The Captive

by Amanda Ashley

  She stared at them and then, overcome by fear and fatigue, she slid to the ground, praying that she would be dead before they ate her.

  * * * * *

  Falkon woke to a raging thirst and the sound of drums. For a time, he lay still, eyes closed, trying to determine where he was.

  He heard footsteps, muffled conversation, the crackle of flames.

  Hands gripped his shoulders, holding him down. He gasped as agony splintered through his wounded arm, opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by a half-dozen painted faces. He’d heard stories of them in the mine, the cannibals of Tierde.

  Damn, were they carving him up alive? He glanced at his arm, swore again as one of the men made a slit in his flesh. A trickle of dark red blood and greenish-yellow pus spurted from the cut. He groaned as pressure was applied to his arm, forcing more pus from the wound.

  When only bright red blood ran from the cut, the witch doctor held Falkon’s arm over a wooden cup until it was almost full, and then he slapped a hot poultice over the wound. The pain was excruciating. With a groan, Falkon pitched headlong into oblivion.

  When he woke again, it was night. He glanced around, but could see nothing in the dark hut. He licked dry lips, threw off the rough blanket that covered him. He was hot, so hot. He tossed restlessly, plagued by a relentless thirst. He couldn’t feel any pain in his arm and he wondered, morbidly, if they had cut it off. He had a vague memory of a painted face hovering over him, filling a wooden cup with his blood. The thought of someone drinking from that cup made him sick to his stomach. He took a deep breath, then reached across his body, relieved to find his arm still there.

  Water. He had to have a drink.

  He groaned as he rolled to his side, then to his hands and knees. The movement made him dizzy.

  “Falkon?”

  Choking back his nausea, he lifted his head and looked toward the sound of the voice. “Ashlynne?”

  “Help me.”

  He blinked into the darkness. “What’s wrong?”

  “They tied me up.”

  He grunted softly; then, gathering what little strength he possessed, he crawled slowly toward her, only to go sprawling face down across her lap when he bumped into her thigh.

  “Are you all right?” she whispered.

  “Oh, yeah, fine.” He lay there a moment, his head pillowed in her lap. Sleep, he thought, it would be so nice to close his eyes and go to sleep with his head in her lap.

  “I’m scared.”

  “Yeah, me too.” He struggled to sit up, then reached behind her and fumbled with the rope binding her wrists. It seemed to take forever, but, finally, he managed to loosen the knots.

  “Hurry, we’ve got to get out of here.” She shook off the rope and began to massage her wrists, wincing as the blood began to circulate again. “They’re cannibals, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah.”

  She shuddered. She had been hoping she was wrong. “They’re going to eat us, aren’t they?”

  He didn’t care what they did, so long as they gave him something cold to drink first.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” she said urgently.

  “Yeah.” It was an effort to think. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep.

  “Wake up! Falkon, wake up!” She shook his arm. “Come on, we’ve got to go.”

  “You go.” He was tired and thirsty and hungry and right then, he didn’t care if he lived or died.

  “Falkon! Damn you, wake up.”

  In spite of everything, he felt himself smiling at her use of profanity.

  “Falkon.” Her voice, close to his ear. “If you don’t wake up, I’m going to use the controller.”

  That got his attention. “What do you want from me?” he asked.

  “I want you to get me out of here. Now.” She cocked her head to one side. “I don’t hear anything. Maybe they’re all asleep.” She stood up, tugging on his arm. “Let’s go. Hurry.”

  He rose on legs that felt like warm rubber and staggered toward the door of the hut, wondering at her bravado. Not too long ago, she had been afraid of a harmless spider, now she was ready to fight off a tribe of blood-thirsty cannibals.

  He opened the hide flap that covered the doorway and peered outside. All was quiet. Dark. Low clouds covered the moon and blotted out the stars. A few raindrops splattered his face, giving promise of a downpour before the night was out. The cool air revived him a little, clearing the cobwebs from his mind. She was right. They had to get out of here.

