The Promise of Pain

by David Penny

  “There will be no fighting,” Thomas said. “Even with three of us we are still a little outnumbered.” Even as he spoke, he knew there had been times in the past when such thoughts would never have occurred to him. That was something else Lubna’s death had stripped from him, the certainty he could not be killed.

  “So what were you going to do alone that the three of us cannot do just as well?” asked Jorge.

  “Track them. Find their hideout.”

  “And then?”

  “I haven’t thought that far ahead, but something will occur to me.”

  “I’ve already told you, you need Olaf’s army.”

  “Not yet. Not until I’m sure.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jamila refused to allow Aban to go with them. The boy pleaded, argued, lost his temper, but in the end he couldn’t go against his mother’s wishes. So it was only Jorge who accompanied Thomas from Pampaneira a little before noon. They left on foot, because horses would make them too conspicuous, and in this land of precipice and gorge two feet were as good as four. They had been walking an hour when a dark shape came bounding down the hillside toward them. Kin fell into step at Thomas’s side, face turned up, tongue lolling.

  “I’d forgotten you had acquired a dog,” said Jorge.

  “I didn’t think I had. Where has he been all this time?” In truth, in the melee of leaving Jamila’s village, the laying of black powder and the death of Ibrahim, Thomas had forgotten all about the dog. “Besides, he’s not mine. If I’d thought on it, I would have assumed he had gone off with someone else. Someone he already knew.”

  “He must like you. God knows why. Perhaps he’ll save your life and someone can write a tale of your brave, dead dog.”

  “I’d rather he didn’t make the effort and lived.”

  “That too, then.”

  Kin grew tired of waiting for either of them to feed him a scrap and bounded ahead.

  “He’s going to be a problem when we want to pass without being seen,” Thomas said.

  “Nobody notices a dog,” said Jorge. “Besides, we’re probably going in the wrong direction anyway.”

  “If we see no sign by the end of the day I’ll think on where else they might be. But you said this is the direction Mandana left in, and I see no reason for him to try to hide where he was going.”

  “Other than being Mandana.”

  “Yes, other than that. He had no idea anyone was watching him, and he probably believes me dead, like everyone else seems to.”

  Jorge made a show of looking around at the desolate landscape. They had climbed slowly, following narrow trails created by animals. “I’m glad you’re so sure we’re going the right way.”

  “Not me, Kin. Look.” Thomas pointed to where the dog was snapping at the remains of a fire. Thomas started to run, almost immediately breathless. “Kin, no!”

  But his cry was ignored as the dog retrieved what it was trying to pull from the still warm embers—a good-sized cut of meat, burned almost to a crisp. Kin tore at it with sharp teeth, swallowed the charred meat in two sharp gulps before looking up and wagging his tail. Thomas knelt and felt the embers. Still warm. He looked around as Jorge made his way more slowly toward them. The ground was disturbed, but he could make out where men had slept. He rose and walked the ground, studying it. Four men, but when he went further out he found where five horses had been tied to a wizened almond bush.

  “Do you plan to live off the land again?” asked Jorge as he joined him.

  “Mandana was here, together with four of his men. The fire is still warm, so they can’t be far ahead.” Thomas looked to where Kin was crisscrossing the ground, nose to the dry earth. “He’s got their scent.” He glanced at Jorge. “Are you ready to run?”

  Jorge opened his mouth to object just as Kin began a steady lope to the north. Thomas started after the disappearing dog, knowing Jorge would follow. Where else would he go?

  Kin was waiting for them beyond a low ridge when Thomas crossed it, the air burning his lungs with each breath. Jorge had caught up with him but stayed at his side, moving the more easier of them, and Thomas knew he had to take more care of himself. He was no use to anyone in the condition he was.

  “Has he lost the scent?” asked Jorge.

  “No, just lazy.” Thomas almost smiled before he caught himself. “He’s waiting for us.”

  “Are dogs clever?”

  “Some appear to be so, others are as dumb as rocks.”

