by Jackie Dana
“Aye. You have a good heart, Kate, and I appreciate your friendship more than you could ever know.”
“It’s not enough though. I haven’t been able to convince Rynar to help you. And I’m afraid…”
“Don’t worry. It will work out. Have faith in the goddess, and be brave, for me.”
She wished she had his confidence. Suddenly self-aware, she said, “I wish this wasn’t a dream.”
And with that, Kate woke up.
Cracking open her eyes, she spied Rynar blowing out the candles in the other room. Realizing he was about to spread out his blankets to sleep, she remained on her side, her face partly hidden by a pillow, and watched him carefully in the light of the fire that burned in the hearth. He removed the heavy glysar medallion and chain from his neck, the pendant depicting the oak leaves and crossed swords that formed the insignia of the Aldrish. He pulled all the rings from his fingers, save the one glysar band on his right hand that he never removed, and which, although quite simple, he valued above all others. All of this jewelry he laid carefully on top of his wooden chest, and then he paused for a moment to stare at the remaining ring, rubbing it with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. Then he unbuckled his belt, laying it beside the jewelry. He always removed his sword upon returning to his quarters for the night, and so it already rested there beside the belt, snug in its richly tooled and dyed scabbard.
He glanced at her, but seemed satisfied that she slept. Then he moved to the window and sat on the bench underneath, staring outside. He seemed unusually pensive, and she wondered what the reason might be. Was it something he saw in the documents that he had been so focused on for the past few days, and had spent so long reading this evening? If so, she’d likely never know, as he would not disclose their contents and kept them locked up in a second chest. Or could it be that he was also troubled by Nyvas’s impending death? It seemed unlikely, but she remembered how he had not been told of her friend’s arrest ahead of time. That was odd, and she wondered if this fact could be somehow turned to her advantage. Someone else was playing a game here, and in this round, Rynar was at a disadvantage for once. It had to irk him to not be calling the shots.
The fire had died down, and quietly he added another log, and stirred the coals long enough to inspire a few new flames to jump forth. Then he pulled off his tunic, leaving him in his shirt and woolen tights. She had to quickly pretend to be rolling over in her sleep, for he had paused to look at her and she thought he might have seen her awake. She kept her eyes closed and tried to keep her breathing steady as he sat beside her and stroked her hair. “If you only knew,” he whispered. Then he stood up quickly, as if caught in a compromising position. With little further effort, he unrolled a blanket near the fire, as he did every night, and, still dressed, curled up on it and went to sleep.
She lay there for a while longer, wondering what he had meant by his comment, but eventually, she fell back asleep.
Chapter 35
The message had been equally uncompromising in its precision and its urgency. One of the Aldrish’s men—spies, she reminded herself—had sent it, demanding the Aldrish meet him in the city immediately.
The message came early in the morning, even before Erdal, Rynar’s main attendant, brought in their breakfast.
She had awakened earlier than usual, having barely slept all night. The moment dawn had pulled away the cover of night, she had climbed out of bed. To fight back the chill in the air, she coaxed a new fire in the hearth, and as the bark of fresh logs crackled into flames, she splashed water from the basin onto her face.
“Mmmph,” Rynar mumbled as he rolled over at the sound of the water. “Kate, is that you?” he mumbled, still groggy.
“Yeah.” She felt waves of nausea as she reached for the towel. “I’m just getting ready.” It wasn’t going to be an easy day.
He pushed himself up slowly, running his hands through his hair to get it out of his eyes. Early mornings was when he seemed most vulnerable. Once he had fully awakened, he would be back in control, his calculating, commanding presence in place. “Did it rain last night?” he asked as he turned his head to one side to pop his neck. “I feel dampness in the air.”
“I don’t know.” She pushed aside the curtain and swung the shutters open. Fog hung over the city, thick like cotton. As she gazed out, she realized the phenomenon made everything seem unfamiliar, even a little sinister. Not that it seemed all that inappropriate for this place—or on this day.
