Blinded by the Sun (Erythleh Chronicles Book 4) (15 page)

The jarring impact with the unforgiving earth gave her some clarity, but only enough to distinguish a voice as it said, "We have her. You know what to do next."

~o0o~

"Ooooh, pretty. And she's so soft."

Lyssia woke, groggy and confused, to a creepily crooning voice, and a hand... fingers... reaching under her tunic, pawing at her breast.

"We should send pieces to the king. A finger at a time. Can you imagine... if she couldn't fight back?"

Her vision had not yet cleared, but she was aware that at least two people, two men, were in front of her. She had no idea how many more might be in the room.

"Not sure that's what we're supposed to do."

"What exactly did that bitch say?"

"I didn't hear her say nothing about leaving this bint in one piece."

"Guess we can have a bit of fun then."

Nails, short and jagged, scraped over her nipple. The pain brought clarity. There were only the two assailants, but even a harsh tug at her tender skin couldn't clear her muzzy head enough to move her arms or legs. She was trapped by her own body. Her brain knew panic, but she could not translate that frantic feeling into motion.

"Back off, you animals!"

The harsh voice, a female voice, bounced off every wall in the room. From the resounding sound, Lyssia could tell she was not in a large space. The tone was commanding, and the awful hands fell away accordingly.

"We're just having a little fun." The wheedling voice was the one that had suggested sending pieces of her to Kavrazel.

"Not with her you're not."

"Are you offering to take her place?" Even though the tone was skin-crawlingly slimy, it was hopeful rather than bold.

"In your nightmares." The woman sounded sure and distinct. Lyssia did not doubt that flat tone meant pain and discomfort to anyone who dared attempt disobedience.

"No one'll ever know." The thin whine came from the second threatening entity.

"I'll know," The female stated. "Illisrya wants her for a bargain. You can't rough her up, she's too valuable to him. If he knows she's hurt, he'll lose all reason. He'll bring a war on principle."

"Then he won't get her back."

"No, then he'll come for her, and we'll be doing more than babysitting."

"You're sacred of the King of the Undead? That's just legend."

"Legend, fact, who cares. I'm not being paid to fight him, and I won't fight him until I'm paid to, so you two will back off until we see the queen's coin."

There were grudging mutterings, but the intrusive hand withdrew, and ultimately, Lyssia was left alone. The snap of the lock reminded her that she was now in an actual jail, who knew where, away from anyone and everything that might save her. She knew that a plan was important, that she should force her brain into cooperation, but the fog rolled over her once more.

~o0o~

Metal rattled and clanked against stone. Some long-forgotten memory roused Lyssia into wakefulness. Her stomach growled, and she realised that the sound was associated with food. She was to be fed. Her muddled mind hoped that the dish had been shoved through the door, but the portion of her memory that retained all the horrors of her life reminded her that such a racket would only be so loud if she had company.

She blinked, but still could not make her eyes focus on more than a vague, hunched, grey shadow.

"Just to remind you, pretty, there won't always be someone watching."

The greasy fingers again insinuated themselves under her tunic. Now they squeezed her breast, hard enough for Lyssia to grit her teeth against a hiss of pain. Her lack of reaction was obviously not satisfactory. A thunderclap exploded against her cheek. There was a sharp sting at her mouth, followed by the warm trickle that signified her lip was split.

"Haughty bitch. I'll have you begging for my cock before the moon is out."

Lyssia stifled a gag at the mere thought, but then a boot landed in her rib cage. Suddenly her torso was agony and her lungs were on fire. The door slammed shut and the lock clicked ominously into place. Lyssia was alone, weakened by hunger and the injury to her head, and now breathing was all but impossible.

She was trapped.

For the first time she was aware of the clump of sticky blood and matted hair at the back of her tender scalp. The cut in her lip had clotted, but threatened to split at any moment. The pain in her ribs burned, particularly when her lungs expanded, but it was ebbing to a level that she could fight through. She was bruised, but no bones were broken. She struggled and shuddered to her feet, enough to stumble and half-collapse against the door. It was solid wood. There was no chance of a bound and feeble prisoner, without aid or weapons, breaking through. She slid back down to the floor.

