WINDWEEPER (14 page)

"I don't know you."

"You
will
remember me, you little fuck!" the man screamed and spittle flew into Conar's face while a heavy fist jammed into Conar's gut. He doubled over the pain, his breath leaving him in a loud whoosh. "
Remember me, now?"

Conar shook his head, his knees weak as pain in his spine, ribs, and belly coursed through him.

"You don't?" came the sing-song whisper. Looking at his companions, the man threw back his greasy head and laughed. "But we've met before, Your Royal Little Shit. You recall where?" When Conar again shook his head, the man grabbed a handful of Conar's hair and jerked back his head. He placed his other heavily callused hand up to span Conar's arching, straining neck. "
Think!"

Conar looked into the guard's vicious eyes and vaguely remembered, but he couldn't recall where or when or under what circumstances.

"Take a good look, Highness!" the man spat. His grip around Conar's throat tightened, his thumb and forefinger pressing hard into the windpipe.

Conar tried to swallow but the constriction on his throat prevented him.

"Look at me, I told you!"

He saw a battered, hooked nose tipped slightly to one side. He estimated the man to be in his seventies, but the bullish strength in the man's hands contradicted that. Slick fading red hair covered the man's large skull and dipped down into muttonchop sideburns that curled under the chin, but didn't quite meet.

"I don't remember," he gasped, feeling the pressure tighten painfully on his windpipe.

"The hell you don't! That bitch wife of yours killed two good men that day at the Hound and Stag and you wanted me sent to the Labyrinth, but the Tribunal sent me to Ghurn, instead. Remember
that
, Highness?" he screeched. "I asked for mercy and you showed me none!" The fingers crushed his windpipe. "You fucked with me, and now you're gonna pay!"

"Beat him, Kullen!" one man yelled.

"Aye! Work him over good!"

"Mess up that pretty face of his!"

Kullen glanced behind him. He saw a man standing in the archway of the tunnel leading to the outside.

"Milord?" Kullen asked. "What'll it be?"

Thin lips raised into a vicious, retaliatory smile before soft, lovely words came to Kullen's ear. "Hurt him."

Kullen turned back to Conar. "My pleasure, Your Grace."

From his place in the archway, Prince Galen McGregor, Conar's twin, the man employing this group of bullies, stood with his arms folded over his chest and watched.

* * *

"Where the hell have you been?" Legion growled as he glared at Brelan.

Saur, Chand Wynth, and Sentian Heil had just entered the cavern.

"I got cold-cocked in Conar's bedroom," Brelan snapped.

From his place beside Legion A'Lex, Teal du Mer, glanced at Brelan's furious face. "Someone hit you?"

Brelan's lip curled. "I didn't knock myself out, asshole!"

Legion struggled to his feet, wincing as pain lashed through his head. "Where's Conar?"

"How the hell should I know? Didn't you catch him?" Brelan saw Legion wobble. "What's wrong with you?"

Du Mer stood, also. He had been sitting on a rock beside Legion. "I found him lying here. They must have found Conar while he was unconscious."

Chandling Wynth, youngest Prince of Oceania and brother-in-law to Conar McGregor, glanced at the ground near the Grotto's pool where the sand was swirled. He bent down and his face turned white.

"There's blood everywhere!" He looked at Brelan. "What did they do to him?"

"Beat the shit out of him," Legion snapped and had to sit down, for his head was spinning.

Sentian turned vicious eyes at Legion. "If you hadn't sent me off on a wild goose chase—"

"You couldn't have stood up to twelve men, Heil," Legion said, wearily.

"Maybe not, but I'd have died trying!"

"Where'd they take him?" Chand asked.

"To the Interrogation Facility of the Tribunal Hall," Hern Arbra snapped as he thundered through the outside tunnel. "You were supposed to be protecting his back, A'Lex! What happened?"

Legion's head snapped up. A groan parted his lips, but he quelled the pain and nausea. "We've got to get him out of there."

Brelan shook his head. "They never let anyone in to see prisoners."

"
I'll
see him," Legion shot back.

"You won't," Hern shouted. "I've already tried!"

"And?"

"No one is allowed in there." His blunt features turned hard as stone. "Not even the King, they told me."

"Why not?" Sentian asked. "What don't they want us to know?"

"It's what they don't want you to see," Brelan countered.

"What do you mean?" Chand asked. "What are they doing?"