“A rather misty day, is it?” he commented as some of the fog swirled into the room, only to be sizzled into non-existence by the hungry fire. He turned his head to the other side, and his neck made an audible crack. “Fog such as that is downright lethal.”
She shrugged and dropped the curtain over the open window. “I suppose.”
He pushed himself up to stand beside her, and placed his hand gently on her arm. “It will not be a good day, and I wish I could make it easier for you.”
She turned away, fighting back tears.
That was when the messenger knocked urgently on the door.
***
With the strip of parchment still clutched in one hand, Rynar led her and a trio of Senvosra guards through the city streets.
Initially, the soldiers at the gate objected to her joining him in the city, but Rynar reminded them that she was unarmed and between the four men, she was not going to be able to escape. Now, they moved at a rapid pace through the same market square she remembered from her last trip through the city, though this morning it was deserted.
“I do not understand this weather,” Rynar admitted as he carefully made his way down a set of uneven steps. “The fog is thicker than ever.”
As they began their descent into a new neighborhood, her nose was pummeled by two equally unpleasant odors: the tang of fresh blood and the acrid stench of something much worse. Just as she gagged on the smell, Rynar explained, “this is where the city butchers animals, and where the hides are tanned as well. I know it is unpleasant, but we will pass through quickly.”
“Are you sure this is the right direction?” she asked as she covered her nose and mouth against the unbearable smell. The fumes from the tanning made her eyes water, and she tried not to watch the men who were dragging goats onto their platforms. The fog helped hide the worst of the sight, but nothing could disguise the squeals of terrified animals. “Oh god, please hurry.”
“Aye, we just have to pass the pens, and go up the alley behind—ah, see, there we go.” He sent one of the soldiers ahead, as he always did, and followed close behind. The alley was short, and opened onto a much wider street. “Here, this should be the place.” He glanced at the slip of parchment, and then whistled once, paused, then whistled three times more in rapid succession.
It was the signal he was told to use, but it did not get the expected response.
Without warning, they were attacked. Clothed in pale garments that hid them in the fog, their assailants had approached without being seen. Chaos erupted as she heard shouts and the clash of weapons, but she was unable to make out any of the battle that waged around her. Before she could escape, a man covered her mouth with his gloved hand wrapped his other arm tightly around her shoulders. Although she struggled, he was remarkably strong and easily pulled her away from Rynar and the soldiers.
Once they were around the corner, and still hidden by the fog, he and a second man tied a heavy rag tightly over her mouth. Methodically, as the first man pulled a length of rope from his belt, the second held her tight so the other could bind her arms and her legs. As she wriggled and fought back the best she could, her initial abductor hefted her over his shoulder and ran down a flight of stairs into another alleyway. After running at least another block, he carried her through a splintered doorway.
Inside, he dropped her onto a bench, and as she hit the wood, the impact was enough to make her exhale sharply. As her eyesight adjusted to the low light, she looked around at what little she could see from
her vantage point. It was a run-down house with very little furniture, and the thin wood paneling was riddled with small holes made by vermin over the years and never repaired.
There was a table immediately in front of her, and someone else sitting there. She rocked her body for a few moments until she was able to swing her legs off the bench, allowing her to sit up. To her surprise, Rynar was sitting across from her, similarly trussed and gagged. His captors had been rougher with him—or he had fought back harder than she had—for his tunic was ripped in several places, and on his upper left arm blood seeped through the fabric. His hair was disheveled and his face was ringed with perspiration. As soon as he lifted his head and saw her, his eyes darkened with rage, and he began to fight against the ropes that bound him, and grunted as if cursing their abductors.
The man who had captured her migrated back to the door, while a second man approached them both. “Well, then, let’s see what we have here.” The new man was heavy-set, with tangled dark hair and a beard to match. His clothing was well-worn, even threadbare in places, and there was a hole in the leather of his boot. He circled the table, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “If my eyes do not deceive me, this would be the infamous Aldrish Rynar himself. And,” he added, as he approached her with a suggestive leer, and cupped his hand under her chin, “a lovely lady as well. Quite a treasure, in fact.”
