WindDeceiver (27 page)

The leg irons were torture as he lifted his feet to climb the stairs. By the time they reached the second level, he was panting with the effort and his head was throbbing, his face flushed. He could feel the rough surface of the steps on the soles of his bare feet and cursed beneath his breath.

Belial had taken his boots and socks from him before they had put him on his horse to lead him here.

They let him rest before starting the climb to the third level. They probably wouldn’t have except for the fact that the blood was already beginning to seep down his feet from the rub of the leg irons and he had stumbled twice on the steps close to the second level landing. Idly he wondered if her were to skid down the steps if the guard would let go of the rope around his neck.

He didn’t think so, but then again, he didn’t think Jaborn wanted him dead, either.

The climb to the third level was even more excruciating and his legs were burning, the soles of his feet raw, his ankles raw and bleeding freely. His wrists were chafing, his shoulders throbbing, and his headache had become a pounding agony in his right temple.

Stopping at a small wooden door, the guards pushed him up against the wall and began to strip the shirt from him, jerking him this way and that as they rent the material. Clamping his mouth shut, knowing they wanting him to vocally protest their treatment, he heard the bigger of the two grunt his disappointment as the last of his shirt came free of his body.

“You’re not as stupid as you look, McGregor,” the man complimented him in a gruff, ‘I’m-sorry-you-aren’t’ voice.

Conar merely looked at him, his jaw clenched tightly together to keep in his mouth the spittle he was aching to heave into the man’s beefy face.

Thwarted at not being able to goad his prisoner into rebellion, the bigger guard shoved Conar hard in the chest then turned to rap smartly on the wooden door. A command to enter was all the permission the brute needed to grab the prisoner’s upper arm in a punishing, painful clutch and jerk him toward the door the second guard hastily pulled open.

“Get in there, you bastard!” the guard growled, pushing Conar through the door with enough force to stagger him and make him lose his balance. A hard hand in the middle of the Serenian’s back sent Conar sprawling, his chin hitting hard on the stone floor.

His teeth clicked together and he tasted blood as his molars clamped down on the side of his tongue. He grunted with the sharp pain and lay there, too furious to do anything else.

“Did he give you any trouble?”

Conar recognized that voice. He had heard that voice at the tourney field at the Palace of the Tzars. He didn’t need to look up to know it was Jaleel Jaborn who had spoken.

“He fought Belial,” was the snort. “As you can see, Master, he lost.” The guard struck out with his boot and clipped Conar’s thigh, pleased when he heard the prisoner’s quick intake of breath. “He gave me no problems, though.”

“How could he?” someone else in the room asked. “He’s trussed up like a lamb to slaughter!”

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Slowly Conar pushed his chest up from the floor, lifting his head to stare at the dais where two men sat side by side. From talks with Sajin, he knew the one in the smaller chair had to be Guil Ben-Shanar Gehdrin. But it was into the bored, jaded gaze of Prince Jaleel Jaborn Conar’s hatred took him and he let his own stare turn hot and as furiously snapping as the flames of hell.

Jaleel waved a hand and the two guards stepped forward, dragging Conar to his feet.

Though he twisted in their grip, his sense of outrage and fury getting the better of him, he was no match for their brute strength and they easily subdued him, keeping him still as their master looked him over.

“You bastard!” Conar spat, pulling on the men keeping him from throwing himself on the man who had killed his daughter.

“I have been called that many times, McGregor,” Jaleel conceded. “I would have thought you had thought up a much nastier name to call me.”

“Motherfucker!”

Conar

spat.

“He is that,” Guil giggled. “But he considers it a compliment.”

Jaleel smiled at Conar. “The best woman I ever mounted.”

His hatred nearly suffocating him, Conar’s lips pulled back over his teeth. He twisted violently, but all his thrashing managed to do was put bruises and rub burns on his upper arms and shoulders. His manacles rattled like the chains of a hauntling, swinging painfully against his upper thighs. Before this was over, he thought with a grimace of pure frustration, he would be black and blue all over.

“It won’t do you any good to fight, McGregor,” Jaleel announced as he crossed his legs and positioned himself more comfortably on the throne. “You are no match for my men or haven’t you figured that out yet?”

“Go to hell!” Conar snarled at him.

