Scarred Man (2 page)

Keshik strained against the ropes. At the door, Alberrich stood watching as the six uniformed soldiers of the Blindfolded Queen untied Maida. She too wrestled against her captors, but the soldiers were obdurate. When she was cut loose, she tried to slash at one man with her nails, but he calmly slapped her hand away.

They grabbed her and dragged her to her feet. She screamed, spat, kicked, and tried to claw at them, but there were too many and they were too strong.

‘Keshik!' she cried. ‘I am sorry!'

Keshik stopped struggling against his bonds and stared at her. Maida stared back for a moment, forgetting all else but his eyes, his face. He held her gaze before nodding slowly. His gesture said everything she needed to know. She lowered her eyes, no longer afraid. When the soldiers urged her towards the door, she went quietly. Alberrich held the door open for them and closed it quietly after they had left.

‘I almost regret handing her over. I think you two would provide endless entertainment were I to keep
you together.' He sighed softly. ‘Almost, but not enough to change anything,' he went on. One misshapen hand slipped inside his robe and brought out a small leather bag. He tossed it lightly in his hand, listening to the jingle of coins. ‘It's funny what drives some people,' he mused. ‘Some live their lives between their legs. Others live by the heart, guided only by their various passions and lusts, while others, like me, live by other, more tangible motives.' He looked away from the money to stare at Keshik. ‘What are you, I wonder?'

‘I will not forget you,' Keshik hissed.

‘I have my answer, then. You seek revenge, restitution. Always you hunger for settling scores, for making amends.' Alberrich put the money back inside his robe. ‘I myself put aside such childish notions long ago. Now I live for comfort.'

‘And power.'

Alberrich's misshapen face shifted into a semblance of a smile. ‘What supplies more comfort than power over one's enemies?' He turned towards the door. He grasped the handle, and spoke without turning. ‘Relax, Swordsman, the Readers will not be long. Enjoy the time you have. I do not think they will be gentle with you.'

‘I will not forget you,' Keshik repeated.

‘I would hope not,' Alberrich said. He opened the door and stepped out. ‘But if you ever come back to do me harm, you will die in the attempt.'

Keshik laughed. ‘Do you think that will concern me?'

Alberrich turned back quickly. His eyes narrowed as he regarded Keshik. Their gazes
locked, holding them both motionless. Finally, Alberrich broke away. ‘No, I don't think it will.'

‘I will kill you,' Keshik spat. ‘I will find you and I will carve your face into something even you would not recognise. I will open your foul body and feast on your beating heart. I will —' The door slammed and, in the sudden darkness, Keshik stopped shouting and smiled thinly. Despite being unarmed and tied to a slab, he had managed to unnerve his captor. It might not mean anything now, it might never affect anything, but it was a victory of sorts. If they ever met again, this moment of fear might be the distraction that changed the outcome.

He listened to the muffled conversations from outside, trying to free himself from the ropes, but the heavy door slammed open again before he could make any headway with the knots.

Three armed men stood silhouetted in the doorway.

‘Don't look much, do he?' one sneered.

‘Nah, probably the wrong one,' said another.

‘Who cares? Thems up at the Ruthia want a death,' muttered the third. ‘This one will do for them.'

‘Yar, they want a death,' the first man agreed. He looked at Keshik and smiled. ‘And you can do that, can't you, little man?'

Keshik did not reply. There was nothing he could do until he was untied and the sooner that happened, the sooner Alberrich would pay. He glared at the men as they approached. He was expecting them to untie him, making the mistake
that three men would be enough to cow any one man into submission, but they were experienced and skilled.

His right hand was firmly held down before the rope was cut and it was tied to his left hand before that hand was loosed. When his legs were freed, he was heaved off the slab and dragged out of the room. By the time the blood had returned to his feet and the strength to his legs, he was well away from the cell, and his swords.

He heard other voices, muffled conversations, snatches of sound but nothing that made any sense, nothing that gave him any clue about where Maida had been taken. The guards dragged him quickly along dark corridors, past black openings, through an underground world whose denizens dwelt there from choice. From the shadows leered dirty faces filled with anger, fear, loathing and secrets. Harsh sounds trickled around the walls, bringing snatches of words, hinting at events occurring within the shadows, bringing the claustrophobic sense of life beneath ground, away from light, safe from prying eyes.

