“Shad!”
Brandi dragged her head up. That was Lord Alistair’s voice. But could that gaunt figure staggering up the hill really be him?
A man dropped from his horse and dashed forward. “Father!”
Lord Alistair sagged to his knees as if too weak to stay standing. Shad crashed to the ground, and the two embraced. At least Lord Alistair was alive. But she couldn’t go near him.
Brandi tottered a step forward. Where were Jamie and Ian? She searched the upright silhouettes for a pair of slim, small frames. They had to be among the living.
“Randy!”
Jamie’s voice. She gripped Blizzard’s reins to keep herself standing. Her voice croaked. “Over here!”
Jamie appeared at her side. He reached out, as if to grip her shoulders, before he halted and dropped his arms. “You’re alive. When we got separated, I—never mind. Come on. I found Ian. Captain Alistair’s Riders are gathering down the hill.”
Nodding, Brandi turned to follow him. As she tugged on Blizzard’s reins, he lurched forward. Frowning, she halted and patted Blizzard’s neck. When she swiped her hand down his damp fur, her hand encountered a wet patch of something thicker than sweat.
Her stomach catapulted to her toes. Blizzard couldn’t get hurt. She’d promised Leith. What would Leith think when he learned she’d recklessly injured his horse? “Jamie, can you bring a light over here?”
He must’ve heard the wobble in her voice because he jumped to do as she asked. Returning with a torch, he held it up. The light fell across Blizzard’s sweat-soaked frame and illuminated the deep gash running along the base of the horse’s neck and across the upper muscles of his front leg.
Brandi gulped at a rush of tears. Blizzard had been hurt, but he’d kept going into the battle. He’d carried her forward even bleeding as he was.
“Let’s get him to our camp. We can help him there.” Jamie’s blue eyes, glowing with the torchlight, steadied her.
Patting Blizzard’s neck, Brandi coaxed him down the hill. They had to take a winding path around motionless and writhing bodies.
She stepped on something both hard and squishy. She glanced down. A hand, all by itself, lay under her boot.
Jerking her foot, she jumped away. A shudder violently shook her shoulders and traveled all the way down into her toes. Must. Not. Scream.
“Water…” Something scrabbled at her trouser leg.
She tore away from the bloodstained hand and pulled Blizzard forward as fast as the injured horse could. They had to get away from the carnage before she gave in to the shriek tearing through her chest.
Jamie halted and waited for her to catch up. Together, they skirted the last of the dead and dying. Up ahead, the dry moat and dirt fortifications of Walden Manor loomed black against the cloudy, dark gray sky.
At the edge of the cluster of Riders, Ian tied a rope between his horse’s front hooves. Buster already wore a hobble and cropped at the grass. Ian clambered upright when he spotted them. “Good. You found him. Glad to see you’re both in one piece.”
“Yes, but Randy’s horse was hurt.” Jamie headed for his pack. “Fetch a bucket of water. There’s a well by Walden’s stables.”
Ian dashed into the darkness toward Walden. Jamie pulled medical supplies from his pack.
Squaring her shoulders, Brandi faced the gash across Blizzard’s chest. If Renna was here, she could’ve taken care of it with no problem. Brandi had watched her several times. Surely she could copy Renna’s movements.
When Ian returned, he held the torch while Jamie gripped Blizzard’s bridle. Jamie’s weight wouldn’t do any good if Blizzard really spooked, but hopefully the nonsense words Jamie was mumbling would be enough to keep Blizzard calm.
After dipping a rag into the bucket of water, Brandi cleaned the wound. Blizzard flinched and raised his head, jerking Jamie off his feet.
Brandi smoothed her hand across Blizzard’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Blizzard. Stay still.”
Digging her fingers into the jar of salve, she spread the thick paste over the wound. If she let herself feel the slimy muscle, the slippery flap of skin, the sticky blood, she’d fall apart.
How did Renna do this all the time? Brandi’s stomach heaved at the sight of blood and pain. The times she’d offered to help Renna, she’d done what she could to keep the patient comfortable and distracted. But the stitching and mending? She was more than happy to leave that part to Renna.
