Written in Blood

by Span, Ryan A.

  “Impressive. That might just prove useful. Don't take this the wrong way, Karl,” she flashed me a tiny half-smile, “but I'm glad you're here.”

  “I couldn't let myself miss out on all this glory and adventure, could I?”

  Her soft, barely-audible laughter made everything all right.

  The Duke's boys lit lanterns and blew bugles to announce our approach. More lights twinkled to life in the keep's square grey tower. Shutters were thrown open, and curious faces watched us hike up to the rough-hewn wooden gate commanding the approach. Curious, but cautious. I saw crossbows loaded and locked.

  A challenge rang down. Penn and Arravis came forward to reply.

  “By my authority and the will of my Duke, I demand entry,” called Penn. He raised some kind of signet ring. Arravis repeated the words and showed his helm with the Duke's crest.

  The gate opened, and they led us through.

  The bailey was as dull inside as out. A town so nondescript my eyes slid right off it in search of more interesting things. I did my best to eavesdrop on the conversation between our captors and the local garrison, but I couldn't hear much. The one thing I noticed was Penn giving instructions for the lord of the manor to get out of his keep and piss off for a few days. That didn't bode well.

  The next thing I knew, they shoved a blackout hood over my face. More soldiers marched me at spear-point through the rough, uneven streets. Of course, I didn't need to see to know where I was going. A dirt path up, then flagstones, entering the keep. Down narrow, spiral steps. Banged my head several times against the low ceilings. They finally threw me down someplace cold and damp, deep in the bowels of the castle. They took my hood off moments before shutting a heavy grate over my head.

  It was an oubliette. A tiny hole in the floor, so tight I couldn't even bend my knees. The only way in or out was that gated trap-door, well out of reach, and locked. Impossible to escape.

  “Well,” I said. “That's pretty much that.” I could look forward to either a slow agonising death at the hands of a torturer, or a slow agonising death down here. So many exciting options.

  I passed the time by getting a sense of my surroundings. The oubliette smelled like death and rot. A layer of foul black water covered the bottom, with more seeping up through the porous stone. Even the walls felt wet. I could hear a faint drip-drip in the distance. That made sense ‒ this place was too small to have a true dungeon, so I was probably right by the castle's cistern. It raised a good question. If not here, where did they take the others?

  Shifting my feet, I brushed against an old skeleton crumbling in the corner. I did my best to ignore it. The poor bastard didn't have much to say anymore, and I couldn't even reach to pick him up.

  Footsteps echoed down the hall. The darkness retreated from the yellow glow of a lantern, and I heard another grate creak open a few yards away. A soft, painful grunt. Another prisoner for the oubliettes. My heart beat quicker with excitement, and I waited for the soldiers to leave before opening my mouth.

  “Who's there?” I whispered. No answer. I tried again, “It's me, Byren.”

  Nothing. Maybe they knocked him unconscious, or he just didn't feel like talking.

  Time lost all meaning as I stared into the black abyss above me. The constant drip of water preyed on my mind, kept me thinking about how long it had been since I'd had anything to drink. I began to lick the stones in front of me. They tasted of earth and moss and worse, but they were moist, and that was enough.

  The iron scream of my grate startled me. Had I been asleep? I blinked at the awful brilliance of lanternlight. Rough hands reached into the pit to haul me up. More Duke's men, frowns on their unkind faces, offended by my smell. They kicked me forward, past the other oubliettes ‒ I counted three, including my own ‒ and the big cistern of stored-up water. We ascended the narrow staircase. Once, we had to stop and stand aside for another group on their way down. Faro was among them. He hung limp in the arms of two more Ducal soldiers. Blood trickled from a shallow gash in his forehead.

  The cramped corridors opened out into a great hall, with seats for the local lord's family and retainers, and tables for dining. High up the walls I saw windows, and stars twinkling through them. Was it still night or had the day come and gone?

  Penn Saldette sat on a table at the far end. His back was turned. I wanted to rush and strangle him with my bare hands, but the oubliette and the sniffle had taken much of the strength out of me. Besides, I'd be dead before I could finish him off. Sergeant Arravis watched everything from a spot near the back wall.

