Reluctant Concubine (36 page)

Once the warriors had passed, we hurried forward and descended the first stairs that led down, eager to reach the dungeons at last. We met with warriors time and time again, most covered with the grime of battle and too tired to pay us much mind. But then another group strode through a thick wooden door to the side, carrying heavy bundles.

“You,” one of the men called to us. “Come over here.”

We had no other choice but to obey. They piled bundles on our backs until we were bent halfway to the floor, and ordered us to follow after them. Up the stairs we went, Leena groaning with every step. My own knees trembled by the time we reached a large hall, its floor covered with moldy old rushes upon which we were finally allowed to set down our burdens.

We tried to slink away.

“Stay,” one of the soldiers ordered.

Carved wood panels covered the walls; tables littered the room, some broken, some turned over. The room was smaller than Batumar’s Great Hall, but it looked as if at one time it had been richly appointed.

At the head table sat the most fearsome of men, surrounded by a handful of others on their feet. His red hair shone with grease as it streamed past his shoulders, his wide chest clad in black leather armor that belonged to no animal I had ever seen, covered with spiking ridges. The man’s nose was flat and wide, his eyes sharp and cruel, his stare deadly. I looked down at once, not wanting to draw his attention.

One of the men who stood in front of the table bowed deeply with respect as he talked. “Great Khan Woldrom, I shall carry your message to the Emperor Drakhar with all haste.”

“See that you do.” The khan spat at the man’s feet. “Neither less nor more if you value your life.”

The man bowed even deeper.

“Know on whose side you stand. The Emperor might push the Kerghi in front of his troops to use like a whip, but in every kingdom we take, women breed large with Kerghi sons. Before I die, I will see the Kerghi outnumber the Empire’s warriors. And who will be Emperor then?”

The man fell on his knees to kiss the khan’s boots. The khan dismissed him, then turned his attention to us.

The warriors shoved us forward and told us to spread upon the floor the contents of the bundles we had carried. We did so with distaste, for the loot still had the victims’ blood on it: golden chalices, swords, fine cloth. My stomach rolled as I saw a large-stoned ring—still on the finger.

I looked away for I could not bear the sight, and my gaze fluttered to the man next to the khan. He looked familiar, and after a moment, I realized why. He was the spy I had healed at the House of Joreb. He caught me looking, so I cast my eyes down once more. Too late, for with unhurried steps, he strode toward me.

He stuck his fingers under my chin and lifted my head none too gently. “I have not seen you here before.” With his other hand, he fingered my clothes. “You are wet.”

“My work is in the kitchen, my lord,” I answered, and at once, I knew my mistake, for I spoke in the man’s own language. A local servant would not have known it.

His eyes narrowed then. “I know you,” he said. “But not from this place.” He let me go and turned to the warriors. “Throw her into the dungeons until I remember.”

The men grabbed me and dragged me from the room. I did not fight them, for they carried me to the very place I sought to reach. Down many stairs we went and long narrow corridors, my heart beating faster with every step.

Then a door fashioned of iron bars opened in front of us, and at last I found the dungeons, in a large underground cavern. Leena was not far behind. Shortly after I was thrust into an alcove of rough stone guarded with more rusty bars, the men threw her in after me.

I helped her to the pile of filthy hay in the back, and she lay down, bruised, and exhausted. I made her as comfortable as I could, even as I gagged at the horrid stench of the place. Human waste soiled the floors, the disgusting odor mixing in the air with the smell of unwashed bodies.

Mostly men filled the dungeon, locked in small nooks carved from the rock on which the palace had been built, some hanging from chains in the wall, a few I suspected no longer living. I did not see Batumar but could not bear thinking that he had already been killed.

All night, I thought of nothing but a way to escape, talking in low whispers with Leena, but we could not construct a worthy plan. The cries of others sounded without stop. They begged for death.

Toward morning, we were given water but no food. We gulped what we had, both weak with hunger and exhausted from lack of sleep. The man chained to the wall opposite from us, whom I had thought dead before, looked up, his body covered in wounds and dry blood, his face beaten beyond recognition, his nose and cheekbones broken, his jaw shattered. He blinked, his eyelids moving slowly as if even that hurt.

