Then the strand that he had weakened earlier snapped.
Owen bunched his shoulders—this time he’d break free or rip his arms from the sockets—but then Coops’s body jerked suddenly. Owen felt a splash of wetness on his back. Coops scrambled away from Owen, his hand over his neck, blood spurting between his fingers. Behind Coops, Gali stood holding a bloody knife. Coops stared in puzzlement at her and then staggered back, calling out for Bale.
Severed arteries were rarely instantly lethal, as Gali must have just learned, judging by the disbelief on her face as Coops, still holding his hand against his bloody throat, staggered toward the door. To kill a man instantly and quietly, you needed to sever his windpipe or hold him until he bled out.
“Finish him!” Owen urged.
Gali rose and took a hesitating step toward the wounded man, when the warehouse door burst open and Bale rushed back in, her knife in hand, her eyes wide with rage at what she saw.
Owen wrenched his arms, this time snapping the last of the rope. He sat up, grasping at the bonds still around his ankles. Bale ran straight for Gali, her knife hand held low in a fighting stance. Gali also assumed a knife-fighting stance, showing some skill with the weapon, but Owen saw in a moment that the much-larger Bale was clearly the better fighter. Gali stabbed, missed, and took a return slash to the forearm, causing her to stumble back, lowering her guard as Bale tensed to move in and finish her.
But before Bale could strike, Fioni leaped at her, scissoring her left leg behind Bale’s knees and throwing her right leg high on the woman’s abdomen. Both women went sprawling together to the ground. Bale’s knife flew through the air to land nearby.
“Get the other one,” Fioni yelled to Gali, struggling atop Bale. “Hurry!”
Coops staggered through the open door. Gali sprinted after the wounded man, disappearing outside.
No time, Owen thought. He left his bound ankles be and rolled across the floor toward the struggling women. Bale swept out from beneath Fioni, easily pushing her aside with one hand while grasping her knife again.
Owen slammed into her, grasping desperately at her knife hand. She yanked it back, cutting his forearm. Fioni rammed her knee repeatedly into the other woman’s outer thigh, hitting the bundle of nerves located there with at least one blow. Bale gasped in pain, and Owen, seizing the opportunity, grasped at her flailing wrist with both hands, holding the knife away. Bale was far stronger than he would have thought, and it was all he could do to just hang onto her wrist. She bit the back of his arm, but he wrenched it free, tearing the skin.
It was an impossible situation. Without the use of his legs, he couldn’t get any leverage, and without her hands, Fioni couldn’t help him. Once Bale got free, she’d kill them both easily.
Then Fioni’s legs whipped around the other woman’s neck, locking around her throat. Bale’s eyes bulged, her face went bright red, and she grunted and strained, gasping for air and trying to pry Fioni’s legs free with one hand but refusing to let go of the knife with the other. Spit bubbles popped around her mouth, and she squeaked as Fioni, groaning with the effort, tightened her legs around Bale’s throat, like a snake crushing a mouse. By the time Bale finally ceased moving, Owen thought his heart would burst.
Owen pried the knife free of Bale’s dead fingers and then used it to cut his ankles loose. Fioni still strained to hold the dead woman with her thighs. “Fioni, enough,” he gasped. “She’s dead.”
Fioni fell onto her back, gasping for air.
“Are you all right?” he asked her.
She nodded breathlessly as Owen cut the ropes holding her wrists bound behind her back. Gali ran back through the door, her face white, but relief flashed across her features when she saw that Owen and Fioni were still alive and Bale was dead.
“We need to go,” Gali said. “I finished off Coops, but I heard the guards calling out to one another. They’ll come looking.”
Owen pulled his breeches back up, stood, and flexed his arms, feeling the fire burning in them.
Fioni, unbound now, rose on shaky legs and faced Gali as she also hurriedly dressed. “Can you take us to the waterfront, to where the fishing boats are?”
“Yes, but we must go now!”
“Fioni.” Owen shook his head. “We can’t leave without Sight-Bringer.”
“We have no other choice,” said Fioni.