Brelan turned an exasperated expression to the young Prince. "What do
you
think they do to prisoners in there, Wynth?"

"They can't torture Conar," Teal reminded him. "He's royalty."

Brelan spat. "He's been disinherited! Or did you conveniently forget that?"

"But they have no reason to torture Conar!" Chand cried.

"They don't need a reason," Brelan snarled.

"But why?"

"For his confession, fool!"

"He's innocent. He won't sign a confession to something he didn't do," Sentian corrected.

"A lot of innocent men have swung from the scaffolding, Heil," Brelan reminded him.

"They could hang Conar?" Chand whispered.

"They could," Brelan answered.

"No, they can't!" Teal took a step toward Saur and glared into the man's face. "I may not know much of anything else, but I do know Serenian law! I've had to learn it over the years. They can't hang royalty or they would have hung my brother, Roget!"

"He's been disinherited!" Brelan bellowed.

"It doesn't matter! He was born royalty; he was christened royalty; he was raised royalty! You and me"—Teal pointed to himself and Brelan Saur—"we can be hanged, and probably will be one day! But they can't hang Conar!" Dark lines of fury mottled his gypsy complexion. "But they can tie him to the whipping post and you can bet your last copper piece they will!"

"That's enough!" Legion yelled. "Arguing about this won't help Conar."

"What do we do now?" Sentian inquired as he looked at Legion A'Lex, the man he blamed for Conar's predicament.

Legion shook his head, and wished he hadn't. "What do you think, Brelan?"

Saur was staring at several splatters of blood on the wall beside him. The sight of it turned his stomach. It also made him furious, furious with Conar, with himself, at the fates that brought them all to this sorry pass.

"Brelan?"

Saur winced. A shiny white object lay on the glistening sand. He bent over, ignoring his name a second time, and picked up a shattered tooth.

"Brelan?" Legion asked for the third time.

Against the dark tan of his flesh, the enamel was very white, although the broken edge was tinted with a bit of pale yellow dentin. It was a front tooth, perhaps an incisor. There wasn't much of it, but there was enough.

"Damn it, Brelan! Are you listening?"

He raised his head and stared into Legion's face. He tossed the tooth in the air, caught it and closed his fingers around it. "We can't do a damned thing to help him."

Hern's voice was sharp, filled with hatred for the man who had just spoken. "So we just let them have him, is that it? Let them torture the boy?"

Brelan swung toward the man. "What do you suggest, Arbra?"

"We could gather some men, storm the Tribunal Hall," Sentian suggested. "We could take him out and…"

Saur pointed his finger at Heil. "Aye, you do that, Sentian! And while you're at it, you'd better have someone building his casket. Because before you and your men get even a third of the way inside the Interrogation Facilities, the guards will have looped a noose around his neck and hung him in his cell. They'll swear before gods and men that Conar killed himself rather than be brought before the Tribunal to be condemned as a traitor!"

Sentian took Hern's arm. "We can use the stones to…" Sentian began.

"Shut your mouth, Heil!" Brelan narrowed his eyes in warning. "You got away with that once, but you can bet they know who you are now. They will be expecting you."

Hern blinked. "How the hell do you know what we did?"

"Elizabeth told me!"

Hern exchanged a look with Sentian. "He may be right."

"There has to be something we can do!" Chand shouted, his hands in his hair. "We just can't leave him there!"

Brelan pocketed the tooth. "What choice do we have? Conar can't be touched, now!"

Kaileel Tohre's hands were folded inside the sleeves of his blood-red robe. He sat with his bare feet crossed at the ankles, a pleasant smile on his thin lips, his pale blue eyes twinkling with humor. He waited patiently for the members of the Synod of Justice to grant him an audience.

He looked around the opulent reception room, taking in the gilt furniture, the plush carpets, the silken tapestries, the heavy oak paneling and satin-covered chairs. He glanced with distaste at the royal coat of arms hanging over the marble fireplace at the far end of the room and his nostrils quivered with loathing. By all that was right, he should have been born to the purple.

If King Thiels had but only recognized him as his son…

The door into the Tribunal Hall of Justice opened.

"The Synod will see you now, Your Eminence," one of the acolytes said in a hushed, respectful voice, bowing as Tohre stood.

Inclining his head to the men sitting at the black, crescent-shaped table, Tohre took his place in the chair before the Synod. Adjusting the folds of his robe around him, he laid calm hands on the chair arms and waited until the guards and acolytes closed the door behind them, leaving the five members of the Synod and Tohre alone.

