Dax returned and rushed to his side. “I’ve got it.”
“Good. Find a bowl. Mix a quarter-cup or so of the sugar with enough honey to make a poultice,” Dixon directed him as he continued cleaning the wound.
A minute later, when Dax handed over the mixture, Dixon’s eye caught his. “Let’s hope this works,” he said. With that, he packed the sludge, as well as possible, inside Aliza’s open wound. Once done, he loosely wrapped clean bandages around her arm.
“And now, we wait,” he said to his friend.
Morning arrived. A cool breeze wafted into the barn door.
Dixon, having stood guard through the night, went to Aliza’s side. With a hand to her forehead, he checked her fever. It seemed to have abated some. He went about changing her dressings, then awakened Dax to stand watch, so that he could rest for a time.
Hours later, he woke again. When he saw Aliza rustling nearby, he rushed to her side.
“Aliza?”
Her eyes opened. “Dixon.”
“How are you?” he asked as he felt her forehead.
“I’m not sure. A bit better, maybe.”
Dax stopped grooming his horse, a task he’d chosen to do simply out of a need to keep busy. He stepped up. “I just put another pot of boiling water there,” he said, pointing at it. “I’ll go pump some more fresh drinking water now.”
While Dixon explained to Aliza about the poultice he’d put on her arm the night before and again earlier that morning, he unwrapped her bandages.
“Oh, goodness, this does look much better than it did yesterday,” he said.
“Let me see.” She tried to sit up.
Pressing his hands to her shoulders, he shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
She closed her eyes and let her breath out slowly. “Dixon, you may have to remove it.” She swallowed hard. “My arm, I mean.”
He grinned. “Don’t be ridiculous. If it gets that bad, I’ll take you back to Oosa. Anyway, Spec brought us information from Lucy. We tried it last night, and again early this morning, and things look better now. So, let’s just get a fresh poultice and dressing on this again.” Then he smiled at her and added, “You’re going to be fine.”
After cleaning out the wound once again, he made a fresh honey and sugar sludge, then packed it again. As he wrapped it up, she fell into a deep slumber.
Just then, the sound of crunching gravel carried to his ears.
“Dax?” he called.
When his friend didn’t respond, he stood.
The sounds came again.
He headed to the door. “Dax?” he called again, drawing his blade.
Then, at the precise moment he stepped out, something came crashing down on his head.
His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground.
“Hurry, Scarface, git that shroud over ’er ’ead,” came a raspy voice. “Can ya believe these ’eathen women, goin’ about uncovered?” He growled out his disdain.
“That’s twice we’ve outwitted ’em, Mad Dog.”
“Not so bright, are they, Pretty Boy?” He laughed. “But it helps when they ’ave a leak they don’t know ’bout,” he whispered. Then, squatting down, he looked over his shoulder. “Gimmee a hand ’ere.”
When Aliza stirred in her sleep, Mad Dog grabbed her injured arm and pulled her up into a seated position.
Struggling beneath the heavy black cloth the men had placed over her, she screamed in pain.
“Hold it!” he ordered.
Her next cry fell to a whimper as her body went limp. She’d dropped once again, into unconsciousness.
“Caveman!” Mad Dog hollered. “Ya need tuh help us.”
The men picked her up and carried her out of the barn. Then they put her on the back of a horse and tied her on. Once done, they saddled up.
Slowly, Dixon came back to his senses. His head spinning from the hit he’d taken, and feeling unsteady, he struggled for clarity. Upon realizing he sat on a horse and that his hands were tied before him, he looked around for Dax.
“Where are you taking us?” he asked when his eyes lit upon his friend astride a nearby gelding, similarly bound, and just then regaining consciousness.
Mad Dog’s hearty laugh was accompanied by Pretty Boy’s giggling. “You’ll see soon enough,” he said. He scowled at the Oathtakers. “Now, if there’s any more outta either of ya, we’ll gag ya.” With that, he grabbed his reins and those of the horse to which they’d tied Aliza on, and then set off.
His cohorts followed, leading Dixon and Dax behind.
