THE CHOOSING Page 4

  “Prove it!” Feenix crouched with her arms held out to the side, ready to react to any advance or movement her captors might make.

  The old elf motioned to the guard without taking her tired eyes off the warrior woman. The guard swept a coiled length of leather from his side in a movement that was a blur to Feenix. The stone room echoed with a pop of the whip that sent her ears to ringing.

  Before Feenix could react, the tip of the whip reached out and flicked open a wound in her left thigh as long as her index finger.

  Howling in pain and rage, Feenix clapped her hand over the blood and backed up, but not in time to avoid the end of the whip once again. This time it wrapped around her right ankle like a stinging clamp. The guard yanked the whip and Feenix fell to the floor in a heap.

  As soon as she hit the ground, the little old elf woman was on her in a flash, holding a thin wire around her neck.

  “Now,” she said to the fallen Feenix. “Let us dress you, shall we?”

  Feenix put her hands on Lala’s shoulders and pushed, kicked and hooked her right leg around the woman’s waist, then rolled to the left. Suddenly Lala was pinned beneath the warrior woman, but the wire at Feenix’s throat had begun to cut off her air. A trickle of blood dripped onto the face of the old elf.

  Feenix put the heel of her palm under the elf’s chin and pushed upward, baring down with as much pressure to the ancient throat as possible, trying without success to break the hold. Her other hand was busy trying to release the wire around her own neck.

  Feenix straddled the woman and put both of her hands around her adversary’s throat, intending to snap the old woman’s neck before the wire strangled her. Damn that half-elf’s spell! She still felt as weak as a kitten! Blackness crept over her eyes, as her lungs begged to be replenished with air. White and red dots chased each other across her vision, but still she held on to the wrinkled neck of the old slave. Just a little longer...

  Crack!

  Feenix screamed with agony as the whip landed on her bare back, cutting a line of fire from her shoulder to her waist. She let go of the woman and rolled to the right, trying to dodge another sting of the leather.

  As she moved, another guard rushed into the room, tugged her hands behind her, and pulled her long hair so that her head bent back, giving Feenix a wonderful view of the ceiling. She was effectively pinned to the floor on her knees, although a voice from deep within exalted over the fact that it took two men to subdue her, even with the lingering effects of L’Garn’s spell. Some time during the fight, the wire had fallen from her neck, and she gulped in great breaths of air.

  “That was foolish of you,” the old woman said, rising slowly and rubbing her injured neck.

  “You’d be dead right now if I had my own gear,” Feenix ground out through a burning throat. It was difficult to talk with much authority in the awkward position

  “Put the slave necklace on her, and the chains,” the woman ordered the guards.

  “I’m no one’s slave,” Feenix yelled, struggling to break the iron hold of the guard.

  “You are now,” the old woman answered.

  On her knees, with her hands bound and her hair pulled back so that her throat was open to any dagger, Feenix did not have a clear view of the room. She heard the guard by the door shuffle towards her, and watched in horror as an iron ring was lowered to her neck and then clamped in place.

  A harsh shove from behind forced her on her stomach while the guard locked the collar behind her neck. Her breasts pushed into the hard stone and her cheek hugged a jagged crack in the floor.

  “By the god’s brass bells, get this thing the hell off my neck! Feenix of Port Marcus is no one’s slave! I will kill you all!”

  Her struggles were in vain. The sheer weight of the guards, combined with their strength, soon had her dressed and the slave ring in place. Her hands were manacled and a heavy chain was run through the necklace and attached to the iron bands on each hand. The length of the chain prevented her from extending her arms or lowering them past her waist.

  “You scum! Do you know who you are dealing with here?”

  She drew herself up as straight as she could and put as much command and intimidation as possible in her words. “I am Captain Feenix of Port Marcus! If you do not release me immediately, there will be so many warriors swarming through these caverns, you won’t be able to turn around without impaling yourselves on a sword!”

