Flight of the Fallen l-2 Read online

  The owl’s round eyes narrowed to slits and her beak clacked in anger. She peered over the woman’s shoulder to the sleeping Legionnaire. “What did they do to Lanther?”

  “Hung him in a cage out in the sun.”

  Varia hissed. “We need Crucible.”

  “No!” Linsha didn’t intend to be so loud, but the word came out sharp and emphatic. She glanced guiltily down at Lanther, but he seemed to be still sleeping in spite of her outburst. “No,” she repeated in a whisper. “He should stay with Lord Bight.”

  “He would come to you.”

  “Why should he? He came here for Iyesta and stayed because his wing was injured.”

  Linsha heard the petulant tone in her voice, but she was too weary, too sore, and too downhearted to summon the strength to change it.

  The owl swiveled her head around and regarded the woman with widened eyes. “You have suffered much. You are not interpreting your feelings correctly.”

  “Probably not,” Linsha said with a sigh. She was really too tired to argue. “I fear for him. I don’t want his blood on my hands… or yours.”

  Varia said nothing. She understood much and saw many things Linsha did not. Humans were sometimes an enigma to her, hut this time she thought she knew why Linsha had said no. Well, she would see what Crucible had to say. The big bronze had the right to make his own decisions.

  The bird crept a little closer to Linsha’s head and pressed her warm feathers against the lady knight’s cheek. Ever so quietly she began to hum a slow, wordless tune as soft as down, as soothing as a lullaby.

  Linsha propped her eyes open. “You can’t sing me to sleep like an obstinate owlet,” she whispered.

  Varia continued to hum her song, her body gently vibrating against Linsha’s face. In spite of herself, Linsha’s eyes drooped. Her strained features relaxed. Three breaths later she was asleep, her head lolled back against the wall, her lips slighted parted.

  Satisfied, Varia eased away and hopped to the floor. Moments later her small form scurried out into the shadows of the ruin. As soon as she was out of sight of the Tarmak guards, she thrust off with wing and taloned feet and beat upwards into the night sky. Silent and determined, the owl turned north and went to find a bronze dragon.

  The sun rose in a tawny dawn and banished the night’s chill. A haze hung over the ocean, but the plains came to light sharp, clear, golden in the morning light. Even before the sun lifted clear of the sea, the people of the Missing City stirred and prepared for another day of work. No matter who ruled the city, there was still the business of survival to attend to. The crops that looked so promising in midsummer had ripened and needed to be harvested to feed the hungry Tarmak army. Livestock scattered across the grasslands had to be rounded up and brought in before winter. Hay had to be cut, grapes gathered and crushed for wine, sheep and goats sheared one last time. In the city market a limited trade of sorts still existed. While there were no foreign merchants, the local craftspeople, farmers, merchants, and fishermen still had wares to trade or sell. The Tarmaks had stripped the city of its militia and the government and had transported many of its young, strong inhabitants to the gods knew where, but they had left the remaining population alive and in place to maintain the city.

  To perform the hard labor required for the maintenance and construction needed in their new domain, the Tarmaks also kept a large group of slaves drawn from the city population, the defeated defenders, and any person they happened to capture on their frequent patrols of the surrounding plains. These slaves were kept in pens scattered around the city, and they worked hard to repair the damage of battle and to prepare the city for its new rulers.

  One such group was imprisoned at the dragon’s palace, in the old slave pens once used by Thunder. As the sun rose and the day advanced, Linsha and the other prisoners sat in their makeshift prison and listened to the distant sounds of many slave voices shouting and groaning, of rocks crashing into other rocks, of odd grinding noises, and the ring of tools on stone. They wondered what was happening and if their turn would come to join the ranks of the slaves. Although slavery seemed a dreadful prospect to these Knights and Legionnaires, pondering the possibility of becoming a slave seemed preferable to dwelling on the fear that their small group was being held for something worse.

  At midmorning they received an answer of sorts.

