Prince of Bryanae (Bryanae Series)

by Jeffrey Getzin

  The Warlord Rackal leaned over to Waeh-Loh, and said sotto vocce, “You’ll have to be a little patient with him, Waeh-Loh. He’s only four.”

  “Come on, Fazzle,” he said to the boy. “What do we do when we’re introduced to a new woman in our household?”

  The boy stared for a few more moments, then removed his fist from his mouth, and climbed down from the throne. He stood indecisively, staring at his father with wide eyes.

  “Come on, you know what to do. Don’t make your father angry.”

  At last, the boy toddled across the room towards Waeh-Loh.

  “That’s it,” the Warlord Rackal said.

  Fazzle walked up to her, and looked up at her with those piercing eyes just like his father’s. Waeh-Loh smiled down at him encouragingly.

  Fazzle kicked her in the shin.

  “Excellent!” said the Warlord Rackal as Waeh-Loh yelped and knelt to soothe her wounded leg. “Well done, my son.”

  As Waeh-Loh stared in horror, Fazzle drew back his tiny fist to punch her in the face.

  “Fazzle, no!” The Warlord Rackal yanked the boy away from Waeh-Loh.

  “Never punch someone in the face,” he admonished the child. “There are a lot of bones in a woman’s face, and you’ll hurt your hand. You might even break it, and then you’d be laughed at by your entire domain. No, there are much better places to hit a woman.”

  He placed his hands on Waeh-Loh’s shoulders and pulled them back. “Straighten up a bit for me,” he said to her.

  Waeh-Loh glanced to where her father lay crumpled on the floor, but the Warlord’s hands took hold of her head, and turned it to face forward again.

  “Pay attention,” he said. “This is for your benefit as well as his.”

  “Now,” the Warlord Rackal said to Fazzle, getting on his knees to be roughly the same height as his son. “You don’t want to punch a woman’s face, but there are plenty of other places in you can hit her. For instance, you can punch her in her belly. Go ahead.”

  Fazzle stepped forward towards Waeh-Loh, but the Warlord stopped him.

  “What kind of a fist is that?” he said. He took the boy’s hand in his, and gently but firmly shaped it into a fist. “Remember to keep the fingers tight and your wrist straight. Otherwise, you’ll hurt yourself.”

  “Thank you, Exalted Father,” the boy squeaked.

  The Warlord Rackal tousled Fazzle’s hair. “Go ahead,” he said.

  The boy brought his fist back and punched Waeh-Loh’s belly. She tightened it as best as she could, but the small blow still stung.

  “Ah,” said the Warlord. “You’ll notice that she saw you coming and tightened her stomach, so it didn’t hurt her. These things happen.”

  Again, he tousled the boy’s hair, but then abruptly, he drove his elbow into Waeh-Loh’s stomach.

  “Blaak!” was the sound that issued from Waeh-Loh’s mouth, and she rolled to her side and vomited. Tears streamed from her eyes as she fought to regain her wind.

  “Uh,” grunted the Warlord Rackal, his nose wrinkled in disgust. He snapped his fingers, and a pair of elven attendants ran forward to wipe the floor and Waeh-Loh’s mouth before running off.

  “You see?” he said. “That elbow caught her by surprise, so she wasn’t able to make her stomach hard. But what if you can’t take a woman by surprise? What then?”

  The Warlord Rackal reached out and grabbed at one of her breasts. She recoiled from him.

  “No, no, no,” he said. “Don’t move. Come back here.”

  Her stomach was shaking with sobs she had no air to produce. She leaned forward again. He poked her breast with a single finger.

  “A woman’s teat is a perfect target. It’s soft, so it won’t hurt your hand and yet it causes a woman an inordinate amount of pain when you punch it. Especially if you get the nipple.”

  “Stoop down a bit,” the Warlord Rackal said to her. “He’s not that tall. He’s only four, you know.”

  She had no choice: she complied. The Warlord took his son’s hand and made it into a fist again. “Now, Fazzle, go ahead.”

  Waeh-Loh tightened her eyes to slits in anticipation of the agony to come but then opened them in a few moments when the blow hadn’t arrived.

