Blinded by the Sun (Erythleh Chronicles Book 4) (6 page)

"Such pretty eyes," someone murmured.

"Green like a cat."

"She looks like a witch. We should burn her. She'll curse us all."

"Hold your tongue, you superstitious dolt. She's no witch."

"No witch? She never even cried out when Loga set her leg. That's not natural."

"She was out cold. Of course she didn't cry out, you idiot."

The only man that had not yet spoken was the man crouched in front of her who had revealed her face. He half turned to the gaggle of men. "Hush your noise."

He twisted back to Lyssia. She watched him as she would watch a venomous snake, trying to guess whether it would strike or slither off.

"They're right, though," he muttered. "Those eyes will fetch us a pretty price, even though you're a stubborn one. I can tell."

He had asked her no question, so Lyssia didn't feel compelled to respond. He gave her a wry smile for her silence.

"Come on, Seff. Let's see what's under all that cloak."

Seff, evidently the man before her, scowled at the lewd comment from his comrade, but he still reached forward and yanked the material from her shoulders. Lyssia was still wearing the clothes she had been wearing the night of the fight, leather trews and a cotton shirt bound in place by snug leather jerkin. Her garments were rank with sweat and stiff with patches of dried blood. She was fully clothed, showing no skin other than that of her face and throat, but she felt completely naked under the assessing gaze of her captors.

"I'm after Seff," one of the men called out. After that, the others began a verbal scuffle of insults and demands as they discussed in what order they would take turns to rape her.

"Silence." Seff shouted the command loudly enough that Lyssia jerked involuntarily at his tone of voice. She grimaced past the pain the movement caused.

The men fell silent immediately.

"Leave this one be." Seff issued the instruction in a stern voice. There were a few murmurs of dissent, but he called for attention again. "If anyone touches her, I'll cut their cock off myself."

"You just want her for your own."

At that bold statement from one of his men, Seff stood, whirled, and punched the man who had dared to insult him. The man staggered several steps backwards, clutching at his now broken nose, ineffectually trying to catch the flow of spurting blood.

"And if I did, it's none of your business," Seff growled. "You dare disobey me?" All the men shook their heads in response. "If you try a rutting you'll damage her leg. I don't want her limping into Vulc, permanently lame and looking as wretched as those wenches." Seff tilted his head at the group of terrified women. "She'll fetch us a better price if she's unmarked and whole. That's more gold in your pockets. So you'll all keep your pricks in your trews and be mindful of your purses instead of your balls. You've plenty else to entertain you."

There were a few rumbles of dissatisfaction, but nothing that Seff took as serious disagreement with his edict. He led the men back out of the stable. Lyssia was mortified. By marking her out for such special treatment, and by condoning the continued abuse of the other prisoners, Seff had just ensured that she would find no aid from her fellow stablemates. Indeed, as she looked now and saw the hard glint in the eyes of those not still terrified, she thought that they might well find a way to stab her in her sleep. It wouldn't end their torment, but it would end her being apart from it, above it.

Now, she was truly alone.

~o0o~

The journey to Vuthron had been horrific for many reasons. The nightly abuse of the other women had continued. It made Lyssia sick to think on those memories, sick with rage and impotent self-loathing, as well as sorrow for the women themselves. They appeared to all respond in one of two ways. Some were almost catatonic, mere stumbling shells of human beings. Others were as hard as flint. Those were the ones that Lyssia watched for; they were the ones who were desperate and would do anything to escape or gain any respite.

They had all been transported to the port at Velth in the rickety wagon. By the time they were herded onto the ship, or carried, in Lyssia's case, she was glad that she was gagged. The rancid material between her teeth gave her something to bite down on when the pain in her leg brought her nigh to shrieking. Seff had silently tended to the skin that had been torn by the spikes, in a rudimentary way. He had freshened the bandages, and had applied a paste that smelled as though it might have owed some of its origins to horse dung, and which stung like he was rubbing embers into her skin, but at least it seemed to keep infection at bay.

