Jepaul

by Katy Winter

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Harnath turned his attention to the bed where Belika lay, tense and waiting, her expression unreadable as she watched Harnath approach and stoop to her, his hands running over her experimentally before he stood and just looked down at her.

  “So we begin, my dear,” he crooned. “Such pleasures await us!”

  He took a step back and flung off his robe, before he clambered, a little laboriously, onto the bed beside Belika, where he rested back on an elbow and considered her. Then, without warning, he flung himself onto her and bent his head to her mouth, his teeth closing on her lips and tongue in a savage bite. Then he reared up his head, the taste of her bleeding lips in his mouth. He slid agilely down her sideways and closed his teeth on her breast. At the same moment his stabbing fingers made Belika plunge and arch in a forced response, before one breast was released and Harnath did the same with the other, the bite very hard.

  Belika gave a cry of sheer pain. The attack was so fast she was caught by surprise and it took all her self-control to again lie passive, waiting for the agonising clench on her breast to ease and the probing fingers to quieten. With her passivity, they did. It was then Harnath swiftly mounted her, her shackled wrists held flat on the bed, his weight and strength momentarily trapping her.

  Belika was very strong. She waited. The instant Harnath thrust hard down she arched upwards with suppleness and power, wrenched free of the grip on her wrists and managed to slide down the bed from under Harnath’s formidable bulk, her hands now at his throat as she flung him onto his back, snarling. He lunged up at her, laughing. Then he went for her. His hands deliberately struck her repeatedly and extremely hard across the face and body in a way that left welts. He then doubled his fists and bashed her as he tried to fling her onto her back again to enforce submission.

  Her shackles hampering her, Belika was again on her back and Harnath, chuckling with anticipation, curled his legs round hers. This time his bites of her lips were vicious. The taste of blood excited him. It made him lick his lips with delight and grin ferociously down at her. He struck her again about the head, several times, grasped her wrists and remounted her with considerable power for one so large.

  “You want to fight, witch, do you?” he muttered. “We’ll see who wins the encounter.”

  Belika was too quick for him. Just as Harnath gave a chortle, smiled down at her and bore down heavily, she again managed to arch herself. She clawed at his hands trying to keep her down, freed her wrists, twisted out from his leg grip and once more slithered determinedly out from under him, managing to get herself further down the bed. As he reared and half-turned to catch her, she bent her head and fastened her teeth to his most vulnerable part and bit hard, again and again. Harnath convulsed. While he lay, momentarily incapacitated, Belika found the key under the pillow and then saw Knellen beside her, his hand imperatively out. He quietly unlocked the shackles while Belika, aware Harnath began to recover, bit him again, even harder, and this time she kept her teeth locked to him. It was his turn to writhe, the man unable to yell out because he couldn’t catch his breath. When Belika released him, she spoke breathlessly to Knellen.

  “Have you the fal and jul?’

  “Yes.”

  ‘“Give it to me.”

  “Belika, are you -?”

  “Give it!” she commanded. “I’ll do to him what he’d do to you and others and in full measure. We’ll see how he likes it.”

  Her face was so forbidding Knellen thought it best not to argue and he handed her two small packets that she quickly emptied into one of the carafes.

  “Tie his hands in front of him,” she ordered curtly, “then stuff something in his mouth when I finish getting this liquid down him.”

  Harnath, still unable to speak after the assault, found himself hauled up on the cushions with a Varen bent over him tying his hands. He was gasping and red in the face with fury. He found his head hauled back and liquid poured steadily down his throat. He choked. There was a pause while he swallowed and gagged, futilely struggling and lashing out with his feet, but the wine kept coming. Helpless to stop it, he had to submit until the carafe stood empty and Belika stood back from him, an expression on her face that startled him.

  “Knellen, muffle his mouth. He’ll have his voice back soon. Then, for the demons, put on your clothes and get mine.”

  Knellen worked quickly and efficiently. Harnath, trussed and tied, his eyes blazing, was flung back down onto the bed, after which the Varen went to his clothes and hastily dressed. He watched Belika. She walked to the door, yanked it open and stood there, naked, eying Lisle and the other Varen. Lisle gaped at her.

  “The Patriarch and I are enjoying ourselves very much, Varen. He does not wish to be disturbed for some time and neither do I. His orders are that you are to leave and go about your duties. The Patriarch says Knellen is adequate guard. Do you understand?”

  “I obey the Patriarch,” Lisle whispered, quite stunned at the sight that confronted him. Belika was a stunning specimen of womanhood so it was an effort not to continue staring at her and he only pulled his wits together when she turned and went back into the room. He signalled to the others and they moved away, Lisle behind them. Belika now locked the door.

  “Knellen, the key we seek is somewhere in this room, in a small box. You begin the search while I give our Patriarch the lesson of his lifetime. That amount of fal and jul should have him ready and receptive by now.”

