by Travis Bughi
“The dungeons, yes,” Mark answered. “When he was captured, he said he had knowledge of you, Jabbar, and the colossus. He claimed to know where Jabbar was, so his capture was brought to my attention. I had him thrown into our personal cells instead of in amongst the other rabble.”
“He won’t speak to anyone but me, I take it?”
Mark nodded. “Those were his first words, yes, but everyone has a pain threshold, and I wasn’t about to send for you on the words of one portly, drunken pirate.”
“You tortured him?” Emily gasped.
“We might have, but fortunately Mosley’s threshold stopped at the sight of a cold smile and a threat. He broke and told us he saw Jabbar die to the colossus. He swore upon his ship, his mother, and something else between sobs. He wouldn’t give us his full name, though—said his first name is ‘Captain.’ Anyway, we are searching the shores and waters now for the rakshasa’s corpse, but I figured I had enough information to send for you. You came, so I suppose this pirate wasn’t lying. You and him were close once?”
“Close?” Emily snorted. “I wouldn’t say close. He was the least rotten apple in a barrel full of scum, and I saved him once to save myself. I’m here more out of curiosity than anything else. I want to know why he was sailing with Jabbar.”
They traversed the barracks, passing room after room, each either filled with injured soldiers lying crippled on beds or being used as communal sleeping rooms—most were shoved full of five when normally they slept no more than two. Candles danced as the flurry of activity continued indoors, only stopping at Emily’s approach. Knights stepped aside as Mark and Emily went by—their bodies going rigid in salute at their superior’s presence, and then their jaws going slack at the sight of the Vassal. Emily tried not to look in the rooms. She found herself thinking of Juatwa every time she did.
They passed into the angels’ tower and found another room being used for war, this one specifically for food. Sweltering fires heated large cauldrons all around. Men and women stooped over them, either stoking the fires, stirring the pots, or running with bowls and spoons in hand. At the tower’s entrance was a line of soldiers waiting for food, each one taking their due rations with a thankful nod.
The cooking had turned the tower into a sweathouse. The heat struck Emily like the winds of Savara, and she creeped closer to Mark just to have his chill knock off the unpleasantness of it all.
“Sorry for this,” Mark offered, “but it’s the best place to cook as of now. It has the most room, and it’s near the troops. The angels never made a place to feed an army, so we had to improvise. Follow me.”
He turned toward the door that would lead to the cells beneath the tower. When they reached it, Mark stopped and faced Emily, suddenly apprehensive and nervous.
“There is another reason I’m glad Mathew found you,” the vampire said. “I wanted to ask what your intentions are now that this battle is over.”
Emily faltered for a moment, her mind going blank. She thought of Takeo, of home, of seeing her parents once more, but then she remembered one more oath she had yet to fulfill. Her hand slipped into her pack and pulled out two letters, one sealed and one unsealed. Mark sighed deeply.
“Yes, I had a feeling,” the vampire said. “Have you read her letter yet?”
“I have,” she said, “and you are a monster.”
“I am, or rather, I was. I am a different monster now, though, one that wishes to make amends. Are you still going to deliver the letters to her after all these years?”
Emily nodded. “Of course, I promised her I would. Just because I spared your life doesn’t mean I’ll spare your reputation. Belen needs to know why she never heard from you.”
She spoke her mind before thinking it through and, after the words were said, felt a twinge of guilt for not softening the blow. However, Mark took the harsh words admirably, and she couldn’t help but feel a sliver of respect for that. He set his jaw straight and gave her a slow nod.
“I understand,” he replied. “About her, though. Your amazon friends, did they ever visit her and, well, find out what became. . .”
He trailed off, and Emily folded her arms across her chest.
“You have a son,” she said, voice flat. “He was born a werewolf.”
Sir Mark heaved and let his arms fall to his sides. Then he shook his lowered head and reached into his clothing. What he produced was another sealed envelope, which he pushed into Emily’s arms.
