The Hekamon (40 page)

"Yes, you can," Tolle said.

The man shouldered his bag, and as he did, the coat he
was wearing was pulled to one side, revealing a belt. On the belt a
scabbard and in the scabbard a dagger. The grip was entwined leather
and the pommel was an amethyst stone.

It was his sisters and seeing it changed
everything.

The speed of Kormak's movement took even the rest of his
patrol by surprise, his fist striking the man just behind his left ear,
followed by powerful kick to the side of his knee. The man
crumpled to the ground under the ferocity of the blows and Kormak was
on him, ignoring his own dagger and reaching for the one on the man's
belt. Disarming the man and arming himself in the process. Within
seconds, the Coralainian was on the ground and in a cloud of dirt and
dust.

"What have you done to her?" Kormak demanded,
the blade at the man's throat and his full weight on him.

Struggling to breathe, the Coralainian reached up with one
hand to restrain the dagger, the other for Kormak's throat. Before he
could get a grip other either, Tolle and Palfrey each grabbed an arm,
while Moxley and Loccsleah pinned down the man's legs. Confident he
had the man restrained, Kormak raised the dagger and repositioned it
in his hand so he could land a couple of blows to the man's face,
before once again putting the blade to his throat.

"Where is she and what have you done with her?"

"Who? I don't know what you are talking about,"
the man garbled.

"Kormak, what's going on?" Tolle asked, taken
aback by his sudden assault on the traveler.

"This belongs to my sister," he said holding
up the dagger.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'd recognize it anywhere."

Tolle punched the man in the stomach, "Talk, how is
it you have this?"

The man was struggling, his strength apparent but the
five of them could contain him.

"I bought it from an armory, just a few minutes
ago."

"Liar," Kormak struck him again, "the
river," he said, and the five of them part-lifted and part-dragged the man through the undergrowth next to the bridge and to the
Rhavenbrook.

Tolle and Palfrey let the man slide on his back down the
muddy bank, until he was submerged in the murky waters, but stopped
him from sliding more than waist deep.

After a few second they pulled him
out and Kormak reached across and grabbed his hair,
before landing a few more blows. Blood was pouring from the man's
nose and he gasped for breath.

"What have you done to her?"

"I haven't done anything—" The reply
stopped abruptly, as he was dropped back into the river at Kormak's
behest.

"Let's leave him longer this time." Tolle said.

"Agreed," Kormak replied, taking the chance to
catch his own breath.

They waited until the man started to kick and flay his
arms before pulling him out, gasping and spluttering.

"If you want to live, tell us everything you know."
Kormak said, but the man just breathed deeply for a few seconds, so
was slid back once more.

"Wait—" but he was already under, and nothing but gurgling followed. All of the ferguths were
becoming exhausted at the exertion. The man was heavy.

"Let's see what he has to say."

Up he came once more. Spitting out muddy water, eyes
clenched tightly shut and blood and mud pouring from his nose and
ears.

"She was near Tivitay," the man said, between
deep breaths and coughs, "She was looking for something, there
was a—"

They sent him back in so he couldn't catch his breath
too well.

"So
he
has
seen her and lied about it," he said, "leave him under to
punish him for lying."

They left him in the river, until Kormak was satisfied,
"Back up," and the man was pulled up the river bank,
coughing blood and mud, "What else?"

The man so slower to respond this time, he was visibly
weakening and had little strength left to fight back. His voice
quieter, seemingly resigned to his fate, "She…she…was
with someone."

"Who?"

More coughs, "a boy," some deep breaths, "but
he was helping her," his head lolled from side to side, "he
knew her necklace was with Tregarron."

"What was his name? His he a Demedelite?"
Kormak demanded.

"I don't know his name," the man coughed, "he
was helping her, that's all I know."

Kormak considered this. If someone is claiming the
necklace was with Tregarron, he is not helping Alyssa but lying to her,
tricking her maybe. Assuming what this Coralainian had said was true.