  She picked up objects that made Knellen hastily swallow and turn away as Belika approached the bed, the objects held out in front of her invitingly. Harnath, who’d managed to get himself further up the bed against the cushions and was trying to free his hands, saw her coming, his eyes widening incredulously when he saw what she held. The look on her face was enough of a warning. It was frightening.

  “To quote you, Harnath,” she murmured, her teeth bared, “we begin. I offer you what you’ve subjected others to for syns. But what I do to you, in full measure, Patriarch, you won’t forget. It will stay with you as a reminder of your cruelty to others. Your lesson only begins, doesn’t it? Do you understand?”

  Goggling eyes stared up at her as Harnath began to struggle in earnest, the Cynas with just the faintest glimmering of what was to come dawning in his horrified expression of disbelief and a new emotion for him. It was fear. He violently shook his head and again strained against his bonds.

  “Know what your hell is like,” snarled Belika.

 

  Then Knellen heard a muffled howl from Harnath. It was only the first of many. Belika showed him no mercy whatsoever, his thrashings about and muffled screams ignored. Time slowly passed. Eventually, the strangled howls stopped but Knellen noticed it took a long time before they did. The cries steadily weakened. Finally, they turned to moans then silence. Harnath was no longer in any condition to utter a sound or attempt to fight, because Belika intended he wouldn’t be the same Cynas by the time they were all no longer in Arrain-Toh.

  Knellen almost ransacked the chamber, things strewn and tossed as he fossicked purposefully and methodically. It was in the ante room of the suite that the Varen finally pulled back a curtain, to reveal a very prettily carved and chased chest. He opened it. Inside was a small box made as a replica of the bigger box. Taking a deep breath, Knellen opened it. Inside it lay a simple key. There was nothing remarkable about it, but Knellen knew a man had died horribly in an effort not to give it into the keeping of the man who now lay on his back on the bed.

  Carefully and respectfully Knellen pocketed the key, closed the box, placed it back in the larger box and put it back where it belonged, the curtain drawn carefully into position. He then proceeded to put the chambers back into some sort of order, something he’d just completed when he heard Belika call to him. She was dressed, fully armed and looked menacing.

  He crossed to her and stood looking down. He almost winced at the sight of Harnath, the big, flaccid man flat on his back and unmoving, his hands untied some time be
fore and his arms outflung. The gag was gone. Harnath’s head lolled and his eyes, when they opened, stared blankly before they abruptly closed. Though the fal and jul still affected him, Knellen doubted the man would sit or walk easily for many days, nor would he be enjoying sexual amours for very much longer – if at all, thought Knellen, shuddering and averting his eyes. The Patriarch looked, he considered, pulped. Had Harnath been less of a savage deviant and merciless brute, the Varen would have pitied him because a warrior woman’s retribution was final and complete.

  “Have you got the name of who gave him the key?” he asked, moving quietly to the door.

  “Yes. He won’t remember telling me because he was too in the throes.” Belika’s smile was almost feral as she joined Knellen by the door. “Can you help me get him under covers?”

  “Won’t he cry for help as soon as we leave?”

  “I think not,” was the cold retort. “That huge dose of fal and jul will keep him incapacitated and speechless for days, maybe longer, and I’ve ensured he’s in far too much -,” she paused, “discomfort, to make any attempt to do anything at all. Nor,” she added, “will the great Patriarch want to be seen as he now is, will he? He’ll keep to his chamber for some time, especially till the after effects wear off – if they do.” She saw the interrogative tilt of the Varen’s head. “One side effect of such a massive dose is being in a state of readiness indefinitely but unable to function. Either that or he’ll finally go limp permanently. Such a sad irony for our poor Cynas.”

  Knellen stared speechlessly at Belika. He saw a widening smile that made him break into helpless laughter as he helped her roll a mute Harnath, well-nigh unconscious, onto his side, settle his head in the cushions, then cover him to make it appear he slept, sated and content. Even the eunuch would hesitate to see if he was awake for fear of disturbing him.

  As they left the chamber, Belika queried,

  “Do you think I have satisfied the Patriarch?”

  Knellen’s snort of amusement followed her.

 

  Their exit from the chamber was unchallenged since the woman was escorted by a Varen she was either with or who guarded her. They made their way down the levels of the palace as quickly and unobtrusively as they could, Knellen sometimes taking Belika’s wrist in a grip suggestive of a prisoner being taken to the cells. At the level before the cells Saracen almost collided with them, the little man quick to fall into emtori attitude as he trailed the other two. At prison level Saracen said urgently.

  “We need to hurry. I’ve found Javen and they’ve already started on him. We can’t delay rescuing him.”

  “The Doms?”

  “Ready.”

  By the time the cells were reached it was agreed that while Saracen waited quietly out of sight, Knellen would commune with the guards. Knellen ambled quietly to the guards, his yank of Belika indicative he wished to speak with them.

