WINDREAPER

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "Ignore it," Brelan sighed, putting a reassuring hand on Legion's shoulder. "You can stand as much as it will take for him to get better."

  "We all can," Teal agreed. "What we have to endure is nothing to what he's going through."

  * * *

  Conar struggled against the tight bands around his ankles and wrists, willing them to open. He felt one slip, the lock easing past a jagged tooth of the cog that held it together, and he screamed in rage. He used his waning energy to close the lock again, unintentionally making the restriction around his flesh tighter than it had been, but welcoming the new pain in the hope it would temporarily block out the greater agony.

  The excruciating torment being forced on his helpless body was soul-shattering. He was utterly lost in a white-hot maze of pain that gripped him with vicious claws. Horrible cramps squeezed at his gut and doubled him over as much as the shackles would allow. His body shook with bone-jarring convulsions that left him weaker, even more defenseless against the ravaging talons tearing at his vitals.

  His throat was raw from screaming and cursing and begging and shouting, his lips bitten in several places that oozed blood. Unable to control his bodily functions, the humiliating wetness of his urine and excrement soiling his breeches and the mattress became an agony unto itself.

  His left wrist jerked free of the manacle. He twisted himself over the griping, lurching pain in his belly. In his agony, he couldn't think rationally, he couldn't remember why he was being hurt as he was.

  "Why are you doing this to me? What have I done now?"

  He placed his hand over his mouth to keep the cowardly words from escaping. Pressing tightly against his lips, he willed the hovering scream to sink back down his throat.

  He was nearly oblivious to the comings and goings around him most of the time. He could barely hear the words of encouragement, of devotion, of coaxing. Could hardly feel the hands that cared for him with soothing caresses and tender strength. He saw only blurred faces of ogres bent on torturing him to his horrible death, felt hands on his wrist, pulling his arm to the mattress, securing it again.

  "Don't," he begged weakly.

  "How'd he get that hand free?" a disembodied voice asked from somewhere behind the man bending over him.

  "It must not have been locked tightly."

  The rubbery face faded from Conar's line of sight. He jerked his head from side to side, seeking someone to talk to, to beg, to curse, but he was alone again.

  "Can't you stand to see what you're doing to me?" he called, hoping someone would answer.

  No one did.

  Intense, prolonged pain flooded back through his gut. He had to endure it alone, he thought wildly. No one could take away his pain; no one could make it stop. He had to wait it out.

  But that wasn't easy.

  He heard his pitiful whimpers, then listened with clinical detachment as he screamed in agony. Someone came in, looked down on him, touched him, but the face looked the same as all the others; one man's voice was identical to another; one man's touch felt exactly the same as all the others before him.

  "Tough it out, little brother," the man said.

  "Who are you?" Conar asked, but the man was already leaving.

  Nothing seemed to penetrate his unbearable loneliness as he twisted and turned. His begging fell on deaf ears, even when he whimpered or screamed out his pain. Nevertheless, Conar hoped this man would listen to reason. The pain wasn't nearly so unbearable when he could draw up his knees to his chest. "Please let me pull up my legs."

  "It puts more restriction on your chest. Marsh said that wasn't good."

  "It hurts more when you tie me down!" he croaked, his voice dry and hoarse.

  "It just seems that way."

  Conar heard the man speak, but the words had no meaning. The tone of gentleness had registered, though. "Unchain me, please…I'll be good," he whispered, his voice childlike and lost.

  Another man cleared his throat. "You can't, A'Lex."

  "Maybe it does hurt him less…"

  "Edan knows what he's talking about. Just leave him alone. He'll exhaust himself sooner and later and go to sleep."

  Both men jumped as Conar's coarse, sneering words flooded the room.

  "I hate you, you fucking bastards! You chicken shit sons-of-bitches! You want to break me, but you won't. Better men than you have tried and failed!"

  * * *

  It was sometime later that night that Conar managed to get free.

  Sentian had come in to sit with him and had Legion's reluctant permission to unshackle Conar's feet and one wrist.

