Scorpion

by Aleksandr Voinov

  Kendras would prefer to not turn his back on Widow, but knew he could trust him as long as it suited Widow that Kendras was alive. Kendras much preferred a cold-blooded, calculating killer to a high-and-mighty man with principles and honor that made no sense. Maybe, in the end, he shared a lot more with Widow than things that set them apart.

  Late the next day, they arrived at the farm and rode through the gate arch. Kendras felt the anticipation down in his balls, tightening them. “Any idea what he’ll do?”

  “No.” Widow shrugged. “He won’t kill you.”

  His tone said “I won’t let him” rather than “he wouldn’t do that”. Not a great thing to look forward to. Kendras glanced at Widow, wondering what it meant. “It’ll be easier to get the officer out if I’m alive.”

  “No doubt,” Widow said. “Besides, I have to trust you about meeting the lady.” He slid off the horse and handed the reins to a slave. He did nothing to help Kendras off his horse. At least to onlookers, it looked like nothing had changed between them.

  Steel didn’t take long to appear. The mercenary remained a little distance away, his arms crossed in front of his chest. His cold eyes gave nothing away. Kendras kept his jaw tight and got off the horse.

  “Brought him back,” said Widow.

  “Where did you find him?”

  “Just off Fetin. He was looking for the corpses of his ‘brothers’,” Widow sneered.

  “Find any?”

  “Yes.” Kendras turned toward Steel, adjusted the leg and limped toward him. The man’s reactions to him had changed completely. No touch, no smile, no warmth at all. Whatever Steel had thought they had, was gone. Might have been strangled in Steel’s anger. That was it. Steel was angry, but cold. A vengeful aloofness radiated off him in waves.

  “They are all dead. Even the slave.”

  “Really?” Steel didn’t even lift an eyebrow. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Widow brought me back. As ordered. As I promised.”

  Steel stepped closer. “And you think I’ll just take you back?”

  Whoa. He was hardly a runaway lover or wife. Kendras wasn’t sure how to play this, but he saw that Steel watched him sharply, maybe for a mistake or a weakness. Or a lie. Steel was even more dangerous than he’d assumed.

  His first gut instinct—that Steel was too clever—came back. He should have stayed the fuck away from this man, but here he was, deeper and faster entangled than he’d ever thought he could be.

  “What would you have me do, Steel? I can’t kneel.” Kendras held the cold gaze, saw it narrow with anger or speculation. It was hard to tell with Steel. “You wanted me. Here I am. Not too late to do your job, am I?”

  “No.” Steel moved close enough that their breaths mingled. Steel smelled of rich spiced wine and olives. “Take off the leathers. Bare your chest.”

  Ah. Seemed Steel had made up his mind. Kendras wondered if the man would come to him again in the night for a quick fuck.

  He lifted his hands and began to open his clothing, pulling the leather cords loose, then spreading the stiff leather flaps, baring his chest and most of his stomach.

  “Take them off,” Steel ordered, gaze fixed to Kendras’s pecs like he’d never seen muscle before.

  Kendras opened the cords at the wrists and upper arms, then pulled the middle ones as loose as they’d get and pulled the whole thing off. He held it in his hand, noticed Steel’s gaze riveted to the muscles of his arm, his shoulder. As long as Steel’s eyes held that hunger, he’d live. He didn’t think Steel was the type to fuck a corpse.

  “I’m dusty and sweaty from the road,” he said, hoping Steel read that as an invitation to join him in the bath. He could do that. He’d slept with men for worse reasons than survival.

  “You’ll be a lot sweatier after I’m done with you,” Steel said, voice grim. Clearly not about sex, then.

  Puppy and Stick appeared behind Steel. Widow stood to the side, expression mocking. He’d have to trust Widow. What a thought.

  “I invited you. I paid you. I offered you a place to heal in return for your services.” Steel stepped closer. Kendras felt him shudder when their chests touched. The man desired him still. That—alone —was his best ally now.

  “And I’m here now.”

  “How far are you willing to go to show me you won’t betray me again?” Steel asked in a harsh whisper.