  The Tarmak general arrived at the palace with his personal guard, and once again the prisoners were ordered outside and lined up in the courtyard. This time the general stood aside and watched as his men separated the prisoners into two groups.

  “Those,” he ordered pointing to one group of Knights and Legionnaires. “Put them to work on the palace.” He turned his masked face to Linsha’s group. “Put her in the cage. Bring him to my tent.”

  Hard hands gripped Linsha’s arms and hustled her to the oblong metal cage. She whipped her head around in time to see the Tarmaks force Lanther after the Tarmak general, then she was slammed into the cage and the door closed. The cage was hoisted on its frame, and all too quickly, Linsha found herself alone, left to hang in the morning sun. The workers were marched away while the remaining men, including Sir Remmik, were returned to the prison. A tense quiet descended on the open yard.

  The first few hours were not too unbearable. The morning breeze played among the palace ruins until nearly noon before it skipped away and left the land to the mercies of the hot sun. Linsha tried to keep her limbs limber by shifting her weight from foot to foot, by tensing and relaxing her muscles, and by flexing the few joints she could bend. She tried to distract her mind by studying the Tarmaks she could see. She studied the guards, she observed their gestures and body movements and listened to the snatches of conversation she could hear. She watched the procession of prisoners, one by one from the storehouse to some place she could not see.

  Sir Remmik was the first to go, and he left between his guards, his back stiff and his expression severe. He came back staggering between his guards, his face gray and deeply lined. The other men left looking apprehensive and defiant and returned barely able to walk. Several had to be carried. Linsha worried for them and feared for Lanther who had not yet come back. She had a fairly good idea what was happening to them.

  With plenty of time to think, she wondered, too, about her other friends-Hugh, Mariana, Falaius, and others in the camp. Where were they? Had any of them survived? Where was Leonidas? And where had Varia gone?

  Linsha scanned the trees and ruins around the courtyard and saw no sign of the owl, but if Varia did not want to be seen, even a sharp-eyed elf would have trouble spotting her. Was the owl still here, or had she left on some errand?

  As the morning passed and Linsha’s mind slogged over a long trail of thoughts, the breeze died and the sun’s heat collected in the old stone. Linsha’s body, cramped in the iron cage, grew sore and stiff in some places and numb in others. She ached to move. Her clothes itched abominably, yet she could reach nothing to scratch. Her stomach raged at her, her head hurt, and her mouth felt as dry as parched stone.

  An hour or so past noon, the Tarmak general in his golden mask returned to the ruined court, escorted by his guards. He walked to Linsha’s cage, crossed his arms, and stared up at her like a statue of a god.

  “Where is the owl?” he demanded, his voice as hard as granite.

  Linsha glared back. “She’s dead.” She forced the words past her parched throat.

  He snapped his fingers and at his command, a wine flask was brought with two stemmed cups. A white wine, shining and fruity, was poured into the two cups. Linsha’s entire body longed for a drink of that pale, cool liquid.

  The Tartnak held one cup up toward her and raised the other to his mask. He tossed the contents into his mouth without spilling more than a drop or two. “Where is the rendezvous point for the surviving militia?”

  “A little pub on the south side of Palanthas.”

  He nodded as if he expected such an answer and spilled the contents of the
second cup on the ground. “Later,” he said. “We will talk.”

  He left Linsha alone again to stare at the puddle of the wine as it slowly sank down into the cracks between the stones and disappeared. She wanted to cry, she wanted to shriek, but she had no strength left nor moisture in her eyes to form tears. Instead, she forced her eyes closed and turned her mind away from external distractions and focused on the reserves of strength she had left in her heart. She put aside the discomforts of her hunger and her headache, her aching limbs and her thirsty mouth, and she looked deep inside to the inner tranquility she kept hidden for times of great need. Gradually she slowed her heartbeat and soothed the pain in her head. Her muscles relaxed. The world receded into a silence that bore nothing but peace. Sooner than she would have liked, she felt the ephemeral tickle on her face and neck and sensed the power of her heart drain from her like the wine from the cup. It was a feeling she hated and could do nothing to stop. But the mystic power Goldmoon had taught her to use had eased her long enough to serve its purpose. She fell into a deep sleep and left the pain and fear of her confinement behind.

