Time was slipping away for Conrad. Was it sixty days? One hundred? Two hundred? He had no idea. It was day or night, hot or cold, that was all. The snow had gone but the sun was still weak and offered frugal warmth. He had been sick again. His skin was pale, his body constantly ached. He slept longer at night. He tried to picture Nuria but his mind was too exhausted to do so. He wondered if he would die in this place. He hadn’t believed it. Not when he first arrived but now he could see no way out. Stone was a hollow shell. Whatever they had done to him had drained all resistance from the man and Conrad had no idea how to spark it back to life.
He took a second glance at the man and wanted to tell he how glad he was to see him and be able to share his monosyllabic company once more. He wanted to tell him how he had kissed Nuria outside the tavern that final night in Dessan. He wanted to tell him how much he missed his brother, Tristan, and even his father, Ilan. He wanted to share with him his desire to become a better man. Maybe he would at last follow in his uncle’s footsteps and learn the way of a village Saacion. He wanted to tell him so much but the words were lodged in his throat so instead he rested a hand on Stone’s shoulder and said nothing.
“I’m going to kill you,” said Stone.
Conrad lifted his hand.
“What?
“Is that okay with you?”
Niklas was unlocking the cell block gate when he heard the smacking of fists and shouting from the adjoining block. He hesitated at the gate, large key in the lock. He should investigate. The Warden had passed on the Thinker’s instruction that no further outbreaks of violence were to be tolerated. He had heard rumours that new deals had possibly been struck with tribes from the south and east and that nothing was to interfere with the production of black energy. Niklas cared little for the intricacies of Tamnica; he had his power, his women and his tablets. That was solely where his focus was.
“Fuck,” he cursed, about to shut the gate, when he saw two Cuvars running along the tunnel.
He nodded to them and continued about his business. He saw the new girl he wanted. She was young, with perfect white skin and wild strands of russet hair. Her timid eyes would not meet his and he saw her visibly shrink as he stepped into the cell block, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Then Cathy slunk before him. He flashed a look of annoyance.
“Out of my fucking way,” he said.
A few of the women looked up as he spoke. The russet-haired girl cowered into the shadows.
“Nuria, get over here. Now, you bitch.”
Niklas smirked as he saw what had been done to her. Cathy ran her hand over Nuria’s bumpy scalp.
“What do you think, Captain? Do you like her new look?”
His smirk broke into a grin. Cathy leaned toward him.
“Take her tonight, please?” Niklas shook his head, at once. “Please, not the new girl.”
“Why not?” he said, his eyes narrowing.
Cathy whispered into his ear. Nuria stood obediently at her side, glancing up as Cuvars escorted two prisoners carrying a body. Niklas looked over his shoulder as they went by. He saw the broken beast Stone and cell block king Julen carrying the limp body of Conrad, his face bloodied, long hair trailing on the floor.
“The Warden will throw you back in isolation,” said one of the Cuvars.
“He didn’t do anything,” said Julen.
“Shut up, you fuck, no one is talking to you.”
Niklas turned his attention back to Cathy.
“When will she be clean?”
“Tomorrow,” she said, curling an arm around Nuria’s waist. “How about both of us? I can hold her down for you. Over your desk?”
Nuria saw the glint in the man’s eyes. He could already picture her stripped and draped over his desk, Cathy holding her arms. He gestured for them to step into the tunnel. He slammed shut the gate, locked it. Torches burned, throwing shadows along the old walls. He walked behind them. A Cuvar went by, grinning. He pushed open his office door and he followed them inside.
“Undress,” he said, sliding across the bolt.
Stone and Julen trudged through the farm, the watchtowers silhouettes against the darkening sky.
The two Cuvars walked alongside them, one of them carrying a lamp, both armed with clubs.
