Firebrand

by Kristen Britain

  “What are you looking for?”

  “A way out.” A coughing fit took her, and she reeled away from the slats to lean against the wall. “Oh, that hurts my head,” she said hoarsely when the fit passed. “I think I’m going to be sick.” She heaved, but little came up.

  “Why don’t you sit?” Estral suggested.

  Just then, a door opened with a flash of daylight before it was securely closed again. Karigan returned to the slats to view the newcomer.

  “Who is that?” she whispered.

  Estral shuddered. “They call her Nyssa. I don’t think she is a very nice person.”

  Karigan snorted softly. “She’s Second Empire.”

  Nyssa spoke quietly with her guards, and then all three turned to gaze at their captives.

  “Well, well,” Nyssa said. “The Greenie is awake and standing. Do you realize the ruckus you started in the keep?”

  Karigan did not answer, but a smile formed on her lips.

  “In any case,” Nyssa continued, “Captain Terrik has left it to me to ask you some questions. Bring the Greenie out.”

  Karigan turned to Estral and hastily whispered, “No matter what they threaten, no matter what they do, tell them nothing.” She stared hard and beseechingly at her as if to ensure her words penetrated.

  She sounded brave, but there was the fear in the tightness of her jaw, in the intensity of her eye. Estral, whose legs shook, could not even imagine how scared she must be.

  The guards unlocked the pen and threw Estral into the back wall. She slid to the floor and shook her head. Her good ear was ringing from the impact. By the time she had gotten over the shock, the guards had already dragged Karigan out and relocked the door. One held Karigan from behind with his cudgel pressed firmly across her throat in a choke hold. The second stood ready to beat her with his own cudgel, should she make a wrong move. Just what damage had she wrought in the keep?

  Nyssa stood before her, looking her over. “I bet you think you are clever and strong, the way you fought those soldiers. You can fight me if you like, which I’d enjoy, or you can answer my questions straight away. Either way, I’ll get what I want.”

  Estral, pressed up against the slats once more to watch, shuddered. Please, Karigan, don’t be stubborn for once in your life. Tell her something, anything.

  She knew, however, that a king’s messenger would not divulge information to the enemy, not willingly, and must resist even under duress. Karigan, with her sense of honor and sheer obstinacy, certainly would not give in without a fight. Estral could see only too clearly where it would all lead. Just this once, Karigan, please, tell her anything.

  Nyssa stepped over to the table and drew Karigan’s longsword. She pointed it at Karigan’s midsection. “You’re not just a Greenie, but a swordmaster. How very unusual.” The swordtip then swept to the insignia on Karigan’s right shirtsleeve. “And you wear the sign of the Black Shield on your uniform. Even more unusual. You must be a very special Greenie, indeed. It makes one wonder what a Black Shield Greenie is doing prowling around this forest.”

  Karigan said nothing.

  “Not going to talk? I should warn you from the outset that I am very passionate about my work and quite happy to engage in it, but I am also fair. All you have to do is tell me what your purpose is here, and what your king is planning. So very simple.”

  “We were just looking for a friend!” Estral cried.

  Nyssa glanced her way and gave her a withering look. “I did not ask you, and this will be your only warning. If I hear another outburst, I will take it out on this Greenie.”

  Estral bit her bottom lip.

  “Now,” Nyssa said, returning her attention to Karigan, “I could work on your companion, and maybe she would tell all.”

  “No.” Karigan’s voice came choked from the pressure of the cudgel against her throat. “Leave her out of this. She doesn’t know anything.”

  Estral’s knees almost gave out at the mere thought of Nyssa coming anywhere near her, and yet, Karigan remained defiant before that terrifying woman. She was, as always, Estral’s steadfast champion. What, Estral wondered, had she done to deserve such a friend?