  Kendras swallowed. Steel was his best bet to find the officer. How far would he go? “Whatever it takes.”

  “Then kneel down.” Steel’s gaze was unforgiving, cold, unreadable. “Submit.”

  Never stop fighting. Never stop.

  Kendras struggled. He didn’t laugh, because, clearly, Steel meant it. Last time, he’d left Kendras’s pride intact. All he had to do was allow himself to get fucked. That alone was pretty harmless. Kneeling, though, or worse, being taken as a slave… was different. Was it just a dare or what were Steel’s intentions? He breathed deeply, winning time, clearing his mind.

  Steel just watched him, the demand unyielding.

  “What do you want, Steel? A comrade or a slave?”

  “That’s my decision, not yours.”

  Kendras never broke eye contact. “I can’t. I swore never to kneel to another man.”

  “Then I’ll help you to do it.” Steel nodded to the guardsmen. “Bind him. If he fights, kill him.” He drew his sword. Puppy and Stick pulled their swords too.

  Kendras cast a quick glance around. Widow did nothing. Nice ally.

  One guard moved closer, holding rope. Kendras saw him sweat—of course, he was the man who’d die first if Kendras fought.

  Slave. Animal. If he allowed himself to be bound, he couldn’t defend himself. No choices, no strength. He’d just about accept slavery.

  Never stop fighting.

  “What will it be, Scorpion?” Steel asked.

  Kendras balled his fists. Eight against one. He was surrounded, and he was unable to run away. He might fight, might go down fighting, but if he did, he’d never free the officer. And he didn’t trust Widow to accomplish that alone.

  He looked at Widow, and saw his fingers briefly touch the dagger at his side. Blade cuts rope. He didn’t want to trust Widow that far.

  Gods below, but what else?

  He stared at the guardsman. “Scared?” He offered his wrists with a courage he didn’t feel, and had them tied. Roughly. Fast. The guardsman checked the knots like he’d check the restraints of a dangerous animal that could tear his throat out if he lingered too long or the knots came loose.

  At least, he could feel everybody relax a little. They were still afraid of him. Good.

  Steel pushed his sword back in, leaving some of the blade naked as if to signal he didn’t quite trust the peace.

  “Now tie him to the post.”

  Kendras felt the guard’s hand between his shoulder blades, pushing him toward the whipping post near the house. Unruly slaves were whipped there, he assumed. He hadn’t watched any whippings, wasn’t sure how harsh discipline was here.

  The guardsman pushed him into position, then pulled his hands up and tied them to an iron ring above his head. Kendras’s hands were fists—in part because that was the only thing that kept him from fighting to the death, and in part because that tightened the tendons and muscles of his wrists so that the rope didn’t cut too deeply.

  Would Steel actually go through with this? Possible, but he couldn’t quite believe it.

  The guardsman stepped back. Kendras twisted his neck to look at Steel.

  The mercenary came closer, running his fingernails down Kendras’s exposed back. Kendras wasn’t sure if he’d prefer getting fucked or whipped now. And from Steel’s pensive expression, he doubted the man had made up his mind which he preferred. Steel reached his hand out, and a different guardsman gave him a long coiled whip.

  “You don’t have to do this, Steel,” Kendras said, realizing that he was scared.

  “Maybe not. But I think I do
.” Steel traced a line diagonally across Kendras’s back, from the top of his shoulder to the hip bone. “You will submit to me. Because, Kendras, I’m not ‘nothing’. If I can’t be anything else, I’ll at least be your master.”

  Kendras shuddered. He shouldn’t have told Steel the truth. Should have been craftier, cleverer, misled him better. He’d been weak to admit any of his thoughts or goals. This would not happen again. He knew Steel would make sure he’d remember this lesson. He inhaled, held the breath, then gave a small nod, accepting that he’d be punished now.

  You learn the wisest lessons from your enemy. If you live.

  When the whip traced exactly the line that Steel’s finger had drawn, it felt like fire, a shock of impact, rocking Kendras forward with the force.

  The pain felt like an opening wound, and Kendras half-expected the flesh on his back to part. Hot, cold, pain, burn. He realized he’d caught his breath and struggled to continue breathing. Gods below, this hurt.