Julen, tall with light brown skin and a narrow moustache, thought back to the moment Stone had pushed past his cronies and stepped into his cell, after a long spell in isolation, offering him a way out of the prison, redemption for killing the Bald One. He had listened to the carefully thought out plan. It was insane but others had fled this place so why not this stranger with his crazy plan? He once had a life beyond these walls; a home, a woman, a child, a sick brother, family he gave everything for. Captured, beaten, set to work, Julen had known from his first day in Tamnica that the only way to survive was to rule. He had killed the man running the cell block and surrounded himself with the vilest of animals, the lowest humans he had ever encountered. They would strike terror and he would pull the strings and survive. Now this man offered him something more than survival.
As they reached the barn, he began coughing and let go of Conrad’s ankles. Stone walked on for a moment, dragging the man’s trailing feet.
He stopped and lowered him to the ground. Julen was still doubled over, coughing.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” said one of the Cuvars, setting down the lamp and drawing his club. “Pick him up, or I’ll give you …”
The guard saw the flash of metal too late. Julen sunk the sharpened blade into his throat, stifling the Cuvar’s scream with his free hand. Conrad sprang from the ground as Stone grabbed the second Cuvar and effortlessly snapped his neck.
Quickly, the three men dragged the bodies into the barn and doused the lamp.
“How about something special first?” said Cathy.
She dropped to her knees, loosened the Captain’s trousers. Niklas unbuckled his sword belt and set the weapon down on the bed. Cathy’s lips engorged him. He gasped and as his eyes rolled Nuria moved, sudden and fast, a blur of limbs, reaching with her hand, snatching hold of the belt, drawing the sword. Cathy sprang to her feet, clamping her hands across his mouth as the iron blade split his stomach. Nuria drove it in deep, eyes filled with rage, twisting it. She stabbed again, half burying it in his chest. His legs collapsed. He crashed onto the bed. Cathy sat astride him, grinning into his shocked eyes. His trembling hands tried to wrench free her arms but he was weakening, his face ashen. He thrashed as Nuria pulled the sword from his body, showering her skin with blood. She raised it, took once final look at him and plunged the tip into his groin. His body convulsed. Cathy held onto him, drenched with his blood. One scream and they were dead. He jerked violently. The bed was soaked with blood. It pooled onto the floor.
Cathy saw the life drain from him. This was her chance out of Tamnica. After all these years.
“The fucker’s dead,” she whispered. “Didn’t think it would be you getting me out of here, blonde.”
Nuria swung the blood coated sword with both hands. Cathy opened her mouth but the blade tore into the side of her neck and severed her head.
Panting heavily, Nuria lowered the sword and picked up her clothes, pulling them over her bloodstained body.
Hastily, she rummaged through the Captain’s pockets and found the cell block keys. Sword in hand, she took a deep breath and slid back the bolt on the door. She opened it a fraction and peered into the torch lit tunnel. A Cuvar strolled past, without a glance. She froze, heart pounding. She waited, too terrified to move, listening as his footsteps gradually faded. She could hear a few men in conversation nearby but she couldn’t see them. She edged the door open. There was no one around. She could hear groaning from the cell blocks. She trotted forward, constantly looking behind her. Her sandaled feet padded against the dirty floor. There was a tunnel ahead, to her right, which led to the farm. She pressed herself against the wall, chest rising, and stuck her head around the corner. The tunnel was emp
ty. The gate at the end was closed. She could see the farm shrouded in blackness.
Suddenly, there were voices and footsteps. She crept into the right hand tunnel and stood in the shadows.
The voices grew louder. At least two men.
She was drenched in sweat. The outline of a man appeared at the closed gate. She realised it was Stone. There was no time to rejoice in seeing him. She held up her hand and he hesitated. The two men were nearly on top of her.
One look from them and the plan would be ended.
--- Eighteen ---
Stone waited at the gate.
“What’s going on?” whispered Julen.
He looked at Nuria, her hand raised in warning, as she stood away from the flickering wall torches. He froze as two Cuvars walked by, swinging clubs, swapping stories. He saw her visibly sag as they went by. He inched open the gate, wincing as it squeaked on rusty hinges. Julen and Conrad followed him along the tunnel. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed, saying nothing. She offered him a weak smile and handed him the bunch of keys. She peered along the tunnel at Conrad. He winked at her but her look back was one of concern.
