Fern struggled to get him to the bed again, where the man—Bayard—was positioned, ready to hold Luca down with his one good arm.
Jane didn’t know what to do—she’d never dealt with someone this damaged. The two men held him, though he struggled for a long time.
Jane turned to Anna and Ria. ‘Give us another minute. We’re frightening him.’ Anna had begun crying again, almost hysterically now, and Ria stared at Luca in horror. They looked at Jane, both shell-shocked, and then after a moment they left the room.
Jane stood very still and watched, somehow knowing she must bare witness. Luca finally stopped struggling, utterly exhausted, and slumped back on the bed.
The two men held him there until they were sure that he wouldn’t stir again. Jane went forward and slowly sat down next to him.
‘Luca,’ she whispered carefully.
He didn’t look at her this time; his eyes were hazy and vacant. Then he started to laugh, and the sound frightened her more than his screams. He laughed and laughed, loud, high-pitched and out of control. Jane looked to Fern, but the prince’s eyes were locked on Luca in a kind of stricken trance.
‘Luca,’ she said again, loudly this time, and he stopped laughing abruptly. He held up his hands and looked at his fingers. The joints were swollen and red, his fingers crooked and ugly.
‘We tried to fix them, but...’ Jane stammered.
Slowly he let his hands drop to the bed, and allowed himself to sink wearily into the pillow. He closed his eyes, and whispered, ‘We tried to fix them for you, but...’
Jane didn’t understand how to deal with any of this.
She could save the world, but she couldn’t save Luca.
‘Bayard rescued you. He killed Vezzet and brought you here,’ she said, thinking that maybe she could provide Luca with some semblance of understanding.
‘Bayard,’ he repeated. Then he laughed again.
Jane looked at the red-haired man. ‘Best not to talk to him about me. I ... he has issues with me,’ was all he said. Jane turned back to Luca. He had fallen asleep.
And then he spoke in his sleep, and it was the most lucid thing Jane had heard from him.
‘You got yourself caught, you fool. There’s blood on your hands. You deserve this,’ he muttered so quietly that they had to strain to hear.
‘Did he just say he deserves this?’ she asked shakily.
Fern came to stand next to her.
‘What do I do?’ she asked.
Fern shook his head helplessly. He reached down and put his arm around her. Quickly she shrugged him off. There wasn’t time to fall apart. She had to be strong.
But she truly didn’t know what to do.
Bayard stared at the sleeping man. ‘All right,’ he said, his voice clear and calm. ‘Here’s what we do. I will have the door and windows barred, and all dangerous objects removed from the room. However long this lasts,’ he said firmly, ‘we here at Karangul will care for him until he can be moved. This may only be temporary. Until he has time to come to terms with what happened.’
Right then Jane loved Bayard more than anything in the world.
‘Bayard, what did happen down there ?’
He shook his head. ‘I was too late to stop it. But Vezzet—he seeks not information, but to break minds. I’ve never seen anyone else survive the torturing. Luca is the first man Vezzet didn’t push to his death.’
‘I would give anything to just go back and kill the man when I threatened to,’ Jane said bitterly. ‘I could have killed him at the battle. Any one of us could have. We could have stopped this.’
‘Don’t,’ Fern warned. ‘Recriminations are pointless and unhelpful.’
‘I’ll have to tell the others,’ Jane said.
‘I’ll do it, if you want,’ Fern offered, but she shook her head. She turned to Bayard. ‘Can you have a man brought in here to watch Luca while he sleeps, and to tell us when he wakes? Also, can you get a harp or something and put it next to his bed? Music might help.’
Bayard nodded and the three of them left the room hesitantly.
Anna flew to her feet and threw herself on top of Jane, and the two of them hugged for a long time. To see her, to have her here ... Jane was more grateful than she’d ever been just to be able to hold her friend. After a moment it was Anna who pulled away and looked at Jane, her eyes older than they had been, but just as gentle and warming. Jane felt a wave of strength as they clutched hands and turned to the others together.
