A Thread in the Tangle (75 page)

“Be still,” Isek commanded, sliding his hand beneath her skirts to pinch the back of her thigh in warning.
 
The gag silenced her whimper and she went limp, however, his revolting touch remained on her flesh.

Isiilde was as helpless as she had been while trapped in the washroom with Stievin.
 
But in many ways, this was far worse.
 
The only people who could rescue her were captives too, and in much worse condition.
 
Was Oenghus still alive?
 
From her uncomfortable position, she could only see N’Jalss’ boots in the narrow corridor.
 
All that was left to the nymph was to shiver with silent dread while she prayed to the Sylph for help.

After an indeterminable time, the party stopped in a large chamber.
 
The rafters were lost in shadows, and the corners were obscured by darkness.
 
The prisoners were shackled to chains looped over beams, and then hoisted off their feet by a cruel winch.
 
Marsais’ eyes rolled back in his head as he was wrenched off his feet.
 
Fresh blood gushed from his wound, running rivulets down his side and dripping onto the floor.

Tharios gestured sharply towards the Seer, and one of their captors stepped forward, lowering his cowl.
 
She recognized him as Zander, a Xaionian Wise One.
 
He removed Marsais’ gag and pressed a vial to his lips, forcing him to drink its contents.
 
Oenghus hung limply from his chains, his broad chest rose with a shudder and deflated with a rattle.

The room made her skin crawl.
 
Strange devices, bristling with blades, screws, and leather straps, were scattered about the chamber.
 
A row of rusted cages sat in filthy ichor on one side.
 
Shadowed, vaguely human lumps languished behind the bars.
 
Coals smoldered in a rusty brazier in the center of the chamber.
 
An array of instruments rested on the edge, their tips nestled beneath the coals, glowing red in the dark.

The majority of the traitorous soldiers had been left at key points along the way to discourage any unwanted visitors.
 
Only six soldiers remained along with Zander, Shimei, N’Jalss, Eiji, and Tharios.

Isek pulled her back so she had a better view of Marsais, or perhaps it was so he could see her.
 
Tharios strolled over to a cruel, wooden chair with metal buckles and clamps, and casually sat down.
 
The pale Wise One lounged, letting his prisoners ponder their Fate as he studied his lacquered nails with disinterest.
 
Eiji was poking curiously at Oenghus, surprised every time he managed another breath.

Captain Mael watched from her hanging position.
 
Lucas glared at everyone with a vehemence that would have done Oenghus justice, and the young, smooth-faced paladin was sweating with fear, making a valiant effort to swallow his terror.

Whatever they had forced down Marsais’ throat seemed to revive him, because he lifted his head.
 
In one fluid motion, Tharios rose, drew his dagger with a hiss of steel, and swept the blade towards Marsais.
 
Isiilde jerked, but the blade fell short of his throat, slicing through his goatee instead.
 
Braid and coins clattered to the floor.

“We mustn't forget about those little trinkets.”
 
Tharios kicked the severed braid away as if it were cursed.
 
“You look as though you are alert, perhaps not comfortable, but we hardly want that.
 
N’Jalss is extremely talented at maintaining a perfect balance between life and death.
 
The limits of the body versus the severity of pain is a fascinating subject.
 
We certainly don’t want you passing out.”

Marsais remained tight-lipped, studying the Wise One with disgust.
 
Blood dripped from his mangled hands onto his face.

“It’s too bad you’re not in a talkative mood.”
 
Tharios paced slowly around Marsais’ hanging form.
 
“So let me get right to the point and allow me to paint a picture for you.
 
The Archlord, who is already wounded and compromised, is suddenly attacked by Oenghus Saevaldr for his—indiscretion with his charge.
 
The barbarian, whose honor was slighted, flies into a rage and tears the Archlord to pieces.
 
Our noble paladins foolishly get in the way of a berserking Nuthaanian, and are quickly slaughtered for their gallant efforts, at which point Eiji is forced to subdue Oenghus, and kill him.

“O, there will be the skeptical, the doubting, but in the end the Wise Ones will do what they always do: argue, debate, investigate, argue some more and finally—nothing at all.”

Isiilde squirmed against Isek’s grip in protest.

“You will be a scratch on that useless table in the Hall of Judgment, and I will be Archlord in the wake of your unfortunate, but not widely mourned death.”
 
Tharios stopped directly in front of Marsais, peering into his face.
 
“You know what I want.
 
I have never questioned your foresight, although it seems to do you little good, so let me narrow down your options.
 
I doubt torture will work, but I’ll give N’Jalss the satisfaction anyway.
 
Same with your barbarian friend, although by the looks of him, I doubt he’ll last but a few breaths longer.”
 
Tharios’ voice chilled Isiilde’s blood.
 
If a realm existed where no sun shone, then his voice would whisper to all ears in the darkness.
 
He spoke of their deaths as someone might remark on the weather.

“I know what will cut to your heart.
 
She’s standing over there like a terrified rabbit.”
 
Isek tensed, hugging her closer as Tharios walked behind Marsais, speaking softly in his ear.
 
“Look at those eyes.
 
Wide and innocent.
 
Do you think she can even imagine what horrors the body can endure?”

“You swore she’d be unharmed,” Isek challenged.
 
“That was our agreement.”

“And I honor my agreements, Isek.
 
You will have the nymph, and I assure you that she will not be harmed any more than you would harm her.”
 
Isiilde could feel Isek’s heart quicken against her back.

“I leave the choice to you, Marsais zar’Vaylin.
 
Tell me how to reach the tomb and I will send her off to live in safety with Isek.
 
He’s not such a bad fellow, is he?
 
She wouldn’t be the first nymph to set two friends at each other’s throat.”

