Secrets of the Stonechaser (The Law of Eight Book 1) (33 page)

Dist leaned down and kissed her, and Meeka surprised Nerris again with the fervency with which she returned that kiss. After a long few moments, their lips parted.

“I will get what you need,” Meeka said breathlessly.

Dist nodded. “Thank you. I should be able to gather enough sulfur from this cell, but I’ll need charcoal and saltpeter. There should be plenty of charcoal at hand in the kitchens.”

“And saltpeter?”

“It’s used to preserve food. Look to those who man the palace stores. Oh, and I’ll need some paper to make fuses.”

After she left, Nerris confronted his friend. “Are we adding the emancipation of slaves to our plan as well?”

“I had to say something,” Dist said. He sighed. “Meeka has been very good to me, Nerris. I was in such pain before she came to tend to me. I know it won’t be possible to save her, and I hate using her like this. But who better to help us get the medallion and Noruken than someone so close to Qabala?”

Nerris shuddered to think what might happen if Qabala found out about Meeka’s aid. She was fond of the slave. He did not think she would actually kill her, but he was coming to realize Qabala was not the woman he thought he knew. Yet they had little choice. Just as they were likely to get a good many prisoners killed if they incited a riot, it was the only way for them to get out of Palehorse. That did not make him feel any less guilty, though.

He looked at Dist and could tell his friend felt the same way. No words were necessary between them. Dist knew he had lied to a girl he cared very much about, but his eyes were fire. He could almost hear Dist’s intentions as he thought about the prospect of freeing Meeka.

“Someday. Someday.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

LEN-AHL SNEEZED AND wrapped her itchy blanket tighter around her body. She thought she might be used to the cold after so long deep in the damp dungeons, but brought herself up short. With no sunlight, she had no way of knowing how long she had been here. Had it been a week since she had been thrust into the darkness? Two?

She had always been prone to the sniffles, ever since she was a child. Whether swimming in the stream behind her home or playing in the snow, sooner or later her nose would turn red and clog up as if she had stuffed dried mud into her nostrils. Her mother had always been there with a cup of tea at the ready, before Len-Ahl could even tell her she was sick.

She shivered. No such luck down here, and she found herself thinking twice when offered something to drink in any case. Lately it seemed she could not get warm, no matter how many blankets she wrapped herself in or how close she got to the torch on her wall.

She heard footsteps in the corridor outside, as well as the jingling of keys. At first she thought it to be the gaoler, who had brought a freshly lit torch ever since her conversation with Nerris and the man called Rade. Her heart leapt when she realized it was not one, but many sets of footsteps. Had Nerris come for her at last?

A key turned in the lock, and her door creaked open. She stood and smiled, until she saw her visitors. Queen Qabala’s face glowed in the waning torchlight, and behind her was one of the men in the elaborate armor, the big one who had captured them on the road. Len-Ahl gasped and fell back.

Qabala smiled, but there was no good nature behind it. “Did you expect someone different?” she asked. “Nerris, perhaps?”

Len-Ahl swallowed hard as she took in the malevolent stare of the one the Yagols called Aeterna. In place of the robe she had worn the day Len-Ahl had been brought before her, Qabala wore the clothes of the warrior she had been. Leather riding pants, leather cuirass, and a blade strapped to her side. Qabala also wore the golden medallion around her neck, the one she and the Thrillseekers had found in Jinn’s cave.

Qabala followed her gaze and held up the medallion to glance at it herself. “It’s very pretty,” she said. “Pretty things have their uses, but I’m more interested in what is below the surface. For example, these etchings on the medallion’s face. I am quite sure they lead the way to the Exemplus, if only I could understand them. It is frustrating to have what I want so close, yet so far away.”

“What do you want from me?” Len-Ahl managed to say, though she knew the answer.

Qabala let the medallion drop. “You are half-faery. You would not be on this journey if you did not understand their language. You will tell me what they say.”

“I do not know what the words say,” Len-Ahl lied.

Qabala sighed. “I am so weary of waiting. Waiting for Nerris to come around. Waiting for this war to end. Waiting for the power I need. You may not believe this, girl, but I have no wish to harm you. Not because I hold you in any kind of regard, but because Nerris would never forgive me. But I will, if you don’t tell me what I want to know. Once I have the Exemplus, I can extract forgiveness from Nerris’s heart.” She leaned down until her face was level with Len-Ahl’s. “You think you’ve won, don’t bother to deny it. You think you’ve stolen him from me. I’ve heard of you, half-faery. Your emergence into the world has upset the Cult of Eversor a great deal, and they have been keeping a close eye on you ever since you and Nerris left Faerlin. I know about your talent with music, and it’s become clear to me that you’ve somehow managed to ensorcell Nerris with one of your spells. But it ends today. Nerris and I will find the Exemplus, because you’re going to tell me what these runes say. Do that, and you can return to your home, provided you never come within sight of Nerris Palada again.”