  Fazzle was crying, rubbing his eyes with his tiny fists.

  “Ah,” said the Warlord Rackal. “I guess that’s good enough for today. We’ll have plenty of time to go over the rest later.”

  He glanced at Waeh-Loh’s entourage. “That will be all for today,” he said. “Show them to their chambers. And prepare the girl’s attire for tonight.”

  “I’ll expect you in my chambers this evening,” he said to Waeh-Loh. “Make sure you wear the clothing they’ll provide you.”

  “But … but we’re not even married yet!” she protested, then winced. She covered her mouth with her hand, but it was too late.

  “Rule two,” Mar-Ra said. “Do not speak to the Warlord or his kin unless you are instructed to do otherwise.”

  Waeh-Loh shrieked in despair as the guards approached. The Warlord Rackal laughed.

  After they had finished beating her, and she was wheezing on her hands and knees, the Warlord Rackal again knelt before her.

  “That must have been a very important point for you to make,” he said, his voice jovial. He laid his hand along the side of her face, and she was too beaten to even flinch.

  “To address your concern, we are already married. You were married to me from the moment I decided that you would be my bride. Now, go to your chambers with your family and make yourself beautiful for me. And by the Wolf’s tooth, wipe that blood and vomit from your face. It’s very unappealing.”

  “So, Fazzle,” he said, laying his hand upon the boy’s shoulders and walking him from the throne room, “you’ve done very well today. Tell me, what do you think of your new mother?”

  In drips and drabs, the others in the room filed out. One of Waeh-Loh’s entourage helped her to her feet.

  “You must go to your chambers,” he said, his face bestial and impassive at the same time.

  “Father?” she said, looking over at King Kral-Sus who hadn’t moved throughout the ordeal.

  One of the elves who had been in the room was kneeling beside him, helping him to his feet. Her father seemed made of dry kindling, the way he creaked and groaned as he moved.

  “Come on, Your Majesty,” the elf said, taking her father’s hand in his. “Let me help you to your feet.”

  As Waeh-Loh watched, she saw something pass from the elf’s hand to her father’s. Quickly, she glanced at the guards in her entourage, and was relieved to see that their gazes were focused entirely on her.

  She groaned theatrically to hold their attentions, then swooned. One of the guards steadied her. Then, once she saw that the moment of danger had passed for her father, she allowed herself to be led from the throne room.

  Behind her, two elven servants were busy wiping the blood and vomit from the marble floors, floors that had been the foundation of peace, prosperity, and justice for thousands of years.

  No more, Waeh-Loh thought. There won’t be any more of that around here. Not for the elves, and certainly not for me.

  Chapter 86

  “I can’t do it!” Waeh-Loh said. “It’s awful!”

  She sat on the bed in their chambers, sobbing. Going to that monster’s bed … why, it was the most terrible thing Waeh-Loh could imagine.

  “Why did he have to pick me?” she lamented. “It’s not fair.”

  Tee-Ri tossed her hair and said, “You really should stop acting like a child, Waeh-Loh.”

  Waeh-Loh glared at her mother.

  “I am a child, Mother. I’ve only just reached the second stage of childhood. I’m too young to marry.”

  Tee-Ri grimaced. “Well, there’s no point in fussing. You’re married to him, and that’s that. Besides, as you see, it can be a good thing. We’ll all have a more comfortable life because of your marriage to him.”

 
“Comfortable? Mother, I don’t know if you were paying attention, but they beat me less than an hour ago.”

  “Only because you didn’t follow the rules. Stupid of you, really, seeing as they went to the trouble of posting them outside the throne room.”

  Waeh-Loh gawked at her mother.

  “I can’t believe you’re saying this. I know you don’t love me, but to suggest that I, your own daughter … Father, what am I to do?”

  King Kral-Sus sat in a chair facing the window slit, staring out into the night. After a moment, he seemed to recognize that someone had spoken to him, and he stirred.

  “What? What is it, Baera-Ni?”

  Waeh-Loh saw that her father’s strength was still failing. How much more could he withstand before he simply gave up and died?

  She lowered the intensity of her voice, speaking with great gentleness.

