Flare stared at the man. A lord? That explained the man's bearing, but what was a lord doing in a rebellion. And house Muldaria? He had never heard of it, so it couldn't have been too close to the throne. Guardian training could not possibly teach them about every noble house, but they did a good job covering the major ones. “You'll forgive us, but we are surprised that a lord would be involved with a rebellion.”
Vinekh smiled ruefully. “A thousand years ago, my ancestor ruled, and not only Helum but all the way eastward to the forest and all the way westward to the ocean. But that was a long time ago.”
Flare couldn't help himself, “So, is the rebellion to put your family back on the throne?”
Vinekh shook his head, “No. There are men closer to the throne than I, who deserve it at least as much as me.”
Flare was impressed in spite of himself. If Vinekh was telling the truth, it took a good man to admit that there were others around him, who were better than he was. “Sir, can I ask another favor.” At Vinekh's nod, Flare continued, “Our friends should be on their way here. Could you please warn them?”
Vinekh considered for a moment, “It will be difficult. With the bounty that has been placed on you and your friend's heads, everyone will be looking for them. But I will pass the word amongst those that I trust. If one of us sees them first, then we will do what we can for them.”
“Thank you.” Flare said simply, but inside he felt immensely relieved. Perhaps, the other two parties of guardians would get lucky. Perhaps. He chose not to think about them getting caught, it would be too hard to continue. He said a silent prayer that they were all okay.
“Sir, you really need to get back to the city. Otherwise, there may be questions.” Arnok said, looking back towards the road as he spoke.
“It's the winter festival; I probably would not even be missed. And anyway, there are many small parties in the villages around Helum.” Vinekh said grinning, but the grin slipped after a moment, “You are right, of course. Even if there is only a small chance, I can not risk it.” He turned back towards the guardians, “Arnok will see you to Morley. Good luck to you.”
Flare reached out and grasped the offered hand, “Thank you sir. We appreciate your help.”
In the background, Arnok was fussing at Hughes, making him get the horses untied. Vinekh leaned in closer, “Arnok is a little bit gruff. Please don't let him bother you.”
Flare smiled, genuinely liking the man. “Of course not, Sir.”
Chapter 19
The wagon hit a hole or rut in the road, and the wagon bottom seemed to drop away from beneath Heather, only to come rushing back up, all too quickly. She hit the wooden wagon floor hard, the left side of her face bouncing off of the wood, and a groan escaped her.
Being a prisoner was torture for obvious reasons. First, someone was offering a lot of money for the guardians' capture. Second, not only were Aaron, Mikela, and herself in trouble, but for all she knew her fellow guardians could have already been caught, or worse killed. She pushed that thought away roughly. The worst part about this trip was the physical torture. None of Wylon's men had so much as touched them, but they were still physically beat up. They spent the days traveling in the back of this wagon, and their bodies were covered in bruises. Their wrists were one big sore from the ropes chaffing their skin, but the worse part was the gags. The gags were so tight, that it made their jaws hurt and their mouths kept drying out. There was a guard in the wagon with them, and he had orders to give them water occasionally, but Heather was sure that the man had an evil streak. He seemed to delight in withholding the water, and then only giving them a sip or two. She suspected that Jefflem may have had a hand in it. On Wylon's orders, Jefflem had been kept away from the prisoners, but some of the wagon drivers liked the boy.
The guard was sitting against the side of the wagon, and he chuckled and nudged Heather with his foot. “That's a big bump. It didn't hurt, did it?” His name was Mel, and he was of average height, but he was still a big man, being broad through the shoulders. His hair was light brown, and unkempt, looking like it hadn't been washed in at least a week. Judging by the smell of the man, he really hadn't washed any part of his body for a week. His nose had been broken several times. He was also missing one of his front teeth, and Heather couldn't help but fixate on the hole in the man's smile, not that he ever smiled, well, unless he was making fun of the prisoners.
