by JManess
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7
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CHAPTER 21
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Sondra awoke with a splitting headache to discover herself trapped within a wooden cart in some kind of compartment. Th e
bouncing of the cart slammed her back and forth into the walls, and she stifl ed her cries as each impact slammed spikes into her damaged skull. Th e
pain served the purpose of taking her mind off her fear. Abject terror would be a better description, and as Sondra ran her hands along the confi nes of the compartment she brought away splinters and the knowledge that only the top lifted up— and it appeared to be locked closed. She was trapped in this tiny space without food or water and, as always seems to happen while in mortal peril, an uncomfortably full bladder.
She barely discerned the sounds of a whip cracking over the cart horses and the sound of a man’s voice speaking with an uncultured and foreign accent.
The only other sounds she heard were the ceaseless and relentless rolling of the cartwheels over uneven roads, carrying her to an uncertain future. She didn’t hold out much hope of escape. She had no idea where she was, who held her captive, or why, but she could reason with certainty that whatever her captives wanted she wouldn’t want to give up willingly.
Sondra remained awake and tried to distract herself by employing logical formulas to her dilemma. She made mental lists, cataloguing the details of her situation, her potential enemies, what she might know that would put her in danger; whatever she could think of. Mainly she spent the time fighting back the fear and mind-numbing panic. By the time the cart halted and the trap door opened she was ready to do one of two things: scream in insane terror or wet herself.
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Fortunately, she managed to do neither, and a huge, grizzled man wearing homespun flaxweed tunic and trousers that hadn’t seen a wash bucket in ages, yanked her out and tied a rope around her hands. He dragged her over to some trees, and Sondra recognized the royal parklands just a cycle’s ride from Ariva.
They were heading south, but she was still in her home country; she might still escape.
“You use that tree; I don’t want you messin’ up my cart.” The man shoved her roughly and Sondra didn’t hesitate. She’d been a dragon; she could handle relieving herself crouching behind a tree while a pungent and shifty kidnapper waited on the other side. Besides, it felt so good to finally be free of the cramping pain that she almost forgot where she was, until the man jerked on the rope and yanked her back to reality.
She jumped up and quickly set the maid’s dress back to rights. The man shoved her toward the cart and she balked, unwilling to trade the relative freedom of the parklands for the cramped confines of the cart. She had no idea when or if he would let her out again. When she stopped he raised a meaty fist to punch her again, and Sondra moved on her own. She didn’t have a chance of escaping as long as she remained unconscious.
He lifted her back in the cart as effortlessly as if she were an empty barrel and tossed a hunk of moldy bread and a skin of water in after her. He leered down at her just before he closed the trap door. “You try anything, I’ll forget that I was ordered to bring you to my employer untouched, you understand me.” His eyes roved over her body in the maid’s uniform, his fat tongue licking lips, thick like sausages. Sondra shuddered and turned away from him. She heard the door slam and the meager twilight disappeared.
Sondra choked down the bread and took small sips of the warm water, determined to keep her strength up to face whoever employed this cretin to kidnap her and deliver her. She supposed she should be grateful that they’d insisted she remain untouched. She shivered with repulsion at the thought of that man molesting her in such a way. She didn’t know what her kidnappers planned for her, but she liked to think of herself as a realist. They may not want her touched because they may want to do something to her themselves. She spent the remainder of her cart ride promising herself she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of screaming, until she finally fell into an uneasy slumber.
Her captor let her out two more times on the journey before he finally declared that they’d arrived. She crouched awake in her compartment when 208
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the cart rolled to a stop the final time. She heard more men talking to the fat man then heard a thump as something struck the seat beside him. The man responded in the same language as the other man, and both men laughed, while the third moved around the side of the cart.
Sondra didn’t speak Halidorian but she’d heard diplomats from that country speak it, and this language sounded similar, if not the same. Judging by the length of the trip and the basic geography of the land she should be in …
“Oh gods, I’m going to scream,” she thought, her logical consideration failing to distract her when the third man opened the trapdoor and looked in.
He was dressed like a guard or a soldier, wearing the same lack of expression on his clean-cut face as any other soldier in her own castle. The uniform he wore identified him as a Halidorian, the Morbidion helm ghoulish on the black background. The soldier glanced down at her, turned and signaled the other man, and the two bodily lifted her from the cart. They set her down but didn’t release her arms, and she glanced back at her original kidnapper.
He waved mockingly then slapped the ribbons and his horses started forward.
Sondra stuck her tongue out at his back.
The soldiers escorted her roughly but dispassionately into a crumbling manor. Sondra didn’t get much opportunity to study the exterior or the interior, but she did note that the steps to the upper level had nearly disintegrated. The soldiers took her down a hall on the first floor and thrust her into a room furnished with a single cot, a chair, and barred windows. She turned just as they slammed the iron-studded door behind them and she heard the key turn in the lock.
