Gathering his nerve, Sherakai sprinted across the encampment. Dodging around a stack of barrels, he leaped over a smoldering fire, ducked beneath a rope strung with laundry, and nearly crashed into someone on the other side. The man flailed. Sherakai spun out of his path and sped toward the horses.
Chapter 47
A shadow streaked beside him on a parallel path.
Instinctively, he veered away and reached deep within himself for more speed. A dozen yards separated him from the picket lines. The disturbance on the other side of the camp had distracted the guards. The horses milled and whinnied, skittish. He spied a space between a horse and a tree, and headed toward that.
With no warning at all, something latched onto his ankle, then his back, twisting him violently off his course and slamming him into the ground. By luck or design, he did not smash his face into the earth, but struck on his shoulder. Shock coursed through him like a bolt of lightning. Inertia sent him and his attacker rolling across the ground to stop just under the rope restraining the horses—and right under the feet of two panicky, rearing animals.
He had no time to react. He was yanked out of danger by one foot, then flipped unceremoniously onto his back even as the horse’s hooves crashed into the ground where his head had been an instant before. The creature that had captured him thumped a fist against Sherakai’s chest and tipped its head up to let loose a victorious howl. A second shadow skidded to a stop mere inches away, then twisted into the air, leaping up and down and chattering wildly.
Fesh and Teth…
“NO!” he screamed, pummeling the chest and shoulders of the beast atop him. He succeeded in dumping it off, and when the other snatched at him with teeth that should have cut right through his arm, he punched it hard in the nose. Surprised, the demon jumped back, but the first one had no trouble recovering its balance and grabbing an ankle to drag Sherakai away.
Frantic, he thrashed and kicked. He landed several blows before the second demon caught his flailing foot, and the pair proceeded to haul him back the way they’d come. He tried to curl up to grab one. When that didn’t work, he twisted one way and then the other, kicking as hard as he could. They didn’t let go. His head and shoulders bounced across the ground. Desperately questing fingers found nothing to lob at his captors. Then the movement stopped and an invisible fist of air pressed him right into the ground and cut off his scream of frustration.
Struggling to draw breath, he watched a figure swing down from the back of a tall horse. The other riders shifted into a loose circle around Sherakai, jostling gawking soldiers aside. He saw the cook and Bent-Nose, then the crowd absorbed them. Not trusting the demon creatures, many of the men kept their weapons at the ready. The horsemen held their torches high, bathing the scene in light. Their faces hid behind blank helms. The dismounted man drew his own off as he approached Sherakai.
“I do so enjoy a challenge.” Iniki dan Sorehi tucked his helm under one arm and crouched at Sherakai’s side, offering a smile. Piercing blue eyes scraped a glance up and down the youth’s form, taking in the torn and stained clothes, the bruises on his face. “You’re going to have to try harder next time. One word of advice: be careful how you use the healers. They will be costly.”
“Let me go,” Sherakai croaked.
Iniki shrugged and straightened, taking away the weight as he did. A hundred men and more precluded any foolish attempt to fight for freedom. No one said a single word. The silence was ruffled only by the snap of burning torches, the occasional thump of a hoof as a horse shifted, and the soft noises the demons made as they sat holding his legs.
“Release him.” Iniki made a motion at the pair, then offered Sherakai a hand to help him up.
Ignoring it, he rolled onto his side, got up to his knees, then had to clench his teeth to finish standing. All of the cracks, scrapes, and bruises he’d acquired from the ravine, multiplied by the violent tackle, made themselves known again with vicious intensity. Stark determination was the only thing that kept him upright. A pair of riders approached to push him toward the horses.
“Can you ride?” Iniki asked.
“Yes.” No matter how battered his body, to confess his weakness gave the enemy another advantage. And the very idea that he, Sherakai dan Tameko, couldn’t sit a horse was the worst kind of humiliation.
“Ride with him.” He pointed to one of his companions and went to his own mount.
