G. Howell, page 31
Now a short chain led from my ankle fetters to an iron staple hammered into the floor. Also my wrists and ankles were connected by a heavy chain. I was completely hobbled, any hopes of escaping retreating further across the horizon.
My fault!
Damnation, I should have just sat and let it wash past. He was just trying to goad me, to see how far he could push me. I should have sat there and taken it, let them think me helpless and subdued, bide my time until an opportunity came to make a break for it. Now my stupidity had landed me with more chains and bruises. Their punishment had been none too gentle; working me over good, but taking care not to cause any damage that would be permanent. Then I was dumped back into my corner where I could use the night to nurse my aches.
Now the morning meal was being prepared, the cub once again passed among the waking soldiery passing out bowls of food with deferential ducks of his head. His mother worked by the fire, stirring a pot, occasionally adding water. She warily watched me as I struggled to sit up, propping my back against the rough wall. My shoulder was swelling up and moved only with aching protest.
“You want food?” a soft, hesitant voice ventured: childish tones. The cub sidled a little closer, bowl and spoon in hand. Over his shoulder his mother was watching with concern foremost in her expression.
“Thank you,” I grated hoarsely, taking the bowl that he proffered at arms length. My own arms were chained down at waist height; I had to double over to get my mouth down to the bowl. I fumbled awkwardly with the spoon before it twisted out of my fingers. I stared at the bowl in growing frustration.
“Here,” the cub offered, leaning forward and taking the bowl from my hands, holding it while I used the spoon. It was long, narrow, and deep - shaped for Sathe mouths’ - but it worked. I shoveled mouthfuls as fast as I could…
“Saaaaa! Boy!” from behind the cub there came a cry and a clatter of wooden utensils being hastily cast aside. The cub yelped, dropped the bowl with what little stew was left in it, and instinctively dashed to his mother’s side as several guards bore down upon us. They shoved the female aside as she tried to protect her child and lunged for the kid. He dodged their grasp and tried to duck around them, but they had him cornered. As a guard moved in I flicked the chain securing my ankle to the staple, hooking it about the Sathe’s feet and pulling. The guard squalled and hit the floor in a clatter of toughened leather and metal buckles. Taking advantage of the opening, the cub was over the body, gone.
The trooper snarled, shook the chain away from his leg, then kicked out at me, his toe claws catching me just above the knee, ripping up my leg. The tingling burning of the pain came almost as quickly as the blood, rivulets merging and pooling. I gasped and looked up to see the Sathe raising his hand for another blow.
“HOLD!” Another Sathe snarled and a hand grabbed the trooper and shoved him out of the way. The Gulf officer was standing above me with his muzzle drawn back in a white snarl. Beneath his fur his face was the worse for wear: one side swollen while the corners of his mouth were raw and red with patches of clotted blood. Breath hissed through flared nostrils and his eyes were furious black pools, ears laid back flat against his skull. “You,” his words were scarcely understandable, they were so distorted by his fury, “are going to learn!”
I shrank back, but there were enough of them to drag me out and pin me down by kneeling on my arms and legs. Casually the officer strolled across to the fire and squatted there. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but when he turned back to me he was holding a smoking poker, the tip glowing red.
“Hey… ” I tried to shrink away, but they just held me tighter. “No. No, please, do not… “
He didn’t speak, just waved it slowly in front of my eyes. I could smell hot metal and burnt pine. I could feel the heat, going light headed with sudden fear and he just stood there with his eyes locked on mine, pointing the poker down at me, waving it around my face. Slowly he moved it down and I could feel the heat on my chin, my neck, my chest.
Then he jammed it up against my left nipple.
A hissing, feeling like ice at first, then… I screamed, uncontrollably, thrashing and bucking and twisting madly. Sathe shouted, more held me. The poker twisted and I think I passed out then.
Seconds… He was crouched over me, looking down into my face, still holding the poker. I could smell burnt meat. The pain in both my chest and leg was dull now and I was shivering, dimly realised I was in shock. His voice growled, then he grabbed my jaw and shook me until he was certain he had my attention. “You understand now?” he hissed. “You try something like that again, and we will simply hamstring you.”
