The Pleasure of Memory (53 page)

He was hanging in the warriors’ arms. His head was pounding so hard he could barely see. He prayed she couldn’t see the truth, that she was right.

“I can make you hurt in ways that’ll have you begging to tell me what I want to know,” she shouted over the swelling downpour, “Now, tell me where the mage is. Is he still in the tunnels?”

Beam tried to stand straighter against the hands twisting his arms back so brutally. He couldn’t tell if he was succeeding.

“I swear to Calina!” she shouted, “You don’t want to make me ask you again.” She slapped him again, harder this time.

The warriors reeled him back to his feet.

Beam shook away the rain and confusion. He had to stay focused. “All right!” he yelled back, “All right, I’ll tell you. He…he’s dead.”

She paused at that. Then she stepped in closer and said, “Dead? What do you mean, dead?”

“Dead,” Beam repeated, “I killed him in his sleep!”

“In his sleep?” She looked strangely disgusted by that.

“Yeah,” he said back, “In his sleep! Backwoods bastard wouldn’t stop snoring!” He forced a laugh.

Another punch found him. This time he landed hard on his knees. He heard someone moaning in the distance. Disembodied voices simmered above the deafening patter of rain. He dropped to his hands and vomited into the muddy grass. Someone grabbed a fistful of his hair and roughly jerked his head back. When he opened his eyes again, the Vaemyd’s face filled his vision.

“You think me a fool, skeechka?” she hissed into his face, “I assure you I am not!”

Beam struggled to appear focused. “I knew it was you,” he whispered, “It's in your eyes. I knew it the minute I saw you. You’ve made my life hell.”

“I'll ask you one more time! Should you fail to answer me to my satisfaction, I’ll have Mawby here slice your fingers apart one knuckle at a time.” She barked some orders in Vaemysh. Someone pinned his hand flat to the wet grass.

Beam shook the water from his face and then looked up from his hands and knees. Towering over him was a giant of a Vaemyn. He looked as big as a young Baeldon.

“Calina’s blood!” he said, “Damn me if you’re not the biggest pile of savage I’ve ever seen!”

The mountain called Mawby said nothing. He only leaned down a bit and pressed his sword tip deep into Beam’s face.

Beam didn’t withdraw from the blade. “Do it!” he yelled up at him, “I’ll die a man and you’ll still live as an animal.”

The female laughed at that. “So, you know our curses? Do you speak our language as well?”

He looked over at her. “Only enough of it to get me through your slums and whore houses. Not much, but enough to cover most of that useless wasteland you call a country.”

She twisted his head back by another fistful of hair. “I put it to you one last time, skeechka. Where. Is. The mage?”

The rain abruptly sizzled to a stop. In the matter of a few heartbeats, the world went eerily silent except for the distant trickle of water still fleeing down the hillside. The big warrior knelt down before him and pressed his blade tip against the little finger of Beam’s right hand. The blade began to slice into the skin. Beam set his teeth. He refused to cry out.

“You’re running out of time, skeechka,” the Vaemyd said. Then she called out an order in Vaemysh.

Though Beam didn’t understand the words, he fully grasped the gist of them, and he knew he couldn’t let it happen. His chances for escape would dwindle dramatically with each finger he lost. He knew from experience how hard it is to run while bleeding to death

“No!” he yelled, “No, wait! Wait, I'll tell you.”

The blade withdrew, but only slightly.

“Speak your mind then, Parhronii,” the big warrior said, “And be quick about it.”

Beam glanced to the side to assess the makeup of the squad, but the warriors pinning him down blocked his view of the rear. There was no way to know how many there were. He dropped his head submissively before her. His long, rain-soaked hair hung like black netting before his face. “I told you the truth,” he said, “The mage tried to take the stone from me two days ago. I was forced to kill him.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“It’s the truth!” he pleaded, “Let me up. Please, I’ll tell you everything. I don’t want to die like this.”

She studied him for a moment, clearly probing him for evidence of lies and plotting. Then she barked an order and the warriors dragged him back to his feet.

Beam steadied himself, forced himself to stand independently. He glanced back at the warrior that had drawn blood from his side. He looked just like the rest of them, sleeveless mail, painfully bound hair, bare, tattooed arms. Then he looked back at the Vaemyd. “I can’t feel my arms. Tell them to release me.”