  “Stay close,” he whispered, and slipped outside.

  It was to their advantage that the hut they had been in was located a short distance away from the rest. Keeping to the shadows, he ghosted around the corner of the shack. The jungle rose in front of him, dark, silent.

  He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the girl was behind him, then slipped into the underbrush.

  Ashlynne followed close on Falkon’s heels. She hadn’t thought anything could be more frightening than seeing her home destroyed, but one look at the cannibals who had captured them had changed her mind. Fear could be a powerful impetus, and she had been terrified. She had watched in horror as the medicine man had drained Falkon’s blood into a cup. He had taken a swallow, nodded, and handed the cup to the man behind him, who had taken a drink and passed it to the next man. That act alone had banished any doubts she’d had about her captors and she had known that, somehow, she had to get away.

  She had fought with a ferocity she hadn’t known she possessed when they tied her up, but all her struggles had been in vain. They had bound her hands, then stood around her, talking softly. One man had run his hands over her arms and legs, nodding and smiling, and though she hadn’t been able to understand his words, she had known he was thinking of all the ways to cook her.

  She didn’t know how long she had sat there after the savages left. Before the interior of the hut had grown dark, she had glanced around, searching for something she could use to cut her hands free, but all she had seen were skulls and shrunken heads and a pile of bones. Human bones.

  She had stared at Falkon, lying on the ground across from her, willing him to wake up before it was too late. She had heard the natives singing and dancing, swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat as she imagined them dragging her outside, stripping her of her clothes, tossing her into a pot of boiling water.

  But no one had come for her. Gradually, the drumming had ceased and the night had grown silent.

  And now she was following Falkon deeper into the jungle. All the stories she had heard when she was a child rose up to haunt her, tales not only of the cannibals, but of wild animals, of slime pits and burning sands, of a lost city that had once been inhabited by a race of giants. She had always thought such tales to be nothing but fiction, but if the cannibals were real, might there not also be bottomless pits of slime and sands that burned like fire? What if the jungle housed giants, as well?

  She tripped over a log, gasping as pain exploded through her knee. For a moment, she lay where she had fallen, too weary to move. What difference did it make if they escaped the cannibals? There were probably a thousand other, worse ways to die waiting for them in this great green hell. Snakes and wild beasts and poisoned water. Suddenly, she didn’t care. She just wanted it to be over.

  “Ashlynne? Are you hurt?”

  “Of course I’m hurt! And I’m hungry and tired and scared.”

  He looked at her a moment and then, with a low groan, he hunkered down on his heels beside her. “What happened to that spit-fire who practically dragged me out of the cannibals’ camp?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked up at him, tears making wet trails through the dirt that covered her face. “We’re going to die out here, aren’t we?”

  “Not if I can help it. Come on, you can’t give up now.”

  “Yes, I can. I’m tired.”

  “I know. Come on, just a little further.”

  “No.”

  “Come on,
princess, I can’t carry you.” He smiled grimly. “Hell, before the night is over, you may have to carry me.”

  She couldn’t help it, she laughed.

  “That’s better.” He held out his hand. “Come on.”

  With a sigh, she put her hand in his and let him help her to her feet. “Do you know where we are?”

  He jerked his chin. “All I know is that east is that way, and that’s where we want to go. Ready?”

  She nodded, and he turned and began walking. Far ahead, she could see a tall slender mountain. Enjine Base Nine was at the foot of the mountain.

  She was certain things couldn’t get worse when it began to rain. Not a light mist. Not a spring shower. But a heavy rain that quickly soaked her to the skin.

  She had never been so cold or so miserable in her whole life.

  It seemed they walked for hours, but the mountain never got any closer.

  At dawn, Falkon found a place for them to rest, a small dark cave that smelled of dung and dust and something long dead.