When Evan fluttered near his shoulder, Dixon whispered. “Go! Inform Lucy. Now!”
“Why not just escape, Dixon?” the flit asked. “Disappear magically. Perhaps you could take them by surprise.”
Dixon shook his head. “They took all the weapons I had on my belt, including the crystals,” he whispered. “Worse yet, they took Verity. Without my blade, I’ve not much to fight with. Besides, I couldn’t rescue both Dax and Aliza. There are too many of them. I’ll have to bide my time, wait for the right moment.”
“No talkin’!” Mad Dog ordered.
“Get to Lucy,” Dixon said to the flit. “Take Merc with you.”
Mad Dog turned back for a look. When he saw nothing, he turned away again.
“And have Spec follow us,” Dixon added.
Most of the time while they traveled, Aliza remained unconscious. Her moments of clarity were few and far between.
Meanwhile, although Dixon and Dax watched closely for any opportunity to escape, their captors guarded them too closely and at all times. So, since their blades had been taken from them, and their hands were bound, the Oathtakers offered little resistance.
At nightfall the next day, without food and with only scant water in the interim, they entered the city of Fallique. Hundreds of warriors filled the roadway before them. They mocked the prisoners as the men guided them in.
Before long, they approached the back door of a building made of cut stone, attached to the rear of another building. Bars ran up and down its windows. Burning torches in holders embedded in its exterior walls, lit the area, emitting the thick scent of pitch. At each side of the door, a succedunt soldier stood, holding a chained grut.
None too gently, the men assisted Dixon and Dax from their saddles. Then three guards surrounded each of them.
At that moment, Aliza, regaining consciousness, tried to sit up.
One of the men untied the ropes that held her to her saddle and pulled her down. She landed on the ground with a thud, her broken arm beneath her. As she cried out, he grabbed her other arm and dragged her to her feet.
Her expression couldn’t be seen under the black shroud they’d placed over her head, but her crying and panting sounded out.
Dixon called for them to stop.
Seconds later, Aliza’s knees buckled. She sagged back down to the ground. Once again, she’d passed out.
“Pretty Boy, get the door,” Mad Dog ordered. “And you, Scarface,” he motioned to another man, “get ’er.” He pointed at Aliza, and then waited while the man took her up and flung her over his shoulder.
Spec fluttered near Dixon’s shoulder, looking very much like a lightfly in the flickering, burning torchlight.
“Quickly,” Dixon muttered, “get word to Lucy of our whereabouts.”
The moment the flit flew off, the men ordered Dixon and Dax to march. At their heels, Scarface carried Aliza. Dixon was grateful that at least for now, she wasn’t whimpering in pain.
Inside, the smell of wet hay, old urine, and other assorted odors assaulted the Oathtakers’ nostrils. Dixon coughed, nearly choking on them.
Before them, cut-stone steps led up a flight and then around a bend. Hungry and thirsty, Dixon struggled to garner the energy required to make his way up them.
“Hurry!” Mad Dog ordered.
The guards half pushed, half dragged, the Oathtakers up the steps. At another landing, they turned and headed down a h
allway. Soon, they turned yet another corner.
Before them, Pretty Boy opened a door, while Mad Dog went to the head of the pack and then motioned for his comrades to follow him inside.
If the place without stunk, the one within was even worse. Panting for a breath of less than fetid air, Dixon coughed repeatedly.
“You—in there.” Mad Dog pushed Dax into a cell. As the Oathtaker sought to regain his footing, the thug closed the door and then jammed Dax’s blade into the lock.
He approached the next cell. “In there,” he ordered his men.
They pushed Dixon in. He stumbled, then landed hard on his shoulder. Wincing, he made his way back to his feet even as Mad Dog closed the door and then repeated the procedure he’d carried out at Dax’s cell, this time jamming Dixon’s blade into the lock.
“What are you going to do with her?” Dax asked, looking at Aliza, still in Scarface’s arms. “She’s hurt. She needs help.”
