“What happened, Shaina? What animal did this to you?”
The girl coughed as she tried to speak. She took hold of the soft fabric of Stacy’s sari. “You must not go back...You must not...”
“What are you talking about? Go back where?”
“Your chamber, my lady. You must run!”
“What’s going on, Shaina? Is there trouble?”
The girl nodded weakly. “The Rani...”
“Did she do this to you? Is this Sigried’s doing?”
Shaina began to weep. “She hurt me, Anastasia. She hurt me badly, she and her friends. They demanded I answer then questions. I refused...I...”
“Does the minister know of this?”
“Sebelius has been taken. All of us under his authority have been arrested and held for treason against Satra.”
“Treason? Impossible!”
“The Rani has seen to it. Sumavand has left the shala to direct our defenses across the river. Sigried, in his absence, has accused the minister of treachery against the throne. It is a lie, but many warlords have sided with her. Do you realize what that means? She will use her authority to get at you and your companions. Flee, my lady! And forgive me for not being truthful with you before.”
Stacy cradled her closely and wept unashamedly. “Forgive me, Shaina. I said terrible things to you before. None of them were true. You have been my friend. I shan’t forget.”
The girl pointed to a small chest at the foot of her bed. “Open it, my lady. In there you will find a crest. A black dragon. It is the insignia of my rank. Veil your face and wear the crest above your heart. Few know your features, so no soldier will stop you. You can pass as me.”
Stacy did as she said and pinned the crest onto her sari. “Take my cloak, my lady — there, beside the bed. Now go — swiftly! Fly before her soldiers come again!”
“I can’t! You’re hurt. You need help!”
Shaina gritted her teeth and coughed again. “My wounds will heal, my lady. Now leave! And go with your Fates!”
Stacy kissed her gently and placed her head against a cushion. Shaina shut her eyes and groaned.
“Good-bye, my friend,” whispered Stacy. “We will meet again. That is my vow. And by Fara I’ll keep it!”
She threw the cloak over her shoulders, drew the dagger from her sari and fastened it securely around her waist. Then back into the corridor she went, trying to erase the picture of Shaina lying bloody and bruised on the floor. By Fara, there will one day be justice in Satra! And I’ll be there to see it.
It was an hour before she managed to work her way into the city. Twice she had been forced to hide as soldiers stomped heavily across the passages and hallways, seeking her. She no sooner eluded one patrol than another appeared. But finally she emerged onto open streets.
As before, people bustled along the avenues, busy with their errands and work. Stacy realized that they were all totally uninformed of the intrigues being hatched this very moment in the grand palace above. She swung her veil over her face, leaving only her dark eyes exposed. With a quick gait, not at all unusual for a girl of military rank, she pushed past a host of vendors and shoppers.
A guard beside a fountain stared for a moment, then bowed as he saw the black crest. Stacy nodded curtly and passed him quickly. The spiral stairwell loomed ahead. Here she slowed, making certain no one was watching. She dashed down the steps. At the heavy door stood a soldier, a large bearded man with what seemed to be a perpetual scowl across his face.
“Open it!” she demanded. “I must reach the canal!”
“Mistress?”
“You heard me! Open the door!”
The man looked at her coolly. “What business are you on?”
“The Rani’s business, dolt! Now open it quickly before I have you demoted to gravedigger!”
The scowl darkened. “You speak strangely, mistress. Are you not foreign?”
“I am as Satrian as you are, idiot! Now open that door!”
The man frowned, looked again at the crest and did as she asked. Once inside, the door shut, Stacy leaned against the wall, recovering from her fright. Had he questioned her further she would have had to kill him.
Then down the tunnel she ran, her eyes slowly becoming accustomed to the dim light. The closer she came to the pit the heavier the rancid smell of death became. She held her breath as long as she could and hurried to reach the ladder. With cold hands she grasped at the iron holds and climbed down swiftly. Her worn boots touched soil, and she stood motionless, peering into the darkness.
Her eyes focused along the passage that led to the canal. From here on she would have to be doubly careful. She now had two enemies — Satrian guards as well as lurking things.
A pebble rolled across the ground behind her. She whirled. Black shadows fell upon black rock. A rat darted into a corner. Stacy relaxed and told herself she was getting a touch too jumpy.
