By Moonrise

  Chapter 37

  With Plunchek at her heels, she stumbled down the steps, barely able to keep her balance. She attributed her wobbly steps to nerves. How was she ever going to pull this off? And, as she looked over the banister to Rynar, who turned in her direction as he heard her descent, how could she ever face him again? Keep focused, Kate told herself. This wasn’t about his feelings. It was about saving Nyvas’s life. If everything worked out, she would be able to save Rynar’s life as well. If she failed... well, she couldn’t allow that possibility to gain traction in her mind. Success was the only option. Still, tears came easily as she considered the dilemma.

  Back in character as her kidnapper, Plunchek led her roughly by the arm to the table where Rynar sat. “Admirable lady you have here,” he said as he shoved her to the bench beside the Aldrish. “Stopped crying and fighting us right away, when she realized there wasn’t much she could do about the situation. Made it a lot better for everyone,” he added, and grinned.

  She hung her head down, ashamed, but not for the reasons Rynar would have thought. His eyes burned her flesh, though, and she finally looked up at him, only to see he was in agony. So he really did care about her, then? It wasn’t just a game, or political strategy that caused him to pay attention to her?

  That just made everything more difficult.

  “Havar, then?” Plunchek asked her as he held out a flask. “I suppose you’ve earned that much.”

  She flinched, trying to play the role set out for her convincingly enough that Rynar would believe it, and took the flask and drank. Then she held it in Rynar’s direction. “Can he have some as well?”

  Plunchek shook his head. “Ah, no my lady. That would mean removing the gag.”

  “He won’t shout out, I promise.” She was doing her best to sound like she was the victim of a terrible assault, but it was even harder than she expected. “Right, Rynar?” she asked, sounding desperate.

  He scrunched up his face in anger, but nodded.

  Plunchek stood looking at the Aldrish with his hands on his hips. “I don’t know. He doesn’t look like the kind of person I’d be likely to trust.”

  “Please?” she begged. “Just a sip?”

  The fhaoli shrugged. “Might as well. If he hollers out, I’ll just cut off his fingers. All the same to me.” With that, he untied the rag around the Aldrish’s mouth.

  “The curse of Yoren on you,” Rynar spat out as soon as he could speak. Then he tipped his head to her, and softly, he said, “I am so sorry that this had to happen. I had no idea...” He bit his lip, and drew in a breath. “They hurt you?” he asked her, unable to mistake the swelling on her cheek, but obviously meaning more. He struggled against the ropes, as if trying to release his hands to reach out to her.

  She shrugged, unwilling to respond, and turned her gaze to the tabletop. It was too difficult to lie to him. Her misery, genuine as it was, would have to suffice. He would put the pieces together on his own, even if the final picture wasn’t the right one.

  He read her noncommittal response as an affirmative, as she expected. “You bastards!” he shouted, forgetting his promise of a moment ago. “Release us immediately, or I’ll make sure Vosira Bedoric roasts every last one of you! Do you have any idea who I am?”

  Plunchek sat down across from at the table. “Aye, we know who you are, Aldrish.” He stabbed the table with his knife, as if to reiterate his earlier threat. “But release you?” he added with a smile. “Ah, no, not as of yet. You see, your lady friend here still has some work to do for us.”

  Rynar looked from him to Kate, and back. “Haven’t you done enough to her already?”

  ***

  Her hands were tied again, and Plunchek lifted her up to the saddle of the same horse Nyvas had ridden when she and the others had traveled from Bhoren. Oddly enough, the fog had cleared, and now the day was bright and warm, without a cloud in the sky.

  “Remember,” he advised her as he climbed into the saddle behind her. “You tell them that you are to bring Nyvas back yourself. Don’t agree if you have to stay behind, as that will be a sign of bad faith.”

  “What if they send Senvosra with me?”

  “Oh, we fully expect them to do so, but don’t worry, Fantion already has that figured out. Nay, don’t worry about us. We’ll be in no danger.”

  “And Nyvas? How are you going to get him out of the city?”

  He chuckled. “Don’t worry about him either. I expect he’ll be able to handle himself.”

