Slowly she sat up. Her head hurt. Her body ached. She raised her hand and found a large lump on the back of her head. It send bolts of pain through her when she touched it. She resolved to not touch it.
She put her feet on the floor. It was hard and cold. Not metal, but some kind of glass material, but not smooth or slippery. She looked around. There was a door a couple feet away from the bed. It appeared to be made of metal. There was no handle that she could see.
On the wall opposite the bed was something that looked like a window, but was black. Maybe it was night. Or maybe she was underground. Though what would be the point of a window under the ground?
In the corner of the room was a small table and a chair. Also made of metal. On the ceiling was a panel of light. Metal grills were set beside it.
Only after she had assessed the room did she allow herself to think about how she got there.
She remembered the giant metal creature. Holding on to Cray in the hollow under the tree. The creature pushing the tree over. Tumbling, Cray’s screams. Pain. Darkness.
The question became, where was she now?
Alive. The creature didn’t kill her. Did it kill Cray? Even if it didn’t, was he still alive? His wound was bad. How long would he have without treatment from a healer?
She stood up, body protesting. Her stomach rumbled. How long had she been out?
Vazsa stepped to the door. There was a panel set beside it about halfway up the wall. She raised her hand and touched it. Part of it lit up with a red light. and she jerked her hand away. When nothing happened, she put her hand on it again. The panel lit up red again. After a moment it turned green. The door slid open.
A wave of new smells hit her. Metal and oil and faint odors of cooking rabbit. Also the musk of human bodies. Men.
She stuck her head out the door. It opened to a metal hallway. The floor, walls and ceiling were metal. Bars of light on the ceiling provided illumination. What was this place? She had never heard stories of a place like this. Something completely artificial, but lit by magic, with magical doors.
She wished for a weapon. Her lost short sword, or even her dagger would be a welcome companion here. She stepped out in the corridor. At either end were more doors. One was closed. The other was partway open. She heard a faint murmur of voices. Men, judging by the sound.
Vazsa crept toward the open door, feet touching the floor lightly. She made no sound, treading as quietly as she did when hunting in the forest. There were other doors along the hallway. Were there other little rooms behind them, like the one she had been in? Was this some kind of castle?
The voices became clear. It sounded like two men. She paused at the door to listen.
“–do about this Pete. This is just like it was forty years ago.”
“I know, the readings were off the charts, but now there’s nothing.”
“Bullshit there’s nothing. It’s just that our equipment is junk.”
“Our equipment is ancient.”
“Not much we can–”
Something hissed behind her. Vazsa swung around. A large man with a scar twisting down the right side of his face stood in a suddenly open doorway. She caught a glimpse of a room like the one she had been in, only much dirtier.
“What the hell,” the man said.
Vazsa stepped back, turned to run. The man’s hand shot out and grabbed her arm. She went into a flurry of punches and kicks. The man grunted as the blows landed on his arms, his chest and stomach. She aimed a kick for his crotch, but he twisted aside and it bounced off his hip.
The man grabbed her other arm and held her up off the ground at arm’s length.
“Little hellion,” he said with a grin.
The two men from the other room were in the hallway now. One was short and chubby, the other tall and thin. They were dressed in strange blue clothing.
“Hey, calm down girl,” the chubby one said, “You’re safe here.”
“Don’t lie to her,” the big man holding her said.
The chubby man gave him a sour look. “You’re safe enough for now.”
“I told you this was a bad idea,” the thin man said.
Vazsa continued to struggle, twisting and kicking in the big man’s iron grip.
“Let me go!” she shouted.
“Call the med, give her a shot,” the big man said, “I don’t know how much longer I can hold her.”
The chubby man shook his head. “We can’t waste shots. I got something better anyway.” He eased past the still kicking Vazsa, sucking in his ample belly.
“Where are you going?” the thin man said.
“Come on, bring her,” the chubby man said.
Vazsa had a sudden vision of being taken to their torture chamber. She growled like a wildcat and twisted her head around.
“Hey!” The big man tried to shove her away, but it was too late. She sunk her teeth into the meat of his bicep.
She expected him to drop her. Instead he cried out and slammed her against the metal wall. Her head bounced off the wall, and her vision swam.
“Stop it, bitch!” the big man said.
“Hey, Lou, take it easy,” the thin man said, “She’s already been through a lot.”
“I am not a chew toy,” the big man–Lou–said.
“Come, let’s get her down to medical,” the short, tubby man said.
Lou, he of the scarred face and iron body, set her on her feet, but kept a firm grip on her arm. She wobbled, a little dizzy from the blow.
The short man came up to her. “It’s okay, we’re not going to hurt you,” he said.
Like Lou didn’t just hurt me? She held her tongue. Making them angrier wasn’t going to help. She would cooperate for now. While looking for opportunities to escape.
“I’m Pete, by the way,” the short man said. He waved a hand at Lou. “You’ve already gotten acquainted with Lou. This other yahoo is Tony.”
He started down the corridor. Lou pulled her arm and they followed.
“What is this place?” she asked.
Pete glanced back. “It’s umm, well...it’s kind of lot things. Or used to be. Or kinda still is. Right now it’s our casa rota, so to speak.”
