Part 3 Chapter 5

CHAPTER 21

 

 

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lsewhere at Burden’s city gates, just over an hour after Olraym and Trugaime return to their room in The Weeping Child, two men, sitting on one horse, ride on through the gateway. The horse looks tired and is moving slow and the man sitting further back is sleeping heavily while the man holding the reins looks more alert.  No one gives them a second glance, they know the man in front and no one wants to stare too long at a Cultist.

  Once out of the immediate crowd Harke nudges the man behind him with the arm that isn’t in a sling, and after two attempts (second one harder than the other) Thorne wakes up with some incomprehensible mumbling. Thorne thanks Harke and gets off the horse, making sure to land on his good leg first. The pain on his bad leg has lessened considerably and now it is nothing but a faint tingle.

  Thorne takes a few steps away from Harke and the horse and Harke resumes riding off.

  Though Harke doesn’t know it, the man he helped is Thorne and they are both in Burden for the same reason. Thorne wanders around aimlessly, not sure which sector of Burden Olraym and that woman are best to hide in.

  He spends ten minutes going from one street to another and watches what goes on there, what he sees in them disgusts him, beggars lying in the mud near houses and taverns being ignored by all who pass them, men and women jumping about in the street screaming in joy at the top of their lungs, one couple having sex up against a wall near a closed doorway to house Thorne can only hope is theirs. He sees a child, a young boy, standing alone. The boy is standing still, swaying back and forth and he looks to be biting his fingernails. Thorne doesn’t know if the boy is homeless, lost, or what.

  He imagines himself as king and sending an army to Burden.  Men of Tov’ra gathering in the thousands and marching as one to Burden to piece by piece wipe out this disgusting display of decadence. The sound of thunder marks their stride across the Highlands. Villagers see the army coming and grab their frightened children and rushing away from that oncoming storm to be inside their homes out of the army’s sight. He imagines his soldiers having little to no trouble forcing their way into Burden disposing of the weak guards on the city wall and any on the ground. People running, screaming, trying to hide, all fall to his army’s blade. No one in Burden is innocent.

  It is a good dream, but it would have to wait. 

  Like Olraym Thorne has never been to Burden, but the late Dunarn has. He has been in Burden many times, enough to get plenty of trustful contacts. Perhaps one of them knows where Olraym is. And better yet Thorne knows where some of Dunarn’s contacts are. He remembers that they need some word or phrase, a code to let them know why he is with them, let them know he needs something from them.

  With it being dark he finds it hard work his way through the streets, but he gets the hang of it quickly. The one he is looking for works in a small brothel though he forgets the name.

  Unlike in Tov’ra brothels in Burden are everywhere, almost every street where desperate people filled with coin frequent. Most have funny names that are obvious to what lies inside. Some even have one or two of its w****s standing outside next to the door to entice people to enter, which always works on the weak minded.

  The brothel Thorne heads to be much smaller than The Fair Maiden, which is a brothel Thorne likes to frequent as much as Bevil, though nobody, not even Sertia, knows this. The wooden board above the door says ‘The Wild Animal’. The words painted on in white curvy letters.

  When he enters the room is set the same way as The Weeping Child, except smaller. There are plenty of men sitting on couches surrounded by half-naked women rubbing their hands all over them while the men going after them like starving animals. He can hear delighted giggles from the women and heavy laughs from the men. The smell of sweat and other aromas are all around him, like a kind of blanket. Thorne chuckles internally, it is as the name implies.

  He pushes his way through the throng to the other end of the room, getting growls of annoyance from the men and women he bumps into. He soon finds a door and knocks on it. Through the sounds from everyone else he can hear the faint sound of footsteps that get heavy as they get closer; it isn’t long after that the door flies open and a big muscular man stands there staring at Thorne. With his eyes the big man asks Thorne why he is in there.

  “I’m here to see Analeen.”

  The big man stares at Thorne some more, then nods and points to a third door right next to them. This door, like the one in The Faire Maiden, leads to the w****s’ private rooms. Thorne nods a thank-you to the big man and walks to it.

