Moons of Carnathia, page 8
“Would you like to know where most men start?” asked Iathia.
She moved in closer, too close. Zak’s heart pounded. He couldn’t believe it, not even as he felt her pressing her breasts against his chest. It was different from how a normal woman felt, like lifting an empty box compared to a fully filled one. But it still felt incredible, and with her eyes locked onto his, full of seduction and promise, he felt his lower half respond accordingly.
“You’re… not even real,” whispered Zak.
“Then I guess you can’t feel this?” She let her hand cup his growing erection. “That’s quite a shame, isn’t it?”
She slowly moved her hand against his pants, massaging his hardness through the fabric. Zak narrowed his eyes into a glare, sudden distrust ebbing in his chest.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked. “What’s your game?”
Iathia brought her lips to his ear, as though to whisper something to him. Instead, she kissed his neck, sending erotic chills pulsing through his body. Her breath felt hot against his skin, regardless of whether she was actually there or not.
“Does it matter?” she whispered. “I do have limits. I’m not part of the physical world, so I can’t untie your pants, or take off your clothing. But if you allow me access…”
She gave his cock another soft squeeze and let her lips graze across his earlobe. The contrast between the horror of Lord Tavar’s dungeon and her soft, sensual seduction was unbelievable.
“No…” Zak shook his head and put all of his willpower into pulling away from her. “I won’t. This doesn’t make sense.”
Iathia still smiled at him as though she’d still won, or at least didn’t mind losing and would try again. She ran her hand underneath her hair, pulling it up and letting it cascade across her shoulders as she arched her back and pushed out her cleavage. The message was loud and clear, to Zak. She wanted him to take her, for whatever reason.
“Keep in mind that we’re in this together,” said Iathia. “I’m in your head. You wouldn’t have been my first choice, savage boy, but for at least the near future, we’re on the same side. And we should… try to enjoy each other’s company, at least.”
Zak met Iathia’s eyes, feeling a curious anger welling up inside his chest. It was directed at everything and everyone, including himself. The world had stopped making sense to him, and he was sifting through the pieces, trying to make it all fit together.
“The vision I had,” he said. “It was of you, wasn’t it?”
“One of my memories,” said Iathia. “You’ll have more of them, I’m sure. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“You were a slave,” said Zak. “A gladiator. I didn’t know that they let women into the arena.”
Iathia turned her lips up into a thin smile. Her eyes were cold.
“I’ve been many different things over the course of my life,” she said. “My fortune and eventual fame were all of my own making. And no, they didn’t typically allow women into the arena, but I am anything but a typical woman.”
Zak didn’t say anything to that. He reached the window and began pulling on the iron bars, testing each one. None of them budged. The spaces in between were too tiny for him to get more than his arm through, but he could at least see out over the coast of the island and the ocean. The sun was up over the horizon, and the sky was clear.
“This Emperor of yours,” said Iathia. “What’s he like?”
“The Young Emperor Altreis III,” said Zak. “I have no idea. I’ve never met him, never even seen him before.”
Iathia let out a frustrated sigh and frowned at him.
“Then what of the others that your captor spoke of?” she asked. “The Master of Echoes? The songstresses?”
“They’re part of the Malnian political system,” said Zak. “The Master of Echoes is a member of the Emperor’s council. The songstresses are, well, it’s hard to explain, really. They sing for people.”
Iathia furrowed her brow.
“Savage boy,” she muttered. “You really are just a pawn in this game, aren’t you?”
Zak felt his anger reach the point of explosion. He turned away from the window and faced Iathia, meeting the eyes of the deadly beautiful woman. Iathia was a little shorter than he was, but her body was lean and athletic, and she held herself as though poised and ready to strike.
She’s just a ghost, thought Zak. A delusion. Even if what she said about the sword is the truth.
“What would you do, in my situation, Iathia?” asked Zak. “If you were held in the dungeon of a high lord? What golden advice do you have to offer me in my time of need?”