Having never been on a boat before, Lyssia had no idea what to expect as the long wooden vessel, which sat ridiculously low in the water, in her opinion, punted away from the quayside. She soon found that she was not suited to the open water. Even when the seas were calm she felt violently nauseated. Her retching had been painful and continuous, bad enough that Seff had removed her gag so that she would not choke on her own vomit.

From the boat they had been transferred to another cart which had rolled through the streets of a port that Lyssia had hoped never to see. From the conversations that were happening around her, Lyssia knew that they had docked at Shasa, the main port of Vuthron. The headlands of the country sloped gently into the sea, but behind them was the immense backdrop of a fearsome, bleak mountain range that rose out of the land in sheer jagged cliffs. There was a rotten taint to the air, the odour of fish and faeces. It was the ubiquitous scent that Lyssia had come to recognise as the signature of any place where a great deal of fish were landed.

The shops and houses that formed the heart of the port crowded in on each other, not a plumb line between them, leaning over the dirt streets until they almost formed a canopy that blocked out the sun. The buildings were all constructed from dark stones that ranged from dull grey to glinting opaque black glass. Lyssia was used to the wooden huts of Sannarrell, and the mud and standstone buildings of Veltharesh. Her world had always been shades of gold and brown. This world was all grey and smoke and black. The only similarities in any way were that the buildings in Vuthron were as much grown from the landscape as those in and around the Southern Wastelands.

Although the environment was forbidding, it was the people that unnerved Lyssia the most. All her life she'd heard tales of the blood drinkers, stories and legends that had led her to imagine a race of monsters. They were generally all as pale as the moon, but that was natural enough for a land that was not mostly desert. Lyssia had been ready for hooked noses, fangs, and claws. What she saw around her were families and businessmen: humans, who did not look so very different from herself. They had the usual number of limbs and eyes, their features were regular. They did not boast snakes for hair, or wings. She knew without doubt that they drank the blood of their slaves, and that they did so seemed all the more sinister for all their normalcy.

Many of the other women had been rendered deaf and mute by their mistreatment, but Lyssia kept her eyes and ears open. Although she still couldn't lean any weight on her leg, she was determined to find an opportunity to escape. She was able to discern that they were not to be auctioned in the port. They had another long journey ahead of them. It was her own potential value that compelled Seff to lead his men and their cargo to Vulc; it seemed he thought she'd fetch a better price in the capital. They would not be paraded in the filthy pens down by the waterfront, but Lyssia feared that such an honour did not bode well for any of them.

Chapter Six

Sensing that there would be much turmoil in the coming moons, Kavrazel had negotiated to neglect his official duties for a handful of nights. He and Girogis had taken themselves to a hunting lodge in the northern forests, with only each other for company and provisioned with the very basic necessities. He wanted to enjoy the fresh, crisp air of the unsullied countryside, to remind himself - in the midst of the daily machinations of court and petitions for assistance - of the essence of his love for his country. Each day they left their horses at the lodge, where both animals would spend the day grazing on the short grass around the wooden structure, and trekked into the forest to hunt.

Both men enjoyed hunting deer. They had no interest in does, they wanted only the challenge of the stags, and they preferred to hunt in the rutting season. It was true that the deer were less cautious, that they were easier targets, but they were also more aggressive. Kavrazel and Girogis hunted with longbows, thus their conduct and aim had to be immaculate. Should one of them create a disturbance, or wound an animal in a way that was not immediately fatal, it was to chance being speared on the massive branches of unwieldy antlers before they could aim and loose another arrow.

This day, they were on the trail of a large buck that they had spied several hours before. They were picking their way between the thick, gnarled trunks, separated by at least twenty strides. The animal had led them a merry chase. They had taken all the usual precautions, and were generally considered competent and even talented hunters, and yet the buck had seemed to detect their presence at every turn. Every time they thought they were within sight, that they might draw a shot, the buck turned and flashed its white tail at them as it kicked up its hooves, sending leaves spiralling into the air.