  "Just be careful, Heil," Legion had cautioned. "He's so tired he's bound to drift off, and when he does, shackle him again."

  Sitting with Conar was a chore Heil didn't relish. He kept his face averted from the man who sat on the mattress, knees drawn up to his chest. Conar's left arm was wrapped around his upraised knees, while his other was firmly secured to the flooring. He rocked back and forth, mumbling.

  "Can't you sleep, Milord?" Sentian asked, risking a look at the petulant, sullen face that turned toward him.

  "Eat shit and die."

  An hour passed before Conar laid down, his body curled in a fetal position. His soft snores were almost immediate and Sentian breathed a sigh of relief.

  The next thing he remembered was Brelan shaking him, saying Conar had been caught trying to mount a horse in the stable.

  "Who caught him?" Sentian asked, his face hot with shame.

  Brelan ran a hand over his sweaty face. "Me and Bent. Bent and Thom are bringing him back by way of the bath house."

  * * *

  Crashing came from the stairway. Curses and a string of filth echoed down the hallway as the sound of scuffling feet neared the door.

  A strangled gasp of pain rose above the general din. Jah-Ma-El's voice rang out in a whimper. "Conar, that really hurt!"

  Pushing past Legion, Bent and Thom came through the door, dragging a struggling Conar between them. Bent smelled none too good, and Thom had a red mark along his cheekbone. The men forced Conar toward the mattress and pushed him to his knees. Bent took both of Conar's hands while Thom and Marsh motioned for Brelan to help them. They flipped over their prisoner, drove him down to the mattress on his back. Legion stepped forward to help Bent restrain Conar's arms.

  He bucked violently. Struggling in vain, he screamed. "Please! Please, don't do this to me again! I'm begging you. Don't do this! It hurts worse when you chain me down! Please don't do it!"

  "It's necessary," Marsh said when Legion hesitated. "Don't listen."

  Legion pursed his lips and snapped the iron band around his brother's wrist. When he saw the wounded, terror-filled face pleading with him, he stopped, his hand still on Conar's wrist.

  "I'll do anything you want," Conar said. "I will. I will. I'll do anything."

  Bent and Thom had moved away from Conar, but Legion remained on the mattress beside him. Marsh knelt on the other side, his gaze steady on Legion's face. "Don't do it. He can see you weakening. Don't listen."

  Legion was aware of the others staring at him. A wealth of shame riveted him to where he knelt. He reached out a shaking, gentle hand to tenderly stroke back the wet, matted hair from Conar's forehead. "It's for your own good."

  Conar's expression was pitiful, helpless. He nestled his cheek into Legion's outstretched hand, similar to the way a humbled dog nuzzled the hand of the master who has beaten him. "I'll do anything you want…"

  "I just want you to get better." Legion placed a light kiss on his brother's brow. "Just get better." He watched trembling hope come into Conar's face.

  "I'll let you do anything you want to me. Anything."

  Legion grimaced in shock.

  "You can do anything you want to me if you'll just unchain me."

  "Legion," Marsh warned, touching his shoulder.

  A'Lex violently shrugged off the restricting hand.

  "Legion?" Conar asked as though the word had no meaning.
"Just tell me what you want me to do." His voice was eager, childlike, subservient. "You can take me if you'd like. I can…"

  As though the hounds of hell nipped at his heels, Legion lurched forward and gripped the manacle. Fumbling rapidly, he began to unsnap the band. "Get these damn things off my brother! Did you hear me?"

  Marsh stopped him. "You can't do this. Look at him. He's counting on your guilt to release him."

  "Get these damned manacles off him!" Legion yelled, shoving Marsh aside.

  The others reluctantly unsnapped the bands and stood back. Legion picked up Conar and clasped him to his chest. Conar's arms went around Legion's shoulders, hugging him back. Tortured cries of pain and pity came from Legion as he rocked his younger brother against him.

  "Get out of here," he ordered. "I'll stay with him. And have those damned chains removed in the morning."

  "Legion, that's unwise…" Marsh began.

  "You heard me!" Legion shouted. "I'll not see him chained again! I'll not have him degraded before any of you!"

