Firestorm (34 page)

***

They found Najirah and her men two days later, their mutilated lifeless bodies sprawled about in the end of a long ravine. The exit of the steep, rain-washed gully had been purposely filled with a pile of boulders and debris, blocking escape. Strewn among the carnage of Tuarets and Vorax's soldiers were the bodies of many Kateb warriors. It had obviously been a trap set by the Katebs, whom the Tuarets had pursued into the blocked ravine, only to be caught there when Vorax's army had drawn up behind them.

Raina discovered Najirah's body high on the pile of rubble blocking their escape. She'd evidently been, climbing up to safety when a Kateb dagger had snuffed out her life. Teague, however, was nowhere to be found among the dead. Had he, Raina wondered, managed to make it up and over the barricade?

She helped Aban take Najirah down, her heart full of a bittersweet pain. Najirah would never hear the message Raina had hoped to give her, that Bahir had finally admitted to his love for her, that he'd called out to her with his final breath. But, small consolation that it was, her girlhood friend was at last eternally joined with the man she loved.

Perhaps, in that afterlife where they would always be together, she was even now hearing the words from Bahir's own lips. And, perhaps, just perhaps, that was the way it was meant to be.

With the other Tuarets, Raina buried Najirah and her unfortunate warriors in a mass grave. There was no time for anything more. Teague's life might well be at stake, and Bahir's hopes and dreams lay with him. The Tuaret leader's men understood. In his memory, they would do their best to see that dream of his came to fruition.

The trail of Vorax's army and the large group of accompanying Katebs led straight back across the desert to the Barakah Mountains. If Teague was their prisoner, he would soon lie in the torture caverns of the royal city of Ksathra.

That thought only stirred Raina to a faster pace. Vorax had taken her, as his bride-to-be, down into the dank, dark depths of that cavernous hole in the mountains only once. The horrors she'd seen there had filled her with nightmares for months to come.

But what exactly would Vorax do with Teague this time? Raina wondered. Did the evil man still fear the prophecy, or had the cycles of total power dimmed the terrible promise of those ancient words?

Somehow, she doubted Vorax would dare set Teague free again. He was a man now, powerful of mind and body—the image of his dead father. And the people, though most not of the courage to confront Vorax's might, as Bahir had were said to be almost universally unhappy with his reign.

No, there was no time to be wasted. Sooner or later, Vorax would see Teague dead. She only hoped the man would hesitate long enough for her to get Ksathra.

As they rode across the desert, large groups of nomad warriors from the twelve tribes began to join them. Bahir had been right: all they'd needed was a rallying point. The tale of Teague's return had been the answer all along.

"We must draw up soon," Raina said, on the second day of their journey across the Ar Rimal. In the distance, the Barakah Mountains shimmered deep purple through the desert heat. "Our army grows larger each day. An overt attack on Ksathra, however, would only assure Teague's immediate execution. And the city is too well fortified to take it quickly, no matter how large our army grows."

"What do you suggest, then, domina?" Aban, riding at her side, asked, bestowing upon her the term of ultimate respect as their new leader. Once Najirah had been found dead, the Tuarets had again been without a chief. Aban had then proposed that Raina lead them, both as a proven warrior in her own right and as the heir's mate. There'd been some minor grumbling, the Tuarets recalling Raina's constant battling with Bahir, but Aban had finally calmed the malcontents. Raina had then stepped forward and sealed the decision in an impassioned speech demanding, the desert right, as Teague's mate, to avenge him.

"There's only one plan that'll work," she said forcing her thoughts back to the present. "Teague once told me of a secret passage into the palace through the back of the mountain. If we're fortunate, though it may now be sealed with some time and effort, we might be able to reopen it. From there, it'll be a simple enough task to bring the entire army into Ksathra."

She smiled grimly, recalling Teague's anguish over his drawing of the tapestry passage being used to destroy his family and lose Farsala. Even that terrible pain would finally be set to rest—if her plan worked. "It's only fair that the means that gained Vorax his victory all those cycles ago," she added "should now be the instrument of his downfall."

Aban nodded smiling in turn. "A wise plan, indeed. We'll need some men inside, though, to guide us in and unlock any doors between the passage and the palace."

"That's where the rest of my plan comes in. Until Vorax hears of our army's approach, it'll still be a simple task to gain entry into Ksathra with the usual daily parade of visitors and tradesmen. I'll enter the city alone. Once there, I know a way that should win me a chance to regain Vorax's confidence. When that is accomplished I should have free run of the palace and an opportunity to get to Teague."

