Vordon
"We're not going to shake them,"
called out Nathan as she glanced over her shoulder at the hoard of advancing
Vordon troops. "Go! We'll hold them off!" She turned her crodlu spurring
it forward as his partner Logn did the same.
Without hesitation, Zarnian barked,
"Trakas, get the kids and go!"
"It's suicide," he called angrily.
They had little time to argue. The
mul took one last glance at her lover and her son, then drew her spear before
kicking her crodlu forward.
Trakas cursed. He stopped his own
mount, jumping to the ground, to gather the energy he would need for any spells.
They were in the desert between the House of the Painted Eye and Tyr. There
were not many plants to aid him here, but running from the oncoming hoard would
accomplish little. He and the children would still be overrun, and if he worked
quickly, he might still be able to save Zarnian.
For her part, Zarnian did not look
back. Instead, she gritted her teeth and plowed into the onslaught, as did Nathan
and Logan. Her two new guards were cut down almost instantly. As she charged,
Zarnian felt the weight of her spear in her hand. She would die, but she would
take many of them with her. With this certainty of death everything else fell
away and she was simply gladiator whose only sorrow in this moment was the lack
of spectators to witness her glory. The first three troops to ride upon her
fell with her spear slashing their throats. She managed to dodge another one's
spear but crashed into a fifth that cut her with his sword. Though she managed
to incapacitate him with a stab of her spear yet another launched off his kank
and tackled her. She rolled with him when she hit the ground but he managed to
land on her spear arm, pinning it for just an instant. In those few seconds,
two more guards jumped down, holding her down. Bucking one off, she tossed
another one. Somewhere behind her Zarnian could make out the sound of iron on
obsidian - Trakas and possibly Timmuth were fighting. Rage stabbed red across
her vision. They were supposed to run! She had to take out as many as she
could. Punching another in the throat, she tried to retrieve her spear but
instead a lucky boot landed on her hand. An involuntary cry erupted from her
throat as she felt bones break. With her left hand, she pulled her dagger and
stabbed another soldier in the heart. A dagger or sword found a weakness in her
armor and a blade stabbed into her right shoulder. Pulling her own dagger free
of the newly made corpse, she turned to stab another when she heard
"Zarnian!" It was not Trakas, but it still made her turn. Her lover
lay unconscious (lifeless?) at the feet of one of her nightmares. The one-eyed
guard captain that slaughtered his way through her house under a templar’s
orders was now standing with a metal sword to Timmuth’s throat. Next to
Timmuth, someone held Sorin with a dagger to his throat. Zarnian's eyes locked
with her son's. The only thing behind those dark brown eyes was rage. Holding
Timmuth's gaze she responded by throwing down her dagger, then all went dark.
*****
Her head throbbed and her mouth was
dry when she woke. Her shoulder screamed obscenities from her battle wound as
her entire body was suspended by her wrists, with only the tips of her toes
touching the floor. She was alone in a bleak room with nothing except a door.
This was not UnderTyr, this was too uniform. For an instant, she thought there
was some safety in this, then she realized that Vordon had any number of
complexes or places that they could do as they wished.
As she pondered this, Thaxos Vordon
entered the room with one-eyed captain, two male muls, and three other guards
that looked battle tested. All were armed, except Thaxos. The old man stepped
forward with a soft smile on his face. "Zarnian, I am sorry that we had to
meet like this." In response the mul raised a single brow of disgust.
"You should know that nothing has been done to the boys. Trakas will live
as well. He may have a black eye, but that is all." Zarnian kept her
expression as still as possible. After searching her face for a time, Thaxos
simply shrugged. "I understand. If I were in your position, I would likely
also be angry.”
"Cut the shit," Zarnian
snarled.
Now all the mirth was gone from him.
His voice a growl, he stated "You know what I want."
"I know what you think you want. It does not exist."
Now it was Thaxos' turn to snarl.
Stepping forward, he stared deep into Zarnian's eyes. "Do not make me
angry. I know that mine exists. All I need from you is the location."
"Why me?"
"Because you are a symbol, king
slayer. I might be able to get one of the others of your house and break them
with greater ease, but you are the heart of the Painted Eye. If you give me the
location, you will kill that heart. Spare yourself what may come and save me
time. Tell me now." He growled the last word.
So
it comes down to this, Zarnian thought. She was strangely calm. A smile
stretched her full lips. "Do whatever you are going to do to me,
but," she made eye contact with everyone in the room one by one, "if
anyone harms those boys I will track you down and kill you slowly, and everyone
you love when I get out of this." Then she turned her attention to Vordon
exclusively, "and I will survive and get out of this."
"I heard you were stubborn, but
I didn't know that you were suicidal. Arkan," he nodded at his lieutenant.
"Fuck you Vordon," spat
Zarnian, testing her bonds once more.
He turned to her. "No, I am not
the one getting fucked today." With that he turned and walked out of the
room.