Or was she?
“I’ve been expecting you.”
The voice was a whisper from behind. She spun, dagger in hand. She could see nothing, but the voice was familiar, disconcertingly familiar.
“Step closer,” came the whisper again. “I want to see your lovely face. That’s right, closer. Keep coming, wolf bitch!”
Sigried!
Stacy froze in her tracks as the yellow-haired girl stepped out from behind the shadows. Her hair was flowing freely, held back by a slim black velvet band. Like Stacy, she wore a heavy cloak, clasped at her shoulders, a loose-fitting sari and long black leather boots. In one hand she wielded a curved dagger, bejeweled at the hilt with glowing stones. In the other hand was a whip.
“I suspected you’d come this way,” she hissed in a dry matter-of-fact tone. “But just in case you didn’t I had all the other caverns posted with my troops. Indeed, it’s been my fortune you came so soon. I was beginning to get a chill waiting for you.” The whip cracked against a rock, and Stacy jumped back a pace. Sigried laughed. “You’ve never seen my whip before, have you?” Again the whip cracked at Sigried’s side. “I’m going to kill you, Empire whore, but first I’m going to teach you a lesson.”
“You like to hurt people, don’t you, Siggy?”
The yellow-haired girl winced at being called by her familiar name. Her eyes narrowed with contempt.
Stacy stalled for time until she could get a sure footing and familiarize herself with the surroundings. “That bothers you, does it, Siggy? Know what I think? I think you’re afraid of women who attract men. I heard the priestesses whispering about you in the temple. They say you sleep with the lowest Satrian soldier.”
“Liar!” flared Sigried.
The whip cracked inches from Stacy’s feet.
Stacy stayed cool and calm. She took a slow backward step and the Rani followed.
“Siggy, I’ve always wanted to know about Kuba, about your father’s throne. Someone said your mother was a harlot and that you gave your virginity to your father when you were ten. What was it like? Making love to your own father, I mean?”
“You filthy-mouthed whore!”
The whip stung hard against Stacy’s arm. She drew back in pain, biting her lip. The Rani followed again. Good, thought Stacy. She’s letting me draw her out more; gives me more room to work.
The Rani lunged at Stacy. Stacy met the blade with her dagger and pushed the blonde back before the whip could be brought high enough to lash. Then she crouched low, held her knife at a level with her eyes and began to pare, in a slow circle around the enraged Rani of Kuba.
“Angry, aren’t you, Siggy? What’s the matter? Upset because I’m not as easy a mark as Shaina was?”
Sigried kicked dirt at her face. “Slut!”
Stacy lithely sidestepped it, laughing.
The silver dagger lashed. Sigried reeled as warm blood pulsed down her arm.
Again Stacy circled. “Keep your guard up, Siggy. Watch it! I’m fast!” She snarled like a wolf, baring sharp teeth. “Know how I got this way, Siggy? Wolves t
rained me. I can stalk like a cat, run like a fawn, fight like a hunter. But look! I’ve torn your pretty dress with my knife. How clumsy of me!”
With a single movement Sigried unfastened her cloak and let it fall to the ground. “I won’t be needing this,” she said. Then she pretended to lunge with the dagger and with her injured arm lashed the whip high. It caught Stacy oil balance, the tip cutting across her shoulder, tearing through her cloak. Stacy reeled with the sting.
For long moments the two women paced each other, probing, testing.
Rani’s curved blade flashed in an upward stroke. Stacy twisted sideways and met the knife with her own. Metal clashed on metal. Both pulled slightly back. Stacy shifted her weight to her left side. Sigried hesitated, then lunged. Up went the dagger; crack went the whip. Sigried reeled back, a thin stream of blood trickling down her shoulder. Stacy grimaced as the whip’s sting raced along the seams of her torn dress.
Cold, ice-blue eyes laughed tauntingly. “A nasty cut, wolf bitch,” said the Rani, trying to close the space between them.
Stacy feinted, then brought the dagger down in a flash.
Sigried screamed and hurled herself backward, her body smacking against a boulder. For an instant she took her eyes off the dark-haired girl and glanced down at the cut. It was deep. The bitch had slashed her whip arm from the shoulder almost down to the elbow.