Blizzard kepts his hooves planted, skin quivering, nostrils flaring.
Long ago, Aunt Mara had told her that animals usually fared better with their wounds left open than stitched and bandaged. After she had filled the gash with salve, Brandi swiped her fingers against her blood-spattered trousers. “There. That’s the best I can do.”
Kneeling, she scrubbed the blood from her fingers as best she could. Not that it mattered. Blood had infiltrated the cracks in her skin and dried beneath her fingernails. Blizzard’s blood or blood from someone she’d wounded or killed, she didn’t know. She didn’t want to know. The stench of blood hovered over the entire hill. The grass reeked with death.
A lieutenant strolled by, a sheaf of papers in his hand. He glanced at Blizzard. “Better put that one out of its misery.”
“No!” Brandi hugged Blizzard’s head. She couldn’t let them kill Blizzard. “He’ll heal.”
“Not fast enough. Either put him down now or be prepared to leave him when we move out tomorrow.”
She crossed her arms.
“Look, I heard the men from Walden are too weak to join us. They’re staying behind to bury the dead and tend the wounded too hurt to travel. Leave the horse with them. Now what’re your names and whose division are you with?”
While Jamie answered for her, Brandi gripped Blizzard’s mane. She’d have to leave him tomorrow. Her legs shook with the effort of holding back her tears. She was pretending to be a boy at the moment. Boys didn’t cry.
The lieutenant checked off their names on a list. He glanced over at them. “Prince Keevan exempted Captain Alistair’s Riders from the detail gathering the wounded. Get some rest. I heard you guys earned it.”
He stalked away to find the next group of survivors.
Brandi glanced over her shoulder at the battlefield. Moans and screams still echoed into the night, replacing the crickets’ nighttime lullaby. Sleep? How would any of them sleep after this?
40
Leith cracked his eyes open when Martyn stepped into his cell. Groaning, he pushed himself upright and tugged off the bandages Renna had so carefully wrapped around his torso. As much as he appreciated Renna’s help, it probably didn’t make much of a difference. What little healing his body accomplished each night was torn apart each morning.
After he dumped the last bandage on the floor, Leith held out his wrists. Martyn tied the rope firmly around Leith’s wrists and hauled him to his feet. “Ninth Blade Altin returned with news that the Resistance sent an army down from the Hills. King Respen wasn’t happy.”
Leith nodded. Whatever Respen had in store for Leith today would be even more unpleasant than before.
When they reached the meeting room, Leith glanced at the assembled Blades. Altin had joined Daas and Ranson around the long table. Respen lounged in his chair at the head of the table. His fingers drummed against the armrests.
Martyn chained Leith’s hands above his head. Spinning on his heels, Martyn saluted Respen and slipped into the First Blade’s seat at the king’s right.
Leith flexed his fingers and pressed his back against the cool stone wall. The smell of smoke wrapped around him from a fire burning in an iron brazier set a few feet to his right, iron pokers sticking out of the glowing coals. Leith swallowed and tried to keep his breathing steady. Those pokers were for him.
Respen’s fingers halted. “It seems I underestimated you. I assumed that sentimental weakness drove you to surrender. Instead your surrender was a distraction to draw my attention away from the real threat.”
Leith remained silent. He couldn’t give away the thrill thumping in his chest. Prince Keevan had rallied the army, and he was on his way to attack Nalgar Castle.
Respen slid to his feet and pointed at Daas. “Fifth Blade, come.”
Daas followed as Respen stalked around the table and approached Leith. Daas’s eyes glittered. His mouth slid into a rattlesnake’s smile.
Behind Daas, Ranson curled in his seat, head bowed, as if he fought to hold his stomach in place. Blane Altin’s hands clutched the edge of his chair. Something broke through Martyn’s hard eyes before he turned his gaze away.
Leith would find no help there.
He clamped his jaw shut. Could he endure this torture? Months ago, he’d pressed a heated knife to his shoulder to cauterize a knife wound. That pain would be small compared to what was coming. Respen would make Leith an example for any other Blade thinking about turning traitor.
Respen pointed at Daas. Daas wrapped a thick cloth around his hand and pulled one of the iron pokers from the fire. The end pulsed orange.