Kaileel smiled.

"At long last," Tolkan Coure breathed.

"But nevertheless, done, Your Holiness," Tohre answered.

"You have not questioned him, as yet?" one of the Synod members politely inquired.

"No, Your Honor. Not without your official sanction."

One of the four men who flanked Tolkan stood and offered a rolled parchment to Tohre. "We believe you will find this all the authority you will need, Brother Tohre."

With eager hands, Kaileel accepted the parchment. His heart beat with hard pumps as he eased the ribbon encircling the missive. He broke the black wax seal, unrolled the parchment, and scanned the contents. He searched expectantly for the one phrase he had been waiting to see. When he spied the sentence, he took in a deep, satisfying breath.

"We trust this meets with your approval, Tohre?" Tolkan asked.

"It is more than I had dared hope for, Holiness."

Tolkan grinned. "We are happy to see you pleased with our labors. We searched long and hard through the Tomes of Law until we found just the right precedent. There, written by our ancestors, were the examples we needed to see this thing done to our satisfaction. To see it finished."

"It was an unexpected stroke of good fortune that our King had his son declared a commoner, wouldn't you say, Brother Kaileel?" another Synod member asked.

Chuckling softly to himself, Kaileel rolled up the parchment, slipped the ribbon around it, and hid it in the folds of his robe. "It was indeed fortuitous, Your Honor."

Tolkan smiled ."Should you not be about your business, now, Kaileel?"

Kaileel stood and bowed. "I do have things to see to, Holiness."

A Synodist chuckled. "Do them well, Tohre."

"I will do my very best, Your Honor!"

* * *

Light snow fell against the windowpanes, sticking, melting, making the faintest of clicking sounds as they gathered against the glass. The air was chill and damp, and the room smelled sharply of creosote from the fireplace. There had been a cheerful fire burning in the grate, but it had been allowed to die, the coals still sizzling and popping, red-tinged. Otherwise, the room was dark except for the burning candle that stood beside Liza's bed.

Legion stomped angrily to the fireplace and stirred the coals to life, adding a log to the glowing mass.

"Dixon!" he bellowed. "Who let this fire go out?"

Liza sighed. She knew he needed someone on whom to vent his frustration, so she kept silent as she sat on her bed and pulled her shawl around her shoulders. She was tired, bone-tired, and had a headache that continued to plague her. She rubbed at her temple with a cool hand.

Finally getting the fire to blaze as he wanted, Legion turned to make another waspish remark, but seeing the tired droop of Liza's shoulders, he silently cursed the ill fate that had brought them to this point.

"I am all right, Legion," she told him, aware of his look.

His face flushed; he looked away. Would he ever get used to this woman's uncanny insight into his heart? He warmed his hands before the fire. "You should rest, Liza."

"I will."

"Soon."

"As soon as you do, Milord. Was it worse than usual?"

Legion shrugged, feeling her gaze on him. "They still wouldn't let me see him. They said we had to wait until the trial. That's supposed to be at the end of the week unless they postpone it—again."

Her lips trembled. "Legion, hold me."

Turning, he saw the tears glistening and hurried to her. He sat beside her and gathered her in his arms. He felt her quivering body, heard the soft sobs, and wished there was something he could do to ease her pain.

"You know my powers, Legion," she whispered against his shirt. "You know something of what Conar's mother was capable. I have had no success in being able to go to him. They have blocked me at every turn. I should be able to at least see him, but even that is being stopped."

"I know." It was all he could say. He had done everything he could to find out how Conar was doing, where they had him in the Interrogation Facility. He was fairly certain he had been taken to the one of the punishment cells, but no one could, or would, tell him for sure. Access to those cells was denied to everyone except the Chief Inquisitor and his assistants.

"With you unconscious, Legion, they could have done anything to him! He wouldn't have been able to protect himself because of his grief. Nadia's death would have had the same devastating effect on his powers as it did on mine."

Legion could only nod.

"Such grief numbs you, Legion, numbs your powers. It temporarily halts any flow of energy." She pulled back and looked into his eyes. "It hinders you from using your gift."

"Aye, love. I know."

"And if he's somewhere where there are walls of iron, where his magic is useless, where he can't call to me…"

He wouldn't let her finish. "You can't go on blaming yourself for not being able to help him." He stroked her cheek. "He'll be fine, Liza. You'll see."