“Ness… ” I croaked. My jaw didn’t want to work. “Next time… better job.”
His eyes widened and he glanced down at my chest. I had no urge to see what was there. Already the pain was returning. My leg spasmed and I could feel the blood drying there. It’d been sliced down to the muscle.
“You want to die?” He stared at me, as though not quite believing it, then snorted. “Ah, such loyalty and stupidity.” Turning to his troops he gestured at me, “Alright, get that cleaned and patched.” Then he gathered up his cloak and pushed out into the cold whiteness outside. The others dragged me back to the fireplace and dumped me there. Christ, but it hurt: almost like I was going to pass out, but it never quite happened.
A trooper approached me, a small bag in her hand. She crouched down near me and produced herbs, small sealed pots, a grey-brown stuff that looked like moss, and strips of cloth. I recognised her as the guard I’d had in the barn, the one who’d fed me. “I want to help you,” she said slowly; enunciating. “I have your word you will behave?”
I nodded vaguely, “Yes.”
Catching a breath she inched forward and chirred to herself. I didn’t move as she worked on the wound on my leg, washed it clean, pressed the moss against it, then began binding it, wrapping coarse cloth around my leg. Considering where the gash was located - my upper-outer thigh - it was an extremely personal operation.
“Stay still,” she hissed through her teeth when I flinched at an errant brush of fur against sensitive flesh. Oh God! Don’t let me get an erection!
But of course, even with the pain, just thinking about it…
The Gulf Troops saw it, laughter hissed:
“Kas! I think it likes you!”
“Careful. You could hurt yourself there!”
“Ha, pity Mer’ap’s not here! That could change her mind!”
The one working on my wound looked up at my face and hissed in amusement. “Not so different then. I am surprised you are in the mood.”
I felt the heat rising in my ears. Her’s fluttered madly as she settled the bandages, then moved on to my chest.
My nipple was gone, turned to a red and black ruin. Not as bad as it looked. He hadn’t gone deep, being careful not to damage me too seriously. Still, it hurt enough when the female began to treat it and put the salve on, almost as much as when it happened.
The room had gone silent, the Gulf Sathe standing and watching as I moaned and ground my teeth, fighting to keep from striking out at the female ministering to me. I don’t remember when she finished, just that one moment she was pressing ointment against the charred skin, the next she was packing up her equipment. “Finished,” she told me. “You will be all right.” Then she leaned closer to my head. “Take my advice,” she whispered soto voce. “Do not provoke the commander. He can be most unpleasant.” Then louder she said, “Try not to do anything stupid that might reopen that. I will change it later.”
“What? That mean jogging’s out?” I panted in english. She scratched her neck, head cocked to one side in puzzlement, then she snorted and gathered up her kit. ****** The storm was still blowing the next day. It stopped us from going anywhere, but it also stopped any pursuit there might be. A stalemate. I wasn’t going anywhere either. Outside, without clothing and in my condition, I would freeze to death before I could get a mile.
Still, they watched me. When I had to relieve myself, they sent a guard along. There was a shuttered window in the freezing little room that I would probably have been able to squeeze out of, but with the temperature outside hovering around zero, I wasn’t about to try.
Now I had an idea of just how many of them there were: approximately twenty, a large number to be moving around deep in enemy territory. Capturing lill’ ol’ me was their only directive? I found that hard to swallow.
I guess I should’ve been flattered.
As the wind howled around outside and wormed its way through gaps that you could have sworn weren’t there a minute ago, the seven Sathe sitting at the table played a game of chance that I guess must be universal; dice. Others were outside: barracked in the stables, on picket duty. My wrists and ankles were beginning to chafe from the constant rubbing of the iron manacles. Both my leg and chest wounds were continuous sources of nagging pain. I couldn’t do much moving without gritting my teeth. The Sathe who was guarding me sat in a chair nearby, cleaning his already-gleaming sword, always keeping a green eye on me.