  “You know he’s injured—”

  “Ah, but it’s Nyvas. You’ll not meet a man more capable of disappearing when he doesn’t want to be seen.”

  When they reached the gates of the keep, Plunchek squeezed her shoulder. “You’ll remember your way back?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I noted landmarks, like you told me. I’ll find it.”

  “Good.” Then he raised his voice to the guards on the wall. “Hey you! I think you’ve let a bird escape. I’ve brought her back for ya, free of charge!” Then he whispered, “this will hurt...”

  “Just do it.” She braced herself as best as she could as her feet flew over her head and she tumbled to the ground, hitting the grassy field with a thud. The fall knocked the wind out of her, and she was gasping for breath even as Plunchek threw Rynar’s insignia and ring at her. When she looked up, he tugged on the horse’s reigns and sped off down the main road back into the city.

  The guards at the gate rushed down to her, and quickly cut the rope. She gathered up Rynar’s belongings and, with as much grace as she could muster, she followed the guards through the gate.

  ***

  It was mid-day, and the Bhagali were gathered in the Council chamber, in the midst of a heated argument, when the guard ushered her inside, unannounced.

  “What is the meaning of this interruption?” Vosira Bedoric began to protest, until he saw who it was. Then he bellowed at her, his words like a thunderbolt. “You? What are you doing here?” He looked behind her. “And where is the blasted Aldrish? We’ve been waiting for ages for him.” He narrowed his eyes. “You do know what today is?”

  She was standing at the far side of the table, mere feet from where the guard had held Nyvas. Words caught in her throat. Trying to summon her courage, her eyes fell to Tashin, and then quickly she looked elsewhere, and knowing everyone stared at her, she found herself focusing on the flame of the nearest candle.

  “Well?” Bedoric stood up and walked around the table, as if to personally throttle her with his own hands. “Where is Aldrish Rynar?” he shouted at her.

  She didn’t have to pretend to be frightened now, with the Vosira screaming at her. “He received a message to go into the city. It was—I think it had something to do with the fhaoli. We were at the meeting place when—when we were attacked.” She hung her head down, trying to look as remorseful as possible. “It all happened so fast—in the fog, we never saw them coming.” Even though it was an act, she was still overcome by the situation.

  Her words set off a buzz of discussion around the room. “Attacked?” Bedoric repeated, as if trying to decipher what it meant. “Who did it? And why are you alone now?”

  “Bandits, my lord Vosira,” she spit out the words as fast as she could. “It was a trap. Even with the Senvosra, they outnumbered us...” she swallowed, and did her best to shudder. “They tied us up, and brought us to an old house.” Feeling lightheaded, she closed her eyes. “And they forced themselves on me,” she added in a whisper.

  He leaned against the table, and squinted at her as he shook his head. Apparently now he saw her black eye and split lip, though his concern wasn’t for her. “Bandits, you say? Fhaoli?” He frowned, and made a fist. “Your friends, I bet.” Scowling, he asked, “what about my Aldrish? What happened to him?”

  “They tied him up, and he’s still alive—at least for now.” For effect, she tossed Rynar’s medallion and ring on the table. “They gave these to me and told me to show them to you, so you’d
know I was telling the truth.” She didn’t have to fake tears, as they suddenly flooded her face. “They told me that they’re going to kill him at sundown. Tonight.”

  Bedoric turned and grabbed the ring, and for a moment stared at it, his mouth hanging open. “He would die before he would allow someone to take this from him.” He glowered at her, and his voice was grating. He raised the ring over his head, and snatched up the chain and medallion in the other, displaying them to the other men in the room. “This proves nothing, Bhara. How do I know he’s not already dead?”

  A genuine sob escaped her lips. “Because they need Rynar alive, for a trade. Rynar for Ny—” she stopped, correcting herself, “I mean, St-st-stavan... the f-f-fhaoli boy.” Once the words were out, she held her hand over her mouth.

  “What?” Bhagal Abranir bolted from his chair. “That fhaoli murderer is as good as dead now. This is intolerable!” He turned to the Vosira. “Surely you do not mean to comply with this blackmail!”