The return to the Nemura-o passed in a haze. Sherakai was not hurt so badly that unconsciousness might overcome him and yet, in spite of his fatigue, sleep refused to take him either. Consigned to a place behind the rider Iniki had chosen, anger played leapfrog with shame, each taunting the other until they reached a sullen truce.
No one spoke to him. Like a sack with legs, they pushed and pulled him where they wished him to go. Even a pig would have evoked a greater response. In a stark, cold room in the castle’s lower levels, under the watchful eyes of Iniki, Fesh and Teth cut away Sherakai’s clothes. They left him the dubious dignity of his undergarments. The buckets of cold water they sluiced over him drained away through an opening in the floor, leaving him shivering, teeth chattering uncontrollably.
Afterward, Tylond Corlyr examined him, but did not offer any aid. Small boned with fine features, his long brown hair was held back by an intricate silver clasp. Elongated, pointed ears like Bairith’s bore earrings to match the clasp. He moved with feline grace and efficiency, fragile-looking fingers poking and prodding every cut and bruise. As before, he regarded Sherakai’s person with calculating interest. The prickle of magic he used set Sherakai’s teeth on edge.
“He’ll do,” he informed Iniki in a crisp voice.
“Check his ribs again, Tylond. Teth took him down hard.”
“As you wish.” A smug smile accompanied the second inspection and searing heat replaced the expected tingling.
Sherakai sucked in a sharp breath, pain wrenching him up straight. A cool band of air arrested an attempt to push the healer away, wrapping around his arms and holding them up away from his body. “He’s hurting me!” he protested.
Another scorching probe bit into the ribs on the opposite side.
Sherakai jerked backward half a step, only to find himself suspended and immobile.
“Tell me if that gets in the way,” Iniki instructed the healer.
Fesh and Teth moved restlessly back and forth near the doorway. One of them whined, which set the other to hoarse barking. Both men gave them a long look.
“It’s fine,” Tylond said at last. He took his time exploring Sherakai’s ribs, eyes glittering with hunger. “Did he get far?”
“Caught up with the company at Rusha’s Field.
“Did he!” Tylond laughed in surprise. “How very enterprising.” He tipped the youth’s jaw this way and that to study his eyes in the inconstant light of the torches. “Did he hit his head?”
“I’m fine,” Sherakai asserted, jerking his chin free.
“Might have. I only saw him going down, not the landing.”
“Ah.” Tylond went to a beautifully carved wooden box near the door and rummaged inside. When he returned, he was uncorking a small glass vial. “Will you do the honors?” he asked with a gesture.
“Of course.” Iniki put one hand on Sherakai’s shoulder and pushed down at the same time the invisible band of air released. “Kneel,” he said unnecessarily. Sherakai collapsed to his knees, where he was promptly bound by more bands of air. Iniki drove his thumbs into the youth’s cheeks near the hinges of his jaw.
One of the demons prowled close, head low and a growl pulling its lips away from sharp canines.
When Sherakai’s mouth opened, Tylond poured the bitter contents of the vial into it, directing the flow over the back of his tongue. Struggling was useless, and when Sherakai gagged, Iniki shifted his hold, stroking his throat to force him to swallow.
“The pets don’t know their own strength.”
“Speaking of which,” Tylond said, “I would p
refer not to aggravate them any further. Enjoy your recreation.”
Iniki ignored the healer as the man collected his box and withdrew. Sharp eyes watched his captive until he was certain the elixir stayed down. “On your feet, boy.” One iron grip around Sherakai’s arm, he pulled him up and guided him out the door. Down a twisting set of stairs they went, then along a dimly lit corridor that stretched on for a long time.
“Where are we going?” Sherakai asked, licking his lips and grimacing. He wanted a drink to wash the foul taste from his mouth. Better yet, he wanted something to make him heave it up again. The One knew what sort of poison it contained. He’d rather heal on his own.
“To your new quarters.”
“In the dungeon?”
Iniki didn’t answer.