  “Quiet, slave!” The silvan woman did not seem to be intimidated at all by Feenix’s threats. “I do not care who you were before you came here. From this time forward, you are a slave of Cragimore. You will work and eat and sleep only when told. You will not rest without permission. You will not eat without permission. You will not even relieve yourself without permission. This is the first lesson you must learn as a slave.”

  Feenix looked directly into the washed-out hazel eyes of the woman. The coloring was wrong. Night Elves had paler skin, and their eyes were not the color of woodlands. The old woman was silvan, but not a Night Elf.

  “Go to hell,” she said and then aimed a great glob of spit at the woman’s face.

  She had forgotten about the guard behind her. Her sight went black with colored spots before she felt the pain in her head. The stone floor was cold and hard and then she thought of nothing else.

  ~*~

  Pain exploding inside her head told her she was probably awake. The incessant voice speaking to her wasn’t making any sense, however, so she decided to ignore the pain and go back to sleep. Except the pain wouldn’t go away. Neither would the oddly soothing voice.

  “Feenix! Captain Feenix!”

  Damn elves, why couldn’t they leave her alone to enjoy a moment or two of rest? The war would wait.

  “Wake up, slave!”

  This time the words were accompanied by a series of stinging slaps to her face that made the pain in her head feel as if it would rip her skull from her neck.

  “Damn,” she yelled, forcing her stubborn eyes to open, “get the hell away from me or you’ll find yourself with two black eyes and a broken nose!”

  Feenix blinked to dispel the blurry vision standing in front of her. She must be dreaming. What the hell were all these elves doing in her quarters?

  Another slap to her face restored her memory.

  “Damn. Where’s your bloody prince?”

  One of the guards jerked her up into a standing position, then pushed her back against the stone wall. It was then that Feenix realized she was chained to the wall from the back of her slave collar.

  “Like a flea-bitten dog,” she mumbled.

  “You will stand in the presence of your betters,” the guard growled.

  “Right.” Since she didn’t have much choice, Feenix decided to humor her guests.

  “Now that you have rested,” Lala spoke, “you will begin to learn your duties. You will come with me.”

  As the guard unlocked the chain that tethered her to the wall, Feenix inquired, “When is dinner? I’m starved.”

  “You will eat when your chores are completed. Follow me.”

  “Look, Lily,” she said as the guard gave her a push from behind to start her feet moving out the door. “I haven’t had anything to eat in two days. I demand some food.”

  The little old elf stopped and turned to give Feenix a look of disgust.

  “You can not demand anything, human. You can only obey. I will not tell you again. And my name is Lala.”

  Without waiting for a response, she turned and resumed her walk down the stone corridor outside Feenix’s cell. Again the guard pushed Feenix from behind to get her moving. She gave the guard a dirty look, then followed Lala.

  “Well, fine. But I work better with a full belly.”

  Her captors ignored the comment.

  Feenix tried to memorize her location and where they were taking her, but without any distinguishing landmarks such as rooms, doors or windows, it was difficult. The corridor seemed to be one long hall carved
from the living rock. The stone was pale gray with chips of quartz glistening from its hard surface.

  The procession of elves and captive bore no torches, and there were none mounted on the walls. An eerie greenish-yellow light emanated from the floor, allowing just enough light to see. The entire corridor was like walking in a mist-shrouded twilight world. It gave her the creeps.

  The same musty, forest floor smell she had noticed when L’Garn had first carried her into Cragimore was still present. She thought that a bit odd since the entire stronghold seemed to be made of rock, and it was swept free of any leaves, dirt or other debris, except for the stuff growing on the floor that made the weird light. Maybe that’s what caused the odor.

  “Where are we going?”

  This obeying stuff was getting on her nerves. She didn’t like walking into something she knew nothing about, and hated not knowing what to expect.

  “Silence,” Lala replied without a backward glance.