Then, she felt Arkan's hands
unbuckling her armor and choaked back the vomit rising in the back of her
throat. Not again, not with him. He tossed her armor to the side and he was before
her, his hands slipping under her undershirt. Though her hands were tied, but
she could still kick him, or perhaps her legs wrapped around his throat to kill
him, a small payback for the horrors inflicted on her house. Yet, as if reading
her thoughts, Arkan stated, "If you think about resisting I will bring the
boy in here and use him instead in front of you." There was something in
his voice that made her believe that he would. As someone behind her cut her
down and they dragged her to the floor her heart tightened. Panic threatened to
overtake her. She thought of Timmuth in the next room. If he heard her cry out
he would know, she had to be strong. Before she could fully steel herself she
felt her body rip apart with the intrusion. Gasping, pain and violation washed
across her in waves. This was one of her greatest fears and it was happening
now. During the act time passed and perpetrators passed uncertainly.
Eventually, it stopped, but by then she was torn and beaten. Before she could
take a single unchoked breath, she was restrung from the ceiling. The pain in
her broken hand and damaged shoulder tightened the world around her until she
passed out.
The sound of the boots walking in
the room startled her awake. Vordon was once again with the others. Now, Thaxos
did nothing to hide his true personality. The masks were off. Both were naked
before the other. Zarnian bit back shame. Very few had willingly seen her naked
before without even iron paint to hide her scars. Given what had just happened,
it was odd to feel ashamed about her whip scars, but she did. Looking her up
and down, Vordon inquired, "Are you ready to tell me about your
mine?"
"There is no mine," she
spat, though her swollen jaw made it less forceful than she would have liked.
Thaxos appeared amused. "What you do not
understand is that I already know of it, if not its location, just as I know so
much about you." He stepped behind her then she could feel a finger trace
one the whip scars on her back. Despite her resolve, she shuttered in disgust.
"A mul slave only whipped once in her entire life? Others would give
anything to live a life that privileged, but you, you do everything to hide the
fact it ever happened." Then he was before her again, his eyes sparkling
with his power over her. Reaching forward, he gently took her topknot, slipping
it behind her left ear and in front of her chest. "Is that what your
mentor did as you were lashed to the post? He gentled your hair away from your
back and whispered in your ear he was sorry. Then he raised his whip. Do you
think it was the horror of having to beat you that caused him to take his own
life two weeks later?"
Something inside of her was
dangerously close to breaking. Vordon should not know, no one alive should
know. Panic welled inside. She fought to keep it in check. If she panicked now,
she couldn't help Timmuth or the others. Suddenly, the whip just appeared in
his hand. The markings and wear made it easy to identify. "Your mentor's
whip." He examined the thongs. "Woven with spines and needles. You
know exactly how this feels." Anger soared though her. Arkan took it from
her room, stealing her last memento of her mentor. Fresh hatred caused her to
tug on the bonds making them tighten, biting deeper into her wrists. "I
can see this frightens you. That is not my intent. This whip won't be used on
you." On cue, the door opened and Trakas' barely conscious form was
dragged in. Blood dried on his face from a gash in the side of his head.
"No," slipped from the
mul's lips as the henchmen quickly strung Trakas from his wrists less than six
feet from her. The druid moaned as one of the guards ripped his clothing from
his torso.
Holding the whip before her eyes,
Vordon hissed, "The mine."
"No," this time she meant
to say the word. It tasted sweet. Though it was a temporary victory, it was
still just that.
Shrugging, Thaxos motioned to the
guard by the door. "Bring in the healer."
A man with a shaved head walked in.
Though psionic, he held himself like a slave. Vordon indicated the druid with a
slight tilt of his head. Without a word, the psionic walked to Trakas, placed a
hand on his head and closed his own eyes. A moment later, a livid wound
appeared on his own bald pate. He stumbled but a guard dragged him out of the
room.
Healed of his head wound, Trakas'
bright green eyes opened. When he locked eyes with Zarnian, his were full of
sorrow. She knew she looked bad, with blood, bruises, and a black eye swelling
from a blow she received during the assault. They said nothing, for no words
were necessary.
The guard with her mentor's whip
stepped behind Trakas, unfurling the lash. Zarnian heard someone step behind
her as well. If she could have taken the whipping alone she would have, or even
been raped again. But this torture was about watching Trakas suffer. Unable to
look away, she kept her eyes locked with his as they both received the first
lash. The sudden pain stole her breath, leaving her unable to do more than
gasp. After five more she heard the first scream then realized it was her own.
Trakas followed a few lashes after. More rained upon their bodies. Zarnian felt
her skin tear, blood pour down her legs. Then, the pain became so intense that
her vision began to dim. She welcomed this, anything to get away from the
agony. Then the whipping stopped. Without warning, she tumbled to the floor as
her bonds were cut, and saw Trakas do the same. He was a horror of blood and
torn flesh as she knew she was. Her body would not fully follow her commands,
but she managed to crawl forward enough to take his hand in hers. Weakly, his
fingers responded, holding hers. "I'm sorry," she whispered, hating
the idea of others hearing.
