At their quick nods, Lucien braced himself when the four slavers came into view. Instead of entering the cell, they lined up against the corridor wall. Lucien frowned. He had expected an immediate breach and his muscles tingled in anticipation of a vicious fight. Several long moments passed without any aggression from the four, and the warriors became restless. Lucien mind-called to them.
Hold steady. Take a glance at the fallen and that should keep you primed for battle.
He watched their eyes shift to the row of bodies lined neatly against one wall of the windowless cell. Lethal gazes returned to the guards and their muscles shivered in anticipation. Sounds of several booted feet drifted down the long corridor. Lucien looked up, snorted, and glanced back to Ulixes.
“You were right. The clips denote authority.”
Lucien could tell as soon as the leader approached with his two sidekicks that he wasn’t there to check on their meager accommodations. He barked a few guttural commands to the four against the wall, and one immediately stepped forward and gestured wildly for the group of warriors to step away from the bars. When they stubbornly held their positions, the underling’s brow furrowed and he looked back to his leader. Growling, Nine-Clip shoved the hapless male aside and slipped something from his waistband.
The last thing Lucien expected was the sharp pull to his arms and his wrists slamming together at both cuffs. Whatever the leader held in his palm had effectively annihilated their ability to fight. There had been no preplanned scenario for this situation. Sotarios backed away from the bars and everyone followed.
“Well, shit! That just totally ruined my day. I was hoping to kick some blue ass.”
Haemon grunted and twisted his arms until his wrists were several inches apart. He grimaced when the cuffs easily clicked back into place.
“These are strong. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
Disappointment covered his group like a black stain. Shoulder to shoulder, they moved their backs against the wall and waited. When the minion slid the door open and gestured for them to come forward, Lucien opened his thoughts.
We don’t have a choice but to go with them. We either leave upright or they’ll zap us again and drag us out. I doubt they’ll just kill us outright. They could have done that back at the ship when we blacked out. We’ll find another opportunity. He prayed that he’d spoken the truth.
One by one, they filed out of the holding cell and allowed themselves to be herded down the corridor. How different this scenario would be if their misting capability was still intact. After they had all calmed from the initial shock of the events, repeated attempts to reform had failed. Lucien detested the idea of bending to the rule of this barbaric race. With every step, his anger grew until it pounded within his blood. His hatred for this wretched species amplified as he watched his loyal guards—no, his friends—being led to an unknown fate. They trusted him and expected sound leadership. He looked down to his shackled wrists and knew that he mustn’t fail them. His mind had to be clear and prepared to guide them in the right direction.
Willing his anger to transform into fortitude, Lucien took steady breaths and reminded himself that opportunities could always be found, even in the most unexpected places. He would get them out of this. There was no other option, no other way to think.
Lucien straightened his spine and began analyzing everything around him for any hint of weakness. The building structure was made from some type of stucco material and only the cages were metal. He glanced inside each large cell they passed. There were a total of six and all were empty. He’d seen five grounded ships upon their arrival. There must be others that survived. Or was this really their last walk before they were put to death? If he saw any evidence of that, he’d urge the warriors to one last battle together and die proudly next to them.
The slavers stopped their forward progress at the end of the corridor which opened into a spacious room. It was as large as the banquet hall in the palace. Rows upon rows of wooden tables and chairs revealed its use. One by one, they were directed to exit and line up against the wall. All heads swiveled to the right as a thick double door squealed on its hinges and swung wide. Cool air filtered through the room and he caught a glimpse of a darkened sky.
Lucien was happy to see a head count of twelve Nawiens being led through the doorway. Despite their sheer size, the Nawiens were a peaceful lot. He’d met their leader the last time he’d visited Messor and was relieved to see he wasn’t part of the group. These were his allies, now more than ever.