“I’ve been in your situation before, Zakarias,” said Iathia. “Many times before. “
“And?”
“You wait, you bide your time, and you be ready to kill as soon as the opportunity presents itself.” Iathia met Zak’s eye as she spoke, and even without knowing anything else about her, he knew that she believed what she said.
A bird landed on the window’s outcropping, just outside the metal bars. It peered in at Zak, sticking its white spotted black beak in through one of the holes. Zak looked over at Iathia.
“Pull the bird in, if you can,” said Iathia. “You need to eat, and Lord Tavar isn’t going to give you food unless you beg for it.”
Zak walked over to the window slowly. He held his hand out toward the bird. It pushed its beak forward, nuzzling itself against Zak’s finger, as though expecting something from him. Zak just watched it, and after a moment, it turned away from the window and took flight.
“The bird is free,” said Zak. “I wouldn’t condemn it to share in my fate, not for a few bites of raw meat.”
“Interesting philosophy,” said Iathia. “Pray it doesn’t get you killed.”
Hours passed by, mostly in silence. Iathia wasn’t as talkative as she’d initially seemed, only speaking to answer Zak’s questions, and sticking mostly to vagaries, even then.
It was almost a relief when the wooden door finally slammed open, and Lord Tavar reentered the room. Zak immediately stood to his feet. Lord Tavar had a guard on either side of him, but still kept a hand on a dagger hanging from his waist, watching his prisoner carefully.
“Hello, Zakarias,” he said. “We need to have another talk, you and I.”
He closed the door behind him and then nodded to the hanging chain in the center of the room. The guards grabbed Zak and roughly pulled him over to it, holding his shackles in place, allowing Lord Tavar to hook him into position. Lord Tavar nodded to the two guards as soon as it was done, and they left the room.
“Things aren’t moving along as quickly as I’d hoped they would,” said Lord Tavar. “I don’t think you’re going to like what I’m about to do to you, Zakarias.”
“Don’t panic,” said Iathia. “Stay calm. Bide your time.”
Lord Tavar opened the same wooden cupboard from the day before and fished around in it. He pulled out the rope mace, and then found something else. When he took his hand out of the cupboard, it was holding a small knife, thin and attached to a wooden handle the thickness of a quill.
“Relax,” said Lord Tavar. “You’re going to want to keep breathing through this.”
He had a satchel hanging from a strap around his shoulder, and from it, he pulled out a thick strip of leather. Lord Tavar walked over to Zak and shook it in his hand.
“Open your mouth,” he said.
“Sog off,” said Zak.
“Oh, you’ll do it.” Lord Tavar eyes gleamed with fury. “Or, alternatively, I can drag you back over to the hotbox? Would you like that, Zakarias?”
Zak glanced over at Iathia, who shrugged her shoulders, either indifferent, or otherwise without idea.
What choice do I have?
He opened his mouth.
Lord Tavar stuffed the leather between Zak’s teeth, pulling his fingers back quick as though expecting him to bite down. In truth, Zak had been considering it.
“Now,” said Lord Tavar. “This is going to hurt. A lot. But it’s for a good cause.”
He moved behind Zak, outside of his field of view. Zak felt Lord Tavar’s fingers in his hair, and then a sudden stab of pain as something sharp dug deep into the skin of the back of his skull. He lurched forward and clenched his teeth into the leather.
“Don’t move,” said Lord Tavar. “If you move, I’m going to end up chipping into your skull. Even you must know that such a thing wouldn’t be good? It would be painful, and… dangerous.”
Lord Tavar continued digging into the back of Zak’s scalp, pulling the skin up and creating a hole about the size of a pea. Zak bit down hard on the leather and let muffled cries. It hurt, but it was a pain he could handle, measurable and straightforward, unlike the psychological torment of the box.
“And now, we slide one of these in…” Lord Tavar stopped cutting, and Zak felt something tiny and hard slip into the wound. It was an odd sensation, painful and foreign, like getting a sliver underneath his fingernail.
