by Liam Reese
Pain lanced up from her thigh with every step, but she carried on towards the gates, desperate to get a look inside. It felt as if it took forever to cross the fairly short distance, and by the time she reached the tall logs that made up the wall, she was panting and doubled over in pain.
“General,” one Waravalian soldier said. “Do you need help?”
“No, I’m fine. Get in there,” Khaleen said, pointing into the camp.
Behind her, the dead and dying lay side by side, stretcher bearers trotting between them, checking for any that might survive. Smoke darkened the air as it drifted across the field, acrid with the stench of burning flesh.
Khaleen threw her arm across her face, sucking in a deep breath as she stood upright again. Tilting her head back, she looked up to see a pillar of red smoke rising into the air from somewhere above the gates. A frown pulled her brows together as she watched the odd smoke curl off towards the north.
Strange color.
Horror grabbed at her when she realized what was going on, and she limped forward as fast as possible, trying to alert someone to the danger. In the confusion of noise and smoke, she stumbled over the sprawled body of a dead soldier, screaming when the pain in her thigh grabbed at her, stealing her breath and stopping her in her tracks. Cold and nausea welled up inside her and she doubled over, vomiting on the floor.
Panic and urgency wrapped tight arms around her brain, shaking it violently. Her eyes blurred and ears rang as she tried to get the attention of anyone inside. A dark-clad arm appeared before her and she reached for it, grabbing on for dear life.
“Re...in...forcements!” she panted. “They’ve got re...inforcements.”
“Oh, I know,” the mercenary said, dragging her painfully inside the gates and towards a building.
“What’s that?” Merdon asked, tilting his head.
Lyeeta stood slowly up, listening carefully. From somewhere to the west of them, Merdon could hear a faint sound. A plaintive cry he could not ignore.
Reaching for Lyeeta, he crept with her into the woodland at the side of the road. He had to pause as soon as they entered the dimmer area below the trees, letting his eyes adjust. The boles thickened as they stretched away into the distance, hiding whatever might be there.
Weapons ready, they crept towards the sound, past the remains of three bandits that Teghime had killed, throats torn open and eyes wide with fright. Merdon’s eyes darted about, searching for any further enemies that might be lurking in the woods.
Before long, it became obvious the sounds they had been hearing were voices — high-pitched, frightened voices calling for help. Merdon grabbed Lyeeta’s arm gently when she looked about to run towards the women.
“Might be a trap,” he said quietly.
Lyeeta nodded, her face a mask of worry and stress. Merdon took her hand and led her into the woods, reaching the edge of a clearing where the bandits had obviously made their camp.
Hundreds of items that had been plundered from people on the road lay in discarded piles, from clothing to plates to weapons to children’s toys. At the farthest reach, a crude structure had been erected, and this was the source of the voices.
As he approached, Merdon saw it was little more than a wooden cage with a roof that had been attached to the trees with rope and rough nails. It was held shut with a massive lock that would not have looked out of place securing a castle gate, rusted and filthy, but serviceable. The bars of the cage consisted of thick branches and sections of trees that had been lashed together with some driven into the ground.
“Oh.” Lyeeta covered her mouth when she saw and smelled what was inside.
A woman, heavily pregnant, and girl of around twelve peered out of the cage with haunted, pitiful eyes. Filthy and emaciated from starvation, they looked out with hopeless expressions.
“Help us,” the woman said, without much force.
Lyeeta started forward immediately, but Merdon grabbed her again, holding her back while he assessed the situation. With no obvious traps in place, he could be sure these had been prisoners of the bandit gang, rather than part of it.
“How many were there?” Merdon asked the woman.
“Six that lived here,” she said. “Sometimes others came too...” She looked away and ran her hand over her distended belly.
“They’re all dead now,” he said, watching her.
Hope lit her face, and he saw she would have been pretty once, before being used by this gang and whomever they brought here, starved and probably beaten. “Good,” she said. “My name’s Keris, and this is Neira.” She laid a protective hand on the girl beside her.
“I’m Merdon, and this is Lyeeta,” the prince said. “Let’s see if we can get you out of there, shall we?”
Merdon went to the pile of weapons, searching through until he found an ax. Pitted and rusty, it was hardly in the best condition, but would probably be enough to chop into the wood.
“Where’s the key?” Lyeeta asked Keris. Merdon felt the heat of embarrassment rise in his cheeks that he had not thought to ask.
“Dorden wears it around his neck,” Keris said. “He’s the scar-faced one,” she added, when it became apparent they had no idea who Dorden was.
“I’ll go get the key,” Merdon said to Lyeeta. “See if you can find them some food and something else to wear.”
Lyeeta nodded as he turned to exit the clearing. The two captives started screaming again as Teghime emerged from the forest.
“Look out!” Keris cried. “What is that?” Neira made simple grunting sounds in the back of her throat, cowering as far away from Teghime as the cage would allow.
“Hey, it’s fine,” Merdon said in a soothing voice. “She’s with us.”
Neira watched him intently as he scratched Teghime’s warm ears, making her eyes close. The big cat dropped to the ground and rolled on her side as Merdon carried on scratching and stroking her flanks and belly.
