A NOVEL OF ADVENTURE
BY JEFFREY BLAIR LATTA
The torturer was a
master of his calling, skilled to his craft. In his hands, the process
was a lingering nightmare of unending, appalling horror. A brutal,
callous relentlessness was coupled with exquisitely precise sadism as strip
after slim, dripping strip of skin was torn from the advisor's shuddering
flesh.
Throughout the torture,
Khomas Khan suffered in the darkness and solitude of his blindfold and
earplugs. The effect -- no doubt, intentionally -- was to heighten
the already unbearable torment, irresistibly focusing his concentration
until the entire world disappeared, all light, all sound, all distraction
-- until all that remained was the screaming multitude of exquisitely sensitive
nerves that mantled his flayed body like a curse.
He nearly went mad.
Then, at last they
left him alone. All night he hung suspended in the abysmal nightmare
of his suffering, every feeble movement awakening fresh agonies in his
frame, muted inhuman sounds periodically croaking past the gag in his teeth.
Steadily the skin grew
back, the pain of its recovery nearly as terrible as the torment of its
removal. Worst of all was the knowledge that his captors were only
allowing his skin to regrow so that they could slowly flay it again --
and again -- and again --
His mind drifted with
delirium; aware he was hallucinating he remained unable, or unwilling,
to resist it.
He smelled the lush
scent of flowers. The luxurious aroma entered his nose and curled
about the epicentre of his brain, spreading soft tendrils like rippling
veils that teased and tormented his anguished senses.
Suddenly he felt soft
hands gently caressing his shoulders, slim curving fingers as smooth as
polished glass. Warm breath played across his cheek, tinged with
the floral fragrance. In spite of the wax plugs in his ears, he heard
a gentle laugh, musical and familiar. He struggled to form a name
but the gag was twisted too thickly against his tongue and all that came
out was an aching sob.
In his mind, he cried,
"Montaz."
Poor dead slave girl.
And then he heard her.
She breathed a single
word in his ear, her voice like the whisper of rain on water. One
word. Then moist lips pressed against his drawn mouth, hands like
wings cupping his face. For a moment, supple breasts and a smooth
stomach slid fluidly against his naked front, soft, warm and vital...
Abruptly, the mask
was whipped from his eyes, the gag from his mouth and the plugs from his
ears. Like a snuffed flame, the feel of her hands, the floral scent,
all vanished in an instant and Khomas Khan blinked dazedly into the daylight
streaming down through the open hatchway in the ceiling.
The four Trayken guards
lay strewn in grotesque sprawls on the floor, their spilled blood reflecting
white on black. A throng of Kamir men bristling with leisters crowded
the chamber, their wide eyes regarding him with mingled horror and relief.
Slowly Khomas Khan
recognized a figure in the front: Pallin Pol, the leader of the rebels.
Behind, stood Zhanak Zen and Fanas Fel. Pallin Pol was speaking to
him, but it was only gradually that Khomas Khan found he could understand
what was being said.
"There are ships hidden
atop Nakris," Pallin Pol was explaining, his voice trembling with excitement
and urgency. "They've brought the entire Trayken Armada here.
We don't know why they want Eukara so badly, but it's obvious they intend
to invade the minute Nisram Nyl returns with the fleet. They can't
risk attacking us with the fleet away for fear they might be caught between
our guns and the guns of the ships."
Khomas Khan could feel
fingers working feverishly at the bonds securing his wrists and ankles.
Unseen hands supported his aching frame, ready to take his weight the moment
he was freed.
"We found the princess
alive on Nakris," Pallin Pol continued, "but she was recaptured by the
fenfyr and we had to leave her. The wingless stranger set out to
rescue her, but he told us to return and tell you about the Armada."
Khomas Khan cried out
in sudden pain as he slumped into the arms of his rescuers, then was carried
to the hanging bed. He glimpsed a dead Trayken lying on the floor
and realized succour had come only seconds before his torture would have
resumed. He groaned as he curled on the soft mattress. A sheet
was draped over his shoulders to cover his nakedness.