Bone dice rattled on the rough wooden table top amid the muted sibilants of Sathe voices and occasional bout of laughing and curses when someone won.
The day dragged by slowly. The evening meal was a kind of sausage. Like a dog I was fed the table scraps.
The manacles stayed on.
Afterwards, the cub was crouched by the fire cleaning the dirty pots in a tub of melt water, the iron and copper utensils clattering and rattling. As he worked he stared at me where I sat near him on the rug before the fire, at the extreme extension of my tether and trying to get as near to the heat as I could. Several times it looked as if he might say something, only to change his mind at the last second. So I sat in silence, watching him work.
As the evening dragged on into night the temperature plummeted again. I huddled up into a small ball in front of the open fire, for all the good that did. An icy draught needled across the room, wending its way up the chimney and leaving me shivering violently in its wake. My wounds ached as my muscles knotted up.
“Huh,” a Sathe coughed. It was that female, the one who’d patched me up. She knelt beside me, looking me over. “What is the matter with you? Huh? Your leg?” She touched a hand to my leg and swore, “Mother’s milk! You are still cold?” She stared then waved a shrug and left me again, going through the curtain to the back of the house. A few minutes later the commander himself appeared with a bundle tucked under one arm. Guards shifted and stirred themselves when he snapped orders, several baring their teeth and approaching me, their clawed feet clicking against wooden floorboards. Instinctively I tried to move back, away from them. They leapt forward and I yelped in pain when claws sank in. One of them grabbed me by the hair; dragging me to my knees, forcing my head back and laying bared claws alongside my throat. My chest roared pain. I began to raise my hands; the claws pressed harder. I froze motionless.
The Gulf commander stepped around in front of me, showing me the bundle. “You,” he said slowly and clearly, “are going to get your clothing. Your chains will be removed and you will do exactly as I say. Anything else and you will be hamstrung. Cause trouble and we kill you. Your choice.”
As simply as that. From the corners of my eyes I could see swords glinting.
“Understand?” the Sathe asked.
“Yes,” I croaked.
I was hauled to my feet, the claws still at my throat whilst keys rattled in locks. The weights upon my wrists and ankles were lifted away with a clashing of heavy iron links.
The claws at my neck tightened still more, breathing became difficult, my leg and chest ached.
“Now, you will take the clothes and put them on… slowly and carefully. Understand?”
“Y… yes.” I could hardly speak.
The claws released me and I gasped air, starting to reach for my throat. A sword tip tickled the skin of my back and I stopped moving, stopped breathing.
“Good,” the Commander grinned, making sure I could see all his teeth. “Now these.”
I carefully took the clothes from him. Rough-spun brown breeches and ragged cloak; tight for me, my leg hurt, my nipple burned as fabric brushed it, but they were warm and that was all I cared about. I wrapped the cloak around my shoulders and looked at the officer. Standing, I was almost a full head taller than he. Something flickered in his eyes, ears went back and nostrils flared. I knew fear when I saw it.
And that look vanished under anger and he snapped an order and the chains were brought forward again. I retreated a single small step and suddenly the claws were at my neck again, a low growling in my ear. I went rigid, forced to submit to the chill iron of the restraints again.
The Gulf Commander personally examined the manacles. “Keep your hands in sight all the time,” he warned me. “Tomorrow the storm should have abated enough for us to leave. You are going to need the clothing. If the guards have cause to be suspicious of you, if you cause trouble, you will be punished. We do not want to kill you, but you will stay quiet even if we have to fill your skull with drugs.”
He signalled for the soldier to release me and I sagged to the floor. They didn’t try and stop me when I raised my hands to rub my sore neck; red smears on my fingertips when I looked at them.
“Fragile,” the commander hissed.
“Fuck you!” I hissed right back.
He spread his hands in a Sathe shrug and then turned his back on me.
End of conversation.