Clenching his jaws, Leith squeezed his eyes shut and focused on breathing. He felt the pressure of the poker against the soft skin of his stomach a moment before the searing pain registered. He choked on the agony burning into his body. He tried to squirm away, but Daas shoved the poker harder against his skin.
He couldn’t breathe. His chest seized. His muscles refused to move.
When Daas pulled back the cooling poker, Leith had only a moment to gasp a few breaths before Daas drew the second poker from the fire and touched the end to one of Leith’s ribs.
The pain crackled across Leith’s skin, flaming into his chest. He fought for breath as the agony raged inside him like a living beast, curling, growing, howling, until he couldn’t fight it in silence anymore. Renna would hear, but he couldn’t help it. The force of the pain drove the screams from him.
As Daas raised the glowing poker again, Respen held up a hand. “Wait.” He leaned closer. “What is Prince Keevan’s plan to take Nalgar?”
Leith ran his dry tongue across his teeth. Apparently his pain wasn’t enough. Nor his screams. Respen had to break him. Humiliate him. Prove that no Blade was strong enough to resist him.
Respen waved at Daas. The red-hot poker raked across Leith’s stomach. The smell of burning skin filled his lungs. His throat ached from screaming.
“What is the plan?” Respen’s voice curled through the smoke.
Another poker. More screams. More pain twisted under his skin. He slumped against the wall, sweat pouring down his body, the salt flaming against the burns that covered his stomach and chest. He couldn’t fight it. He wasn’t strong enough.
He clamped his teeth on his tongue. No. He wouldn’t give in to this torture.
Respen halted Daas. “He is not going to break. Fetch Lady Rennelda. We will see how long he lasts when she is the one screaming.”
Not Renna. Please not Renna.
“Wait!” Leith pulled himself straighter against the wall. “Do whatever you want to me but don’t hurt her.”
Respen stepped closer and held his gaze. “You cannot stop me. Give me what I want to know or…” He trailed off and waved at the fire heating the pokers.
What could he do? Leith closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. Either he betrayed Prince Keevan and the entire Resistance or he let Respen torture Renna.
His heart would die if he had to listen to her screams.
But Shad, Jamie, Lord Alistair. They’d all die if Leith betrayed them. So would Renna.
Leith met Respen’s gaze. As Respen stared back, something flickered in his eyes. Not fear. Reluctance?
Respen was bluffing.
What had happened during those weeks Renna was imprisoned? Had Renna somehow managed to touch Respen’s heart? Leith wouldn’t go so far as to guess that Respen cared for her, but he didn’t want to hurt her. Kill her, maybe. But not torture her.
Leith did the only thing he could do. He called Respen’s bluff. “I won’t tell you anything.”
Respen’s dark eyes sparked. He gripped Leith’s chin and growled in a low voice. “Beg. Don’t force me to torture her.”
Leith gasped past Respen’s fingers digging into his face. Respen couldn’t back down without losing face in front of the Blades. Either Leith gave in, or Respen had to torture Renna.
His pride—the part that knew he was strong enough—rebelled. But he was willing to sacrifice his life for Renna. Why not his dignity too?
“Please. Don’t hurt her.” Leith’s voice cracked. “Please.”
Respen released Leith and paced. He clasped his hands behind his back. “For Renna’s sake, you should be grateful I have already figured out your plan.”
Leith’s stomach sank. It was possible. Respen wasn’t stupid, and their plan wasn’t complicated.
“You told them I always meet with my Blades on Sunday morning, and that I would kill you during that Meeting. It would be the perfect distraction for their attack.” Respen’s voice rang with a mocking tone.
He motioned to Daas. Daas drew one of the pokers from the fire. Leith barely had time to gasp a breath before the agony clawed into his skin.
When Daas pulled away the poker, Respen’s gaze flicked briefy at the door. “Is that the plan?”
“Yes.” Leith sagged against the chains. For Renna’s sake, he had to break.
A thin smile slithered onto Respen’s face. “You never were going to win. You have proven yourself to be a failure, just like your father.”
Leith gritted his teeth. Those words couldn’t hurt him anymore.