She yanked her head away from his touch.
“Ah, so you’re feisty as well. You shall be worth much to my friends.” His eyes rolled up towards the ceiling, and then she noticed the stairs behind him. “Hmm. Perhaps I should charge them more.” He grinned, and ran a hand suggestively down her arm and indelicately across her chest. She turned her head away in disgust, and heard Rynar’s muffled complaints.
Their captor obviously heard him as well. “Do you have a problem with something?” he snapped as he turned to the Aldrish. He must have found something amusing in the silent hostility of Rynar’s stare, for he added in a bemused voice, “then again, it seems to me that you’re in no position to have an opinion.” With that, the man allowed his hand to drop away from her, and he walked over to the Aldrish, patting his head in a condescending manner. Barely able to suffer the intentional disrespect, Rynar struggled forcefully against the ropes and did his best to snarl despite the gag. “Aye, you are quite a prize as well,” the man noted with great humor. “You shall be worth a great deal to us all.”
“Now, beauty,” he said, crossing back over to her, “you shall come with me. My friends don’t want to wait any longer to enjoy your company—and,” he added, with a sickening grin, “enjoy you they shall.” As if she were nothing but a sack of grain, he tossed her over his shoulder, as the other man had done, and headed towards the stairs. Her eyes were wide with fear, and her worries were compounded when Rynar managed to get on his feet with a grunt, only to have the first man shove him down again, forcing him to fall hard against the floor.
Chapter 36
“Good work, Plunchek,” she heard from within a room on the second floor. The man carried her through the doorway and then put her down on her feet, and as soon as the door closed behind her, someone was already working to cut the ropes from her hands and legs.
“Now, when they take the gag off, you’ll want to scream as loud as you can,” she was told in a whisper by another stranger, this one standing in the corner behind her.
As her feet and then hands were free, she shook out her limbs, and began to rub the feeling back into her fingers. Just as the knot was released from the gag, she turned around, and instead of screaming, she gasped.
It wasn’t a stranger. Despite everything that had just happened, she couldn’t help grinning when she saw the familiar red hair and beard. “Oh god, Fantion, is that really you? I’m so glad to see you!” She ran over to hug him tightly.
“Ah, but there’s plenty of time for greetings later,” he said. “I’m dead serious about what I said. You need to scream as loud as you can.”
Her eyes scanned the room. By the door was the stout man he had called Plunchek, the man who carried her upstairs. On a bench at a rough trestle table, much like the one downstairs, sat two men she did not know. Like the others, they were dressed in old clothes, a hodgepodge of wool, linen and leather. One was about her age, with straight, sable hair and an oblong face. His skin was fair but tinged with red from the sun. The other was perhaps in his late 40s, muscular, with short hair once blond but now almost white, and piercing blue eyes. Not at the table, but standing at the small window in the corner, was another man, too preoccupied to offer greetings.
“Sander?” she said, acknowledging the last man, who didn’t look up. She turned back to Fantion. “Is he okay?”
She had hardly spoken these words when she heard a cough behind her. “Excuse me, my lady, but you really do need to make some noise.” It was Plunchek again, talking in barely more than a whisper. He pointed to the floor, to indicate where Rynar sat downstairs. “He needs to believe you’re being attacked.” To illustrate, he walked with rapid, heavy footsteps into the center of the room, stopped, stomped his feet, and walked back. “It can’t sound like we’re having a Council session in here, you know. You need to make it sound as though we’re having our way with you.”
In her bewildered state she had not grasped the reason for his request before. “No, that’s not right,” she argued, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t want to do that to him. He’s upset enough already.”