  “What am I to do, Father?”

  King Kral-Sus grimaced and shook his head.

  “I wish I knew. I really do. It’s unthinkable to me to let you go to him, but I don’t know if we have a choice. If only there weren’t so many of them. If only we could escape to the woods.”

  “Why don’t we?” Waeh-Loh said, her voice almost a whisper.

  “Because we’d never make it out of the castle. Not me, not your mother, and least of all you. Oh, I wish some of our mages remained. This is all my fault.”

  “But, Father,” Waeh-Loh said, “I’ve never—”

  She had never been with a man before.

  But she couldn’t say the words. Her throat choked on them.

  King Kral-Sus stood, his spine curved and his hands looking thin. He walked over to the bed, taking a long time to get there. He sat beside her.

  “Baera-Ni …” he said.

  “I wish you’d stop calling her that,” Tee-Ri said, rolling her eyes.

  “Baera-Ni, if you decide not to go to him, I’ll support you. If you try to flee, I’ll support you in that. Whatever decision you want to make, you have my support. I wish I were stronger, or wiser, or better than I am. I’ve turned into such a failure. But I’ll do whatever it is you need me to do.”

  Tears dampened Waeh-Loh’s cheek, and she clutched her father to her.

  “You’re not a failure,” she said. “You’re the greatest man I’ve ever known.”

  Tee-Ri snorted, and Waeh-Loh wheeled on her.

  “You be quiet, Mother!” Waeh-Loh prodded her finger against her mother’s chest. “Because you’re right: you will have a more comfortable life because of me. And you’d better remember that. Because that comfort could disappear like a summer cloud if you displease me.”

  Tee-Ri’s shoulders puffed up in outrage, and her mouth gaped like that of a landed fish, but she said nothing. Eventually, she gave up trying to speak and flounced out of the room.

  King Kral-Sus smiled. “You know, Baera-Ni, I should have said something like that to your mother a long time ago.”

  He held her at arm’s length, regarded her seriously.

  “There’s something special about you,” he said. “I’ve always known it. I know you’ve had doubts about yourself, but I think you may be the greatest of us all.”

  “Ha!” Her statement was humorless; a monosyllabic utterance of ultimate self-loathing.

  “Stop it, Waeh-Loh. I mean it. You are so special, and you don’t even realize it. But I do. I think you may yet be our redemption.”

  Waeh-Loh’s eyes were damp and sore. She stared at her father, fighting to hold back her tears.

  “But I’m just a little girl,” she said, her voice trembling.

  King Kral-Sus smiled.

  “Now,” he said. “You’re just a little girl now. But you won’t always be just a little girl.”

  * * *

  Discipline.

  Discipline was doing what was necessary regardless of any hardships you might have to endure. Discipline was ignoring pain, ignoring fear; just doing that which must be done.

  I’m not afraid, Waeh-Loh thought as the guards led her to the Royal Chambers where the Warlord Rackal awaited her. I’m not afraid and this must be done. I must do it if for no other reason than to buy us some time to think and plan. I must do it to protect my father and yes, even my mother.

  As she meditated on the virtues of discipline, she felt a comforting calmness settle over her. Her heart still pounded, yes. Her hands still shook, yes. Her flesh still goose-pimpled beneath her cotton nightgown, yes. But she wore her newfound calm around her like a soft mantle.

  Discipline. Strength. She would face her fear. The Warlord Rackal wouldn’t be able to touch her then.

  Even the guards could sense this calmness that had come upon her. They glanced at each other with nervous eyes. As they walked, they increased their distance from her—perhaps without even being aware that they were doing it.

  They were afraid of her! But why? They had numbers, they had weapons. She was just a little girl. What cause had they to fear her?

  At last, they reached the door to the chambers. Waeh-Loh’s heart was pounding so hard that her chest hurt. This had been her father’s bed chamber. Now, it housed a monster worse than any dragon of legend.

  The guard reached for the door, but Waeh-Loh stayed his hand with her own.

  “No,” she said, and her voice was surprisingly steady. “I’ll do it.”

  Waeh-Loh rapped on the door with her fist.

  “Enter.”