Heather turned her head, partially so that she wouldn't have to look at Mel, and partially so that she could look at Aaron. Aaron had tried to escape last night, during a break to relieve himself. Apparently, he had kicked his guard squarely in the groin, and then tried to run. It might have worked, if Wylon hadn't posted extra guards around the privy. As it was, the guard that Aaron had kicked had beaten him pretty badly. His chest and face was purple and black, and his face was still swollen. Wylon had completely lost his temper when he found out that Aaron had been beaten, and he had made an example of the guard. The guard's screams had kept her awake for hours. She hadn't seen the guard since last night, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to. Had they killed the man, or just tortured him to within inches of his life? She felt bad for him, well, somewhat bad for him. Judging by what he had done to Aaron, the guard probably deserved what he got.
Aaron was laying on his right side. His left eye and cheek were swollen from the beating of the previous night, and he could barely see but he still caught Heather looking at him. He tried to smile at her, but because of the gag, it came out a grimace.
It had all seemed to be going so well the night before. He had walked a short distance into the trees with his lone guard, and relieved himself. His guard had barely been paying attention, having become bored with the routine. This was the fifth day that the guardians had been kept prisoner, and already the guards were relaxing.
His plan had been a simple one, escape and notify the nearest militia. He had suspected that finding someone who represented the local government might be difficult, as he didn't even know where they were. The guards had not been very talkative, and they had been kept quiet in a covered wagon all during the day. Still, they had overheard that the trip was taking way longer than Wylon had expected. A broken wagon axle had cost the wagon drivers a whole day. And they had been forced to spend another whole day in camp, after some of the food had spoiled, and half of the camp had gotten sick. He had hoped that they could escape during the food sickness, but Wylon had posted extra guards and had kept checking on them personally.
After relieving himself, he had turned and kicked his guard in the groin. It was quick and quiet, as the man had just collapsed. He hadn't wasted any time, but instead had taken off into the trees, the elation blossoming within him. He hadn't made it ten yards, when a net was dropped over him. He had struggled, even while his elation was turning into resigned frustration.
He had thought that the worst part of the whole thing had been thinking he was free, and then having his hopes dashed. He had been so very wrong. It had taken a good twenty minutes for his guard to regain his feet, but the man had been incensed. The man had taken a short metal rod and used it to beat Aaron. All the while, Aaron had twisted and shouted, still entangled in the net, and the other guards just stood by and laughed. That is until Wylon and the big man, Shim, had showed up. Shim wasted no time, but clubbed the guard, the one with the metal rod, over the back of his head. The other guards had quickly dragged Aaron back to camp. They hadn't even reached camp, when the screaming started. As horrible as it was, he had enjoyed every last sound of the guard being tortured.
Heather raised her head off of the wagon floor, and motioned towards the water jug. Wylon had ordered the guards to remove their gags every hour and give them some water. Apparently, the guards didn't know how to tell time. Sometimes, they were given water every hour, but mostly they were lucky to get water every few hours.
Mel grinned at her, “What? You thirsty?” A grubby hand scratched the whiskers on his cheek. “I don't think it's been a
n hour since the last time I gave you water.”
Heather would have cried, if she had the water for tears. It had been at least two hours since they had last gotten water, or had it just felt like it? Sighing, or actually trying to sigh, Heather lowered her head back to the wagon floor. How had they gotten into this horrible situation?
“Well, I guess I can be nice and give you some water, a little early.” Mel said, getting to his knees, and reaching for a jug of water. “The boss wants you alive and well, so I don't think he'll mind.”
Mel gave the water first to Mikela and then to Aaron. He took his time giving the water to Aaron. He seemed to delight in Aaron's bruises. “That's a nasty one.” He said chuckling, “I bet you won't try to run again.” He added, poking a rather large bruise on the left side of Aaron's face.
“No.” Aaron agreed, almost too easily. The guard making fun of him actually was a blessing. He had gotten twice his normal amount of water, and for the first time in a while, his throat didn't feel like it was cracking. “What happened to my guard from last night?” He asked.