She had not heard a sound for hours, or perhaps it was only minutes. Every breath was torment. Every movement was agony. Time might be slow, or it might be fast, Lyssia did not know. Half blind and hurting, her judgement was impaired. Lyssia fumbled along the dirt floor of her cell, shuffling bit by bit, but she could find nothing for a weapon, there was only the hard-packed grit. The dish that had promised food had held lumpy, cold porridge. Lyssia's stomach had revolted at the idea of it, but she had attempted to eat it anyway to keep her strength.

As she waited for a fate that could not possibly be pleasant, she thought of Kavrazel. She had called being in his service an imprisonment, but it had not been this brutality. The two situations were so diverse as to be completely incomparable.

For all that she had sometimes felt lonely in Vulc, she had never felt threatened. No one would have dared to abuse her; they would have feared her own ability to fight, as well as the retribution of the king. In the time she had been resident in the castle, since the first moments with Shinu, she had never feared torture, rape, or death, as she did now.

Of course, she would have preferred to have her freedom, and to be fighting the good fight on behalf of her people, but really, what was freedom?

It had not been Lyssia's decision to go to Sken. She had had no freedom in that turn in her life; it had been a decision made on her behalf. She now had arguably more freedom to come and go as she pleased in Vuthron than she had ever had hiding under the sands of the desert. Free was at home with her family, if the truth be known, but if she went back to her country of origin, home would not be where she ended up. If she tried to escape, she would end up less free.

Lyssia was beginning to realise that it was possible to be free and call yourself your own master, but to still be a slave to poverty and necessity. She was the property of another, yet - if she chose - she could experience every opportunity her new life had to offer. If not for her training with Girogis, her palms would already be losing their callused skin. She knew that such luxury was not affordable to every blood slave, some had to labour as well as offer up the toast to Taan, but she had a chance to help improve their circumstances. She could be their voice, and speak directly to the monarch. She would not be a mere whisper, either. She knew that she had real influence with the king, influence that she could not deny forever. She could help him re-shape the blood trade... if she ever lived to see the outside of this cell.

Chapter Fourteen

He was shaking, but now incendiary rage was overwhelming the gut-twisting fear. He had to be certain. It would not be beneath the giants to play a dastardly trick. He licked the scrap of parchment. The blood was almost completely dry, but it did not hinder him. He knew that taste, that perfect vintage, he would still know it after a thousand moons; it was Lyssia's blood.

Red seeped into the edges of his vision. The only thought he had was of raising every corpse in Vuthron and storming across the country to Morjay. The giants had Lyssia, and he would get her back. If they had harmed her, and the quantity of blood on the note suggested she was injured, he would kill every last bastard one of them. He would lay waste to their country and wipe the memory of them from all knowledge.

"Kav? Kav! Calm yourself. Listen to me. Hear my voice."

The noise barely penetrated his consciousness, but something of the tone wormed through. Only one man dared call him by such a nickname. Girogis' heavy palm landed on the back of Kavrazel's neck, the unforgiving grip forced him to pay heed.

"Yes," Girogis crooned, "That's it... feel it... Steady now. Steady."

The vice on his neck loosened minutely.

Kavrazel blinked. His vision cleared as his mind began to focus and sharpen. The room was more crowded than it had been. The stable lad was gone. Multha looked as murderous as Kavrazel felt. Shinu was standing just inside the doorway. The old man looked to be on the edge of hysteria. Tethva appeared to have made the event his business, and was inching closer. Kavrazel had no idea how the priest had heard of Lyssia's disappearance, but he had no patience for devout obsequiousness now.

"Perhaps a sacrifice might be in order. One might think it has been overdue. You should make an offering to ask that Taan keep us all safe." Tethva's voice was irritating, almost a wheedle.

"If we get her back whole and unharmed, I will sacrifice my own blood to Taan in your temple, but until then, that damnable capricious god had better show mercy to her."

"You blaspheme." Tethva was visibly scandalised. "She's not Vuthroan."

Kavrazel felt anger begin to boil again in the pit of his stomach. Girogis slapped his bear-like palm onto Kavrazel's shoulder, a reminder, a warning.

"Her blood makes his toast. Her blood is shed in his name; if that doesn't make her a child of Taan as much as me, then I don't know what does. We can't discriminate that way. If we see them as less than us, then how can we see their blood as worthy tribute?"

