Abendau's Heir (The Inheritance Trilogy Book 1) (32 page)

How long had he been here? He reckoned somewhere between half and a full day. His piss was cold underneath him, so it must have been hours since he’
d given in and crossed the first line from free to owned.

The door opened, light spilling in from the corridor, and he squinted against it. The person who entered was huge– bigger than Silom, even– sending fear spiralling into every corner of his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, and opened them again: not seeing was worse.

“Hurts?” said Beck. His footsteps echoed as he crossed to Kare, and there was the pinprick of another injection. How many had they given him now?

He kept his mouth closed, afraid that if he said anything, the dam protecting his mind might fail, and he’d keep going until he betrayed everyone he loved.

Beck put his hand on Kare’s head; it was warm against the newly shaved skin. Kare tried to move from under it, but Beck forced his head forward and down. Pain arced across Kare’
s shoulders, radiating through his arms and chest. He tensed, and the knots in his legs tightened. Another sharp push and he shrieked.

“I asked– did it hurt?” Beck’
s voice was low, menacing.

“Yes!” Kare’s arms strained against the back of the seat. He sucked in a breath. “It hurts.”

Beck let go, and his arm pulled back. Kare tried to move, but the blow knocked him to the side, sending pain shooting through him.

“It hurts,
Master
,” said Beck.

Kare shook his head, dizzy, and clenched his mouth closed. Beck laughed, low and rumbling. He walked to the door and Kare sucked in a deep breath of relief– he’d done it, held out against his demands. His torturer turned back with something in his hands.

“I came to give you some food.”

Food
. His arms would have to be released to eat. He waited as the guard went behind him, ready for the relief. Instead, hands clasped under his chin and pulled his head back. Something was put against his mouth and he clenched his jaw against it.

“Open.”

He tried to wrench his head away, but Beck held him firmly, forcing a thick tube into his mouth, so far that he gagged. Thick liquid, sour, burning his throat, poured in. He choked, but still more came, spilling out and down his neck and chest. Panicking, he fought, but his shackles were too tight, and the liquid only stopped when Beck took the tube away. Kare lifted his head and swallowed the last of it, hard. Beck moved in front and waited, a smile on his face.

“Water.” Beck lifted a jug and the panic came back, worse now, so basic and primeval Kare lost any sense of where he was, or what was happening to him, focused only on the need to get away. The chair rocked, pulling at his back and shoulders, and then settled. Effortlessly, Beck pushed his head back.

“No!” Kare fought, wrenching his head from side to side, adrenaline masking his pain, but another tube, this one narrowed, poured water
into his mouth and down his throat. He pushed against Beck but was held down and still it came. He swallowed and swallowed, great gulps of water, retching it back up and then gulping again until black dots danced in front of his eyes. He was drowning. No breath came, just water, gushing down, unstopped and unstoppable. Beck pulled him upright and waited as he retched, gasped air, and retched again.

“If you throw up, I’ll feed that to you, too.”

Kare swallowed the threatened bile and started to get the choking under control. He struggled against his chains; it was as effective as his last attempt.

Beck’s soft voice stopped him. “I know you, I know your thoughts.”

He stopped struggling and listened. It was important to listen.

“I’ve lived and breathed you for years,” Beck continued. “I’ve listened to the spies tell me about you. I’ve watched your captured soldiers break, in Omendegon, and sob out everything they knew about you. I interviewed Eevan le Payne for two days, and he told me you like to be in control, all the time. Well, you no longer have a choice about anything. Your life will be governed by me and if I want you to eat, you’ll eat. If I want you to sleep, you’ll sleep. If I want you to sit on a seat in agony, then that’s what you’ll do.”

He left, and the room plunged back into darkness. A wall of pain hit Kare, coming from everywhere– his muscles, his throat, his mouth– accompanied by his father’s pleas for mercy, as vivid now as when he was seven.
I can’t face it; I can’t.

***

Lichio sat, propped against the wall, his hands loosely shackled. The atmosphere in the main hold was muted. Guards carrying whips were interspersed amongst the prisoners, and armed guards were stationed at each of the doors. A walkway ran across the top of the room, overlooking the prisoners.

