Path of Honor (41 page)

Soka swallowed, powerless to look away from the pulpy mass inside the cage.

“How long?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“A month.”

Soka turned and retched. A month to reduce a man to
that
.

“
You
are a reasonable man, Soka. I have no doubt. And now we must talk.”

Soka’s mouth tasted like rotted meat and spoiled eggs. His legs were rubbery, and he swayed and weaved as he followed Aare out of the chamber. The guards on either side said nothing, merely prodding him back to the middle of the passage when he stumbled too wide. They went up a steep flight of steps into a more inhabited part of the building. Suits of armor stood at attention down the corridor, and in between, arras depicted bloody battles. Swords, axes, maces and other weapons completed the decorations. Soka briefly thought of yanking a broadsword from its rack and thought the better of it. He wasn’t ready for suicide yet. Or he would instantly find himself back in the chamber they’d just left. The bloody, pulpy mass named Kedriles filled his vision, and he held his arms close at his sides.

They stopped at another door. Again Aare opened it and motioned Soka to enter. He did so slowly, suspicion stiffening his limbs. The room was dominated by an enormous bed. The bedclothes were made of velvet and silk and hung with swathes of gauze. A fire crackled cheerily in the hearth, and before it stood a copper tub, the water inside steaming. In the opposite corner stood a table laden with all variety of breads, meats, vegetables, sauces and sweets. An array of wines and liquors crowded a sideboard. Aare poured two glasses of a dry white wine, handing one to Soka.

Soka gulped it down in one swallow, turning bemusedly in a circle.

Aare chuckled unpleasantly and sat. “And now you see your choices, my dear Soka. This, and the naked beauties waiting in the boudoir to wash and serve you. Or Kedriles. You must decide quickly. I am made Regent this afternoon, and I mean to be Iisand before long. Kodu Riik can no longer bobble idly in the waves, uncaptained. We verge on disaster, and without a strong hand at the helm, we will surely be destroyed. The Lord Marshal must be brought to heel. I had meant to use his son, but you will serve as well.”

“What do you want?”

“A spy, my dear Soka. A spy. Surely you’ve sorted that out already. The Lord Marshal and I shall soon share equal power. We are in a governing deadlock—he has as much support in the tiers as I. But I do not wish to kill him. He is the best strategist and tactician in Kodu Riik. Once I am Iisand, he will serve me as loyally as he served my father. I know this. He knows this, which is why he will fight me every inch of the way. I want you to discover his plots, his weaknesses. It should be easy. Metyein trusts you. He’s searched all of Koduteel for you since you disappeared and has not yet given up.”

“And if I do not?”

He lifted a pale hand, palm up. “Kedriles.” He smiled at the revulsion Soka couldn’t hide. “And I shall be forced to pursue Metyein as I originally planned. He is not so pragmatic as you, however. I can’t imagine he will cooperate.”

Soka covered his mouth with a shaking hand. Now the vision of Kedriles’s ruined body held Metyein’s face.

“I shall give you time to consider,” Aare said with a knowing smile. He pointed to a door next to the bed. “Your companions will perhaps ease the difficulty of your decision.” And with that he departed.

The door beside the bed now swung open, and Soka stared as three voluptuous young women wiggled into view. They wore little but scarves held on by sparkling, gem-crusted chains. The thin material hid nothing. They crowded around him, wrinkling their noses at his ripe odor. Quickly they stripped away his rags and urged him into the bathtub.

After that, Soka hardly had a coherent moment. They washed him, shaved him, and fed him, kissing and fondling him all the while. Their lips were soft and hungry, their bodies warm and wet. He rolled on the bed with them, now on top, now below, now between, clutching plump, ripe flesh, ecstasy taking him over the edge again and again.

He was driven by a demanding sense of urgency. He didn’t know how long it could last, how long before Aare dragged him back to his cell, or back to the torture chambers. He rose to every occasion, the women marveling at his stamina. But it wasn’t stamina. It was desperation. With every passing moment, he was more sure of what he had to do.

At last the door was flung open, his idyll over. Soka was lying beneath the mound of squirming women, his mouth clamped to a breast, his manhood sheathed in silky wet flesh. He pumped his hips, unwilling to let Aare interrupt, and felt himself release. He sat up, tongue tangling in the redhead’s mouth, watching Aare as he poured himself another drink, lifting it in Soka’s direction.