  “Protecting your friend?” Nyssa said. “How sweet. She doesn’t look sturdy enough, anyway. I doubt she would hold up long under questioning, which would be disappointing for me, to say the least, and it is why you, a Green Rider and swordmaster, are standing here. I suspect you are made of sterner stuff. You see, for me, it’s not just about getting answers to my questions, but how I get them. I prefer a little challenge—it keeps life interesting. You know who Grandmother is? Yes, I can see by your expression that you do. Well, even Grandmother calls me a sadist. With love, of course. She has her way of questioning, and I have mine. She isn’t here at the moment, so I get to work on you. But because I am fair, I am offering you a chance to have your say, to tell me your purpose here. As charming as looking for a friend sounds, I find it unlikely.”

  “I have nothing to say.”

  “Bravely said.” Nyssa smiled and set the longsword aside. “And I am not disappointed.” She ordered the guards to move Karigan forward and clasp irons around her ankles, which were bolted to the floor. “I will not tolerate the footwork you used on the others in the keep.”

  Estral, who was terrified just watching, could not imagine how it must be for Karigan.

  Karigan’s wrists were then untied and shackled to a beam overhead and hoisted so that she hung almost suspended by her wrists, her toes barely touching the floor, the chains of the ankle irons taut. Nyssa circled her to inspect her guards’ handiwork.

  “This will do,” she said. Her attention turned to implements hanging on a nearby wall. She took her time examining them, touching and caressing individual items. Though Estral could not identify them from where she was, she knew they could not be anything good.

  Karigan coughed and Nyssa spun on her. “Are you sick?” When Karigan did not reply, she said, “It is a simple question, and if I do not receive an answer, there will be pain. Are you sick? Yes or no.”

  Karigan cleared her throat. “No.”

  “Excellent,” Nyssa replied. “That is a positive sign you answered, and it is good to know you are not sick. It would not stop me from my work, but it is, you know, very bad for stamina and would force me to adjust how I proceed.” She picked up a thin knife, polished the blade, and checked it front and back. Estral tensed even as she saw Karigan’s posture grow more rigid.

  “Since you answered me about your health,” Nyssa continued, “I am going to give you one more chance to tell me what I want to know, and by answering, you will be spared some pain. What is your purpose in the Lone Forest, and what is your king planning?”

  Karigan, please tell her, Estral thought. Tell her anything, please . . .

  Time and silence stretched to excruciating lengths. All of Estral’s muscles were taut with anxiety as Nyssa gazed at Karigan, rolling the knife across the palm of one hand to the other.

  After an interminable wait, Nyssa shrugged. “I guess I will be making you answer. I am pleased.”

  “Wait!” Estral cried. “I can tell you!”

  Nyssa plunged the knife into Karigan. Karigan gasped and writhed in her shackles. Estral screamed. Nyssa left the knife lodged in place and stalked up to the pen. She reached in and grabbed Estral by the throat, and pulled her into the slats. Estral cried out, tried to pry Nyssa’s fingers loose, to no avail. The woman was insanely strong.

  “I told you,” Nyssa said, “that another outburst from you would be bad for your friend. The stabbing is your doing. Now, will you keep your mouth shut? This time was just through muscle—I know how to avoid the organs—but if you open your mouth again, it’ll be much worse.”

  Estral nodded as best she could with Nyssa’s hand strangling her.

  “Good.” Nyssa let her go, and sh
e fell to her knees, gagging. Blood dripped from her nose and mixed with tears. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. Yes, this was all her doing, her fault.

  “Never fear,” Nyssa said, “I will get to you eventually.” She then returned to Karigan and gazed at the hilt jutting out of her midsection. “Reed, get me an iron.”

  One of the guards hastened to the brazier and returned with a long iron, its tip glowing orange. Nyssa yanked the knife out and Karigan gasped. Blood pattered onto the floor. Nyssa then tugged Karigan’s shirt up to expose the wound.

  “I see this is not the first time you’ve been stabbed. I have heard that being a Greenie can be dangerous work.” Nyssa took the iron from the guard, Reed. “Now, I’m going to close your wound. I don’t want blood loss to cut our session short.”

  Estral buried her head in her arms and squeezed her eyes shut as the glowing tip of the iron was pressed against Karigan’s flesh.