Owen felt his desperation washing over him. “You don’t understand. Without the sword, we have no way to kill Serina. We need to wait here and then ambush Igrimor when he comes back.”
Gali placed her hands on Owen’s chest. “No! The guards will come.”
“She’s right, Owen. We have to run.”
“Please,” pleaded Gali.
His heart sank, but he finally acquiesced. With Gali leading, they slipped out into the cold, misty night.
Chapter 35
Danika
Danika drifted in and out of a delirium of pain, stinging sweat constantly dripping into her eyes. She hung from her arms, which were tied to a metal ring suspended from a chain attached to the ceiling. Her bound ankles were bent behind her, tied to the same ring as her wrists so that she hung forward, all of her weight on her shoulders. The pain, which had been bad enough at first, was now excruciating. She had screamed and cried and begged and pleaded, but she hadn’t told them what they wanted. Time became surreal, impossible to estimate. In her delirium, she had even begun to whisper to herself.
Someone raised her head and pried open her eyelid—the old woman, the one who always accompanied Kalishni’coor. Danika had nicknamed her Old Hag. She must have been a healer, because she kept checking on Danika, peering into her eye or listening to her heartbeat. Old Hag spoke to the two torturers—the tall, thin one, Danika had nicknamed Skinny Big Ears, the other, Fat Pimples. The two men and one woman were the only ones present now. Kalishni’coor—the Blue Man—had long since departed. Perhaps torture bored him; perhaps he had better things to do; perhaps he was simply waiting for her inevitable break.
And that break wasn’t long now, she knew.
She wasn’t brave. She wasn’t strong.
Why did she think she could be either?
Most mocking of all, though, was the voice in her head. At first it had only been whispering to her, telling her she was only a woman, far too weak to resist men like this. But as the torture continued, the voice became more frantic, louder. It had begun screaming at her—Tell them! Tell them! Tell them! Tell them!
The old woman stepped back into the shadows, and Danika’s head fell forward once more, her long hair once again obscuring her vision. The voice continued to scream incessantly. She knew she should tell them about the shield with its hidden map.
Why didn’t she tell them?
Owen was almost certainly dead.
As was Fioni.
And Brice—poor, sweet, Brice.
If she told them, maybe they’d let her sleep.
Maybe they’d let her die.
Once again, hands cupped her cheeks and lifted her head. This time, though, the hands were rough and calloused—the hands of a warrior.
Hands she’d recognize anywhere.
“Brice,” she mumbled, love filling her heart.
He stood before her, unable to hide the pain and sorrow in his eyes. The torture chamber was gone now, and a forest surrounded them. Mist swirled about the ground, obscuring the dark-green vegetation. Somehow she knew they were alone in the world, the only two people who existed. He wore his ring mail, as he had the last time she had seen him…when he had killed himself.
“My love,” he said, his lips kissing her forehead, her eyes, her lips.
The pain was gone—as if it had never existed.
Only love remained.
“Brice, help me,” she said, frantic, not understanding why. “Take me from here. Take me with you.”
“Soon, my love. Soon. I’m so proud of you.”
“Am I…am I dead?”
“No, my love, no.”<
br />
“I’m sorry, Brice. I’m so sorry.”
Her tears flowed, obscuring her vision. Why couldn’t she move her hands to wipe them away? He did it for her then placed his cheek next to hers.
“No more tears, not for me. Everybody dies. Everybody. Because of you, because of our love, because of the magic in the sword, I remembered who I was. I escaped her.”
“I want to go with you. I need to go with you. I think…I think they’re…they’re hurting me.”
He wrapped his arms around her, held her close, and whispered into her ear, “Hush, my love, hush. It will end. Now, I need you to listen to me, to remember what I’m going to tell you. Can you do that?”
“Please don’t leave me with them.”
“Serina’s thrall comes. You will only get one chance to strike. You must not hesitate. You must not hold back this time.”
“I…I don’t understand.”
“When he’s distracted, strike then. You’ll only get one chance.”
“Wait.”
“He’s strong and fast,” whispered Brice, “but only half a man. Remember that.”
