The blood king cotn-2

by Gail Z. Martin

  "Intruders!" the guard shouted as he fell. Vahanian drew his sword and slashed downward, silencing the Nargi guard.

  "Here." Vahanian wrested Kiara's chit from around his neck and thrust it through the bars of the stockade to Carina. "Grab Carroway's hand and keep hold of my cloak. Break the chit in two. Concentrate on reaching Tris. It's our way out of here." He turned to face the soldiers that were

  coming at them at a dead run. He felt Carina clutch his cloak and heard the snap of the clay chit, sensing a tingle as a blue light came from nowhere.

  Several of the soldiers dropped back at the mage light. But one ran onward, sword raised, fearless of the otherworldly glow. Vahanian stepped forward to parry the falling blade and felt his cloak pull free of Carina's grip. Light flared behind him and disappeared in a heartbeat. The cage was empty.

  Vahanian turned to face the Nargi.

  "WE SHOULDN'T HAVE let him go alone," Kiara said, pacing in the back room at Jolie's place. Jae fluttered from the tabletop to land on Kiara's shoulder. Jolie watched from her seat on the edge of a table. Across the room, Tris paced. Sakwi knelt by the fire, deep in trance, holding the fog that gave cover for the escape and maintaining his link with the wolves and bats to provide distraction.

  "Jonmarc has always done as he pleases," said Jolie.

  "What's to keep the Nargi from barging in here after us?" Kiara asked. "It's hardly a fortress."

  "Astir," Jolie called. The dark-haired man who stood guard outside the doorway appeared immediately.

  "Yes, m'lady?"

  "Our guest raised a concern about our security. Can you reassure her?"

  There was a sound of rushing air. Without appearing to have moved, Astir stood next to Jolie. "What did you want to know?" Fast as thought he was again at the doorway. Jolie tossed a poker from the fireplace at the guard. He caught the iron implement and twisted it off-handedly, dropping it aside like crumpled parchment.

  Jolie turned back to Kiara. "Astir only works at night. He has many friends here. They're always welcome in my home." Astir made a little bow and ducked outside the door once more. "Their reputation makes this a very civil house."

  "How many?"

  "They come and go. The heat of so many people together at night draws them. Why do you think I slaughter so many goats? We've never had an incident with a guest that wasn't deserved. We're all predators," Jolie added, "of one sort or another. Or else we're prey. Personally, I prefer the first choice. Why don't you go out front and forget about it for a little while?"

  Kiara glanced over to Tris, standing against the wall, and at Sakwi, who sat in silent concentration. "No thanks."

  "You ought to know a thing before you judge it."

  "I'll pass."

  "You think this is just another type of jailhouse, don't you, checbe?"

  "That's exactly what I was thinking. I don't understand how you can do it to those girls."

  "Who's safer? The people outside the jail, or the one in the cell?" Jolie walked around Kiara apprais-ingly. "A jail can be a haven, if you've just escaped from hell."

  "Do you know the choices a woman has out here, away from the palace, Lady Princess? Not many. Marry whoever is chosen for you, and die birthing one brat after another, if your husband doesn't beat you dead first. Go to the Lady and serve an oracle.

  never leaving the temple. Not much better than death, but they might teach you to read. You might be able to apprentice for a trade, if they'll take a woman and if you have the money to buy your way into the guild. Or you come to a house like this, where you earn a living with the only skill they've let you learn."

  She held up a hand. "Hear me out. My house is different from the others. No one stays here against her will. No one may be harmed in any way. My guards make very sure of that. And once my girls have learned to read and write, made a purse full of coins and found another skill, they leave. There are no guarantees they will succeed. But most of them would rather die trying than take their other choices."

  "I hadn't thought of it that way," Kiara said, not quite ready to concede. Tris was sure Kiara was thinking about the arranged marriage she had fled, and what desperate lengths she might go to in order to avoid such a union.

  Sakwi stiffened and gave a strangled cry, his eyes snapping wide open. A haze twinkled in the center of the room, glowing brighter and brighter until it flared too brilliantly to watch. Jae fluttered and hissed, beating his leathery wings. When Tris dropped his arm from across his eyes, Carina and Carroway stood in the middle of the room, dazed and shaken.

