Bloodsongs (5 page)

Time passed. She had no way of knowing how much. Sometimes the air seemed to grow cooler, and she shivered uncontrollably. Sometimes she felt stifled by the heat and the unending dark. She cried out, shouted for anyone within hearing. No answer came.

Her buttocks ached from sitting on the hard stone floor, and the dank cold crept into her joints. She finally rose, creaking and stiff. To warm herself she paced around the pit, then across it. Twelve steps from side to side, she discovered. She paced it several times until she was satisfied.

Thirst became a torment. She sucked on her sleeve to draw moisture into her mouth, gaining only small relief. Once, she even licked the wall where it seemed dampest, but the brackish limestone taste was too much to bear.

Despair slowly gave way to numbness, and she paced without purpose, waiting for something, anything, to happen. Little by little, numbness boiled into anger. She cursed her oldest son.
You'll answer to me, Kel
, she swore. All she saw with her visionless eyes was that sword in Kirigi's ribs. All she heard was Kel's voice taunting.
Send him to hell for all I care
, he'd told the commander. No more tears of grief, but tears of rage and bitterness stung her eyes. She thumped her fist repeatedly on the wall until her knuckles throbbed.

She must have dozed again. She wasn't sure. But suddenly there were voices somewhere above her. The words were muffled, indistinguishable no matter how she strained to hear. Then came a scraping of stone on stone.

A beam of sunlight stabbed down through an opened hole, illuminating the center of her prison. She blinked against the intense brightness. Then she clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a cry of joy. She was not blind! It was only the blackness of the pit, the absence of any light at all. Yet the light was almost more than she could stand. She covered her eyes and peered carefully between her fingers.

A rope slithered down.

“Hey, down there!” a voice called. “Come into the light.”

She hesitated. But when the same voice called again, she rose, leaned on the wall for support, then moved cautiously to stand in the pit's center. The sun warmed her face with a pleasing, welcome heat.

“Tie it under your arms,” the voice told her. “We'll haul you out.”

She looked up, trying to see the speaker, and jerked her gaze away. The light was a white pain.

“Hurry up!” a different voice ordered impatiently. “Or we'll let you rot down there.”

Squinting, she stared upward again. Nearly twenty feet to the top, she judged. No stairs and no ladders, but she knew that already from her explorations. The rope was her only way out. She tied it loosely about her body, using a knot she'd learned in her more adventurous youth.

She tugged on the slack, calling, “All right!”

The rope snapped taut. They lifted her quickly, and hands grabbed her arms to pull her to solid ground. She squeezed her eyes shut again, unable to bear the direct light of day. But the fresh air smelled wonderful; she filled her lungs with it. Slowly, she began to tolerate the light.

There was a loud
whump
behind her, and the ground shook with a mild vibration. She turned. A tall tripod straddled the hole, but an immense flat stone now covered that opening. A heavy chain trailed from an iron ring set in the stone up through the tripod and to a rusty winch. Two soldiers bent over the crank that hoisted the stone, huffing with exertion. She glanced quickly around and recognized the compound where the old garrison once quartered.

“Move.”

The two soldiers at her arms pushed her along. The two at the winch fell in behind. “Where are we going?” she dared to ask. Another push was her only answer, but they marched her toward a building she knew had once contained the garrison commander's offices.

But she wondered,
Where are the regular tenants?
When the garrison had pulled out years ago, the buildings had swiftly filled with squatters and vagabonds, the poor and homeless of Dashrani. None of those were in sight. Besides herself and her four guards, there were only a few other troops scattered around.

At that moment, though, the compound gates swung back. Gates? They'd been repaired, she noted. The old ones had nearly been off their hinges. A company of soldiers tromped in. They made formation as the gate closed after them, and a barked order from their captain put them at ease. An instant later, he dismissed them and they dispersed into the old barracks.

So the garrison had been reoccupied. Deep in the ground, she had heard none of it. What other changes had occurred? How long had she been in that hole, isolated?

“Could I have some water?” she asked civilly.

Her guards said nothing. What was it about low-ranking soldiers that their tongues seemed only for bullying and threatening? She licked her lips and silently cursed them.

They came to a halt outside the commander's offices. One of her guards advanced, rapped smartly on the closed door, and stepped back. It swung inward, and Samidar caught the flash of armor and more men inside. There was a quick exchange inside that she didn't quite understand, then two men strode out.