  Inside this hall it is different than Fair Maiden. Instead of the rooms having open doorways covered with curtains these rooms have doors; wooden doors with thick black iron locks. On each of the doors is a golden plaque with a woman’s name on it. The writing on the plaque is black but has the same style as the board with the brothel’s name outside. There is no painting or flowers or decoration of any kind on the walls; they are blank and a dark brown colour.

  Thorne walks to the door with the plaque saying Analeen, he leans close to the door and listens, hears nothing to suggest she is in there with someone so he knocks.

  “Come in.” says a voice from inside, it sounds young and sensual.

  Thorne obeys and opens the door and enters. Inside the room is very similar to those of The Fair Maiden except the colours are slightly darker and the bed looks wider. Analeen is lying on the bed facing the door, she is wearing a pinkish gown that is transparent enough so he sees all of her and that ends at her feet. She has straight black hair with a small braid that ends at the neck while the rest of it goes all the way down to her lower back. She looks young, almost too young, and firm in all the right places.

  Analeen smiles as she stands to the left of the bed, walks to him and greets him with a kiss. He takes hold of her waist and smiles back then remembers to give the phrase, “time has been good to me, has it been good to you?”

  Her smile is gone immediately; she now looks at him with caution. She backs away out of his reach until the back of her legs are touch the bed.

  “How do you know that phrase? You are not Dunarn.”

  “No I’m not, but I know him. He worked for me.”

  That seems to tell her who he is unintentionally, obviously she and Dunarn had spent a lot of time together, told each other a lot of things. She looks down in a respectful and submissive way then bows.

  “Your Majesty, I apologise.”

  Thorne nods and walks over to her, she doesn’t look up or back further away. She not afraid of him and holds her ground.

  “This must be important if you came yourself instead of sending Dunarn.”

  Obviously she hasn’t heard of his death. He guesses telling her needs to be done so he does. She now looks up to him forgetting for a moment he is royalty, she has a shocked expression and tears forming in her eyes. She cared for Dunarn. Thorne thinks of comforting her but doesn’t, he want to hurry and doing anything like hugging her might draw this out.

  She rubs her eyes with her palms, letting a single drop flow down her cheek, and apologises again. She straightens up and looks at him again with an attempt at a controlled look.

  “That’s all right my dear. I am here looking for someone, you may have heard where he is.”

  “Who is it?” 

  “Well two people actually. One is a woman, a cultist, the other is my brother.”

  She looks shocked, but Thorne thinks that it is the shock of Olraym being in Burden, she doesn’t know Thorne’s plans, though if she does know she won’t tell anyone, one way or the other.

  “Have you seen or heard anything?”

  Analeen is silent, thinking hard. The seconds feel like hours and Thorne starts to become disappointed thinking she knows nothing. Then she nods.  He looks at her pleased. She tells him all of what she has heard. Her words are careful and slow, making sure she tells him all the details. He doesn’t hear it all, some of it is nonsense that doesn’t matter to him, but what he does hear is very useful. One thing he takes particular notice of is a name, the name of a place: The Weeping Child. 

  When she finishes he thanks her with a kiss. He goes to leave and opens the door but she tells him to stop, which he does.

  “Is there more?”

  “No.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Well the brothel master probably knows you came to see me,” Thorne remembers the big muscular man he met before. “If he knows you came but didn’t pay me for my services I’ll get in trouble.”

  Thorne thinks on this, she isn’t his problem but thinks it better to keep her from trouble should she be needed again later. He suddenly smiles and closes the door. He walks back to her. He takes out a coin pouch and gives it to her. She takes and looks at the amount inside, she smiles.

  “Lie down on the bed.”

  She obeys.

 

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After letting Thorne off his horse Harke rides a little further before leaving his horse at a nearby overpriced public stables. The manager of the stables watches cautiously as Harke rides up to him. Harke asks if he has room for his horse, the man nods with false bravado and Harke throws a pouch filled with coin at him which he just barely catches with both his hands, and then he continues to watch as Harke gets off his horse and walks away on foot.

  Harke takes many twists and turns, making sure to stay away from the worst areas, he doesn’t want more trouble, until he reaches a temple of the Twelve.