“Don’t leave me.”
His voice was like a whisper in the wind. “Half a man.”
And then all the pain in the world flowed back into her. She lifted her head in sudden torment, once again finding herself in the torture chamber. Skinny Big Ears was wrapping a chain around her waist to put more pressure on her shoulders. She screamed, amazed that she was still capable of doing so after all they had done to her.
Chapter 36
Owen
Gali knelt at the edge of the alley, peering around the corner. Owen leaned over her, staring into the mist. He saw nothing, but Gali had said they were near the shoreline, and Owen could indeed hear the waves washing against the tide breaker.
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
She bobbed her head. “Six of them, maybe more.”
That made the third guard post since fleeing the warehouse. That was a lot of soldiers out looking for two fugitives. Kory’ander Dey must want them really badly—or maybe the Hishtari were just embarrassed that Owen and Fioni had managed to escape the Rose Palace. Either way, they were running out of time. The sky was beginning to lighten in the east. Dawn was coming.
“Can you take us around them?” Fioni whispered. She shivered in the cool mist. Both were barefoot, battered, and in need of food and warmth.
“Yes,” said Gali, looking behind, uncertainty in her eyes.
Owen carefully scrutinized the dark alley behind them where it met another side street. “What’s wrong, Gali?”
Gali shook her head. “Nothing. I’m jumping at shadows. It’s been a terrible night.”
Fioni’s eyes narrowed as she stared behind them.
“We go now,” whispered Gali.
She led them to a narrow gap in a wooden wall that Owen would never have even known was there, before darting into it and disappearing. Fioni went after her, leaving Owen behind. He glanced over his shoulder one last time but saw only a dark, empty alley. He slid through the narrow gap, pushing past the jagged wooden boards, scraping his chest. Rubbing his chest with his palm, he hurried after the two women. Gali led them through back alleys, avoiding the guard post but moving farther away from the waterfront. Ahead, Gali and Fioni knelt at the corner of a stone building, peering out onto the dark street.
He knelt beside them, looking over their shoulders. Small wooden homes, more shacks than buildings, lined both sides of the narrow street. Garbage and filth lay everywhere. The air was thick with the stench of urine, garbage, and rot. Movement at the far end of the street drew his eye as a patrol of six guards moved past, headed down another street. In the east, the horizon was crimson.
Once the guards had moved out of sight, Gali rose and led them through a break in the wall leading into what had to be a fish-seller’s business. Rows of wooden drying stands covered with salted fish filled the courtyard. Gali led them through the yard, winding their way past the rows of drying stands until they came to another brick wall, this one taller than he was. Owen paused, once again hearing the waves striking the shoreline, powerful and primal.
He put his hand on Gali’s shoulder. “How far?”
“Very close. Over the wall,” she whispered.
Sure enough, in the dim light of approaching dawn, he saw the masts of the cargo hulks rising above the wall. When he glanced at Fioni, she shook her head.
“We need to reach the smaller boats, the fishing boats,” said Fioni. “Something I can sail by myself.”
“Fishing boats are that way.” Gali pointed to the left. “Not too far, but we need to go over the wall here.”
Shivering, Fioni rubbed her arms. “Owen, help us. Once I’m on top, I’ll pull you up.”
Cupping his hands, Owen leaned his shoulder against the cold stone wall. Fioni went first, placing her bare foot in his hands. With an easy shrug, he tossed her up, and she straddled the wall with one leg on either side. Gali placed a hand on Owen’s shoulder and slipped her foot into his hands. He tensed, preparing to throw her up to Fioni.
“Owen, look out!” Fioni yelled.