"You must do something,"
insisted Pallin Pol. "You command the military. Pacts mean
nothing to the Trayken; they have already broken it by bringing their Armada
here. We have to fight back while there is still time. For
the moment, we still outnumber them here in Jinja Khyam. Will you
lead us?"
For a moment, Khomas
Khan lay on his side, clutching the sheet around him. Montaz,
he
thought. My poor Montaz.
Weakly he straightened
until he sat on the edge of the swaying bed. Searing shards raced
across his shoulders from the unhealed rent down his spine, the pain made
more unbearable by the knowledge that his wings were gone forever.
The one wound which could never heal. His eyes swept the anxious
crowd as slow resolve kindled in his gaze. Finally, weakly, he nodded.
"Send word," he instructed.
"Muster all guardsmen in the audience chamber. Open the auxiliary
worm gem stores and distribute gems to all the manatyr worm cannons.
Everyone is to be armed with leisters, silth whips and full armour.
Order the civilians to take shelter in the tunnels. I will explain
the situation to the queen myself."
For a moment, the crowd
of faces studied him expectantly, as if waiting for some final revelation.
"Well -- what are you waiting for?" he demanded, strength of purpose steadying
his voice. "Let us show the Trayken what price must be paid by
those who dare break their word to the Kamir!"
As one, the crowd roared
their exultant approval, and men rushed eagerly out onto the balcony, soaring
away to carry out his commands.
But for Khomas Khan
there was little pleasure in the course he had chosen. He knew they
stood no chance against the might of the Trayken Armada; that was precisely
why he had signed the pact in the first place. Now though, he would
do what he could, no matter how futile. If the Trayken desired blood,
he would show them blood -- blood as black as the midday eclipse.
For a moment, his thoughts
returned to Montaz, his precious blue slave girl tortured to death by the
Draykhis Dol Hashar. He thought of her terrible ordeal, of the cruel
marks on her ravaged flesh. Then he thought of the strange hallucination
experienced just before his salvation -- soft lips, gentle hands, floral-tinged
breath. It had seemed so very real to him. Had he only imagined
it? With all his heart he wanted to believe.
Her one whispered word
continued to play in his mind over and over. One word like the haunting
recall of a lover's breathing sigh. One word as real or unreal as
the soft kiss it presaged.
"Forgiven."
The process had
required most of the day in order to ensure the shock from pain and loss
of blood did not kill him. And the Trayken draykhis, Dol Hashar,
had made it quite clear: Khomas Khan, the queen's advisor, was not
to die.
The Trayken captain -- "Jyleesha", a sailor had called her -- had agreed to take the pirate to see Shyrin Shas, though making it clear this in no way changed the nature of her offer. If he did not agree to be Jyleesha's lover, not only would Seagrave be turned in when they reached Jimnyr, but Shyrin Shas would be killed in some horrible but undefined way.
If not for the seriousness of their peril, Seagrave would have found the whole thing humorous. He had set out hoping to recover the Earth tal-stone, only to discover that Shyrin Shas had lost the tal-stone somewhere atop Eukara. To find the stone he needed to return to that island; instead, he was being carried steadily farther from his goal. Now Jyleesha...
Even as she lithely bent to unlock the metal hatch, he couldn't help but admire the way the Trayken captain moved. Every graceful gesture was like the gliding stalk of a leanly muscular jungle cat.
In a way, she had been right. He did feel a certain kinship with her. Alien she might be, but she too smelled of the salt wind; her glossy sapphire skin seemed gently burned by the sun. There was a wild, untamed savagery about her that excited and aroused him and, though her methods might seem overly brutal, he sensed a strange sincerity in her.
Her craving for companionship was real enough and, in a way, he found himself sorely tempted by her offer; part of him wished he could forget about Earth and the tal-stone and sail away with her as she demanded -- to spend the rest of his days making fierce love to this moody, powerful creature and to cruise the windy skies of Miraya as if reborn to a new home.