"I am so afraid for him." Her breath caught in her throat; her sobbing became uncontrollable.

"So am I, dearling. So am I."

* * *

A single ray of early morning light fell through the barred windows of the holding cell and wove a criss-crossed pattern of shadow and light on the stone floor. The rest of the cell was black, hidden in darkness. The beam of light, flooded with motes of dust, cascaded down from the ceiling.

In the center of the square of light knelt a man.

His hands were behind his back, a length of rope tightly tied around his wrists, and his arms pressed painfully close at the elbows. He was bent over from the pull of the rope that ran above his head to an iron bar in the low ceiling. The strain on his arms was excruciating.

Lank, blond hair fell around his face, over his forehead. His face was pinched in agony, his breathing labored. Small whimpers escaped his parched throat through lips so swollen they could barely open. His cracked ribs grated with every breath.

He couldn't see the light, for his eyes were swollen shut, or even feel what little warmth it afforded him. He did, however, feel the moistness of his urine, for he knelt in it. The smell made him sick to his stomach, but the gag covering his mouth prevented him from even thinking of vomiting.

He hurt in a hundred different places, bled in a dozen more. Thrusting his tongue against his chipped front tooth, he winced, feeling the exposed nerve, then swallowed painfully against the deep bruises along his throat. His palms stung with burning pain that snaked up his arms to coalesce in his armpits.

"Aren't you a sight, Milord Conar?" Someone chuckled. The bars of his cell rattled. "I don't suppose you will be tempting any servant girls anytime soon."

He tried to blot out the taunting laughter, tried to shut out the sounds of the funeral bells tolling outside the prison.

They were burying his daughter.

He wished with all his heart Tymothy Kullen had killed him.

* * *

It was almost dawn of the sixth day after Conar's capture that his father finally awoke, coming to himself with clarity. He saw his daughter-in-law fitfully sleeping in the chair beside his bed. Tenderness filled his face. With an unsteady hand, he stroked her arm.

Liza came immediately awake. She saw his faded blue eyes, untouched by the ragging fever that had gripped him. "You are better!"

Gerren smiled as she came to hover over him, to run her hand over his cool flesh. "I'll live," he teased, "no thanks to whoever meant to see that I didn't." He saw her face darken and knew before even being told. "How long has he been in their custody?"

"This is the sixth day, Papa." She sat on his bed and took his hand, brought it to her cheek. "He didn't have any part in what was done to you."

Gerren nodded, his guilt riding him like a cruel master. "I know." Tears formed. "Nadia?"

Liza's head fell. "We buried her five days ago."

"I am sorry, dearling."

"It is your son you should worry about."

He ran a weak hand through his faded blond hair. "You are right. Find Legion for me. Is Brelan still here?" At her nod, he took a deep breath. "Get him, as well. Tell them I must know what the Tribunal has done with my son." He pushed himself up, wincing from his wounds.

"Lie still!" she warned, alarmed at his sudden pallor.

"If you want your husband seen to, Liza, I must make the Tribunal know I will stand behind him. I will not let them punish my boy for something he has not done."

"They have already denied Hern, Legion and Cayn access to him. They say he's guilty. They mean to try him soon, but the verdict has already been handed down."

The King's heart felt heavy. He had a made a horrible, horrible error. In the pique of anger he had disinherited his son. Now, the Tribunal could turn that against Conar and question him as they would a commoner. They might have already done so.

"Listen, girl. Men who wore the insignia and uniform of Conar's Elite attacked me. They told me he had ordered my death, but apparently hit no vital organs else I wouldn't be here speaking with you. Men intent on the kill make sure they do just that. Whoever was responsible for the attack meant for me to survive. They also wanted Conar to take the blame." The king squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the coverlet in his fist. "I made a terrible, terrible mistake, Liza. And Grandfather is very angry at me."

Liza's forehead crinkled. "Grandfather?"

Gerren sighed heavily. "Alel, our Maker. He is furious at what I have done." He looked at his daughter-in-law with such heartrending sadness, she felt tears forming in her eyes.

"You were angry."

"Alel made me see that what Conar did to protect you had been predestined long before either of you were born." Gerren took a ragged breath. "It was a trial Conar had to go through and I made it harder for him."

"He will understand, Papa."

"He is my son," Gerren said firmly. "I can not undo what I have done, but I can let Tohre and that filthy bunch know I will not countenance them hurting my boy!"