“You do know I have your men, don’t you?” Jaleel asked, bringing up his hand to inspect his fingernails.

“I know you’re going to regret having taken them,” Conar answered.

“Who’s going to make him regret it, McGregor? You?” Guil laughed. “You can’t even hold your own cock while you piss. How can you dare to threaten Jaborn?”

Conar’s furious gaze leapt to the other man. “I’ve heard tales about Jaleel Jaborn’s lickspittle. Guil, isn’t it? Tell me, Gehdrin: just how much of him do you lick?” The Serenian’s smile was nasty. “Do you lick his cock while you’re licking his ass?”

Guil came to his feet, his face instantly red with rage. He took a step off the dais and would have lunged at the prisoner had Jaborn not put out a hand to stop him.

“He’s baiting you, Guil,” Jaleel chuckled. “I’ve heard he’s quite good at insulting people.”

“I will make him regret having insulted me!” Guil snarled. “No man calls me a lickspittle!”

“Would you rather I called you a cocksucker?” Conar asked in a pleasant voice.

“Jaleel!” Guil protested, looking to his friend. “I can not allow this!”

Jaleel laid his hands on the arms of his throne and gazed calmly at his friend. “What would you have me do, Guil? You are what he calls you.”

“I will have you beat him,” Guil fumed, “for his impertinence!”

“It’s been done,” Conar quipped.

“And he would no more feel it than you would, Guil,” Jaleel said. “Would you, McGregor?”

Conar stared at him, refusing to answer. He glared at his captor, consigning the man to the very ooze beneath the Abyss.

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“Then--then--“ Guil tried to think of something painful. “--
castrate
him!”

A nasty smile slipped into place on Conar’s face. “Like Jaborn’s gelded you?”

Guil shrieked in fury and ran down the rest of the four steps of the dais, flinging himself on Conar, beating him with doubled fists that did little more than further bruise the Serenian’s arms and shoulders, but managed to intensify the headache that was beginning to blind him.

“Enough, Guil!” Jaborn shouted. When his friend continued with his mindless hitting, screeching out his anger at the bound man, Jaborn stepped from the dais and pulled Guil away.

“Enough, I said!” he shouted again, pushing his old friend away.

Conar lifted his head, his nose bleeding from a lucky hit, and smirked at the outraged man.

“Run along and play with yourself, Gehdrin.” He swept his contemptuous glance down the man’s lanky frame, finally settling that ironic gaze on the front of Gehdrin’s loose-fitting robe. “If there’s anything there
to
play with.”

“Jaleel, really!” Guil protested, offended to the point of apoplexy. “You can not let him insult me like this!”

Jaborn switched his attention from his friend to the Serenian’s cold stare. “He’ll pay for it, Guil. Have no fear of that.”

“Fuck you,” Conar spat in reply and wasn’t prepared for the vicious backhand that split his lip and nearly deafened him as Jaborn’s fingers grazed his ear. His head jerked to the left and blood flew from his nose and mouth.

“Hit him, again, Jaleel!” Guil taunted. “Again!”

His head rocked back to the right as that heavy palm connected with his right cheek. The hit had been so hard, he had seen stars.

“Again! Harder!” Guil’s voice was shrill, his bloodlust a sentient life form in the room.

Once more Conar was slapped, so brutally he thought the hit had broken his nose. Blood sprayed over the stone floor and dribbled down his naked chest and his cheek felt as though the skin had split open.

“Again! Do it again! Punish him, Jaleel!”

But despite the insane commands to do so, Jaleel stepped back. He looked down with disgust at the sprinkle of bright crimson on his robe and growled. His lips pursed together in a tight line, he marched back to his throne and mounted the steps, flinging himself down with so much force, the throne rocked.

Conar slowly turned his head around and looked up at the man who had hit him. He didn’t bother to even glance at the man who still stood before him, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, who had been responsible for the attack. The Serenian’s full hatred was aimed at Jaleel Jaborn.

“Come sit down, Guil,” Jaleel ordered.

Guil glared down at Conar, wanting to hit him. He had the presence of mind to back away from the man on the floor when that dark sapphire gaze lifted with contempt to scald him.

“Guil!” Jaleel warned.

“Your master calls, Gehdrin,” Conar sneered.