Len-Ahl looked Qabala full in the face, her eyes flashing. The supreme arrogance of this woman had finally gotten to her, and she put all her rage and frustration into her next four words. “Rot in hell, Qabala.”

She realized her tone eerily mimicked Dist’s whenever he was angry, but supposed that was what came of associating with the Thrillseekers for an extended time. Qabala, however, was not amused. She glared at Len-Ahl in silence for a few moments before her hand lashed out. Her knuckles caught Len-Ahl right in the lip, and she struck her head against the stone wall as she flinched away from the blow. Len-Ahl fell to the floor of her cell, tears welling up in her eyes. Pain lanced through her head as she tasted her own blood.

Qabala stood, looking down on her with disdain. She nodded to the man behind her. “Falares.”

The large man moved forward and yanked Len-Ahl up by the hair. She cried out as she was dragged to her feet and pulled out of her cell. There were several guards and gaolers in the corridor. Falares thrust her into two of them, who bound her arms behind her back with a leather cord. Falares shoved her forward and told her to walk, forcing Len-Ahl to follow behind Qabala as she led the procession down the dungeon corridor.

Their general direction was up, and the gaoler unlocked several barred doors on the way, gates separating the different blocks of the dungeon. After a few were opened, Falares shoved Len-Ahl into a well-lit corridor. Qabala stopped short in front of a cell and pointed to the barred wooden door. “Here?”

The gaoler nodded. “Yes, my Eternal.”

“What is he doing in here?” Qabala demanded. “I put him in one of the dankest cells myself. Why was he moved here, of all places?”

The gaoler shrugged. “The order had your seal on it, my Eternal.”

Qabala grunted. “Open it.”

The gaoler fumbled with his keys before selecting one, and unlocked the door. He pulled it open, and Len-Ahl peered inside. Dist and Nerris were sitting side by side against the opposite wall. Sunlight, real sunlight, flooded in through a window, and straight into Len-Ahl’s eyes. Through her squinting, she saw Nerris and Dist stand.

She moved forward, but Falares caught her by the hair on the back of her neck. “No,” he said, as if scolding a pet.

Nerris caught sight of Len-Ahl and rushed forward, but the guards in front of Qabala drew their sabers and leveled them at his chest, forcing him to stop.

His eyes went to Qabala. “What is the meaning of this?” he said.

“I thought you might want one last look at your beloved,” Qabala said. “She has chosen not to help us, Nerris, so I must force the information I need from her. I don’t expect her to survive the questioning.”

Nerris’s face turned red and curled in rage. “You wouldn’t!”

Qabala’s jade eyes flashed. “Oh, wouldn’t I? This didn’t have to get complicated, Nerris. I didn’t ask for the deceptions you tried to pull, but for every action there are consequences. Perhaps it’s for the best. Once this girl is gone, we can be together again.”

“Never,” Nerris said through clenched teeth.

“That is such an irrelevant word,” Qabala said. “I’ve spent my whole life proving it doesn’t exist. My foster father told me I would never be allowed to leave his home. I was told a woman would never be allowed into the university at Lhan Del, and later that I would never rule Yagolhan. So I’m sure you can see how your vehemence fails to impress me, Nerris Palada. After all, Dume Valez had some very interesting stories about you. One look at me and you forgot all about your beloved Ketsuya, did you not?”

Nerris’s foot lashed out, kicking the guards’ sabers out of position. He lunged for Qabala, but a few more guards rushed in to restrain him. Dist and Falares joined the fray as well, and a sort of grotesque wrestling match broke out in the threshold of Nerris’s cell. After a few moments, the guards threw him back and Falares cracked Dist across the skull with his fist, flooring him. They shut the door, but she could still hear Nerris and Dist cursing on the other side.

“Enough of this,” Qabala hissed. She shoved Len-Ahl back into Falares’s arms and turned to the gaoler. “The guards will stay with you,” she said. “I want Nerris moved back to his original cell. It is too dangerous for the Thrillseekers to be housed together. Falares, bring the girl with me. We’re taking her to the Fury Pit.”

Falares laughed. “Yes, my Eternal.”

Len-Ahl once again found herself being forced down the dungeon corridors, but they did not go back the way they came. Qabala led them to a less populated part of the dungeon, where the stones were not as well kept. Many of them were cracked, and dirt and subterranean plants had sprung up through them.

Down and down they went, until there was barely enough torchlight to see. They stopped in front of a rickety door, one not even adequate to bar entry to an old shack. Qabala took a key from one of her pockets and turned it into the lock. The odor which wafted out made Len-Ahl retch. She had smelled burnt and rotten meat before, but something about this place made it even worse.