  Feenix noted that Lala’s clothes were of a better quality than the rag she was wearing, although both were a grayish-mud color. In fact, now that she thought about it, she hadn’t noticed much color on anyone’s clothes. No gold or brilliant blue; no bright yellow or deep red. Even the prince, L’Garn, wore no decorations or color on his clothes. It was as if the people were as washed out and bland as their surroundings. How boring.

  Walking with her wrists chained to the ring around her neck was awkward. She preferred to have her hands free and swinging as she walked. Not being able to lower them further than her waist made her feel like she was waddling like a duck.

  “How much farther?”

  She stumbled to her knees as the guard behind her hit her with the handle of his whip.

  Damn, at this rate her pounding head would never survive.

  “No more talk, human,” the guard growled. “Just walk!”

  “Not much of a conversationalist, are you?” She was finding it difficult to stand without her arms for balance.

  Again she was slammed in the neck by the butt of the whip. This time she fell to the ground completely, lying on the floor of the hall. Since her face was pushed into the light-giving growth, she learned that indeed the musty smell came from the fungus growing on the path. Close up, it stank!

  “Get up,” the guard growled.

  Feenix wondered what they would do if she pretended to be unconscious again. She didn’t have long to wonder.

  “Pick her up,” Lala commanded the guard.

  Feenix felt her attacker grab the iron ring behind her head and haul her up without much trouble. The metal band bit into her neck, and it felt as though her wind pipe was going to snap in two.

  She tried to stand, but her legs were wobbly, and her head so dizzy she had trouble focusing her eyes. The only thing that kept her from smelling the foul path again was the guard’s hold on her collar.

  “Now, move,” the guard ordered.

  As battered, sore and dizzy as she was, Feenix took no orders from any enemy.

  “Make me,” she choked.

  The guard lifted her off her feet and shook the iron collar like a dog with a bone. She thought the metal would sever her neck, and her head would roll right off her shoulders. A broken sound—half hysterical chuckle, half groan of pain—escaped her lips as she imagined the sight of her head rolling down the corridor, her long hair wrapping around it like a ball of yarn.

  “Enough,” shouted Lala. “His highness will flay us alive if you kill her. Bring her.”

  “I do not care a rat’s tail what the ‘Breed wants,” the guard holding Feenix replied. “I would like to have a go at this human myself.”

  She tried to push his groping hand away as he squeezed her right breast painfully. The other guards agreed and someone made a comment about stopping and trying her out.

  “Get your filthy hands off me,” Feenix croaked in a weak voice. That damned collar would be the death of her.

  He merely shook her again and laughed.

  “Holdert,” Lala spoke in a mollifying tone. “His highness wants this new slave in one piece. Let us bring her and have done with the job.”

  The guard dropped Feenix to the floor and turned to the little elf.

  “I am a member of the King’s Guard. I do not take orders from a slave.”

  Lala bowed to him, casting a wan smile his way.

  “Of course I would not presume to order you, Master Holdert. However, the prince gave orders to us both to see that the new slave is prepared.”

  In a flash, his hand struck her across the face.

  “I do not need you to tell me my duty, slave!”

  Lala wiped a trickle of blood from her lip.

  “The ‘Breed will get his slave when I have finished with her.”

  “That would not be wise, master. The prince expects you to do your job, just as he expects me to do mine.”

  Did the stupid woman not know enough to keep her mouth shut, Feenix wondered? She tried to sit up, bracing her back against the wall, but it wasn’t easy fettered as she was.

  Holdert took a step towards Lala, and the old slave backed into the wall. “You may be the chief slave, Lala, but your rank holds no weight with me.”

  “Easy, Holdert,” one of the guards said. “She holds high favor with the princess.”

  “The royal whore, you mean,” he said without turning away from the cowering old slave before him.