“There!” Lord Tavar stepped back, wiping blood off his hands on a bit of cloth pulled from his satchel. “Now, do you know what I just did, Zakarias?”
The leather was still in Zak’s mouth, and he could only shake his head.
“You have a tiny bead in the back of your head, under the skin, against the nerve,” said Lord Tavar. “Infused with potential destruction magic, from my Altreian stone ring.”
Zak stared at the man blankly. He knew about Altreian stone, and the destruction magic contained within. Mixed into a potion, it could temporarily give a person the ability to send a primer of magic into an object at a touch, and then release the energy later, exploding the object into heat and fire. The effect was limited by the cost of Altreian stone, and though it could also be acquired through the usage of celestial stone jewelry, potions were usually the preferred method in warfare, to give the ability to many men, for a limited time.
“Once it heals up, someone could run their hands through your hair and probably not even notice it.” Lord Tavar grinned at him. “And at the rate I’m going to channel the magic into it, the thing will last a good amount of time. Months, maybe even a year.”
“You’re insane,” said Zak. “This is all—”
Lord Tavar held up his Altreian stone ring, the red stone within it massive against his finger. It flashed red, and pain surged through Zak’s body. It was unbearable, starting underneath his skin centered over the bead, and spreading out through the rest of him, stabbing at the flesh underneath his skin with fire pokers and rusty nails.
Zack realized that he was screaming, the noise pulled out of his body like a popped bubble of air in the water. The pain was too intense. He’d take death before it, ten times over. He’d do anything to make it stop.
And, as though his thought had somehow reached a sympathetic ear, the pain did stop. Zak hung forward limply against his shackles, his legs too weak to properly support him.
“How was that?” asked Lord Tavar. “Must have been quite the experience.”
“You…” Zak coughed, still feeling a bit of the prickliness in the lining of his lungs. “Bastard.”
“You are, in fact, the bastard, Zakarias,” said Lord Tavar. “And don’t worry. I won’t always make it hurt that badly. It wouldn’t do to have you screaming at a court function, or at the dinner table. You’ll learn to listen without me having to trigger your pain control.”
Anger surged through Zak: hot, desperate, and empowering. He pulled uselessly against his shackles, trying to close the distance between himself and his captor. He needed to get his hands on Lord Tavar, and make him understand the despair he was so comfortable doling out.
“Easy now,” said Lord Tavar. “You won’t fight it after a while. You’ll learn to like it.”
His Altreian stone flared red, and so did Zak’s vision as the pain set in. He writhed against his chains, tortured by the sensation. His stomach seized uselessly, forcing up empty heaves and making it hard to breathe. Zak just wanted it to stop.
His vision flickered with black and silver spots, and then abruptly cut off.
CHAPTER 11
IATHIA
The question of whether the “Runathian Republic” truly existed, at least as described in the Book of Stars and other surviving historical documents, is one that I and many other scholars consider to be worth asking. – Cadwin the Historian, Founding of an Empire
“We’ve been here for days, boss,” said Kent. “They’re not going to surrender. And they’ll outlast us in a proper siege.”
Iathia stood on top of a large hill, staring down at the city of Carndale within the forest clearing below. It was small, and of note only for the amount of trade that passed through its centuries-old mudstone walls.
“You’re a man of little faith, aren’t you, Kent?” asked Iathia. “We’ve done well so far.”
Kent smiled. It was a clear summer afternoon, with patches of clouds and the blue outline of Methrakia visible on the horizon. The rest of Iathia’s men, her loyal gladiators from the arena, along with a few escaped slaves found on the road, were camped out next to the road, ready to ambush unsuspecting traders on their way into the city.
“I put my faith in what I know,” said Kent. “And see, what I know is that me and the boys have really enjoyed hitting them hamlets, and villages. The small ones, where all we’re up against is a couple of knives and pitchforks.”
“You lack ambition,” said Iathia. “And also a greater survival sense. How do you think the story of the brigading band of escaped gladiator slaves ends?”
