by James Fuller
Dahak looked at his opponent, the “J” burned into his chest showed him as one of Jeriki’s men. Dahak’s eyes burned with hate - this whoreson might have had his hands on Shania! His dagger slashed out, scoring a deep wound across the man’s chest. Dahak lunged forward as the axe-man staggered back, his dagger piercing into the man’s thick belly, but the pull of the chain around his ankle halted it from going deep. A powerful elbow that sprawled him to the ground was his reward for the attempt. Despite his disorientation from the blow, his ears picked up the grunt of effort from his opponent. He rolled himself to the side as the large blade slammed into the earth once more.
Dahak stopped on his back; his eyes came into focus just as the trident-wielder prepared a killing blow at Zehava who had just regained his feet. Dahak snarled, his dagger lanced up into the man’s inner thigh; the blood that poured free warranted that the artery had been severed. The man growled out in pain, his leg buckling, his attack on Zehava lost. The shadow that loomed across Dahak pulled his attention back, instinctively his legs came up, and his feet met the shaft of the battle-axe as it arced down. The sudden, jarring force tore the axe from his opponent’s hands.
Zehava saw his opponent’s leg give out, blood pouring freely from a deep wound. He pushed himself from the wall and charged, the man brought his weapon to bear but Zehava easily parried it aside. His foot shot up, catching the man under the jaw, snapping his head back and sprawling him to the ground. Zehava brought his sword down, the tip ripping a gash in his opponent’s back as the man rolled out of reach. Zehava tried to dive in for the finish but the chain snapped taunt and his reach fell short again.
Dahak tried to push himself up, but a heavy boot stomped down on his arm and he felt the bone break. He fought back the scream of agony, rolled up, slammed his knife into the side of his attacker’s knee and twisted. The axe-man crumbled to the ground and tried to crawl to his weapon. Dahak wasted no time and was on the man’s back in an instant. His dagger flashed down, again and again, until his enemy flopped to the dirt, long dead with a score of fatal knife wounds oozing thick blood.
Dahak watched Zehava dodge a wild thrust; without thought his blade cut through the air and entrenched itself deep into the enemy’s stomach. The man looked down to see a hilt protruding from him - before he could act, Dahak tore Zehava’s sword from his grasp. The roar of the crowd went wild as Jeriki’s fighter’s head fell from his shoulders.
Lance stared down into the pit at Dahak - this was not the same man from several days past. This was a beast without fear of death, which was now fuelled by cold, calculated hatred. This man would bring him much coin. Lance grinned as he watched Jeriki storm off from the pit side. “Mitch, make sure both these two go inside the hole tonight under watch. I do not want resentful feelings to bring tragedy upon my new prize-fighters.”
“Will do, Lance.”
“And Mitch, find Elsrath and get him to heal them back to standards. Tomorrow they will fight again.” Lance’s eyes did not leave his two fighters as possibilities danced within his eyes.
Zehava and Dahak were escorted from the pit to a small room, tunneled into the side of a hillock on the southern side of the camp. Solid stone and hardened clay encased the room and a small iron-barred cell occupied each corner while a barred skylight in the roof provided light and air.
Zehava sat on the floor in the back right and Dahak the back left, the other two were empty. The cells were just large enough for a grown man to stand, but not enough room to lie down fully. The room was cool and a welcomed change to the humid jungle heat they had suffered for weeks.
“Dahak, you saved my life down there today,” Zehava called over to his friend. “Thank you.” Dahak eyed him for a moment but said nothing, as he cradled his broken arm. “How is your arm doing?” he asked, seeing that his friend was fighting the pain.
“You no longer need to worry about me, Zehava,” he offered in cold reply, “I can take care of myself now.”
“You fought like nothing I have ever witnessed before,” Zehava admitted. “I have never seen that side of you and I have known you a long time my friend - are you all right?”
“No, I am not all right.”
“Tell me what I can do to help?” Zehava said, getting closer to the bars.
A heartless chuckle escaped Dahak’s’ lips. “You have helped enough.”
“What is a matter, Dahak? This is not like you - we are friends and we need to stay strong if we are to get out of this alive.”
“I am not going to be weak any more - I am not going to be the reason those I care about get hurt! Not anymore,” Dahak snapped back, his eyes burning bright, lit by a frenzy of self-destruction.
“I am sorry about what happened to Shania, but there was nothing—”
“Do not talk about her!” Dahak hissed, before Zehava could finish. “You could have let me die! What happened to her did not need to happen. Because I was weak, you felt the need to act and because of that she was punished! It will never happen again, Zehava, never.”
Before Zehava could reply, the door to the holding room opened and a pale, gaunt, middle-aged man with short, wild, orange hair, clad in a dirty brown robe walked in. It was Elsrath, Lance’s wizard. He looked frail and worn out and if one did not know better, he would have passed as nothing more than a street beggar. Elsrath was anything but - what he lacked physically, he made up tenfold with the powers he commanded.
“Which one of you is worse for wear?” Elsrath asked, his voice edgy and indifferent. He looked into the two cells examining them both; his eyes were weary and bloodshot, as if he had not slept in days. “You with the broken arm, come here so I can mend you.”