  “Karl Byren, the Contractor,” Penn said to the wall. “In all these weeks, I think I hated you the most.”

  I didn't say anything. Inside my head, I thought, You were meant to. She planned it that way.

  He hopped down from the table and looked at me. Beckoned me closer. The soldiers made sure I did as told, spear points jabbing into my back and sides. I stared at him, observing the nice coat and doublet he'd appropriated from the lord's wardrobe. I couldn't help but wonder what kind of man could order an anointed knight out of his own castle.

  He continued in a sing-song voice, “Nothing to say, Byren? No clever retort? I'm disappointed, I thought we could exchange some biting witticisms before getting down to business.” At the word 'business,' he reached into his sleeve and produced a small, barbed knife about the length of my middle finger. The kind of knife that had no practical purpose but to inflict suffering. He rested it against my cheek, cold, awfully sharp. “You know, as a First among the Duke's Listeners, I'm not supposed to take pleasure in my work. I think I'll bend the rules this one time, just for you.”

  He wanted to frighten me. It worked. Dropping the name of the Listeners chilled me down to the bone, remembering everything I used to hear about them in the war. The Duke's very own brigade of spies, torturers and malefactors. Their hierarchy was all but meaningless to me, but I knew it took dedication and hard work to rise in those ranks. And results.

  I maintained my outward stoicism, but not by much.

  “I've been looking forward to this. I spent the last three weeks thinking of ways to repay you for every indignity.” He drove a hard, bony fist into my stomach. I doubled over, the wind knocked out of me, until the two boys at my shoulders jerked me back upright. “But don't worry, I know how to pace myself. First I'm going to hurt your friends. Then I'll hurt you. And once I'm satisfied, I'll cut you until neither God nor all the devils in Hell will want you.”

  My heart raced. I tried not to give him the satisfaction of seeing it, but I think he read it in my eyes. He beamed a sadistic smile and waved at Arravis. “Sergeant, have the Haderha bitch brought in. It's past time we had a little fun with her.”

  A stab of cold fear tingled down my spine. The thought of them hurting Yazizi made me sick. The Sergeant saluted to acknowledge his orders, and I knew I had to do something.

  “I wouldn't,” I coughed, hanging in the soldiers' grip. It gave everyone pause. I raised my head to look at Penn, my lips parted in a rictus grin. “By all means, try and rape a pure-blood Harari. She'll rip your cock off.”

  His smile faded. “What's it to you?”

  “Nothing. Just that the same girl nearly slit my throat a few weeks back, and I'm someone she likes. I'm curious to see you as a eunuch.”

  Indecision and doubt flashed in his eyes. Then he took himself in hand and focussed all his hate on me, teeth bared like an animal. “Very well. I'll start with you.”

  Fingers tangled in my hair, smashed my face down into the table. They tore the remains of my tunic away. I struggled, but my wrists were pinned down. My resistance ended when a sword pommel bounced off the back of my head.

  The world spun in front of me. All I could see was Penn's blazing eyes and the wicked little knife in his hand.

  I felt its sharpness part my skin and flesh. I screamed, and didn't stop.

  For the second time in two days, my memory turned to mush. I didn't want to remember. Didn't want to
think. The man, Byren, took his leave from my body. He fled deep down inside. He didn't come back until the hot, burning pain had been chilled out of me.

  I awoke hugging the oubliette's cold, damp walls. The darkness was absolute. I couldn't touch or see myself, but I felt the network of bloody furrows across my chest, my back, my arms and legs. Each cut ached in exquisite agony. I didn't find anything missing, though. It was only my first session, so he'd been gentle. He had all the time in the world to get creative.

  Unwanted recollections ripped through me. I'd talked. Oh, I sang like a bird to try to make him stop. Everything I knew about the war. Everything about our group and our mission. Except... Except what she'd told me in confidence. I kept those secrets inside, and let them give me strength. At least until the next time they dragged me out.

  Something echoed in the cold, stone prison. “Byren, are you awake?”

  The squire. My eyes stung at the sound, deliriously happy to hear a friendly voice. I tried to respond. Instead of words, what came up was a coughing, hacking fit spiced with phleghm and blood. I probably had a fever by now.