“He’ll be one year old, then,” Mark said. “Do me one last favor, please. If not for me, then for Belen, because I know you owe me nothing. When you deliver those letters to Belen, give her this one as well.”
“What’s in it?”
“I won’t tell. Suffice it to say it is a letter that, as I said, shows that I am a monster attempting to make amends. It will be up to Belen to decide whether or not to damn me. I trust you will keep it sealed until my estranged wife reads it herself?”
Emily looked over the letter in her hand. It had the same seal as the one written by Mark nearly a year ago—also the same size, shape, and even parchment. Had it not been that the one Emily carried was beaten, battered, and folded, she might not have been able to tell the difference between the two. She turned it over a couple of times, pretending to mull the idea over even when she already knew the answer.
“For Belen.” Emily nodded and tucked the letter into her pack.
“Sir! Sir!” came a voice shouting from across the tower.
Everyone whirled to see a young knight sprinting across the tower floor, breathing hard and waving his arms in the air. Takeo took a quick step in front of Emily, placing both hands on his sheathed katana, and Emily’s hands unconsciously went to her bow, but Mark showed no such apprehension as he hailed the lad.
“What is it?” he called out over the kitchen floor.
“Sir! Sir!” the knight repeated, falling before Mark to kneel in his aura. “We found him, sir. We found the rakshasa.”
Chapter 33
Emily felt like she was in dream—or perhaps the darkest nightmare she would ever know—as they brought Jabbar’s corpse into the tower on a massive stretcher.
It took eight knights to haul the beast in, for his body was nothing but dense muscle and wet, matted fur. His claws were extended in death, like knives sharpened for the kill. His mouth was open, showing off a long, pink tongue as well as an array of sharp teeth that made Sir Mark’s vampire fangs look like fingernails. The bustling activity of the kitchen floor came to a screeching halt. Knights, ogres, minotaurs, men, and women alike watched with a level of fearful awe that was all too appropriate, but most were too afraid to approach, preferring to stand at a distance and peer over the knights’ shoulders.
Emily had to take deep breaths and consciously remind herself not to step back. Her heart raced, her palms sweated, and her breathing went shallow the moment she saw the orange and black fur, and the intensity she felt in her chest rose with every step that brought his corpse closer to her.
Takeo felt it, too. He was better at disguising it, of course, seeming as calm as always on the outside, but Emily could see the corner of his eyes, and they showed the same fear she felt. Takeo held his place in front of Emily. His hands never left his katana, and his gaze stayed frozen upon the rakshasa.
On Sir Mark’s orders, the eight knights, huffing and puffing, hauled the body over to where they stood and then dropped the load to the floor, taking deep breaths and wiping sweat from their brows. One recovered before the rest and gave Mark a salute, her chest rising and falling with effort.
“Sir! He’s one heavy beast, that’s for sure,” the knight said. “We spotted him when we were searching the wreckage of a half-sunken ship. It’s a good thing he didn’t fall in the water. He’d have sunk like a rock.”
Good thing, Emily repeated in her head, not sure whether she agreed with the words or not.
“Well done,” Mark said with a nod. “Well done, indeed. You and your squad get so
me food and rest. You’ve earned it.”
“Sir! Thank you!” the knight’s chest swelled, and the rest of her followers saluted in kind before leaving.
“Emily, Takeo.” Mark nodded to them next. “Is this him?”
Takeo took a reluctant step toward the body. Emily leaned forward, but kept her feet planted. She looked at the orange and black stripes, the long, thin tail, and the triangle ears atop its head. Its whiskers extended out from a flat, pink nose, and saltwater dripped off the ends like it did from the rest of the body’s wet fur. The clothes were different than what she’d last seen. The rakshasa was draped in a royal blue kimono, one not unlike Ichiro Katsu’s, though this one was much larger. Emily hated to admit it, but she was struggling to remember what Jabbar looked like, his exact physical details and striped pattern. It had been so long, and this body was swollen, wet, and cold. She looked to Takeo and touched his arm.
“It’s him.” The samurai nodded. “I’m sure of it.”