“Will I get clothes?”
“No.”
He took half a dozen steps before the answer sank in. He stopped. Iniki did not. “I beg your pardon?”
One of the demons nipped sharply at his backside, startling him into motion. He gave it a nervous glance, then hurried after Iniki.
“I want clothes.” As they continued down the corridor, and his guard remained silent. He caught at the man’s sleeve. “You can’t do this!” A note of panic took his voice up a notch.
With no more effort than swatting a fly, Iniki brushed him off. “You’ll find I can do nearly anything I please.”
“Why? Why are you treating me like this?”
Iniki stopped and turned to look at Sherakai curiously. “Not a position you are used to, is it?” Amusement lifted the corner of his mouth. “And to think, your new life has only just begun.”
Sherakai shook his head and backed away. One beast stepped behind him, blocking his way. The other sat abruptly, lips pulled back in an ugly grin. “No.”
Iniki pointed to the side, where six stairs descended to a heavy iron door. The low, curved space into which it was set invited head injuries. “Open that.”
“No.”
He laughed softly. “Do you think you have an option?”
Sherakai lifted his chin. “There’s always an option.”
“True. Do you want to open the door and get inside, or do you want me to help you?”
Iniki had already proven impossible to antagonize to the point of losing his temper. The temptation to try anyway nibbled at him and he lifted his chin. “You’ll have to help. Better do a good job.”
The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. He drew in a breath—only to have it violently expelled as Iniki took a step toward him and drove his fist into Sherakai’s belly. He caught him before he hit the ground. In one smooth move the mage turned, putting the youth between himself and the demons, who leaped close, growling and snapping.
“Down!” he ordered them, pushing his free hand outward. A fist of air punched the foremost, knocking it into its companion. “Get down,” he repeated, enunciating each word.
They crouched, the skin over their shoulders twitching, lips pulled back.
Iniki dragged Sherakai down the steps, then held him against the wall with one hand while he unlatched the door. Still wheezing for breath, Sherakai could do nothing to prevent being pitched into the cell. He crashed against the far wall and collapsed in a heap on the floor. The door clanged shut behind him, taking away every glimmer of light.
Chapter 48
Fesh and Teth howled and carried on for a long time. Throwing themselves at the door hardly rattled it on its hinges. Their attempts to claw through yielded nothing but a drifting sense of pain disconnected from Sherakai’s own hurts. It took some time to decipher the difference, but he had an abundant supply of that. For a long time, he listened to the demons’ continued attempts to get through the iron. Huddled into a corner, he hugged his knees tight to his bare chest and shivered. It was the cold first, then nerves.
No, that couldn’t be right. If nerves were going to be a problem, they’d have started giving him trouble a long time ago. What was wrong with him? Was he sick, or was this a result of the elixir? Bitter as wormwood, the flavor remained in his mouth and in the back of his throat no matter how many times he swallowed.
Restless, he got up to pace and about knocked himself out on the low ceiling. Head down and hands up, he explored the cell. A little longer than he was tall, he touched either wall with his arms bent. He wondered if a fear of small spaces was acquired and, if so, how long it took. The relatively smooth floor sloped to one side where he found an open hole no bigger than his doubled fists. It stank of sewage. Lovely. Beneath the door were irregular dips that allowed him to slide a finger or two beneath in a few places.
One of the demons sniffed at him. He couldn’t tell if the touch that followed was a wet nose or a tongue. He plucked his fingers to safety before something worse happened to them. The demon whined.
With pacing out of the question, Sherakai crouched and rocked himself. The constant motion warmed him in the absence of a fire. He went on all fours to the door and laid a hand to it, wondering if someone had lit a blaze on the steps, however unlikely. He would have heard voices and the thump of wood being dropped. And surely the demons would have made noise.
The metal remained cool. He discovered a frame set into it. Two hands tall and two spans wide, he decided it must be an opening for delivering food. He hoped it was for food… Flat on the floor, he tried to peer through the spaces beneath the door. Nothing appeared, not even the demons.