“I reckon we’re nearly in,” Lichio said. He had no clear idea how long he’d been held in this room, the lights never dimmed, his shackles only loosened for food and toilet breaks. At least a week, judging by Silom’s beard. Probably more. Given the size of the ship, and presumably its hyperspace capability, they could easily be near the Ceaton systems. “They changed drives.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and crash.” Silom, beside him, seemed composed but Lichio couldn’t decide if the big man really was less frightened or just better at hiding it. Whichever it was, he was right. A space crash would be quick; whatever lay ahead on Abendau wouldn’t be.

“How many of us do you reckon there are?” he said, wrenching his thoughts back to the present.

Silom looked around the hold. “A thousand?”

“Something like that, maybe a little less.”

Silence fell between them as a nearby Banned soldier squared up to a guard, who pulled out his whip and lashed the soldier, corralling him until more guards convened and shackled him tightly to the wall.

“That was pointless,” Lichio said. “I wonder if Sonly made it?”

“I don’t know.” Silom sounded frustrated; Lichio had asked more than once, as if it was a scab that had to be picked and picked at, until it went away. “I got her as far as the transports. Kym isn’t here, either. She'd have been fighting on the base.”

“I know. Maybe she made it, Silom.” Lichio paused. Something still wasn’t right. “Are you sure about the baby? It doesn’t make sense to kill her– surely she was what the Empress wanted.”

Silom scowled. “I’m sure: I heard the shot. I don’t think they realised who I was, or the baby.”

“Will you tell Kare?”

“If I can. He should know.” Silom’s eyes were bleak. His hands clenched. “Where the hell is he?”

There was no answer to that; Kare hadn’t been seen since Lichio had been taken onto the ship, and the giant guard with Kare had peeled away from the main group with him.

“Solitary?” How much worse would that be? Without Silom to talk to, he’d have gone mad with fear days ago. He glanced at the big man. “You know they tried to bring me in against him?”

Silom’s mouth dropped open. “When?”

“Just after Corun. What they offered me, Silom…” He looked up at the ceiling, not wanting to meet his eyes. “…I was tempted. Anyone would have been.”

“Not me.”

Lichio, remembering the day in the jungle, the sharp taste of desire in his mouth, shook his head. “Don’t be too sure. I went straight to Eevan and told him– I had to tell someone, so I couldn’t take it. Does that make sense?”

“I suppose.” Still, Silom scowled. “Were you really tempted?”

“Briefly. I wouldn’t be now.” He moved his hands, the chains clinking. “The thing is, if I’d despised him, I’d have been very tempted.” He bit his lip. “What if it was me who put Eevan onto it? What if this is my fault?”

Silom shook his head. “They’d have tried him at some stage, anyway. They’d have kept going until they found someone to sell Kare out.” He spat. “You’re sure about his powers?”

“Yes.”

“That’s hard to imagine.” Silom nudged Lichio and nodded to the door opposite them. “There he is.”

Lichio looked over and saw the guard first, before noticing Kare behind him, his arms tightly shackled behind his back, his head shaved. Silom started to get up.

“Sit down,” Lichio said, “and think. At least he doesn’t look hurt.”

Silom snorted his derision. “Look again, Lich; it isn’t always obvious.”

Lichio looked a little closer and he could see, now, the tight set of Kare’s jaw, the red marks on his neck and the darkening bruise on his jaw line. Kare cast exhausted eyes around the room, as if searching for someone, and stopped when he saw Silom. He paled even further.

“I’m going over,” Silom said. “He should know. If they want to beat me for telling him, then so be it.”

“It might not be you they punish. This isn’t the moment, Silom.”

Silom settled back, grudgingly, and the guard led Kare to the front of the room dominated by a pair of huge cargo doors. As they walked away, Lichio could see how tightly his arms were shackled, and the strain on his shoulders. The Banned men fell back as Kare passed, forming an unplanned honour guard for him.

“Why isn’t he fighting?” asked Silom. “They’d have to kill me before I’d submit.”

“And that’s going to help us, how? He knows this is about him, and he’s not going to fight; not your way, anyway.”

“So what will he do?” His eyes were focused on Kare, all his earlier composure gone. He looked the way he’d been when he first realised Kym wasn’t on board, like he was ready to crack. Lichio touched his arm, clumsy in his shackles. Silom nodded.