  He expected the next blow to fall, and had no idea how to take that pain. How on earth did anybody withstand a whipping? But there was no second blow, and he just struggled on to breathe again, while his back burned with slowly spreading pain.

  “One,” Steel said, out loud. “I should make you count, Kendras. But I don’t think you could do it.”

  Too true. Kendras suddenly remembered something he’d learned when a blow to the sternum had killed his breathing reflex.

  If you can’t breathe in, breathe out.

  He pushed what little air he still had in his lungs out in a hiss, and once his lungs were empty, they filled of their own volition.

  The second blow made him cry out. It seemed impossible to resist the pain once it bit, and the sensation was as overwhelming as it was terrifying. He felt the heat explode across his back, completing an X of pain.

  “Two,” Steel said. When Kendras turned his head, he saw the whip dangle into the dust. He couldn’t read anything but grim determination in Steel’s face. Yes, this wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

  Blows three, four, and five zigzagged over his back, drawing lines in fire. Kendras arched, suddenly glad for the support of the restraints. His sweaty chest pressed against the wooden pillar, which must have witnessed things like this a hundred times. Kendras closed his fingers around the rope holding him. He didn’t trust his legs to support him for much longer, so his arms would have to keep him upright. He’d seen whippings, had seen flesh explode open under blows from a bullwhip like this.

  And when the next blows came, he wasn’t sure if it was blood or sweat running down his back and between his cheeks under the leather trousers. Every blow seemed to sap his strength more. He was bleeding—if not blood, then willpower.

  The next blows almost knocked his legs out from under him. He didn’t have the strength to stand, didn’t trust his shaking legs, the knees that seemed suddenly boneless. The pure terror of being unable to escape the next blows clawed at his mind like a rat trapped in a burning cage.

  “Fifteen.” Steel paused. Kendras saw he was changing hands, maybe getting tired. He just wanted this to stop, his whole back one raw sore wound, or that was what it felt like. The wounds already crossed in several places, and that felt like fire and burning grit burrowed inside him.

  His guts had all turned liquid; he fought to breathe, but breathing out saved him from simply collapsing. He remembered to hiss when he was hit, just like in training, just like in combat. Breathing out tightened his muscles, gave additional momentum, channeled strength from the core of his body.

  He was swaying on his feet after twenty blows, exhausted, and ready to do whatever it took for the pain to stop. But he still couldn’t admit it. Couldn’t beg for mercy. He had become a spark of consciousness in a body that only consisted of pain and terror. He’d rather have faced the Flames again, or buried his dead comrades. No. Not that. Never his comrades.

  “I think he’s had enough,” Widow said. “Give him more, and he’s going to piss himself.”

  “What? You suddenly his friend?”

  “I didn’t bring him back so you could kill him under the whip,” Widow scoffed. “When we all know you’d rather fuck him than kill him. Well, if you ever want to fuck him again, then think about how much more he can take.”

  Steel paused. Kendras didn’t manage to turn his head, could only imagine the scene. Riling Steel wasn’t helpful. Gods damn Widow.

  “He’s fucked you, right?”

  “I’d have torn his guts out if he’d tried.” Widow laughed. “Whatever, Steel. Kill him. But then don’t come crying about how much you want that bastard. Or how useful he’d have been if you’d been able to keep him alive. I’m bored. I’ll go fuck some slave bitch. That’s exactly what you should be doing too.”

  Kendras tensed. Widow gone meant he had no protection whatsoever. Even if Widow hadn’t raised a hand to help him.

  The next two blows were the worst of the lot, the most forceful and close together. So bad that Kendras felt his legs give out. Widow had known exactly where his breaking point was. He was approaching it right now, could taste defeat.

  It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did. Just the pain. The weight pulled on his arms, and he fought to support himself with his wrists and hands, struggling to get back on his feet, scrabbling against the pole like a mouse trying to climb the steep incline of a milk bowl. Ultimately pointless, helpless, and still struggling.

  “Now… will you submit?” Steel asked.