That wiped the smile off of Mel's face. “Why?”
Aaron shrugged, well, he shrugged as well as he could, not being able to move. “I just wanted to know. I didn't see him this morning. Is he all right?” His words came out funny, his jaw was bruised from the beating and wearing the gag also made his jaw hurt.
Heather could feel her stomach clinching in anxiety. She was still gagged, but she prayed under her breath that Aaron wouldn't do anything stupid. Mel did not seem to be the kind of man to mess with.
Mel pointed his finger in Aaron's face. “You better not be making fun, boy. You wouldn't like to have me mad at you.”
Aaron smoothed his face, and tried to look innocent. “I wasn't trying to make fun,” he said, shaking his head. “I just was wondering how he was.”
Mel studied Aaron for a moment, perhaps to see if Aaron would smile or somehow betray a sense of humor about the beaten guard.
Heather held her breath, willing Mel to believe Aaron. She said another silent prayer.
After a moment, apparently, the guard accepted that Aaron wasn't joking. “I helped bury him this morning, well, what was left of him, anyway.”
Aaron's eyes widened in shock, “He's dead!”
“Yeah.” The guard said soberly, re-gagging Aaron as he spoke. “But he didn't die quick. Boy was it a mess.” He tightened the gag, and Aaron winced in pain. “Wylon made it clear that he didn't die because you got away from him, but because he beat you.”
Mel leaned in close to Aaron's face, so close that Aaron could smell the man's nasty breath. He tried to lean back away from the guard, but he was already against the side of the wagon.
“Don't try anything with me boy, I can beat you far worse than what that fool did last night. And you know what? I won't even leave a mark.”
Heather could see the murderous look in Mel's eyes, and she was relieved to see Aaron nod meekly. Although, that could be another problem. 'Don't give up Aaron!' She thought, willing Aaron to be able to read her thoughts, but he was looking at the guard not her. After a moment, the guard turned toward her, it was her turn for water. He untied the gag, but it was dried to her tongue and he had to pull it loose. The water rushing over her swollen and dried-out tongue was pure bliss. The pure look of murder that Aaron was giving the guard's back was almost as good.
Anton moved with a grace that belied the old man's years. Normally, he shuffled through the hallways, one sure step after another, but not today. He had great news, and it gave him the energy of a young man on his wedding night. He smiled, come to think of it; he might even be up for a little bit of wedding night excitement of his own. How long had it been? He pushed that thought away forcefully. It was too depressing to try and remember the last time he had wanted sex, instead he focused on the anticipation of the evening.
The corridor he was in was dark and gloomy, but the whole damn place was dark and gloomy. He mumbled a word under his breath, and a sphere of light popped into being and floated beside him. Most of the hallways were clear, but not all. It was better to be safe than sorry. This would not be the day to fall and break his neck, not that any day actually was the day for that.
The corridor was covered in dust, with rubble along the sides of the passage, but the ancient grandeur was still in evidence. There were pieces of decaying artwork, still in the exquisite gold frames. Most of the art lay on the floor, or heaped in piles; very little of it still hung on the wall. Beautiful tapestries, all but eaten up by insects, alluded to the beauty that had once been lavished on this fortress, but that had been a long time ago. No one had been here for ages, well, until very recently.
A large spider hung in the middle of the hallway, busily spinning its web. Without slowing, Anton pointed and the sphere of light shot ahead of him and right through the spider. The spider fell to the ground, on fire, and scampered away, but he barely noticed.
The hallway opened up, as he entered a large cavernous rectangular room. Several torches were burning in their sconces on the wall, but the ceiling was still lost in the darkness overhead. His footsteps echoed in the quiet, but he barely noticed, he was too carried away with his news.
The right side of the hallway was a series of arches that opened into an even larger room than the one he was in, but it was in complete darkness. The far wall had collapsed, and the room was still cluttered with rubble.