Falares marched her inside, and lit the sconces around the room. Len-Ahl glanced around. Perhaps a dozen small cells lined the walls, each with its own rusty portcullis in lieu of a door. They were all raised, held in place by a chain and windlass. Tarps covered many of the room’s furnishings, but the ones she could see made Len-Ahl gasp in horror. A furnace dominated one corner of the room, and in front of it was a bed of coals with an iron chair in the center. Spikes protruded from the armrests, and Len-Ahl realized the burnt meat she smelled was human flesh.

“Welcome to the Fury Pit,” Qabala said. “This is where King Lahnen put many of my people to the question, before Nerris stuck his blade in him.” Qabala hefted the hilt of her own blade, and for the first time Len-Ahl noticed she carried Nerris’s sword, the katana called Noruken.

“Now you put it to use,” Len-Ahl said. “You are no better, Qabala.”

“Again with that tired argument,” Qabala said. “You sound like Nerris. You have had influence on each other, haven’t you? Truthfully, this is the first time I’ve set foot in this chamber since taking this city.” She gestured to the iron chair. “But don’t worry about being roasted alive. Once you start a fire, it’s very hard to control it, and I plan on this lasting all day. Besides, I want you to feel this pain by my own hand.”

She pointed to a covered rectangular surface nearby, and Falares removed the tarp. Len-Ahl would have thought it an ordinary table, but for the rusted shackles at either end. Falares leaned over and took hold of a circular handle. As he turned it, the table rose vertically with a series of grating clicks. When he judged it high enough, he released the handle and forced Len-Ahl flat against it. He reached to the top of the table for the shackles and clamped them around her wrists.

Len-Ahl looked back at Qabala, who was inspecting some wicked-looking instruments displayed on the wall. She bit back the defiant remark on her lips when she saw one of the hooks still held something black and shriveled attached to it. She shuddered and retched again.

Qabala regarded her with amusement as she selected an instrument. She shoved it into Len-Ahl’s face. It was a short, many-tailed whip. She had seen something like it on
The Sea Tart
, and Captain Jorga had explained it was used to discipline unruly crew members. The way this one gleamed, however, there was something different about it, more sinister.

“Do you know what this is?” Qabala asked her. “It’s a variation of a cat-whip, called a knovim. Cat whips are painful, but hardly to the extent I require at the moment. In the annals of history, some twisted soul decided to graft little blades on each tail of the whip. They are sharp, and very painful by themselves.” There was a whoosh and a cracking noise as Qabala whipped the table beside Len-Ahl’s head, leaving deep indentations in the old wood. “Together, they are near unbearable,” she said.

Len-Ahl closed her eyes. “Angelica, protect me,” she whispered. The defiance she had felt was fading, but one thought remained in her mind. She would not... could not... give Qabala the words on the medallion.

Qabala caught her jaw in her hand and squeezed, forcing her eyes open. “One last chance,” she said. “Go home, and let your betters fix this world.”

Len-Ahl squeezed her eyes shut again. She could not break. Even if it meant her death. Even if it meant never setting eyes on Nerris again.

Qabala released her face and responded to her silence. “I thought as much. Like it or not, you will talk. You may not believe me, Len-Ahl, but part of me is going to hate this. You and I are much the same.”

Len-Ahl opened her eyes in surprise. That was the first time Qabala had ever addressed her by her name. Before she could contemplate what the Aeterna meant, Falares stepped behind her and ripped at her ragged dress. The tattered fabric tore like paper, and Falares soon had it off, exposing her nude figure to both the Dume-General and the Yagol queen.

Her hands instinctively moved to cover herself, but the shackles were taut and provided next to no movement. She felt the tears in her eyes, but before she could even cry, she heard another whoosh and pain across her back like she had never experienced before. A piercing scream escaped her lips as the tiny blades on the knovim were ripped from the flesh of her back.

Again, Qabala cracked the knovim, and again Len-Ahl screamed. She emitted choked sobs as all she could think about was the searing pain echoing through her body. Blood trickled down her back in unison with the tears streaming down her cheeks. Qabala lashed her a third time, but Len-Ahl had no wind left to scream. The sound which escaped her was more of an animalistic moan as she felt pieces of her flesh leave her body.

The fourth lash made her flinch away, straining against her bonds. At the fifth, her legs gave out, and she hung from the vertical table by her shackled wrists. She clenched her teeth as she sensed Qabala raising the knovim again. The anticipation was almost worse than the pain itself, but the blow did not come.

“Tell me what the medallion says,” Qabala said. “I want to know the next step on the road to Exemplus. The pain ends when you tell me.”

It would be so easy. Len-Ahl wanted nothing more in the world than for the pain to stop, but two images flashed into her mind. One was her mother, beautiful and stoic. She could not betray the secrets her mother had entrusted to her. She saw Nerris’s face as well, and knew no matter what, she had to be brave. Be brave like a Thrillseeker. She remained silent, but for her whimpering at the freely flowing blood cascading down her thighs and buttocks. Even though her legs shook from the pain, she found her feet and stood up, offering her back to Qabala once again.