Swift as a gunslinger, Takeo drew his katana and rammed the point straight down into the rakshasa’s throat. The move made those in the room gasp and shrink back, and Sir Mark shouted in shock. Even Emily jumped.
“I’m sorry,” Takeo said to the silent room. “I had to be sure.”
He drew his katana out—the rakshasa’s heavy head hardly moved, and no blood seeped from the wound—and wiped it on Jabbar’s clothes. Emily began to laugh.
It started as a relieved chuckle, then cascaded into full-fledged laughter. She gripped her stomach with one hand and covered her face with the other, embarrassed about laughing alone and yet unable to stop. Her mirth echoed against the walls and across the otherwise silent room, and she was sure that everyone was thinking she’d gone mad. It took her several deep breaths to stop, and even then she continued to chuckle while trying to wave away the stares directed at her.
“Sorry,” she offered. “So sorry. I’m just so relieved. He’s dead! He’s really dead!”
“I guess this explains why he never came for you last night,” Takeo said and sheathed his katana. “I thought for sure we would have seen him.”
“Not that it would have changed anything.” Mark snorted. “Your gunslinger brother would have dropped the beast just as quickly as the colossus did. Congratulations. It would seem the war is truly over.”
Emily let loose a heavy sigh and wiped the moisture that had formed in one of her eyes.
“So what do we do with him now?” Nicholas asked, kicking the rakshasa’s solid mass. “That’s a lot of meat to go to waste. I say we add something to the stew.”
“No.” Emily cut the air with her hand. “Jabbar’s greatest torture was eating his foes. I won’t honor that memory. Dump him with the rest of the dead. He’s worth no more than them.”
“I’ll have it discarded immediately.” Mark raised his chin. “In the meantime, I think you have a prisoner to speak with?”
Emily blinked in remembrance. She’d nearly forgotten about old Captain Mosley, still locked below. He was probably pissing himself at the moment, a prisoner on the wrong side of a battle once again. And now, just like last time, he was hoping that Emily would come and save him.
She remembered that it was Mosley who’d told them where to find Jabbar’s corpse. That meant the pirate captain must have been close to the rakshasa. Emily felt her neck twitch at that, and she gladly left Jabbar’s cold corpse behind for the equally cold dungeon beneath the angels’ tower. With a nod to Mark, she and Takeo entered the stairwell that led to the dungeons. The door closed behind them, and Emily realized that the heat from the cook fires above did not reach this area. The torches provided the only source of heat. On Emily’s order, only Takeo went with her. Not only was the dungeon too small to house many, but Emily wanted as few witnesses as possible for what she might have to do.
“Are you going to forgive him?” Takeo asked as they began their descent.
“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve forgiven someone,” Emily admitted, “but he’ll have to earn it. As of right now, he stands guilty. When we were attacked at The Kraken’s Eye, I wondered how it could be possible that Jabbar would know where to send his army to find me. Then the knights found Captain Mosley, and now I wonder no more.”
“This drunken pirate knew you’d be there? How?”
“That tavern is where pirates convene, except when amazons are in town. Mosley recruited me there. There is no other way Jabbar could have known both where to find the tavern and that I would be there. I’m fairly certain.”
Takeo went silent, but Emily sensed the rage in his walk.
“So,” he said darkly, “I am your executioner?”
“You are my sanity,” Emily corrected. “I considered Mosley a friend at one time, until he betrayed me. I don’t want to do this alone. Actually, I don’t want to do this at all.”
Takeo grabbed Emily’s hand in the stairwell leading to the dungeon and pulled her close. She reciprocated, pressing herself into his chest and taking a deep breath of his hair. His arms went around her, and he kissed her forehead.
“You can leave, you know?” he said. “I know you won’t, but I have to say it. You can leave and let me do this. I can carry this burden alone. The last time we were in a dungeon and had to kill a man we thought a friend, my friend, you saved what humanity was left in me. I can do the same for you. You can leave.”
“I don’t send assassins in my place,” Emily replied. “Nor will I have you judge him, instead of me. Besides, I have to know. Otherwise my curiosity may kill me.”