  “Another one,” grinned a guard. “She’s a looker!”

  “She’s one from the group brought down a few hours ago. They’re to be taken up for the Red Council. There’s another one too. Where is he?”

  There were disgruntled mutters at that, but the guards went to the cell where the Doms sat or stood resignedly.

  “We’ll have to shackle them,” observed a second guard. “There’s too many for just you.”

  “Very well,” agreed Knellen amiably. “But you’ll have to give me the key. The Red Council will interrogate them one by one.”

  Knellen watched while the Doms, Jepaul and Belika were shackled in a line then directed the guards to where they’d find Javen. Grumbling again, one guard led the way to the very end cell where Javen was shackled to the wall, stripped and bleeding. He was white and looked shocked. His weapons were in one corner, so while the guard crossed to the wall to release Javen then re-shackle him to the others, it was Saracen who slipped into the cell and retrieved clothes and weapons. Then he was gone again.

  “All yours, Varen,” said the guard.

  Knellen nodded, his head still averted. Not one guard had caught sight of his eyes. He caught Belika’s wrist again and gave the arm a tug as he began to slowly draw the prisoners along the narrow corridors until he sighted Saracen ahead. The little man gestured.

  “This way,” he called. “If we go the emtori routes we’ll occasion less comment, Knellen. It’ll just seem you’re taking prisoners somewhere. The tricky bit will be getting out of the city, let alone the palace.”

  “You’re a blessing man,” murmured Ebon. “I was getting cramped down there.”

  “Saracen, are you saying there’s an emtori way to get out of the palace?”

  “Yes, Quon. That way they don’t get in the way of their betters.”

  “And that’s where you’re taking us?”

  “Yes. An old emtori I got talking to told me the quickest way to reach the gates on the other side of the city is underground, through the sewers. That’s where we’re going.”

 

  It seemed hours to those shackled and trailing, Javen stumbling, before Saracen finally stopped. He did so at a narrow arched door and pushed and eased himself through. He was followed by the others. They all paused for breath hidden in an alcove of the wall. As Knellen undid the shackles and the others helped Javen dress and arm, they could see that indeed the palace now loomed threateningly above.

  “Where to now, Saracen?” asked Jepaul, a concerned eye on Javen who was still unsteady on his feet and in no state to assist in what could be an ugly situation.

  “You forget I’m comfortable underground,” reminded Saracen grimly. “I may not know city sewer systems but Grohols -.” He broke off as Quon interrupted with,

  “Have an uncanny sense of direction that’s impeccable.”

  “Quite so, Dom,” smiled Saracen. He eyed each person. “Follow me closely, keep in a line and don’t lose contact with the one in front of you.” He glanced at Javen. “Can you manage on your own, friend? You look ill.”

  Before Javen could reply, Jepaul spoke.

  “I’ll care for him, Saracen.”

  “Let’s get going,” advised Sapphire, casting a quick look around.

  Saracen nodded. He began to walk purposefully forward to a bushy verge beside the broad avenue that skirted the walls of the palace. Here he paused, looked around, stooped, gestured to Knellen, then indicated he was to help in lifting what looked like a heavy metal plate. The two men shunted it horizontally until it exposed a hole that was a vertical shaft. Quon stared down it.

  “Demons, man, how do we get down there?”

  “There are irregular footholds,” responded Saracen. “And occasional hand grips. You’ll have to feel for them.” He saw Quon’s hesitation and the raised eyebrows of the others. “There’s no other way,” he snapped in an uncharacteristic way. “Dom, this is a vile place where unspeakable acts are done to people. I sense evil is here. We have one chance to get out of this alive.”

  “I’ll go first,” said Belika into the silence. She saw Quon’s face. “If you fall, old one, you’ll land on me.”

  “Very well, Saracen,” sighed Quon resignedly. “I take your point. Lead on.”

  “I’ll go first, Belika.”

  Belika nodded acquiescence. They all watched as Saracen carefully lowered himself into the hole. There was no sound of a fall, no sound of any kind. Belika didn’t wait. She followed swiftly, then the Doms, Quon ruefully last. Then Knellen helped Jepaul into the hole, waited until he saw the younger man had a firm grip then gently lowered Javen onto Jepaul’s shoulders. Javen wasn’t a small or light man and he was a fair weight, but Jepaul didn’t buckle and rapidly disappeared from view. Knellen waited until he thought all were safely down, then he descended slowly and unsteadily. It was a long way to the ground and it took time for all of them to navigate the sheer shaft, each person clinging desperately to each grip and foothold as they came to it. Belika waited for the first of the Doms to appear, then clambered back up to assist Dancer and Quon
. They all waited for Jepaul and immediately relieved him of Javen who stood, shaken, but safe. And then Knellen arrived, muttering.