  Inside is almost exactly the same as the one in Tov’ra except it is cleaner and slightly larger. People in Burden are greater in their belief in the Twelve than anywhere else, more desperate praying, more thinking the Twelve are punishing them. More informers hang out in there. He walks in slowly, methodically as if he is praying as he enters. There are at least two dozen more people, man and women, praying while sitting in pews, all of them dirty and skinny, the poor and the downtrodden. People who need help and think only the Twelve can do anything for them.

  Harke sits on the left side in the middle pew. The people in the pews behind him take no notice; they think he is just another desperate soul. He looks straight down to look as if praying like the rest of them, once finished he looks straight ahead and waits.

  Some leave feeling refreshed as if their lives will suddenly change for the better because of this, and some more enter hoping to achieve the same goal. But no one looks at Harke for more than a quick glance. He can hear the mumbling of praying around him. The smell of burning candle wicks fills the temple.

  One man sits just ahead of Harke. He looks the same age as Harke, wrinkles cover he face. His hair is short, almost non-existent and is white. His clothes are all black and leathery, he is wealthy and powerful.

  “You know of my target.” It is more a statement; he leans forward, not wanting everyone else to overhear them.

  “I do.” He replies, his voice a smooth whisper.

  “I need information.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “Well his location for starters.”

  The man smiles and chuckles, it isn’t a loud chuckle so no one but those sitting closest to them face them angrily as they hear it. “You are losing your touch my friend.”

  Harke glares at him though it is unseen by the man. He momentarily thinks of hitting or perhaps killing this man. He knows there will be no backlash but what he wants he will no longer get. Not for any price.

  “Are you going to help me or not?”

  “Can a man not have his fun?”

  There is no reply from Harke.

  “I will help. This prince of yours got a room in The Weeping Child.”

  Harke nods and stands, he is about to leave when the man stops him and grabs his arm.

  “It is a room for him and a female companion. Someone I think you know.”

  “Someone I thought I knew.”

 

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In Tov’ra on the same night that Olraym and Trugaime stay in The Weeping Child, the same night Thorne and Harke arrive in Burden and go their separate ways, the four royal knights Moira sent for Sertia find her easily in her bed chamber, she is in her bed with Kaila. The youngest of the four guards, a man of twenty-five, looks shocked at his princess and the princess’s maiden together but the other older ones are shocked at all. They knew Sertia’s sexual preferences though not exactly who with.

  Since Sertia and Kaila are both naked when the royal knights’ sudden burst into her bed chamber there is quite an uproar from her, demanding answers to why they are in her bed chamber at this hour, throwing insult after insult at each of them in turn, promising them a short but painful future. Once her and Kaila’s scream of surprise is over, the guards tell them what they are doing, Sertia questions them some more but they tell her they cannot say more so the guards wait until the two women have calmed down and put their clothes on.

  This process is slow since the women stop every so often to ask what the guards are doing; they give an answer but only so far as to say Queen Moira demands it. Kaila does all she can to hide her body as she gathers her clothes and puts them on one by one, but Sertia doesn’t, as an act of defiance she shows them her body in all its glory and watches as they shuffle on their feet embarrassed.

  Once fully dressed the guards surround them and lead them out, they don’t pass anyone which Sertia guessed is deliberate. They lead them to the throne room where Moira and Bevil are standing there waiting.  Kaila gives Moira a bow, Sertia doesn’t. She is just angry at what is happening, the fact that she doesn’t really know what is happening makes her angrier.

  “What the hell is this?” Sertia screams, striding to be in front of the royal knights. Kaila stays behind with the guards, not wanting to anger her queen or Mr Bralag.

  Moira smiles at Sertia, it is knowledgeable but apologetic. She knows what is going on and doesn’t like it no matter how necessary it is. “I am sorry my dear, but this must be done.”

  “What must be done?” Sertia’s voice is hard, but afraid. She looks to Bevil for help, which he enjoys, but she gets none.  “Mother?” her voice is timid; the fear is now taking over.

  Moira takes a breath and closes her eyes, when she reopens them she looks stern, confident but still apologetic.