She bristled. The bigger of the two was the bastard who'd slain Kirigi. She felt scarlet heat rise in her cheeks as their eyes met. He made no gesture, his expression never flickered, but he mocked her with his gaze.

The other man seemed to study her with a curious amusement. She had never seen him before, but she put on an air of contempt as he paced around her, scratching his chin. She observed him from the corners of her eyes. By his dress she judged him rich, a man of importance. His tunic was cloth-of-gold over britches of black silk. His boots were quality leather, as was the belt and weapon belt from which hung a beautifully crafted sword. Sunlight glinted on the ruby pommel stone.

He took a position directly before her, and he swept back over one shoulder the scarlet cloak he wore. He was younger than she was, but no youth. “Where is your son, woman?” he asked her gently.

She folded her arms over her breasts and answered evenly, “Give me water. Your hospitality has been pitifully lacking so far.”

“She has a foul mouth,” Kirigi's murderer growled.

Her interrogator cut him off with a curt gesture. “After you answer my question you'll have the finest wine in Dashrani.”

“Just water,” she replied. “I'll take nothing else from butchers of children.”

The giant grinned just as he'd grinned when he'd pulled his blade from her young son's body, “Let me take this rebel whore and . . .”

The scarlet cloak whirled. A finger pointed threateningly. “Your mouth, Yorul, shut it or take it back inside.” The tone brooked no argument. Yorul bowed his head to the other man, hiding a scowl, and said no more.

The interrogation began again. “Do you know me, woman?”

She cocked her head to one side. “I've known you in a score of countries,” she said at last. “Some bastard nobleman who puts himself above the people of the land, who climbs on the bloody corpses of comrades to grab another handful of power or influence, an orphan-maker and widow-maker.” She met his gaze, an inward cold radiating to the surface of her skin, denying the sun's warmth. “You're the commander of this animal who killed my Kirigi. Your name?” She shrugged. “It doesn't matter. I'll see you both in hell.”

His lips turned upward in mild amusement. He ran a hand through his thick black mane. “You're an outlander,” he said, “despite the years you've lived in my country. I can forgive some insolence considering the circumstances.” He crooked a finger at Yorul. “Tell her my name.”

“Oh, let's not make a play of it,” she snapped, and made an obvious guess. “And spare me the entire ceremonial recitation. Your name is Riothamus, king of Keled-Zaram, Lord of the Sun and the Moon, the Scourge of Heaven and Earth, and all that courtly rot.”

He made a slight incline of his head and smiled.

“And the commander of butchers of children,” she added contemptuously, glowering at Yorul.

Riothamus made a small shrug. “We all have our faults,” he answered without rancor. “Yours is that you spawned a rebel dog for a son.”

“Kel wears your livery,” she countered.

Riothamus's eyes hardened. “He and a band of his followers slaughtered one of my patrols. That was during the last new moon. They stripped the bodies and desecrated them. Since then, dressed in my uniforms, they've terrorized the countryside and robbed farms and villages to raise monies to finance their illegitimate cause. Those who refused payment or resisted in any way were murdered. Whole villages have been burned.” He rubbed his palms together in sudden irritation. “And because they wear my livery the rumor has spread that I am responsible.”

She sneered. “For all I know the rumor is true. Maybe you want the extra money to fatten your own coffers, and you think you can get it and blame the rebels with a lame story like that. It takes coin to put down even a small rebellion.”

He stared curiously at her. An uneasy silence hung in the air. “Are you really such a fool?” he said finally. “That kind of cruelty only breeds sympathy for the rebels, as I'm sure your son knows.” He tapped his brow with one stiffened finger. “My crown is not a prize in a contest, woman. I won't yield it up. As your son fights, so I must fight harder and harder. A lot of innocents will be hurt in the struggle.” He took a step closer and placed a finger on her chest. He said evenly, “Unless you prevent it by telling me where he is.”

She stared pointedly at the finger, then at him until he took it away. “You speak as if you thought Kel was the leader of this rebellion.”

“The leader is someone called Oroladian, a reputed sorcerer. But Kel na'Akian is his right hand.”