Mad Dog stepped to a cell opposite from Dixon and Dax, one visible to them both. He grinned at them. “That’s a shame for ’er,” he said. With that, he looked at Scarface and jerked his head toward the inside of the cell.
The man walked in, squatted halfway down, and then deposited Aliza on an old, damp bed of straw. As she hit the floor, a fat rat shimmied out and toward the door, then ran down the hall.
The men closed and then locked the door. Once done, Mad Dog jammed her blade into the lock.
When he was through, he returned to stand outside Dixon’s cell. “Come here,” he ordered.
He approached.
“Put your hands through.”
He complied.
Mad Dog cut the ropes at his wrists, even while instructing Pretty Boy to do the same with Dax’s.
The second Dixon’s hands were free, he reached for Verity.
Mad Dog laughed. “Yer blade is right ’ere,” he whispered, “and right ’ere, it’ll stay.” He held Dixon’s gaze. “Might as well get comfortable,” he added, grinning, before he and his men retreated.
Nightfall having already arrived before the men delivered the Oathtakers to the prison, there were no guards in attendance after Mad Dog and his men left.
Simultaneously, Dixon and Dax, each still holding his weapon’s handle, pulled, but to no avail.
Dixon’s first thought was that he’d simply travel, magically, to get outside his cell. Once done, if he could reach Aliza, he could take her to safety. Then he could return for Dax. The plan might mean leaving their blades behind, but he figured he’d worry that that detail later.
He closed his eyes to summon his power, but felt no change. He saw no lights or colors like those that had always accompanied his magic traveling powers before.
Opening his eyes, he discovered that he hadn’t moved. Startled, he sat down—hard. “I can’t travel out of here, Dax! So now what?”
“Dixon!” Mara called out, having recognized his voice.
“Mara?” He jumped back to his feet. Grabbing two of the bars, he tried, unsuccessfully, to see down the hall. “Is that you?” He pulled, but the bars were so solid, they didn’t even rattle.
“Yes!” she cried. Her chains jangled as she got to her feet. “Oh, Dixon! Was that Dax I heard?”
“Yes, he’s here with me. Aliza, too.”
“Oh, gracious . . . I told you not to come for us!”
“We didn’t ‘come’ so much as we were ‘delivered,’” he said. “We didn’t know this was where they were taking us. Anyway, are you all right? And where are the twins?”
“They’re here. In the cell next to me.”
“Dixon,” Eden called out, “what happened?”
He and Dax told Mara and the twins all that had transpired.
“Aliza’s hurt? Oh, dear Good One! How is she now?” Mara asked.
“I’ll light a flare—see if I can get a good look.”
Dixon did. Then he reached out with it and peered into the cell across the way into which Scarface had dumped her.
“It’s hard to tell,” he said. “She’s still unconscious.”
“Listen,” Dax said, “they’ve jammed our blades into the locks of our cells and we can’t get them loose.”
“And I tried to travel out of here, but couldn’t,” Dixon added.
“Oh goodness, then whatever is barring my magic here is barring yours, as well,” Mara said. “As to your blades, like I told Lucy before, they did the same with mine. I’ve tried to retrieve it, magically, but it won’t budge.”
“Magically?” Dixon asked.
“She’s chained,” Reigna piped up. “She can’t reach it. And she’s been unable to break loose.”
“You didn’t mention that, Mara, when you messaged Lucy,” he said.
She didn’t respond.
“Dixon, can you see how Aliza’s wound looks now?” Eden asked.
“No, it’s wrapped.” He closed his fist over his flare, then opened his hand. “What’s this?” he asked.
“What?”
“I put my flare out, but there’s no crystal.”
“Yes, I suspected as much,” Mara said. “I’m not able to create one either.”
He sighed. “Well, in any case, I’m growing concerned with Aliza’s wound. We were captured two days ago, and I’ve not been able to put a fresh pack on it since.”
He proceeded to explain the sugar-poultice remedy that Lucy, at Percival’s suggestion, had urged them to try.
“So she wasn’t able to trick your captors into thinking she was someone else,” Reigna said. “What a shame.”