  “Sertia Kvathrock, Princess of Tov’ra and the Highlands and my daughter. For suspicion of treason against the Highlands you are sentenced to spend your days in the Highguard prison cell until your guilt or innocence can be determined.”

  That last part Moira has to yell loudly over Sertia’s screams. Two of the royal knights take a hold of her as she struggles to get away. She tries to pull her arms free but their hold is too strong, she soon falls to her knees still screaming, begging her mother not to do this. Moira looks as if she is about to relent but a look from Bevil and a touch on the arm from him gives her strength. 

  During her screams Kaila takes a step back. Her heart is beating so loud she is surprised no one but her can hear it. She is more scared than Sertia is, she won’t be taken with Sertia to the Highguard cell, and she won’t get any kind of protection. She knows nothing about being in a dungeon, on either side of the bars; she has never felt the need to go down there. She only knows the stories and rumours about what goes on there in just the normal dungeon cells and they are bad enough. It is even worse in the Highguard cell, she knows all about that. She knows what goes on down there, the beating and the rapes, the bad food. She knows that sometimes servants close to the royals sent to the cell are sent with them, beaten and raped alongside them.

  She will die if forced there.

  Sometimes it is not royals of Tov’ra sent there but some from elsewhere in the Highlands or one or twice from Jehlaan. The last one who was a member of royal family of Tov’ra was more than two hundred years ago. They are all treated the same and that was a princess of thirteen, though stories of her are died down in the details to not disgust people too much.

  The two royal knights holding the still screaming Sertia take her away at Moira’s request, while the other two stay behind Kaila. Moira and Bevil look at Kaila as if just realising she is standing there.

  “You are Kaila?” asks Bevil.

  Kaila jumps at his voice now being directed at her, and then she nods.

  “You have many lots of time with her. What do you know of my daughters’ treachery?” Moira says in a demanding voice that makes Kaila jump again.

  Kaila doesn’t if she should tell the truth or not. If she does she could be sent to the dungeons but a lie, no matter how good, may not be believed which will make things worse. She could be executed.

  “Answer me!”

  Kaila jumps a third time but not as much as before, she hates herself for betraying Sertia but decides the truth to be best.

  “I do.”

  “Then tell us, all of it, from the beginning.”

  She nods and, after a moment of hesitation, she tells them everything she can tell them, everything she knows. All through it Kaila notices Moira’s and Bevil’s expressions turn darker and darker, going from anger and sadness, to grim blankness that tells Kaila to be wary. Although a look at Bevil tells Kaila he is actually pleased, it is hidden a little but still visible to anyone watching but she doesn’t point it out.

  By the time she finishes Moira looks ready to burst with enough anger to make the Twelve cower in fear. Thankfully she doesn’t lose control of herself and, after a second to calm down, she tells the two remaining royal knights to let Kaila go free.

  Kaila starts crying and shouts out thank-you after thank-you as Moira and Bevil leave the throne room. She gets close to Moira and is about to hug her but the royal knights hold her back. Once Moira and Bevil have left the two royal knights let go of Kaila who falls to the ground still crying. She soon finds herself alone in the throne room, the only noise she hears are the ones she is making.

  She feels angry at herself for such a betrayal, and to the woman she loves, but consoles herself with the fact that she won’t be going there. And thinks maybe Sertia won’t be abused as much as the stories suggest, maybe not at all.

   She shakily gets off the ground and quickly runs away, in case Moira or Bevil return with a change of mind and take her to the cell with Sertia.

 

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The royal knights drag the screaming, crying, Sertia through the castle, this time under the watchful gaze of servants and fellow guards. She doesn’t care about their gazes or what they are thinking; she is going to the Highguard deep cell in the dungeons.

  When the reach the castle entrance she quietens down, hoping once outside the few commoners will not notice her, but that is ruined when the two royal knights start shouting “Traitor! She is a traitor!” Everyone around, which is a small group of ten in the immediate area but more in ear shot, hears and sees they are referring to Sertia. She sees their shocked and angry faces as she is forced to walk in shame in front of them to the dungeons. She thinks this is the worst she is going to get from them until she feels a great stab of pain as a thrown rock hits her in the head. She falls to her knees and yells in pain, the hold the royal knights have on her stop her from falling on her face. She gets back to her feet and holds her hand to where the rock hit her; she grimaces at the pain and moves her hand away, to find it red with her blood. The first rock is followed quickly by others, until a whole barrage of them is being thrown at her.