She only watched him.

“Please,” he said quickly, “The pain is unbearable. Just tell them to release me and I swear I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

After a moment, she snapped off another Vaemysh order. The warriors abruptly let loose of him, though their swords remained leveled at his neck.

“Pray you’re not lying to me,” she said to him, “This is your final opportunity to die with dignity.”

Beam’s legs felt like mud. It was all he could do to keep standing without assistance, but he had to show some kind of strength. He had to be ready for any opportunity to change the direction of this interrogation.

“Speak, skeechka,” she snapped at him, “Your time is dwindling.”

Something shifted in the shadows behind the Vaemyd. It was a dozen feet back, creeping slowly up the hill toward her. It was another warrior.

This savage stopped a pace behind her and the giant, and then just stood there. Something wasn’t right about this one. The light radiating from the open hatch illuminated his face. His hair was cut short. His face was a portrait of misery. Lifeless eyes sank into pits above hollow cheeks. A peculiar black gem with yellow sparks dangled from one of his horns. Beam recognized him as the fool back at the river, the one whose mail had shimmered in the sunlight back on the road, the one who had betrayed his fellows. He was clearly up to something.

“Speak!” the leader shouted again “Where is the stone?”

The rain suddenly swelled again, and Beam was deeply thankful for it. He turned his face up to it. The water grounded him. As the downpour rapidly grew harder, it revitalized him. It gave him strength.

Without warning, the Vaemyd slugged Beam in the chest. The blow sent him stumbling back. The backs of his heels caught the hatch. He would’ve toppled back into the tunnel if the Vaemyd hadn’t grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him roughly forward. Holding him with one hand, she efficiently patted him down with the other.

“All right, all right,” Beam said over the pouring rain, “You can have me if you want me, but I’d prefer a little privacy.”

The Vaemyd quickly worked her way up his torso and found the lump beneath his shirt. She wasted no time dragging the pouch up from the tunic’s neck. She held the pouch up to the light radiating from the hatch, though the cord around his neck restricted her efforts. “What’s this?” she asked, staring hard into his eyes.

The cord bit deeply into Beam’s neck. She had it pulled as tight as it could reach. Beam could only stare at the pouch locked there so plainly in her open hand. How could it have come to this? How could everything have suddenly turned so sour?

“Is this what I pray it is?” she asked him, giving the cord a sharp jerk.

The rawhide seared the back of his neck, but he couldn’t have cared less. All of his attention was focused on the pouch held tightly in her hand.

“Put it back,” he demanded, “Put it back and I’ll let you and your pals go. No hard feelings, no bloodshed. You can just go.”

She retightened the rawhide strap, twisting it in her hand until it was a garrote around his neck. Beam felt a surge of panic as the strap choked his airway.

“That’s most merciful of you,” she whispered into his face, “I’ll take that under advisement.”

He grabbed at her hand but couldn’t break the grip. The pressure of his heart pulsing against his occluded neck was unbearable. Then, just as he was certain that suffocation was going to spare him the horror of torture, the Vaemyd sliced the cord with her sword and released him. He grabbed his throat and began coughing.

She forced the bag open and dumped the contents into her hand, discarding the coins to the grass. The light of the glowing stone flamed her face red in the rain. Yet, he noticed that instead of the joy he’d have expected to see there, she looked almost disappointed.

“This is it?” she whispered.

“I thought it’d be larger,” the giant next to her said.

The red glow of the stone was like a torch in the night, casting her face into full light. Beam was shocked at how tired and worn she appeared. How could anyone so obviously fatigued manage such strength and speed? Though he loathed admitting it, he was impressed.

The grim looking savage with the spiky hair suddenly pushed his way in between the leader and the giant, with his arm reaching for the gem. “Give that to me,” he yelled. He lunged for the stone, but she pushed him roughly away.

The large warrior dragged him back into the rain and then shoved his sword point into the man’s face. The grim savage backed away, hands held up defensively. He was grinning weirdly, like one of the screamers back at the priory. Beam could see by his eyes that he wasn’t finished. It offered hope.

The leader returned the stone to the pouch and handed it off to the giant.

Beam spit blood and water into the grass. Then he looked her dead in the eye. “Take that stone and I swear to Calina, I'll hunt you down and kill you like a dog!”