Part of him...
With a metallic groan, the heavy metal hatch was raised by two Lan'lans, their long hook-tipped arms serving like gaffs. Seagrave's features darkened as a hot blast of air surged up out of the blackness of the storage vat. He cast a withering glare at Jyleesha, then sprang down into the darkness.
He landed on his haunches, then straightened, finding the vat low enough that he could easily reach the hatchway with his fingers. It was only a few feet wide, so that, even in the deep shadows, he could discern the nearly-naked, tangerine figure curled against the wall.
The air in the vat was furnace-like, each breath coming hard to his labouring lungs. There were no vents in the hatch and no circulation, so that the sun's heat gradually built up over the course of the day, relentlessly raising the temperature to a level where even the few hours of midday darkness made little difference.
Now he understood what Jyleesha had meant when she had said Shyrin Shas would be dead soon, anyway.
He dropped to his knees and drew the suffering princess into his arms. She trembled feebly, her lashes parting to reveal only the whites of her eyes. Seagrave bellowed furiously up at the triangle of light: "Damn you, get me some water for this girl!"
To his surprise, a few moments later, a gilded cup was handed down, its bottom decorated with a wolfish head with rubies for eyes.
Gently cradling the girl's lolling head, Seagrave placed the curled rim to her dry lips, allowing a silver trickle to spill between her white teeth. She whimpered as the water found her aching throat, then her eyes opened wider and she looked up into the pirate's face.
"Moryan?" she whispered.
"Aye," he nodded, giving her another sip. "Don't try to talk, girl. You've lost too much water in this killing furnace. Just drink."
For a moment, she complied with his command, urgently swallowing the cooling fluid with weak, timorous sips. Finally, strengthened, she regarded him closely, her emerald eyes shining in the darkness.
"They don't know who I am," she told him proudly. "I told them I was a slave girl."
"I'm surprised they didn't notice your earlobes," Seagrave commented wryly.
"They are Trayken," she replied, as if that explained everything. Then her eyes fixed on the overhead hatchway and a shiver coursed through her flesh. "They sealed me down here in darkness," she said. "Then the heat grew gradually worse and worse and there was so little air -- I thought I would surely die --"
"I'll get you out of here somehow," Seagrave assured her through gritted teeth. "I'll think of something. Just hold on a little longer."
Suddenly, as she understood he hadn't come to rescue her, tears welled in her eyes and spilled in silver threads down her orange cheeks, her narrow shoulders spasming with mute sobs.
Somehow the sight of this brave princess weeping despairingly was like a sword stroke to Seagrave's heart. He swallowed hard and pulled her closer.
"Don't cry, girl," he muttered gruffly. "You'll just waste more water doing that. Come on now -- I'll get you out of this."
Fighting back her tears, she weakly shook her head. "This isn't your problem anymore," she said. "I had no right to expect you to help me or my people. What I did was wrong -- I was angered because I wanted to believe you had come to save me. I had no right."
"What are you going on about, girl? You're delirious."
"No, I'm not," she insisted, and her fingers fumbled at the small pouch fastened to the thong at her hip. She had barely enough strength to place the pouch in Seagrave's hand before her arms slipped back onto her smooth midriff.
Mystified, Seagrave opened the pouch. A lavender gemstone tumbled into his palm, gold flakes glittering nebulously as if set in purple ice.
"What is it?" Seagrave asked -- though already he knew.
"I thought it was the Lin tal-stone," Shyrin Shas replied faintly. "But, when I used it, it took me to your planet instead. This is the Earth tal-stone. I lied to you when I said I had lost it on Eukara."
It took Seagrave a full five seconds to understand what this meant: he could return to Earth! He didn't have to return to Eukara; he didn't have to search for the stone atop the island; he didn't have to risk recapture by the fenoks or the fenfyrs or whatever other monsters lived there. In the palm of his hand was the way home -- and she had had it all along.
