Darkness Risen (The Ava'Lonan Herstories Book 4) (8 page)

“Why is he not ready for outfitting?” she snapped
finally, as they got more and more clumsy under her eyes. They froze for an
instant, then faced her with their eyes on the ground.

“Please, Train’Marm,” the older boy spoke up
timidly, his voice trembling as a dira’mouse trembles under the velvet claws of
a gila’cat, “The food was late in - in being brought. The cooks were sick, and
some of it - some of it was all spoilt, Ma’am.”

Again the silence descended, weighed and judged them
and found them wanting, but not at fault. She could punish them, but that would
only slow the grooming further.

“Finish as quickly as you can, and then bring him to
the norae field,” she said in a tone not as sharp. The boys bowed as Fekniri
stalked out. The smell of fear grew stronger to Varo as she left. Varo did not
blame them. His punishments always got more fearsome as her temper sweetened.

the light
turned...

This turn, as every other, brought new humiliations.
Varo lay exhausted. Being put through his paces by Fekniri or, on occasion, one
of the other Trainers, was both humiliating and infuriating to Varo. He raged
against his helplessness, flew against the bars of the cage on his mind, but to
no avail. His av’rita, small as it was, was completely cut off from him. He had
no knowledge of the male ‘ritas, nor would he have known how to use them if he
did. He was made to walk, prance, genuflect, and display himself, through pain
and pleasure, but mostly pain, until, little by little, his will wore down.

The worst, for reasons that he could not explain nor
name, had been this turn, the first time that Fekniri had tried to mount his back.
He had made sure that he was always aware of the panquin, that he always hated
it, that he never got used to it, though for what it was it should have been
extremely comfortable. It conformed to him like a second skin, having been made
and tailored to exacting and exhaustive measurements of his back and body. It
moved with him as nothing he had crudely made had ever done. It should have
been a pleasure to wear, and hard not to get used to. But being aware of it was
actually easier than he imaged, for the thing itched incessantly, no matter
what the tailors lined it with. He blessed the itch, however, and squirmed
under the thing.

Then the Train’Marm stepped on the mounting block
beside which they had positioned him and threw her leg over his back...

Varo lost his mind. He bucked so hard that he
twisted an ankle and broke half his chains. Fekniri went flying, fortunately
for her - if she had not, she would have been crushed beneath him, for he
writhed on the ground on his equine back as if a swarm of jak’spanya were
stinging beneath the panquin. He trumpeted in inarticulate rage, slithering as
if he could rub the panquin off his back. The high polish was marred beyond
repair and the strap actually broke, so furious was his temper and gyrations.
Had he not hurt his ankle, he would have been up and leaping away, breaking for
freedom. He tried it anyway, on three legs, knocking over two handlers and
three grooms and getting as far as the high fence of the yard before the shock
of a whip felled him...

Gavaron watched with dispassionate fascination.
Strange, that Varo would share the fury over the desecration of a memory that
he did not possess.

Unfortunately, Fekniri had only been stunned in the
fall. He would have preferred that she break her neck. She appeared, walking
gingerly, just as the grooms finished cleaning him up again, his little rampage
having left him filthy and disheveled. She watched as they strapped on a new
panquin and bridle and resecured his arms before him. Varo flexed his arms,
testing the bonds. Gavaron went to work immediately, degrading the leather,
especially of the hated bit.

He had just begun to work on the new panquin strap
when he noticed that they were bypassing the exercise yard.

Not eager to try it again?
Gavaron thought
with a sneer.
I don’t blame you. Next time you might just fly right into a
pole.

Abruptly Fekniri stopped and gestured to one of the
handlers. The man produced a black velvet bag and approached, clearly intending
to place it over his head.

Again, Varo spooked.

He tried to rear up, tossing his head, but the
thicker chains on his legs, ones that Gavaron had not had time to weaken,
prevented him from reaching full height. He bucked, straining against his
tethers, and the ones on his arms snapped. The men gripping the reins and
assorted chains on him were jerked off-balance by the sudden vehemence of his
reaction, but, wary from his earlier performance, were ready for him. For a
moment, Varo had the upper hand. Then they pulled him down by weight alone,
handlers converging from all sides to lend a hand. The choke chain pulled
tight. Varo struggled mightily, striking out with one fist while grabbing at
the choker with the other.

Pain! paralyzed him, freezing him in mid-buck. His
muscles spasmed, and then he could no longer stand. Consciousness and breath
slipped away with frightening speed...

the light
turned...

...Varo floated slowly to awareness. He was on his
equine stomach, and rebound tighter than ever. He was also blind-folded and
gagged.

He struggled involuntarily. Somehow, he knew he was
within walls, that many others were around him, and that at least one was the
mistress of the menagerie. Was he back in the audience chamber?

He stopped struggling after a moment, berating
himself. If he had kept quiet and listened, he might have learned a bit more
about his circumstances. Now they knew he was conscious and he had lost any
advantage he might have had.

Gavaron, on the other hand, had taken full advantage
of Varo’s inactivity. Carried like baggage into the presence of his captor, he
encountered a ‘rito’ka such as he had never felt before - it was not of Av, as
sure as silver’s gleam, but nor was it of Lor. It was more like di’rita, the ‘rita
of water, but somehow - lighter, more diffuse, dispersed right along the edge of
his di’rita awareness. A feathery touch, an airy tickle...

And he almost started as he realized that it was
from the spirit of air that the emanations of power originated. Then Varo was
awake, and Gavaron receded to observe.

“So,” a silken voice breathed, chilling both Varo’s
and Gavaron’s blood. “This is the famous ‘joumbi’ of the unclaimed lons. Now
just another mount in your stable. How does he ride?”