“It’s not my blood,” he said, smearing it on his hand.
Stone ducked into the main tunnel, glancing left and right, seeing no one. He approached the female cell block and jammed the key into the lock, swinging open the gate. At first, his presence didn’t register. The women assumed Cathy and Nuria were being returned. Then came gasps of surprise as they realised the man stepping between them wore the same dull brown uniform they wore. Stone spotted Justine, curled against the wall, a blanket around her frail looking body, her face drawn, eyes haunted, cheeks hollow, bones jutting against pasty white skin. He knelt and scooped her from the floor. She weighed nothing. He glimpsed her branded arm. He carried her from the cell block, his strong arms around her trembling body.
“Justine?”
Vacant eyes swam, rolled.
“I’ll take her,” said Nuria, wrapping an arm around. “She’s really weak.” She handed the blood stained sword to Conrad.
He broke into a wide grin as he curled his fist around the hilt.
Stone led them further along the tunnel, past Captain Niklas’ office. Nuria didn’t even glance at it.
“Where am I?” muttered Justine.
“We’re taking you home to Dessan,” said Nuria. “Can you understand me, Justine? You’re going home.”
“We don’t have fucking time for this shit,” hissed Julen.
They reached the end of the tunnel, close to the room where they had all been branded.
Conrad peered around the corner. He held up two fingers. Stone gripped the club in his hand. He glimpsed movement behind him. Tentatively, the women had begun to emerge from the cell block, staring in disbelief, talking in whispers. A few of them stayed in the cells, huddled on the floor, too terrified to break the cycle of what they had known for so long. One of the women grabbed the keys from the gate and sprinted to the male cell block. The men had heard what was unfolding and lined the rusty bars, rattling them, calling out. She tried the first key but it didn’t fit the lock. A fist reached through the bars and snatched the bunch from her and she backed away as the men hastily tried each key. The lock clicked, the men roared and spilled from the block, rage unleashed.
A number of them rushed into the female cell block and sprang at the women who remained, forcing themselves on them.
There was screaming; handmade weapons flashed as prisoners fought prisoners. The tunnel began to echo with noise.
“Now,” said Stone.
Conrad moved swiftly into the next tunnel and swung his sword at the nearest Cuvar, slicing the blade down his face and chest. The man howled, dropping to his knees. Stone and Julen leapt on the second one, beating him to the ground, Julen lashing his club repeatedly, splitting flesh, cracking bone, smashing down until the floor pooled with blood and brain. Stone heard footsteps. A shocked Floran appeared in a doorway. Stone sprinted toward him, bundling the man into a large room where a fire blazed in a giant hearth. He dragged the Rat toward the fire.
“Where is the armoury?”
“Second corridor,” gasped Floran. “It’s the second …”
Stone jerked him into the flames. The shriek was gut-wrenching. His nostrils flared with the stench of burnt flesh.
“Stone,” shouted Conrad.
He tossed the flaming body onto the floor. Prisoners swarmed through the tunnel and a wave of Cuvars met them with a deadly clash of clubs, swords, makeshift blades and bare fists. Stone saw Julen rush into the fight, blood racing.
“That corridor,” said Stone, pointing.
He led the way to the armoury as the fight raged. Conrad spotted Eric lying with his skull cracked open. His roared with fury and lunged into the Cuvars, stabbing and hacking with the sword. A prisoner grabbed at Justine but Nuria wrestled him off her and drove a fist into his kidneys. As his grip loosened she lifted a club that had rolled from a Cuvar’s grip and cracked the prisoner across the back of the head. The air was thick with laboured grunting as the Cuvars were slowly overwhelmed and began to run, locking gates and doors behind them.