Keshik breathed deeply, trying to bring his tangled mind under control. He needed the peace, the calm of Tulugma, the discipline of the master if he were to avoid dying here in this stinking world of the half-seen, the half-heard, the small, the petty viciousness of the scavenger. He closed his eyes and called on the dofain, the litany of control, his personal guardian against despair:

‘I will see the skies, I will taste the cold, I will raise arms against my enemies, they will die with
their blood on my blades, I will taste the cold air of the Seven Wastes. I will overcome.'

As always, the ancient words of Tulugma brought calm. Keshik felt his heart slow, his breathing came back under his control, his eyes focused. His legs obeyed and once more he was walking, no longer dragging.

‘Oh ho, it wakes,' the man on his right said.

Keshik snarled and spat in the man's face. ‘You will die,' he hissed.

The man smiled. ‘Yar, we all die, Scarred Man. We all die.'

‘Not all of us look into the eyes of our deaths,' Keshik said, pitching his voice only for him.

‘You speak big for a dying man,' the guard replied.

‘So do you,' Keshik said.

The guard leading the way turned and gave Keshik a stinging blow across the head.

‘Shut it, dead man,' he said. There was no malice, no threat in his tone; he spoke as one would to a friend. ‘The Readers want you alive, but undamaged was not mentioned. You will die just as well with only one arm, or no tongue, or no eyes.'

Keshik shook his head to clear it from the blow. He gave the guard who had struck him a glare, but subsided into silence. He needed to plan, to observe, if he were to escape.

‘Better, dead man,' the lead guard said.

They resumed their passage through the dank tunnels of Alberrich and his noisome allies.

Now that he was alert, Keshik was able to listen and observe more clearly. The hate, the violence,
the frustrated viciousness was not directed at him. It was his captors who elicited the stares and snarls of those who dwelt here. Were he to escape, he might be able to count on their aid.

Even as he thought it, the guards started climbing stairs. Light seeped down, bringing with it new scents, different sounds from a different world. Keshik struggled against the restraining hands, but another hard blow to the head made him stagger, dazed. By the time his head cleared, he had been dragged out through a door and into the sunlight. For a moment, the brilliant light dazzled his eyes, making him blink in pain before he was dragged across the ground and thrown bodily onto a cart. One of the soldiers climbed up to take the reins while the other two sat beside him.

‘Don't be thinking none, dead man,' one soldier said.

‘Yar, them Readers get right cranky if they don't get what they want,' added the other with a grin.

Keshik said nothing, he just lay still, working his wrists, trying to loosen his bonds, wrists strengthened by Crossings of wielding swords. The ropes were sloppily tied. With time, he might succeed.

Overhead, the sky was grey. A wind carrying the scent of ice whipped dust and grit into the air, stinging skin and eyes. The soldiers sat on the raised benches on either side of the cart, resting their feet on Keshik, not watching him. He closed his eyes and worked faster on the ropes, feeling some loosening.

‘I will overcome,' he whispered.

While he worked at the bindings on his wrists, the cart moved quickly through the streets of Leserlang. Around him, the sounds of a city going about its business were loud and as unconcerned with his passage as he was with their lives. The cart slowed and came to a stop.

‘Wanted criminal to face the Readers' Tribunal,' the driver said.

‘They are waiting for you,' came the reply and the cart jerked into motion once more. A gate opened then closed behind them. The noises faded, to be replaced with a low murmuring. Keshik paid little attention to the voices while he continued to work. His wrists were almost free when a sword rested lightly on his throat.

‘You're good, dead man,' a soldier said. ‘But so are we.'

Keshik opened his eyes to look up along the blade at the man holding the sword. Past its hilt, the soldier shook his head slowly.

‘Even if you get the rope off, you are within the Ruthia. There is no escape now.'

Keshik spat and ceased his attempt to free his hands.

‘Wise move. It would be a shame to die without hands,' the soldier said.

The cart came to a stop again and the two soldiers grabbed Keshik by the arms. They heaved him onto his feet and dragged him down onto the ground. Keeping him firmly held, they marched him towards a large, dark building.

The Ruthia was a walled town within a city. Like Leserlang itself, it was ugly and grey. Directly ahead
of him was a three-storeyed building, on either side were other, smaller buildings ringing a paved area that might have once been a town square. Several robed figures stopped to watch him pass. He heard muttered words but ignored them, his attention fixed on the guarded door ahead.

He was stopped at the door while the lead soldier spoke to the armed guards.

‘This him?' one guard asked.

‘Yar.'

‘Don't look much.'

‘Nar. But he's the one.'

The guard grunted. ‘Well, he'll have to wait.' He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the closed door. ‘Them inside's busy right now. Take him downstairs. Leave him there for a while. They'll get to him when they're good and ready.'