When he looked again, Neira had come forward and was staring at the big daasnu with longing in her eyes. An idea flashed into Merdon’s mind, and he got the pair to step back from the front of the cage.
If only grandfather were here. The king could use the massive cat to destroy the cage easily, but Merdon had to try and get her to understand what he wanted her to do.
“Teghime,” he said. “Like this.”
Merdon gripped one of the bars and pulled at it, surprised at how solid it actually was. He hammered his hands against the wood, while exhorting the cat to do the same but although she watched him, the big cat did nothing to help.
“Worth a try,” he muttered at last. “I’ll get that key.”
He turned to sprint for the road and the man Lyeeta had killed, but had only reached the first trees when he heard the high-pitched squeal of wood separating. Turning, he saw that Teghime had grabbed one of the bars in her massive teeth and was dragging most of the front of the cage across the clearing.
Merdon trotted back to the daasnu. “Good job, girl,” he said. “Good job.”
Teghime sat on her haunches, purring loudly, while he scratched her chest. Behind him, Keris had stepped carefully out of the cage and was looking around with slightly wild eyes. Neira had retreated to the back of the cage again, and Merdon frowned.
“Come on, honey,” Keris cooed. You can come out.”
“What’s the problem?” Merdon asked gently.
Keris sighed and looked at the prince. The sorrow and misery in her eyes made him regret ever asking, and he abruptly wanted not to know.
“She was born in there,” Keris said. “They never let her out.” She looked at the child who must have been her daughter with love. “It’s all she’s ever known.”
Lyeeta made a soft sound in her throat, turning away from them. In the light, Merdon could see Keris was covered in sores, and the rags she had been allowed did not cover much of her modesty.
Sick anger rose in Merdon at the filth that had done this to them. Scar-faced Dorden and the others
had deserved to die for what they had done to these two.
Neira was making strange sounds in the back of her throat again, and Merdon wondered if she had ever spoken at all. Keris had managed to coax her forward and taken her hand, leading her from the remains of the cage and into the clearing. The girl stood there for a moment, as if unsure what to do. She stared at her feet, feeling the earth and leaves beneath them for the first time, before turning her face up to the sun.
Merdon saw a ray of light enter the clearing, as if sent by Cathantor himself, lighting her young face with its warmth as she stood there with her eyes closed. Any urgency Merdon felt to get to his grandfather dissipated in that one pure moment of bliss. The expression of wonder and joy on Neira’s young face, just from being touched by sunlight, would warn his thoughts for years.
Keris led her daughter through the clearing to where Lyeeta had sorted some more suitable clothing for them, and Merdon averted his eyes as they stripped the rotting rags off before putting on the simple clothing she had found. Keris’ belly still protruded from the layers Lyeeta had wrapped around her, but she looked better already.
Neira, meanwhile, had crossed the clearing to the massive cat, who was watching her with curious eyes. The girl reached her hand out to touch Teghime’s side, watching as her fur twitched. Neiris stepped in and wrapped her arms around the daasnu’s right foreleg, burying her face in her fur.
Teghime lowered her head to the girl and sniffed her as if deciding what she was. In the next second, she reached out with her rough tongue and licked Neira from chin to temple. Peals of laughter exploded from the child as Teghime licked and lapped at her, and Merdon saw her mother had tears rolling down her face.
“I’ve never heard her laugh,” she said when he went to her. “Not once.”
Besmir strode into the main citadel building and paused, looking around. A life-sized statue of Emmerlin stood in the main entrance hall, and he wanted to smash the thing to pieces, destroy the image of his own daughter, and erase her from the place. Instead, he turned to the growing crowd of soldiers at his back.
“Where’s the commander?” he demanded shortly.
“This way, Sire,” one told him, leading the way.
Besmir followed him down a set of stairs, along a chilly corridor and into another hallway that had numerous doors leading from it. The soldier pointed to one and Besmir went to it, throwing it open, to the shock of the man inside.
Ronistar slammed his hands down on his desk as soon as his wide eyes saw who stood there. “Traitors!” he bellowed at the men behind Besmir. “I’ll see every one of you hanged for this!”
The commander leaped forward, sword drawn to attack Besmir, but the soldiers at his back threw themselves forward, deflecting his blade,
“Don’t harm him!” Besmir called as they tried to subdue him.
One man screamed and fell back, blood welling up from a deep cut in his arm. Another managed to wrap himself around Ronistar’s arm like a snake, wrestling the sword down. Someone grabbed his other arm and both legs as the commander struggled madly, his eyes rolling to stare at each of them, teeth bared.
“Hold him still,” Besmir commanded.
Although he had promised he would never do this to anyone again, Besmir reached out to touch either side of Commander Ronistar’s head. “Get your filthy, murdering hands off me!” the man screamed, back arching and muscles straining as he fought against his men.
Besmir closed his eyes and let his consciousness flow down and into his fingers. Crossing the barrier into Ronistar’s mind was far easier for him than it had been for Emmerlin, as he had no defenses with which to try and halt the king. She had scrambled his mind to such an extent that Besmir could never hope to repair all the damage, and he had to satisfy himself with just calming the man and removing the thoughts that Besmir had killed his family.