The soldiers who had clustered around drifted back to their games of chance and story telling, leaving me huddled there, pulling the cloak tight around myself. There was little talking among them, the scrape of chair legs, the clatter of a keyring…
That got my attention. There on the table, the keyring, just eight, ten metres…
Damnation! I slumped again. They might as well be back in Mainport. Here am I, unarmed, chained to the floor, in a room full of hostiles. I was just going to get up, waltz over and say, “‘scuse me, just borrowing these. Alright?”
Right.
Face it, Kelly. Your future don’t look too bright.
More footsteps; a half-hearted kick at my ribs to get my attention as the female guard who’d patched me up crouched beside me: “Turn around.” I complied. “Hold out your arms,” she ordered.
“Do you enjoy this as much as I do?” I muttered as that female double-checked my bonds with a critical eye.
She gave the chains a tug, making sure the links were secure. As if I had a chance of breaking them. “I am only doing my job… can you move your fingers?”
“Yeah, right, sure… ” I muttered in English as I wriggled my digits. Just doing her job. I’d heard that one before.
Her claws caught my shoulder. “Those noises, are they words?”
“What do you think?”
She growled. “I thnk you do not know when to keep your mouth shut. What did you say?”
“It was not important,” I muttered. She squeezed my shoulder once - hard.
Behave yourself…
But the hands stayed on my shoulder even when the claws had retracted. Her eyes narrowed and she cocked her head, scrutinising my face. She had a curious ring of white fur that poked out from under the fringe of her mane, encircling her left ear and eye. When she moved her hand upwards, toward my face, I flinched away. She waited, then gently - almost tenderly - touched her fingers to my overgrown hair. She stroked once, twice, then dropped her hand again.
“What… ” I began and automatically tried to lift my hands to my head only to be stopped when they reached the limit of their chain. “Why did you do that?”
She shrugged “I wanted to see what it felt like. Softer than it looks.”
I wasn’t sure when I’d started trembling, but then I was aware my chains were rattling. Suddenly I had to know… “What is going to happen to me?” I blurted.
That startled her. She stared at me, her nostrils flaring, then she shook her head. “You are to be taken to Riverport. Beyond that, I cannot be sure. I have heard rumours… ” She broke off and looked around quickly. “There are whisperings that you can sway the balance of the war, ensuring victory for whoever owns you.”
“Dammit, all I want is to return to my home! How am I supposed to sway the balance of the war if I cannot even remove these?!” the manacles clattered as I shook them.
She looked at the irons, then met my eyes for the briefest moment. “Listen,” she lowered her voice to a whisper. “I will have nothing to do with helping you escape, but if you so choose, I can arrange a death that is a lot quicker.” Her hand touched the silver inlaid wood of her scabbard as she spoke. “It could be far preferable to what will probably happen to you in Riverport.”
I didn’t say anything. She suddenly looked around as if embarrassed and flowed to her feet in one smooth move. “Sleep now, all right?”
I nodded mutely, not caring if she understood or not, and curled up, my cheek against the rug. Was she trying to be friendly? That offer she had made… Was it going to be that bad?
I shuddered at the cold chill that ran down my spine.
The shadows on the rough wood walls danced and flickered into unearthly shapes. Nooks and corners had their own little pools of darkness. Sathe moved around the room without trouble in the dimness, cat’s eyes acting like little green mirrors when the firelight caught them.
There was a rattle of metal on metal from the corner by the fireplace. I looked up. The cub gave me a startled look, then gathered up his pots and pans from where he had been taking entirely too long cleaning up. ******
I slept badly that night: long, indeterminable periods of uneasy wakefulness interspaced with dreams.
I dreamt badly that night.
Dashboard lights. Outside, signposts flashed through the headlights, too fast to read. Tenny was at the wheel, cigar clamped in a corner of his mouth. In the hellish green glow of the dash lights I could see he was grinning, laughing about something. I couldn’t hear over the growl and crackle of the engine.