Takeo squeezed her tightly once more before releasing her. She turned to continue, but then stopped, leaned back and kissed the samurai’s thin lips, their touch gentle, sweet, and lingering. Then they pressed on until they reached the dungeon below where they met an entire squad of fully armed and armored knights sitting wherever and on whatever they could.
The dungeon beneath the angels’ tower, made to hold perhaps ten to twenty prisoners for a short amount of time, consisted of two lines of cages with a single aisle between them. The guard was always intended to be light, and this squad of ten knights was cramped—especially with full gear, though they’d removed their helmets.
All eyes fell on Emily and Takeo as the two exited the stairwell.
“My lady,” the first knight said and went to his knee. “The Vassal.”
The others whispered something similar and took after their leader. Emily’s cheeks reddened, and she sucked in her lips. She should have known this was coming.
“We heard you were coming,” the knight spoke to the floor. “We’ve been watching the prisoner, as instructed.”
Emily looked over them to the cells. Through the bars, she could see each cell clearly, and she was relieved to find that all were empty except for one.
In that cell, a portly man with a mustache, braided beard, and loose garb was chained hands and feet to the stone wall. His hair was long and undone, falling over to hide his face, yet Emily recognized her former captain in a heartbeat. Her pulse rose, and she waved a hand at the knights.
“Rise, please,” she said, waiting for them to do so. “I need some time alone with him.”
The knight bowed. “My lady, Sir Mark commanded us not to let him out of our sight. He could be the rakshasa in disguise.”
“The rakshasa has been found,” Emily said. “You can leave.”
The knights shared questioning glances, but then they nodded and obeyed, leaving with words of thanks and admiration. She waited until she heard the door up the staircase open and close before pacing forward to stand before Mosley’s cell.
“Hello, love,” Mosley said.
His voice cracked as he spoke, and he raised his head up. His tangled, matted hair came away, and Emily saw the sun-scarred face of the old pirate who’d taken her across the sea. Despite everything she’d said before, warm and pleasant memories funneled into her mind, and a smile tugged at her lips.
“You sound parched,” Emily replied.<
br />
“Aye, well, seawater will do that to you. Any chance you could be a lass and fetch me some rum? I haven’t had a drink all day.”
Emily sighed and shook her head before replying, “That would be the liquor wearing off. You probably need some water, Mosley. Not that it matters. I’m not fetching you anything.”
“Ah, sorry, love.” Mosley grimaced. “That was just a poor choice of words, honest sailor. Really, truly, I’m beyond happy to see you again. I’ve only been in chains twice in my life, and by the sea if you don’t happen to be the key to freedom both times. I owe you much, love, honest, and let me be true and say that I will owe you for life before I cheat you out of it.”
Emily clenched her teeth, trying to stifle the laugh that seeped up from her lungs. It didn’t work. The laugh came out of her nose, and she hated herself for it. Behind her, Takeo remained silent, but when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw the humor in his eyes.
“Who’s your friend?” Mosley asked. “I had been hoping you’d bring that other amazon friend of yours.”
“She’s still taken,” Emily replied.
“I’ll gut the man.”
“By the same gunslinger.”
“Eh, she wasn’t that pretty anyway.”
Damn you, she thought. You charming, dirty, smelly pirate. Why is it so difficult to stay mad at you?
“My friend here is Takeo Karaoshi.”
Mosley’s eyebrows rose, and the man took in a large gasp of air. He leaned forward against his chains, letting the iron creak until it went taut. It wasn’t far. The shackles had been secured in such a way that Mosley’s hands couldn’t dangle below his shoulders and his heels couldn’t come together. Emily noticed the iron was beginning to rub Mosley’s skin red.
She began to rub her wrists at the memory of her own chains.
“The rakshasa spoke of you,” the captain said. “Not fondly, let me say. He spoke words about you only my mother would use, and that ain’t a compliment. People always used to say I’d have been a much better pirate if I’d been half the man she was.”