His brows contracted as a thought came to him. "But then what the devil have you been lying down here for? Don't you know this heat could kill you? Why didn't you use the tal-stone to escape?"
"Escape where?" she asked. "To Earth? I have no way of returning to Miraya. If I escape to your planet, I would have to stay there."
"At least you would be alive."
"I am a princess, Moryan." In spite of her exhaustion, her supple flesh seemed momentarily imbued with an electric surge of vitality. "My honour, my very life belongs to the people of Eukara. I cannot leave them -- not even to save myself. Until I have breathed my last breath, I must continue to act in their interests. If I must, I will die here -- but I won't run away."
"Damn you people," Seagrave snarled in disgust. "What is it about you Kamir with your honour and your duty -- first Khomas Khan, now you. No wonder the Traykens have conquered you so easily -- you're all mad. I'm beginning to like Jyleesha all the more -- at least there's a creature I can understand, a girl with a solid core of ruthless self-interest!"
"Take the tal-stone." Gently, her fingers curled his hand around the lavender gem. "Return to your world. You don't belong here. This isn't your fight and I had no right to make it yours. You have rescued me twice and there is no more I can ask of you. I thank you for what you have done -- now go." As if regally dismissing him, she turned her dark head away, closing her eyes.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, her lashes rose again and she asked him guardedly: "Do you really like that Trayken woman more than me?"
The question took Seagrave by surprise -- but, after a beat, he laughed sharply and gently prodded her chin with the fist holding the tal-stone. "Now that's more like it," he encouraged her, grinning. "A few more thoughts like that and we'll turn you into something a man can get a grip on."
She frowned, then turned quickly away to conceal the renewed tears glimmering under the sweep of her lashes. "Please -- return to your world," she sobbed bitterly. "You are cruel and heartless and...and I hate you."
For a moment, Seagrave was stunned. He held her in brooding silence, puzzled by her conflicting behaviour. Again he was struck by the strange mingling of child and woman in the same lovely form. How could the same person be so brave in the face of such overwhelming suffering as she had seen, and yet, at the same time, be so oddly sensitive?
He struggled to think what he could say to mollify her. At the same time, he wasn't sure whether he should even try. She was right; he had the tal-stone now. He could return to Earth. This wasn't his fight -- it wasn't even his world. What did it matter if this alien princess hated him?
But it did matter.
Quietly, he said: "Oh, come on, girl -- don't be angry. I was only --"
Suddenly, he felt powerful hands seize him from above. He fought to twist free, but was dragged up through the hatchway, snarling in frustration as the princess slipped tantalizingly from his fingers.
Placed on the deck with a Trayken at either arm, he could only watch helplessly as the heavy hatch was replaced over the black vat, a frightened whimper rising from below an instant before the metal cover ruthlessly quenched it.
Seagrave glared at Jyleesha as she calmly locked the hatchway, then replaced the lodestone key at the ring on her sleek hip.
"The heat will kill her down there," Seagrave growled angrily. "Let her up and then I will decide whether I will stay with you or not."
The Trayken captain swayed nearer, a challenging fire dancing in her exotic eyes.
"Not this time, Human," she refused, her cooling gills flaring heatedly. "I let you see her as you asked -- that was the bargain. You were quite right in your thinking; the strength of my desire gives you a measure of control -- but that control only serves you so far. I will not be toyed with."
"She will die," Seagrave repeated.
With cynical unconcern, Jyleesha glanced at the ponderous hatch, then up at the blistering orb poised over the ship's two-headed bow.
"Then you had better make your decision quickly," she replied, with a disdainful toss of her head. Then, to the two Traykens at his arms, she ordered brusquely, "Take him back to the pens. If he escapes again, your wings will be trimmed."
With a cruel laugh like the brittle crack of a whip, she spread her brilliant wings and sprang agilely into the air, soaring away toward the starboard turret...
