The Silent Enemy (12 page)

The Brythunian was quick of eye, too. “Darling Nermesa, you shouldn’t think such foolish thoughts! I’d hate to see that muscle torn apart by Soron’s claws and beak! He’d peel your armor off with one strong bite, taking most of your chest with it.” The woman smiled coyly. “I
have
seen it done before, of course, so I can say it all truthfully.”

He glanced at the bird, trying to gauge the distance the chain allowed. ‘ “Soron’?”

“A word from my native tongue. It means ‘king of the air,’ and isn’t he so? Soron is a Brythunian condor hawk, but the largest of his kind by far! I found that feeding him a good diet of fresh meat . . . a variety of meat . . . made him grow splendidly! He also is fed a potion first mixed by a Stygian sorcerer who came to my father’s castle! Not only does it help Soron to stay so large, but it keeps him eager and strong . . .”

She talked as if the creature were her child, a child fed human flesh. Nermesa could not hold back his disgust. “You make an abomination out of this bird!”

The whip suddenly uncoiled. Before Nermesa could react, it stung his cheek, leaving a long, crimson mark. Soron screeched and hopped about his huge perch, possibly believing that he was about to be fed. A bird so huge would have a voracious appetite.

“Careful, my lady,” Nermesa growled. “You don’t want him accidentally taking me for his supper! That would not do!”

Her expression briefly shifted to concern. “No, Wulfrim would not like that.”

Not for the first time, Nermesa noted that she spoke of the Gunderman as if
he
was the master, not Eduarco or her. “He needs to take me to the others, just as was done with Sir Prospero . . .”

The sinister coyness returned. “Now, my darling, we do not need to speak of Wulfrim or Sir Prospero! Surely we can find something more interesting with which to pass our time—”

What she intended to offer now, the Aquilonian would never know, for suddenly Eduarco returned, his face so red he looked feverish.

“Jenoa! Jenoa! There is a contingent of knights at the gates demanding entrance!” Eduarco gestured sharply at Nermesa. “In search of him! I’ve got the guards stalling them, but they seem very suspicious!”

His wife momentarily looked aghast but quickly recovered. “They are merely making a random search of the area! Leave it to Wulfrim! He will turn their attention elsewhere!”

“Wulfrim is still unconscious, thanks to the Aquilonian! He had to be dragged out of the knight’s room, which is half-burned and still reeks of smoke!”

Jenoa looked from her husband to Nermesa and back again. She even glanced at Soron, who had suddenly grown pensive.

“Kill him,” Eduarco abruptly declared, eyes suddenly dangerously narrow. “We don’t need this! Kill him!”

She shook her head. “Oh, yes, he’s needed. They’ll kill
us
if we fail them!” Jenoa considered. “Take those chains,” the woman commanded, pointing at a pile of metal that looked as if it still kept imprisoned the bones of one of Soron’s previous meals. “Bind him, then gag his mouth.”

Jenoa straightened, once again the seductress. “Keep him in the tower while I entertain our ‘guests.’ They shall leave without ever coming up here.”

“But they—” The Poitainian cut off his words under Jenoa’s fierce glare. He slipped around where the chains lay, then gingerly shook them free of their rotting contents. “As you say, my love.”

Nermesa could only imagine that the knights were led by Sir Gregorio or why would they be so adamant in their hunt for him. Still, while their presence offered him hope, it was very likely that Jenoa would keep them from searching the entire estate. They had no reason to believe that he was here.

Eduarco closed on the knight. “Please make this easier on yourself, Sir Nermesa . . .”

The knight prepared to leap at the noble, but suddenly Jenoa’s whip caught him again on the cheek. Nermesa felt another streak of blood. The whip was not barbed, but it did have small metal pieces sewn into the tip and Nermesa felt grateful that he had not lost an eye or had part of his nose torn off.

Soron screeched, but with a snap of the whip, Jenoa silenced the great raptor. To the Aquilonian, she murmured, “Stand completely still. You need to be alive, but not necessarily whole. It would take only a single word to Soron to make you less of a man . . .”