  Tris dashed to help Sakwi as the land mage slumped. Kiara rushed forward to greet Carroway and Carina, but Carina resisted her embrace. "Where's Jonmarc?" the healer cried, looking around them in panic. "He was with us an instant ago."

  Tris eased Sakwi onto a low bench. "I'll be all right," Sakwi said in an exhausted voice. "Something went wrong. Only two," he said as a cough stole his breath. "Only two." Tris helped him free one of the herb pouches from his belt for a remedy, watching as Carina collapsed sobbing against Kiara. Jolie met his eyes with an accusing glare, not needing to put her venom into words. His friends were safe, almost certainly at the cost of Vahanian's life.

  Sakwi waved him away. Tris stepped over to Carroway, who stood silently beside Carina, watching as she sobbed on Kiara's shoulder. "What happened?" Tris asked, bringing them cloaks from a peg on the wall and guiding Carroway to a chair. Some of Carroway's ordeal showed in the bruises on his face and in the bloodied tunic that hung in tatters.

  "I had a hold of Jonmarc's cloak," Carina said brokenly, "but my hands were so numb, I could barely make my fingers move. Just as Carroway broke the disk and the light began to glow, the soldier came. Jonmarc stepped forward and I lost my grip." She covered her face with her hands, and Kiara pulled her close.

  "We barely made it out of the water last night," Carroway said tonelessly, looking at his hands. "We weren't there long before the guards came. They found us and dragged us off before we had a chance to think about finding the rest of you.

  "I don't speak Nargi, so I have no idea what they said, but they aren't very gentle. There was no question as to who had the upper hand. The one time Carina tried to speak, one of the guards cuffed her so hard I thought she'd passed out.

  "They took us to a tribunal, maybe a priest. He sentenced us, and they put us in the stockade. All day, the soldiers stopped by. It didn't take a translator to get the gist of some of the ideas."

  "They'll kill Jonmarc," Jolie said in a cold voice. "He's struck at their pride, taking captives out from under their noses. And he used magic to do it." It was clear from Jolie's eyes that she did not consider the two prisoners' safe return worth the cost. "It won't be a quick death. And if any recognize him for what he was, it will be worse." She walked defiantly to face Tris. "Prove to me you're what you claim," she challenged. "Save him."

  "Sweet Chenne!" Carroway exclaimed. "Do you want Arontala and the Margolan army on your doorstep? We're close enough that Arontala will know if Tris uses magic."

  "Only the Dark Lady Herself could get him out of there," Carina murmured. "They'll be on high alert for the next year."

  "If only the Dark Lady can save him," Tris mused, "then let's send the Dark Lady."

  "You're mad," Jolie told him. "Even you can't summon the Goddess."

  "Maybe I won't have to," he said, with a meaningful look at Carroway. The bard looked puzzled for a moment, and then brightened.

  "What are you talking about?" Carina asked. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying and showed the strain of her ordeal. "There's no way to get back in there." She looked from Tris to Carroway. "Is there?" She dragged a torn sleeve across her face. "Whatever you're thinking, count me in."

  "And me," Kiara added, standing and laying a hand on Tris's shoulder.

  "And me," Sakwi murmured from where he lay. "If I have strength to help, I'll do whatever you ask."

  Jolie gave Tris a long, measuring glare. "If there's a chance, I'll help," s
he said finally. "And so will any of my people." She crossed to a shaded window and looked out onto the river. "Do it soon, or it's a corpse you'll bring home."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  VAHANIAN BARELY PARRIED the Nargi's blow as his attacker launched a frenzied onslaught. But the flare behind him told him all he needed to know. The magic had taken the others to safety. He was alone, and in Nargi hands.

  Instinct drove him on against the odds. Before the first attacker hit the ground, two more rushed to take his place. By then, the whole camp was roused so that no escape was possible. The Nargi commander barked an order and a soldier with a crossbow stepped up, training the cocked weapon at Vahanian's chest.

  "Drop your sword," the captain snapped.

  Trapped, Vahanian had no choice but to comply.

  "Kneel, and place your hands on your head," the captain ordered. Two soldiers rushed up as Vahanian obeyed, binding his wrists with leather straps. The captain stepped closer, and the soldier kept the crossbow leveled at Vahanian. The captain reached out and tore the headgear away, exposing Vahanian's face.