By now it was sundeath, and Sondra didn’t even know how many cycles had passed since she had snuck past her guards into this trap. That she was the intended victim she had no doubt. She could think of many reasons why the Halidorians wanted to kidnap her, but none of them comforted her. After all, they had a good reason to dislike her since she destroyed their monstrous war-creatures. She guessed they must know that she was the one that did it; everyone in Ariva knew it, and it wouldn’t take much work on the part of a spy to figure it out. She slumped onto the cot, deciding that she might as well try to rest until her captors paid her a visit.
Several hours later, as the room lay dark and silent, Sondra jerked awake at the sound of the key turning in the lock. She quickly stood, staring at the shadowy portal and waiting to see who entered. The door swung open and a
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guard stepped through carrying a lantern. Following him, a man of medium height and lean muscle stepped into the circle of light cast by the lantern.
Sondra didn’t recognize him, but she felt certain she would have if she’d ever met him before. He wasn’t traditionally handsome, lacking the rugged good looks of Derek, but his skin was a beautiful golden color, his features were finely wrought and elegant, he had a strong masculine nose, short black hair that swallowed the light, and intense dark eyes that swept the room until they alit on her. Like the guard, the man wore a black uniform coat bearing the Morbidon skull helm. The fabric appeared to be the same linen material as the other guard’s uniform, though his buttons were silver rather than black.
Despite his unremarkable clothing, Sondra knew the man was important. She saw it in the way he carried himself, the confidence in the set of his thin but shapely lips, the way the guard bowed as he entered.
The stranger smiled when he saw Sondra, and his brilliant white teeth flashed. His smile was so friendly and engaging that Sondra nearly smiled back before catching herself. He dipped his head slightly in greeting.
“Welcome, Princess Casiondra. I apologize for the inade
quate accommodations.” The man’s voice was rich and rolling, the charismatic tone of a great orator. He had a slight accent but spoke flawless Arivan.
“I’m afraid you have the advantage on me, sir. You know who I am but I have no idea who you might be.” His lips tightened just slightly before he responded with another lovely smile.
“Of course, forgive me, where are my manners. I am Prince Onian, son and heir to the throne of Halidor.” The prince bowed in greeting, his movement arrogant and slightly mocking.
Sondra hadn’t expected a prince; a general, perhaps. Every prince she’d ever met—and they had been admittedly few—were little more than ornately decorated puppets, boasting flawless manners and empty skulls. This man, this prince, dressed like a soldier: the sword belt around his waist simple and functional, not a jewel anywhere on the hilt of the weapon. He bore the intensity of a warrior rather than the frivolity and vanity of a pampered statesman.
Despite the fact that she admired his complete lack of wealthy pretension, Sondra could never forget that this was the man who had brought war to her people and all in the name of greed, unconcerned with how many lives were lost.
“I see I am finally face to face with my enemy. I cannot imagine what you 210
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hoped to gain by abducting me; my father will not pay ransom. He has three other children to carry on his line.” Sondra hoped he wouldn’t decide that he no longer needed her and dispose of her.
“Of course not, Princess; we do not resort to such foolish antics as ransom demands. I have brought you here for another reason entirely. I would like to extend an offer to you. You see, I am aware of your … shall we call it—unusual nature. I vastly admire your abilities and appreciate them as your own superstitious and judgmental citizens cannot. Only look at how your own people treated you when you sought to aid them. Even now my … friends … in Ariva tell me that the people mutter about what should be done, whether they should demand that your own father lock you away because you might prove dangerous to them someday.”
Sondra gasped, unwilling to believe the prince. His eyes narrowed on her and he walked forward, his expression radiating sympathy.
“Oh, but you did not know. Of course your family would seek to protect you from hearing about such horrible ingratitude. But let me ask you, Princess Casiondra, how long can your father hold off the angry mob when they come seeking your blood? Your people, they fear you—and fear will drive them to destroy you. I cannot bear to see such an eventuality come to pass. You are far too incredible a creature to die at the hands of ignorant peasants.”
“You lie,” Sondra whispered, willing herself to believe that the prince spoke falsehoods even when she suspected that he did not. Even if he lied, there was a grain of truth in his words, for hadn’t she experienced some of the fear herself?
Fear from servants who had known her all her life, yet now hid whenever she rounded a corner. He came closer, sympathetic and compassionate.
“You know that I do not lie. I can see the realization in your eyes. You must understand that people who live in ignorance can never appreciate your glory.
They hate you. These are the people you defended, and they demand your death. I believe you are magnificent. I wish to make you a hero, a mascot for my new empire. You see—” Prince Onian turned and started to pace, each step measured, his fantastic voice ringing out with avid conviction as he began his oration—“the kingdom of Halidor is dying along with my father, poisoned by excess and overindulgence in wasteful luxuries. I have plans to usher in a new era, an era of industrious progress, an era of expansion and empowerment for all of Halidor’s citizens …”
“Except for their women,” Sondra interrupted.