Respen waved toward the fire and the waiting Blade once again. Leith steeled himself. More punishment. Respen wouldn’t stop until Leith truly broke.
Respen’s smile leered through the smoke. “You are marked for death, my failed Blade.”
Leith sucked in a breath as the pain seared again. He choked on the agony and the stench of burning flesh. His head swirled. The patches of candlelight and shadows blended together with the dark shapes of the Blades, shimmery ghosts in the haze.
Marks. Respen had marked Leith a total of forty times. Thirty-seven successes and three failures.
For I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus.
These were the marks of Christ. The gentle touch of fire. The tender caress of the knife’s edge. Each mark echoing with the words of God saying Well done, my good and faithful servant.
He was blessed. Each blow, each burn, was a blessing raining down from heaven. He didn’t have to doubt his salvation. He’d been counted worthy to suffer for Christ.
Worthy. Blessed. Heir of Heaven.
He didn’t realize he’d been talking out loud until Respen’s laugh wrapped around him. Fingers dug into his cheeks and forced his head up. Respen’s eyes burned inches away, his breath mingling with the smoke. “Blessed? You think you’re blessed?”
“God is with me.” Those words soaked into Leith like a cooling stream. God was with him. Even though he’d been a Blade. Even though he’d shed blood. For the sake of Christ, the Almighty God was with him.
Respen shoved Leith’s face away. “You’re a fool.”
The iron poker pressed into his skin yet again. Agony stole his words. He tried to drag in a breath, but his throat closed.
Darkness slammed around him.
41
Renna pressed her cheek to the floor. Her tears formed a puddled around her face as she peered under the door. She couldn’t help but hear Leith’s screams. She’d sunk to the floor, covering her ears and sobbing. She’d been helpless to do anything but pray that God granted Leith the courage to survive this.
She eased her hand off her ear. No more screams. Had Leith passed out? Was Respen finished?
Or was he dead?
Footsteps ground on the stairs. Respen’s polished, black boots strode into view. He paused outside her door.
Renna held her breath. Would Respen taunt her? What else did he wan
t with her?
He turned away and strolled down the corridor toward the stairs. A few minutes later, a Blade’s black boots swaggered past.
She pressed her fingers against the stone floor. Leith had to be all right. Any moment now, she’d spot his and Martyn’s boots. Leith would be leaning on Martyn, but he’d be walking. That’s how he’d been the last two days.
A scuffing sound came from the stairs to the meeting room.
“Harding, get the door.” Martyn’s voice called through the passage.
A pair of boots dashed past, and the door to Leith’s room creaked open. Two more pairs of boots shuffled into view. One man walked backwards as if—Renna clapped a hand over her mouth—as if they carried a body between them.
What had they done to Leith? Tremors shook her arms as she pushed herself upright.
When Martyn opened her door, she shoved him aside and dashed into Leith’s room, skidding on the stone floor.
Leith lay crumpled on the cot, his chest rising and falling slowly. Black and red marks charred the skin of his stomach and chest. Burns. Raw, oozing burns.
She dropped to her knees beside the cot. Each gasp for breath rasped through her tightening throat, faster and faster. Her hands trembled as she brushed a sweat-soaked lock of hair from Leith’s forehead. Tears pricked her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop it. I…” Martyn leaned against the wall, his face a pale glow against the shadows. His hands shook violently.
Heat seared white in Renna’s chest. She surged to her feet and whirled. “You could’ve stopped this weeks ago. If you’d come with us back then, none of this would’ve happened. I would’ve escaped. Leith wouldn’t have turned himself in. Don’t blame anyone else. This is your fault.”
Martyn staggered away from her words, small and broken.
“Renna.” Leith’s cold fingers closed around her wrist. “It’s all right.”
She glanced over her shoulder. He could barely crack his eyes open, but their vibrant green still pierced her. “If not for Christ, I would’ve made the same choice.”
Drawing in a deep breath, she let it out slowly. Martyn didn’t have the courage God provided her and Leith. Fear and a sense of duty made Martyn loyal to Respen.
Defy (The Blades of Acktar Book 3) Page 24