Warlord (15 page)
Sara’s heart caught in her throat. If Arystan were dead, it would be her best chance to escape. But the thought of his death made her almost double over and retch. She couldn’t let this happen. She sprinted forward and launched herself at Rainura, still holding the sword in one hand, catching the woman just as the knife connected. The knifeblade dragged across Arystan’s throat, his flesh spurting blood. He moved a bit and let out a small moan.
Sara wrestled with Rainura on the bed, the two women kicking and pummeling Arystan in their struggle. Sara was definitely stronger but Rainura was like a hellcat, crazed with fury and consumed by jealousy. Sara was finally able to wrest Rainura’s knife from her and threw it across the room. The short sword had become tangled in the furs and Rainura dove under them, searching desperately for it. She found it and brought it up in her hands, her black hair falling forward wildly about her face, panting heavily as she crouched over Arystan. He was moving now and making more sounds. He sounded groggy, as if he would soon awaken.
Rainura glanced down at him, her eyes cold. “I’ll kill Arystan first. You’re next.”
Rainura stood up on the bed, balancing unsteadily and then brought her arm down with a crazed scream. She had never used a sword before and instead of swinging it in an arc, brought it down stiffly in a chopping motion, as if to slice at Arystan. Sara rolled under Rainura’s arm, catching it by the elbow and forced it backwards, pinning it against the woman’s chest. Rainura lost her balance and toppled sideways, Sara’s grip still on her arm. Rainura, in her rage, kept her hand clenched around the hilt and fell forward onto the blade of the sword which sliced neatly through the artery in her neck. She lay twitching on the bed, gasping and choking as her life blood drained away.
Horrified, Sara pulled the sword away, pressing on Rainura’s throat, trying to save the woman’s life, but the wound was too deep and the artery had been cleanly severed.
Blood gushed in tandem with the rhythm of Rainura’s heart, tapering gradually to smaller pulses and then, finally, stopped. Sara was crouched between Arystan who was moaning, red oozing from his neck, and Rainura’s limp blood-soaked form, holding the sword in her hands, her mouth open with shock, when the tent flaps were thrown back and a rush of warriors swarmed into the yurt, Sabalak in the lead.
CHAPTER 16 Getting to the Truth of the Matter
Sabalak’s black eyes swept the scene quickly, coming to rest on Sara, blood streaking her hair and face, coating her arms and hands, her breathing ragged, the sword still gripped in one hand.
In a half-second, he had his saber unsheathed and pointed toward Sara. “Drop the sword or I will kill you where you sit,” he said, venom dripping from his voice.
Sara swallowed, her heart pounding in her ears, having trouble thinking clearly, but realizing it was important for her to concentrate, most important to follow Sabalak’s instructions immediately. She met Sabalak’s gaze, nodded, and carefully lowered the sword, laying it slowly on the furs in front of her.
Sabalak kept his saber trained on her, his hard black eyes never leaving hers. “Take her,”
he said to the warriors behind him, his voice tight with fury.
Sara looked down at Arystan. He was still bleeding. Oh gods, he couldn’t be dying. She stretched her fingers tenderly toward his neck, wanting to know how badly he had been hurt. Suddenly, she felt a force slam into the side of her head and chest, throwing her back against the wall. She gasped, the air knocked from her, and felt rough hands grab her and pull her to her feet, dragging her across the floor. She felt dizzy, the yurt spinning, and sensed someone leaning over her.
“How dare you try to touch him, murderer,” Sabalak spat as the men held Sara immobile before him. He looked at her with contempt, as if she were the lowest of scum. It took a moment for him to calm before he could even speak, he was so livid with rage. Then Sabalak said, “Take her outside the camp and kill her. Now.”
“Arystan,” Sara called weakly as the men dragged her toward the yurt door. Her head pounded and she slowly passed out.
“Stop!” The voice was low, but the tone one that unmistakably required compliance.
The men dragging Sara stopped immediately, still holding her limp body by the arms.
Sabalak sheathed his sword and moved closer to the bed, his eyes briefly flicking to Rainura’s body.
“My lord,” he said to Arystan who had struggled to one elbow, one hand held to his neck.
Sabalak’s throat tightened as he looked upon his stricken leader. “Sara has just murdered Rainura and almost succeeded in killing you,” he said quietly, his voice tense with emotion. “She shall be put to death immediately, my lord. I will do it personally, I promise, once we have seen to your injuries.”
“No,” said Arystan, his head falling back to the furs, his hand still at his neck, his eyes closing.
“But, my lord,” said Sabalak through clenched teeth, his huge frame shaking with barely-controlled fury. “Arystan –”
“No,” Arystan repeated. “Hold her. I will question her myself.” Then he seemed to quiet and was still.
Sabalak’s jaw tightened and he turned stiffly to the two men holding Sara, still unconscious. “Throw her in the solitary pen.”
He motioned to the rest of the warriors fanned out in the tent. “Remove her,” he said jerking his head at Rainura. “And get the healer in here. NOW!”
* * * * *
The last thing she remembered was Sabalak ordering her to be killed immediately. Then, she had woken up here. Sabalak had looked at her with such hatred in his eyes, she was sure that was the end of her. Would she be allowed now to plead her case? She strongly doubted it. And even if she tried to explain, who would believe her? Rainura was dead and Sara was sure the evidence more than incriminated her for the attacks on both Rainura and Arystan.
But at this moment, she didn’t care about the discomfort, the pain, or even whether the shadow above was someone who had come to take her to her death. She was focused on Arystan. She had seen Rainura’s knife pierce his throat and had seen his blood spill. She shuddered, tears threatening to flow from her eyes, despite the fact she had had nothing to drink since yesterday and felt very dehydrated. Was Arystan even alive?