"I don't like it." The big Tuaret shook his head. "It's too dangerous. Better you stay as far from that man as possible. He has an insatiable taste for comely women, whom I hear he treats cruelly. There must be some other way to—"

"We must all take risks if we're to save the king's heir and finally rid Farsala of Malam Vorax," Raina firmly interjected. She'd little taste for what she must do, but Teague's life was all that mattered. And she'd do anything for him—even surrender her life and body once again to Malam Vorax. "Trust me in this, Aban. I know Vorax better than you might ever guess. And I say again, it's the only way."

"As you wish, domina." Aban sighed and glanced back toward the mountains. "I see now why you and Bahir were always so much at odds. You're both headstrong and proud—and demand your own way in everything."

"Someone must make the decisions," she said, chuckling at his frustrated expression. He was right, though. Bahir and she had been very much alike. "I ask you, isn't that what a leader must do?"

"Yes, I suppose so, domina," he grumbled, "but that doesn't mean I always have to like it."

"No, you don't, but you do have to obey."

"And I will." Aban swung back to her, a fierce resolve gleaming in his dark eyes. "For Bahir, for Najirah, and for the king's heir, I will obey."

"For them all," she said, filled with a sudden rush of emotion that was both pride and pain. Raina lifted her gaze then, seeking out the spot where the army would hide until the call came to enter Ksathra and rescue the king's heir. And fervently prayed even as she did, that Teague would still be alive when that day came.

***

The entrance to the tapestry passage was indeed closed, filled with such a mass of boulders and brush that if Teague hadn't told her of the two flame-shaped stone sentinels that marked the tunnel's opening, Raina would never have been able to find it. The passage could be cleared, but the effort would require a large, number of men and around-the-clock work for at least the next two to three days.

Raina immediately set the men who'd come with her and Aban to work. She then dispatched a messenger back to where the rest of the army camped in a deep ravine at the edge of the Ar Rimal, with orders for a good hundred more men to return to help in the job.

"Once the clearing of the passage nears completion," she then said to Aban, gazing down at him from the back of her equs, "send for the rest of the army. Have half approach Ksathra from the front. Bring the other half around and into the passage. When Vorax sees the army at his front gates, I'll know it's time to rescue Teague. Once he's free, we'll come through the palace and unlock the secret door to the tapestry passage. If we take them by surprise, it should be an easy enough task to sweep through the city and open the gates to the rest of the army."

Aban's swarthy smile was feral and foreboding. "Vorax won't know what happened until it's too late."

"Indeed." Raina smiled down at him. "The success of this all rests on timing, though. Dont send the army to the city gates until the passage is.clear. Do you understand me, Aban?"

He nodded solemnly. "It'll be as you ask, domina. I may not be the stuff of leaders, but I take orders well. I never failed Bahir. I won't fail you, cither."

She reined in her mount. "I know you won't, my friend. Farewell, then, until we meet again—inside Ksathra." With that, Raina turned her equs and headed the beast down the steep and treacherous trail that had led up to the tapestry passage.

As she rode along, myriad thoughts and realizations assailed her. Though she'd led Aban to believe she was certain that her plan to infiltrate Vorax's palace would be successful, Raina knew there were many potential pitfalls along the way. Getting into the city and palace should be easy enough. Gaining an audience with Vorax would be a bit more difficult, but she still felt confident she could manage that as well.

What she planned to do and say to convince Vorax to take her back as a mistress, if not a mate, however, she wasn't all that certain of. She'd just have to fall back on instinct when the time came, Raina decided, and respond to Vorax's lead. Her ability to think fast on her feet had served her well in the past. She only hoped it would serve her well this time, too.

The thought of letting Vorax get near her, much less touch her again, filled Raina with loathing. Curiously, though, the sense of impotent rage wasn't there anymore. It was strange how one's experiences, both positive and negative, could color one's perceptions. The past weeks had changed so much for her.

Not that she didn't still hate Malam Vorax and wish him dead. Raina knew herself too well ever to imagine she'd forgiven the man or would ever accept what he'd done. It just wasn't imperative anymore that she be the one to kill him. Not if it risked the success of her mission. Not if Teague was the one to suffer for it in the end.

She wondered where he was now. In Vorax's torture caverns, most likely. She had to believe he was still alive. To risk herself, to give herself up to Vorax, and then discover Teague was already dead . . .

With a savage effort, Raina cast that consideration aside. Teague couldn't be dead. She'd know it, feel it, if he were. No, he was still alive, but he suffered ... suffered greatly.

The memory of that horrible dream the night she and Teague had first mated plucked at her. The impact of seeing him, sprawled bloody and beaten, before Vorax's throne, still left her shaky and breathless. Even then she'd feared that the dream was a presentiment of what was to come.

And it had come true, at least in part. Teague was a prisoner of Malam Vorax, the man who stood to lose everything if Teague lived.