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“No, Princess,” the Prince turned, his face glowing with his enthusiasm,
“unlike so many others in my country I am well aware of the intelligence and untapped abilities of the fairer sex. I would see all citizens, men and women alike, stand on equal footing. I would see women trained in the same trades and skills as men and work alongside them. Ah, I see that now I have your attention. Even in your own kingdom, women have very few rights. In Halidor, I would change all of that. But change is costly, and my father’s excesses have drained our treasury. That is why I attacked Ariva. I need the revenue from those mines to implement this wondrous new era. Do you see, Princess? I am not a monster, just a man that loves his kingdom and his people so much that he will do whatever it takes to see them prosper.” He was a powerful speaker, Sondra couldn’t deny it; and for a moment she wished there was a way to help him achieve those marvelous goals without attacking Ariva. His charisma and enthusiasm were difficult to deny, especially since what he said sounded so reasonable. She couldn’t help him, of course, even if she was willing to betray her own country and slaughter her own people, which she most certainly was not. She did not have the power to change her own shape, not that she would let him know that. She suspected such a confession might just find her in Morbidon’s kingdom before the sunbirth.
“I think you have admirable goals, but it isn’t worth the cost of so many lives simply to improve your kingdom. I will not betray Ariva.” The prince stopped his pacing and approached her again.
“Princess, I am asking you out of respect for your remarkable abilities. Do not believe that I will simply allow you to turn down my offer and walk away.
If you agree and work with me, you will find your life much easier. I will allow you to consider your options until sunbirth, then I will expect an answer, and I hope for your sake that it is the right one.” He flashed her another beautiful white smile and strode to the door.
“One more thing, in case you are thinking of changing into your other form and escaping. You should know that I have already had my wizards en-spell this entire room. If you change into your dragon form, the wards will trap you here. Sleep well, Princess.”
He left the room and the guard followed, taking the lamp with him and plunging Sondra into darkness. She heard the lock click on the door and collapsed on the cot. She had no idea how she could escape this mess. She would die before agreeing to attack Ariva, and she most likely would die if she 212
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did not. Then there was the whole problem of her inability to shape-shift. She buried her face in her hands and gave in to the need to cry, her sobs shaking the whole frame of the cot as she wallowed in the hopelessness of her situation, knowing it would only get worse.
True to his word, Prince Onian returned at sunbirth, bringing six guards with him. The first guard entered the room, and Onian followed. Sondra realized that he expected her to attack or make a move, hence the armed guard preceding him. The five other guards followed. This wasn’t looking good for her.
“Good morning, Princess, I hope you slept well.” His eyes swept the chamber, noting that everything remained where it belonged, even to the chamber pot beneath the cot that Sondra gratefully found the previous night.
Sondra remained silent. The prince came closer, but it was his guards closing around her that felt the most threatening. “So, do you have an answer for me this morning?”
“It’s still no, Prince Onian. I will not betray Ariva.” Sondra’s voice shook with fear. She knew she was doing the right thing but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t get her killed. The prince sighed.
“How disappointing that you wish to do this the hard way.” He motioned to his men and they jumped on her before she could move, dragging her to the chair in the room as she struggled and bit and kicked. They lashed her to the chair and she screamed at them, epithets that she’d overheard passing the servant’s quarters but never personally used.
“Such foul language for a princess,” Onian tsked. He walked up to her and she spat at him. He slapped her across the face as casually as he might brush back her hair. Her head snapped back and she couldn’t stop the startled oww that escaped her s
tinging lips.
“Really, Princess, your behavior begs the question of whether you are truly of noble blood.”
She struggled against the ropes, but the guards tied them so tightly that they bit deeply into her arms and chest, bruising her with every movement and cutting off her breath.
“Now, I shall ask you again, before things grow really unpleasant, will you join Halidor voluntarily? I promise you, I shall spare your entire family. I will have to kill the Warlord you understand. I realize that he is important to you, but he is far too dangerous to remain alive.”
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Sondra strained against the ropes, struggling for air. Her outrage at the callous offer nearly choked off her reply. “Never! I will never help you.” Onian shook his head and turned away. He nodded to the guards.
“I don’t care if you break any bones, but do spare her face; it is such a shame to scar a lovely woman, don’t you think,” he asked the guard. “I will return again, this centerday. I trust I will find you more cooperative.” He left the room as the guards moved in to beat Sondra, closing the door on her screams and the sound of fists meeting flesh.
Sondra lay crumpled against the ropes for a long time after the guards finished and left. They were experts at what they did; beating her until just before she passed out, stealing the comfort of oblivion from her and leaving her locked in a world of pain. From her neck down she hurt; every breath she took brought tears to her eyes and took her to the abyss of unconsciousness but never into it. She knew that several ribs were broken. She didn’t know about her arms, but she was certain she had a broken leg. Her entire body swelled from the merciless beating but the guards remained true to their orders, they hadn’t touched her face. She cried softly, each sob wracking her with more pain.
She knew she was going to die here and probably in a horrible manner. This pain, this suffering, was only the beginning.