Soka reluctantly let go and slid off the bed, panting, sweat shining on his face and chest. The three young women disappeared into the room beyond, and he fought the urge to follow, to find a place to hide.

Aare handed him a drink. When Soka had swallowed it, Aare fixed him with a sharp stare. “Now you have had a taste of freedom. What is your choice?”

Soka’s throat closed. He opened his mouth and then clamped it shut.

“I told you, I have no time to delay. I’ll ask you once more. What is your choice?”

Soka licked his lips and closed his eyes. He jerked his head. “I’ll do it.”

“You are a sensible man.” Aare’s voice was thick with triumph. His next words chilled Soka. “But I would have you remember the consequences of betrayal.” He motioned toward the corridor. A brown-robed figure entered, carrying a leather case. Soka made a choking sound and took a step back. Aare smiled knowingly.

They laid him faceup on the bed. The air seemed cold, and gooseflesh prickled Soka from head to toe.

“We can’t leave scars or Metyein will have questions. But there are other ways to make my point. Obey Elas, or it shall go the worse for you. I shall return for you after the Regency ceremony.”

Aare left then. The brown-robed man smiled disarmingly and dribbled a few drops of something on Soka’s lips. It tasted sweet, and he swallowed uneasily. In only a few seconds, he found he couldn’t move. He made a sound in the back of his throat, a sound that should have been a scream but was merely a creaking whuffle.

“Don’t worry. You can’t move, but you will feel everything I do. It will wear off in a few hours. A toxin. Comes from a tiny sea snail,” Elas explained. “You ought to be able to breathe well enough, and your heart should hold up.”

Soka tried to move, to struggle. His breathing sped up, and he felt himself beginning to black out.

“Easy now. Try to calm yourself. The Verit was quite specific. If you pass out, I must stop and begin again. It is in your best interests to stay awake.”

And then began an ordeal like Soka had never before suffered. It would haunt him the rest of his life. The torturer applied an assortment of foul liquids and creams using brushes and sticks. Each one was worse the last. He moved from Soka’s feet to his thighs, from his shoulders to his waist, finishing with his genitals. By then the silent screams reverberated inside Soka’s skull, but he could do nothing but lie there and allow the torturer to minister his poisons to him. And
feel
.

The first touch on his balls was a caress, cool and sweet. And then it began to grow hot until he thought the skin must be blistering and peeling away. Then another and another. Then Elas spread his legs and began to probe. Lastly Elas moved to Soka’s penis. He spread something around the tip, and an unmerciful itching began to gnaw, chewing up into his innards. And then jagged, ripping pain. Like steel screws twisting into his groin, to his bladder, to his bowels. Tears streamed from his eyes, and drool pooled in his mouth. He gagged and his stomach heaved. Elas turned Soka’s head to the side and stuck a bony finger between his teeth to open his jaws.

“Happens. Too bad. You had a lovely meal. Shame to lose it so.”

And then Elas continued his work. Soka wanted nothing more than to die, to slide into oblivion. But his mind wouldn’t let go of the world, of the agony.

It went on and on and on. After a while, the pain grew so excruciating that Soka’s mind fragmented, the pieces drifting apart. He began to hallucinate, vicious monsters tearing out his entrails, women raking needle-sharp nails through his flesh, Aare licking him with a tongue of metal spikes. And then he drifted further from the pain, away and away. There was his father tossing Soka’s bloody eye in hand, up and down, up and down. And there was Metyein. Memories rolled over Soka. A childhood of shared pranks, of secrets and adventures. And then Metyein with his blood dripping into the snow, arrows pricking from his thigh and side.

And then it all melted together, and there was nothing but glass-edged waves that rose and fell and shredded his flesh in between.

 

“Ah, it begins to pass.”

Soka blinked, his eyes dry and crusted. He licked his lips, faintly surprised that he could move. He told himself to sit up. After two or three tries, he managed to do so. He glanced down at himself, expecting to see horrendous damage, but his flesh was whole.

