The City of Pillars
Page 17
He parried her strikes, finally countering a few. She sliced into his side. He cut her forearm. Several other minor wounds followed. Neither spoke. Neither let up.
Melek began to worry.
Where is everyone else? Can no one hear what’s going on?
Shouts finally rang out, but it sounded like confusion.
What’s going on? Are we losing?
He lashed out in anger at the possibility, foot striking Andrasta’s gut. He followed it up with a slice to the woman’s neck. She blocked it, but because of her knee the movement threw her off balance. He turned his sword for a quick thrust, sure it would finish her.
She deflected the blow. Easily.
The knee was a feint.
A fist struck him in the face. White light flashed before his eyes. He fell back into one of the tent’s supports and brought the entire structure down.
* * *
After giving Andrasta the thumbs up, Rondel slipped back into cover, watching four men positioned near the mounts. If all went as he hoped it would, he and Andrasta would sprint to the horses after securing the mask.
And we can take care of four men. But what if she gets hurt?
If things didn’t work out as planned, he intended to yank the ropes looped around the interlocking tents to topple the structures. He made sure to position the ropes so several nearby torches would fall onto the tents, also adding to the chaos.
He swallowed hard.
Please. Please. Please, let this be easy.
Swords clashed in the center tent. Grunts and more obvious sounds of fighting followed.
The camp came to life.
So much for things being easy.
The rows of men between the camp and the low, gray mountains looked bewildered, obviously surprised that danger could have gotten past them. Rondel wished he could have thrown confusion stones at the soldiers earlier, but the distance was too great and doing so then would likely have drawn notice from the Host’s sorcerers too soon.
The soldiers recovered from their alarm and sprinted toward the tents. Among those running, men raised weaponless hands. The night air shimmered.
Sorcerers.
Rondel grabbed confusion stones and launched them at the men nearing the tents. Many tumbled to the ground. Others on the edge of the stone’s effectiveness swayed. Rondel flung a nearby torch on top of a tent. He sprinted toward the mounts with rope in hand, throwing another confusion stone at the four men racing toward him shouting warnings. They fell to the sand.
He cleared the remaining distance to the closest horse, looped the rope around its saddle and slapped its rump. The mount whinnied and took off down the beach, yanking the supports of the tents and torches.
Rondel hacked the rope before the horse dragged the wreckage away from the tangled Host members. The tents burned a bright orange. Several members of the Host got caught in the flames. They ran into the ocean screaming. Others pulled people to freedom while sorcerers extinguished the fire with spouts of water from the ocean. Steam hissed, intermingling with the strong smell of smoke in the air. Those not injured moved toward the center tent.
Time’s running out Andrasta.
The center tent collapsed. Andrasta emerged limping and cradling something under her arm that reflected the firelight.
The mask.
Several members of the host spotted Andrasta and moved in to stop her.
Rondel slapped half a dozen mounts on their rumps to stir up further panic. Horses fled in every direction. He jumped on one of two mounts. Holding the reigns of both, he charged toward his partner.
With such a short distance, Rondel couldn’t build up much speed, but his arrival distracted the three men Andrasta fought. His foot lashed out, connecting with a jaw. She downed the other two, but he lost the reins for her mount and it went galloping in the night.
She swung herself up behind him. A loud boom sounded. Andrasta kicked the mount forward.
They galloped down the beach. He tried to swing the horse around, but Andrasta stopped him.
“Just keep going,” she shouted.
“We’re supposed to escape that way,” he pointed.
“They blew the passage with sorcery. It’s blocked.”
“Was that the boom?”
“Yeah. They knew what they were doing. By the way, we’ve got ten men on horseback following us.”
Rondel glanced over his shoulder. Crap. Something struck the ground to their left. The horse jerked, nearly pitching them off. Riding a horse could be tricky to some under normal circumstances. Riding one on a beach at night with an extra passenger, added an entirely new level of difficulty to the process.
“Sorcerer!” Rondel shouted while glancing back. A man with arms raised rode among the men of the host gaining on them.
“Vary our course. I’ll watch our backs.”
Rondel veered to the right, then back to the left. “Can this get any worse?”
“Well, we’re carrying too much weight and they’re catching up.”
“I was being rhetorical. Any good news?”
“I got the mask. And one of their mounts just fell. Probably turned an ankle.”
“Not the sorcerer by any chance?” The ground convulsed near the lapping waves. Sand and spray pelted them. Rondel tasted a mouthful of salty grit. “I guess not.”
Explosions continued erupting around them. Andrasta shoved something into his belt. “Take the mask. This isn’t going to work and they’re almost on us. I’ll distract them while you get away. We’ll meet up afterward.”
“What! No,” he shouted. “You can’t do that. That’s stupid. What if you don’t make it?”
“Then remember what I said about the amulets.”
The amulets? What is she talking about? “Wait, just give me a second and I’ll figure something out. I—”
She flung herself from the horse.