  10

  The Akkad-Ur

  A tremendous buffet on the cage jerked Linsha abruptly awake. Confused, she stared Wearily. Warriors stood before her, and above was a darkening sky. The Tarmaks lowered the cage until it touched the ground, unlocked the door, and hauled her out. Her numb feet and aching knees would not support her, so the guards had to carry her out of the prison yard, through the great hall, and to the large front courtyard where Iyesta used to meet with her human guests.

  Linsha stared around the courtyard in amazement. At last she could see what all the noise had been about. Slave gangs had spent the day demolishing the front entrance to the dragon’s throne room. The great double doors where the brass triplets used to stand guard were gone-as was most of the front wall that supported the door frame. Two huge piles of stone and rubble had been heaped near the gate, and more had been dumped within the throne room. Although she had accepted the reality of Iyesta’s death, she could not help but be sick at heart at the destruction of her lair.

  Just outside the broken walls, a large, spacious tent had been set up for the Tarmak officers. Several of its walls had been rolled up to allow a breeze, and guards stood impassively around the perimeter. Torches burned at all four corners, and plain oil lamps cast a yellow glow in the interior.

  Linsha saw the tent and realized what was coming. Her stomach twisted into knots. She pulled fiercely away from her guards and snapped, “Put me down!”

  They must have understood enough Common or understood her desire to walk unaided, for they lowered her feet to the ground and allowed her to walk between them. She staggered a little on her wobbly legs then hauled herself upright as she was escorted into the tent and brought before the Tarmak general. She stood straight, her head up, and watched him warily as the guards bowed to their lord.

  One guard beside her jabbed the butt of his spear into the back of her knee. Her leg buckled and she fell sideways to the rugged floor.

  “You will kneel in the presence of the Akkad-Ur,” the guard growled.

  “Akkad-Ur,” the second guard said, and he launched into a long speech in the rough, guttural tongue of the Tarmaks.

  Linsha pushed herself to her knees and sat upright on her heels. Kneel she might. Grovel she would not. Casting a quick look around, she realized this tent was the same-or at least a copy-to the one she had been in before when the Tarmaks had left her to find the Abyssal Lance. The general sat in the same carved couch padded with pelts. A low table sat to his left-still covered with writing implements, scrolls, and what looked like building plans. The ornate banner decorated with the lion and the geometric designs still hung in its accustomed place behind him.

  The general had not changed much in the past few months. He was still a magnificent specimen of a Tarmak, statuesque and dangerous. The war paint was absent this night, revealing his fair skin and numerous scars, and his kilted skirt had been replaced with a linen cuirass decorated with small disks of brass that looked suspiciously like brass dragon scales. The general gestured his warriors to leave and silently watched Linsha in front of him.

  “You are called Akkad-Ur?” she said before he could address her.

  The golden mask stared down at her. “Akkad is a rank, Lady Knight. It is similar to your rank of general. Ur is part of my name.” He continued to study her for a few moments, then he called out something.

  Immediately two women entered the tent carrying several basins, jugs, and towels. Linsha stared in astonishment at one she recognized-a lovely buxom blond with flexible legs and a talent for turning a profit with her body. It was the courtesan Callista, the favorite of the captain of the city watch and one of Linsha’s informers. After Linsha’s flight from the Solamnic citadel, Callista had loaned her some clothes to escape detection. Since then Linsha had neither seen nor heard from the woman. She lifted her eyebrows in a silent question, but Callista shot a furtive glance at the Akkad-Ur and gave her head a quick shake.