Ria looked frightened. Altor stood in the corner, staring at the floor, his face expressionless.
‘His mind is damaged,’ Jane told them. ‘I’m fairly sure he’s ... not himself.’
Bayard recounted what he had said in the room, and halfway through, Jane started trembling.
Fern led her to a seat and wiped the hair from her face.
‘You woke him up. How did you do that?’ he asked her softly.
‘I don’t think it was me. All I did was look inside his head...’ Jane closed her eyes against a shudder. ‘It was terrifying, Fern. He was totally ruined.’
‘You cannot expect him to be normal straight away. He will need time. Like the Captain said, this is probably only temporary. That’s what we have to focus on, and help him through it.’
Bayard was leaning against the wall, cradling his arm and looking as exhausted as Jane felt. ‘He was so strong,’ the big man murmured. ‘Vezzet played cruel mind games with all his victims, games that can break anyone. But Luca didn’t say a word the entire time. The boy is as tough as anyone I’ve ever met.’
A small sound came from Anna’s throat and she leant against the wall for support.
‘Have you contacted the others to tell them?’ Jane asked her, and Anna shook her head. ‘Okay, I’ll do that. For now, I think you need to tell us, Bayard, why you were working for Vezzet in the first place.’
The big man visibly stiffened. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.
‘About nine years ago, when High King Gaddemar raised the taxes, he formed a team of ruthless soldiers, and he used these men to slaughter the families who could not pay. It was a horrendous time. My father was one of these soldiers, and he happened to come across Vezzet’s family, when the boy was about fifteen. His father, mother and two sisters were killed, but the king ordered that all men fourteen years or older were to be brought to Amalia to be trained for the army. So Vezzet was spared, and he rose through the ranks to become the Chancellor’s assistant. And, well, you know the rest of that story.’ Bayard paused and shook his head.
‘Three months after the Battle of Victory, when Vezzet was setting up his army fortress, he found me. I was working for Cornelius at the time, but he was so old, and the country was already degenerating under his rule. The Valkyries had begun attacking, and we were in a state of chaos. Vezzet told me how his family had died, and he blamed that for all the bad decisions he’d made. I took a vow of loyalty to him to try and repay my father’s debt. At that time, he convinced me he was raising his army only to overthrow Cornelius, and to restore Cynis Witron to prosperity. Like a fool, I believed him.’
Again Bayard paused and Ria moved to stand a little closer to him. ‘I have been helping him ever since, tied to him because of my father’s actions, always trying to repay him. He convinced me, and I must admit I was not hard to persuade, that his family’s death had traumatised him so badly that it had driven him to seek revenge, and had led him to the greatest mistake of his life—betraying Paragor. He swore that he had changed, I led raids to different towns, and I slaughtered or enslaved innocent people under the impression that they were Followers. It was not until last night that I realised. Vezzet hadn’t changed at all, and I was a imbecile not to have seen it.’
The Captain rubbed his eyes tiredly.
‘So many people need not have died, but for my gullibility,’ he muttered.
‘And so many more would have died had you not acted as strongly and as bravely as you did last night,’ Jane
replied firmly.
Fern nodded. ‘You should be commended, Captain Adon Bayard. You acted honourably, first in joining Vezzet for something you yourself were not responsible for, then in trying to banish the world of Followers. You saved Luca and rid the world of Vezzet’s vileness.’
Bayard stared at Fern. ‘I feel like I know you from somewhere. Have we, perchance, met?’
Fern grinned. ‘I’d remember such a meeting, Captain. But you may know of me, yes. I apologise for not introducing myself properly, but, my lord, I trust I have your silence on the matter?’
‘Of course...’
‘Prince Fern del Sitadel, of Cynis Witron and the Elves at your service,’ Fern said, giving a short bow.
Bayard’s face seemed to drain of all colour. ‘Impossible,’ he whispered. After a moment he seemed to snap awake and quickly knelt to the floor. Fern smiled and told him to rise.