  It was extremely cold and dank in the sewers and rather dim so Knellen unwound a rope he carried that everyone could hold onto. It would be easy to get lost in the murk and the gloom made creeping along the edges of the sewers somewhat perilous. They were deep and fast flowing. Javen’s teeth chattered and it wasn’t from fright.

  Saracen did not waste time but led them with unerring steps. He kept the pace steady. No one other than Saracen had eaten. They were all cold and hungry but when Javen stumbled more than once, every time Jepaul was there to support him, his arm strong. It was Quon who finally gasped.

  “Saracen, can we pause for a moment?” He struggled to get his breath.

  Saracen halted and turned his head, eyed the Dom thoughtfully, then nodded and leaned back against a damp and rather slimy wall. The air tended to be fetid and the smell rank for the sewers were poorly maintained.

  “Where are we?” asked Ebon conversationally.

  “I estimate we’re about halfway across the city by now,” came the answer.

  When Quon finally straightened, his breathing less ragged and more even, Saracen glanced at him and asked if they could move on. The Dom sighed infinitesimally, got amused looks from the other Doms and nodded reluctantly.

  “This is noisome,” complained Sapphire. “I may be Water, but not flowing rivers of sewage.”

  The comment was met with grins, but no one replied as Saracen was already on the move through the winding maze of arched tunnels that branched left and right at very regular intervals. He didn’t hesitate at any of the intersections but ploughed on taking one turn after another with confidence. Everyone else was hopelessly lost. The tramp, sometimes slippery and certainly tortuous, seemed to be endless. It was only when the Doms were about to suggest another halt, Quon in particular wheezing in a loud and distressing way, that Saracen came to an abrupt halt that nearly had each one following crash into the one in front.

  “We’re at the end of the sewers,” hissed Saracen. He glanced back at Knellen. “Knellen, you need to see if you and Jepaul can lift the lid directly above us. Can you ease forward, both of you, so you can see what I’m talking about?”

  Jepaul gently pushed Javen close to Belika who had a hand out and, with Knellen, managed to inch past the Doms without precipitating them over the edge. They looked up where Saracen pointed. He backed up a little so the two men could position themselves for an upwards push.

  “Very slowly, Jepaul,” cautioned Knellen. “We don’t know what’s up there.”

  Carefully, and inch by inch, they strained to raise the heavy lid that they edged sideways into what seemed to be a slot. Immediately light flooded the sewer.

  “Not a shaft to climb,” uttered Quon with relief.

  He watched Knellen ease himself up with Jepaul’s assistance, so the Varen’s head was level with the ground. They all saw Knellen turn his head from side to side before he called down.

  “I’ve no idea where we are, but wherever it is there’s no one about and the ground is quite heavily wooded. There’s some sort of corral and horses are grazing here. I’ll go out.”

  With a heave from Jepaul he got his elbows on the edge of the hole and hauled himself through. He dusted himself down and leaned back down to assist the others, the smaller travellers hoisted up to him by Jepaul. Other than Quon, the taller Doms scrambled out on their own and Jepaul went last. He and Knellen replaced the lid before they all took stock of their surroundings.

  Now they were out of the dark, the travellers realised the day was well advanced and the sun beginning to slide towards the horizon. It meant the Cynas would soon be roused for his banquet where he hoped to entertain the travellers prior to their executions. All realised it had taken them a long time to traverse the city and they had no time to waste if they were to have any hope of escaping renewed custody. Knellen thought of Belika and shivered.

  “Quon,” said Dancer, looking around. “I think our little man has excelled himself. We appear to be at the main sewer outlet which is, of course, beyond the main part of the city as you’d expect.”

  “He’s right,” confirmed Sapphire, gazing about critically. “Those aren’t stables. That’s some sort of station for sewer control. Are we in or out of the city?”

  Ebon strode forward, beckoning the others forward.

  “We seem to be at the city extremity. Come and see for yourselves. Saracen, my man, are we anywhere near the gates we came through?”

  Saracen shook his head.

  “I’m not sure,” was the uncertain answer. “The emtori said we’d come out somewhere near the main gate and that’s where we came in, isn’t it?”

  The Doms nodded confirmation.

  “Well, that being so,” said Dancer, “we need to make sure we all understand what to do next. It seems, from what you told us, Belika, that the Cynas is incapacitated for the immediate moment, if not longer. He will be found by now so there’ll be a hue and cry for you, Belika, and you, Knellen, not to mention the discovery of the disappearance of the rest of us. This suggests you’re heavily implicated, Knellen, and it’s no longer safe for you, if it ever was.” Dancer paused.

  “We also need to get Javen and Belika to where we have a chance to attend to their hurts,” added Quon with a worried frown at Javen.

  “And we need our horses,” muttered Sapphire.

