Wings (5 page)

suggestively.

Anyar stopped trying to fly, folding his wings back to half smother his assailant.

Immediately they dropped like two stones, and the Nazarian only laughed, refusing to

release him.

Anyar watched the ground coming up at him and wondered if death would be quick.

Surely it could not be worse than what his enemies had planned.

At the last moment, his tormenter tightened his grip upon him and opened his wings fully,

slowing their descent drastically, and only then, close to the ground, did he release Anyar.

He hit hard, crying out in pain, but the harsh blow was not enough to kill him, only send

him tumbling end over end. When at last he stopped against a stand of bushes, his mind dazed,

his body limp and stunned, he had no idea where was up or down.

A shadow fell over him, but before he could react, hands were on him, restraining.

He managed to get his eyes to focus, then widen as he saw the envoy approaching, dart in

hand.

“No!” he cried out, desperate, and began to struggle uselessly in the grip of two other

Nazarians.

He thrashed and twisted, even tried to bite the hands that held him, mindless panic making

thin whimpers escape his throat. They would take his wings—mutilate him.

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J. C. Owens

Hard hands took his head and held it to a solid body, imprisoning him, blinding him to

what was coming, like blindfolding a terrified horse. His tried to flail his wings, but held to the

ground as he was, they only flapped uselessly, impotently, in the dust.

A callused hand stroked his cheek, and he flinched violently away, struggling harder, then

finally collapsing with exhaustion, trembling.

“Sssh, little one. This will only hurt for a moment, and it is better you not damage yourself

in such rebellion as you have shown so far. This is gentler by far.”

Anyar snarled at that hated voice, and low laughter sounded in his ear as a prick made him

flinch again. Held tightly, he could do nothing but endure the stinging pain as some fluid entered

his body. At last the sharp object was withdrawn and the area rubbed hard; then his senses began

to swim.

The hands released him, but he could do nothing but lay there, blinking hazily. The envoy

leaned over him, smile possessive and frightening.

“Mine…” The whisper followed Anyar into darkness.

Vanyae felt blood pound in his veins with the successful recapture of the young Melanian.

It was all he could do not to simply flip the limp body over, tear the clothing off, and take the

boy right there. Every primal instinct he possessed wanted to lay claim right here, right now.

Trying to distract himself, knowing that he crouched over the motionless body like a

predator, wings mantled, he slowly rose to his feet, fighting his own body. Already his men had

collected the limp form of Tanyan, long since darted and recaptured.

He took a deep breath, staring down at Anyar, once again disturbed by the strength of his

attraction to this boy. “I hope you will soon learn, little Melanian, not to fight,” he whispered

softly.

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25

Chapter Three

Anyar woke abruptly, breath freezing in his lungs, eyes wide and startled.

His body ached unmercifully, and memories of his painful landing came in stark detail, but

it was soon evident that pain of the past was being overlaid by pain of the present.

He knelt, chained hands attached to the wall behind him, up and over his head, which

arched his body into a bow that made breathing difficult and his wrenched back quiver with

strain. His wings seemed to be bound against the wall also in some fashion, but he was only glad

they were still there and that his captors had not taken the opportunity to remove them.

He turned his head slowly, painfully, immediately worried about Tanyan's whereabouts,

and met the commander's eyes from across the small room.

The Melanian commander gave a small, encouraging smile, though his eyes were grim

with inner thoughts. He was not bound as Anyar was. His hands were chained before him, and

that chain attached to the wall so he could not reach his fellow prisoner.

Anyar's eyes darted about the room, his inner panic gradually subsiding as he realized they

were alone. “We are in Nazar.” His low tone held not question, but statement.

Tanyan nodded wearily, but before he could speak, footsteps sounded outside the heavy

door, and they both tensed as it swung open. Guards entered first, then the envoy who had

captured them, and then an older man who wore authority as naturally as a cloak about him.

There was silence as the older man ran his eyes over the Melanians, his gaze assessing,

eyes cold and calculating.

The look settled on Tanyan.

“Greetings, Commander Tanyan. I regret the manner of your visit here, but I doubt you

would have consented otherwise. We will get to know each other very well during your exile. I

am Veslan.”

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J. C. Owens

Anyar caught his breath and took in Tanyan's narrowed eyes.

No title, no further introduction than name, yet this was Nazar's king.

Tanyan met the king stare for stare. “What do you hope to achieve by this atrocity?” The

tone was calm enough but laced with iron.

Veslan raised a brow. “You are the heir to Melan. Did you think we would not find out?

Your king has never announced it, but he would no more give his kingdom into the hands of his

idiot son than give it to me.”

Anyar, taken aback by this news, shot a look at Tanyan. Certainly such a thing had never

filtered down to the wilds of Cewa, but then many things did not. But surely gossip would have

hinted…

Tanyan did not reply, but his lips thinned, neither confirming nor denying his enemy's

claim.

Veslan folded his arms over his chest. “Holding you gives us power over your country.

They will not move against us, knowing that they will lose you, the last chance of a good king

they have available.”

“You cannot conquer our country by such tactics. We will never surrender to you for the

sake of one man.” Tanyan's tone was pure ice.

Veslan smiled then, a frightening sight, sharp teeth gleaming. “Who said anything about

conquering?”

There was silence then, Tanyan frowning in confusion. “Why, then?”

“We tire of your country's predations on our borders and constant warfare we have no

interest in. All we desire is that you leave us alone.”