The giant slapped him hard. “You defile her name by speaking it.”

Beam shook the confusion away. His legs were shaking. As he collected himself, he forced himself to stand taller. He looked up at the mountain called Mawby, and he said with great deliberation, “Do that again, you savage prick. Please. Do it one more time.”

The giant obliged him.

Beam stumbled back and landed hard on his ass on the edge of the hatch, but the warriors immediately hoisted him back to his feet. Three giants now wavered before him with their hands raised. They slowly blurred to two and then quickly settled back into one. “Want some more, skeechka?” he heard the man ask.

“Doesn’t it feel better to return stolen property?” the Vaemyd said, “The way of the criminal is such a sorry life, don’t you think?”

Beam flicked the water from his face and tried to focus. “I’ll find you, you savage bitch,” he whispered to her, “I swear I will. I don’t care where you hide. I don’t care how far you run. I’ll bloody well find you, and once I do, I will kill you.”

“Is that so?” she said with a laugh that sounded like it took some effort, “That’ll be a difficult promise to keep with no legs.”

Beam again shook his head. When he looked up, he saw the fouled savage again creeping up from the dark rain behind the giant. The warrior’s face was wild and unsettled, and glowing eerily in the green light from the hatch. This time, Beam saw the gleam of a knife in his hand, and the sight fueled hope. There was conflict within the squad. This may be his only opportunity to turn the tables. He steadied himself for action.

“Tell me where the mage is!” the Vaemyd said, “It’ll only go harder if you resist answering my questions.”

“Do you have a problem understanding Parhronii standard?” Beam yelled back, “I told you he’s dead.”

Then a new voice boomed up from the hatch behind them, “Actually, I’m right here!”

The warriors on either side of Beam wheeled toward the sound. In that same instant, the fouled warrior drove his knife into the giant. The blade found root just behind the big Vaemyn’s shoulder, driving down through the armhole of his sleeveless mail. The huge savage stiffened and cried out. The leader looked back at the giant.

It was the opportunity Beam had been praying for. He grabbed the Vaemyd by the mail and pulled her hard. They toppled backward over the rim of the hatch into the turret below. As they hit the grated landing, Beam twisted and rolled her over the side. The Vaemyd landed on her back on the floor of the turret with Beam hard atop her.

Blue light exploded through the darkness above them. The now familiar smell of lightning and boiling flesh filled the air, and Beam immediately knew the warriors above were no longer a threat. The one beneath him, however, was a different story. Even after a six-foot fall, even with him straddling her, she had her hands locked around his neck.

His anger surged. He was bloody well good and done with this.

He focused all his rage and aggravation into a volley of slugs. He hit her again and again and again, hit her until his arm was numb and his fist bloody and raw. With that, the Vaemyd finally went limp.

Beam hunched over and fought for his wind. The rain pattered against his back. The water felt cool and fresh, almost rejuvenating. Someone was screaming somewhere above him. He looked up over his shoulder into the night. Chance stood on the landing above him with his wet white sleeves clinging tightly to his arms, his staff leveled, his long hair pasted to his skull as the water streamed from it. He was a grim image hovering against a fog of wild blue light.

Beam used the rungs to pull himself to his feet. “Chance!” he yelled up at the man, “Get the hell down! We’re done here.”

Chance either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. He continued to flame the air above them with his blue energy.

“Now!” Beam yelled again, “That’s enough! Let’s go!”

With that, he stepped over the Vaemyd and jogged down the circular passage. He hadn’t made more than a dozen yards when he passed the statue of the gargoyle. It was halfway up the stairs to the turret. As he passed, he wondered how the hell the mage had managed to drag it all the way up there by himself. More importantly, he wondered why.

Beam had just made it to the arch at the bottom of the passage when he heard the footsteps. He looked back an instant too late to brace himself for the tackle.

∞

The grated iron platform creaked sorely under the sentry’s weight. The creature stood with one rear claw locked on an iron rung of the wall-mounted ladder and the other on the platform. Chance watched it from the bottom of the turret as the translucent creature slowly pulled the final hatch door closed. It then locked the internal rings with its claws and immediately solidified as it fell still again. It would take a block and tackle the size of a house to pull those open now. He only hoped the Baeldonian iron was up to the task of bearing the creature’s immense weight.