Tethva stood, arms akimbo, incensed, gaping like a landed fish.

Kavrazel made dismissive motion towards the door. "Now fuck off back to the temple, and pray that the giants don't provoke me to madness."

It took more moments than Kavrazel could stomach for Tethva to recover, and to obey his terse instructions, before leaving at the fastest waddle he could muster.

The cohort that helped Kavrazel to run Vuthron were assembled around the table, which was still overlaid with a map of his country. He placed the bloody note on top of the map, and pushed it forward with one fingertip, but he did not relinquish contact with it.

"The giants have infiltrated our country somehow. They have taken Lyssia, my personal blood slave. They think us ignorant. They think us weak. They have insulted us, too many times, and it will not stand. I want to meet with Illisrya. That bitch still hopes for a royal wedding, it's the only reason she hasn't invaded us yet. To do such a thing would be irrevocable, it would destroy every last hope of a union between our countries. She knows well my feelings on the matter, she knows I will refuse any offer she makes. Now she hopes to coerce my capitulation by taking something precious to me."

Zella, the officer with responsibility for overseeing laws and punishment, spoke up first. "With all due respect, your Majesty, she's only taken a slave."

The intensity of the look that Kavrazel turned to the woman forced her to take three steps backwards. The king made sure that all the men and women standing around the table benefitted from his harsh expression.

"Lyssia is not just a slave. Lyssia is a person. Lyssia is a woman under my protection. Lyssia is a member of my household. However she came to be here, she is now a resident of Vuthron. To treat her in this manner is a direct insult to each and every one us. Illisrya thinks us weak. Are we weak?"

A murmur rippled through the room.

"I asked," Kavrazel called out, "Are we weak?"

A chorus of responses rang out, all variations of "No" and "We are not." Multha and Otal were loudest amongst them. That Multha should be so vocal was hardly surprising, but that Otal should loudly claim such kinship heartened the king.

Zella had stepped forward once more. When the noise died down, she spoke up. "But you put yourself in danger to meet with the Queen of Giants. What is to stop her assassinating you?"

"Nothing," Kavrazel agreed. "But I shall meet with her in the Field of Tears."

"Why the Field of Tears?" Divna asked, "It is a barren place and completely exposed. There is no cover to be had there, no concealment."

Multha's dry chuckle broke the tension in the room. All eyes swivelled his way. "You canny bastard," he chortled, pointing at the king. "That's the site of the Battle of Nein." The commander was speaking of a battle deep in the history of the beginnings of the nation of Vuthron. "There's twenty thousand bodies in that earth, maybe more." The general's gaze turned intense. "You think you can raise that many old dead, on your own, without fresh blood?"

Kavrazel felt the explosive fury bubble once more, tinged with a razor edge of terror for Lyssia. His vision began to bleed to scarlet once more. "I know I can."

A gasp breathed through the room. Multha nodded. "Your aura pricks at my skin. I believe you. But you might want to rein your power in before you meet with that bitch queen. You wouldn't want to tip her off."

Kavrazel jerked his head in acknowledgment. "Set the meeting. I will see her before nightfall."

~o0o~

Illisrya had demurred and prevaricated until Kavrazel had been on the verge of invading Morjay on principle, so the meeting did not take place that night, but the next morning instead. Kavrazel had wanted the Queen of the Giants to be in no doubt that his intentions were honest, so he had asked only for two seats to be provided in the middle of the expanse of wasteland. It seemed the vegetation itself respected the tragedy that had occurred on the land; nothing but stubby scrub grass and the most coarse of low bushes grew there. The location worked well for Kavrazel as well; it would be difficult for Illisrya to hide her own forces if she had planned an attack.

A bitter wind sliced through the air, but simmering anger kept Kavrazel warm beneath his fur-lined cloak. He had arrived at the Field of Tears first - the better to keep hidden the broadsword concealed beneath the folds of wool and pelt - and had seated himself in one of the wooden chairs brought from his own dining table. Another chair, one that had been specially constructed for visiting giants although it was rarely used, sat facing him. His officers and commanders were arrayed behind him in a line, without weapons, and out of earshot.