“I had the strangest dream.” The weak whisper came out garbled and barely audible, but in the voice of Batumar.

My heart leaped, and I rushed to the bars as close as I could to be able to hear him.

“I dreamt that you were here with Leena, only she was my mother,” he told me and lost consciousness again.

And at that, Leena and I wept, for he had called Leena his mother, and we knew on that day he would die.

We talked to Batumar throughout the day as he passed in and out of consciousness. Leena told him about the time he was born and asked for his forgiveness, but he had not the strength to give it. I told him I loved him, and watched his chest rise slower and slower as his breathing grew shallow.

His shackles cut into his bloody wrists—he could no longer stand; only his chains held him in place. When his head fell forward, I could no longer see his face but could still hear him now and then gasping for air.

And then he gasped no more.

Leena keened next to me, her hands extended toward her son through the bars. The pain in my heart nearly tore me apart. And I understood why my mother had been willing to give her life for my father, and no matter how much it was forbidden, I knew what I had to do.

I closed my eyes and sent my spirit forth. Batumar’s life force was so weak I barely found it in those last weak pulses of the blood. I drew all his pain into my own body; then I surrounded his life force with my own and pushed against it until they merged.

I saw him lift his head slowly and look at me. A lifetime of understanding passed in that look, forgiveness, love, need. Then his gaze flickered as he realized what I had done.

“No!” Like a wounded beast he roared.

And then the eyes of my body could no longer see, and the ears of my body could no longer hear, for I had sent into him the last of my spirit, and the darkness came to claim me.

I was not sad to die. How could I be, when Batumar would live? If anyone could defeat the Kerghi, it was him. And by saving him, I might have saved all our people. I would die having fulfilled my destiny.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

(Returning Home)

Leena wailed, cradling my body while Batumar raged against his chains, fresh blood running down his arms where he ripped his skin. He roared with grief and fury, lurching forward in his restraints, shaking the wall with his great power. I wished I could give them peace, but I could no longer touch them in any way. I had given all I had to give.

I watched from above with my spirit eyes as four guards rushed in at the commotion. They dared not step close enough to Batumar to use their swords, but their lances fell upon him mercilessly until he hung limp from the chains. He did not move again.

“Is he dead?” One poked him hard with his lance.

Another opened the bars and eased inside, then kicked Batumar viciously. Batumar did not groan, shift or flinch.

Yet I could sense his spirit, still strong within him.

“Hang him from the castle wall.” Another guard pushed forward and released the chains.

Batumar surged up and used that very chain to strangle the man. He grabbed the fallen lance and threw it hard, instantly killing the guard farthest from him, who had turned to run for the door.

The High Lord’s mighty fist brought down the third man. Then Batumar leaped after his last foe. He showed no mercy but nearly cut the soldier in half with the man’s own sword.

The other prisoners watched this in stunned, scared silence.

In a moment, Batumar had the keys in his hand and the door of our cell open. Then he stilled for a breath before taking my body from Leena and cradling it with great gentleness.

Leena moved to him at last and embraced him, tears streaming down her face. “You must leave at once. More men will come.”

“You go,” he told her without looking away from me. “Hurry.”

He kissed me softly and laid my body down, then stood and walked out of the cell. Outside, he ripped a torch from its sconce. Black fires burned in his eyes, his bloodied face fierce.

And I knew he meant to take on the castle and die here.

Leena rose like an ancient goddess. “If you fight, I fight. I am the mother of the High Lord of the Kadar.” She put her chin in the air and blinked away her tears. “But know this. When you die here a hero’s death, there will be none to defend Dahru when the hordes reach our island. The warlords need their leader. Have I birthed a son who would abandon his people?” Her eyes flashed.

Batumar scowled at her. Then he looked her battered body over. He probably saw what my spirit eyes saw, that she could not walk out of the dungeons unaided. “Fight, you would?”

Leena stood her ground and held his gaze without blinking.

His lips flattened for a moment, but then he kicked the keys to the men in the nearest cell, threw the torch on a pile of soiled hay in the far corner, and tied to his waist the sword he had taken from the last guard he’d killed.