The moment the door closed, Maida stamped down hard on the foot of the nearest Agent. He grunted and slapped her across the face. She pulled her head back and when his hand went past, she slammed it forward, catching him a savage blow on the nose. He reeled back, letting go of her as he tried to staunch the blood spurting from his broken nose. Maida took her chance and lashed out with her foot, aiming as hard a kick as she could muster into the groin of one of the others. It landed, but he was armoured and her cry of pain mingled with the metallic clang of her foot slamming into his metal codpiece. Another Agent drew back his fist and punched her hard in the face. She gave a single cry and the world went black.

 

‘Tough little slag.'

There was a chuckle. ‘Tell that to Tochtli. His nose looks like a horse stepped on it.'

Both men laughed: a harsh, brutal sound filled with malice. Maida remained still, keeping her eyes closed as she tried to work out where she was and what her circumstances were.

She was outside again. The sun was hot on her face and no wind stirred her hair. She was lying down, on her back, in some sort of wagon. The horses pulling it, from the sound of their steady, powerful stride, were still fresh. The smell of the air suggested she was no longer in a city. Her stomach growled from hunger and her bladder was full. She had been out for most of the day, but these horses had not been pulling this wagon for all that time. Other scents came to her — the men had not washed for a while, they had eaten recently, and had had ale with their meal.
A mistake
.

Her hands were not restrained, but her feet were. The wagon jolted as it hit a bump in the road. The rattle of metal told her she was not tied, but shackled, hence her hands being free. If she were simply tied, she could have untied herself, but being shackled suggested a lock. The Agents were not worried about her being able to pick the lock.

Another mistake.

She opened her eyes just a slit. There were three Agents sitting beside her, one on her left, two to her right. They were dressed in the uniform of the Blindfolded Queen and armed. The one on her left was talking to one of those on her right, while the remaining Agent was staring at her with a hard, unblinking gaze. He had seen her eyes open and gave her a slow nod to let her know she had been seen.

This one would be trouble.

‘Hey,' the watchful Agent said. ‘The Queen is watching.'

The two men stopped laughing immediately and
fixed their attention on Maida, who closed her eyes quickly.

‘She's still out. I hit her good. She'll be out for ages yet.'

I know your voice now. I owe you for that punch.

‘She's awake.' A boot nudged her in the ribs. ‘Aren't you, Red?'

Maida toyed with the idea of answering him in the negative, but reasoned that a sense of humour would be unlikely in these men, so she opened her eyes to regard her captors.

‘Tough little slag, aren't you?' the man who had punched her said again, with a vicious grin. ‘I thought you'd be out for ages yet.'

‘How's Tochtli's nose?' she asked.

‘Broken,' the watchful Agent said. His flat monotone carried both command and menace. He was clearly the ranking officer here.

‘Good,' Maida said. She fixed her gaze on the man who had hit her. ‘You hit like a girl,' she said.

‘Just as well for you, Red,' he sneered.

‘Shut it,' the senior man said. ‘She's a guest of the Queen, and you know she is watching.'

The other Agents lowered their heads and touched their tattoos, as if in fear, or awe, or something else entirely. There was a lot here to learn, and it would take Maida a while to get away.

May as well learn as much as I can while I am here.

She tried to sit up, but the senior Agent pushed her back down again. His touch was firm, but not unnecessarily harsh; it was also carefully on her
shoulder purely to hold her down, not to grope or caress. She acquiesced, trying to catch his eye, but he did not make eye contact.

You really are going to be a problem.

Maida settled back down onto the floor of the wagon and tried to make herself comfortable. The wagon was a simple one, uncovered and drawn by two horses. Rough planking formed the floor and the raised benches that ran the length of each side. Overhead, the sun was hot and the sky was clear, with promise of more heat yet to come. She was dressed for the north and the further south they went, the more uncomfortable she would become. Sweat was trickling down her face and forming on her skin under her clothes. She was hungry and thirsty and, unless she had the chance to relieve herself soon, she would embarrass them all.

‘Hey,' she said. ‘How about some food and water? And a chance to take a piss?'

The last brought a laugh, and an order to stop. She was dragged to her feet and held tightly while the soldier who had punched her unchained her feet. The chance was too good to pass on, so as soon as her feet were free, she quickly lashed out and landed a solid kick to the side of his face. He staggered back, overbalanced and fell out of the wagon to land hard on the ground.

‘I owed you that,' Maida said quickly.

The other two Agents and the wagon driver laughed at their companion's discomfort and before he could clamber back into the wagon, murder on his soon-to-be-bruised face, his superior raised a cautionary hand.