‘Now is not the time for such formalities. I am here only as a friend to Luca.’
‘But how can this be, highness? You died! I saw it!’
‘Many lives, has our great prince,’ Altor said softly, meeting Fern’s eyes and smiling slightly.
‘And this is Prince Altor of Lapis Matyr,’ Fern said.
Bayard blinked in surprise and bowed to the ground again. ‘The Black Prince and the Elvish Prince, along with three Bright Ones, all in the fortress of Karangul,’ he said. ‘I am lucky beyond the telling.’
Altor shrugged, turning his gaze to where Jane sat.
‘Now that you’re here you can take your place on the throne!’ Bayard went on excitedly. ‘Cynis Witron will be saved under your rule!’
Fern glanced at Jane and then back at the red-haired man. ‘That’s the plan. For now, I think it might be a good idea for everyone here to come with me to Sitadel, where we can have a proper meeting about what will happen with Karangul.’
‘I think that’s a good idea,’ Jane said. ‘If we can get Luca there safely.’ She turned to Anna. ‘I thought he might like to hear some music, so I’ve sent for a harp. You and I can take it in to him.’
Luca woke almost as soon as the door had closed after his visitors. He sat up in bed and looked around. His head was muddled and hazy, and everything he saw frightened him. The man who had hurt him was in every shadow, in every person who looked at him.
The door opened again, startling him, and two women entered. One was small and blonde, the other was taller and had long dark hair. Something inside him said he knew them, but he couldn’t name how, couldn’t shake the feeling of terror when he felt eyes looking at him.
The dark haired one carried a harp in her hands. She said something but he didn’t hear it. He was desperately fearful all of a sudden.
He backed away against the wall, his teeth grinding violently. They were going to hurt him. He couldn’t remember who he was, but there was an overwhelming desire to take the instrument she held in her hands.
His fingernails had bitten into his skin where he’d clenched his fists, and he looked down in alarm at the blood. The sight made him gasp, but he looked at the harp and felt calmer. He noticed the woman staring at his mouth, and Luca drew a hand up to realise vaguely that he’d been dribbling.
Suddenly he felt very angry. ‘Give it to me,’ he ordered ferociously, and something in him must have frightened her, because the woman thrust the instrument towards him and hastily stepped back again.
Luca held it in his sore, clumsy hands, and he sighed in utmost relief. The instrument was like balm on his soul. He turned and went to sit by the window. The two moons were rising through the night sky.
Lindel came first, and for a moment the world was red with her light. It was the red of death, of pain, the red he had seen in his mind as he was tortured. He could hear his own screams in his ears.
He sat with his legs over the side of the window and held the harp in his lap. Carefully, and ever so gently, he plucked at a string. The sound was clear, but his fingers were stiff, so when he tried to play more than one note at a time, he simply could not move them fast enough.
Luca sat for hours into the darkness of the night and tried, desperately, to play a tune, some simple melody. All he got from the instrument was a barrage of noise.
Any song would be fine— anything—if only he could just make music. But it hurt too much. He was too broken to move in the way he once did. And he couldn’t remember a single song.
As the morning came, when the notes began to sound distinctly like the sound of bones cracking and the red moon had sunk from the sky, Luca flung the harp ferociously against the wall and watched in anguish as it smashed into fragments.
Images of the splintering wood wandered through his mind, as did a masked face, and laughing yellow teeth, and blood, and the snapped strings from every instrument he had ever played, and broken vocal chords, though he could not really know what they looked like.
Chapter 33
Athena, Princess of the Elves, next in line to be queen, newly married to a man she loved, should have been the happiest woman alive. Instead she felt only despair. But she was not so petty that she would parade her feelings for all to observe—rather, she kept them locked away.