  “Not only that,” added Knellen, pensively. “I made a promise to Lisle that he’d be safe from a writhling. And, Doms, a true Varen does not deliberately set out to destroy another through false promises.” He showed his teeth in a half grin, half grimace. “We have many faults, Doms, and are seen as instruments of oppression. We can be cruel in pursuit and use of our quarry, but there is a peculiar code as pertains to our own.” He glanced a little mockingly at Saracen. “You didn’t trust me, did you? I understand. It was with good reason. It’s why the Varen with us took an oath because when they do that they do not break it. It is part of our genetic conditioning to obey it. We, essentially, can do nothing else so none should condemn us for how and why we were made to fit a particular function.”

  Saracen spoke hesitatingly.

  “I do trust you, Knellen. Experience taught us to mistrust and be wary of your kind, but you’re also markedly different and have evolved beyond your original function as a Varen. Will those like Lisle behave differently too?”

  “That I cannot answer. But if he and others from anywhere take an oath to me, then it will be honoured. How many can break the genetic conditioning I simply don’t know and those who can’t will remain formidable enemies as they hunt us down.”

  “Delightful,” said Sapphire. He looked across at Knellen. “So how do you propose we confront Lisle, get our horses and leave this hellish place?”

  “I can do that,” said Jepaul quietly. “Since my first meeting with the Red Council of Castelus, Quon,” he went on calmly, turning his head to Quon, “I’ve analysed their combined mind synthesis and I can counter it. I can even, now, neutralise them for a short space of time which may be useful.”

  The Doms looked at each other, each aware that with every confrontation Jepaul faced he only grew in strength. It was uncanny and unknown in any Elemental before him. His uniqueness continued to astonish and confound them.

  “Do you truly believe that, Jepaul?” asked Quon, with a telltale quiver to his voice. “There’s no need to put yourself in unnecessary danger when we’re all here.”

  Jepaul crossed to the old man, where he stooped to put a gentle arm about his mentor, and his words were for Quon.

  “The time comes, Quon, when we’ll all have much to face and we’ll do it together, but at this stage wouldn’t it be better if we give rise to as little speculation as possible?”

  “Haven’t we given enough now?” demanded Dancer, rather amused.

  “Harnath doesn’t know who you Doms are,” argued Jepaul. “
He didn’t even react to me as Jamir did, so that suggests to me Jamir was too angry about Knellen and his Castelan Varen, and you, Quon, to be bothered much about me at that time. He was preoccupied. That gives us a chance. We don’t want to announce the reforming of the Elementals, do we?”

  There was a long silence.

  “He’s right,” announced Belika. She looked up at Jepaul and caressed his cheek. “I can’t be seen here again, nor you, Knellen – not in the city anyway – and neither can Javen.”

  “What do you propose, Jepaul?”

  Jepaul glanced down at Quon.

  “You are all with me, Quon. We shall head for the main gate and I shall summon the Red Council.”

  “What?” gasped Saracen.

  “And, Quon, could you and the others manage a cloak about Javen, Knellen and Belika until I can get the gates open?”

  The Doms eyed Jepaul with increased understanding and amusement.

  “Well thought, young one,” commented Ebon admiringly. “And ourselves?”

  “An aura of fragility and of being completely unthreatening.”

  “That won’t be difficult,’ murmured Quon.

  The comment brought an irrepressible chuckle from Dancer.

  “I wouldn’t do this, Quon, if I felt myself at risk, nor would I endanger any of you.” Jepaul gave Quon a quick hug and stood erect. He got a cocked head of enquiry from Sapphire.

  “Which way do we go then?” he asked.

  “Saracen? Any ideas?”

  Saracen walked a short way from the group, frowned, then did a circle, before he returned to the group with a lighter expression. He actually grinned.

  “We are at the gates,” he announced, “just as the emtori said. It’s through that thicket over there.”

  “Then,” announced Quon, with a renewed sense of energy, “we secrete ourselves in these thickets while we consider how to proceed. Jepaul?”

  “Aye, Quon,” came the affectionate response.

 

  The Patriarch of Arrain-Toh lay on his back, his eunuchs perplexedly watching him and uncertain what to do. Harnath’s expression was that of a man deeply shocked and in considerable pain, his lips were torn, his tongue swollen and he was as aroused as it was physically possible for a male to be.

  “It must have been some orgy,” whispered one young eunuch to an older man. The one who had dealt with Belika frowned.

  “He takes aphrodisiacs and did so before he came into the chamber,” he replied, “but there has never been a reaction like this. And where is the woman?”

  “Look at him!” whispered a third eunuch.

  “Wherever she is she must have been a rare handful to have left him like this,” stammered another. “I’ve never seen him so, after any number of females.”

  “And it’s they who have been left this way, not him,” observed the Belika eunuch, his frown gathering. “We’ve always had to clean up his mess too, but not this time.”

  “He looks as if she’s savaged him.”