Kormak gave a signal and once again the man was submerged, this time
so they could talk among themselves.

"What do you think?" Kormak asked Tolle.

"Would Alyssa just give up her dagger like that?"
Tolle asked, holding the man's arm and keeping him under.

"No, I don't think so, she must have had it stolen
from her, I'm worried."

"Maybe we should go to Tivitay and look for her,"
Palfrey suggested.

They exchange looks, it would be their turn to be on the
wrong side of the bridge if they did.

"I shouldn't have returned without her, I should
have forced her to come back with me," Kormak said angrily.

The Coralainian was struggling again now, his body
seemed to shake involuntary, before his limbs relaxed.

It was only
then that they pulled him out and onto the bank, before dragging him
back up and onto the road next to the bridge.

"What should we do?" Kormak asked, turning to
Tolle.

"I should talk with the voight see what he says."

The others nodded and Kormak thought it the right course
of action, too, but it would almost certainly mean waiting until
morning.

He looked at the Coralainian on the ground and kicked
him in the ribs a few times, partly out of frustration, and partly to
see if he was still alive.

As unlikely as it seemed, he
appeared to have kicked some life into the wretched figure in the
dirt. The coughing and wheezing that followed, indicating that the
man was alive, if only just.

It was probably for the
best. There might be more information they could get out of him. They
would take him back to the stockade and interrogate him some more.

Just then Loccsleah grabbed him, "Company,"
she said.

They all turned and looked in the direction Loccsleah was
indicating. There they saw, on the other side of the
river and stepping onto the bridge, two Demedelite guards.

Raising the wooden spoon to his lips, Tansley took
another sip of the broth. A guard had brought it him a few minutes
earlier, along with the blanket which he had since draped over his
shoulders. The gritty, tasteless gruel was barely edible. But it was
warm and quenched his dry throat if nothing else.

He was sitting on a straw mattress atop a simple wooden
bed, hunched over the wooden bowl. And having woken up shaking with cold
and nausea, Tansley found that the warmth of the vessel helped, even
if the taste of its contents did not. He took a few more sips and
looked around the prison cell.

There was nothing else apart from the bed. The room was
almost cave like in appearance and it didn't seem to be a natural
hollow in the rock. Pick marks on the walls suggested it had been
carved out that way.

The cell door to his left, was set into a stone
wall, which had turned the cave into a enclosed room.
While to his right there were two openings leading outside, both
barred. One was about two feet square and eight feet off the ground
and reached almost to the ceiling.

If he were to
move the bed over and stand on it, he might be able pull himself up
and look out. But even from where he was sitting he could tell the
outer wall was thick, at least four feet maybe more. The view would
be very limited, almost like looking through a tunnel. Even so, he
resolved to try later when it was light so he could get his
bearings.

From what he knew of the fort's layout, he guessed the
cell faced north or north east and the conditions seemed to bear that
out. Very little light was coming through, but a cold draft was
chilling him to the bone. The blanket and warm bowl of broth was
helping but his hand was shaking and he needed to steady it each time
he brought the spoon to his lips.

The lower of the two openings was at floor level and was
set into a gutter. It was much smaller than the window and its
purpose was for an obvious and undignified arrangement.

The darkness of the cell, the cold, the damp exposed
rock of the walls, was all part of the retribution. The prison was
originally a place to hold the convict while they awaited their
punishment, before it was deemed a sufficiently punishing experience
in itself, for lesser crimes anyway.

How long would he be kept here? And for that matter,
why was he here? His memory was hazy. If not for the guard, he
wouldn't have known for sure he was in the Demedelei Fort Prison.
Cardell's uniform was recognizable but so too was his face. He didn't
know the man well but knew of him. He was the bailiff and one of
Tregarron's henchmen. He was rumored to be particularly sadistic when
it came to the treatment of prisoners, and as a result, Demedelei had a
low re-offending rate.