The sun was drooping in the sky, darkening to shades of scarlet and amber as it sought the horizon. The shadows in the forest were lengthening and thickening, and it looked as though they would pass the day unsuccessfully. They were not without food, they had brought supplies with them, but the taste of disappointment would be sour for both men. Finally, careless with frustration, Kavrazel loosed an arrow at a chance of a target. The buck darted to one side at the last moment. His arrow thunked into the trunk of a tree, quivering with the velocity with which it had struck. If his aim had been true, it would have been a fatal shot.

The buck turned and gave Kavrazel a scornful look, if such a beast could be cognizant of scorn, and then shot off on nimble legs through the trees. Another arrow followed its tail, but it seemed that Girogis' aim was no better. His arrow injured only the thick bark of an ancient beech.

Kavrazel took the lesson for the day. Some battles were not meant to be won, some foes were not meant to be outwitted, but he would never succeed if he was hasty and lost his patience. Girogis soon joined him, stamping through the mulch now that stealth was no longer necessary.

"What kind of shot do you call that?" Girogis asked, barely able to speak for his mocking chuckle.

"I believe you saw as much tail as I," Kavrazel returned, clapping his friend on the shoulder, perhaps with more effort than was strictly required.

Girogis grunted, then chuckled again as they began to make their way back to the lodge, and a stew of vegetables and dried pork. "When was the last time you got some tail?" he quipped.

Kavrazel was about to tell him where to stick his question, but his mind snagged on the thread of trying to find the actual answer. He thought for a pause long enough that Girogis turned to him with an eyebrow raised in question. "I'm not sure I remember," he admitted ruefully.

Girogis' eyebrow did not lower. "Just you and your hand, huh? That doesn't sound like a healthy state of affairs."

"It's enough." Kavrazel's tone was curt.

"It fucking isn't, and well you know it. A man needs some real company now and again."

"So Shinu keeps telling me."

"I'm sure he has something suitable in his stable, a choice little bird."

Now it was Kavrazel's turn to be surprised at his friend's response. Shinu was the Blood Father. He took overall responsibility for all the servants in the castle, but particularly the blood slaves. He was their manager, he saw to their duties and resolved their petty disputes, he ensured their comfort and well-being.

"Shinu is an uncle to them all, he's no pimp. Anyway, that is not their purpose."

Girogis shrugged. "Might as well make use of them."

"Is that what you've been doing?" Kavrazel asked archly.

The smirk he received in reply was sly. "There's a bonny blonde lass. She's quite taken with me."

Kavrazel pulled up short. There had never been an explicit ruling in the castle about the use of the blood slaves, because he hadn't thought one was needed. Most people paid the slaves no mind until they were required at meal times. The group made themselves useful helping with the castle duties to keep themselves occupied when their veins were not needed. He had thought that his personal views on the use and misuse of slaves was well-heeded.

"Calm yourself," Girogis soothed. "She came to me. What's a man to do when a pretty miss drops to her knees in front of him?"

"Tell her to get back to her room."

"Poor thing was lonely and scared of the dark."

"I'm sure she was." Kavrazel started walking again. He didn't believe Girogis for a moment.

"If it offends you that much..."

Kavrazel released a heavy sigh. "No, as long as she's not under duress. Have your fun."

"You think I'd force her?" Girogis was beginning to sound offended.

"Not at all." Now it was Kavrazel's turn to soothe. "But I think a slave little knows when they have the ability to refuse a service."

Girogis let out a harsh bark of a laugh. "You sound like one of the malingerers in the marketplace, one of the clucking hens who think we should free the slaves and deny the toast of Taan."

"You know what I think of them."

"Fools." Girogis echoed his unspoken sentiment, and emphasised it by spitting into the dirt.

"They think if they can persuade the people to give up the blood toast that they will be able to depose me as king. They believe it is the blood that gives me the ability to raise the dead."

"Isn't it?"

"In all honesty, I have never truly tested the theory, since there has never been a time in my life that I have denied Taan. But no, I don't believe it does. I believe the ability is inherent in my own blood, not dependant on that of some wretch from Nari."

"Perhaps the experiment is overdue?"

"Not with the giants knocking at our doors."

"How do things go on that front?" Girogis asked. "Should I increase our training schedule?"

"Maybe," Kavrazel sighed. "I expect an answer soon."