Lichio dropped his hands. “He’
ll do his best, Silom.”

The guards unshackled the restrained prisoners and called the others forward. The cargo doors opened, dwarfing Kare, who stood at their mouth, swaying. Lichio nodded at Silom and together they walked forward and stood either side of their colonel. What was left of the Banned army formed up. His brother had done this. He still couldn’t quite believe it.

When the cargo doors opened fully, Lichio stepped onto a raised walkway which stretched across to the palace of Abendau. He glanced over its low parapet, at a crowd gathered in the gardens below. Another crowd waited where the walkway opened out at the palace.
Quite the event
. The guards pushed him forward but he held back for a moment, not wanting to face the shouts and goading. A firmer push made him walk forwards.

Lichio didn’t look at the crowd, but focused on the entrance ahead, noticing how it was formed from a blend of old and new stone. It seemed to him a sign, telling them her empire was ageless. She was right: without Kare, there was no one else who could face her.

They reached the end of the walkway, and he shrank back from the crowd, glad of the guards’ protection. The crowd's spit still reached him, stinging his face. He reached to wipe it away, but stopped.
Kare can’t.
He looked again at his friend, saw how he faced the crowd, his face unmoving, his eyes looking ahead.
I’m a le Payne and need to be proud of it.
His dad would want him to
be. Still, he trembled as he passed, and cast his eyes down against their hatred.

He stepped into the entrance hall and his breath quickened when he saw the archway opposite, knowing it held the ancient castle of Abendau, around which she’d built her palace, and the path to Omendegon. He imagined himself being taken into its dark portal, and had an urge to run or fight. He glanced first at Silom, standing with his fists clenched, and then at Kare, who must be more frightened than anyone. Briefly, their eyes met and Kare visibly took a deep breath. With a nod, Lichio turned to face the archway, ready to be pushed into it. Instead, his focus was taken by the soft noise of the crowd sinking to their knees as if an invisible wave had swept over them. Kare’s guard forced a hiss of pain as he pulled on his arms and brought him to his knees.

“Give the order,” said the guard, “or I’ll lengthen the list of your people visiting Omendegon.”

“Kneel.” Kare’s voice was hoarse, but loud enough to carry through the hall. Lichio hesitated, everything in him wanting to resist, until Kare glared at him and he sank to his knees.

As he did, a weight smothered his thoughts. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades and he struggled to draw breath. He lifted his eyes to the balcony and saw, regal and imperious, the Empress, her face hard, untouchable. His fear turned to terror. Beside him, Kare gave a low moan and the Empress smiled as she swept her son’s mind. How bad must it feel: to know how to fight her, to have had the power to, but be unable.

Kare slumped forwards and the room waited in silence as they watched her dominance. His head stayed down, and Lichio held his breath, willing Kare to find his power and face her with it. A moment later, Kare pulled himself up and focused on her again, but he was pale and sweating, drawing on every strand of strength within him. Lichio switched his attention to the Empress, and his terror returned. He’d been a bloody fool to try and fight against this. She looked directly at him, and it was like she was seeing the very soul of him– everything that made him Lichio. He shook his head and turned back to Kare, his fear easing a little as he did.

“General Phelps,” said the Empress, and the man who had led her army stepped forward and kneeled. “You have brought me my prize, as you said you would. I congratulate you.”

The man visibly swelled with pride. “My Empress, I thank you.”

The Empress turned back to where her prisoners were waiting.

“Kare Varnon,” the Empress said. “Son of the famous rebel Ealyn.”

“Empress,” he acknowledged, his voice low and hoarse. Sweat ran down his forehead, into his eyes, and he was trembling under her stare but he was still, somehow, facing her.

“We've managed to remove you from your pseudo-kingdom, I see. Without your famous psyche, too. I command your fealty and if it’s given, and given honestly, I will grant clemency.”

Kare took his time. His breathing was heavy and loud in the quiet room, but he glared at his mother.

“No,” he said, his voice low, but steady. “I won’t.”

A sharp sound resonated through the room. Lichio closed his eyes, knowing what would– must– happen next.

“Omendegon,” the Empress said, and Lichio opened his eyes to see her turn and leave. The word echoed in his head, circling.