  Although he stood with his back to Feenix and the gloomy light in the caverns did not allow her to see his face, she knew how he must look as he intimidated his prey. She knew his kind; always ready to take out their inadequacy on the defenseless. The light of power would be gleaming in his eyes, lips pulled tight in a grimace of anticipation while intoxicating strength surged through his blood. With a flick of his wrist, he could kill an old woman like Lala in a second and enjoy the feel of brittle bones snapping. The fear and terror in the eyes of his prey would only fuel the power and prove he was strong and virile.

  Feenix’s tired and battered body groaned in protest as she raised her right leg and kicked Holdert in the back of his left knee. Unfortunately she didn’t connect cleanly, and instead of breaking the bully’s knee, she merely bruised it. His leg gave out and he dropped to the ground.

  Her victory was short lived as another guard drew his sword and placed the tip, none too gently, at the base of her throat. These elves seemed to have a fascination with her neck and throat.

  “You will live to regret that,” Holdert said as he stood with the help of a guard. “Lala is right. You need to be taught the proper behavior of a slave. Pick her up and bring her,” he ordered as he limped down the corridor.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “That was foolish,” Lala said softly as the guard dragged the prisoner along.

  Again the collar around her neck prevented Feenix from saying very much. Which was probably a good thing.

  They entered a large room lit by smoking torches. Unused to the amount of light, Feenix had to blink a few times before her eyes adjusted.

  Unlike the rest of the caverns thus far, this room had sand packed on the floor. Arranged around the room were various types of manacles, chains in the walls and odd bits of metal devices. To her right hung two metal cages, one empty and one holding a mass of rags, flesh and hair. The mass did not move, but a faint moaning seemed to be coming from that direction.

  In the middle of the room were three oaken posts with large iron rings imbedded high in the solid wood. The sand around the posts was of a darker hue than the rest of the floor, and the acrid tang of blood hung in the air to mix with the ever present forest mold smell.

  Feenix’s empty belly rebelled, but she could do nothing.

  She had been a warrior most of her life, and knew what a torture chamber looked like. Hell, she had spoken the orders to send many a man to a room like this, had even participated in the discipline of her men. But she never liked it much. She always believed she could get more effort and respect from someone by
working with them rather than beating obedience into them. There were always the few, however, who no amount of reasoning or drills could persuade, and the torture room, or discipline area she preferred to call it, had to be utilized.

  “Chain her to the post,” Holdert ordered.

  “Master Holdert, this is not a wise decision. Think! His highness is expecting the slave to be ready for her duties in a few hours. If you beat her now, she will be worthless for many days.” Lala tried to coax the guard into changing his mind, but Feenix knew the only thing the old slave woman would get from him was a similar fate if she didn’t shut her mouth.

  “If you beat me, scum,” she yelled, though her throat throbbed and her voice resembled nothing close to her own, “you better do a good job of it because I’m going to kill you the first chance I get.”

  “Silence, old woman, or you will taste the whip yourself,” Holdert said as he pushed Lala aside and stormed to Feenix. “As for you, human, I will enjoy watching your skin peel away with every lash of my whip. How much blood does a human hold, I wonder? Shall we see?”

  She tried to break free of the guards who held her, but in her weakened and fettered condition, it was no contest.

  “Release me and fight me fair, pig scum! Even for an elf you are a sorry excuse for a fighter!”

  He cupped her cheek in a parody of a gentle caress. “When I release you it will be to dispose of your body.”

  She jerked her face away from his hand and tried to summon some moisture to her mouth.

  “A shame really, as I would have liked to have given you a taste of my strength.” His hand streaked out and grabbed a fistful of her long hair and brought her face close to his own. “Perhaps I will only use the whip lightly upon you, if you think you would like me to show you my personal lance.”

  She nearly choked on the noxious fumes coming from his mouth. How could she have gotten herself into such a pot of trouble? It was all that damned god’s fault, of course! If he hadn’t cursed her with the Change none of this would be happening. She would have made her entry into Cragimore as its conqueror, not as a captor!