  Falkon went in ahead of her. He reappeared a short while later, a dead animal in his hands. He tossed the carcass away, then shrugged. “Your castle awaits, princess.”

  “I hate you,” she murmured. “I really do.”

  “Yeah,” he said, following her inside. “I know.”

  It was dark and cold. She stood in the middle of the cave, her arms wrapped around her body, shivering uncontrollably.

  “Get out of those wet things.”

  “No.”

  “Do it,” he said. She heard the scrap of cloth over skin and knew he was removing his boots and breeches. “Dammit, Ashlynne, get out of those wet clothes.”

  She turned her back to him and undressed, grateful for the cave’s sheltering darkness. She gasped when he grasped her arm and drew her down beside him.

  “Relax, I’m not going to hurt you. Just lay close to me. We’ll be warmer that way.”

  She would have protested, but she could already feel his heat seeping into her everywhere they touched, save for one cold damp area around his buttocks, and she realized that he was not totally naked.

  They lay back to back on the ground. Too tired to think or feel, she closed her eyes, asleep between one breath and the next.

  * * * * *

  The shriek of lazer weapons slowly died away. The air was pungent with the smell of smoke and charred flesh. He stood outside the house that had once been his, watching as two men wearing the green and gold of the Romarian Army emerged from the wreckage bearing what was left of his wife and child.

  With a roar, he turned on Drade, his manacled hands reaching for his enemy’s throat, but Drade slipped through his fingers like swamp fire. The manacles on his wrists turned to lynaziam shackles and he collapsed on the ground as Drade stood over him, laughing hysterically as he activated the controller, sending shards of pain splintering through every nerve and muscle of his body.

  He screamed with pain and outrage, screamed his hatred, his grief, screamed until his throat was raw…

  “Falkon! Falkon! Wake up. Please, wake up.”

  Ashlynne shook his shoulder, shook it again, as hard as she could, in an effort to wake him, to silence his cries. Finally, in desperation, she hit his wounded arm as hard as she could.

  With a harsh cry, Falkon bolted upright, his eyes wild. His hands closed around her throat and he had her pinned to the ground between one heartbeat and the next.

  “Don’t!” she cried, gasping for breath. “It’s me.”

  “What the hell?” He released his hold on her and sat back. “What happened?”

  “You were having a nightmare. You cried out in your sleep. I tried to wake you, but I couldn’t. I was afraid someone would hear you.”

  He rubbed his wounded arm, wondering why it hurt so bad.

  “I’m sorry,” Ashlynne said. “I didn’t know how else to wake you.”

  He stared at her a moment, puzzled, and then nodded as comprehension dawned. “You did the right thing.” He would have welcomed any pain to escape the hell of that nightmare.

  Pale sunlight filtered into the cave. He noticed that she was dressed and he wondered how long she had been awake. Her clothes were badly wrinkled, her hair fell in disarray over her shoulders and down her back. Her face was smudged with dirt.

  “It must have been awful,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. “Your dream.”

  “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Awful.”

  He took a deep breath, blew it out in a long slow sigh. Always the same nightmare, he thought bleakly, reminding him of what he had lost, of his hatred for the man who had once been his friend. In the bowels of the mine, shackled hand and foot, shut away from the sun, he had given up all hope of vengeance. When he had been sent to work for Ashlynne’s father, a small spark of hope had begin to burn deep within him—hope of escape, hope of achieving vengeance. And now…

  He felt the spark within him kindle into a blaze. He was free now, and the possibility for revenge was closer than ever. He snorted softly as he fingered the collar on his neck. As free as he could be while Ashlynne held the controller, he mused, and wondered why he hadn’t taken it from her the night before.

  Sooner or later they would reach Enjine Base Nine. He had no doubt of his ability to steal a ship. When that was done, he would go to Romariz, in disguise, and find Drade. He smiled as he thought of what it would be like to confront his enemy, to put his hands around Drade’s throat and slowly, slowly, squeeze the life from his body. It would be far easier, and certainly much safer, to kill the maggot from a distance, but that would not do. He wanted Drade to know who it was who took his life. Drade would know why.