The disbelief that flashed across both Melanian faces was clear enough.

Veslan shrugged, unconcerned with their attitudes. “You will see; your people will see. I

care not for how this is done, only that it is. You will stay here with us for as long as need be. As

long as they stay on their side of the border, you will be safe. If they refuse to see sense, then

there
will
be a full-scale war. It is entirely their choice.”

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27

He turned away from Tanyan then, his eyes falling on Anyar with a far-different attitude.

The young guard felt himself trying to shrink back against the wall as the king loomed over him,

long fingers coming out to touch the black wings with fascination.

“You were right, my son. He is exquisite.” Callused warrior's fingers cupped Anyar's chin,

forced his face up so that the king could see deep into the golden eyes. “You are a lucky man,

Vanyae, and if you tire of him, I will gladly take him from you. He will be worth a small fortune

should you decide to sell him. It is a shame, though, to take his wings.”

The envoy, obviously the prince Vanyae, frowned and stepped forward, unobtrusively

setting himself between his father and Anyar. Laying his hand gently on the young Melanian's

head and ignoring Anyar's glare of hatred and his attempt to twist away from the touch of both

men, he answered, “I do not think I will tire of this one anytime soon.”

Tanyan rose to his feet with a
clank
of chain, his fists clenched. “He is my guard. My

responsibility. He is not to be harmed.”

Veslan released Anyar's chin and turned to face the enraged commander. “He is whatever

we say he is. Do not presume to test our patience with demands.” He gestured to one of the

guards by the door, and moments later a thin figure stumbled in the door to quickly kneel at

Veslan's feet. The king petted the dark head with a certain amount of fondness.

“Turn, my pet, and show them what you were.”

The man did so with the alacrity of a trained slave, and Tanyan took a step back, covering

his mouth with the back of one chained hand as he beheld the man's back.

Anyar let out the tiniest of sounds, whether pity for the wretch before him or fear for

himself was hard to say.

Two long scars ran down the man's shoulders, knotted tissue emphasizing the atrocity done

to him.

Anyar fought sickness, clamping his jaw shut against the urge to vomit at the thought of

what this poor man had gone through.

They had taken his wings!

Veslan bid the man to rise, turned him to face the Melanians. Running one hand down his

naked body, he lifted his shaft so that they could see that his testicles had also been removed.

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J. C. Owens

Anyar stared in horror, then looked up into the man's face. The eyes were empty of thought, dull

and docile.

Anyar shivered, then turned pleading eyes upon the prince. Vanyae's face was averted, as

though he also did not like the sight of the mutilated man. When he did turn back, he spoke

quietly to Anyar only and tilted his captive's face up to meet green eyes. “Do not fight, little one.

I will try to keep you whole. If you obey, you may placate him. If you rebel as this man did, you

will meet the same fate. Remember that.”

Tanyan glared at the Nazarians. “You barbaric bastards. Anyar is no slave. I will keep my

peace if you leave him with me.”

“You are in no position to make deals, Commander. You will behave, or Anyar will suffer

further. That is all you need understand.” Veslan jerked his head, and four guards came to release

Tanyan's chain. They took his arms and began to force him from the room.

Anyar felt panic take hold as he watched his last link to home being taken from him.

Tanyan fought the hands, casting an agonized look over his shoulder at Anyar; then he was gone,

and only the sound of his curses could be heard; then even those faded.

Anyar tried to prevent his fear from showing as he watched one of the guards take a cloth-

wrapped package to one of the tables, set it down, and uncover it with care. Still another

Nazarian came in, large tools in his hands.

Vanyae put up a restraining hand before his father could speak. “I will not have him

mutilated, Father. His wings are half his beauty. Shearing, yes; amputating, no.”

Veslan raised a brow but finally nodded, and one of the men unwrapped a pair of large

shears.

The young guard could not take his eyes off the shears, swallowing hard as they came

closer. Vanyae took his head and held it against him so Anyar could not see; then two other

guards stood up against his right wing, holding it tightly against the wall.

He began to tremble, despite his best efforts at control. Then he jerked in reflex as he felt a

faint tug at the end of his wing and the snip of the shears.

It was only then he realized what they were doing. They were cutting his flight feathers so

he could not escape.

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29

He screamed then, fought like a mad thing, though it was useless. Shattered utterly by the

thought of not being able to fly, he shamed himself by pleading with them.

“Please no, please—” The choked pleas did not sway them, and he flinched each time he

heard the shears, tears of horror and shock running down his face.

Vanyae petted his hair, whispering soothing sounds. “This is for the best, young one. You

will have more freedoms this way. They will grow out in a year or so.”

By the time they got to the left wing, Anyar could no longer fight, could only shudder,

trying to comprehend what this would mean. To be earthbound, trapped utterly, his one joy

stripped from him.

When they released him, he sagged against his bonds, head hanging, welcoming the pain

of his body, which distracted him from the agony of his thoughts.

When finely tooled boots came before his vision, he did not look up, only truly becoming

conscious of Vanyae as the prince began to speak softly, as though chanting some ceremonial

words. Gentle hands released his ankles from their bonds, only to snap something else in place.

Something was attached to his wings, he heard the
click
of them locking; then his hands were

finally released and cuffs placed over his wrists, light but strong.

Vanyae pulled him to his feet then, and he stood swaying, not even resisting when the

prince opened an ornate silver collar and placed it around his neck. Golden eyes met green as it

was locked shut.