"Maybe we should give up our hunt of that arrogant buck and return to the city. It sounds as though is not a time to be away too long."

Kavrazel couldn't disagree, but he knew that he had needed this brief respite to clear his mind for the coming trials. "You would let the stag best us?"

"I would let him fuck his fill and rule his herd another year. His rack will hang in the castle as well next winter as it would have this season."

"Do the giants make you so nervous?" Kavrazel asked his guard.

"If anyone isn't nervous in the face of a foe that's four times their size, they're a fool. Don't tell me you are such a fool?"

"Oh no." Kavrazel let out a dry laugh. "I am no such fool."

"Good," Girogis responded. "I'd hate to think I was putting my life on the line for a simpleton."

"Your endorsement is rousing." There was no small amount of sarcasm in Kavrazel's tone.

"It wouldn't do for you to have a swelled head. Now, a swelled prick on the other hand..."

"Please! No." Kavrazel laughed. "Leave the subject of my prick be. If I need relief, I am capable of finding it."

Girogis stopped walking and made a low, full, sweeping bow. "I am your servant in all things."

"In all things?" Kavrazel asked with a chuckle.

"I am your sworn servant."

"You would be so selfless? I am honoured." Kavrazel placed his palm over his heart with mocking sincerity.

"Only for you, my liege." Girogis swept into a bow again.

"Get up, you fool." Kavrazel clapped his friend on his back. "You can do the cooking tonight, and consider your duties fulfilled."

"Man cannot live by stew alone."

"Dear friend," Kavrazel made a small, joking bow of his own. "I would die for you, as you would for me, but Taan's fires will be snuffed out before I take you to my bed."

Girogis sniffed and stuck his nose in the air, the very epitome of offended pride. "I prefer blondes anyway."

"Then we should return with haste to your little morsel."

"You mean to return tomorrow?"

"Yes, I grow impatient to see if Illisrya has made her response."

"I'll wager we'll end up wishing we could have postponed that moment."

"So do I," Kavrazel agreed. "So do I."

~o0o~

Kavrazel thought back to his friend's prophetic words as he stood in the state room. Consul Otal was seated to his right, and the rest of his advisors were arranged around the table. He could feel Girogis' presence at his back. Girogis was the epitome of a professional guard, but knowing his friend as well as he did, Kavrazel could guess at the man's thoughts on the occurrences of the day.

There were two items laid before him on the table: a box and its former contents. Illisrya had made her response. The hawk that had carried his own missive to the giants lay in a puff of mangled feathers; its head had been crushed. Shards of bone glinted through the blood and gore, although much of the brain matter had remained in the box when its contents had been removed. The smell of drying blood added a faint tang to the air. Silently, Kavrazel railed against the wanton destruction of something so innocent, simply to make a point. A few words scrawled on some parchment would have been as effective.

Kavrazel had his answer. The giants were in debt to him, they had failed to negotiate new terms, and they had refused to make payment. Now they had insulted him and had mocked the power of his country. He had been left with no choice; it was to be war between Vuthron and Morjay.

The first person to break the silence was Multha, the Commander in Chief of the army. He was a master strategist, but he was known for his direct way of speaking. "The way I see it, we have two options to choose from to begin with: do we take the war to them, or wait for them to bring it to us?"

There were murmurings all around the table in response. Kavrazel could discern that the general attitude seemed to be that the affront to Vuthron should be directly answered by invasion. He held up his hand for silence. Quiet fell, but not as quickly as he would have liked. He knew that feelings were rising high in the room.

"We will not be provoked into foolishness. The giants wish to anger us..."

"They have," Divna, the Chancellor, interrupted.

Kavrazel scowled at the impertinence, but continued in an even tone. "The giants have been trying to provoke us into war for too long. I agree, the insult must be answered, a response to all their insults is long overdue, but I will not ship Vuthroans to Morjay to die under the giants' axes and clubs."

"You would have the giants bring their army here? You would allow them to invade Vuthron?" Multha asked. Kavrazel was not insulted by the question, he could tell from the way that Multha spoke that the commander knew damn well what was in his mind, but he was seeking clarification for the less military minded in the group.