Dahak glared hatefully at the wizard. “I do not want your help.”
“I care not what you want; I am to heal you. Now, come here.” The wizard demanded. “I shall not ask again.”
Dahak spat at him in defiance.
“Have it your way.” He raised his hand and a percussion of air pulsed through the cell and slammed into Dahak, his head cracked off the stone wall and he slumped down. “That was easy,” Elsrath muttered, unlocking the door.
“You bastard!” Zehava growled, but Elsrath ignored him as he summoned his innate ability and force-healed Dahak’s wounds.
“Are you going to cause me such grief?” Elsrath asked, locking Dahak’s cell door and turning to Zehava.
Zehava stared at the wizard - the thought of letting him get close and thrashing him against the iron bars, in the hopes of disabling him, so he could get the keys crossed his mind and took all his strength not to act upon. Even if it worked, he would not be able to get Dahak and the others out alive. “I am fine. I took no serious damage in the pit this day.”
Elsrath looked him up and down and shrugged. “Good, I detest wasting my skills upon the likes of your kind.”
Zehava eyed the wizard. “Then why do you?”
“I have my reasons.” Elsrath turned to leave as Lance walked in.
“Are they repaired?”
“They will fight again,” Elsrath replied, clearly apprehensive suddenly.
Lance smiled. “Good, then you can enjoy the rest of the evening.” He pulled a small leather pouch from his belt and tossed it to the wizard. “But I want you to stay alert, in case there is a problem tonight. So do not overindulge - do you understand?” His tone was stern.
“Of course I do,” Elsrath replied, his hands eagerly fidgeting with the leather pouch. “You know where to find me, if you need me.” With that the wizard quickly exited.
Lance looked in at Dahak. “You know, your friend put on a great display today, even better than you have so far.”
Zehava held his tongue, not wanting to give Lance the satisfaction of an outburst.
“I have to say as much as your foolish act to save him the other day has cost me…it would appear it may have been a very profitable error.” Lance looked back at Zehava. “You know this life does not have to be as negative as it has been.
I have no quarrel over rewarding good behavior. You fight and win, obey my rules and do not cause harmful disruptions within my world and I may reward you with small enjoyments.” Lance walked back to the door. “Think about it.”
Nicolette tossed and turned restlessly in her cot. Sleep evaded her, even after four days and nights without it. Guilt and shame assaulted her with every breath and squeezed her heart. Every time she looked over at the tightly curled form on the other side of the cell it tightened more. Shania had saved her that fate by taking her place - a selfless act of friendship that Nicolette wondered if she even deserved.
Since all this had begun, so many others had put themselves at risk and in harm’s way for her. Ursa - out of loyalty - had risked everything he had helped build for the equality of those with the Gift, even his very life. Meath had risked everything for her and would a hundred times over because he loved her. Saktas - a man she had not even known - had sacrificed his life to protect them. Zehava and Dahak had come along to help protect her, out of loyalty to Meath and because she was their Queen. Shania had risked her life more than once and now this - all to protect her from the cruelty all around her.
Nicolette gritted her teeth and cursed; her nails cut into her palms as she balled her hands into fists. What made her so special? Why should others risk their own wellbeing for her? Because her title decreed it so? Or the blood that flowed within her veins was somehow purer than theirs? It was all false - she was no better than they were; she was nothing so special. She did not deserve that kind of devotion.
Nicolette cursed her weakness. She had trained and learned how to fight - to not be a victim, and yet here she was: still weak, still in need of protection from others stronger than her. She began to sob fresh tears and within moments felt bitter shame for it. She had no right to cry for herself, not while Shania was only paces away.
“She lives, you should be thankful,” Luna whispered from her cell.
Nicolette pulled herself from her cot and crawled across the floor, to where Luna sat in the dark of night. “I am thankful she is alive, I am just…” Nicolette struggled with voicing the truth, “…ashamed she suffered because of my cowardice.”
“Look at me and listen carefully,” Luna said sharply, her eyes locking on Nicolette’s. “She did what she did because she cares for you deeply and would rather suffer such a fate than to see you suffer them. It is the greatest selfless act anyone could offer another. Do not take it from her by feeling sorry for yourself, or you will be mocking all she endured for you.”
“I cannot help it - it should not have happened, I should have been stronger and just accepted it... not allowed her to...”
Luna reached through the bars, grabbed Nicolette’s face hard and forced her head around. “Look at her! You bloody well look at her! Whatever pity and hurt you feel is nothing in comparison to what she feels… and will feel if you make it all in vain!” Luna released her.
Nicolette scurried away from the bars, back to her cot, Luna’s words echoing mercilessly in her head. She was right about everything. She looked over to the curled form of Shania - her heart ached, but she would not let her friend’s sacrifice be for nothing.
Nicolette woke to the sound of the barn door opening - she had not even realized she had been asleep. Shania still lay curled tightly within her cot, almost motionless, regardless of the echoing footsteps coming towards them. Nicolette got to her feet and moved protectively to her friend.