Lucien still found himself intrigued by their physical characteristics. They could have passed for Insedi in size and muscle development, except for the black-as-night skin and short hair completely free of color. It was their eyes that had always fascinated him. The pupils were the same bright white as their hair, and the iris was a small pinprick of black. Upon his first meeting, he’d thought they were blind, yet they showed no signs of vision problems. They were quiet and hard working. He’d seen their abundant strength as they worked diligently at the ports of Messor. He could utilize this gift to his advantage.
The third Nawien flicked a quick glance to the warriors and a slight chin dip as they approached. Eryx reciprocated the subtle acknowledgment. At undetermined intervals, a warrior was moved into the line in an obvious attempt to separate their groups. It was Ulixes’s slight gasp that brought his attention to the five smaller prisoners flanking the last Nawien.
Lucien stared into the narrowed gray eyes of his most hated enemy and fought the howl of rage building deep within his chest. A sudden rush of adrenaline dumped into his muscles and urged him to act upon the additional strength. It took every ounce of it to hold himself back as Basilius shuffled closer. Now was not the time for dramatics. The four Protonecians in front of him glanced briefly at their prior war commander standing to Lucien’s left then wisely turned their frightened eyes away.
Basilius’s lips moved into a smirk then opened as if to speak. Immediately, they snapped back together when his eyes darted to Ulixes’s face.
The newest Insedi citizen’s nostrils flared while he shook his head in silent admonishment of what he perceived the fallen king was about to say. Lucien had never seen such hostility ignite within the male’s eyes. Obviously, Basilius had seen this side of Ulixes on their last encounter and it effectively shut him down.
As the pompous bastard passed, the slavers motioned for the remaining Insedi to follow. Sotarios filed in behind Basilius and promptly clipped the back of his foot, which caused him to grasp the body in front of him to keep from falling. An unrepentant Sotarios took the slap of a small rod across his back without flinching. Lucien could just imagine the demonic look of glee on his face at having gotten a seemingly insignificant, yet powerful, message to the asshole in front of him. Ulixes fell in line behind Sotarios. He could hear Ulixes’s grunt of approval followed by Sotarios’s soft chuckle. Geleon stepped forward and Lucien followed. Two slavers brought up the rear. Despite the circumstances, Lucien was relieved to know that Basilius’s mission to kill his cousin had been thwarted.
The great hall echoed the uneven tread of boots and intermittent grumbling of the slavers trying to keep the line of bodies under control. The corridor they entered was larger than the one they’d left and branched off into other smaller intersecting passageways. The tantalizing aroma of cooking food drifted to his nose and his stomach immediately rumbled along with the others. Lucien caught sight of several females scurrying around a corner before stopping in their tracks.
Bright yellow eyes peeled wide and the blue of their faces paled. They resembled the slavers, yet on a smaller scale. Their dark brown shifts failed to hide their thin frames. The leader barked out harsh words in their direction and the three quickly turned and fled. Their long black hair sported the topknot clasp, but the tail was braided. Either there was no class assignment for the females, or they hadn’t earned them yet.
A jarring trip down a flight of wide steps and two
dark passageways later, Lucien finally discovered the purpose of the move. Individual cells lined each side of the long room and the slavers wasted no time in shoving them into their new homes. The first two cells were bypassed and Lucien sensed, but couldn’t see, the occupants. When the door locked behind the first Nawien, the lead slaver lifted a small device he’d pulled from his waistband and the cuffs parted.
Basilius stumbled into his cell and immediately turned to glare through the bars in petulant disdain. Ulixes ignored the look and kept his head forward. Sotarios was shoved into the cell directly across from Basilius, and Lucien knew that the trickster would aggravate him at every opportunity. He found great satisfaction in that thought.
Ulixes walked proudly into the cell next to the mad king. Fortunately, the walls were solid and he wouldn’t have to look at the bastard. Geleon was placed into the cell across from Ulixes and calmly leaned against the bars. His relaxed demeanor belied the seething anger reflected in his light green eyes. Lucien entered the last cell and was relieved when the cuffs broke their seal.