  It would have lasted longer but with the royal knights getting hit as well they soon put a stop to it. But that doesn’t stop the shouts and screams at Sertia for betraying Tov’ra, for betraying the Highlands.

  She doesn’t believe she has betrayed anyone, all she did was make sure the right man was made king after father’s death, and Olraym was succeeding Gremborlin anyway it was in his will. How can that be a betrayal? Sure there were times when she talked to father to get him to see how Olraym would be the better choice, and then there was a time once or twice when she had to kill or torture someone to keep things on track, but they needed killing they would have ruined everything and to Gremborlin that was just talk she didn’t force him to think that way.

  The shouting continues though it becomes mumbled as she is dragged past the regular dungeon entrance and into another door five feet to its right. Inside this door is a set of steps just like the regular dungeon entrance, except these seem to go on for longer. Sertia is pushed ahead of the guards and the three walk down the steps, every so often she stops afraid and is pushed ahead again and again until she resumes walking.

  Once at the bottom they walk for a few feet and come to a door. It is a simple wooden door with a barred rectangular hole close to the top, approximately Sertia’s eye level. There are four different locks on the door: one basic key lock, two padlocks covered in chains that are sent through metal hoops at each corner of the door, and a bolt. Sertia and one of the guards stay back as the other slowly opens these locks one by one.

  The locks open giving a metallic sound and the chains slide from their hoops, finally the bolt is opened followed by the door. Inside it is just as Sertia imagines it would be. The repugnant stench of rot smacks them in the face, No torches inside and the door is too far away from the stairs to let in enough sunlight to get a proper look. With the visibility she does have she finds there is a set of old rusty shackles attached to the back wall, two for hands two for feet. They dangle there ominously, almost beckoning Sertia inside.

  She is suddenly shoved inside and the door slams shut. The locks are put back in place, this time faster, and the two guards quickly leave up the stairs. She listens as the sounds they make become fainter and fainter, until she hears nothing at all.

  With the cell in utter blackness she finds it hard to make her way around, she has her arms waving in front of her as she scrapes her feet along the floor, hoping to find something to lie on soon.

  She scrapes her feet across a sharp stone of the floor and cuts herself; she cries in pain, lifts and grabs her foot and falls back. Luckily she lands on the cells bed. It is small, just large enough for her to lie flat, and low to the ground. The sheets feel as if they have just been dried, but not very well.

 She inspects with her hands her hurt foot and feels a trickle of blood flowing from the wound. She puts pressure on it, hoping to stop the bleeding. It works but she has nothing to wrap around it, then realises she does. She has her dress. She grabs the hem with her free hand and pulls, it rips and she pulls again until a piece comes off. She wraps it tightly around her injured foot, grimacing at the constant pain, until it is tight enough.

  With that done she allows herself to think, about where she is, what will happen. She bursts into tears, she can’t help it. It’s all just too much. She weeps, going from loud, to silent, and then back to loud, for the better part of an hour.

  When her cries die down she lies on the sodden bed and tries to sleep. What remains of her dress quickly gets wet and soggy as she lies there. As a last thought before sleep she thinks of Kaila and what is happening to her. She believes Kaila will be loyal and say nothing to anyone. She believes she will try anyway, but Kaila may be tortured horrifically for hours, stripped naked and chained to the ceiling in some torture chamber and whipped until she is bleeding all over. She could be tied to a rack and pulled apart screaming until her throat is raw and her voice goes. All this until tells all.

  Though Sertia fears Kaila being tortured she fears Kaila telling Moira and Bevil everything more. If she does Sertia can then kiss goodbye the chance of leaving the Highguard cell alive for more than a few minutes. She will surely be hanged publicly for this.

  With these thoughts she keeps herself awake most of the night, listening to everything around her hoping none of it signals an approaching guard intending to beat her.