Her husband was gone again. Every day he had somewhere to go, and always with Altor and Jane. This time he had been gone for nights, and even though she knew he was doing good for the country, she was growing weary of the pitying glances. Where is your husband this time? Why doesn’t he attend these meetings or functions with you? Why, Athena, do you do everything alone?
She was sure her husband was in love with someone else. She felt it in her breast—a sad longing for something that was not hers and never would be.
It was becoming clearer who that other person might be. It stunned Athena to realise how obvious it was, how oblivious she had been to the truth. And it made her realise how impossible it was going to be for her to have him. It didn’t matter anymore that she was his wife. The binding meant nothing if it was not made in love.
So in the morning she dressed and went down to the stables to saddle her horse. With a list of the towns Fern was visiting in her pocket, she set out on her journey to find him. Find him, and end this farce of a marriage.
She was not a woman who kept someone from being with their true love. Of this Athena was determined. Altor rode at the front, a few hundred metres ahead of the rest of the group. There was a large wagon in their party, carrying the body of the tortured Stranger. The others rode their horses flanking the wagon, making sure Luca didn’t try to escape again. They’d be spending their nights in different towns, as it was going to take them some time to reach Sitadel, slow as they were.
That first day had been surprising. They’d saddled their horses, and Altor could remember the sound that had come from Fern upon spotting the Captain’s black mare.
The horse gave a loud whinny and nearly kicked down the stall walls trying to get to Fern. The tall Elf greeted the horse with a laugh of joy, and started whispering into her ear as he stroked her.
‘A friend of yours?’ Bayard had asked, bemused.
Fern grinned. ‘Nuitdor was my horse before I was killed. Best friend a man could have.’
Bayard’s widened. ‘She was the horse you rode when you faced Odin?’
Fern nodded, his eyes fixed on the mare lovingly.
‘Gods, you must have her back then! She’s yours!’
‘No, no, I could not ask you to do that—she’s been yours for the last two years.’
‘Please,’ Bayard implored. ‘I have no claim to her whatsoever—I want you to have her. Might we swap?’
Fern could resist the temptation no longer, for he nodded and mounted up, and the sight of the two of them flying across the plains together, as graceful and fast as the wind was enough to gladden every heart that saw them.
The Black Prince pushed the image away from his mind, his mood too foul to be thinking about such things. He’d ridden ahead because he didn’t particularly want to be around any of t
hem just then. Not even Jane and Fern. He didn’t quite know how to deal with their grief. And it was just driving home the point he had always made to himself—don’t make attachments. They only ended in messy emotions and loss.
The wind whipped into him through his cloak. It was deathly cold out here so early in the morning. They had to get as much travelling done in daylight hours as they could. Shivering, he wished it were night so that there might be something for him to kill.
The nightmares that shrouded him every time he slept, courtesy of the gaping wound in his arm, were terrifying. But to Altor, more frightening was the fact that they weren’t any worse than the dreams he’d had before he’d been attacked by the Valkyries. He might have been the only person in the world immune to the creatures, so accustomed to darkness was he already.
Scanning the empty horizon, Altor suddenly spotted something. Quite a way ahead, but definitely there. A black smudge on the ground. The prince kicked his horse into a gallop, and as he moved towards it, it became all too clear to Altor what it was.
He came upon the body of the dead person, lying next to the corpse of a horse. It would be some time before the group behind him caught up, therefore he had a moment to contemplate what to do. If it had been just a body, then he might be able to continue on, no qualms about someone foolish enough to be travelling at night. Except that this wasn’t just a body.
It was the Princess of the Elves, the lady Athena.
Fern’s wife.
Quickly he took off his cloak and placed it over her mangled corpse, and then he turned and rode back towards his group, mindless of the sharp cold biting into his flesh. They all stared at him as he approached, his horse galloping as fast as it could.
‘What is it?’ the red-haired Captain asked, but Altor’s gaze washed over him, looking for someone else.
Fern was at the rear of the party, his horse walking silently next to Jane’s. The two of them looked up in alarm as Altor slowed to a halt in front of them.
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