  She pushed open the door, and there he was, lounging naked on the four-poster bed that dominated the large torch-lit chamber.

  Waeh-Loh’s knees weakened, and she flailed with her hand for support and found her escort.

  “Be strong, Willow,” her escort said. “You will survive this. I promise.”

  She snapped her head to stare at him, but already Tamlevar’s visage was fading and all she could see was the guard.

  Be strong. You will survive.

  “Excellent,” the Warlord Rackal said. “Come on in.”

  He dismissed the guard, and Waeh-Loh shuffled into the bedchamber, avoiding looking at the obscene bit of flesh that dangled below the Warlord’s waist.

  “I like that gown on you,” he said. “But now I want you to undress.”

  Waeh-Loh’s hands shook as they fumbled at the ties to her gown.

  Stop it, she ordered them. Stop shaking. Be strong.

  Be disciplined.

  But her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Still, she managed to get the gown untied, and it fell from her body to the floor.

  The Warlord’s eyes roamed her nakedness and he seemed to like what he saw. First, his smile blossomed; then that other, unmentionable part of him grew as well.

  Sobs welled up in Waeh-Loh’s chest but she fought them away. She would be strong. She would be brave. It would only be tonight, and then it would be over.

  She would survive. Tamlevar had promised her.

  The Warlord grabbed her hand and pulled her to the bed, and she didn’t cry. He rolled her onto her back and parted her legs and she didn’t cry.

  Then he climbed onto her, forced his way into her, and grunted and groaned, and clutched and fumbled at her body with hands turned as rigid and unforgiving as talons. And still she didn’t cry. Not once.

  At last, the Warlord stiffened and exploded into her. Moments later, he rolled off her and dozed. It was over so quickly.

  Waeh-Loh lay in the bed for a while, staring at the ceiling and blinking. After a while, when the Warlord said nothing else to her, she climbed out bed and pulled on the lovely cotton gown, not the slightest bit concerned if she got any blood on it.

  She stood for a moment, blinking stupidly, then got her bearings, and left the chambers.

  And after all this, Waeh-Loh only cried a little.

  Chapter 87

  The moonlight shone through the tower window, filling it with an ethereal glow. In the center of that glow, Waeh-Loh sat, still in her blood-stained gown. It was cold up here, but she didn’t mind. It lent a c
ertain clarity to the night, a certain purity. In the cold yellow light, Waeh-Loh was able to see things as they were, untainted by fear or other emotions.

  I’m a woman tonight, she thought without the slightest bit of pride. I’m a woman, though it happened too soon and with the wrong man.

  Still, she couldn’t do anything to change that. The question, therefore, was what to do now?

  Her eyes drifted to the tower window. It would be so easy to hurl herself from it. A moment of willpower, a few seconds of fear and flight, and then a permanent end to her suffering. Never again would she have to be raped—yes, it was rape, married or not!—by that monster. Never again, would she have to endure the snipes and slights from her beautiful mother, a woman so perfect in every way that her daughter’s ubiquitous flaws necessitated constant pointing out and contumelies. No longer would she have to watch her father sustain blow after blow to his self-esteem and vitality. Her poor, dear father …

  Ah, but that was the problem, wasn’t it? She couldn’t do that to him, especially not now. He had lost so much, endured grave insults, both physical and emotional. What would he do if his daughter were ripped from him? What would he do?

  He’d die, that’s what. Maybe quickly, or maybe slowly, but his death would follow hers just as night followed day.

  Unacceptable. She couldn’t do that to him.

  Discipline then. Doing what was necessary even when it was painful.

  Discipline. The very word was a comfort to her, a talisman against the injuries and injustices she had sustained. It would take discipline to throw herself from this tower; but it would take even more discipline not to.

  Very well then. Waeh-Loh, the youngest elven woman ever, would live. She would be strong. For her father’s sake.

  She rolled onto her belly, and in the chilly moonlight, pushed herself upwards.

  “One,” she said, noting the puff of her breath with satisfaction.

  Then she lowered herself and did another. And another after that.

  * * *

  It was near dawn when she returned to her family’s chambers. She slid in quiet as a ghost and took a moment to orient herself in the darkness.