At that moment, the Brythunian’s narrowed green eyes looked as predatory as the avian’s brown ones. Nermesa glanced at the huge, scaled talons. With one set alone, Soron could envelop his head. Despite her claims that the bird could simply injure him, it seemed far more likely that once Soron had his prey, he would not give it up until there were but loose gobbets of flesh left.

“Turn to face the wall, please,” Lord Eduarco muttered. “And do hurry.”

As Nermesa obeyed, Lady Jenoa slipped past both. “I should not keep those darling men waiting any longer.”

“Shall I go with you?”

A snort of contempt preceded her answer. “You stay up here with him. I will tell them that you are in bed with illness and cannot be disturbed. You would be liable to show your fear and reveal the truth.”

Her husband nodded. “As you say, my love, as you say.”

Jenoa removed the robe. “I must be at my finest when I greet our stalwart knights,” she commented. One hand briefly grazed Nermesa’s unbloodied cheek. “Try not to miss me while I am gone, darling.”

The Black Dragon would have said something sharp, but Eduarco chose that moment to thrust a gag into his mouth.

Soron let out a small cry as his mistress left. With his captive better bound, Lord Eduarco became more brave. He shoved Nermesa toward the direction of the window. “Not a sound out of you!”

The chains were now hidden from his captor’s view. Nermesa tested them, but found the manacles strong. His eyes surveyed the room. Surely there had to be keys somewhere.

There! Across the chamber behind Soron. They hung on a peg on the wall, tantalizing Nermesa. He tried to measure the distance, seeing if there was some path by which he could avoid Soron’s insidious claws.

Jenoa had left her whip behind, and now Eduarco toyed with it. He snapped the whip toward the Aquilonian, laughing at what he thought was jumpiness on Nermesa’s part.

“You’ve a better fate awaiting you than most of her lovers,” the fat noble sneered. With the whip, he pointed at the bones. “That’s where most of them end up. She generally picks those who will not be missed. She was hoping to taste you at least, since she never got to taste that vain dolt, Prospero! No, Wulfrim’s masters had other plans for him . . .”

Under other circumstances, Nermesa would have paid more attention, but he had noticed that every time Eduarco swung the whip, Soron focused only on the Poitainian noble. The bird did not act as he had done with Jenoa; Soron did not like his mistress’s mate in the least.

Just a moment later, Eduarco revealed why. He turned toward the massive raptor and, to Nermesa’s surprise, snapped the whip within an inch of the creature’s face.

“Stupid beast!” hissed the man. “You should’ve taken him in your claws and bitten off his head when you had the chance!”

Soron squawked, and the leg chained to the post tugged hard.

This only made Lord Eduarco more furious. “Yes, you’d like to be free of that, wouldn’t you? But you’re not!”

This time, the whip caught the raptor on one wing. Nermesa’s eyes widened as he realized that his captor was
jealous
of the affection Jenoa had for the massive avian, jealous of that affection and the lust his bride had for other men.

Even if that affection more often than not led to her lovers’ horrific demises soon after.

“Damn Wulfrim and his plots,” snarled Eduarco to Soron. “I should let you feed after all!” Again, the whip licked the wing, this time taking from it a large feather.

The bird made a sudden lunge for Jenoa’s husband but came up short. Eduarco knew exactly where to stand to avoid even a breeze from Soron’s wings.

The Poitainian raised the whip again . . . and Nermesa threw himself in the direction of the window.

Eduarco’s obsession with the raptor caused both to react a moment slower. Soron moved first, the condor hawk leaping toward the knight.

But Nermesa did not simply run like a rabbit. Instead, inspired by the fire in his room, he leaned into his shoulder and charged into one of the great torch stands. Despite its strong design, under his mass it tipped over.

Flames rained down on the bird, which instinctively drew back. Eduarco, who had just been starting to laugh at what had first appeared a futile escape attempt, instead swore. Enraged, he whipped at Soron, urging the creature to go after Nermesa.

With a shriek, Soron dove as best as the chain allowed him. His claws scratched at the back of Nermesa’s breastplate and nearly snagged the chains binding the knight’s wrists.

Nermesa collided with another stand, sending more flames flying toward the raptor. Filled with a natural fear of fire, the bird spun about and tried to get as far away from them as possible.

However, Lord Eduarco was having none of that. “Go and feed, you damned bird! Tear his flesh from his bones!”