‘She is right, Opochtli,' he said. ‘Call it even and leave it.'

Opochtli glared at Maida, but the murder faded from his face as he climbed in.

‘Call it even, then, Huitzilin,' he said. ‘But don't push it, Red,' he added to Maida.

‘Or you will do what? Glare at me? Pull faces? Your watching queen will be so impressed.'

She did not know what sort of response she was expecting, but what she received was a shock. Opochtli's face went white as he lowered his head and touched the tattoo on his cheek. Huitzilin's grip on her arm wavered and the other soldier actually dropped to his knees in what she could only describe as fear, as he too touched the tattoo on his cheek.

Now that's interesting
.

Before she could take advantage of the sudden lack of attention on her, Huitzilin recovered and gripped her arm tightly, giving it a little shake.

‘Be careful, Red, how you use the Queen's name. Some will take offence, and be aware, she does watch. There is no exaggeration or myth there.'

Maida gave a quick raising of her eyebrows. ‘Can I take a piss now?'

‘Come on, then, Red,' Huitzilin said, pushing her towards the back of the wagon.

‘What? Are you coming with me?'

‘How stupid do you think I am, Red? You really think I am going to let you walk away into the bush alone?'

‘Yes.'

‘Modesty is overrated. Let's go.'

He jumped lightly off the back of the wagon and dragged her down with him.

Now that she was out of the wagon, Maida took a look around. They had not travelled south through the arid plains, rather they had moved more east, into a lightly wooded area. There were some tall trees, but mostly it was low scrubby bush. Not enough to break up wind, but enough cover if she could get away. Maida allowed herself to be dragged towards a bush, where she wrenched her arm free and pushed Huitzilin away.

‘I'm going to be on the other side of that bush. Listen if that's what you want, but stay here.'

Huitzilin gave her a calculating stare before jerking his head briefly in acquiescence.

Maida walked quickly to the other side of the bush and squatted down out of his line of view. She had chosen the bush carefully — it formed the beginning of a low, dense hedge. It was covered in small greyish leaves and was almost impenetrable. As soon as she was sure he could no longer see her, she dropped onto her belly and squirmed away under the bush. She moved as quickly as she could, ignoring the rips and tiny cuts the branches were leaving on her clothes and body. With any luck, by the time he started to get suspicious, she could be ten or twenty paces away under thick cover.

Once past the thickest outer layer of foliage, she found the going easier. The bushes were peculiar: their low, weeping habit left the area around the main trunk quite clear. She was past three bushes by the time she heard the first call of concern.

The concern quickly became anger and frustration.

‘Ice and wind!' Huitzilin shouted. ‘She's gone. You three get over here!'

Maida kept going, now trying to make less noise.

‘She's got to be in those bushes. Find her, but bring her back undamaged!'

Squirming along under bushes that might have been designed solely for this sort of escape, Maida smiled grimly.
Undamaged, that's nice
, she thought. But she had no time to think, she had to keep moving. She still had only twenty or so paces between her and Huitzilin. Nowhere near enough yet.

The sounds of pursuit grew louder. The Agents were slashing at the bushes behind her, moving inexorably closer. She had to move faster to keep ahead of them — an indiscriminate sword slash through the branches could damage her, no matter what Huitzilin had ordered.

‘Hold!' Huitzilin bellowed. The sounds of the slashing swords stopped immediately. Huitzilin's voice dropped to a mutter, but Maida did not stop to listen, she kept moving, now aware of the noise her movement was causing, hoping she was far enough away for it to be dismissed as normal woodland sounds.

‘I see her now,' Huitzilin shouted. ‘Ahead, thirty paces, down to your right.'

Maida heard Agents running, straight towards her. Their boots pounded and stopped right by her. Hands tore at the bush, ripping away her cover, leaving her vulnerable. A sword touched the back of her neck.

‘Said she was a tough little slag,' Opochtli said to his companions.

Maida stopped moving and looked up at him.

‘You have no idea,' she hissed at him.

Huitzilin walked up to join them and looked down at Maida with thinly disguised contempt.

‘It is not just the Blindfolded Queen who sees, Red,' he said.

Maida regarded him closely and noticed something she had not seen before. His tattoo was just the crown, high on his left cheek, but those of his Agents had a black line underneath them.

A mark of rank?
Even as she thought it, she realised it was more than that, but as yet she did not know what it meant.
And what did he mean by seeing? Could he see me? How?

‘Take her back,' he ordered. ‘And chain her up again.'