  HIS LITTLE STARLING

  Estral rocked herself on the floor of the pen, not sure if the scream was hers or Karigan’s. Tears and snot smeared her face. My fault, my fault . . .

  Then there was silence. She opened her eyes and dared peek out. Nyssa was just standing there, talking to Karigan. The hot iron was gone, but she still held the knife and was wiping the blood off its blade with a rag.

  “Would it surprise you to know I trained to be a mender?” Nyssa asked. “I apprenticed in Mirwellton. The knowledge is very useful in my work. I know how the body functions, what pleasures it, and what pains it, how much it will bleed. While I can perform useful tasks like setting bones, I am more interested in breaking them.” She glanced at Estral. “Burson, make sure the other one watches.”

  “Yes, Nyssa.”

  The guard came toward the pen and Estral scuttled to the back wall. He entered, grabbed her by the collar, and bashed her into the slats. He pressed his cudgel against the nape of her neck so she could not move her head.

  “I also have a knife,” Burson said. “Nyssa is not the only one who knows how to use one. If I catch you closing your eyes and not watching, I’ll make you bleed, too.”

  With little choice but to watch, Estral observed Nyssa walk behind Karigan with her knife poised. She stood there for some time, and the agony of waiting made Estral feel as though she must burst. Then, in one swift motion, Nyssa slit Karigan’s shirt up the back. She draped the cloth to the sides to expose Karigan’s shoulders and the curve of her spine. Nyssa took it all in, staring long and hard at the bared flesh.

  “Excellent,” she said. “Smooth and unblemished, a blank page. I can tell from your musculature that you do indeed work with a sword. Well done, but you may not be able to do so ever again by the time we are finished.” She tenderly, almost lovingly, trailed her fingers down the bumps and depressions of Karigan’s spine. Karigan flinched at her touch, and Nyssa chuckled. “If you are reacting so to such a light touch now, just wait until you feel what comes next.”

  There was more gentle examination of Karigan’s back, as though Nyssa were trying to memorize all the contours, the underlying structure and sinew.

  “A pity, in a way,” Nyssa murmured. “Such a well-formed back. But also exciting to leave my exclusive mark upon it.”

  Without warning, she grabbed Karigan’s braid and jerked her head back, exposing her throat.

  Estral shrieked.

  “Shut up,” Burson said, jamming his cudgel harder into the back of her neck.

  Instead of cutting Karigan’s throat, however, Nyssa caressed it, her fingers tracing it from jaw to collar bone. “Admit it,” she said, her lips very close to Karigan’s ear, “you like me touching you.”

  “Go to the hells,” Karigan gasped.

  Nyssa smiled indulgently and tapped her on the nose. Then she sawed off Karigan’s braid.

  Estral, shaken and exhausted, exhaled a long trembling breath.

  Nyssa stood before Karigan and held the braid before her face. “Your lovely hair. It was in the way. Think you’ll miss it?” She tickled Karigan under the chin with it. “Or, will some man, some lover of yours, miss running his hands through it?” She trailed the end of the braid along Karigan’s throat, down her front. Karigan shivered, and Nyssa laughed. “Perhaps you like me just a little, hmm?”

  Karigan averted her face when Nyssa caressed her cheek, but Nyssa forced her to look at her, and kissed her long and hard on the lips. Karigan jerked in her chains and tore away.

  “No? Not even a little? More’s the pity.” Nyssa tossed the braid aside on the table.

  Gods, Estral thought, her stomach churning in revulsion.

  Nyssa returned to her wall of implements and took her time examining what hung there. “Work well done cannot be rushed,” she murmured, “it just requires the correct tool to achieve the finest effect.”

  She fingered a couple of the implements, and finally decided on one. She removed from its hook a whip of multiple braided and knotted leather thongs. She showed it to Karigan, taking her time to ensure it was seen from one end to the other.