He tried to smile. "I'm
sorry."
She loved him intensely for his
smile, his words, which made his suffering worse. The mine. To end Trakas' pain
she was almost willing to tell of it. However, in the pit of her stomach she
now knew that this would end with their deaths. If she told of Iteriuk, they
would both die. If she didn't, they would likely both die. The secret may
hasten their deaths but it would bring death to everyone else she loved.
Looking deep into his eyes, the same color as the forest he loved, she
explained, "I can't."
"Don't," but before he
could say more a boot kicked him in the ribs. He cried out automatically trying
to roll away from more blows. It was this sight that spurred her to action.
Finding the last reserves of strength within herself she rose, lashing out with
her right leg to sweep the legs of the man kicking Trakas, then with a
sickening blow a stone warhammer descended on her leg, breaking it. The sound
and sensation brought a wave of nausea into her throat but was released as a
scream instead. Her leg rebroke over the old injury, the one that kept her from
glory in the arena and almost took her life. Howling at the pain, she held her
leg and physically shook, her mind holding on now by a silken thread. She could
feel Trakas' hand on her, but it offered no true relief.
For moments, they stayed like that
on the floor, Zarnian's scream dwindling though the pain in her leg did not,
and the writhing had reopened wounds on her back. As she tried to cope with it
all, she heard a child's voice cry out. Looking up, two guards held onto
Timmuth and Sorin. The boys appeared untouched, but Sorin was now sobbing.
Timmuth just glared, all trace of youth and hope gone. Only hatred remained in
those eyes, now the color of kank shell. His eyes were locked with Vordon and
they spoke only of death. "Do not harm the children," she gasped,
every word a struggle.
Thaxos stated, "I grow tired of
this. I have other things to do besides find ways to make you reasonable. Tell
me now, or I will slit the throat of one of the boys."
She reached forward for Timmuth
prompting one of the muls to stomp down on her wrist, breaking it as well.
Trakas did the same but received two more vicious kicks in his ribs; she heard
something break. Sorin sobbed louder, then Timmuth elbowed his captor in the
groin, then as the guard doubled over, Timmuth bit his captor’s cheek and
gouged his eyes. Another guard swung a warhammer and as Zarnian screamed and
reached, she watched it sail for Timmuth's head, a killing blow...
With a scream of pain and rage,
Zarnian bolted forward in her bed. Timmuth,
she thought. She had to get to Timmuth. Her feet barely touched the ground
as she bound forward bursting through the boy's door. At the sound of her
footfalls Timmuth sat up in bed drawing his dagger from under his pillow in a
fluid motion. Seeing it was Zarnian he relaxed, dropping his weapon to his
side. Sorin woke, his eyes heavy with sleep. "Bad dream?" asked her
adopted son. There was more concern in his dark brown eyes than he allowed in
his voice.
She nodded. Making her way to the
side of the bed she kissed him on the forehead. Leaning over she repeated the
gesture with Sorin. She could smell both of the boys. This was real. The
children were safe, her body was whole and unbroken, and Trakas was alive, his
back not raw. Yet, every time she blinked, she could see the horrors of her
dream. It was so real, yet, she knew it was not a prophetic dream. Those were
different, but it was also not normal. With a wave of nausea also came a wave
of realization. Vordon. He just used her dreams to probe all her worst fears -
he had a systematic plan to break her.
"Zarnian?" Sorin's small, quizzical
voice snapped her back to the room. Her hands were balled into fists, twisting
handfuls of the boys' bedding. She could feel the clammy sweat covering her.
Timmuth again clenched the dagger, his eyes scanning for the threat.
Recovering slightly from the
realization, she tried to twist her face back into a smile. It was weak at
best, but she had to try. “It was just a bad dream. Both of you, go back to
sleep.” Kissing them again, she tucked them into bed. Timmuth allowed her to
cover him, but as he slid his hand under the pillow his eyes clearly said he
would not allow himself to go back to sleep that night.
Leaving, she grabbed Bobby and Kurt,
shoving them in front of the boy’s room. “You watch them. No one in besides me.”
Kurt snapped to attention. Bobby
nodded, but appeared more concerned. Zarnian managed to make it back to her own
room. Nearly falling on her bed she grabbed a pillow and silently screamed into
it until she was spent. Then, having dispelled some of the horror and violation
she hardened her heart. Vordon thought he knew her now, but if he tried to
break her, he would her a find her a formidable enemy. If this was going to end
in death for one of them, and her prophetic dream made her think it would, then
it would not be her in the gray. She killed one king, and Vordon was no king. Taking
her spear into her hands, she held it as a talisman against the dark and
started planning Thaxos Vordon’s demise.
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