Clearly, Jenoa’s husband no longer cared a whit about what either his wife or the missing Wulfrim desired. The jealousy that he had hidden at the meal now consumed him entirely. He no doubt thought that he could blame Soron for the “accidental” death of their prisoner.

But in his desire to see Nermesa fed to the bird, Eduarco made one step forward too many. As he raised the whip, Soron let out a loud screech . . . and lunged at him.

From his vantage point, the Aquilonian caught a glimpse of his captor’s suddenly pale visage as the raptor seized the heavyset man. Eduarco let out a high-pitched scream.

Soron’s razor-sharp talons impaled the treacherous noble. Despite that, Eduarco did not die. His breath coming in harsh gasps, he tried frantically to push the bird’s talons from him. Unfortunately, Eduarco might as well have been trying to push a mountain away.

Soron’s beak thrust down. With one bite, he tore open the man’s chest, garments and all, instantly slaying his mistress’s husband.

With the bird momentarily distracted by his kill, Nermesa made it the rest of the way to the keys. Gingerly, he maneuvered his bound hands to where they hung, then struggled to get the proper key for his manacles.

Soron, his beak bloody, looked up. The raptor’s right eye faced Nermesa’s direction, and the knight knew enough about birds to understand that the giant was staring directly at him.

The first manacle clicked open.

Rising as much as the perch’s chain allowed, Soron dove for the Aquilonian. Nermesa did the only thing that he could think of, pushing over yet another stand. As the iron structure tumbled over, the raptor veered away.

Nermesa started working on the other manacle, but it would not open.

By now the raptor was as nervous about the flames as he was eager to take Nermesa. The knight shoved over one stand after another, all the while fighting to open the remaining manacle. Just ahead lay his sword, the only hope of defense he had against Soron should the giant overcome his fear.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the direction of the stairway. Lady Jenoa. Her face was no longer beautiful; the monstrous heart that beat within her beguiling chest now lay fully revealed in her expression. She was a harpy of legend, a witch out of the darkest tales of Nermesa’s youth.

Her first glance was toward her husband. “Fool! You could do nothing right! They could hear that something was wrong up there! I barely escaped ahead of them!” She looked up, finally seeing Nermesa. “But he was now correct about one thing; you cannot leave here alive!”

Jenoa picked up the whip with no regard for the limp form beside it. She shouted out a wordless command to the raptor, who seized upon her presence and calmed. Once more, the bird focused on Nermesa.

Soron lunged just as Bolontes’ son finally unlocked the second manacle. He threw the chain at the oncoming avian. The links were not nearly enough to harm the raptor, but caused the hunter’s aim to falter just enough. Instead of Nermesa’s head, Soron snatched only empty air.

“Taste his fine flesh, my pet!” cooed the Brythunian. “And then you can feast on that of his friends as well!”

Whether or not the Lady Jenoa was even more mad than her unlamented husband, Nermesa did indeed fear for Sir Gregorio and the other Poitainian knights. They would not be expecting so monstrous a menace and even as skilled as they were, some of them might be maimed or killed.

But at the moment, Nermesa could only worry about himself. He started for his sword, only to have the whip slash at his unprotected hand.

And as he pulled the bleeding limb back, talons raked his breastplate. Nermesa, his gag off, cried out as one needle-sharp point just briefly snagged his arm where it was unprotected. Fortunately, the wound proved very shallow, but it was a warning of what might yet come.

Soron’s mistress laughed at his plight, calling again on her beloved creature to attack.

Unable to get any nearer to his weapon, Nermesa instead ran back in the direction of the key peg. However, his flight was not panic, for as he ran, he used what strength remained in him to continue to bowl down one iron stand after another, spilling fire everywhere. Many of the flames doused quickly, but others blossomed to stronger life thanks to wood and even old bits of cloth.

The dried refuse left by Soron contributed most of all, the natural fuel causing a larger fire to quickly develop near the perch. The raptor once again grew frantic as he now sought to escape this new and imminent danger.

“Stop that! Stop that!” shouted Jenoa. The whip came flashing at Nermesa.

This time, he caught it. Pulling hard, the Aquilonian brought the golden-haired woman to him.

“You will help me to get out of this chamber,” he muttered in her ear.