Even though the corridor was brightly lit, the cage was dim and cast in shadows. He could make out a bunk extending out from the wall and approached it. A thin mattress pad and equally pitiful blanket lay on the metal shelf. There wasn’t a pillow in sight. To the right was a small sink and a toilet. Lucien judged the length of the room to be at least six strides long and four wide. Extending his hand upward, he was unable to touch the ceiling. At least the metal room wasn’t cramped.
Lifting the blanket to his nose, he was surprised at the fresh scent. Testing the spigot of the sink, he was equally astonished that clean water flowed easily. He took a tentative taste and was immensely relieved that it was drinkable. Unsure how his constitution would fare if ingested, he took two small sips and waited for any adverse reactions.
Walking back to the front of the cell, he pushed his face against the bars and strained his eyes to the right. He could see the chamber which housed Geleon, but saw nothing but the warrior’s fists grasping the bars. The slavers left without fanfare and the corridor fell silent. Lucien clenched the bars and wondered if they could truly escape the hell they now found themselves within.
Chapter 7
At the sounds of the main cell gate opening, Lucien peered down the passageway, surprised that the slavers had returned so quickly. Perhaps another group of prisoners would soon join them? He heard intermittent sounds of metal scraping against metal. Eventually, he was able to see that food trays were being delivered to each chamber. His mouth watered and he hoped he’d be able to stomach whatever manner of meal they considered worthy. He stepped back when a guard approached the cage. Bending, the male lifted a small slot at the bottom of the cell door and slid in a tray. Without a backward glance, he walked away.
Lucien retrieved the fare and sat on his bunk. He wasn’t surprised to hear voices gathering in strength. The Nawiens may have been docile, but they were very verbose as they talked amongst themselves. He opened his mind and called out to his warriors.
Have any of you tasted this yet?
Eryx quickly responded. Aye. Not bad. Some sort of meat very similar to canhion. The pink things are a fruit, I think. Very tasty. Not sure what the green stalks are, but they’re palatable. I drank the water in here earlier and have yet to experience any stomach ailments, so I think we’re safe to use that as our beverage.
Yes, I did as well. Tastes like the water back home. Thank you for braving the food, my legati.
Lucien heard intermittent grunts of approval wafting down the corridor and within his thoughts.
Eat, my friends. Then get your rest. We have no idea what awaits us tomorrow. We either work or fight.
Belly full and the empty tray shoved outside his cell, Lucien peeled his leather harness off and tossed it to the side. He wondered what they’d done with the weapons. His father had gifted him with the sword, and he swore he’d not leave this planet until it was back in its rightful place. Washed up and prone against the hard mattress, Lucien stared at the ceiling. He found himself surprised that he’d not heard a peep out of Basilius the entire time. Perhaps he realized the futility of engaging when he had no recourse. He suddenly wished he could mind connect with Ulixes. He wanted to see how he was faring now that he’d gotten a glimpse of the one that he’d loved once, not to mention almost killed. Lucien closed his eyes and dreamed of the many different ways that he could eviscerate Basilius.
* * * *
Lucien looked down at the full tray of food sliding under the door and frowned. He’d expected to be yanked out of the cell this morning and either marched to his execution or out to work. Instead, a slaver had stood outside his cell and pointed excitedly to the straps of his shoulder harness and mimicked that he should remove it. Pretending to misunderstand, the thing held his breakfast plate hostage. When that threat hadn’t worked, the glowing rod gave him pause and he reluctantly handed over the leather. They probably figured out it was more weapon than clothing and wanted it out of the picture. Other than that moment of excitement, he’d been pacing the chamber and discussing escape strategies with his group. Since they were separated, he was glad their ability to mind connect still worked. The Nawiens were obviously doing the same analysis, except theirs were loud, verbal, and not understandable.
When the sun had risen, light had filtered through small tubes in the ceiling and afforded him an opportunity to study the cell structure. He was disappointed to find no areas capable of breaching. They had all agreed any escape attempts would have to occur outside.
Now that lunch and dinner had been served, Lucien was flummoxed as to the reason his captors were fattening them up.