  “Which kind is Kin?”

  “One of the clever kind, I think. Did you ever have a dog as a boy?”

  Jorge laughed. “If I had my father would have cooked it. No, I never had a dog, nor since. I never felt I was missing out by not having one.”

  “We always had dogs,” Thomas said.

  “In England?”

  “Yes, and since. I had a dog in France, and for a time I looked after another in a range of high hills, but none since. I had my own dog from the age of four when my father considered me old enough to care for and train one. An untrained dog is dangerous and no good to any man, so I know this one has been trained both to hunt and track.” A thought occurred to Thomas. “If Kin was raised by Luis, he might be able to track him. I’ve seen it before. Their senses are far more acutely attuned than ours, particularly to the scent of their master.”

  “And that helps us how?”

  Thomas turned to Jorge. “Pretend for a moment you have a brain inside that handsome skull.”

  “Do you really think I am handsome?”

  “Of course you are, but you know I admire knowledge more than beauty.”

  “It is your loss. But yes, I see what you mean. If the dog smells Luis he might lead us to their camp.” Jorge shook his head. “Though I don’t see it. If Mandana has a thousand men, how can a dog smell a single man among them?”

  “Likely not, but I think he’s going to track Mandana and his men, and that will lead us to where we want to go.”

  Kin set off again, going more slowly now so Thomas had no need to run, for which he was grateful.

  “And when we get there,” said Jorge, “we do nothing but watch, agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  “Good. I am too pretty to die a horrible death. Or any kind of death. What if the dog tries to go to Luis? They’ll kill it, won’t they?”

  Thomas slowed. The thought hadn’t occurred to him, and he knew it should have. It made sense. Kin wasn’t his dog. According to Aban he belonged to Luis, the son of the dead farmer and his wife. The possible father of the child Dana carried inside her. Family, relationships, love and loyalty. Thomas thought he had left such things behind on the hilltop when they raised Lubna’s ashes to the sky, but perhaps such things could never be escaped. He thought of all the people he had loved over the years, all those he had hated, those who had loved him, and those who had hated him. Many, many people, and he felt a stirring at the memories coiling through him. There had been a girl in Lemster, two years older than he was, who had set her sights on Thomas because he was the son of an important man. And Eleanor, a girl the same age as him, in the south of France. Many women between and since, and he wondered when he had lost the need to only bed them and found a need for love. Except love had betrayed his trust. Both Eleanor and Lubna had been torn from him, and he vowed not to let love seduce him a third time. It seemed great joy and great pain were the bookends of love.

  “Kin isn’t my dog,” Thomas said. “I have no hold over him.”

  “And if his master is dead? You know it more likely than not, don’t you?”

  “I’ll worry about that if it happens.” He looked to where the dog was two hundred paces ahead, skipping its way up a long hillside, front and back legs sometimes working together, other times almost completely unconnected. Now and then Kin would dip his nose to the ground, but the scent of what he followed was strong in the air and he tracked it without effort. This is what he had been born for, this was the dog’s world of scent and sound and i
nstinct, and Thomas knew they would have wandered aimlessly had Kin not been with them. Inside he felt a spark of something that seemed suspiciously like hope, but so unfamiliar was the sensation he chose to ignore it as a false promise.

  They followed Kin over scarred and shattered hillsides until gradually the land began to fall away ahead. A deep valley lay below, while beyond it the snow-capped peaks of the Sholayr loomed, majestic in their cold isolation. The day was slowly leaking away, light gathering in pools between the peaks.

  “What do we do tonight?” asked Jorge.

  “Sleep on the ground, unless we happen on a ruin or another village. We have passed no habitation since we set out.”

  “Is that significant, or just an observation?”

  “It tells me two things,” Thomas said. He waited for Jorge to show impatience before telling him what he thought, half ashamed at the spark of pleasure it raised. “Mandana and Guerrero don’t want to be observed, and this country isn’t one their men raid.”

  “Are those the two things?” Jorge seemed unimpressed.