Lou snorted a short laugh. “You’re a riot, Pete.”
Pete shrugged and gave a small smile. Vazsa began to wonder if she had fallen into the hands of crazy men. Maybe the stories about the dark part of the forest had some truth to them. Giant monsters with burning eyes. The men didn’t seem like ghosts. But they were definitely strange. Their odd names and metal house, and strange, blue clothes that looked like one piece of continuous piece of fabric.
Though, judging by the look of Pete in front of her, their clothing wasn’t magical. It looked worn and a little shabby. There were patches of color and symbols on his shoulders. Meaningless to her, but they might be some indicator of status. He seemed to be in charge of this small group.
They reached the door at the end of the corridor. Pete slapped the panel beside the door. It lit up green and the door slid open. It led to another metal corridor. There seemed to be fewer doors in this section. She caught scents of hot metal and something acrid that made her sneeze. These doors had symbols written on them.
They reminded her of the scrolls she had stolen from Hurdroth's castle. Thinking of the scrolls make her remember the red-haired stranger, Joshua. This was all his fault. If he hadn't shown up out of nowhere, then...
Then she'd still be living with Hurdroth, having to suffer his hands on her for the sake of gathering information for Anta Vin. Or maybe not. Once she found the scrolls, she had been planning her escape. Though it would have been a lot less dramatic than what she did with the red-haired man.
“Here we are,” Pete said.
The stopped in front of a door with a big, red cross on it. Pete hit the panel by the door, but this time it didn’t open. A female voice came out of nowhere.
“What is it?”
No, not quite out of nowhere. Vaza noticed a smal
l area with holes in it a few inches above the panel. Was someone on the other side talking through it?
“It’s Pete, open the door, Fran.”
“You have an injury?” Fran’s voice said from the holes.
“No, I–”
“Then piss off, I have more than enough work, thanks to you,” Fran said.
Pete slapped his hand against the door. “Dang it, Fran, I brought the girl to see the kid. Will you just let us in?”
Kid? Her heart sped up. Could it be Cray? She lunged for the door, Lou yanked her back.
“Cray! CRAY! Are you in there!”
She thrashed against Lou’s grip. He grabbed her other arm and lifted her off the ground again, holding her at arm’s length.
“I could have told you this was a bad idea,” he said.
The door slid open and a woman with long white hair and a lined face appeared.
“What the fuck is going on?” she asked.
"Cray!" Vazsa screamed.
Her legs kicked uselessly in the air. She eyed the distance to the wall. If she could angle herself...
“Doc, can you just trank her?” Lou asked.
She twisted her body in Lou’s grip and planted her leg on the wall. Before he could react she pushed off. Lou lost his balance and staggered. His grip loosened for a fraction of a second.
She pitched her head back and struck his face. Something crunched and he cried out in pain. His hands left her and suddenly she was free. Her feet hit the floor and she was shoving past the white-haired woman into the room.
A sharp smell of alcohol hit her, along with the smell of artificialness the pervaded the entire place. The room had several beds along the wall. Strange things with lights and strings running from them sat beside the beds.
On a bed at the center of the wall lay a body with a familiar face.
“Cray!”
She rushed over to him. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled.
“Hey sis, what’s going on?” he asked.
She looked back. The three men were piling into the room, pushing past the white-haired woman. The big man, Lou's nose was bleeding profusely. His face was twisted in rage.
“Bitch broke my nose,” he growled.
Pete jumped in front of him, hands out. “Lou, she’s upset, don’t–”
Lout shoved him aside. He took a step toward her. “I don’t care if you’re a native, I’m going to pound you into the middle of next week.”
He took another step forward, his hand clenching and unclenching. Vazsa scanned the area around her, looking for a weapon. There was an empty metal tray on the table beside Cray’s bed. She snatched it up and prepared to fling it at Lou’s face.
But he had stopped. His eyes were wide. Then his face went slack and he collapsed to the floor. Behind him, the white-haired woman stood, a metal instrument in her hand. She looked down at Lou and shook her head.
“Things are going to hell on this ship, Pete,” she said.
Pete scratched the back of his balding head, staring at the prone heap of Lou. “Yeah, I know, Fran,” He said, “Captain is going to be pissed when he gets back.”
"Assuming he does get back," the white-haired woman, Fran, said. She looked up at Vazsa, "You people have no idea what a clusterfuck you're in."
Twenty
Lord Fortune
Lord Fortune's butt was sore. The swaybacked mare King Hurdroth had allowed him to use was not a comfortable conveyance. He shifted in the hard saddle as the horse clomped through the snow in Anta Vin's forest. He could feel eyes watching him. Anta Vin's scouts, no doubt.
His feet were so cold he could barely feel them. His fingers were little better. Most of him was cold, to be perfectly honest. He had asked Hurdroth for a regiment of his soldiers and a carriage with stove in it. The King had looked at him like he was crazy. You can use one of my horses, he said, Now get your wrinkled old ass out of here.
Wrinkled old ass, indeed. The King had no respect for the delicacies of advanced age.