I looked at the sky out my window: glowing red, The air was thick and cloying: like smog, like the choking reek of thamil. Trees were dark shapes like jagged teeth, fangs and claws with a sullen slit of a moon hanging over them.
My fault!
Damnation, I should have just sat and let it wash past. He was just trying to goad me, to see how far he could push me. I should have sat there and taken it, let them think me helpless and subdued, bide my time until an opportunity came to make a break for it. Now my stupidity had landed me with more chains and bruises. Their punishment had been none too gentle; working me over good, but taking care not to cause any damage that would be permanent. Then I was dumped back into my corner where I could use the night to nurse my aches.
Now the morning meal was being prepared, the cub once again passed among the waking soldiery passing out bowls of food with deferential ducks of his head. His mother worked by the fire, stirring a pot, occasionally adding water. She warily watched me as I struggled to sit up, propping my back against the rough wall. My shoulder was swelling up and moved only with aching protest.
“You want food?” a soft, hesitant voice ventured: childish tones. The cub sidled a little closer, bowl and spoon in hand. Over his shoulder his mother was watching with concern foremost in her expression.
“Thank you,” I grated hoarsely, taking the bowl that he proffered at arms length. My own arms were chained down at waist height; I had to double over to get my mouth down to the bowl. I fumbled awkwardly with the spoon before it twisted out of my fingers. I stared at the bowl in growing frustration.
“Here,” the cub offered, leaning forward and taking the bowl from my hands, holding it while I used the spoon. It was long, narrow, and deep - shaped for Sathe mouths’ - but it worked. I shoveled mouthfuls as fast as I could…
“Saaaaa! Boy!” from behind the cub there came a cry and a clatter of wooden utensils being hastily cast aside. The cub yelped, dropped the bowl with what little stew was left in it, and instinctively dashed to his mother’s side as several guards bore down upon us. They shoved the female aside as she tried to protect her child and lunged for the kid. He dodged their grasp and tried to duck around them, but they had him cornered. As a guard moved in I flicked the chain securing my ankle to the staple, hooking it about the Sathe’s feet and pulling. The guard squalled and hit the floor in a clatter of toughened leather and metal buckles. Taking advantage of the opening, the cub was over the body, gone.
The trooper snarled, shook the chain away from his leg, then kicked out at me, his toe claws catching me just above the knee, ripping up my leg. The tingling burning of the pain came almost as quickly as the blood, rivulets merging and pooling. I gasped and looked up to see the Sathe raising his hand for another blow.
“HOLD!” Another Sathe snarled and a hand grabbed the trooper and shoved him out of the way. The Gulf officer was standing above me with his muzzle drawn back in a white snarl. Beneath his fur his face was the worse for wear: one side swollen while the corners of his mouth were raw and red with patches of clotted blood. Breath hissed through flared nostrils and his eyes were furious black pools, ears laid back flat against his skull. “You,” his words were scarcely understandable, they were so distorted by his fury, “are going to learn!”
I shrank back, but there were enough of them to drag me out and pin me down by kneeling on my arms and legs. Casually the officer strolled across to the fire and squatted there. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but when he turned back to me he was holding a smoking poker, the tip glowing red.
“Hey… ” I tried to shrink away, but they just held me tighter. “No. No, please, do not… “
He didn’t speak, just waved it slowly in front of my eyes. I could smell hot metal and burnt pine. I could feel the heat, going light headed with sudden fear and he just stood there with his eyes locked on mine, pointing the poker down at me, waving it around my face. Slowly he moved it down and I could feel the heat on my chin, my neck, my chest.
Then he jammed it up against my left nipple.
A hissing, feeling like ice at first, then… I screamed, uncontrollably, thrashing and bucking and twisting madly. Sathe shouted, more held me. The poker twisted and I think I passed out then.
Seconds… He was crouched over me, looking down into my face, still holding the poker. I could smell burnt meat. The pain in both my chest and leg was dull now and I was shivering, dimly realised I was in shock. His voice growled, then he grabbed my jaw and shook me until he was certain he had my attention. “You understand now?” he hissed. “You try something like that again, and we will simply hamstring you.”