Fantion began to protest but was silenced by Lysander, who spun around from the window and stormed towards her, his tall, lanky frame seeming to fill the room as he approached. “He’s upset?” he said, his voice intentionally low, but seething with pent-up anger. “Kate, you have no idea what it means to be upset.” His eyes bored into her with a harshness that he had never shown himself capable of before. “Now, scream. Or—” he threatened, his hand on his knife, “I’ll give you reason to do so myself.”
Shocked by his bitterness, and not entirely sure it was an empty threat, she nodded and immediately complied, letting loose a great shriek.
Lysander did not back down. “That’s nothing,” he said critically. “You can do better. Try again.” His tone harbored no room for defiance. “Call for help. Cry, if you can.”
She looked at the men in the room. Plunchek remained at the door, while the others were frozen in position by the exchange between Kate and Lysander. Then she glanced back at the healer, who showed more of the character of a hardened outlaw than she would have ever expected. She caught her breath, and began to tremble as he advanced, coming so close to her that his bearded face was all she could see. Unwilling to learn the cost of defying him, she hollered out again, this time a wail that reflected her newfound fear. In response, she could hear a bit of commotion downstairs. Clearly that one had done the trick.
“Quiet, bitch,” Fantion shouted loudly, and slapped his hands together. Then he stepped to the other side of the table, and with his booted foot, kicked over the bench. “You’ll do as we say. Keep screaming like that and we’ll cut your throat.”
As if rehearsed, Plunchek then stomped once with each foot, and Fantion dragged the bench across the rough wooden floor. Some grunts and a bit more walking and dragging, and then Fantion quietly declared, “I think he’ll believe it, now, but Plunchek—do me a favor and keep making noise every so often, while we talk?” As his man nodded, Fantion solemnly waved Lysander over. “Why don’t you come sit with us?”
Lysander blinked, and with a nod, slid onto the bench. He was still scowling.
Then Fantion looked towards her, and waved to the spot across from Sander. “Go ahead and sit there,” he suggested, “between Marcan and Kels.” He then stepped to the head of the table and leaned on it, propping his weight up on his knuckles. Remembering to keep his voice down so that they could not be overheard, he began. “Kate, we heard that Nyvas is scheduled to die today.” He looked at her carefully. “Is this true?”
She hung her head down and
nodded. “Yeah, when the moon rises.” As she contemplated it, she found herself feeling a bit dizzy, and caught herself by grabbing the edge of the table. “Is that what this is about? Are you going to try to rescue him?”
Fantion nodded, but before he could answer, Lysander leaned forward, craning his neck towards her. “How is he faring?” The gruffness in his voice was hard to reconcile with the man she thought she knew.
Although she recognized how poorly the news would sit with these men, she had no reason to withhold what little information she had. Holding onto the edge of the table for strength, she replied, “I don’t know for sure. I only saw him right after they arrested him, and he was pretty badly beaten up.” She licked her lips, which were dry and painful, and stared at the tabletop, trying to avoid eye contact with Lysander. “It looked like he may have broken bones, but I don’t know for sure how bad his injuries really are. They said they had done—things—to get him to tell them who he was, and then when I saw him, they punched him in the face. I think they broke his nose.”
“Of course they did. Damn them all,” Lysander spat, and jumped up from the table again. His body was tense and his fists clenched, though after a deep breath he folded his arms tightly against his chest and returned to the window.
Trembling, she added, “I wanted to help them,” she started, remembering how the Senvosra had smashed her hand. “If I’d been able to, I would have done anything for Nyvas and Arric, but—”
“Arric?” Marcan interjected. She had not previously met this man, the fair-haired one, so she could only guess at his relationship with the Dosedra. “Is he injured as well?”
She shrugged. “Maybe—I don’t know. He was moved to the tower inside the Vosira’s quarters, but I haven’t heard anything new since that night. I think he’s safe for now, since I got the sense that the Vosira doesn’t want to hurt his brother. But as for Nyvas—well, I won’t lie. It’s bad. I got the impression from Rynar—” but then she stopped, finding it hard to talk about him while he was sitting downstairs believing she was being raped.