Stacy snarled, her eyes glowing. Again she began to circle, again she began to probe her opponent’s weakened defenses.
Sigried’s eyes tightened, and her jaw became set. Her whip arm was virtually useless; she tossed the whip into the dark. The bitch could have killed her, she knew, that moment when she had been pressed against the rock — but she hadn’t. Why? Her whip must have done more damage than she realized. Why else had Stacy hesitated?
She knows, thought Stacy, her face in a stony grimace. Her arm began to throb. She shifted the dagger from hand to hand, keeping her expression constant.
“You grow weaker, whore,” hissed the Rani, leering.
Stacy smiled also, darting her eyes to the Rani’s bleeding arm. “You, too, Siggy. Your cut’s deeper than mine. Better kill me quick, if you can. Otherwise you’ll bleed to death — and I’ll be fighting a corpse.”
“Strumpet!” Dirt swirled as the Rani kicked.
Stacy staggered, the tip of Sigried’s boot in her stomach. Sigried lurched and slammed the back of her wounded arm against Stacy’s face. Stacy was all over her, smashing her elbow into Sigried’s ribs, clawing at her face with sharp hawk-like nails.
Sigried pushed with all her force and slammed Stacy back against a rock. Before the girl could even wince from the blow, the Rani’s boot was up, the kick knocking the silver dagger into the dirt.
Stacy scrambled to her feet, then crouched while Sigried drew around and poised her blade toward her throat. “Where is your weapon, tart?” she panted, blood now covering both her arms.
Stacy leaped, knocked the blonde over and literally wrenched her arm around, tossing her into the dirt like a bag of rubbish. Sigried was stunned. Stacy moved like Helfire, picked up the fallen dagger and with a single swoop slashed it fiercely across Rani’s midriff. Sigried’s eyes widened. Staring at her adversary in utter disbelief, she whispered, “You think you’ve won, don’t you? Not yet. Escape above, if you will. But you’ll wish you had died at my hands instead of theirs!”
Stacy looked away as the Rani moaned in pain. The girl was bleeding to death. And she no longer looked like the cruel sadist she was, but like a small whimpering child. In that moment Stacy felt sorrow and shame. On many occasions she had used her dagger in violence, but never before on a human being. She had been about to take a human life, and the knowledge of it sickened her.
Head low, she said, “I’m sorry it came to this, Sigried.”
“Go to Hel, Anastasia! Must you hover over me like an ape? Let me die alone. If you want to show mercy, plunge your dagger through my heart!”
“I can’t do it, Rani. I want to, but I can’t.” Sheathing the dagger, she looked at the wound in Sigried’s stomach. It was a long gash, bleeding. If left alone, the Rani would be dead in minutes. Yet if she could receive help quickly, there was a chance she might live. Ripping the hem of her dress, Stacy pressed the fabric firmly against the wound. “Hold it light, Rani,” she said. “It’ll help to stop the bleeding.”
The yellow-haired girl looked at her incredulously. “You...you want me to live?”
“I want the world to be rid of you! You’re a blackhearted witch! But you’re also human, and I’m not a murderess. I’m leaving Satra. I’m going to warn my people of the war. But I give you fair warning, Sigried. If in my absence you try to harm anyone who’s close to me, I will kill you — with no regrets. Now, before you bleed to death, tell me how I can alert your soldiers!”
Sigried turned her eyes toward the pit. “Trip wires,” she rasped, trying not to cough. “Walk across one and the nets will fall. The alarm will sound, the lights...”
Stacy nodded. “Save your breath. I understand.” She stood up, peered about and began to move away.
Sigried grasped her sleeve. “But now I give you warning, Anastasia! I told you that if you go above you’d wish you had died at my hand. I meant it! Escape from the mountains is impossible!”
Stacy stared at her. “Why?”
“Nomads. Our soldiers have seen their armies.”
“I’ll make it,” Stacy replied. Then, without looking back, she said: “Good-bye, Rani,” and began to walk into the black, purposely tripping the wires.
The nets fell, lights began to flash. Stacy pressed hard against the wall. Within seconds came distant shouts and a multitude of running footsteps. She bounded from the pit and into a side tunnel. Soldiers would be everywhere, she knew; she would have to hide until they had scattered out in search parties.