  She and her companion laid their burdens down in front of Linsha, helped her to her feet, and to her utter mortification, stripped off her clothes. Not that the clothes were in excellent repair or that Linsha was sentimentally attached to them. They were filthy and little more than rags. But now she stood naked in front of the Akkad-Ur. Her embarrassment burned in her face. Silently, while the Tarmak watched, the women washed Linsha with water and soap from the basins. They cleaned off days of sweat, blood, dirt, and grime. They washed her hair and rubbed her muscles with a sweet oil. Callista’s eyes widened at the number of scars and the half-healed wound on Linsha’s body, yet she said nothing.

  If Linsha hadn’t been so unnerved by the sight of the Tarmak general sitting only a few feet away, she would have enjoyed this first cleaning she had had in days and the attention of someone other than smelly, grumpy men. She wanted to talk to Callista, to ask her a dozen questions, to inquire if she was all right and why she was in the service of the general. And more than anything she wanted a drink of water!

  But for Callista’s sake, she gritted her teeth and said nothing until the ladies gathered their jugs and basins and prepared to leave. Only then did Linsha realize they had not brought extra clothes with them, and they were picking hers up to carry them away. She held out her hand in entreaty, and Callista could only shrug a bit and hurry after her companion, leaving Linsha alone with the Akkad-Ur.

  The general chuckled, a rumbling sound behind his mask. “My informant was right. You do clean up well. You should not feel embarrassed by your nakedness. In our world, the body is a utensil to care for and use well. You have the body of a warrior-a thing that would bring you much respect in my city.”

  Linsha wasn’t sure whether she should feel complimented or threatened. She stood still, trying to feel at ease, and waited for him to make a move. When he did nothing but continue to study her, she lost patience. She did not believe she was particularly desirable. Compared to someone like Callista, she was too thin, too old. Her breasts were small, and her hair was a curly disaster.

  Yet who knew what the Tarmak males desired? She had heard that a number of young women had been taken and shipped out of the city by the Tarmaks, and she knew the warriors had enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh among many of the women. Was the general any different?

  “So now what?” she demanded. “You left me hanging in a cage all day, and now you clean me up just so you can stare at me?”

  He lifted a hand and waved away her questions. “I was satisfying my curiosity. Nothing else.” Reaching down beside his chair, he picked up a tunic and some pants and held them up. “Where is the bronze dragon?”

  She crossed her arms over her breasts and glared at him.

  “All right. I will tell you. He returned to his lair in Sanction. Not a wise move. I have heard the Knights of Neraka desire that city for their own. They will get it eventually, I believe.”

  He sat back in
his chair and regarded her for a moment, then he tossed her the tunic. Linsha caught it.

  “I know, too, your owl has left the city to seek the dragon. I believe he will come to your aid.”

  Linsha was so surprised by his words that she simply stared at him, the tunic dangling from her hand. “I told her not to,” she whispered.

  “The owl has a mind of her own. As does the dragon. I am told he cares for you. He stayed longer than he needed to because he worried about you. If it wasn’t for the lord governor of Sanction, he would never have left.”

  “How do you know this?” Linsha snapped.

  But she knew. Gods, she thought miserably, the informant had been a busy little spy. Only someone who lived in the Wadi and observed her and Crucible day by day would have known these details.

  The Akkad-Ur held up the pants. “Our spies are numerous. And quite good. I asked you today where the militia would rendezvous. However, I have already learned where they are.”

  The cold threat of his words stung her. “If you already know everything,” she said nastily, “why do you bother asking me?”

  “It is your spirit of cooperation I wish to test. Just because you are a prisoner does not mean you are entirely without choice. You may choose to help us or you may accept to suffer our displeasure.”

  He tossed the pants to her and stood.

  “No boots?” she said, her hands tightening around the clothes.

  He stepped away from the couch. “Bare feet will make it more difficult for you to run away.”

  Linsha wasted no more time. She pulled on the clothes and stepped back to keep some distance between herself and the Akkad-Ur. Apprehension and anger shared equal parts of her thoughts.