  "What are you, outlander?" the captain asked. "You dress like a Nargi and fight like a Nargi."

  "Go screw the Goddess," Vahanian retorted in Nargi. The captain cuffed him so hard it nearly knocked him over.

  "I wonder," the captain said, grabbing a handful of hair and yanking Vahanian's face up. "I heard stories, once, of an outlander who could fight like that. Many years ago. But he'd be too clever to come back, wouldn't you think?"

  "You're the one with all the answers. You tell me."

  "Interesting," the captain said thoughtfully. He turned to a soldier behind him. "Fetch the commander. Tell him we have a captive I think he'll find most interesting."

  The soldier acknowledged the order with a low bow and ran off to the horses, setting off at a gallop. Just then, another soldier ran up from the direction of the cookhouse.

  "Captain," the soldier shouted. "We found three bodies behind the cookhouse, and a guard dead along the perimeter. We lost Lucan, Cashel, Piaras, and Newry."

  The captain regarded the soldier dispassionately. "Burn the bodies," he ordered. He returned his attention to Vahanian. "You'll die for what you've done."

  "I figured that out already."

  This time the captain's blow sent Vahanian sprawling, his ears ringing.

  "Quick death is an honor," the captain said. "You'll have time to reflect on your mistakes." He turned. "Take him away. Go over the stockade pole by pole to see what he's done to it, and post two guards at all times. If the prisoner escapes, those guarding him will share his death."

  "Yes, sir," the second-in-command replied. Two soldiers yanked Vahanian to his feet and shoved him toward the stockade. He staggered into the cell. The other soldiers filed back to their barracks, except for the one who began earnestly inspecting and mending the stockade, and the two sharp-eyed soldiers who stood guard.

  Vahanian rested his head in his bound hands. You sure picked a bad time to lose your luck, he thought. What in the world possessed you to try a stunt like this? But he knew. The others were more important to the effort to destroy Arontala and unseat Jared Drayke. They would go on. The quest could continue without him. If they succeeded, he would finally have his vengeance against the dark mage. More than that, Carina was safe. And while he might never have been able to earn her love, he could at least repay the many times she had saved his life. Maybe it's time. You always knew it was going to happen, sooner or later.

  The approach of a swift horse woke him from an uneasy sleep. Vahanian rose warily to his feet as the captain ran to meet the rider. The two men spoke for a moment, silhouetted in the moonlight, then strode toward the stockade. By the walk and carriage of one silhouette, Vahanian could identify the rider even before the man's face became clear in the dim light. What little hope he held vanished.

  "Well done, captain. Bring him to your quarters. I'll question him myself."

  "Hello, Dorran." The guards opened the door and roughly maneuvered Vahanian out of the cage. "I figured you for buzzard food long ago."

  "Just as I remembered," Dorran said, a cold smile touching his thin lips. "We have some catching up to do. Bring him inside."

  Forced to kneel while one guard kept a crossbow trained on him, Vahanian watched the thin commander lay aside his cloak. "Amazing. You caused me no end of trouble with your… escape. When the general let you go free, he thought it would discredit me." Dorran circled Vahanian as he spoke.

  He stopped and reached out, a dagger in his hand, to tilt Vahanian's face up until their eyes met. "I would have been a general myself by now, without your little ruse. I've thought a long time on just how you might make that up to me."

  "What about his companions?" the Nargi captain asked.

  Dorran shrugged. "Riffraff. There's no time to chase petty smugglers down the river. Ready your men for Margolan."

  "Expanding your horizons?" Vahanian baited.

  Dorran regarded him coolly. "I've spent almost a decade rebuilding the career you damaged. This will reclaim my honor. We've made an alliance with the new king of Margolan to remind some insurrectionists about the power of a king."

  "I thought Margolan had an army for that kind of thing." Vahanian tried to keep his interest from seeming too apparent.

  "His army is soft. They lack the will of their king. We'll teach them. And for that, I'll be handsomely rewarded."

  Vahanian said nothing more; the point of the dagger pricked into his throat. Dorran twitched the blade, tracing the thin pair of parallel scars that showed where a slave collar had left its mark years ago.