“Fesh? Teth?” he called.
Silence answered.
He scratched his shoulder. A little tickling sensation ran over his skin. He scratched again, then rubbed his arm and chest. No sneaky spiders.
“Fesh?” he questioned again. “Teth?”
Their lack of response left him feeling somehow deserted. He fell to rocking again. Bairith would come for him. He’d gone to too much trouble to just leave him in a hole to rot. The man wanted something. Needed something. If he could figure out what it was, perhaps he could bargain.
No, what was he thinking? He wouldn’t bargain with a murderer. “Unless it’s to save my life,” he reasoned. Or was that rationalizing?
Would it be lying to agree to a bargain when in his heart he meant to kill Bairith—and Iniki as well as the vile healer? Tyr- or Tyl-something. He’d forgotten the name. There was something wrong with the man. Something twisted. Did he, too, use shadow magic? Was it possible for healers do such a thing? He didn’t want to consider what the healer might do if given the freedom and opportunity. Fazare was tortured before he died. What had happened to him, and why did Bairith’s healer not save him? Had he done the torturing? And Mimeru! Oh, stars, she was in such terrible danger and he had failed her so miserably!
A strangled sound clawed out of his throat. She shouldn’t have trusted him. Every attempt he’d made to get away from Bairith or his boot-licking men met with disaster. He was no warrior. Everyone had been right—his best friend, his brothers, his parents. He was just a boy; weak, ignorant, and not even lucky any more.
“You make your own luck.” Who had said that? Fazare, he thought. Fazare rarely waited for things to happen; he made sure they did. What had he been like at fifteen? Sherakai doubted that Zar would have allowed himself to end up naked in any hole in the ground.
“Very well, how can I make some luck?” he asked the stone. He had no practical experience beyond the few months Master Chimoke spent trying to make him learn years of training. In spite of Tasan’s death, Sherakai had not understood his teacher’s carefully banked desperation. Here, he had no weapons at hand, no idea how to outwit mages—and his thoughts bounced around in his head like a frantic squirrel in a sack.
In the complete and utter darkness he needn’t bother closing his eyes, but he did anyway. He forced himself to review all the forms Master Chimoke had so painstakingly taught him. His need for something more brought him to his feet. The cramped quarters would give him an excellent handicap. Good for balance and control, Chimoke would say, arms folded.
Jump
s were out of the question, and he was forced to keep his head uncomfortably low. Cracking his knuckles several times against the walls showed that his innate sense of space had deserted him.
He sat down to think about that. He knew relatively little about his own Gift. Some of the facets he’d grown into as naturally as growing into a new set of clothes. He didn’t even know when they’d started. When Tameko recognized Sherakai's use of magic, he pressed him to recall unusual things happening. What was unusual to the common man was not unusual to Sherakai. They simply were: his ability to know what others felt, to communicate with animals (albeit in the simplest of terms), a remarkable sense of his surroundings… Tameko had begun the process of honing those basic skills and introducing others. Every child must learn to walk before he can run, he’d say. Practice, son.
Could he practice in the dark, in a hole in the ground?
Yes, magic is everywhere. Some places in the earth cradle more magic than others. Some of the things around you have a better capacity for retention. See them all, Sherakai, and learn them.
How he had struggled—still struggled—to see and to grasp the magic. Far easier to feel it, to immerse himself in the experience of it.
“Now would be a good time to be a water mage,” he sighed. Stars, he was thirsty. “Can I have some water?” he asked, in case anyone might somehow be listening to him. “Hello?”
One hand to the ceiling to keep it away from his head, he straightened. Dizziness pitched him toward the wall, but it was no great feat to put his hand out and catch himself. Still, it took his breath away. He hadn’t expected that. The room revolved and he had to brace himself with both hands and feet. Eventually he’d be dangling upside down like a bat.
Blood and Shadow (The Mage's Gift Book 1) Page 29
