’ll be too, too slow for your liking.” And that was it. Gelter sat on his secret knowledge, determined to use it, but unable to imagine how he could do so without losing his life.

  And now the knowledge was Rem’s, too, as well as the quandary about how best to use it. If only there was some way to make Henton’s secret public. Possession of the diary, Rem realized, also gave him leverage over Gelter Radcliffe. None of this, of course, was bringing Rem any closer to understanding House Hawsey’s potential role in the Queen’s disappearance, but if the need for mayhem ever arose, the actor felt sure he could satisfy it.

  What bothered him most in all of this was the fact he now needed to return to Her Ladyship’s bed chamber in order to switch the true diary with the counterfeit. That he’d gained insight into Her Ladyship’s libidinous behavior helped not at all. She would assault him from the moment he appeared, he knew, and pummel him nigh unto death with her insatiability. There would be moments of pleasure, like the way a swimmer feels when cresting a wave, along with moments of terror, as when the wave comes crashing down upon said swimmer. With a hearty sigh, Rem stood up and began the too-short journey towards Her Ladyship’s room, wishing himself a better swimmer.

  *****

  Mardine, On the Trail

  It is a strange thing that in chasing someone there seems a point at which fatigue gradually gives way to increased health and vigor – provided one has enough to eat and drink. So far, Mardine had, but she knew that could change at any time. Thus, she tended to overeat when the opportunity presented itself, just in case. The fear and anxiety that had driven her for the first week or so had abated to some degree, but her anger remained as potent as ever and manifested itself in countless little ways throughout each day. She tried not to take it out on her companion, Tresa. After all, the woman was helping her. Still, she was a former thrall, like Nelby and Jaddo. Lunessfor had made every effort to rehabilitate these unfortunates, casting them as hapless victims of a fate beyond their ken, and Mardine wanted to believe it, which was why she brought Nelby into her home in the first place. But look where it had gotten the giantess. No, trust would be slow in coming – was slow in coming. Entire days went by when Mardine and Tresa spoke less than ten words to one another. So be it. They would never be friends. All that mattered was finding Esmine before anything worse befell her.

  Summer was in full flower; the days were warm, and the nights were pleasant. As she trudged along, Mardine worried about her apples and her husband, in interchangeable order. The one represented the financial security and future of her little family; the other, its emotional core. Yes, Long was a good deal smaller than she, but her husband loomed large in her heart and imagination. He was a good man and, dammit, good men truly were hard to find. Would he forgive her, though, if the worst came to pass and she could not find Esmine? Would she ever forgive herself? Could she even live with the guilt? Grimly, she pressed onward.

  Every so often, the giantess and her companion encountered someone in a village or passing by on the Queen’s highway who claimed to have seen a man matching Jaddo’s description. One night, both women even stayed in an inn where Jaddo and Nelby had been spotted by several of the locals. Mardine estimated that she and Tresa were a day to a day-and-a-half behind their quarry. She was not entirely comforted by this, however. The whole chase seemed too easy. She suspected a trap and considered hiring mercenaries, but didn’t know how long she’d need them o
r whether her money would hold out for the duration. And, again, she figured she could handle a goodly number of thralls in a fight, if it came to that. The real question was, could she expect any help from Tresa. Oh, the woman seemed amply angry with Jaddo and Nelby, but could she fight?

  What choice did a mother have? Like a bear, Mardine would protect her child to her dying breath, come what may.

  Late one evening as the sun began sinking behind the mountains in the west, Mardine and Tresa happened upon a peddler and his wife camped by the side of the road. It was universally understood that there was safety in numbers, and custom held that everyone was welcome ‘round the campfire. The peddler and his woman were initially uneasy at the sight of a giant, but, once Mardine introduced herself (and Tresa, who was often taciturn at such moments), the tension dissipated and the mood brightened markedly.

  By the time the group had finished supper, Mardine had learned that the peddler was bound for Lunessfor, to resupply and test the market for his outlands trinkets. The giantess also revealed her own purpose in travelling. To her surprise, the peddler’s wife had information in that regard.

  “I seen a man leadin’ a couple o’ women on horseback off the road and up a game trail a ways north o’ here.”

  “When was this, love?” the peddler asked.

  “Couple-three hours ago.”

  “Why din’t you say nothin’?”

  “Why would I? T’weren’t nothing strange about it at the time.”

  The peddler grimaced. “And now?”

  “Well, now, it fits our friend here’s story, don’t it?”

  The peddler could only allow as it did. Still, he cautioned, there had to be lotta folks travelling to and fro near the Queen’s Highway on a fine summer’s day.

  “Two or three hours north, you say?” asked Mardine.

  “’Bout that, sure.”

  The giantess rose, to an audible groan from Tresa.

  “You’re not thinkin’ of…” the thrall woman whined.

  “That’s exactly what I’m thinking,” Mardine retorted. “I know travelling in the dark’s dangerous, but so’s letting that bastard get any farther away with my daughter.” With that, Mardine shouldered her ponderous pack, thanked the peddler and his wife and started hiking up the road.

  Tresa sat and seethed for a minute or two and then cursed and scrambled after her huge companion.

  “Stay safe!” the peddler called after them into the growing dark.