“Andrasta!” he shouted, turning the horse. Three rapid explosions struck the ground in the space between them. Sand and smoke filled the air. He couldn’t see a thing. His chest burned unlike anything he had ever known. A sudden urge to leave Andrasta behind and seek Shadya gripped him. He ground his teeth, ignored the feeling, and drew his sword.
A member of Hubul’s Host ran out of the smoky haze with scimitar drawn. He spotted Rondel and the two met, screaming choked obscenities. Rondel used the pain from his chest to drive his blows, one after another. After three exchanges, the man fell dead.
Swords rang out nearby. He headed toward them. Mask or not, he wasn’t leaving Andrasta to fight alone.
The air shimmered. Sorcery crackled. An angry howl from his partner followed. He yelled her name, unsure where to turn in the thick haze.
Something slammed into his shoulder, and he hit the ground.
A blurry face appeared. It wore a familiar scowl. Rondel’s eyes widened. He was at the oasis. “I thought I killed you,” he whispered.
“Not exactly,” said the man. He lifted Rondel from his feet and threw him over his shoulder like a child. “The mistress awaits you. Only the gods know why she cares.”
The man ran down the beach, turned a corner, and began scaling a steep hill. He moved at incredible speeds, faster than what he’d ever seen Andrasta do. Through it all, Rondel protested. However, he couldn’t move a single limb.
CHAPTER 15
The only things Rondel could move were his eyes. He tried to capture the passing landscape, but everything began to blur together in his mind.
More sand and rock. Why would I care about the landscape now? Try to focus.
As hard as it was to wrap his head around the concept of someone returning from the dead, it wasn’t the only peculiar thing that he had noticed about his kidnapper. First, the man carrying him traveled farther inland rather than toward the camp of Hubul’s Host. Second, the man moved with animal-like speed and agility, climbing up and down rock with the ease of a horse sprinting over open ground.
What happened to Andrasta?
Who is this mistress? Is she real or did I just imagine hearing him say that?
Rondel slipped into unconsciousness, waking when dumped to the ground, facedown. He thought a rib cracked.
Harsh, guttural voices erupted in angry conversation. He understood none of it.
Hands grabbed his shoulders and rolled him to his back. Shadya’s face hovered over his. With an index finger, she drew patterns on his head. He tried to move, but couldn’t.
“Shh,” she whispered. “Don’t panic, my love. I’m making sure you get some restful sleep. We have a great ways to travel if we’re to put some distance between ourselves and the Host. I apologize for Athar’s rough treatment. He will be more considerate going forward.”
Athar? The camel? What is she talking about?
His muddled mind cleared enough for him to respond to an image of a woman flashing across his mind. “Andrasta,” he mumbled.
Shadya frowned. A guttural voice sounded behind her. She whipped her head around and hissed for silence. She turned back to Rondel, trying to control obvious anger. “Andrasta is dead, my love.”
Rondel groaned.
That can’t be right. Andrasta can’t die.
He wanted to ask a question. However, his mind wouldn’t work and worst of all, the same pain from his chest would not stop.
* * *
Amani lay flat on her back, arms and legs spread and tied down with ropes. The ropes ran through pulleys that squealed behind her. Her limbs went taut. She gasped, sure her body would begin snapping into pieces at any moment.
“Are you ready to give up, Amani?” asked Master Enzi.
“No, master.”
She meant to respond with hard certainty in her voice, but only a quivering whimper passed through her lips.
“Are you sure?” he mocked. “You’re sweating like swine and your face is showing every bit of the pain you’re trying to cope with. I even see tears mixed in with that sweat. It would be a shame to give up so soon, when the rest of the trainees have all lasted longer. Then again, you are a woman. The only woman I’ve ever trained. And every day, I’m reminded why I’ve never bothered with the weaker sex before. I assure you I won’t make the mistake of bringing another woman into my classes again.” He paused. “Tighter.”
The rope dug into her wrists and ankles. She wondered how much longer it would take before her joints popped out of place.
He grunted. “I thought your name meant peace, Amani. Can’t you find peace now?” He laughed.
I am not weak, thought Amani. She remembered the great female warrior from her mother’s foreign land. A woman named Andrasta who had defeated their god of war in single combat, replacing him in the Caelic pantheon and thus becoming a goddess herself. I can do this.
Amani took a long slow breath, running through the mental exercises for dealing with severe pain that Enzi had shown her and the rest of the trainees.
After a moment, Enzi clicked his tongue. “Very well. Perhaps you will last a bit longer after all.” He sounded disappointed. “Bring me the whip,” he said to someone.
“Master?” she asked.
The mirth in his voice returned as he stepped closer. “Oh, you thought you were done?”
“The others did not face the whip,” she said, trying to ignore the pain.
“No. They didn’t. But then again, they haven’t disgusted me as you have. How many times did you lift the stone today?” he asked.
“Eight.”
“Eight. Everyone else managed at least twelve repetitions. You are still weak. You have not learned how to push past the limits you’ve imposed on yourself. It’s my job to teach you how to break those barriers. I will not have any student of mine embarrass me once they leave here, whether they graduate or not.”