“You’ll want another bath. And there are some fresh clothes. You will tell Metyein that you were held captive in the city. You never saw their faces; they wore masks. They spoke rarely and never to tell you what they wanted. They healed you, but kept you drugged and locked in a basement from which you just escaped. Today has been a good day to make escapes,” Aare added in a quiet, lethal tone, and Soka jerked his head up warily. But the Verit—no, the Regent, Soka remembered, seeing the chain of office around Aare’s neck—was not looking at him but at the swirling glass of brandy he held in his fingers. He wondered who had slipped the Regent’s leash.

“You will make Metyein believe you. If you fail, you know the consequences.” He pointed to Elas’s black case still open on a table with its vials and jars. “Then you will begin spying on the Lord Marshal and report his activities to me. I will not give you a schedule. You must not take chances of getting caught. But do not overtask my patience.”

Soka pulled a sheet across his thighs, reaching for a half-drunk glass of wine to moisten his parched throat and clear the foul taste from his tongue.

“What is it I should be looking for?”

“I want to know everything. I’ll decide what is important.” Aare stood. “Clean yourself of Elas’s ministrations, but I suggest you roll in a pile of manure before seeing Metyein. You wouldn’t want him to become suspicious. When you’re ready, a guard will show you the way out. Enjoy your freedom, Soka. Take care of yourself and your friend.”

He closed the door, and Soka reached for the bottle of brandy, pouring it down his throat. His movements were stiff, ungainly. The drug had not yet worn off. He stepped into the chilled waters of the tub, still dirty from his previous bath, and scrubbed at his skin with a rough sponge. Then he dressed in clothes that were little better than rags. He checked himself in the polished metal mirror and nodded. It was time. Metyein was waiting. He went to the door.

“Lady help me,” he murmured, and then walked out of his prison.

T
he news of the Regency ceremony had gone out swiftly, and now the palace grounds swarmed with carriages and horses. The receiving rooms groaned at the seams. No one wanted to be left out, and no one wanted to be suspected of snubbing the new Regent by not attending. Even Kebonsat and his retinue had been summoned to celebrate. All the
ahalad-kaaslane
in Koduteel had turned out, though each knew the Regent would not welcome them in return. All the
ahalad-kaaslane
, that is, but for Reisil, Sodur, Juhrnus and Yohuac.

The afternoon was breezy. Puffy white clouds scudded across the sapphire sky. The group of four had assembled in Tirpalema’s stable yard, where Indigo stood saddled and ready. The gelding pawed the ground and thrust his nose under Reisil’s arm.

Reisil glanced at her companions, who wore their court finery beneath billowing cloaks. “You’d better get back. You’ll be missed.”

Juhrnus stepped forward, handing her a bulging pouch the size of her palm and pulling her into a rough hug. “Bright journey. And don’t be long.”

“And you be careful. Whatever you and Metyein are up to—remember, the Regent is watching.”

Sodur took her hand. He still had that cunning, sideways look that reminded her of a crow. But he had given her a map to the valley where he thought the wizards’ stronghold was. He squinted against the sunlight, the corners of his eyes damp.

Reisil grasped his forearm in a firm grip and then pulled him close. “Wish me luck.”

“I do. I believe in you. I always have.” He pulled back, giving her a long, meaningful look that Reisil could not interpret. He touched a finger to the chain holding the Lady’s amulet. “Don’t forget your true path.” She nodded and turned to Yohuac, her throat tight. She wondered if she’d ever see any of them again. She took the arm he proferred, grasping it firmly. “When do you expect Baku?”

Yohuac frowned. “He has gone looking for magic. It sparks in your land where he did not see it before. Some very old, some new. He wonders why.”

Reisil felt chill fingers stroke her heart. “That’s easy enough. Another sign the Lady’s withdrawn,” she said. Then she shook herself and gave Yohuac a thin smile. “Take care of yourself. I’ll send word when I know something.”

“Remember my promise. I won’t sit idly by.”

“I won’t forget.” She tucked the pouch Juhrnus had given her into her saddlebags and swung astride Indigo. She tossed Saljane up into the air.

“Be careful,” Juhrnus said.

“You be careful. The Regent will come hunting the
ahalad-kaaslane
soon,” she said, and then clucked to Indigo. They trotted under the archway and into the street.

 

Juhrnus gazed after Reisil. “I hope this is the right thing. If I were the wizards, I wouldn’t look too kindly on her.”