Eventually, the giants arrived in a somewhat unruly mob, a larger group than the king had been expecting. He did not think it was possible that they had all arrived in Vuthron only recently. His scouts had been remiss in their duties and reports. He made a mental note for Multha and Zella to look into the matter. Kavrazel tried not to crane his neck as he scanned the commotion, but he could catch no glimpse of Lyssia. He hoped they had not left her behind; he needed to see her.

The immense, haughty figure of Illisrya emerged from the rabble. The Queen of Giants stalked towards the empty chair and took the seat without waiting for Kavrazel's invitation. He caught the scent of blood, of Lyssia's blood, on the wind. He was obsessed with her wellbeing, but it should not have been possible for him to detect her fragrance without seeing her or her blood, and yet he knew she was close. He was not comforted, he knew only a need for vengeance.

"You were most eager to meet with me, Kavrazel." The queen's voice was deep and mellow, fitting for her size.

"I think the eagerness was all on your part, Your Highness."

Illisrya cast a glance around the open prairie. "Why here? It is quite... bleak."

Kavrazel shrugged. "It is the equivalent of coming to you naked. You can see exactly who is here and where they are. There is no place for anyone to hide any weapons or soldiers. I believe in honesty, even when I do not receive it in return." He let his formerly polite expression turn cold and haughty. "You have something of mine."

"I have a proposal for you."

"I know. You wish there to be a union between our countries." Illisrya inclined her head by way of answer. "That will never happen," Kavrazel affirmed.

"You are so certain?" The queen waved her hand negligently at the ranks of mammoth men arrayed some distance behind her.

There was a rustle and a fumble, and the crowd parted. Two figures emerged, smaller than the rest by a large margin. They were dragging a third, equally small body between them. Kavrazel fought not to let his horror show on his features when he realised that the prone figure was Lyssia. He could scent her blood more strongly now, and he knew she must be badly injured. The figures that were hauling her across the tussocks were indistinguishable as men or women. They wore long, black cloaks, and their faces were covered by black masks in the effigies of skulls. No wonder the Vuthroans had been caught unawares; the giants had enlisted the Aelddean warriors to their side.

"I'll sink their island beneath the waves," Kavrazel muttered; evidently not quietly enough as Illisrya picked up on his oath.

"There's no need to be petulant. They have no personal vendetta against you. They did what I paid them to do."

The queen motioned until the cloaked figures brought Lyssia close enough that Kavrazel could see the blood matted into her hair, and clotted on her lip. She was close enough for him to hear her laboured, pained efforts to breathe. She had been beaten, and Taan only knew what else. Kavrazel fought to quell his rampant desire for blood, death, and revenge.

"You would not ensure the safety of your favoured slave by joining your country with mine?"

The words were ashes in Kavrazel's mouth, but he spoke them anyway. "I would not risk my country for a slave." And yet, that was exactly what he was doing.

Illisrya's smile was smug, and not a little evil. "I was hoping you'd say that." The queen snapped her fingers. A thunderous tramping filled the air. Kavrazel had no idea how the giants had managed to broach the shores of Vuthron, but they had brought an army. He had cleared their way for them; apart from the scouts - easily disposed of, he now realised - there had been no one left to carry any warning. The shambling ranks wore battered armour and carried enormous war axes. The giants did not bother with shields, trusting in their size and weight as defences. Almost all the male giants had beards that brushed their chests. Both genders decorated their hair with braids which were threaded with the skulls of their tiny victims.

Kavrazel knew his answering smile was cold and cruel. Illisrya thought she had won. She was wrong. He let the fury that had been building within him burn and grow and expand. He let it flood through his veins, until it beat in the muscle of his heart, until it was the very air that filled his lungs. He let it turn his vision crimson. He flexed that part of himself, like opening his fist, the part that connected him to the realm of the dead. He called on his subjects, and they rose to do his bidding.

The earth began to tremble, but not from the heavy thud of giants stamping. Secure in their size, the giants did not realise at first that anything was wrong. Not until the grass began to part under tumbling mounds of earth did they think to be afraid. Heads, hands, feet, knees; all began to emerge from the disturbed earth. Some components of the bodies had shifted around, and they drew to each other like magnets once they were free of the loam. Shambling corpses stumbled to their skeletal feet. A tidal wave of the dead amassed and advanced on the army of giants.