“Get out before the fire spreads,” he told the prisoners who now clamored for release.

He stepped forward and lifted Leena with one arm while he lifted me with the other. He burst through the dungeon’s door with us.

“To the cisterns,” Leena said. “Up, then to the left.”

He thundered up the stairs.

When he reached the strange bathing room, he shoved through the door and had enough time to set us down and reach for his sword, while the men inside conquered their momentary surprise. They outnumbered him six to one. I wanted to close my spirit eyes against the great butchery, but I could not.

Leena picked up a fallen sword and fought beside her son. I wondered if I might have done the same to save the people I loved. Maybe I would have.

In the end, Batumar piled the bodies of his enemies under the old cistern hole in the ceiling and helped Leena climb up, then carried me after her, the space a tight fit for his wide shoulders. But they did escape the castle that way, and I was happy for that.

Outside, at the foot of the walls, he found a charred cart and laid me on it, then lifted Leena and settled her down next to me. She had used up the last of her strength in the fight.

Night had arrived once again. Few walked the road to the castle, and those gave wide berth to the battle-crazed warrior who was dragging two bloodied women off for some dark purpose, one obviously dead, the other still moaning.

None pursued us from the stronghold. They had other problems. Flames licked the timber roof of the southern tower.

Batumar seemed to know which way the Gate lay and walked that road all night, reaching the river by morning. Leena and I had floated far downriver from the island, then had taken a lengthy detour through the endless forest, it seemed.

A great battle raged on the island. Swords clashed, men called out, tigers roared. I saw Lord Karnagh and his tiger with my spirit eyes before Batumar did.

My spirit floated higher now, over the treetops. I tried to return to Batumar and Leena, but I could not. An invisible force pulled me away. One moment I could see, then the next all turned black, as if my spirit eyes were closing too, at last.

* * *

The next time I opened my eyes, my spirit resided inside my body once again. I was lying upon the bed in Batumar’s chamber at Karamur. Leena sat by me, holding my hand.

The window to the courtyard stood open a crack to allow in fresh air. Swords clanged outside, not in desperate battle frenzy, but in the steady rhythm of young soldiers practicing.

“What happened?” I could barely push out the words, my mouth as dry as if I had eaten all the dust of the great desert.

Leena’s face split into a smile. Her eyes filled with relief, and even a few tears. She wore a blue lady’s gown instead of a servant’s dress. But she pressed my hand to her cheek, and made as much fuss over adjusting my blankets as if she was still my servant and not the High Lord’s mother, a lady of power in the palace.

“Lord Karnagh and his warriors were at the Gate, my lady,” she said. “Their fearsome tigers caused much destruction among the Kerghi. False news had reached Lord Karnagh that our High Lord had been captured and killed. Lord Karnagh sought to take the Gate and destroy it even at the cost of his own life and the lives of his men, meaning to cut off Woldrom from the rest of his vast armies. None can sail the ocean around those lands, not through the hardstorms.”

“Did he destroy the Gate?”

“He tried.” Leena patted my hand. “And Batumar joined Lord Karnagh in the fight. Many good men fell, but more Kerghi troops arrived. We barely escaped.”

She helped me drink.

“Shartor is gone. Banished,” she said. “When I told Batumar what the soothsayer tried to do to you… The High Lord nearly cut the old leech in half. But then he said you would not wish a life taken on your behalf. He was afraid such an act might yet weaken your barely lingering spirit.”

I wanted to ask for Batumar, but before I could, I fell asleep. The next time I woke, the Guardians were with me, standing around me at the points of a perfect triangle. They must have been working some healing, but I still struggled to sit.

“Welcome back,” said the Guardian of the Cave. He appeared drawn, as if he had lost weight.

The Guardian of the Gate squeezed my hand with a relieved sigh, his great carved staff in his other hand. He had shadows under his eyes, the line of his thin mouth strained. Even the young Guardian of the Scrolls had worry lines marring his forehead as he looked at me. Frowning like that, he looked so very much like his father, the sight tugged my lips into a weak smile.