  “This is one of my favorites,” she said. “I made it myself, a beautiful tool to do beautiful work. The handle is made of horn, and in the knots of the thongs, I have wound wire into barbs, which add weight to the lash and will allow me to etch the most pleasing designs into your back. You will bear them for the rest of your life, however long or short that may be, and every time you feel the scars pulling at your back, feel some pain or stiffness, every time you touch them or glimpse them in a mirror, you will think of me, their creator.” She smiled. “And this one will be the hardest of all to forget, for it will not be so easy to hide.” She grasped one of the barbed knots and pressed it against Karigan’s cheek, and ripped down. Karigan jerked, her shackles ringing. Nyssa stepped back as though to assess the effect. She nodded in satisfaction at the result, absently stroking the tendrils of her whip.

  “I am going to give you one more chance, Greenie,” Nyssa said. “Is there anything you would like to tell me? What is your king planning?”

  Please answer, Estral thought. Tell her anything. She dared not speak up herself after what had happened the last time.

  Then Karigan did speak, her voice hoarse. “I am just a messenger. The king doesn’t tell me his plans.”

  “Wrong answer,” Nyssa said, “but I am delighted.” She stepped behind Karigan as if to size up her subject once more.

  No, no, no, Estral thought. Please, dear gods, no.

  Karigan glanced over her shoulder as if to see what Nyssa was up to. The gash down her cheek dripped blood onto her shirt.

  Nyssa paced and rolled her shoulders, taking her time to limber up. Maybe, Estral thought, it was all for show. She was drawing it all out in the expectation Karigan would crack just waiting for the lash to fall.

  Then, without preamble, swiftly and with the same deft precision Nyssa had exhibited with the knife, she struck. Karigan’s body spasmed and she gasped, but she did not cry out. Estral sobbed as though she was the one who’d been lashed. The first stroke had raised welts and drawn blood across Karigan’s back. It was no longer a “blank page.” The wire barbs in the knots would savage her.

  “One!” Reed called out.

  Nyssa prepared to deliver another stroke, and Estral squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Don’t you be closing your eyes,” Burson growled in her ear. “Nyssa wants you to watch.” When Estral didn’t obey, he jabbed the tip of his knife into the small of her back. “Open your eyes and watch.” He jabbed again and she cried out, and obeyed.

  “Do you know that my left hand is as strong and as accurate as my right?” Nyssa asked. “I can write with both, do tasks with one or the other with equal ability. It is truly a rare gift. It means I can switch hands to alternate the lashes across your back to create an artistic, but excruciating, pattern.”

  “Two!” Reed called as the lash fell ag
ain.

  Estral screamed even as Karigan did not. Tears blurred her vision of red.

  “Three!”

  She welcomed the blurring, choked on tears.

  “Four!”

  She tried not to see the blood. She tried not to hear the sound of the thongs rushing through the air and smacking Karigan’s back. She tried not to hear Reed’s count, now up to eight, then eleven, and relentlessly on. How could Karigan bear it?

  My fault, my fault . . . If Estral hadn’t been so set on finding her father right away, if she had only listened to Karigan.

  “Thirteen!”

  “It’s going beautifully, Greenie,” Nyssa said, her cheeks flushed from exertion and her eyes sparkling. “Soon you will scream for me.”

  Estral went into a sort of stupor, pressed up against the slats, tears runneling down her face, snot dripping from her nose. Her breaths came in ragged gasps as the litany of My fault, my fault, my fault . . . continued to stream through her mind. She lost focus, went numb.

  When Karigan finally did scream, Estral jolted back to herself and the stench of blood filled her nostrils. There was a look of ecstasy on Nyssa’s face.

  The count continued. “Twenty-six!” And so did Karigan’s weakening screams. On, and on.

  Estral was not sure how much time had passed when she realized the cudgel was gone from the back of her neck and Burson was stepping out of the pen and locking the door behind him. Her knees gave out and she sank to the floor. The flogging had stopped, and there was another man speaking with Nyssa. They blocked her view of Karigan, but she could see the blood spatter on Nyssa’s tunic, her hands, across the wall, staining the floorboards beneath Karigan’s feet.

  “I’ve missed you,” Nyssa was saying.