Despite the awful intensity of the dream, though, it didn't mean Teague must suffer that same fate, Raina fiercely resolved. She wouldn't let that happen. She chose to believe the prophecy instead. The prophecy that spoke of the possibility of life over death, of triumph instead of obliteration.

She had to trust that good would prevail. She just had to. To do otherwise would doom them all.

***

The pain. Gods, never had he known such pain! Teague shifted slightly in the metal shackles that bound him, spread-eagled, to the rough stone wall, attempting to ease the throbbing agony of the unnatural position of his arms and shoulders. It did little but scrape raw the already abraded flesh of his back.

He willed himself to block out the pain. It worked for a time, the old monastic mental discipline blessedly muting the worst of the battering he'd received during his capture and subsequent journey to Ksathra. Then the memories crept back in.

Memories of Najirah, casting herself before the dagger aimed at him as they climbed the wall of rocks blocking the ravine. Of her dying in his arms, smiling, Bahir's name trembling on her lips. Of being surrounded by Kateb warriors, ready to deliver the death blow, when the officer in charge of Vorax's army had stepped forward, his eyes wide in horrified recognition. And then the brutal march across the Ar Rimal with him bound and forced to walk behind the equs, without food or water, until he could walk no more.

The officer had been clever and calculating, taking great care not to reveal Teague's true identity. He correctly anticipated Vorax's desires. Teague had been brought into Ksathra under cover of darkness and immediately taken to the torture caverns. There he'd hung for hours, stripped naked, save for the meager cover of his red loincloth, awaiting—dreading—the moment Malam Vorax would deign to visit. Visit . . . and determine his fate.

He didn't cherish much hope of rescue. By now, Raina and Rand had reached the spy ship and taken off, headed through the blackness of space back toward Bellator. Bahir's days, if he still lived, were numbered. No, there would soon be no one on Incendra who cared if he lived or died.

The realization seized him in the claws of a remorseless, all-too-familiar terror. No one cared, no purpose would be served by his living—or his dying. He was alone. Alone and at the mercy, once again, of a man who had always been his worst nightmare.

With a groan, Teague strained against the unyielding bonds of his shackles. The muscles of his arms bulged, his chest heaved, and he twisted and fought to break lice. He must get away. He must.

Now, before Vorax came down to him. Now, while he still possessed some shred of pride and dignity. He didn't know what he'd do if Vorax broke him again.

Overhead, a thick, wooden door opened then closed. Footsteps sounded on the stone stairs. Voices, low and masculine, rose, reverberating against the cavernous chamber of rock.

Teague's heart thundered in his chest. He lunged forward in an attempt to jerk the shackles free of the wall. The metal sliced into his wrists. Blood warm and sticky, welled to flow down his arms.

Frustration rose. Teague writhed his body tiring, his breathing coming now in short, painful gasps. Writhed twisted and fought—to no avail.

The footsteps came closer, the voices louder. Vorax's voice. He'd never forget that voice to his dying day. Stronger, more forceful now, but still overlaid with a whining petulance. "I care not for your tastes when it comes to torture, Sinon," Vorax said. "They're as depraved as your physical appetites."

"And yours aren't, Father?" the other man replied smoothly. "But how can that be? You have always been the man I idolized in all things."

"Enough!" Vorax snarled. "I tire of the bite of your tongue these days. Your sire though I may be, remember, and remember well, who the ruler of Farsala is."

At that moment, they rounded the bottom curve of the stairs and stepped into Teague's view. Vorax halted. Their gazes locked. Teague's struggles stilled his pride stung by the sly, pitying smile twisting Vorax's lips. Anger swelled within him, the force of its heat burning away the last remnants of his doubts and fears. His disbelieving glance swung down the other man's body.

Vorax was little more than a fat, white slug that had slithered out from beneath its stone. The powerful ruler of Farsala was short and corpulent, pasty of skin, with thin, stringy gray hair that hung like a fringe from a bald and shiny pate, his body adorned lavishly with layers of crimson and, gold serica cloth. On his heavily beringed hands gleamed a large aureum signet ring, the ring of the titular ruler of Farsala.

By the firestorms, Teague thought, looking back into the eyes of the man who'd stirred such terror in him all these cycles. Surely the cycles had dimmed his memories. This wasn't a man to be feared but instead one to be squashed like some odious little bug.

A fierce determination flared in Teague. He'd be damned if he'd let Malam Vorax, or his slimy spawn— he eyed the slight, slender build of the effeminately dressed younger man—beat him again!

"So, what have we here?" Vorax asked waddling up to stand before Teague. "Is it possible? Has the young Tarik Shatrevar returned after all these cycles?" He walked to one side of Teague, eyed him closely, then strode back before him to stand and examine him from the other. "And where have you been keeping yourself, princeling?"