  Obviously angry, Marsh nodded. He pushed himself up from the mattress and left.

  * * *

  Outside the room, Marsh met Sentian's gaze.

  "He was raped, you know."

  "Kaileel?" Marsh asked, not really caring.

  "Among others."

  "The wages of sin, eh?" Marsh mumbled as he thrust his hands into his pockets.

  "What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Sentian challenged.

  "What goes around, comes around."

  Chapter 29

  * * *

  "It's going to be all right."

  Brelan locked his arms around Conar's body. With Conar's head on his shoulder, Brelan gently rocked him, humming a tune from their childhood, speaking to him now and again, encouraging him.

  Conar, who had a death-grip on Brelan's arms, likely wasn't listening, had probably heard nothing. He was obviously in too much pain for anything to truly register; certainly, the depth of his misery blotted out everything but his crippling agony.

  Brelan felt Conar jerk. He had been thinking of when they were boys and at odds with one another over the least thing. Another jerk made Brelan sigh; another made him frown. He pulled back to look at the greasy mop of dirty blond hair on his shoulder.

  "Is it happening again?"

  But Brelan knew it was. His brother was about to go into another series of spasms that would leave him exhausted, incapable of controlling his whimpers of fear and frustration. Saur shook his head. He was powerless to do anything to help Conar and knew it.

  "God!" came the wretched, pathetic groan from Conar's cracked lips. His body writhed against Brelan, and his legs shot out, his heels digging into the mattress. "Oh, God!"

  "It'll be all right," Brelan said for what he guessed was the hundredth time. He whispered against Conar's hair. "Try to relax. Just ride it out, little brother. Just ride it out."

  Lost in the horror of his ordeal, Conar jerked hard on Brelan's arms. "Let go."

  "If I don't hold you, we'll have to tie you down, and you don't want that, do you?"

  "No!"

  "Tough it out a while longer. It'll be over in a few minutes and then maybe you can sleep. Just hold on."

  A great well of pity rose up in Brelan, same as it always did when the pangs of withdrawal gripped Conar. It touched, twisted, hurt some vital spot inside him. He crooned to the struggling man. "I'm here with you."

  "It hurts!" The words were low, full of force, and all the more wrenching for the agony lacing them.

  "If there was something I could do, something I could give you to ease the pain, I would. It won't last long."

  "It's killing me!"

  "I know it must seem that way, but it isn't."

  Conar began to cry, his tears coming in great gasps. He drew up his knees to his chest and buried his face in Brelan's arms, tucking down his head. Spittle oozed from his mouth and onto Brelan's bare forearm.

  "It'll be all right."

  * * *

  The door opened. One look at the tableau on the mattress and Roget understood. A silent message of support passed from him to Brelan. "How's he doing?"

  Brelan shrugged.

  Roget sat on the mattress, laying a hand on Conar's hip. He wasn't surprised when Conar's head jerked up. "Remember me?" he asked as he had a dozen or so times—as everyone had asked repeatedly—hoping to get a reply.

  "R…Roget?" The word was hesitant, unsure, but there was finally a hint of recognition in the tone.

  Startled, Du Mer looked at Brelan and smiled. He felt a joy like nothing he had known in a long time. It had been two weeks since Conar had recognized any of them.

  "Aye, it's me." Roget touched Conar's cheek, cupped the fevered flesh in his palm. "And who's that holding you?"

  Conar craned back his head and looked into his brother's face. A tiny frown drew the brows together. "Brelan…Saur. What are you doing here? Why aren't you in Ciona?"

  Roget winked at Brelan. "How about letting me hold you for a while so your brother can rest?" He held out his arms.

  Conar went into Roget's waiting arms, settled against him, his arms tight around Roget's waist as though he were a lost child seeking warmth and comfort and security from a father.

  "We're all here with you. Bre's been with you most of the night."

  "I hurt, Roget."

  Roget forced a smile he didn't feel. "I know, but it will get better. You've come a long way. It will only get better—I promise."

  "Is my brother here?"