Geleon surmised the most logical meaning. The task of clearing must be arduous. Perhaps their earlier slaves died from malnourishment or injury and they’re now rethinking their position.
Nodding, Lucien responded. Yes. I’d have to agree. There were too many grounded ships not to have more prisoners than what reside in this chamber. We arrived during the daylight hours and saw no workers in the field. This makes perfect sense.
Ulixes’s deep voice rang out in the corridor.
“Okay. I’ve tried to be quiet, but I must hear another voice that isn’t foreign. Did you all fare well with the meal?”
Dipping his head, Lucien felt horrible for not including Ulixes in the conversations. There wasn’t a true need to converse strictly with the mind other than distance and volume. The slavers couldn’t understand them anyway. Before he could apologize, a familiar voice called out.
“Do you remember mine, you filthy traitor? I will be more than happy to tell you what I think.”
Ulixes responded in a low and ominous tone. “Don’t speak to me. Only lies are comfortable upon your tongue.”
Basilius’s evil chuckle scraped across his nerves and Lucien immediately called out to his friend.
“Don’t listen to him, Ulixes. He’s only brave because you can’t reach him. Should he have to face you again in battle, he surely knows that you would be the victor. You’ve proven that once already.”
“Thank you, amici. You know the mad king very well.”
Basilius’s words were gravelly with anger. “Do not call me that! So, the bastard is your friend now? Your amici should have been dead upon my throne floor with his stupid mate. You cursed your homeland with your betrayal, Ulixes. The people know nothing but the lies you have told them.”
Lucien’s brows rose at the statement. Basilius thought he was Drusus? Granted, he’d been told he and his son shared similar facial features, but certainly not that closely. Ulixes obviously didn’t want the fallen king to be the wiser.
“Yes, Drusus is my friend. We knew you were on your way to Messor to kill your cousin. The people don’t want you, and you know it. If anything good comes from our being brought here, it’s the knowledge that you will never reign over the Protonecians ever again. Your time is done.”
The maniacal laugher that erupted only drove
home the lessening grip Basilius had on his mind.
“We’ll see about that, Ulixes. When we escape from this place, you will be left to rot with a prince that will never see one day of rule. His father will lose his mind as I had always planned and Insedivertus will be mine. This is a minor distraction until I can complete my quest. I will tell these slave traders of his royal stature, and they will enjoy torturing him or selling him to the highest bidder. Your friend is not long for this world.”
Ulixes’s pleasant chuckle surprised Lucien, yet his words had him smiling.
“Ah, Basilius. Have you not learned anything? You only ruled as long as you did because of the intelligent advisors which surrounded you. You doomed yourself each time you betrayed or killed them. The slavers do not know our language, and if you devised some method to reveal the prince, what makes you think we would not disclose that a king also resides amongst us? Perhaps you should speak longer with Calpion. He will surely explain this to you in a manner you can understand. I’m sure he has learned how to cower, yet make you believe all good ideas have come from your addled brain. Am I wrong, Calpion?”
Resignation laced the new voice traipsing down the passageway. “Shut up, Ulixes.”
Undaunted, Ulixes continued the pleasantries. “Certainly, Calpion. I’ll be quiet while you explain the truth of things to your liege. I resigned from that duty long ago.”
All the warriors chuckled and Basilius yelled out to his second-in-command. “Calpion! What truth does he speak of? Why do they laugh?”
A response was not forthcoming. The main cell door smashed open and a string of juicy curses rode down the corridor on the most sensual voice Lucien had ever heard.
* * * *
Straining to see down the hallway, Lucien’s heart pounded relentlessly against his breastplate. A struggle was evident, and with each curse, slap, and demand of “Put me down, you damn blue maniac,” the berserker buried deep in his psyche clawed to be released. The intelligent side of his brain tried desperately to understand why his fists were gripping the bars and trying to spread the metal wide. It was futile, yet he couldn’t seem to pull his hands away. The roar that echoed in the confines of his cell had to belong to someone else. That couldn’t have been him.
Fueled by Lust: Lucien (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 6