Kent scratched his head and didn’t say anything.
“One of the Consuls will send out an army for us, eventually,” said Iathia. “And that will be that. Unless…”
Iathia nodded to Carndale, and saw understanding dawn in Kent’s posture as he saw the mudstone walls in a new light.
“Oh…” said Kent. “That’s good. That’s really good. But still, if those walls could help keep an army out, what hope do the lot of us have getting in?”
Iathia didn’t answer him. On top of one of the buildings within the town, visible from their position on the hill, a man waved a bit of red cloth in slow, exaggerated circles.
“Have the men ready,” said Iathia. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”
“What?” Kent shook his head, forehead furrowed up in concern. “Where are you—”
“I’m going to knock on the gates,” said Iathia. “Keep the men at a distance until I give the sign.”
“How are we going to know the sign when…?” Kent trailed off. Iathia could almost pick the second when she saw faith blossom to life in the man’s eyes.
She split off from Kent and his men, following the road down through the hills, toward the gates of Carndale. The area was undeniably beautiful, deep within the heart of Runathian continent. Despite being landlocked, the city was strategically located, positioned between the horse raiders of the desert to the north and the more populated regions of the republic to the south.
A flock of birds—black stars, she guessed—landed in one of the trees ahead of her. They whistled merrily as Iathia went by, oblivious to what was about to happen.
Perhaps they’d still be whistling, even if they knew, she thought. They are carrion, after all.
Carndale’s gates had been replaced and rebuilt many a time over. Iathia could tell from the way they were set into the nearby walls, and the color of the stains against the wood. She made it within about a dozen feet before a voice on the wall called out for her to hold where she was. Iathia listened, and obeyed.
The gates opened a few minutes later. A large man, well-fed and over pampered, stood just inside the city, dressed in spotless white robes and flanked by a guard on either side. He nodded to Iathia.
“Welcome, milady,” said the man. “My name is Overseer Argus.”
Iathia offered a quick nod in return.
“I am no lady,” she said. “Just a simple freewoman. Iathia.”
“We know who you are,” said Overseer Argus. “And we’ve heard about your escape, and what you and the other gladiators did.”
Iathia smiled.
“And yet still you open your gates to me?” she asked. The Overseer nodded to her, his face patient and much more reasonable than Iathia had been expecting.
“I wish to invite you in,” he said. “Just you. To talk about what the two of us can do for each other.”
Iathia gestured to the city behind the walls.
“Lead on,” she said.
Overseer Argus watched Iathia for a moment longer, and then turned and walked into the city. One of his guards stayed next to him, while the other looped around to watch Iathia from behind. She exaggerated her walk slightly, putting on a bit of a show for him and smiling as she did.
Carndale was simplistic architecturally, the buildings mostly consisting of clay domes with few decorative frills. Despite the presence of Iathia’s band on the road, the people went about their business as normal. An outdoor market had several vendors selling vegetables and dried meat. A group of women washed clothing and hung sheets on drying lines strung up between buildings.
“The people here are peaceful,” said Overseer Argus. “We do not seek trouble and, perhaps because of that, it tends not to find us.”
“Is that so?” Iathia asked, doing her best to keep her voice level, and serious.
A group of children ran by carrying leafy bundles, probably animal feed. They passed a larger building with silk curtains across the door, and an attractive, underdressed woman standing outside. Iathia eyed the woman, knowing that her men would be eager for her and others like her.
“I don’t wish to make you into my enemy, Iathia,” said the Overseer. Iathia didn’t say anything to that.
After a minute, they arrived in the center square, and Overseer Argus led them into a large rectangular building with a curved roof made of ceramic tiles. One of the guards waited by the door, while the other followed Argus and Iathia inside.
Several men were already waiting for them, dressed in fine robes. Iathia’s clothing consisted of a mishmash of what she’d found on the road, with blood stains in spots, and an unwashed smell. She still looked good in it, her body being what it was, and she could feel the entire room leering at her.