“Ness… ” I croaked. My jaw didn’t want to work. “Next time… better job.”
His eyes widened and he glanced down at my chest. I had no urge to see what was there. Already the pain was returning. My leg spasmed and I could feel the blood drying there. It’d been sliced down to the muscle.
“You want to die?” He stared at me, as though not quite believing it, then snorted. “Ah, such loyalty and stupidity.” Turning to his troops he gestured at me, “Alright, get that cleaned and patched.” Then he gathered up his cloak and pushed out into the cold whiteness outside. The others dragged me back to the fireplace and dumped me there. Christ, but it hurt: almost like I was going to pass out, but it never quite happened.
A trooper approached me, a small bag in her hand. She crouched down near me and produced herbs, small sealed pots, a grey-brown stuff that looked like moss, and strips of cloth. I recognised her as the guard I’d had in the barn, the one who’d fed me. “I want to help you,” she said slowly; enunciating. “I have your word you will behave?”
I nodded vaguely, “Yes.”
Catching a breath she inched forward and chirred to herself. I didn’t move as she worked on the wound on my leg, washed it clean, pressed the moss against it, then began binding it, wrapping coarse cloth around my leg. Considering where the gash was located - my upper-outer thigh - it was an extremely personal operation.
“Stay still,” she hissed through her teeth when I flinched at an errant brush of fur against sensitive flesh. Oh God! Don’t let me get an erection!
But of course, even with the pain, just thinking about it…
The Gulf Troops saw it, laughter hissed:
“Kas! I think it likes you!”
“Careful. You could hurt yourself there!”
“Ha, pity Mer’ap’s not here! That could change her mind!”
The one working on my wound looked up at my face and hissed in amusement. “Not so different then. I am surprised you are in the mood.”
I felt the heat rising in my ears. Her’s fluttered madly as she settled the bandages, then moved on to my chest.
My nipple was gone, turned to a red and black ruin. Not as bad as it looked. He hadn’t gone deep, being careful not to damage me too seriously. Still, it hurt enough when the female began to treat it and put the salve on, almost as much as when it happened.
The room had gone silent, the Gulf Sathe standing and watching as I moaned and ground my teeth, fighting to keep from striking out at the female ministering to me. I don’t remember when she finished, just that one moment she was pressing ointment against the charred skin, the next she was packing up her equipment. “Finished,” she told me. “You will be all right.” Then she leaned closer to my head. “Take my advice,” she whispered soto voce. “Do not provoke the commander. He can be most unpleasant.” Then louder she said, “Try not to do anything stupid that might reopen that. I will change it later.”
“What? That mean jogging’s out?” I panted in english. She scratched her neck, head cocked to one side in puzzlement, then she snorted and gathered up her kit. ****** The storm was still blowing the next day. It stopped us from going anywhere, but it also stopped any pursuit there might be. A stalemate. I wasn’t going anywhere either. Outside, without clothing and in my condition, I would freeze to death before I could get a mile.
Still, they watched me. When I had to relieve myself, they sent a guard along. There was a shuttered window in the freezing little room that I would probably have been able to squeeze out of, but with the temperature outside hovering around zero, I wasn’t about to try.
Now I had an idea of just how many of them there were: approximately twenty, a large number to be moving around deep in enemy territory. Capturing lill’ ol’ me was their only directive? I found that hard to swallow.
I guess I should’ve been flattered.
As the wind howled around outside and wormed its way through gaps that you could have sworn weren’t there a minute ago, the seven Sathe sitting at the table played a game of chance that I guess must be universal; dice. Others were outside: barracked in the stables, on picket duty. My wrists and ankles were beginning to chafe from the constant rubbing of the iron manacles. Both my leg and chest wounds were continuous sources of nagging pain. I couldn’t do much moving without gritting my teeth. The Sathe who was guarding me sat in a chair nearby, cleaning his already-gleaming sword, always keeping a green eye on me.