  “I think so,” I rasped. It took a lot of effort to speak.

  “Thank the Saints you're alive! We were worried. They took you away first, before they split up the rest of us.” He spoke as if he thought it was relevant. “I think they're keeping Sir Erroll and the Lady near the top of the tower. The rest of us got locked in a storeroom on the east side.”

  “Why‒” I had to stop just so I could breathe. “Why are you down here?”

  “I hit a soldier.” His tone soured. “He was... interested in Yazizi.”

  I nodded. Good lad. Maybe not the brightest, but good.

  He said, “I'm afraid.”

  “So am I.”

  “I don't see how we can get out of this.”

  “You're of good birth. You might get ransomed. Back to your family.”

  “What about the others? What Nobody's going to ransom you, or Adar, or,” he faltered, half-sobbing, “or Yazizi.”

  I didn't know what to tell him. For us, this was nothing short of a death sentence.

  He cried a while. His quiet, choked sobs bounced off the heavy stones. I hung in my cramped hole and didn't think about anything. After a long time, the sounds of grief faded away. Faro swallowed and cleared his throat.

  “I'm not a complete backbirth, you know,” he said softly. “I know Yazizi. She's been battered for so long that she'll worship anyone who shows her a scrap of kindness, especially if they batter her as well. There's a hundred reasons why I shouldn't love her.”

  I snorted. “You want me to disagree?”

  “I'm still a boy. I don't know what I want.”

  That sounded rehearsed, like the words of some teacher or instructor. I had to wonder what in God's name happened to him before the knight took him on. Against all expectations, I was beginning to think he was better off under Sir Erroll's wing.

  “Understand,” I wheezed, “I'm the last man in the Kingdom you should ask about women.”

  He made a noise between a laugh and a whimper. “You're the only man in the Kingdom who will talk to me about them.”

  “Saints, lad... You want my advice? If you want a girl, reach out and you grab her. If she pushes you away, that ought to be that. If she doesn't...” Another coughing fit overcame me. I spat into the awful black soup lapping at my ankles. “Oh, I don't know. Fuck and hold hands.”

  My words echoed to nothing without a response. I could almost hear him blush at my language. Eventually he whispered, “If we get out of this, I'll try.”

  Saints help him. If I'd been his age, I would've made my move already. Probably several dozen times.

  The flicker of an approaching lantern caught my eye. It drove back the darkness, accompanied by soft, leather-clad footsteps. I held my breath. I didn't know how many more sessions I could take. The walls of the oubliette pressed so hard on my chest that I believed my heart would burst.

  Suddenly, Lytziri's face appeared through the grate, and the terror settled a bit. I watched, wide-eyed, as she picked the lock and opened the grate. Took my arms and hauled me up.

  I scrabbled out of the hole, up to my knees, and stared at her. “Why?”

  “I like you. You have strength, for an Easterner. But you will be dead soon.”

  She grinned, making her cheekbones stand out like heavy boulders. I thought I understood her meaning. When she leaned in closer, though, her nose wrinkled at the way I smelled. The oubliette's foulness had drawn into my hair and skin. Then she glanced over her shoulder at the big cistern, full of clean water, and her grin came back tenfold. She took my hands and pulled me towards the deep, placid basin.

  “But this is drinking water,” said the soldier in me. It would get fouled just by us being in it.

  She giggled. “You and I will not be drinking it.”

  Without further ado, she pushed me in, left me flailing in the tank. I got my head above water just in time to watch her undress. A few sparse movements ‒ a buckle here, a drawstring there ‒ and she was climbing in. Muscle and sweat from her toes to her shoulders, not a pinch of fat in sight. I wasn't in any condition to resist her.

  “Cold,” she whispered, shivering. Her arms wrapped around her chest, not quite covering the way her brown nipples stood upright.

  She forgot all about it the moment our bodies intertwined.

  It hurt. Sweet love of the Saints, it hurt. Each of my cuts was a line of icy fire. The cool water of the cistern numbed it a little, and the sinuous firmness of Lytziri's body occupied most of my mind, but I paid dearly for every moment of pleasure. She dug her nails into my back. Surprise flashed in her eyes when she found my scars, but it didn't stop her. Her head whipped back. Her mouth opened in a silent scream.