  “No, just one. The other is that he is heading back to his lair.”

  Jorge stopped walking, and it took Thomas a moment to realise. When he did, he turned.

  “I’m not sure I want to get close to his lair,” said Jorge. “I didn’t like the way you said it.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll keep well back and stay hidden. We do nothing other than watch and plan.”

  “We have a plan now?”

  “Not yet, but we will do.”

  Thomas started off again, knowing Jorge would follow.

  They passed no ruined houses, not even a tumble-down hut like the one Thomas had made his home in for a month, his only companion a rope that swung in the almost constant wind. But he did find a sheltered hollow that offered some scant refuge. Kin disappeared, gone so long Thomas feared he had continued on ahead, the scent of his master too strong to ignore. Instead he returned an hour later with a plump hare in his mouth, by which time Thomas and Jorge had gathered what little wood there was and made a small fire. Thomas climbed from the bowl of their shelter and walked a little way down the slope until he was satisfied no light showed. Daylight had faded around them so the smoke was invisible. He skinned the hare, tossing the offal to Kin, who made short work of it, then skewered the hare over the fire and let what little fat it contained drip and sizzle. After a while he cut the carcass into four, passed the largest piece to Jorge, the smallest to Kin, then bit into his own portion, saving the remainder to break their fast in the morning. His stomach cramped with need, and he had to force himself to swallow past the spasm. Later, when his belly was at least partially full, he and Jorge lay together, their robes wrapping them close as their bodies warmed each other. Kin lay on Thomas’s other side, his long head resting across his lap. Thomas laid his hand on the dog’s deep chest and stared at the array of stars that cut through the deep black of the sky, counting them, making patterns until sleep found him.

  Thomas woke to the sound of Kin growling, a deep sound, and when he reached out he felt a vibration in the dog’s chest. He stroked him until he stilled, then lay listening for what had disturbed him. At first he thought there had been nothing but the dreams dogs have that seem to always involve running, but then he heard what had disturbed Kin. A man’s voice, a response, and the soft rattle of harnesses and horses’ hoofs on hard rock. Whoever was passing would not see them, for the fire had died completely and their shelter was well hidden. Thomas listened as the men passed, waited until there was no trace of them. Kin had fallen asleep again, comforted by Thomas’s touch, and soon Thomas followed him, a small hope flaring into dreams of retribution. More men making their way back to camp, which meant they were close to finding out where Mandana and Guerrero had their headquarters. What happened when they did was less clear, but Thomas knew there was only one end point for the knowledge he would gain in the morning. Either he would die, or they would. He also knew that Jorge was right and he couldn’t do it alone, and a seed of an idea traced its way through his dreams.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Thomas woke alone on cold, hard ground. He couldn’t recall the last time he and Jorge had slept side by side and it was he who had risen first. Kin was also missing, and for a brief moment Thomas feared they had been stolen away in the night, until he realised such a thing was impossible, for why not him as well? He rose and walked up the small rise, washing his hands across his face to dispel the last traces of sleep.

  He saw Jorge and the dog sitting side by side on a ridge a quarter mile away. When he reached them he discovered they were watching Mandana’s camp spread across the valley below as it came alive. Thomas settled beside them, took a sliver of last night’s meat from Jorge when he passed it across, tore a little off and fed it to Kin, then took in what lay below.

  “That dog has had more meat than you or I.”

  Thomas smiled. “Well, he did do most of the work yesterday, and it was him caught the hare. What’s been going on so far?”

  “I don’t like it,” said Jorge. “And watch, you’ll see why.”

  Thomas rested his hand on Kin’s flank, taking comfort from the touch without even being aware of it. Below, smoke from fires rose to be trapped in the windless valley. A large tent stood at the upper end of the slope, a few others scattered about it, but most men appeared to have spent the night like Thomas and Jorge, sleeping on hard ground huddled around makeshift fires.

  “Any sign of Mandana or Guerrero?”