“She’s been unconscious most of the time since she was injured,” Dax said. “And now that we’re here, that particular attendant magic power isn’t likely to be effective.” He sighed. “Oh, and by the way, they took all our other weapons, as well,” he added.
“Ours too,” Mara said.
“What more can you tell us about this place?” Dax asked.
Mara told them everything she knew, including about how of late, Carlie had been in charge of them on a daily basis.
When Dax asked who Carlie was, Dixon reminded him that she was Nina and Jules’s daughter, and about how Jerrett had determined from his earlier trip to Chiran, that she was with Broden.
“Do you think she’s still with him?” Dixon asked Mara.
“Yes, based on something another woman who’d been guarding us earlier, told us.”
“What do you suppose is Broden’s role in all of this?”
“The woman told us that he’s in charge of the prison. Beyond that we don’t know anything. But Carlie has been bringing us decent food and fresh water, secretly.” She paused, in thought, and then said, “Tomorrow, I’ll make sure she gives the canteen she usually gives to me, to you. Maybe you can get it to Aliza so that she can clean her wound when she awakens.”
“Mara,” Eden said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You need that water.”
“Shhh,” she scolded.
“But Mara—”
“No more,” she ordered.
“What’s she talking about, Mara?” Dixon asked.
“She—” Eden started.
“Nothing,” Mara called over her. “I can do without water for a day.”
“Let them take ours then,” Reigna suggested, clearly having concluded that Mara didn’t intend to share her news with Dixon just yet.
“No.” Mara sighed. “You two have to stay strong. I’ve already told you, when—if—you get a chance, you must make your escape.” As an afterthought, she explained to Dixon and Dax about Rowena’s shawl.
When she was through, all were silent for a time.
Then, “This isn’t just about the two of us any longer—or you,” Eden said. Her comments were clearly directed Mara’s way.
“That’s enough, Eden.”
“Mara—”
“I said, ‘that’s enough.’”
Dixon, still standing near his bars, spoke up. “What aren’t you telling me, Mara?”
&
nbsp; She dropped back to her haunches, then leaned against the rock wall. Just then, her stomach turned over. With a moan, she struggled to hold back her nausea.
“What is it?” he asked.
She gained control of herself. “Nothing, Dixon,” she whispered. She’d been getting sick again—regularly. But she didn’t want the twins to know. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not telling me something. I can hear it in your voice.”
She stifled another moan. She’d had a lot of time to think on things. Once again, it seemed that Ehyeh had managed to allow for her to suffer. The thought made her both sad, and angry.
“I told you,” she said when she finally got her breath back, “I’m fine.”
Dixon groaned. “Do you think there’s anything Carlie could do to help us?”
Mara swallowed down another fit of nausea. “Please don’t involve her any more than she already is.” Breathing heavily, she wiped away a tear, brusquely. “Nina will never forgive me as it is.”
“You had nothing to do with her capture.” Exasperated, he patted his thigh. “You know, Carlie may be our only hope in here. Or, our only hope of getting out of here, as the case may be.”
As Carlie stood near the door to the prison, she thought back to the previous night. Broden had paced, his gate quick, his arms folded, and his jaw set. He’d stopped suddenly and turned to her and Striver.
“Mara and the twins have been here for weeks now,” he’d said. “I have to get in there.”
“Listen, maybe we should write Mara a note, after all,” Carlie suggested. “We could put it in with some food I carry in. I’ve been going there daily, and so far, the guards have yet to search me beyond having me empty my pockets.”
Broden grabbed her elbow. “We cannot risk your getting caught with a missive.” He shook his head. “No. Bringing them food is one thing—but not that.”
She held his gaze. “You know, you were right to get me in there in the first place, or we wouldn’t even know about them. If not for the food and water I’ve been bringing them, they might already be dead.” Her eyes searched his. “Please, Broden, I want to do it. I’m tired of being just another prisoner. If we can help them, then maybe they can help us. If not, perhaps I’m ready to die in the attempt.”
Ephemeral and Fleeting Page 30