  "This time, no one will arrange your escape," Dorran said, returning his knife to his belt and beginning to turn up the sleeves of his uniform. "I intend to enjoy myself quite thoroughly." Without warning, Dorran wheeled, landing a kick on the side of Vahanian's head that sent the smuggler sprawling. "Get ready to see the Lady. Your luck has just run out."

  The beating continued until Dorran, panting and winded, could do no more. His uniform was spattered with Vahanian's blood. Vahanian lay sprawled on the floor of the Nargi captain's barracks, unable to drag himself to his feet, his wrists still bound in front of him. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and one eye was swollen shut. He could taste more blood in his mouth, and the pain in his chest assured him that several ribs were broken.

  "Take him to the healer," Dorran commanded, wiping his hands on a towel. He looked down at Vahanian. "You know the ways of Nargi healers. They're quite efficient. If I've done any real damage, they can set it right."

  "Why bother?" Vahanian asked thickly.

  "I haven't finished my sport yet. Tomorrow, I'm going to let the garrison have a private audience with the general's great champion fighter. Only this time, it won't matter if you win or lose. Either way, you'll still die. I've been looking forward to this for a long time, Vahanian." Dorran stepped over the fallen fighter and strode into the night. The guards dragged Vahanian to his feet and pushed him, staggering, toward the priests' quarters.

  Back in the stockade, Vahanian watched the dawn come with a leaden feeling in his stomach. True to Dorran's word, the Nargi priests had reversed the worst damage. Vahanian spat blood and nursed his split lip. The priests, ascetics as they were, did not bother with any wounds which might not threaten his life or his ability to fight. Vahanian awoke from a restless sleep with the feeling that he had been ridden over by a wagon team. He replayed Dorran's boasts in his mind. Nargi, ready to march into Margolan. Tris would be cut off from behind, and the influx of expert fighters might be all Jared needed to turn the game.

  Vahanian strained against his bonds. There was no way to reach Tris with the crucial information. His sacrifice to save the others would mean nothing. All the wishing in the world wouldn't get him out of here; Tris would walk right into Jared's trap. With the Nargi on the march into Margolan, Tris's quest was doomed.

  It took all of his will to rise impassively when
his captors came for him. The practice ground was full of Nargi soldiers and Vahanian was led into their midst. A soldier cut the strap that bound his wrists. Vahanian rubbed his numb hands. Dorran watched from a chair on the side.

  "I've highlighted your accomplishments as the general's champion for those who don't remember,"

  Dorran said. "I told them what a privilege it is to fight you. As you can imagine, there have been many volunteers."

  "And if I refuse to fight?" Vahanian asked.

  Dorran' eyes narrowed. "Fight, and you'll die a warrior's death. Refuse, and I'll have you burned alive with the bodies of the men you killed. Any other questions?" At Vahanian's silence, Dorran clapped twice to call the troops to order. "Let the first contestant come forward."

  Vahanian faced a Nargi soldier almost twice his size. The two began to slowly circle, each looking for an opening. As in the days of the betting games, neither carried a weapon. That, Vahanian remembered grimly, was part of the sport the Nargi so enjoyed. Barehanded combat. Winner lives. The big man lurched, surprisingly fast for his bulk, and swung at Vahanian with fists the size of melons. Vahanian dodged, ducking and coming up beside the man, then executed a flying pivot and landed a kick that sent the big man reeling. The crowd cheered as Vahanian's attacker roared in rage and lumbered back at a dead run, murder in his eyes. Vahanian narrowly evaded the man again and scored another kick, but the attacker wheeled and caught his leg, bringing them both to the ground.

  The big man jerked Vahanian's arm behind him sharply enough to pull it from its socket. Bucking desperately, Vahanian threw the man off balance and scrambled out of the big man's hold, swinging wide with his free hand and connecting his knuckles with the giant's nose, driving the power of his blow up and in. The soldier staggered, dropping his grip on Vahanian. He gave a deep rattle then slumped and lay still. Vahanian staggered to his feet. The soldiers who ringed the practice area cursed him and called for his blood.

  "Very good, Jonmarc. Nicely done," Dorran praised cynically. "You're doing us a tremendous service, showing us which of our soldiers are inferior. You may now test the training of another soldier." He made an abrupt gesture, and a second soldier entered the ring. Setting his jaw, Vahanian moved to meet his opponent.