  “That’s exactly what she’s done, but why is he still aroused and in such a battered, swollen and bleeding state? He’s torn everywhere. He should be sated, not like this.”

  Belika’s eunuch stooped over the bed to look closely at the Cynas. There was no reaction. The Cynas’ eyes stayed quite blank. The eunuch, with help from the others, rolled the Cynas on to his stomach and then stared, stunned, none able to utter a word. It was finally the youngest eunuch who managed to utter,

  “What did she use?”

  The older eunuch glanced about, then his eyes lighted on what Belika had used to such devastating effect, as objects lay, innocuously but bloodied, by the pillows. The eunuch blenched. When he raised them, the other eunuchs paled and all took a step back. Even though Harnath treated his eunuchs and unwilling lovers to the same, it was not with such brutal objects. The eunuchs began to have the first inklings of what an angry woman had done to their Patriarch. And since these men had been forcibly, abjectly and painfully made eunuchs there was considerable sympathy for a woman who had so thoroughly treated a cruel, despotic, corrupt and degenerate man. Clearly, she had given Harnath a taste of what he served others but with a degree of ferocity and strength that left the eunuchs briefly speechless. It was the older eunuch who first got his voice back.

  “We know nothing of this, do you understand? Nothing at all. There will be repercussions and dreadful reprisals, so if you value your lives you have not sighted this. Help me turn him onto his side.”

  Now trembling with fear the younger eunuchs hastily complied. Harnath was settled back as Belika had placed him and as they found him. He was carefully but swiftly covered, the silk coverings neatly settled and the opulent hangings about the bed rapidly drawn. The older eunuch dismissed the others then stood pursing his lips. He had no intention of being considered culpable. With that thought and a private grin at Harnath’s condition, he left the chamber.

  .

  When Harnath didn’t appear for his usual self-indulgent banquet that preceded his orgiastic evening entertainment, the Red Council, awaiting him with anticipation to produce prisoners they believed would be singularly interesting, became impatient. They sent for the Varen. Lisle entered respectfully.

  “Masters,” he bowed, his head bent in deference.

  “Where is the Patriarch, Cynas of Arrain-Toh?”

  “As leader of his elite guard, Masters, I was with him when he took the woman prisoner and the Varen from Castelus in his chambers.”

  “And?” Only one Council member spoke now.

  “The Cynas ordered me from the chamber as he was ready for the woman.”

  “And then?”

  “We mounted guard as ordered, Masters, then, after a time the woman appeared at the door, naked, and told us the Cynas wished us to leave immediately as he considered the Varen prisoner, whom we also saw naked, was adequate to ensure there was no trouble. The Varen from Castelus was meek and biddable and quietly acquiescent and fully obedient as fits his calling, Masters.”

  “So you saw no defiance?”

  “On the contrary. He obeyed without hesitation.”

  “Yet the Cynas of Castelus considers him a rogue Varen. You saw nothing in him that should cause concern?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What did you sense in him?”

  “Nothing beyond his function as a Varen.”

  “And the woman?”

  “She bled from the mouth a little and the Patriarch had used her breasts in his usual way.”

  “Were there signs of any struggle?”

  “She was hit, Masters, as is also usual with our Cynas. I saw nothing unusual in her condition. My only surprise was to see her on her feet. Most are unable to move much after use.”

  “I see. Where is she now?”

  “I imagine she is back in the cell with others since we were ordered away.”

  The Red Council huddled together, their hissing, wheezing voices reedy on exhalation, and consulted among themselves before another question was uttered.

  “Who will be with the Cynas now?”

  “His chief eunuch dresses him when he is sent for.”

  “You will accompany us to his chambers, Varen. Bring your men. It seems to us the Cynas should be with us now. As you come, re-order food for later.”

  On the words, the Red Council swung as one, seven hooded figures gliding smoothly and noiselessly across the floor. Lisle, with some of his Varen, caught up with them as they mounted the last flight of stairs that led to the floor reserved exclusively for the Patriarch. There was no hesitation at the entrance to the chambers, the Red Council sweeping past startled emtori and scattering eunuchs who tried to scuttle out of their way as they glided into the palatial bed chamber. They surrounded the bed, pulled back the curtains and stood contemplatively observing the Cynas as the eunuchs had left him. One of the Red Council spoke in a sibilant whisper.

  “Cynas! Harnath!”

  When there was no answer, the bed
clothes were pulled down by boney, attenuated fingers and Harnath was turned onto his back. The Red Council collectively uttered a hissing sound of disbelief. Lisle, leaving his Varen at the door, stood on the threshold but responded to the imperative beckon, crossed to the bed and likewise drew in his breath, unable, for a few moments, to collect his scattered wits.

  “Who did this?” came the hissed question.

  “Not the woman, Masters,” Lisle gasped. “No woman could do this. She was battered and bitten. Nor would a Varen, from Castelus or anywhere, do this to a Cynas. We are quite incapable of such action.”