Vorax gestured to Teague's chest, coated with a mixture of fresh sweat and grime from the past days of marching across the desert. "You've acquired some strange markings in your travels. What is their significance?"

Teague didn't answer, but only glared back at him.

"Perhaps I can help loosen his tongue, Father," Sinon said moving to stand directly before Teague. His glance slid down Teague's body and a covetous, calculating expression flared in his eyes. "You're magnificent," he breathed, lifting his gaze to league's. "One of the most finely wrought males I've ever seen."

He extended a bejeweled finger and touched Teague's chest where the tattooed claws began high up on a bulging pectoral. With a slow, sinuous motion, he traced a path downward until he reached Teague's nipple. Sinon circled it with his finger, sensuously, appreciatively, teasing, then pinching the sensitive flesh until it reflexively tautened.

"Very nice," the younger man purred. "You're very sensitive. I like that."

His smile widened into a predatory grin. Then, in a sudden, unexpected move, he twisted Teague's nipple hard.

Teague gasped in pain and surprise, then clamped down on the revealing response, masking all reaction, all emotion, behind an expression of stoic calm.

Sinon twisted even harder, grinding his nails into Teague's chest. "My father asked you a question, princeling. I suggest you answer him before I tear your teat away."

A tight smile lifted Teague's lips. He looked down at his tormentor, never breaking gaze. With a snarl Sinon reached up with his free hand and, grabbing hold of Teague's hair, brutally wrenched his head back, exposing the strong column of Teague's throat.

"Answer him, princeling," Vorax's son savagely ordered, "before I snap your neck in two!"

".Enough, Sinon," his father commanded. He chuckled low in his throat. "Your power over men is no more effective than your power over females. You waste time soiling your hands on vermin like him, just as you waste every day of that pitiful existence you call a life. Step back and see how a master extracts whatever he desires."

Sinon clenched his teeth, hissed softly. A look of pure hatred and barely contained fury glittered in his eyes. Then he smiled and stepped back, simultaneously releasing Teague's hair and nipple. "As you wish, Father," he said with an oily smirk. "You always know what is best."

"Yes, I do, and it's wise that you never forget that." Vorax half turned and motioned across the room to a shadowed doorway. "Come in, Orcus. It's time to ply your exquisite torments. The princeling has grown bold and arrogant in all the cycles of his exile. Come forth and finish what you began so long ago."

A huge man, beefy arms swinging, cruel, beady eyes gleaming, strode from the darkened doorway. Teague watched his approach and saw horror personified stride toward him. Orcus. Somehow, he'd managed to push the memory of that name into the furthest reaches of his mind, never recalling it until now. Orcus. The half-mad master torturer.

The man had aged well in the past nineteen cycles. Though gray heavily frosted his close-cropped hair and deep lines furrowed his pockmarked face, he had the body of a much younger man: strong, heavily muscled, cruelly powerful. As cruelly powerful as the brutish, eerily astute light glowing in his eyes.

The man knew how to break him if any man did. The realization sent a cold chill rippling down Teague's spine. With all the strength left in his battered, exhausted body, Teague summoned every power he'd ever acquired in his life. He would not be broken. Not this time. Not ever again. This time, he would fight Vorax and his sadistic torturer to the end. There was no hope of escape, no hope of rescue. Just like in his tormented dreams and waking nightmares, he was back in Vorax's hands, this time never to leave. But this time he'd prevail.

This time, Teague resolved, he'd redeem himself, regain his lost honor. For himself, for his family, for his father. Fleetingly, he saw his father's face superimposed over that of the man who approached, a face stern, foreboding, eternally disapproving. Why, he wondered, had he tried so hard to please a man it seemed impossible to please? Why, indeed, was he trying so hard even now?

Because, as harsh and demanding a sire as his father had been, Teague realized at long last, he had made Teague the man he was. A man of faults and self-doubts and fears, but a man who even in the darkest, most despairing moments of his life had never given up. A man who had never purposely done evil, who had tried always to be fair and kind. And a man who had known and won the love of a brave, beautiful woman, however undeserving he might ultimately be.

In his father's name and for the sake of his own honor and self-respect, Teague knew he must face this final testing. It was the unfinished quest he'd been sent back to Incendra to complete. If he must die in this final battle, he would at least die a man—a man who was and had always been the true and rightful heir to the royal throne of Farsala.

Any being who dies creates the cause for a new being ... The son must suffer, die to himself. . . before the taint can be exorcised, the evil overcome . . .

The holy words of the Litany of Union filled his mind, rising to join and entwine with those of the ancient prophecy, until Teague couldn't tell where one began and the other ended. Like some hallowed monastic chant, it reverberated over and over in his mind, soothing him, healing him . . . preparing him.

Then, with a malevolent grin and gleeful chortle, Orcus stepped forward, a double-toothed metal pincer in his hand.