“We have not had a chance to ride him yet - his
breaking is taking more time than we would like.” Varo recognized the voice of
the Queen into whose presence he had been brought before. “We also have not had
the time to properly appreciate his - attributes, as you know, since we have
had other things to attend to. But it has come to our attention that he might
have information that may aid us.”

He found it difficult to breathe, and it had nothing
to do with the choke chain.

“Well - Varo, is it? That name will do for now.
Well, Varo, tell us about the High Heir.”

Gavaron, safe in the link, suddenly felt sick to
both is stomachs. Varo knew nothing of Jeliya - how much to let him know?

The gag was removed. Varo licked his lips, feeling
slight abrasions at the corners. He drew a breath, then felt a slight tingling
along the choke chain - Fekniri, warning him to watch his tongue.

“Answer her Majesty,” Fekniri hissed.

“Uh - the High Heir, Majesty?” Varo stammered. He
shook his head. “Begging your pardon, Majesty, but what would I know of the
High Heir?”

The choke chain suddenly tightened, then as suddenly
released.

“The High Heir,” the Queen’s voice repeated, her
voice still sweet, like cloying venom. “You called her name many times, in your
- sleep.”

Comprehension dawned on Gavaron. Memories or perhaps
dreams had overcome him in sleep, and in them were memories of Jeliya. Gavaron
reluctantly gave Varo knowledge of Jeliya, but not of her being High Heir. He
prayed that he had not mentioned Jenikia.

“She - she was High Heir?” Varo was genuinely
surprised. “I - I found her - she had fallen into a poisonous plant. She was
delirious with fever. I - I know something of the healing arts - herb healing -
I treated her as best I could. Then, one turn, when I returned to my home, she
was gone.”

Lightning pain raced along the chain and screamed
down every nerve. His body arched with the shape of the pain. His voice sang to
its theme with an equine scream.

“Why are you lying to us, Varo?” he heard dimly
through the pain. It stopped and he slumped, shuddering with agony’s echo. “You
were seen, carrying her, going into the Cribeau’Lons. Do you deny this?”

Varo panted, trying to catch his breath. “It - it is
true,” he gasped out. “I - I move around a bit to gather food. I - I have a
place in the Cribeau’Lons - they let me stay there some times. I was being
hunted.” A dangerous note crept into his voice, Gavaron could not keep it out,
“I have been hunted before. I am usually safe in the Cribeau’Lons.”

There was silence. Varo waited for the next
question.

“This is important, my beautiful mount,” the Queen
said, and a tingle of pleasure, obscenely jolted him through the chain. “Was
she alone when you found her?”

“Alone? There were others, but they were not near,”
Gavaron made Varo lie.

“Were they her escort?” the other voice asked, with
an overt intensity that was not usually displayed by Queens. “Why did you not
lead them to her?”

“Majesty, she was hurt, in the wilds. They may have
been hunting her, as I have been hunted. I - I just wanted to help.”

He waited for another question. When none were
forthcoming, he dared to venture one of his own.

“Is she all right?” he murmured.

The first crest of pain sang down the chain and he
steeled himself - but nothing more followed, as if the wave of punishment had
been aborted.

“You are - concerned for her?” The stranger voice
became silkier, like the warning rattle of a viper. Varo’s nerves prickled with
that warning. “You - cared for her?”

Gavaron shuddered again, wondering if he had made a
mistake, letting Varo ask that.

Varo shrugged as much as he could in the restraints,
shaking his head slowly. “She was in my care, Majesty,” he replied, “and very
ill. I am concerned for all whom I treat.” Varo’s voice was beautifully steady
where Gavaron’s would have quaked with suppressed emotion.

“We are also quite concerned with her state of
health. We fear - that she is dead.”

Varo might have been fooled, but Gavaron was not,
not for a gran. He had felt Jenikia die – he would know if Jeliya had gone to
the hand of the Beloved. They were just trying to elicit a reaction from him.
Besides, the only ways that the stranger Queen - he had no doubt that she was a
Queen and not just a high ranking noble - could know about him and Jeliya
entering the Cribeau’Lons was if her warru or the warru of an ally had been
there, hunting them. They had to know she got away. Either way, she was lying
about Jeliya.

“We see that our stable mistress has quite a bit of
work to do with you, yet, Varo. You and she had best be about it.” That was
clearly a dismissal.

His legs were freed, and Fekniri and the handlers
led him away, directing his steps. His hoof-falls were muffled by carpet, then
rang with clear, dark silver on polished stone, and finally clopped on rough
ground. He was stopped and the blindfold was suddenly whipped off, leaving him
blinking in the bright light. Fekniri was right in front of him, and she yanked
viciously on the choke chain, garroting him and forcing his head down.

“I am going to make you
pay
for embarrassing
me,” she hissed, her violet eyes full of rage. “In ways you’ve never dreamed!”

Varo gagged for breath. He would have shivered if he
were not choking. He knew that she would be true to her word.

She was.

the darkness
turned...

Gavaron fumed as Varo cried softly at the
depredations he had suffered at the hands of Fekniri. But Gavaron’s wrath was
directed at himself. He had to get the memories under his control!

I
have to get them to come when I want, and in the sequence that I want,
he
chided himself.

He was still pondering the dilemma when the slight
squeak of the bolt to his stall made both him and Varo freeze. Chained as he
was, Varo could not see who it was, but he did not need to. Only one person
would dare. He felt the riding crop against his flank and he wanted to vomit,
but knew he would smother on the bit.

Fekniri rendered him unable to move with a rite,
then drew his arms behind his back and chained them there. She released his
choke chain, nullified the rite, and urged him to his hoofs with the crop. Varo
went reluctantly, tears still leaking shamefully from his eyes.

Fekniri’s face was unreadable in pale light, like
shear veils in mist. She looked into his eyes for a long, searching moment,
then gestured for him to back out of his stall.