The whip snapped across the bare skin of her belly. White-hot pain ripped across her torso and spread into her chest as her breath caught in her throat.
“Are those tears again?” Enzi tsked. “You simply must do better. Let’s try again.”
The whip cracked across her exposed thighs.
* * *
Phantom pain from the whip ripped Andrasta from unconsciousness. Years of practice under Enzi’s guidance had trained her never to jump or jerk when first waking.
She kept her eyes closed, assessing the situation.
Wisps of smoke entered her nostrils. Lapping waves, steady conversations, and the crackling embers of a dying fire told her she was still on the shore, but back in the Host’s camp. The people spoke Erban but the dialect made it hard for her to decipher. Moans of pain interrupted even the loudest voices.
She lay on her left side, shoulder and arm numb. Her hands were bound behind her back at the wrists. Legs bound at the ankles. Another rope connected her ankles and wrists so her shoulders and knees stretched awkwardly. Whoever had bound her had found all her weapons, including the paper thin dagger she kept strapped near her crotch.
Not like I could reach the thing anyway.
From the weight of her clothes, it was obvious she no longer wore any armor.
She cycled through her last memories.
Andrasta had tried to give Rondel a chance at escape. Despite the haze of smoke and sand, she had managed to kill two members of the Host before sorcery struck her unconscious.
Why didn’t they finish me off? They’re going to make me suffer first.
She breathed deeply for the first time since waking. Over the aroma of smoke, spilled blood, and ocean spray came a familiar musk.
The one who guarded the mask in the center tent.
“You can stop pretending,” said a voice. “My name is Melek. I’m captain of Hubul’s Host. You have a great deal to answer for.”
Only inches from her face, Andrasta felt the hot breath and calm force of the words. She kept her eyes closed.
“Very well. Lieutenant. Please wake the prisoner,” said Melek.
Hurried footfalls crunched across the sand toward her. Two hands yanked her to a kneeling position. A fist slammed into the side of her face. She fell. The Lieutenant repeated the process half a dozen times more.
She made no cry and voiced no complaint. Master Enzi had taught her well. Even as blood streamed through her whistling nose and more pooled in the side of her cheek, she feigned unconsciousness.
Hands grabbed her shoulders again when the stern voice of the captain called. “Enough.”
“She’s faking it, captain.”
“I know.”
“Then let me continue.”
“No. I have a feeling it will be for nothing.”
“The blade?”
“No.”
“Captain,” said a third voice, older but far from weak. “Shall I have a turn?”
“No sorcery yet, Khalil.” He grunted. “Ah, you heard that, didn’t you?”
What? She cursed inwardly. Did I flinch?
Master Enzi had trained his students to take physical and mental abuse over and over again. When satisfied, he moved onto pain inflicted by sorcery. Andrasta got through those tests eventually. However, she would rather face twenty strokes of the whip than a minute of sorcery.
“Step back, Omar. Let me have another word with our prisoner,” said Melek. A heavy sigh. “I want you to know that I’m impressed. Not just by the beating you took from Omar. No, I’m impressed at the damage you and your partner inflicted on my camp. I had thought the rumors we heard from Zafar about you and Rondel were exaggerated. I see they were not. Congratulations.”
This is a different approach.
“My men want to kill you as slowly and as painfully as possible. Some would like to have their way with you first, of course.”
Andrasta’s jaw’s clenched.
Melek chuckled. “Anyway, I won’t allow them to fulfill their more base desires. I don’t claim to be a kind man. Even
a good man. But there are certain things I will not do.”
For now anyway.
“With that being said, this is how it’s going to be. I have questions. You will answer them. How you choose to answer them is your decision. I have no doubt that you can hold out for quite a while against torture, but eventually you will break. Everyone breaks. The trick is finding that right amount of pain to inflict without actually killing. Khalil is very skilled, and I have no doubt in his ability to walk that line.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “So, my first question is how much pain do you want to go through before answering my questions? And keep in mind, the less cooperative you are, the less merciful I will be.”
He’s right. What’s the point in holding out? You can talk without endangering Rondel. In fact, you don’t even know what happened to Rondel. But Melek may.
Andrasta opened her eyes. The dark eyes of Captain Melek stared down at her. His lips, surrounded by a forked beard, pressed into a thin line. An early-morning sky framed him.
He pulled out a knife. Andrasta flinched. He cut the rope binding her feet and hands together. A mixture of both pain and relief struck her legs and shoulders as blood circulated freely. He cut the binds at her ankles next, then helped her sit.
He sat cross legged several feet away, studying her. “Better?”
“My hands?”
Melek smirked. “I’m not stupid. Simply trying to show you that this process does not have to be filled with pain.”
Andrasta said nothing.
“Why did you steal the mask?”
“It was a job.”
“I need more than that.”
Andrasta clenched her jaw. “Shadya helped us leave Zafar after my partner and I were set up and accused of things we didn’t do. We were told we would be compensated for helping her recover a mask that she said you stole from her.”
“Do you know what the mask is capable of?”
“She said something about making the wearer into a god. I don’t really care much at this point.”