Anton crossed the room, and entered the only somewhat illuminated hallway on the far side. The passage was short with a doorway immediately to his right, and another one at the end of the hall. Two guards stood on either side of the door, as usual; their swords were unsheathed with the points resting on the floor in front of them.
The guards bowed as Anton passed them; he was after all expected, well, that and the fact that they were scared witless by the old man.
He entered the small study; it was one of the few where all the furniture was new. A couch sat along the right hand wall, with several chairs along the left hand wall. A fire crackled in the fireplace between the two chairs.
Directly in front of him, was a huge wooden desk with a smaller table just to the left. Both the table and desk were covered in books. Ancient books by the look of them, several of them looked like they would fall apart if given half a chance.
Anton immediately bowed as he entered the room; his old bones creaked and popped as he kneeled.
“Anton. What is it?” An old scratchy voice called from behind the desk. The voice was impatient, not exactly overflowing with warmth.
Standing up with some difficulty, Anton moved closer to the desk. “My lord Zarum, I have just received some outstanding news.” He paused; the little man sitting in the chair behind the desk seemed to be absorbed in one of the ancient books and did not seem to be paying attention to him.
Irritated, Zarum looked up. “Well, what is it?” He was white haired, although his hair was awfully thin, and he seemed shrunken. He was missing some teeth, which added to his ancient look; the liver spots didn't help, either.
“My lord, it appears that we may have one of the groups.” Anton said, a smile breaking out across his face.
That caught Zarum's attention. “Really! Which group?” He asked, peering up into Anton's face.
His smile slipped just a little, but Anton recovered quickly. “I do not know, my lord,” Anton said almost breathlessly, and he quickly rushed on, “but I have a faithful servant with them now. It should not be long before we have them in our hands.”
Zarum leaned back in his chair, and studied Anton, who withered under the glare. “Do we have anyone else near them?”
Anton frowned, this was not going the way that he had thought it would. “Uh. Yes sir. I believe that the group under Prince Keenan is not too far.”
Zarum smiled and nodded, “Good. Get word to him. He's a capable leader; he should be able to bring them to me without any problem.”
Anton watched his lord Zarum, the o
ld man seemed to contemplate the situation for a moment, and it was as if he had completely forgotten about him. Anton was disgruntled. He had at least expected some sort of praise at the news. They had been trying to locate one of the groups for weeks now, and at last they had. And it was one of his men that found them. His earlier excitement had ebbed away, and he knew that there wouldn't be any sexual escapades that night.
Zarum suddenly turned his head to stare at Anton, “You still here?”
“Uh. I was not sure if you were through with me, my Lord.” Anton answered. 'Was he still here, indeed?'
Zarum's eyes narrowed as he studied Anton's face. “Did you say that you had a servant with the group?”
“Yes, my lord. He is a trustworthy sort, that is to say that he knows better than to betray me.”
Zarum was silent for a moment, scratching his cheek as he thought. “Is he noble born?”
Anton smiled, “No, my lord. He is just a commoner who has dreams of rising above his station.”
Zarum chuckled, “If he succeeds in bringing me the guardians, then I just might make him nobility.” The humor fell away from the old man and he sighed, “When we win, that is.”
Chapter 20
Derek's horse was in the front of their small group, and as he rode, he scanned the area for a good campsite. There was still at least an hour before dark, but he had gotten into the habit of stopping well before dark. He was getting nervous. They had been traveling with Orval and Garrick for almost one week. Tomorrow, in fact, would be one week. On one hand, it was frustrating, because if the guardians had been traveling by themselves, they could have easily made the trip in five or six days. But because of their “guides”, the trip was taking considerably longer. It wasn't Garrick's or Orval's fault, it was because Derek still hadn't found a way to get away from the sword masters, so he was intentionally slowing their pace. The last thing he wanted was to arrive on the doorstep of Baron Ludon after having lied about being in his employ. It was making for a horrible trip.
Ossendar: Book Two of the Resoration Series Page 34