He felt the commander’s mind relax around him and returned to his own body, opening his eyes to see they had released the man, who now sat on the floor, looking up with curious eyes.
“It seems my daughter has destroyed his mind,” Besmir said. “I can’t get him back.”
Commander Ronistar stood up, staring about with the wide eyes of a child. He reached out to touch one of the soldiers’ polished buttons, smiling inanely. “Pretty,” he said.
Besmir looked away, catching sight of one of the men who had been assigned to guard him. “We’ll take care of him, sire,” the soldier assured him. “What can we do to help you?”
Besmir shook his head, despair rolling through him. “I need to get to Morantine,” he said. “And fast.”
“Is she there?” someone asked. Besmir nodded. “Are you going to stop her?”
“That’s the plan, lads,” he said. No idea how, though.
“We’ll escort you,” the guard said. “We have horses and can swap them out on the way; we can get you home in three days.”
Three days! What will she have done in three days?
Bone weariness grabbed at Besmir then, and the first edges of need he had felt for days started to creep in. Deep, nagging aches pulled at his intestines, making him grunt and double over. Concerned faces surrounded him, but Besmir fought against the pain, straightening again.
“Prepare some horses,” he said. “It’s my only option, apparently.”
Several men saluted and left as Besmir wandered along the hall, looking into the other doors. One was a mess hall, with benches on either side of long tables and a serving area at the far end.
Another was filled with bunks, simple cots that had been stacked one atop the other, each with a blanket folded neatly at one end. The king paused there, longing for nothing more than sleep.
Arteera needs you!
The thought drove Besmir on, and he leaned against the cool wall beside the next door, staring in awe as the God Cathantor looked back at him. The king smiled at his own stupidity when he realized it was nothing more than a statue in the citadel chapel.
I must be tired.
Khaleen panted through the searing pain that lanced up from her thigh. She had been roughly dragged through building after building, each one connected to the next to make a warren of maze-like proportions.
She staggered and stumbled as the man dragged her along without a word. He had already stripped her of her weapons and tied her hands behind her with some twine he had found, and now her fingers were cold and numb as well.
Some of the buildings were filled with boxes and barrels, sacks of grain and other food, while others were empty apart from a few broken handles and other items that indicated they had been weapons caches. Screams and the clash of metal from outside told her the battle was raging all around them, and she hoped someone would break into one of the buildings as she was dragged through it, saving her.
That did not happen. The mercenary pulled her into a stone-built room and threw her into one corner. She screamed when her leg hit the wall, blinding flashes of white in her vision. Eventually she could see again, and watched him pace up and down as if unsure what to do.
“What’s your plan?” she asked.
“Shut up!” he said as he walked the few paces the room allowed.
“Now you’ve got me, what are you going to do?” she pressed.
“Shut your mouth!” he screamed.
Now that she had the chance, Khaleen could see he was quite young, in his early twenties perhaps, with a shock of greasy black hair and the pale skin that marked him as a Gazluthian.
“It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” he said. “Mallon said we was going to win. The others was going to come when he sent the signal, and crush everyone against the walls.”
“Ah,” Khaleen muttered. “The best-laid plans always seem to go awry. What part of Gazluth are you from?” she asked.
The mercenary strode across and squatted before her, staring into her eyes with a crazy anger. “I was born here,” he snarled. “In this camp. So you can forget trying to get inside my head!”
He stood back up and resumed his pacing. “Is Mallon the one with the silver hair?” Khaleen asked. “Your leader?”
“He’s no leader!” her captor spat. “He promised us we was going to win, going to be free. If we just stuck together.” His voice was filled with the pain of broken promises and unfulfilled hopes.
“So what is your plan now?” Khaleen asked again.
“I’m going to keep you till they come in here; then it’s your life for mine,” he said with conviction.
“You’ll never get away,” Khaleen said. “They’ll kill you as soon as they open the door.”
The young man pursed his lips and shook his head.
“No. Not the king’s men,” he said. “They’ll let me go if I got you.”
“They won’t, lad,” Khaleen said, trying to act like a matronly figure to the young man. “Your only chance is to let me get you out of here. Let me go, and I can get you out safely.”
He tilted his head to one side, his face a mask of disbelief. “So you can stab me in the back as soon as I let you go?” he said with contempt. “I don’t think so, General.”
Merdon and Lyeeta sat on Teghime’s back, riding at the head of a caravan that they had met with on emerging back onto the road with Keris and Neira in tow. The guards had halted the caravan when they had seen the corpses in the road. It had taken some fast talking and a thorough explanation from Merdon, until Teghime had appeared.
“Highness,” one of the guards had said, kneeling. “I didn’t realize it was you until … I used to be in the army, until I was injured. I saw the king riding this beast once. Howdid you come to have her with you?”
From then on, the caravan owner, who had been on his way to Port Vartula with goods for overseas, could not do enough for the prince and his guests. Keris and Neira were given into the care of the man’s wife, who immediately ordered water to be heated for bathing, especially when Merdon told their story. Several of the guards, hardened men who dealt death for a living, had tears in their eyes as they watched the wordless girl play with Teghime.