  “Falkon, do you think we could find something to eat?”

  Slowly, he turned to look at the girl. Lost in dreams of vengeance, he had completely forgotten about her.

  “I’m hungry,” she said plaintively.

  “Yeah.” He blew out a deep sigh. “Me, too.” He pulled on his breeches and boots and then stood up, hands braced against his thighs, while he gathered his strength. He wondered briefly if the cannibals would come looking for them, but the pain in his arm and the hunger rumbling in his belly were more urgent concerns at the moment.

  Taking a deep breath, he left the cave and headed east.

  Ashlynne followed him, surprised that he had the strength to walk. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes. She knew his arm pained him, knew he must be as hungry and thirsty as she, yet he never complained, only kept walking, stubbornly putting one foot in front of the other.

  It grew hotter as they walked. She heard the deep-throated roar of some huge beast, tried not to think of the hundreds of slimy, creepy creatures and poisonous snakes and spiders that inhabited the jungle. Surely they were just as afraid of her as she was of them. Weren’t they?

  She felt faint with happiness when Falkon stopped beneath a tree and plucked a large bunch of small blue bananas. He handed her half of them. She peeled one with fingers that shook in her haste, sighed with pleasure as she bit into the sweet blue fruit. She devoured it in two bites and quickly peeled another, and then another. Never had anything tasted so good.

  Falkon picked two other bunches, and then they started walking again.

  With the edge taken from her hunger, she peeled another banana. She ate slower this time, savoring the sugary sweet taste, remembering how she had loved to have them for breakfast at home…home.

  Despair washed over her. She would never see her home or her parents again. Why, she wondered, why had the Hodorians attacked them? They had been at peace. She had known little of politics, been aware of little beyond the high walls of the jinan. Magny and Artemis had been her only friends. She had been spoiled and pampered her whole life, until now. She stared at Falkon’s broad scarred back. He would not pamper her. He didn’t even like her. She was nothing but a burden to him, an inconvenience.

  She felt the sting of tears behind her eyes and dashed them away. No matter what happened, s
he wouldn’t cry in front of him again. She wouldn’t!

  A short time later, she heard a dull roaring sound, and then, as they pushed their way through a tangle of thick vines, she saw a waterfall.

  She stood there, gaping in awe, as she watched the water cascade over the side of a mountain to fall hundreds of feet into an enormous lake. Several small overflow pools surrounded the lake.

  Ashlynne could only stare, thinking she could drink her fill at last, that she could step into one of those shallow pools and bathe away the dirt and perspiration that clung to her.

  She started forward, only to be stayed by Falkon’s hand on her arm. “Just wait,” he said.

  She frowned at him. “Why?”

  “Hush.” He stood there, motionless for a full ten minutes, all his senses attuned to his surroundings, before he stepped out of the cover of the jungle.

  Ashlynne hurried after him. They stopped at the first pool, dropped to the ground, side by side. Falkon sniffed the water, took a small sip, then buried his head in the pool.

  The water was cold and sweet, refreshing, intoxicating, and she drank and drank and then, feeling wonderful, she fell back on the grass and closed her eyes.

  Falkon stared at her, surprised to discover that she was asleep.

  Shaking his head, he walked toward one of the other pools. There were a dozen of them, a few meters apart. He had thought them all to be overflow pools from the waterfall, but the water in the nearest one had steam rising from it. A hot spring.

  Filled with anticipation, he stripped off his boots, breeches, and briefs and slid into the shallow pool, sighing as the wonderfully warm water closed over him. Far in the distance he could see the tip of the mountain that housed Enjine Base Nine. He wondered just how far away it was, and how long it would take them to reach there.

  But somehow, sitting in the warm embrace of the pool, his head back, his eyelids growing heavier by the minute, he no longer cared.