He half turned, sending shooting pain through his back. His brother, Yord was still behind him, happily bounding along, his ears flopping on his head. Yord caught his eye and ran up alongside the mare. His wet dog smell overwhelmed Lord Fortune’s senses for a moment.
Lord Fortune had been greatly relieved that Yord had not be put to death by the King’s men. When Fortune left the castle and entered the forest, Yord can come bouncing up to him, eyes bright, tongue lolling.
Yord! Where have you been, naughty boy? Fortune asked him.
Yord had explained, between happy barks, yips and licks that the King's drunken soldiers had chased him into the forest. They gave up the chase eventually. Yord had been hiding in the forest ever since. He told Fortune he had passed the time by inventorying trees and rocks and composing memos to the squirrels and deer concerning how they should be allocating their resources.
Lord Fortune was just glad to have a companion on his fools errand. His stomach rumbled. He pulled out the small bag of dried meat the King had graciously allow him to take with him. He selected a small piece and put it on his tongue. It had a gamey flavor. Fortune hadn’t asked what kind of animal it came from. Yord whined at the sight of the bag. Fortune pulled out a larger piece for his brother and tossed it to him. Yord caught it in his mouth and gave a happy yip, his tail wagging.
Fortune almost told him to be quiet, then realized there wasn’t much point. There was no way he could have entered Anta Vin’s forest undetected. Since he and Yord hadn’t been killed already, they were probably going to allow him to continue his journey.
He looked up at the huge trees, disappearing up into the clouds. It had been a long time since he had visited the forest people. Not since the last days of Queen Amaya's bloody reign. The forest seemed unusually still. There were no sounds of animals. Nothing but the crunching of the horse's hooves on the snow, and Yord gnawing on the dried meat.
Fortune hoped the forest people would be feeling hospitable when he arrived. A good meal and a warm spot in front of a fire would be wonderful. The King’s hospitality was anything but. Especially since it was Lord Fortune’s own home the King had commandeered.
He was still considering going to the council of Lords and making a formal protest. The main thing holding him back was the fact that most of the Lords were old men like he was. It was unlikely any of them, individually or together would be able to raise an army to challenge the King.
That was the one good thing about Queen Amaya’s reign. She had taken power away from everyone, making them more or less equal. With the treaty she had forced on everyone, it was supposed to keep things that way.
Except King Hurdroth seemed to have other ideas. Lord Fortune wondered how long he had been gathering his army. They weren’t a regimented, trained force. More like a vicious band of mercenaries. The way they had pillaged his home, there wasn’t any honor or discipline there. Just savagery.
Yord barked, bringing his attention back to the present. Lord Fortune pulled the reins, and the swaybacked mare stopped. Ahead of them stood a lone figure. Tall and thin, with long, black hair, he held a spear in one hand, then end resting in the snow.
“What is your business here?” the man asked.
Yord growled and Fortune shushed him. “Respectfully, we are here to hold an audience with Anta Vin.”
The scowling man didn’t move or speak for a long, tense minute. Lord Fortune held his empty hands on the reins. Neither he nor Yord would be a match for this warrior. If the man decided to run them through with his spear, it would be through Lord Fortune’s back. Because all he would be able to do was run.
The man turned and started walking. Fortune breathed a small sigh of relief and spurred the horse forward. Beside him, Yord continued to let out a low growl.
Twenty-One
Lord Fortune
The lodge of Anta Vin’s people looked different. As the horse clomped into the clearing, Lord Fortune frowned. The giant fallen tree trunk was the same a
s it ever was, but there seemed to be a shabbiness to the area that he didn’t remember. Refuse was piled in odd places. Male tribe members lounged about or milled around aimlessly.
Fortune recalled the place was always neat, the people clean and industrious. Always there had been children playing outside, their voices rising up into the canopy of trees. But now there were no children–or women–to be seen.
“Stay close to me, Yord,” Fortune whispered, “Something is very wrong here.”
Something had indeed shifted in the world. Something big. Was it the red-haired stranger? A stupid question. What else could it be? That's why Lord Fortune had come to Anta Vin's forest.
The tall warrior led him to the end of the lodge where the main entrance was. Lord Fortune could smell charred meat as he dismounted from the mare. It wasn’t the delicious and delicate aromas of meat and herbs from his previous visit. His eyes darted from place to place as he tried to assess the situation. The men lounging around the entrance were grim faced. The gave him sullen looks, but otherwise showed little interest.
As he went to enter the lodge the tall warrior stopped him. “That doesn’t go in,” the man said, pointing at Yord.
Yord hid behind Lord Fortune. He poked his head around Fortune’s shoulder and gave a low growl at the warrior. Lord Fortune drew himself up and gave the warrior an imperious look.
“This is my brother and my castle administrator, Yord,” Fortune said, “He goes where I go.”
Yord yipped and wagged his tail. The warrior stared at them for a few moments, then shrugged and turned to go in. Fortune was amazed. Anta Vin was very strict about who went into the lodge. The last time he had been there, Yord had been forced to stay outside in the yard. He had been unhappy at first, but then the children played fetch with him and rubbed his belly.
Fortune motioned to Yord and they followed the warrior inside.
The Broken Reign Page 8