  “We do not accuse you of it, or Knellen. It must have happened after you were sent away and after Harnath used the woman, not before or during. You heard no sound from Harnath that made you suspicious while you were on guard outside the chamber?”

  “On the contrary, Masters. We heard the Cynas laugh and heard the woman gasp a few times, but later all I briefly saw was the naked Varen and woman. And I could see a glimpse of the Cynas resting comfortably. He was not struggling, nor distressed. Had he been my duty then would have been clear and unequivocal.”

  “Send for the chief eunuch.”

  Lisle returned with Belika’s eunuch who dwarfed those of the Red Council.

  “Have you seen the Cynas?” demanded the same member of the Red Council.

  “No,” came the immediate reply.

  “Why not? It is your duty to attire him and pander to his wishes, is it not?”

  “Yes, it is. But the noble Patriarch sleeps very much longer than usual, so it appears the stranger woman was highly active and gave him considerable but exhausting pleasure. That is not a surprise. She is not a virgin, is older than the usual females and probably has much experience and expertise. No order to respond to his other needs has been issued. No eunuch may enter the sacred bed chamber without being commanded. To do so invites excruciating retribution.”

  “Then you may now turn the Cynas so we can see how he is.”

  The eunuch rolled Harnath onto his stomach, then stood erect, his expression giving nothing away. The Red Council made no sound. They just bent hooded heads to study the inanimate form before they too straightened. They asked one question of the eunuch.

  “Is this what you would expect?’

  “Not usually, no. But after extremely sustained exertion, I imagine one could be so,” came the disdainful lie in response. The eunuch was thinking of the objects he’d shudderingly disposed of not so long before.

  “Turn him onto his back again, lift him on the pillows, and cover him.”

  The eunuch obeyed.

  “Leave us.”

  When the eunuch was gone, Lisle was commanded to wait outside. On his departure there was again a hooded colloquy, hands waving in a degree of agitation and hooded heads dipping and rising. Then one of the Red Council leaned forward and put his fingers to Harnath’s head where he pushed very hard, his hooded head to one side as his breath faintly wheezed. He stayed thus for long moments. Then came the sibilant whisper.

  “The man’s a fool. All I can get from him is brief images of a woman, naked, astride him. He hit her. She bit him. All I sense is profound shock and much pain from a sexual encounter that he did not win. It seems the woman dealt him what he had reserved for her but she has done it with much violence and with considerable fury that has left him in this condition. His thoughts are scrambled and may well be for some time, so we’ll get nothing of value from him until he recovers, if anything. I doubt he can speak and he won’t be moving anywhere soon.”

  “And the extraordinary arousal we can still see?”

  If any member of the Red Council could laugh, the spokesman’s wheeze came close to it.

  “He is completely afloat with some rare powerful aphrodisiac the woman must have encouraged him to swallow. He is a deviant and a crassly vicious fool, but he is still useful to us. I suspect the use of fal, so he will remain aroused indefinitely without ability. How amusing. We may have to encourage his excesses in other directions, though I must say his increasing servitude to us through our gratifying and enhancing his continual sexual forays, in all their variety and extremes, was easy and useful.”

  The speaker eased himself to the door, opened it and beckoned Lisle.

  “You failed in your duty to protect the Patriarch, Varen. Though you did your duty and obeyed your Cynas’ order, still, he is as you see him. You will be punished for the offence.”

  Lisle kept absolutely still, his face a mask. Then what he felt made tears trickle down his face as shooting pains coursed through every part of him and sent him to his knees, gasping. His impassivity was gone. The pain intensified. He tried incoherently to speak. Abruptly, the pain subsided.

  “Get to your feet, servant.”

  Lisle staggered, got his balance and managed to stand erect.

  “Let that remind you what failure can incur. And, Lisle, there is a rogue Varen from Castelus at large. We believe, despite your protestations of obedience and duty, some among you may be tempted to flagrantly sidestep your oaths, an unfortunate consequence brought about by his influence. You and your Varen will submit yourselves at dawn for the insertion of writhlings to reinforce your obedience. If you are as you say, why then, such insertion should cause you no concerns of any kind.”

  “Masters,” whispered Lisle, his heart heavy with dread.

  The spokesman was about to speak again but stopped at the knock on the door.

  “Answer it!” hissed the Red Council as one.

  Lisle stumbled to the door, then saw one of his Varen standing there, an odd expression on his face.

  “Lisle, the travellers have somehow escaped from their cell and from the palace and are now at the gates. One of them, the tall one with the unusually shaped and coloured eyes, demands to see the Red Council. He also demands we stand aside so they can leave.”

  Lisle swung round to the Red Council, but they simply brushed past him with whistling breaths of fury and indignation, their agitated robes swirling about them as they swept from the chamber. Lisle and his Varen followed, Lisle weak at the knees and feeling ill. His head pounded.