“Look lively ladies,” Lance ordered as he walked into the center of the room. “Today has started off on a high note - not something I have had much of lately,” He sneered. “But someone wants to buy one of you lucky girls. I expect you all to be on your best behavior when we go out there. I hope I do not need to remind you what will happen to you if you disobey!” He glared at both Nina and the dark-skinned woman, then walked to the end cell and smiled in at Nicolette. “You two are exempt this time because I still have higher purpose for you. But your time will come soon enough… when the right amount of coin is waved in front of my face.”
The girls were stripped down and led out of the barn like breeding horses and would be bid upon in the same manner. The thought made bile rise in Nicolette’s throat. She knew the only reason she and Shania were not out there was because Zehava and Dahak were still alive. Once they lost or any of them angered Lance enough, they too would be sold… or worse.
Nicolette waited impatiently by the bars, staring out towards the door, trying to see or hear what might be happening. But she could not see anything and all she could hear was men calling out prices, but for whom, she had no way of knowing.
It seemed like an eternity before the door opened again. Nina’s eyes met Nicolette’s, a look of remorse etched in face as she shook her head. Nicolette watched the door, but only Nina and the young mute girl returned. Nicolette’s heart sank and she moved away from the bars. Luna, Sherry and the others were gone now, sold to men who would rape and abuse them, maybe even kill them. She glanced over to Shania who still had not moved, yet she could see the slight movement of her shallow breathing and knew she was at least alive.
The mood within was mournful for the rest of that day; nothing was said. It was as if they paid their respects for the lost girls with a day of near utter silence.
Nicolette did not know when she drifted off to sleep but the sound of movement within the cell alerted her and she woke, fear coursing through her. It was still dark, the morning dawn had not yet graced the sky with another day of humid misery.
She rolled out of her cot to see Shania standing within the center of the room, her movements slow and precise, as if she fought some unseen foe. In the darkness of the cell her bruises did not show, but Nicolette knew they would still be there. Elsrath had healed the cuts, the cracked ribs and jaw, but could do nothing for the swelling and bruising.
“Shania, are you all right?” Nicolette asked, biting her tongue too late at the stupid question.
Shania stopped and regarded Nicolette. “I will survive. I always have.”
Nicolette rose from her cot and went to her friend; her hand reached out to touch her shoulder but stopped as she struggled to find the right words.
Shania grabbed her hand and held it tightly, their glistening eyes locked. “Do not speak of what needs not be given over to words.”
Nicolette fought back the tears and nodded.
*****
The wavering light from the small fire illuminated the faces of his three companions as they made idle chat before they lay down to rest. He was glad he was not there this night, as he would not have been good company.
Ursa sat a short distance from the small camp at the only real access point into the small dead-end ravine they had made camp within. He was taking first watch, as he knew he would not find sleep - his mind reeling with conflict and confusion.
Ursa rubbed the joints of his hands, trying to work the prickling sensation from them. He knew it would only help for a short time - it was an annoying side effect of the drug. He had taken more of the drug than he had intended recently and was beginning to feel the powerful effects of withdrawal. He knew that if he continued to use it any longer that the addiction would begin overtaking him as it had so long ago. He forced the thought from his mind; he would not succumb to that again.
He watched Talena lie down to sleep and wondered if she knew of his growing addiction. She had shown no signs of knowing and so he had to assume it was not part of the vision she knew of. He rubbed his knuckles, once more cursing himself for his weakness. He would not let this happen again; he had promised himself. He would only use it when he had no other choice….When the time came to save Meath.
Meath. The name of his son echoed stridently within his throbbing head. Talena promised he was still alive but would say no more, as it could possibly change the future. He had to trust her word, he had no other choice. He cursed to himself; this was all his doing. Had he taken Meath with him when he had left for Solmis’ Haven, none
of this would have happened. They would all be back defending Dragon’s Cove against the barbarians. Not the best of circumstances, but far better than the situations they found themselves facing now. Meath would be by his side, the now queen of Draco would be safe behind the imposing stone walls of Dragon’s Cove, protected by an army of swords and a formidable force of wizards.
Ursa nearly laughed out loud; hindsight would do him little good. He looked down and noticed his hand clutching the leather pouch with the drug, an act that he had been unaware of doing. He pulled his hand away and rubbed the joints once more. It was going to be a long night.
*****
Six jagged flashes of energy erupted from his outstretched hands, down into the gathering horde below. The thundering impact and screams of dying were nearly lost among the battle cries of thousands. Antiel stepped back from the wall, as his thirty-eight remaining archers let loose volley after volley while he gathered himself to make another devastating attack.
His powers were growing weaker and he knew he would have to take the second vial soon, if they were to finish this as planned. He took several large breaths, steadying his nerve. They would lose the castle this day and they all knew it. It had been a wonder they had held it as they had the last two days.
On the first day after Lord Marcus and the last refugees had left the castle - through the underground river - the enemy had attacked nearly in full, yet the battle had been short before a retreat was sounded. Antiel had counted his blessings - General Kenden had been right. When Kenden had begun his tactical assault on the enemy’s camp, a retreat had been sounded in fear that an army had come in defense of Dragon’s Cove. The ruse had only bought them one day, but it had been enough time for them to finish preparing and escaping.