  The Vosira slammed both glysar objects on the table. “Bhara, you and my brother both admitted to knowing this fhaoli. Already you have both proven untrustworthy. Why should I believe you now? How do I know it’s not just a trick?” Then he caught the ring with his fingertip, dragging it closer to him, and then collapsed into an empty chair. “Oh, how I have been cursed today” She wondered what was running through his head as he sat there, staring at the jewelry taken by force. The medallion shone in the fire of the torches, and its ornate beauty was hard to ignore, but the ring, sitting on the table, even choked her up. The Vosira was right—it must have been hell to get Rynar to part with it. It seemed ordinary enough to her, but he never removed it.

  The air was full of tension, and no one spoke. Finally Vosira Bedoric stood up and returned to his seat at the head of the table. He spoke again, though to no one in particular. “Why did it have to be my Aldrish?” He sat silently for a moment, rubbing his palms in front of his face, and no one else interrupted his thoughts. He glanced once to the empty chair to his right, where Rynar would have sat, and she realized it probably pained him to not have the Aldrish’s counsel at a moment like this. If the situation had not been so grave, the irony of it would have made her laugh. As it was, she felt sick to her stomach.

  Castellan Solerav looked at her, his facial muscles tensing up as if he was clenching his teeth. “You’re involved in this, girl,” he said as he pointed at her, discarding the ‘Bhara’ title. “I see it all too clearly. You somehow convinced the Aldrish to leave the keep so that your friends could capture him. He would never have done so today, of all days, unless you had somehow seduced him into it.”

  She shook her head rapidly. “You’re wrong—there was a message. Erdal, the man who works for Rynar, will confirm it.”

  Solerav turned to the others. “Does anyone believe the girl’s lies?” Pointing to Tashin, he asked, “you?” Waving his arms, he added, “this story is preposterous. Vosira, surely you can see this is just a trick?”

  Abranir nodded. “Aye, it’s a trick. They’re all in it together.”

  A couple of the others whispered to each other. Tashin, though, was shaking his head. “Look at the girl. She’s injured, and from the look of it, she’s about to collapse. Clearly something has happened to her. Vosira, what do you wish to do?”

  Bedoric had been watching the others with a scowl on his face. Then he lifted the medallion and then threw it back down on the table, with a dejected shake of his head. “Ah, Rynar, what would you have me do?” He stared at it as he chewed on his lip, and then suddenly slammed his fist on the table. “Fhaoli would never allow my Aldrish to live, that is certain,” he decided, the realization obviously painful. “It matters not who they are. He is dead already.” He pointed to her. “You dare come here and lie to me, bringing me this story. It’s merely a trick to save your friend.” He seemed on the verge of a breakdown, but he managed to keep the majority of his emotions in check. His lips trembled as he again looked at her and announced, “There’s nothing else to be said,” he concluded, his face red with anger, “and I’ll have nothing more to do with you.” He nodded to the guards at the door. “Throw her in with the boy. Let them have a while to share the fruits of their crimes and then burn them both at moonrise.”

  “No!” She cried out in desperation. He had to believe her, or they were all doomed. “Vosira, Rynar’s still alive, I swear. Oh god, please, you have to listen to me. Bhagal Tashin?” she appealed to the only man in the room who had shown inclination to believe her. “They haven’t killed him. It’s supposed to be a trade, don’t you understand? He dies only if I don’t bring Nyvas back. They promised me that he would be spared—I wouldn’t have agreed to this otherwise!” The guards had already begun to drag her from the room. “Vosira, you have to listen to me!” She sought anyone’s eyes who would look at her. “It’s the truth! You’ve got to save him!”

  Yet it was pointless. Without another word from anyone in the room, the guards hauled her out of the chamber, backwards, her heels dragging the floor. “Please, someone, listen to me,” she continued to cry out as they carried her down the hallway. “It’s not too late. You can still save him….”