Travelers would purposely avoided the town because of
the bailiff's reputation. Keeping to the Regis Highway and the
merchants there instead. So Tansley had not minded Cardell, welcoming
his presence even, for sending more trade his way. Now he was far
less appreciative of the torturer's existence.

While he was trying to collect his thoughts, there came
the sound of footsteps from beyond the door. He could hear voices
too, though the wall and door were too solid for him to determine
anything being said. Tansley didn't immediately react to the noises.

In the time he'd been awake he had heard movement in the corridor
outside, so didn't think much of it, but this time the sound of a key
in the lock caused him to tense with apprehension.

The door opened and the cell was filled with the glow of
a lantern, with the light obscuring the face of the guard carrying it. The
man opened the door wider and as he did, he could see it was Cardell again. It
wasn't a face he particularly wanted to see. Yet despite Cardell's
reputation of cruelty, Tansley might have preferred him to the man he
could now see standing behind him in the doorway. He too was carrying
a lantern.

"Visitor," Cardell said, stepping back so the
other man could enter the room, and Captain Tregarron walked in.

"I can take it from here, Cardell."

"Yes, sir." The guard said, closing the door
and leaving the two of them alone.

Tansley watched as Tregarron reached for a hook that
hung down from a chain on the ceiling and placed the lantern on it.
The chain rattled and filled the cell with sharp metallic sounds that
set his teeth on edge. Tansley hadn't noticed it until now and it
seemed far sturdier an arrangement than was necessary for holding a
lantern. He stopped his mind from wandering to the other ways it
might be put to use.

Tregarron caught his eye, and, reading his
thoughts, looked up at the hook again.

"It has many uses," the captain said, smiling,
"Let's not try them all out though, what do you say?" The
smile vanished.

"A lantern holder is fine by me," Tansley
croaked, his voice weak and throat dry, despite the broth. If he
looked as bad as he sounded, then he was in a bad way.

Tregarron sat down next to him on the mattress, and
watched while he attempted another sip of what he would tell himself
was soup, while closing his eyes to eat it. The lantern light had
revealed its murky gray color, making it taste even worse, if that
were possible. He decided to give up on it for now and just held the
bowl close for warmth instead.

"So, Tansley, how are we today," Tregarron
asked, in a mockingly cheerful voice.

"I've been better, Captain."

"I'm sure you have," Tregarron said, changing
his tone to one that Tansley found to be even more irritating, formal
and officious. "Now, can you can tell me what you remember?"

It was only now that the captain put the question to
him, that he realized he couldn't remember very much at all, and that
would be a problem.

"I don't seem able to recall anything, sir,"
he said, reaching up and rubbing the back of his head where a large
bruise had formed and some flakes of dried blood had matted his hair.

"You know, the Coralainians have a word for truth
that is the same as their word for remember," Tregarron said.

Tansley knew this all too well. He tried to avoid the
captain of the guard wherever possible and very rarely spoke to him,
yet he had probably heard this line pass his lips a dozen times or
more. He didn't even know if it was true. It was Tregarron's way of
saying that to forget is to lie, and lying to him was something he
considered a personal insult of a most serious nature. Forgetfulness
was ill advised here.

"Perhaps if you asked me something specific, it
might jog my memory," he said, reasonably, not least because he
would like to start recalling things, too, like, what had happened to
him.

"Very well," the captain said, seeming to find
this approach acceptable, "You delivered a package to Mr.
Croneygee's workshop this morning. What was it?"

Tansley
had
visited Mr. Croneygee, and he
had
taken a bundle of items, but it was as if the captain's words were
illuminating what was buried in his memory. He couldn't bring to the
fore any recollections himself, he would have to guess at some
details.

"I think I was taking some items to be repaired but
I can't be certain, you understand," carefully moving his hand
over his sore head.

"Which items?"

"My mind is a little clouded."