Bone dice rattled on the rough wooden table top amid the muted sibilants of Sathe voices and occasional bout of laughing and curses when someone won.
The day dragged by slowly. The evening meal was a kind of sausage. Like a dog I was fed the table scraps.
The manacles stayed on.
Afterwards, the cub was crouched by the fire cleaning the dirty pots in a tub of melt water, the iron and copper utensils clattering and rattling. As he worked he stared at me where I sat near him on the rug before the fire, at the extreme extension of my tether and trying to get as near to the heat as I could. Several times it looked as if he might say something, only to change his mind at the last second. So I sat in silence, watching him work.
As the evening dragged on into night the temperature plummeted again. I huddled up into a small ball in front of the open fire, for all the good that did. An icy draught needled across the room, wending its way up the chimney and leaving me shivering violently in its wake. My wounds ached as my muscles knotted up.
“Huh,” a Sathe coughed. It was that female, the one who’d patched me up. She knelt beside me, looking me over. “What is the matter with you? Huh? Your leg?” She touched a hand to my leg and swore, “Mother’s milk! You are still cold?” She stared then waved a shrug and left me again, going through the curtain to the back of the house. A few minutes later the commander himself appeared with a bundle tucked under one arm. Guards shifted and stirred themselves when he snapped orders, several baring their teeth and approaching me, their clawed feet clicking against wooden floorboards. Instinctively I tried to move back, away from them. They leapt forward and I yelped in pain when claws sank in. One of them grabbed me by the hair; dragging me to my knees, forcing my head back and laying bared claws alongside my throat. My chest roared pain. I began to raise my hands; the claws pressed harder. I froze motionless.
The Gulf commander stepped around in front of me, showing me the bundle. “You,” he said slowly and clearly, “are going to get your clothing. Your chains will be removed and you will do exactly as I say. Anything else and you will be hamstrung. Cause trouble and we kill you. Your choice.”
As simply as that. From the corners of my eyes I could see swords glinting.
“Understand?” the Sathe asked.
“Yes,” I croaked.
I was hauled to my feet, the claws still at my throat whilst keys rattled in locks. The weights upon my wrists and ankles were lifted away with a clashing of heavy iron links.
The claws at my neck tightened still more, breathing became difficult, my leg and chest ached.
“Now, you will take the clothes and put them on… slowly and carefully. Understand?”
“Y… yes.” I could hardly speak.
The claws released me and I gasped air, starting to reach for my throat. A sword tip tickled the skin of my back and I stopped moving, stopped breathing.
“Good,” the Commander grinned, making sure I could see all his teeth. “Now these.”
I carefully took the clothes from him. Rough-spun brown breeches and ragged cloak; tight for me, my leg hurt, my nipple burned as fabric brushed it, but they were warm and that was all I cared about. I wrapped the cloak around my shoulders and looked at the officer. Standing, I was almost a full head taller than he. Something flickered in his eyes, ears went back and nostrils flared. I knew fear when I saw it.
And that look vanished under anger and he snapped an order and the chains were brought forward again. I retreated a single small step and suddenly the claws were at my neck again, a low growling in my ear. I went rigid, forced to submit to the chill iron of the restraints again.
The Gulf Commander personally examined the manacles. “Keep your hands in sight all the time,” he warned me. “Tomorrow the storm should have abated enough for us to leave. You are going to need the clothing. If the guards have cause to be suspicious of you, if you cause trouble, you will be punished. We do not want to kill you, but you will stay quiet even if we have to fill your skull with drugs.”
He signalled for the soldier to release me and I sagged to the floor. They didn’t try and stop me when I raised my hands to rub my sore neck; red smears on my fingertips when I looked at them.
“Fragile,” the commander hissed.
“Fuck you!” I hissed right back.
He spread his hands in a Sathe shrug and then turned his back on me.
End of conversation.