 

  At the gates, the guard Varen stood, nonplussed. The very tall, powerfully built young man with long curly hair and odd eyes towered over them, tall as Varen were, and there was something intensely menacing about the expression. The mouth was sternly set. Those with him appeared enfeebled old men who stooped and wouldn’t, considered the guards, pose a threat to anyone and they seemed to be the younger man’s only companions. They knew a group of travellers were made prisoners but thought it was a larger group. The guards shrugged, all of them reluctant to attempt to shackle this most forbidding young man who simply looked down at them with a faint air of hauteur and disdain. It was unnerving. They were immeasurably relieved when they saw Lisle and his Varen, but very nervous at their being accompanied by the Red Council. They had sent off the young man’s peremptory summons with trepidation because no one wanted Council unwelcome attention, especially if they were annoyed or thwarted in any way. Now they approached, the swirling robes indicative of outrage at the demand and anger.

  “Who sends for us in such a manner?” came the wheezy voices.

  Jepaul strode forward.

  “I do.”

  The deep voice was carrying. He stepped closer to the Red Council who fluttered a little uncertainly because the tone to the voice was uncompromising in an unfamiliar way. They sensed neither respect nor fear in this man.

  “What do you want? How dare you summon us?”

  “I dare. Lift your puny cowled heads and look at me. Do I remind you of anyone?” The hooded heads bobbed and swayed but didn’t lift. “Obey me!”

  The voice now was intimidating and it made the guard Varen stiffen with alarm. They watched in astonishment as the hooded heads reluctantly lifted and the robed figures swayed with increased agitation.

  “Who am I?’

  “Those of Castelus told us of yo
u.”

  “They obey me as you will and for the same reason.” There was a pause then Jepaul spoke again, his voice like ice. “Do not attempt to play those games with me. They merely make me very angry. How do you think one of his line would react when angry?”

  “We wouldn’t anger him,” came the placating wheeze from a spokesman.

  “No, nor one of his line. You are his servants, are you not?”

  “We are,” came the communal hiss. “He’s been long gone.”

  “Not so. He returns in me.”

  Jepaul, as he did among the Red Council in Castelus, deliberately moved among them. They had to falter back into a confined circle, because when they went to fall further from him they found they couldn’t. They were effectively held still.

  “Let us go!”

  “Not until my servants respond to me in the appropriate manner. Do you need to be reminded of my anger?”

  “No.”

  “So who is your master?”

  “The Progenitor and we answer to Sh’Bane as we always have.”

  “I command your obedience as of the Progenitor’s line. Do you give it?”

  There was a prolonged silence. Quon began to feel agitated.

  “We answer to you,” came the sibilant compromise.

  “Not enough!”

  Jepaul took a boney shoulder in a grip that had the spokesman give a reedy, gasping cry that died to a sigh. All the Red Council began to shake and cough.

  “Enough,” came a faint whisper.

  Jepaul removed his hand and wiped it distastefully on his breeches.

  “I await your answers.”

  “We obey the Progenitor’s line.”

  It was Quon’s turn to give vent to a decidedly relieved sigh.

  “The Varen are your servants?”

  “They are bred to be so.”

  “Then they too obey me. The Varen called Knellen from Castelus is bound to me. All other Varen with me are likewise. Do you challenge them or that what I say is so?”

  “No.”

  “Who am I?’

  “The Master.”

  “Then tell the city Varen to get our horses and open the gates. It will not be long before you see me again so do not do anything precipitate or foolish. I will know. Your time on Shalah is at my discretion and you will have to justify yourselves and your reaction to one of the line to me soon. Give the order.”

  The Red Council shuffled uncomfortably, their robes once more twitching as the bodies swayed and heads bobbed. In minutes the city Varen began to move and it wasn’t long before several arrived leading horses. The Red Council, able to move again, shifted back from Jepaul with relief. His presence troubled them. Jepaul glanced at the Varen with the horses.

  “There are other horses. We will take them as well.”

  Jepaul moved to where Lisle stood, apart from the Red Council, his city Varen clustered about him. Jepaul’s voice was now very quiet.

  “Knellen said he would ensure no writhlings would be inserted in you.”

  “He did, yes.”

  “Will they be?”

  “Yes, at dawn tomorrow.”

  “What do you wish to do? If you come after us, at your leisure, Knellen will insist on your taking another oath. You have the choice of that or the writhling. Knellen said to tell you that he keeps his word as one of you. He is, after all, bred a Varen.”

  Lisle looked long at Jepaul.

  “Tell him I honour his commitment to his promise.”

  Jepaul nodded, smiled and signalled to his companions to mount. The cloak about Knellen, Javen, Belika and Saracen just enabled them to mount in front of the others and the small group galloped out the now open gates. As they did, the cloak faded.