Stone found the second corridor empty. A knot of prisoners had followed them. The narrow armoury door was locked and he crashed his shoulder into it. Dust crumbled from above. He charged the door again and the wood splintered. He kicked the remaining pieces out of his way. The room beyond was square and gloomy, a single torch illuminating racks of crossbows, swords and clubs. There were whips, chains, lengths of rope and a wooden tray brimming with an assortment of knives, catapults, metal throwing stars and daggers. Stone saw no rifles or pistols. He belted a sword to his waist, grabbed a small hip quiver of bolts and lifted a crossbow.
“You’ll need this,” he said, handing Nuria a sword, as prisoners filled the room, hurriedly arming themselves.
Justine limped alongside her talking in tiny whispers. Nuria couldn’t understand a word the woman was saying. She did not have time to care for her or think or feel what they had both endured. The nightmares would come later. Now she needed to fight. Now she needed to drive the blade in her right fist and shed Tamnican blood. The pain of what she had suffered coursed through her veins. Killing would only be the beginning of exorcising it.
Stone led them back along the corridor. Bodies were slumped on the floor, prisoners and Cuvars. He spotted Conrad kneeling beside a man. One of the Cuvars had been left behind and was suffering a ruthless beating by a group of screaming prisoners. The fight had rolled into the tunnels and chambers. There was the clash of steel and angry war cries. With the layout of the fortress committed to memory, Stone led them toward the courtyard. A Cuvar hacked at him with two swords and he shot the man through the throat.
White lights blinked down on the stones as they emerged into the black night. The tower where Justine had been taken by Darrach loomed toward the clouds. The iron cage where they had humiliated her and sent her to die swung in the wind. He saw a number of Tamnicans running across the courtyard, armed with swords and crossbows.
He nudged the gate, aimed and fired. The bolt hissed through the air and hit a man in the chest, felling him. The Tamnicans dived for cover and a volley of bolts and arrows thudded against the gate. Sweat rolled into Nuria’s eyes. Justine was sobbing. Conrad gripped Stone’s shoulder and the two men saw the Warden emerge from the tower, his thick beard and flowing red hair. He uncoiled his whip and drew his long sword with a flourish. As he barked orders to his men there was a cry behind them and a rush of bodies poured through the gates. The Warden shouted and a hail of missiles cut them down. The prisoners scattered onto the stones, many of them yelling in agony. A second wave of arrows whistled through the air.
“Kill them,” the Warden roared, and surged into them, cracking his whip, swinging his giant sword. His men followed behind him.
“The truck,” said Stone, to Conrad, as the fight raged all around them.
Conrad skirted
the wall, keeping to the shadows, toward a large truck parked next to the handcarts and barrels, outside the isolation cell. Arrows flew from the tower, peppering a line of prisoners. Stone spotted a trio of bowmen, crouched in the open doorway, taking cover behind an upturned table. He fired his crossbow as he dodged across the courtyard, killing one of them. As he reached the watchtower beside the main gate a Tamnican rushed at him. He drew his sword and blades clashed.
The Tamnican hacked at him, both hands gripping his weapon, taking relentless and brutal strokes. Stone could do little more than block each deadly swipe. The battle raged through the courtyard as more prisoners fled from the cell blocks and tunnels, many of them unarmed. The sheer weight of hatred propelled them into the fight, ignoring wounds they would no doubt die from sometime later. The fervour of the men and women in brown hide began to slowly tell.
The sword clanged against the wall behind his head. Stone brought up his weapon and forced the Tamnican back. The young Tamnican lunged at him. Swords locked in an angry clash of steel. His young face was thick with sweat and he was grunting as he tried to overpower Stone. His eyes filled with rage and Stone could feel the man throwing every ounce of strength against him. The iron blades ground together. Stone felt his muscles tighten and his lungs burn. He eased a hand from the sword hilt and reached into the quiver worn on his hip. His fingers curled around a shaft. He whipped the bolt free and stabbed into the Tamnican’s face. The man screamed as the bolt pierced his cheekbone. The strength seeped from his body. His grip on the sword collapsed.
The Wasteland Soldier, Book 2, Escape From Tamnica (TWS) Page 22