  “Wait,” said Jorge.

  Thomas narrowed his eyes as something caught his attention. Close to the base of a low cliff rough wooden crosses had been erected—four of them. Men hung from two, arms tied to the cross pieces, legs hanging free. One had been dead some time—birds had taken his eyes and pecked openings in his ribcage to get at the delicacies within. The other had died more recently, in the last day or two.

  “He’s teaching them a lesson,” Thomas said, his voice so soft he wasn’t sure whether Jorge heard him or not, but he had.

  “And about to teach someone else another.” Jorge inclined his head toward the large tent. Men had gathered around it, a lot of men, perhaps a quarter of the camp. The crowd appeared well attired, standing tall, joking amongst themselves as they waited for what they clearly knew was about to happen.

  Five men emerged from one of the smaller tents, but none were who Thomas sought. Four of them dragged the fifth between them through the gathered soldiers, who parted to allow them passage. The prisoner’s wrists and ankles were tied, and whenever he hesitated the rope was tugged hard, almost causing him to fall. The small group reached the largest tent and stopped. The prisoner stood with head bowed, no doubt aware of his fate but unable to do anything about it.

  A flap was drawn aside and Abbot Mandana stepped out. His pale robes, his height and bearing, made him unmistakable. He moved slowly, using his remaining hand to lean on a staff. A second figure, dressed in the same way, emerged, equally as tall but far younger. Pedro Guerrero, Mandana’s son. Thomas had seen him only twice before, but there was no mistaking the man who had killed Lubna. Beside Thomas Kin whined, perhaps sensing his anger, or grief.

  Thomas watched a pair of men approach the prisoner, who began to struggle. Gripped between them was a woman. Thomas scanned the crowd until he found what he was looking for. Set to one side stood a group of children, none over the age of fourteen or so. A man stood behind each, holding their heads so they were unable to look away from what was about to happen.

  Guerrero stepped forward and began to speak. His words were lost in the distance, but it was clear what his instructions were.

  The woman was to die first, her husband forced to watch. It was a lesson to every other man who had been captured and brought here. This is the punishment for rebellion or escape.

  Guerrero went to the woman and gripped her around the waist, her body tight against his own. He turned so she faced her husband before unsheathing a knife an
d drawing it across her throat. This time the man’s screams reached as far as Thomas and Jorge.

  Guerrero held the woman until her body was still, then let it drop. He walked to the man, still held between two others, and Thomas expected him to use the knife a second time, but he did not. Instead he spoke again, almost certainly promising what would happen to anyone else who tried to flee.

  “I wonder what he did to deserve this?” said Jorge.

  “It could be nothing at all. He’s being punished to dissuade others. You’ve seen the children?”

  Jorge nodded.

  “They are here to witness what happens here for when they return to Pampaneira.”

  Far below Guerrero loomed over the man, who had been pushed to his knees, his captors trying ropes tight so his arms were pulled out to either side.

  “A whipping, or something worse?” said Jorge.

  Below, a conclusion was approaching. The two hundred or so men watching began to disperse, but instead of returning to wherever their places were they began to move among the captured men, cajoling them to their feet. After a quarter of an hour the majority of men were lined up in two ranks facing each other, a wide space between. They were here to witness the event. The volunteer soldiers stood behind the ranks, no weapons in their hands but their threat obvious.

  “No, not a whipping,” Thomas said.

  He didn’t want to watch but made himself, knowing what he was about to see would harden his resolve. He had allowed himself to be drawn in by Mandana. That had ended with the death of Lubna.

  The punishment was worse than he had feared. The man was dragged shouting to stand behind a tall stallion. The ropes holding wrists and ankles were tied to the pommel of its saddle, and then the horse was whipped hard. This time the sound of yelling men reached up to them, a dissonant roar of hatred, but whether toward the man or those punishing him Thomas couldn’t tell, and doubted it mattered. The man’s body was dragged flailing along the ground, bouncing from rock to rock, falling limp mercifully quickly.