The figure above her retreated. The face had been was too shadowed; she could not make out who it had been. The small gate to the pen was left open. Sara remained where she was.
“Clean her up and have her brought to me,” said a man, the emotion in his voice barely controlled.
Sara’s heart leapt into her throat. It was Arystan. He lived.
“We’ll bring her all right. But she needs no cleaning,” another man’s voice said. He spoke as if he was disgusted. There was a second man next to him who gave a small grunt of agreement.
“She will be washed, dressed and offered food and drink before she is brought to my yurt.
Is that clear?”
“But my lord, she is not worthy of such treatment. She made an attack on your life. It is a wonder you do not kill her now, the filthy, disgusting –” The man let out a small groan and then Sara heard a thump as he hit the ground, his head falling in front of the opening.
His eyes were empty.
“Do you have any difficulty obeying me?
“N – no, my lord,” said the second man, clearly groveling.
“Have I made my instructions clear?”
“Yes, very clear, my lord. I will take of it right away, my lord, Arystan. Yes, of course,”
“You will see to it yourself. Personally.”
“Of – of course, my lord. I will s – see to it. Personally.”
* * * * *
Arystan rose as Sara was brought in. Their eyes met, Sara’s blue ones liquid with fear and concern. Arystan’s were unreadable. He did not protest as they forced her into the chair.
“Shall we restrain her, my lord?” asked one of the escorts.
“That will not be necessary,” said Arystan tightly. The men bowed and left the tent.
Sara quickly scanned the room. All of the ground skins had been replaced and she could see no bloodstains on the bed furs or the walls. Thank the spirits those tangible reminders of yesterday were gone.
Tebur rose and placed a hand on Arystan’s shoulder who reseated himself, his eyes still on Sara.
She wanted so badly to speak to him, but felt she should stay quiet. The three chieftains appeared to have something in mind.
Tebur retrieved the vessel from the table and walked to Sara, handing it to her. She accepted it, peering inside. It was full of an opaque, yellowish liquid. Almost like pus.
She looked up, expectantly.
“You will drink this, Sara,” said Tebur. “It is a combination of herbs that forces the mind to speak only the truth, unshaded by deception or trickery. It is sometimes used on the enemy, captured messengers for instance, if conventional methods such as . . . torture are unsuccessful. The beverage is quite potent. One of the drawbacks – and why it is only sometimes used on enemy soldiers – is that, if the dosage is not calculated precisely there is a very real risk of death. You are smaller than any person on which it has been used and so we are not certain whether the dose is lethal. In any event, we will know shortly.
The first few minutes, while the extract takes hold, are painful, uncomfortable, and this is where your death might occur. If you do not die, you will be compelled to answer everything you are asked, as truthfully as your mind knows it. The effects should last long enough to determine what it is we need to know.” He glanced at Arystan.
Sara looked into the mug again, uncertainly.
“You are already dead if you do not drink it. Nothing you say in your defense can be trusted otherwise. It is a small risk for you to take,” Tebur said evenly, clasping his hands behind his back.
Sara looked up at Arystan. His black eyes were still expressionless, but he sat very stiffly. She kept her eyes locked to his, lifted the mug to her lips, and drained it.
The liquid might have looked like pus, but it tasted far worse. Sara never imagined such a foul taste could even exist. If was as if someone had taken the entrails of an animal, marinated it in feces, and let it bake in the sun for a few hours, but not too long so that it was still nice and moist. Disgusting. This was a culture that certainly used their botanical knowledge. For everything.
Sara immediately bent forward in the chair, doubling over, clutching at her stomach. She had refused food and only taken a bit of water when they released her. She was glad for that or else anything she had consumed would be all over the skin floor by now. They would have had to be changed again. Her insides started to feel as though they were burning, her blood boiling, eating away at the linings encasing her life fluid. Once the shells burst, and she didn’t think it would be too much longer, her blood would be released, its circulation thwarted, and would coat her organs and tissues red as she died.
Not the way she had imagined going. But at least she was aware and would experience the process of death as she left the earth. Then, as suddenly as her veins had heated up, they cooled. A calming sensation settled over her and she felt her consciousness recede.
Arystan watched as Sara experienced the effects of the herbs, every fiber of his being tensed with unease and worry. He understood that there was no other way. If he simply refused to order Sara’s death, his chieftains would never trust her, but most importantly, they would begin to lose their trust and respect for him. He visibly relaxed as she sat up slowly, her eyes glazed, her stare distant, her body rigid.
“I believe it has taken effect, Arystan.” Tebur kept his voice neutral. “She lives.” He sat down next to Arystan.
The leader rose from between his two chieftains and paced the room. Then he stopped behind them and faced Sara.
“What is your name?”
“Sara Aster.” She spoke without hesitation, although her voice was oddly hollow.
“Where are you from?”
“I don’t know.” They had been through this before. Arystan had asked out of curiosity and Sara had said that she couldn’t remember. He had thought that perhaps she had been lying. Apparently, she hadn’t.
“Who am I?”
“You are Arystan. You are my lover.”
Arystan felt a strong throb in his loins. He squeezed his fists together, glad he was behind his chieftains. Several seconds passed before he asked the next question.
“Did you attempt to kill me yesterday?”
“No.”
“Did you kill Rainura?”
Sara did not immediately answer. Then she said, “I was wrestling with her for your sword. She fell on it.”
“Why were you fighting with her? Tell me what happened,” Arystan commanded.
Sara described returning from her run early, finding Arystan drugged and Rainura beside him. She described the contents of the bowl and how upset Rainura became when she destroyed it. Then she told of Rainura’s threat to kill Arystan and Rainura stabbing the blade of the knife at Arystan.
“Is that how my throat was injured?”
“I believe so, yes,” said Sara.
“What about my palm?”