Kel na'Akian? Neither she nor Kimon came from lands where more than one name was tradition. She rolled the words in her mind. Na'Akian: roughly, “cold blood” in her native tongue. Yet she'd never taught Kel the language of Esgaria. How had he learned?

“We've hounded his heels for several days. His general movements indicated he might come this way, so I set out spies to watch. Your inn has been under observation for some time. We knew the instant your son rode up, and we disguised our troops as a harmless caravan to approach and surround your establishment.” He cocked his head to one side. “Yet somehow he eluded us. So I have to ask you again. Where is he?”

“I don't know,” she answered.

His hand lashed out. Her head jerked unexpectedly and a trickle of blood blossomed on her lip. Still, his voice was soft and calm as he spoke. “Your son is a rebel, woman, a traitor. By our laws, that makes his family traitors as well. Your life and all your goods are already forfeit. I can spare you, of course, but you have to tell me what I need to know.”

She wiped away the blood with the back of her hand. Her tongue licked the small wound, drew the bitter taste into her mouth. Slowly, a different thirst began to grow within her, an old thirst, one she had nearly forgotten.

“I can't tell you.” she answered carefully, “nor would I if I had the information. Your struggle doesn't mean a damn to me. Who cares which pig rules the trough?” She tossed back her long hair and looked away from Keled-Zaram's king as if he were suddenly beneath her notice.

“Let me have the bitch!” Yorul rushed toward her, but Riothamus caught his arm.

“I don't know how your son escaped my encirclement,” he continued, “but I mean to have him. He's caused too much trouble already. I don't even know
why
he seeks my crown. But he's looted and murdered and burned indiscriminately. How can you protect such a man?”

“He's my son,” she answered simply.

“He's the bastard of an arrogant gutter-whore!” Yorul blustered, reddening. He turned to Riothamus. “Majesty, you cannot tolerate this foulness any longer. Look how the men are watching. They wait to witness your justice. Let me be the hand of that justice, and I promise she'll tell everything she knows about the rebels. Then I'll make a spectacle of her execution that will serve as a warning to anyone else who'd turn against you.”

She glanced around. As Yorul had claimed, other soldiers were milling about the compound in twos and threes. A few leaned in the doors and windows. She and Riothamus were the objects of their barely concealed attention.

Riothamus looked thoughtful, as if considering Yorul's request. He scratched his beardless chin, looked her up and down, shifted his weight from foot to foot.

She turned her face away again, disdainful, not caring what words Yorul bent to whisper in his king's ear. Blood had begun to stream on her lip once more. She dabbed at it and regarded the stain of crimson on her fingertip. There was that taste still growing. She felt its urgency, recognized it, and hid a hateful smile.

“Curb your dancing bear,” she said coolly to Riothamus. “You say the law brands me traitor by association with my son.” She folded her arms, drawing the material of her tunic taut over her breasts. “Do you obey the law as faithfully as you quote it?”

“I am the law,” he answered, raising an eyebrow in response. “I am bound by it because it is my word.”

She frowned. “I know nothing of your word. But I know of the rite you call
Zha-Nakred Salah Veh
. I claim it.” She met his startled gaze, and their eyes locked.

His look of surprise turned to open mirth. “Ridiculous!” He laughed. “No woman has ever invoked
Zha-Nakred Salah Veh
.”

“I invoke it!” she snapped with a harshness that stilled his laughter.

“You're an outsider,” he declared, clenching a fist. “You insult our laws by claiming such a right!”

“Can I be an outsider one moment and branded a traitor the next?” She spat at his feet, inwardly pleased when Yorul reddened again. “I've lived in this land for more than twenty winters, run my business, buried my husband”—she looked at Yorul, letting him feel the hatred she bore him—“and seen my son killed here. If I'm an outsider, then let me go. Hunt Kel na'Akian if you will. But an outsider can't be subject to your stupid law by association.” She indicated the four guards who still surrounded her. “Unless those twenty years have made me a citizen. Then you must grant the
Zha-Nakred Salah Veh
. These men have heard my request, and no doubt so have half the others standing in those doors and windows.” She waved a hand to take in all the soldiers milling about purposelessly. “Those, too. They'll know your answer and the value of your law, your so-called word. It may not matter to them if you deny me. Then again, it might. Or if not to them, to others who will undoubtedly hear the tale.” An icy smile settled upon her face. “Besides, think of the fun it will be.”