  "Do you want to see Legion?" Brelan asked.

  Conar nodded, then bit his lip to obviously keep from screaming. A sob came out of his depths and he buried his face in Roget's shoulder.

  "It's starting again," Roget sighed and stroked Conar's dull hair.

  * * *

  It took Brelan nearly fifteen minutes to find Legion. When the two men made their way to Conar's room, Thom Loure met them at the door and put a finger to his lips. "He's sleeping."

  "Thank God," Brelan mumbled. It had been more than thirty hours since Conar had slept.

  "I'll be there when he wakes up," Legion said. He entered the room and saw Roget standing at the window, looking out. Du Mer motioned him over.

  Legion cast a quick look at Conar, who was lying on his side, his knees drawn up, his hands tucked under his chin. Legion breathed a sigh of relief.

  "He's endured a lot in these last few weeks," Roget said. "I thought at one time it would drive him mad, that it would be more than he could bear." He plowed thick fingers through his dark gold hair. "It would have a lesser man. But I don't think he's been crippled by it."

  "Not in any way we can see," Legion remarked. "He'll always have a problem with liquor and drugs. I only hope he'll understand that."

  "We just have to make sure he does."

  "He's going to be madder than hell when he comes to and realizes we've been keeping him here against his will."

  "It doesn't matter. It was something that had to be done."

  "Aye, and I'd do it again."

  * * *

  The lone horseman sat on the hill above Ivor Keep, staring down at the massive rose-stone structure where the Dark Overlord of the Wind was being kept.

  The horse strained at the bit, anxious to gallop, but the man kept a tight rein on the lively beast. He uttered a few sharp words of reprimand and the beast stilled, although his hooves pawed viciously at the ground in denial of his master's control.

  The horseman's attention locked on the tower room. In his mind, he could see his weakened, vulnerable enemy sleeping, his body curled tightly into a ball. He could almost smell the sweat and odor of the unwashed body as it lay in its own filth.

  A grin stretched over the man's lips when he heard, in some distant part of him, a quiet whimper of pain come from the man on the bare mattress. He nodded with satisfaction.

  He chuckled. "You brought it on yourself this time, McGregor."

  The horse nickered,
sidestepped, jerked on the hold of his reins. The rider pressed his knees into the heaving steed's ribs, stilling him.

  Looking at the storm clouds building overhead, the stranger's face filled with anticipation. He returned to his contemplation of Ivor Keep's tower.

  "We will meet one day, McGregor. I promise, you motherless infidel. And when we do, I will take you down." A vicious smile stretched his face. "Down into the Abyss!"

  He cast a final look at Ivor Keep and pulled on his horse's reins. They disappeared down the other side of the hill, bronze trappings tinkling in the settling sun as the horse cantered south.

  Chapter 30

  * * *

  Liza listened to her oldest son's pleas as they sat together in the garden. He had been speaking for more than an hour, trying to convince her of something she wasn't sure needed to be done. She knew her son, hers and Conar's, spoke from his heart, and she was thankful he was still capable of feeling tenderness, that Kaileel Tohre had not ripped that gentleness from him. It was unusual for a boy his age to understand the things he did, but she knew he had a lot of his father in him, and Conar McGregor had felt things very deeply, too.

  Once.

  "Mama, please! It's important to me." Corbin put his hand in hers.

  She smiled at him. There was the same gentle teasing, the same light of challenge, the same stubborn tilt to the round chin that she knew were permanent legacies Conar had unknowingly bestowed upon him. She shook her head, vividly reminded of the same look in his father's eyes when he had wanted something she wasn't sure should be given. "Your uncles thought it best he remain with the guards, Corbi. He has caused no trouble so far, but that may be because he's watched so carefully."

  "That's exactly it, Mama! He has caused no trouble. He's as much Conar's son as I am. It isn't right that he not be allowed to be with us. That's cruel." The pout on Corbin's full lips was strikingly like that of his father's.

  "I'm not sure it would be wise to disobey Conar's edict. Your father had his reasons for keeping the boy apart from us."