  No one listened. Ignoring her shouts, the guards continued on their journey, deaf to her pleas. After another soldier unlocked a door in one of the towers, the two men plunged down the dark, narrow spiral stairs, hauling her between them, into what appeared to be the deepest part of the keep. Several times her head hit the wall, and her elbow connected painfully with an iron ring used to hold a rope. At the bottom of the steps, a single torch on the wall cast dismal shadows. Without ceremony, as one held her roughly, the other unlocked a second door. Then, working together, the two men literally threw her into the cell, and slammed the door behind her.

  Chapter 38

  “No!” she shouted once more as she scrambled back to her feet. “Listen to me! You’ve got to believe me!” She felt for a latch or handle in the darkness, but there was none. “Please, it’s the truth,” she pleaded to anyone on the outside, as she slid down against the heavy wooden door. “I swear, he’s still alive, do you hear me?”

  If the Senvosra heard her, they did not respond.

  There was no light in this dungeon cell, but she smelled the rank, dead air, as if this part of the keep hadn’t had fresh air in a century. There was an occasional scratching sound, and she jumped as something ran across her leg—something that moved too fast for her to identify, but that was larger than an insect. She frantically shook her legs to get it off of her, panicking because she couldn’t see what it was, or where it had gone.

  “Is that you, Kate?” a weak voice called out from across the cell.

  “Nyvas?”

  “Aye,” he croaked. “Over here.”

  Still breathing hard, she crawled across the dirt floor until she felt a hand brush across her shoulder.

  “So you came to visit me, did you?” he asked, his voice cracking from the effort of talking.

  “Nyvas? Is it really you?” It was a hopeful question, full of anxiety and relief at the same time.

  He must have sensed the contradictory emotions in her voice because he tried to laugh, but it turned into a cough. “Aye, who else would it be?” As she sat cross-legged beside him, he stroked her forehead. “Are you hurt?”

  “No... yes... I mean—” she said in a terrified voice. “Oh god, Nyvas, I’m so sorry.”

  He smoothed her hair. “Hush. What’s happened?”

  “I tried. I really did. I really thought it would work, but they didn’t believe me, no matter what I said. Now it’s hopeless.” She squeezed her eyes shut and contorted her face as she tried to stifle a sob, but the intensity of her emotions made it impossible not to cry, and she covered her face.

  “Shh. Just tell me what’s happened.” He coughed again—a deep, hacking cough—and once he finished, he moaned a bit, as if the effort had pained him, but he didn’t call attention to it otherwise. “How is it that you’re here
with me?”

  “I can’t believe any of this is happening.” She hung her head down. “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

  “What, Kate?” He felt down her arm for her hand, and grasped it tightly. “Tell me.”

  She took a couple of deep breaths, and in short, halting phrases she tried to explain the past few hours, her words tinged with the new-found despair that came from hearing her own voice describe what had happened. During her tale, she had to pause several times, waiting through his coughing fits.

  “Sander is well, then?” he asked when the coughing subsided.

  “Yeah,” she said, finding strength in his presence. Her panic would accomplish nothing. “He’s fine, but he’s worried sick about you. He’s so upset that for a moment I thought he’d rip me apart with his bare hands.” She omitted the reasons for Lysander’s anger, figuring it wouldn’t matter anymore.

  “Sander?” he said with a half-cough, half-laugh. “I don’t believe it. That’s not like him at all.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t blame him. He’s really scared that—” she hesitated, and then continued more tentatively, “something will happen to you.” She pictured Lysander’s face in her mind. “He cares deeply for you, you know.”

  He didn’t respond right away, but sighed, his exhaled breath rattling in his chest.

  When more time had passed than she thought reasonable, she asked, “Nyvas? Are you okay?”

  “Aye,” he said softly. “I guess I hadn’t counted on this hurting him as much as it has.”

  This would break her heart. “I’m so sorry, Nyvas. It was supposed to just be a simple trade. You for the Aldrish. Knowing how much the Vosira depends on him, it really should have worked.”

  He laughed once, very lightly. “Those crazy fools.” After a pause for a thick, rattling breath, he added, “they should have known Bedoric’s pride would never allow him to agree to a trade.”

  “That’s exactly what happened. He refused to even consider it.” She couldn’t avoid replaying the scene in her head, wondering what she could have done differently. “If only I had just—”