  The moment came and went. She disentangled her limbs from mine, climbed out, and dragged me along like a fish on a hook. A hot kiss goodbye tingled on my lips. Then she slipped her clothes on, dropped me back in the oubliette, and walked away. Ships that passed in the night.

  I didn't think I'd ever quite understand the Harari. But, if I died tomorrow, at least I would have one more pleasant memory to take away.

  “I could hear that,” said Faro, once the blackness settled in again.

  “You didn't hear anything. On your honour, squire, or I'll haunt you for the rest of eternity.”

  He hesitated. “On my honour.”

  “Good. A man who can't keep secrets finds no friends in this world.”

  “Hush,” he whispered, “I think they're coming back.”

  Heavy footsteps trembled through the stone, far away, felt more than heard. I looked up in dreadful anticipation. Blinked, and shook my head. For a moment there I swore I saw something glint above me, a brief flash of reddish gold. But I couldn't have done. Not in pitch darkness.

  I watched the soldiers sidle into view, chuckling at the sight of me. This time I was too tired to care. To my surprise, they took Faro first. The grate clanged open. They pulled the squire out of his hole, then set him down and dusted him off.

  “Remember your lesson,” one of the troops sneered, “because next time we'll be leaving you to rot.”

  The squire didn't answer. Proud, unbroken. One man marched him away while two others came for me.

  “Master Penn wants to see you, fella-me-lad. He's got lots more in store for you.”

  Those words made me sick to my stomach. I didn't have the strength to fight the way they shoved me, kicked me, drove mailled fists into my kidneys to make me walk faster. I was in agony before I even reached the great hall.

  Again, Penn waited for me at the far end. On the table beside him was a set of steel needles, arranged neatly by size from smallest to largest. They looked shiny and wickedly sharp. I couldn't take my eyes off them.

  “I've been having some fascinating conversations,” he said. He held up Aemedd's bronze helm, tracing its lines with his fingertips. “It's a miracle you lot hung together for as lo
ng as you did. You should've slit each other's throats by now.”

  “We know where our loyalties lie.”

  “Is that right? Loyal enough to march unblinking into enemy territory? I'd call that foolish, given the company you keep.”

  “Whose company is that?” My voice trembled. If they hurt her... I couldn't bear it.

  Penn tore his gaze away from the helm and put it down. “Don't be coy, Byren. I've learned all about your stalwart knight. 'Sir Erroll Highhaven' indeed, how very droll!” My face must've given away my confusion, because Penn simply lit up with vindictive pleasure. “Oh. Oh, that's better than I could've hoped! You really haven't got a clue, have you?”

  He waited for a response, but I only glowered at him. Relieved, and puzzled, and full of loathing. My cuts ached. Blood still oozed from the ones I scraped on my way out of the oubliette.

  “This will be a rare pleasure,” Penn went on, unperturbed by my silence. “Let me tell you about him. His real name is Erick. He comes from a very noble family, with ancestry spanning back twenty generations. You might call them the noblest of families. After all, he is the eldest son of our Lord, Duke Selcourt.”

  “Him?” I gasped. My head spun. A number of things were beginning to make sense in my head.

  “No other. The most wanted traitor in the Kingdom, and you delivered him right to me. They'll make me a grand-master for this. By the Saints, my life has never been so sweet.”

  Savage triumph glimmered in his eyes. He slipped on a thin silk glove, and picked up one of the needles ‒ a big one, half as long as my forearm. He began to wave it hypnotically through the flame of a burning candle. Powerful arms held me securely as he brought the needle close and pressed it into my chest, just behind the nipple. In one end and out the other.

  My flesh sizzled, and I bit down without thinking, catching my tongue between my teeth. I whimpered. Warm taste of copper in my mouth.

  “You care about these people, don't you? How do you justify breaking your precious second rule? 'Never get yourself involved,' hmm?” Penn chuckled and left the needle to settle. “You make a pretty poor Contractor, Byren.”