James West - Queen of the North

Where’s my ear , she thought, mystified by a horror that sank marrow deep. Where an ear should have been, she saw only a deformed nub surrounding a hole packed with salve. She thought to ask the question aloud, but a high, mourning wail began to fill up the tent.

Until a pair of guards rushed in and eased her down on the cot, Nesaea didn’t realize that terrible sound was coming from her.

Loro looked about the sparse but well-appointed and windowless room. “Where do you think we are?”

Rathe had been wondering the same since he woke up an hour before, and found that his clothes were clean and dry, and that someone had bandaged his skull. The wound was still tender where he had bashed his head against the rocks of the River Sedge, but the thudding ache had become tolerable enough that he could think straight. Either a fine healer had attended him, or he and Loro had been here for some time before waking up. “I don’t know where we are, but if this is a prison cell, it’s the finest I’ve ever been in-not that I’ve been in many, mind you.”

Across the room, Loro leaned back on his narrow featherbed and laughed. “Well, I’ve been in plenty of cells, brother, and I can assure you, this place beats them all, along with most inns I’ve frequented. Still, I’m of the mind that we should leave-and the sooner the better.”

Rathe crossed the room to small round table, poured himself a cup of pale wine, and sipped. The flavor was sweeter than nectar. “Once we escape, we’ll have to find Nesaea, Fira, and anyone else who was taken prisoner.”

“Far as I remember, our captor was a dragon ,” Loro reminded him.

Rathe remembered that too, but wished it were otherwise. Ever since venturing north of the Shadow Road, he had seen too many dark legends come to life. Beyond the Gyntors, even farther north, it seemed as if only mad gods ruled the world.

“No dragon built this place, which means there are men involved. We’ll deal with either trouble as we come to it. Afterward, we get back to where we belong-”

Rathe cut off when the carved wooden door swung inward.

He recognized Edrik, but not the old man beside him. Behind them stood four tense guards with shaved heads like Edrik, and all heavily armed.

“Ah, you’re both awake!” the older man said, as if they were welcome guests instead of prisoners, and bustled into the room.

Edrik shut the door and stood to one side. His red-rimmed eyes had puffy bags hanging below them. Mud covered his boots, and the rest of his garb was wrinkled and disheveled. Rathe had seen men look so after a night of excessive drinking landed them in a ditch. He guessed too much wine was not Edrik’s problem, but rather worry and lack of sleep.

Wearing an open grin, Rathe faced the old man. “I must thank you for providing such splendid quarters.” He touched his bandaged head. “And for this, of course.”

The old man bobbed his head. “You’ve a glib tongue, but I sense that you are not sincere.”

“You sting me,” Rathe said, his smile slipping a little.

The old man shrugged, making the blue dragon emblazoned on his robes slither and dance. “Be that as it may, we must put aside this utterly false banter and speak plainly.”

“Of course,” Rathe said, abandoning all pretenses. It took all his restraint not to tear out the man’s throat, and then get on with escaping. If not for the armed guards waiting outside the door, and the strong possibility of more lurking out of sight, he would have. “I invite you to begin our conversation by explaining who you are, and finish by telling why you took us prisoner.”

While Edrik didn’t so much as blink, his companion tottered over to the table and poured himself a cup of the sweet wine. He took a sip, smacked his lips, and moved to stand beside Edrik.

“I’m Essan Thaeson of the Munam a’Dett Order and, in the strictest sense, you are not prisoners, but rather honored guests in Targas, the Everlasting City of Light. On the morrow, you will begin preparing the vizien caste of our Order to make war against the faithless malcontents who hope to destroy our city and our way of life. In the meantime eat, drink, and rest, for what awaits you will be, I dare say, grueling.”

Before Rathe could say a word, the old man and Edrik departed.

Looking bewildered, Loro asked, “Does the fool actually believe we will simply do what he wants because he wants it?”

Stunned by the abruptness with which the two men had left, as well as the bald declaration of what this Essan Thaeson intended for them, Rathe studied the closed door. “Not only does he believe it, he expects that we will do exactly what he says.”

“Piss on that,” Loro said.

Rathe wanted to agree with the fat man’s sentiment, but he remembered the dragon and the moving dome, with its skin of lightning. Those two things spoke of powers beyond his ken. Rathe’s gut told him they would have little choice but to do as Thaeson wished. His heart told him he would die before he bowed to the old fool’s demands.