  In fact, the game trail proved to be less than two hours distant, although that may have been due to Mardine’s enormous strides and the energy that came from finally approaching a sought after goal. But it was full dark when she and Tresa arrived, and Mardine took a long moment to ponder her next step. The trail meandered away into the undergrowth and, subsequently, a forest beyond. Anywhere along that trail, Mardine and Tresa might encounter a trap, treacherous terrain, or, worse, wolves, bears or Svarren. The giantess couldn’t rule out the possibility of running into all of those things, in countless perverse combinations. She expected misfortune, but there was no point in compounding her difficulties by courting it. Resigned, she tossed her pack down near an old fire pit and set about gathering kindling.

  “So,” Tresa began irritably, “we rush all this way in the dark and you decide to camp, anyway?”

  Without taking her eyes off her task, Mardine responded, “Barging into an unknown forest at night’s a sure way to get yourself killed. Whose side are you on, anyhow?”

  “My own.”

  It was a good answer, a smart one. If she’d have said anything else, Mardine would have been suspicious. It was pretty clear the thrall woman wanted her measure of vengeance upon Jaddo, though. Unless she could extract it from the hash Mardine intended to make of his corpse, however, she was like to be frustrated.

  Once the fire was crackling away to Mardine’s satisfaction, she glanced over and saw her companion fast asleep, her feet just trailing onto the Queen’s Highway. That was probably okay. This far from anywhere, no one was likely to trip over the woman. Mardine shifted her attention to the morning’s challenge: the wooded game trail. She felt reasonably sure the threat of predators would diminish with the sunrise, and the terrain would be much easier to navigate, too. But there remained the possibility of trap. The problem was, the giantess didn’t know enough about traps to even begin to prepare for one. If only she could trust Tresa to scout ahead while Mardine attempted to circle around through the trees. Circle around to where, though? Jaddo might not be expecting her, but if he was, he’d have planned for a big, angry giant to come rushing right at him. Mardine sighed at the futility of it all. All of this ‘planning’ was based upon nothing more than conjecture. The peddler’s wife might have been mistaken, or, if she had seen a man and two women, they might not be the ones she was after. Or this might be the wrong game trail.

  Or Esmine could be dead.

  Mardine got no sleep that night.

  *****

  Breakfast was hard cheese, harder bread and all but unchewable prunes. That didn’t stop Tresa from wolfing it down, Mardine noticed. She reckoned the woman’s years as a starving thrall had impacted her in more ways than this. And the giantess was no slouch when it came to eating, much to Long Pete’s initial dismay.

  “What’s yer plan?” Tresa asked around a mouthful of bread.

  “I guess we go straight in. With you in front, of course.”

  “Me?” Tresa scowled. “Why me? You’re the big ‘un.”

  “Because I’m the big one,” said Mardine. “If there’s any kind of trap, they’ll be expecting my big old bulky self, not your slight little frame. Maybe you’ll be able to avoid it completely.”

  “And if I say no?”

  “I thought you had a score to settle with this Jaddo.”

  “That don’t mean I fancy an arrow in my belly.”

  “It might not be an arrow,” Mardine pointed out. “It could be a spear.”

  Tresa glowered at her. “What’s that, giant humor?”

  “Something like that. Now, let’s get packed and get onto that trail.”

  “With me in front.”

  Mardine nodded.

  “You still ain’t explained how that makes sense for me.”

  “Look,” the giantess answered. “What do you think is more likely: you rescuing me if I’m down, or me coming in and rescuing you?”

  Tresa wasn’t quite buying it. “Why would you wanna rescue me?”

  “You’re helping me, aren’t you? You think I’d pay you back by abandoning you in your time of need?”

  “You don’t put me in front, might be I won’t have no time o’ need.”

  Mardine looked past the thrall woman and down the path. “I’m even less interested in abandoning Esmine in her time of need. Let’s go.”

  With resignation, Tresa picked up her pitiful bundle of gear and stood at the edge of the trail, waiting on Mardine. It was a fine summer’s morning, with little to no dew on the grass and other plants, which meant both women would remain dry, even if they had to push their way through the underbrush at times. There was nothing worse than trudging along for untold hours in wet clothing.

  “I’m ready,” Mardine told the smaller woman.

  “Right,” Tresa replied flatly.

  As it turned out, there was no trap lurking just inside the tree line. Or a mile up the trail. Or even an hour. At some point, Tresa acquired a limp, which only grew worse over time.

  “What’s wrong with your leg?” Mardine inquired.

  “Got a rock in my boot, I think.”

  Mardine was dumbfounded. “Well, why didn’t you say something? Let’s stop and get it out. You come up lame, and I’ll have to carry you, which will go badly for the both of us.”

  Tresa peered up the trail. “Looks like there’s a bit of a clearing up ahead. Maybe I can find a rock or stump or somethin’ to sit upon.”

  Sweet Alheria! These former thrall women didn’t have the brains to s
tay out of their own way. Not for the first time, Mardine wondered if they hadn’t all been damaged in some fundamental way by the End’s sorcery. The giantess watched as Tresa tossed herself down on a tussock of grass and commenced yanking upon her boot. Weirdly, she began giggling to herself and then looked directly at Mardine, smiling merrily. The giantess had no idea what to make of this inexplicable behavior, until she heard a strange whooshing sound behind her. Before she could even register the fact she was under attack, an impossible weight smashed into her and sent her flying through the air and into the clearing. Unable to breathe, Mardine crashed to the ground and prepared to die.