  No. Kendras just mutely nodded, knew he couldn’t take even a single blow more. He shouldn’t. He knew that. It was against everything the Scorpions had taught him. Never stop fighting. But he, too, had always been damaged. He’d given up before. He wasn’t as strong as the others. Pity, then, that it was him who was still alive.

  “Tell me.”

  “I sub… mit.”

  A harsh blow against the pole freed him. A blade or axe had severed the rope between ring and wrists. Kendras’s knees didn’t hold him. He fell. The protesting pain in his foot was sharper, piercing, but somehow smaller than that of any of the blows from the whip. He pushed himself up with his hands, half-sitting, half-kneeling on the ground. Even his arms shook from the exertion of not simply collapsing in a heap.

  His back was agony. Even a breeze hurt now.

  “Say that again.” Steel moved into his view, standing there waiting, cold and detached. Kendras just looked at his legs, the strong thighs, then lowered his gaze, because he didn’t want to see if this had turned the mercenary on.

  “I submit.” It got easier now. Not a lie. He did. Whatever Steel wanted to do with him, or to him, he could do it.

  Steel moved closer, and Kendras bowed down, cowering like a beaten dog.

  “You should never forget that I gave you your life. If you cross me again, you’ll die under the whip. You had a taste of that. I’ll whip the flesh from your bones and then leave you to the dogs if you ever so much as think about crossing me again. Do you understand?”

  No, I don’t. Why me? Kendras nodded. “I do.”

  “And never forget it.” Steel dropped the whip. It was wet and glistening with blood. Kendras felt his stomach rise at the sight.

  At some invisible signal, two guardsmen grabbed him by the arms, and half-dragged, half-carried him off. He was brought back into the room where he’d slept before. Somebody gave him something milky to drink, which made him dizzy. Hands removed the rest of his clothes, and stretched him out on the bed on his belly. Alive. Barely.

  But for the moment, he’d have to accept defeat.

  Chapter 10

  “HE STILL craves you,” Widow said and sat down near Kendras’s bed. Kendras wasn’t sure he wanted Widow anywhere near him. It was strange to have a visitor. He’d been looked after by slaves who’d tended his wounds, bandaged him, fed, and cleaned him. He’d spent the first two weeks of that time flat on his belly on the bed, and the days afterward doing some light exercise to keep flexible and strong. He’d never
wanted to leave the room, not once. All he’d done was wait to heal and then just wait until he was needed.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Telling you to get going again.” Widow grinned widely and slapped something dark on Kendras’s bed. It was a pair of gloves. “These are for you. Wear them. You can walk now, can’t you?”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve seen you practice. You still limp like a whore after a double shift, but you’re walking.”

  Kendras glared, but Widow remained unimpressed. “Steel still not over himself?”

  “Well, if you wonder if he’s ridden with guilt over whipping you to the blood, I guess he figures he’d rather have fucked you in revenge, but no, he’s doing fine. It’s just that he still wants you bad.” Widow crossed his legs and grinned.

  “So?”

  “Figured you might be interested.” Widow uncrossed his legs. “He shouldn’t know he’s not the man you want. Now that you’ve submitted to him, and he thinks you’re his slave. As my uncle used to say, a smile doesn’t cost you anything.”

  “Steel’s not after a smile.”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Widow grinned. “We have a guest. When you see a pretty little thing run around the courtyard, do yourself a favor and don’t fuck him.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Not an ocean priest novice. This one’s a noble.” Widow stood and seemed to consider how much to tell him. “Good to know you’ll soon be able to fight. You’ll need to heal as fast as you can. Keep limping around the room, soldier. You’ll need all the practice you can get.”

  “Why?”

  “The thing Steel wants you for is about to happen.” Widow stretched his neck. “I guess the priests will want to see us soon. That’s when you’ll be able to have a look around the temple city.” Widow grinned. “So, keep practicing.”

  “Understood.” Kendras waited for the tanesh to leave, then sat up. His shoulders and back were still tender, but no longer a mass of raw meat. He kept his foot tightly bandaged to support the bones that still felt brittle, but yes, he could walk. He preferred not to, because it was painful, but after weeks and weeks of making do, his body finally mostly obeyed him again.