Kale rushed out from behind one of the fish racks, swinging his wooden club at Owen’s head. As the knobbed head of the club, the width of a man’s wrist, whistled through the air, Owen spun about, wrapping his arms around Gali, taking the impact against the muscle of his shoulder. The blow slammed him and Gali into the wall, and he fell atop her, pain lancing through his shoulder and back. Fioni leaped from the wall, colliding into Kale. Owen staggered to his feet, in pain but grateful that nothing seemed broken. Kale, still on his feet despite Fioni latching herself to his upper body, grunted and threw her away. She hit the ground in a roll and was back on her feet in a moment, rushing at Kale once again. Another man darted in at Owen from the side—Igrimor. Owen spun away, just avoiding a sword thrust to his belly. He threw a punch at Igrimor’s head, but his strike was without power and only gave Igrimor pause. He darted in, trying to tackle Igrimor around the knees before he could use his weapon again, but Igrimor scrambled backwards, kneeing Owen in the face and sending him reeling onto his back.
Igrimor stood over Owen. “Look at me, fool! I want you to see my face.”
Before he could strike, Gali ran forward and wrapped her arms around Igrimor. “Please, no. Don’t!”
With his free hand, Igrimor threw her aside, but Owen had already rolled away and climbed back to his feet. The two men faced off against one another. Igrimor, his face a mask of hatred, thrust with his short sword, once again aiming for Owen’s gut, but at the last moment, Owen pivoted back on one leg, grabbing onto Igrimor’s sword hand as he struck. Immobilizing his wrist with one hand, Owen smashed his other palm into the back of Igrimor’s sword hand, sending his weapon clattering onto the stones of the yard. Igrimor shrieked in pain, but Owen, still holding his wrist in place, turned back into him, slamming his elbow into his throat and sending him reeling backwards. His eyes wide with fear and pain, Igrimor bolted.
Spinning about, Owen saw Kale sitting atop Fioni, straddling her, holding her throat with one hand while he raised his club above his head with the other. Blood ran down Fioni’s face as she grasped at the large man’s arm. Owen launched himself at them, smashing into Kale before he could strike. The two men rolled about, fighting for position. Kale slipped past Owen’s arm and tried to ram a thumb into Owen’s eye. Owen turned his head to the side, and Kale smashed his forehead into Owen’s nose. Owen heard the cartilage crack. Kale, seizing the initiative, threw Owen onto his stomach and climbed atop his back. Owen bucked his hips, but Kale hammered a punch at the back of Owen’s head, staggering him. Then Kale wrapped an arm around Owen’s neck and began choking him. Owen flailed, his vision growing dim.
Then, inexplicably, Kale just let go and fell away. Owen rolled onto his back, gasping and coughing, to see Kale kneeling, Igrimor’s short sword embedded deeply into the back of his bald skull. Kale’s eyes ro
lled upward, as if to stare cross-eyed at the sword.
Gali stood behind him, her face white, her stance wide.
Kale toppled over.
Gali helped Owen to his feet. Nearby, Fioni, coughing and rubbing her throat, was also getting back up. Owen wrenched the sword from Kale’s skull. His breathing wild, his heart pounding, he stared in the direction Igrimor had fled. He needed to catch him now, before he got away again.
“No,” Gali pleaded, grabbing his forearm and stopping him.
“I…have to,” Owen gasped.
“Owen,” Fioni said in exhaustion, “don’t.”
Owen shook his head, his vision still blurry. “He’s…got Sight-Bringer.”
“No,” said Gali. “He doesn’t.” She reached beneath her large tunic and drew out the broken Illthori weapon.
He stared at her in confusion. He reached out a trembling hand and touched the hilt, instantly feeling the rush of occult energy. “How…?”
“I told that bastard,” Gali said, her eyes shining in the pre-dawn light, “I’m still the best slip-thief in Daenipor.”
Chapter 37
Kalishni’coor
Kalishni’coor stood before Serina, now understanding with certainty that this was no mere dream but another of her Sendings. A half century earlier, they had communicated in this manner. When the Sendings had abruptly stopped—followed by reports of her death—he had given up on her.
He should have known better.
He had grown so old. If he had only known—or even suspected—she lived, he would have done anything to free her, even risked war between the Kingdom of Conarck and the Empire of Hishtar. Now, like a miracle, he needn’t die after all.
Thank the ancestors.
The Vampire Queen Saga: Books 1-3: (The Vampire Queen Saga Boxset) Page 50