At the crook of the shaft she crouched, breathing heavily. She could hear shouts of shock and dismay as the Satrians came upon the bleeding Rani. There was frantic scrambling and a shout for physicians above to be alerted. Then a dark voice saying, “Who did this to you, Rani?”
“Who do you think?” came an infuriated wail. “There’s a Nomad loose in the pit! Find him and slit his throat!”
“Yes, Rani! Which way did he go?”
“The canal, you dolt! Ouch! Lift me carefully! Do you think I’m a rag?”
A group of men dashed down the adjacent tunnel, the wrong tunnel — and Sigried had sent them that way purposely. Stacy smiled. She had saved the Rani’s life, and now Sigried was trying to do the same for her.
She rose and ran through the totally black passage, far away from the pit, far from the canal, entering a strange world of total darkness that she prayed would eventually lead out into the light of day. Rats darted between her feet. Large spiders danced across immense webs above her head. Water began to drip from the invisible ceiling. Strong drafts of wind rushed down at her. She strained her eyes for some distant glimmer of light. There was none.
Her heart began to pound with a growing sense of panic. The sting of the whip felt like dry ice pressing against her. Which way? Which way now? Ahead she could see nothing, only an endless stretch of darkness.
Forward she went. More dripping water, more strong downdrafts of wind. It became cold, colder than in the pits. She drew her cloak tightly around her. Unseen boulders tore at the sides of her dress. Upward, ever upward. The tunnel began to narrow, then widen, then widen even more. Pillars of limestone reached down from the ceiling like huge dripping icicles, like large beckoning fingers. Ahead, the tunnel seemed to wand endlessly, a labyrinth of darkness, a maze of enclosing rock, twisting forever upward.
After an hour, the blackness gave way to the dimmest glow. After a steep ascent she came into a large cavern, its limestone walls giving off a soft glow of dullish red. At the side of the wall ran a small stream of cold, fresh water. Beside the stream Stacy finally rested. She took a cloth from her dress, soaked it, then washed and clean
ed her wounds. The touch of the water felt good, soothing. Her neck and shoulders stung from multiple scratches, her shoulders also from the lash of the whip. She slumped with her back against the wall and sighed. It was dangerous to stop here, she knew — and even more dangerous to sleep. But she was so tired, and she had walked for so long.
Without even realizing it, she fell asleep. A peaceful slumber, filled with dreams of pleasant forest streams and a warm gentle sun.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Pretty, ain’t she?”
Startled, she awoke. She tried to get up but couldn’t. A large furred boot was pressing down firmly on her stomach. Fear rising like smoke, she peered up into the face of a tall man with small beady eyes, an unkempt beard flecked with fresh snow. He wore what appeared to be a fur hunting jacket, heavily lined, and an animal skin hat with two small horns. The flaps of the skin were pulled down tight over his ears.
“Who...who are you?” she gasped, eyes widening.
The man put his hands on his hips and roared with laughter. He peered over his shoulder and called to a companion. A brute of a man, Stacy saw, with a long pointed nose and a cruel sneer. Mean eyes stared down at her; the sneer turned into a grin.
“She’ll warm us tonight, won’t she, Kral?” the second man said with a mean growl, throaty and hoarse.
Kara snickered. Bending down, he pressed dirty fingers into her flesh. Stacy squirmed.
“We haven’t had a Satrian woman to keep us company for a long time, eh, Vlask? And she’s a looker, too! And young! The chief will be pleased.”
Vlask came closer, still grinning. He showed a mouth full of decayed teeth.
Stacy turned away, sickened.
“Don’t think she takes to you, Vlask,” observed Kral. “What’s the matter, precious? Do we frighten you?” The grip tightened and he laughed again.
“I...can’t...breathe.”
Fingers loosened slightly. “Don’t worry! We won’t hurt you, girl. You’re too valuable.”
Vlask put his face close to hers and ran a filthy hand up and down her body. Stacy cringed. “Let’s have her now, Kral. What do you say? Come on, it’s warm here and —”
Lady of the Haven (Empire Princess Book 1) Page 30