Marsais remained still, however, Oenghus began to stir, a low rumble rising from his chest as he sucked in another, unbelievable breath.

“Now the first option isn’t so bad, but let me give you the second.”
 
Tharios leaned forward, brushing Marsais’ ear, his voice smooth and pleasant.
 
“You will have the privilege of watching my men pleasure themselves with your nymph.
 
I’ve always wondered what would become of a nymph who changed hands so quickly.”

N’Jalss moved towards Isiilde.
 
The Lore sprang to Isek’s lips, but Tharios was faster.
 
An ethereal hand materialized, lashing towards Isek and seizing him about the throat.
 
Tharios gestured, lifting the would be traitor off his feet.

“It’s unwise for a turncoat to turn again,” Tharios warned.
 
“I swear you’ll have her.
 
Keep silent or I will rip out your tongue, Isek.”
 
Tharios released the hand and Isek crumpled to the dingy stone, gasping for air.
 
N’Jalss seized Isiilde’s hair and dragged her over to a slanted table.

“No,” Oenghus rasped, stirring weakly against his chains.
 
Eiji jumped backwards, gaping in shock.

“I don’t know where the tomb is!” Marsais exclaimed, frantically.
 
“Blast it, if I knew don’t you think I would have investigated it myself?”

“I think you’re lying,” Tharios replied.

N’Jalss slammed her onto the table and shackled her wrists.
 
The chains were pulled tight and she fought to slip free, ignoring the rusty metal digging into her flesh.
 
She kicked at N’Jalss, but he caught her ankles in one strong hand.
 
Still, she struggled.
 
N’Jalss shackled one ankle, and then the other, spreading her legs to opposite corners of the table.
 
Blood trickled down her arms and feet, but in her terror, she cared not, fighting against the chains like an animal caught in a trap.

“In fact, I know you’re lying.”
 
Tharios gestured to the soldiers who eagerly lined up, jostling one another to be first.
 
“Think back, before you were born even, to the founding of this Isle—over three thousand years ago.
 
Legend claims that Hengist Heartfang, the first Archlord of the Isle, raised the Spine.
 
However, I know the truth.”
 
Tharios’ voice lowered dangerously.
 
“And I know what lies beneath this rock.”
 
Marsais’ eyes widened.
 
He gazed at Tharios with new understanding—and fear.

“So you see, Marsais zar’Vaylin, you can either save your nymph some agony, or not.
 
It doesn’t really matter because I will eventually find what I seek.”

“I swear I don’t know where it is, you fool,” Marsais reaffirmed with a quivering voice.

“Well, then,” Tharios said, clapping his hands.
 
“It looks like we’ll have a show after all.
 
I think N’Jalss wished to get things started and since I am a man of my word—you can get in line last, Isek.
 
She’ll be nice and ready for you.”
 
Isek stood frozen in place, staring at the pale Wise One with revulsion.
 
“Do it!”

“Don’t touch her!” Oenghus roared, straining against his chains, however, his feet dangled and there was nothing for him to brace against.
 
“Marsais, blast you, tell him!”

“I’m told a Rahuatl’s barbs are particularly—painful,” Tharios said, ignoring the Nuthaanian.
 
He strolled back to his chair and sat with bemused attentiveness.

The copper skinned Rahuatl moved in front of the nymph, running his tongue over his fangs.
 
Isiilde squeezed her eyes shut, pulling at the shackles with all her strength.

“O, look, even Thedus wants to watch.”
 
Hope entered her bleak thoughts for the first time, and she opened her eyes.
 
Everyone watched the sun-scorched Wise One wander aimlessly over to the grim tableau.
 
N’Jalss hissed at him and tensed to strike, but Eiji shouted in warning.

“Don’t provoke him!”
 
N’Jalss halted.
 
“I’ve heard—rumors about him.”

“More cowardly Wise Ones, and their aimless talk,” N’Jalss spat, flexing his claws, but he withheld his strike, warily watching the half naked man approach.

“Maybe he wants a turn,” one of the soldier’s snickered.

Thedus, who was as much a permanent fixture to the Isle as the stones, placed a small tooth on the table beside her head.
 
He turned, and shuffled out of the chamber as silently as he had arrived.

Isiilde’s spark of hope died.
 
Tharios applauded with slow amusement, and N’Jalss sneered, ripping the top of her dress with a swipe of his claws.

“Wait, stop it—I’ll tell you!” Marsais pleaded.
 
“I’ve just remembered.”
 
The truly frightening thing of it was—he probably
had
forgotten.

Isiilde trembled from the tips of her fingers to her toes.
 
It didn’t mean a thing, Marsais would still be killed and so would Oenghus.
 
She no longer cared what happened to her.

“Yes?”
 
Tharios raised a halting hand, and N’Jalss pulled back, growling impatiently.

“In my bedchamber—there’s a warded flask,” Marsais rasped, struggling to form words through the haze of pain.
 
“Inside you will find what you seek.”

“Where is the tomb, Seer, I want direction!”

“The flask has been handed down from Archlord to Archlord.
 
There is a map inside the flask, of which I have never seen.
 
The knowledge is passed orally, and written nowhere.”

“You’ve never opened it?” Eiji asked, suspiciously.

“I may be a lunatic, but I’m no fool.
 
It’s warded with a binding.
 
Who knows what guards the map.”
 
Tharios stepped up to Marsais, searching for a hint of deception.

“I swear that is all I know. Please, I beg you, let her go, Tharios.”
 
During the unbearable silence that followed, Marsais met her gaze.
 
His eyes shimmered like mist.

“N’Jalss, Eiji, come with me—you too Isek.
 
You can show me how to reach my new quarters.”