The soldiers who had clustered around drifted back to their games of chance and story telling, leaving me huddled there, pulling the cloak tight around myself. There was little talking among them, the scrape of chair legs, the clatter of a keyring…
That got my attention. There on the table, the keyring, just eight, ten metres…
Damnation! I slumped again. They might as well be back in Mainport. Here am I, unarmed, chained to the floor, in a room full of hostiles. I was just going to get up, waltz over and say, “‘scuse me, just borrowing these. Alright?”
Right.
Face it, Kelly. Your future don’t look too bright.
More footsteps; a half-hearted kick at my ribs to get my attention as the female guard who’d patched me up crouched beside me: “Turn around.” I complied. “Hold out your arms,” she ordered.
“Do you enjoy this as much as I do?” I muttered as that female double-checked my bonds with a critical eye.
She gave the chains a tug, making sure the links were secure. As if I had a chance of breaking them. “I am only doing my job… can you move your fingers?”
“Yeah, right, sure… ” I muttered in English as I wriggled my digits. Just doing her job. I’d heard that one before.
Her claws caught my shoulder. “Those noises, are they words?”
“What do you think?”
She growled. “I thnk you do not know when to keep your mouth shut. What did you say?”
“It was not important,” I muttered. She squeezed my shoulder once - hard.
Behave yourself…
But the hands stayed on my shoulder even when the claws had retracted. Her eyes narrowed and she cocked her head, scrutinising my face. She had a curious ring of white fur that poked out from under the fringe of her mane, encircling her left ear and eye. When she moved her hand upwards, toward my face, I flinched away. She waited, then gently - almost tenderly - touched her fingers to my overgrown hair. She stroked once, twice, then dropped her hand again.
“What… ” I began and automatically tried to lift my hands to my head only to be stopped when they reached the limit of their chain. “Why did you do that?”
She shrugged “I wanted to see what it felt like. Softer than it looks.”
I wasn’t sure when I’d started trembling, but then I was aware my chains were rattling. Suddenly I had to know… “What is going to happen to me?” I blurted.
That startled her. She stared at me, her nostrils flaring, then she shook her head. “You are to be taken to Riverport. Beyond that, I cannot be sure. I have heard rumours… ” She broke off and looked around quickly. “There are whisperings that you can sway the balance of the war, ensuring victory for whoever owns you.”
“Dammit, all I want is to return to my home! How am I supposed to sway the balance of the war if I cannot even remove these?!” the manacles clattered as I shook them.
She looked at the irons, then met my eyes for the briefest moment. “Listen,” she lowered her voice to a whisper. “I will have nothing to do with helping you escape, but if you so choose, I can arrange a death that is a lot quicker.” Her hand touched the silver inlaid wood of her scabbard as she spoke. “It could be far preferable to what will probably happen to you in Riverport.”
I didn’t say anything. She suddenly looked around as if embarrassed and flowed to her feet in one smooth move. “Sleep now, all right?”
I nodded mutely, not caring if she understood or not, and curled up, my cheek against the rug. Was she trying to be friendly? That offer she had made… Was it going to be that bad?
I shuddered at the cold chill that ran down my spine.
The shadows on the rough wood walls danced and flickered into unearthly shapes. Nooks and corners had their own little pools of darkness. Sathe moved around the room without trouble in the dimness, cat’s eyes acting like little green mirrors when the firelight caught them.
There was a rattle of metal on metal from the corner by the fireplace. I looked up. The cub gave me a startled look, then gathered up his pots and pans from where he had been taking entirely too long cleaning up. ******
I slept badly that night: long, indeterminable periods of uneasy wakefulness interspaced with dreams.
I dreamt badly that night.
Dashboard lights. Outside, signposts flashed through the headlights, too fast to read. Tenny was at the wheel, cigar clamped in a corner of his mouth. In the hellish green glow of the dash lights I could see he was grinning, laughing about something. I couldn’t hear over the growl and crackle of the engine.
I looked at the sky out my window: glowing red, The air was thick and cloying: like smog, like the choking reek of thamil. Trees were dark shapes like jagged teeth, fangs and claws with a sullen slit of a moon hanging over them.