“
Guil
!” Jaborn shouted as his friend lifted his hand to hit the prisoner.

“Go away, you turd-faced troll,” Conar growled, looking up at Guil as though he were a piece of offal floating in a pool of urine.

“That is enough, McGregor!” Jaborn bellowed. “If you do not stop insulting him, I will let him do with you as he will!”

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“I am not afraid of him!” Conar snarled. He swept his gaze to Jaborn. “And I am not afraid of you!”

“Not yet, but you will be,” Jaleel answered. “Guil, come sit down.”

Guil spun on his heel, his face flaming, and he took his seat beside Jaborn.

“You see what you make me do to you, McGregor?” Jaleel sighed. “I had no intention of physically hurting you.”

“Yeah, right!” Conar scoffed.

“I did not.” Jaleel crooked his head to one side. “I intend to let you hurt yourself.”

Conar’s lip quirked. “Really?” he drawled.

Jaleel leaned forward in his chair. “Oh, yes, because you are better at doing that than anyone else.”

The Serenian’s expression never changed, but Guil saw the rage crashing over him like the force of a tidal wave. His gaze was fixed on Jaborn. Both men were staring coldly at one another, each locked in a dark struggle to control the confrontation. How long they would have continued to glare at one another, Guil would never know for at that moment a knock sounded at the wooden door and Jaborn jumped.

“Come!” Jaleel bellowed, enraged at the smirk on his prisoner’s mouth.

The door opened and Rasheed came into the room, dragging behind him a young woman Guil thought looked vaguely familiar. Behind him was Rasheed’s brother, Tjorn.

“We caught her trying to sneak in with some of the burial crew,” Rasheed sneered, shoving the woman to the floor at Jaleel’s feet.

Conar glanced down and could have groaned. His heart sank as Rachel pushed herself up and looked behind her at him, her careful scrutiny going down his bruised body.

“Are you all right, milord?” she asked and would have gone to him had Rasheed not stopped her. She spat at the warrior, tried to scratch his face, but he blocked her hands and grabbed her around her arms, stilling her struggles.

“You know this man?” Jaleel asked, staring intently at the fear that had suddenly came to his enemy’s face.

Rachel tore her gaze from Conar and looked up at Jaborn. Her chest was heaving with anger. “What are you going to do with him?” she countered.

Jaleel sat back. “You do know him, don’t you, Rachel?”

Rachel’s anger gave her the strength to stomp down hard on Rasheed’s instep and the man let her go, yelping with pain and hopping on his uninjured foot as he gripped the one she had maimed.

“I don’t know how you got him to come here--“ Rachel began, but Jaborn cut her off.

“Oh, he didn’t want to come, sweet one.” Jaleel swung his heated gaze to Conar. “He was encouraged to do so.”

“Forced to do so!” Rachel shouted. She cast a furious glance at the manacles and leg irons.

“What are you going to do with him?” she demanded again.

Jaleel smiled. “Keep him, of course.”

Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Conar listened to the exchange between the two and wondered how they could know each other so well. Well enough for Rachel to dispense of the man’s title and him not care. There was something in the way Jaborn was looking at the girl that made Conar’s skin crawl.

“Come here, Rachel,” Jaborn demanded, drawing Conar’s gaze to him.

“Not until you tell me--“

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“Rasheed?”

Jaleel

interrupted. “Take your blade and give our Serenian friend two more scars on his right cheek to mirror the ones on his left.”

“
No
!” Rachel screamed, trying to get to Conar, but Rasheed grabbed her, thrusting her into Tjorn’s arms as that guard stepped forward to catch her.

Conar McGregor’s guards pushed him to the floor without a struggle. Guil wondered why the man was so calm, why he didn’t fight back. His manacled hands hung loosely in front of him, not going up to protect his face from the blade Rasheed had drawn and was even then bringing toward him.

“Jaleel, please!” Rachel screamed, twisting in Tjorn’s grip, trying to pull free. “Please don’t!”

The Serenian’s eyes were smoldering, but he didn’t move, made no attempt to stop what they were planning to do. Maybe, Guil thought, he knew it would be useless to struggle or maybe he thought Jaleel wasn’t serious. One look at Jaborn’s face assured Guil the man was deadly serious.